#lifts* it up. & I scramble to hide it somewhere else.

[palaeolithicc]

personal post in tags

[mikanotes]

Hiii

Chishiya x reader that takes place in the first episode (season 2) when the king of spades starts shooting everyone and Chishiya protects reader in his own Chishiya ways 🙏🏻 And they both don’t get in the car with arisu & the others so they go off to find somewhere they can stay. Maybe established relationship & from chishiyas pov

TyTyTy ❤️

— GUNS AND SPADES

chishiya x gn!reader | ? words

genre: established relationship, slight angst

warnings: s2 spoilers, shooting, guns, blood, death, mentions of fainting, kinda spoilers for chishiya’s past, aib stuff… badly written might edit later idk

synopsis: Surviving in the Borderlands was something you’d been forced to get used to. Getting shot at for absolutely no reason when no game was ongoing was something else entirely.

author’s note: thank you for requesting! hope you like it!! to be honest i struggle with writing about chishiya this way a bit so this isn’t nearly as good as i wanted it to be. also i have no idea where i was going with this. nevertheless i hope it’s nice to read!

The sound of shots was clear. People scrambled around Shibuya Crossing, running for their lives without a care for one another’s. When faced with Death, people showed their true selves— Or whatever.

It would seem that, as per usual, your true self in this situation was to start running away before cursing at Chishiya and pulling him so he’d follow. Sure, he would start running eventually either way, but he certainly took his time.

“Chishiya, seriously.” you scoffed.

Thus the run began.

Arisu, Usagi, Kuina, you, and Chishiya were all lined up hiding behind an underground subway’s stairs entrance, crouching behind the wall and checking through the glass for the unknown shooter.

“Is this a game? Where are the rules?” Usagi exclaimed through panicked breaths. Arisu shook his head immediately.

“There’s nothing. This is just mass murder.”

“Seriously.” you mumbled, checking through the glass, “More people are coming this way. We should get moving.”

You all started running away in a group before realizing there was no point. Arisu yelled at everyone to split up and you all did. Running through a crowd of scared people, all confused and fearing for their lives— It was never a good feeling.

“Ah!”

Especially when some were too rushed in their run and tripped over, resulting in you falling along with them.

“I’m sorry!” the man yelled, scrambling to get up.

You laughed dryly, jumping up to your feet with ease. “You should be.” you breathed out, before ducking and running to the nearest corner. You turned and ran and avoided people and ran and it felt like hours of your breathing getting progressively worse and more heavy before you finally ran into a familiar face.

“[name]!” Kuina exclaimed, stopping in her tracks before you two could run into each other, “Come with me!”

She grabbed your wrist and ran to a car nearby, quickly pulling you to sit down behind it along with her. You exhaled a heavy sigh, your chest heaving up and down and your head spinning.

“You look tired.” a familiar voice spoke casually. You lifted your head up only to see Chishiya look at you with an easy smile, waving his hand from his seat on Kuina’s other side. You deadpanned.

“Yeah. And you don’t.” you scoffed, “Are you two okay?”

“I’m surprised I don’t have a single wound, honestly.” Kuina sighed, head hitting the car’s door in exhaustion, “Seriously, what the fuck is going on?“

You glanced at Chishiya and he gave you a slight nod, affirming that he was okay. You nodded back before looking over your shoulder. “There’s people on the other side of the road. Usagi and Arisu, I think.”

Kuina furrowed her eyebrows before moving her head to the side, signaling you to move over and switch places with her. You did, as discreetly as possible, and let her check whatever it is she wanted to. Chishiya waved two fingers in front of your face and brought your attention to him.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” you sighed, “Just tired. I knew things weren’t over but I expected a little break after the hell that went down at the Beach, at least.”

“The hell continues, I guess.” he said casually, smiling.

You could only sigh.

“You have to stay focused if you don’t wanna die!” Kuina suddenly yelled. You looked over to her and jumped at the sound of shooting right at the road the car you were hiding behind was parked on. Chishiya grabbed your shoulder to pull you back when he did, only relaxing when the shots stopped. Kuina scoffed, “Where the fuck are they shooting from?”

Just as she sat back down properly, an airship of sorts appeared over everyone, creating a looming shadow that did nothing to reassure the players. Chishiya hummed. “The King of Spades.”

“Great.” you commented. There were probably hundreds of pieces of fabric tied together to form a giant King of Spades card floating in the sky, attached to the bottom of the airship. You wondered just how much more of this hell you would have to go through before you could return to the comfort of the hell you knew. The normal world.

Chishiya leaned forward and handed Kuina something. It looked like a can and… Oh. You’d seen him make this back at the Beach one day. He’d made three. They were small bombs but they could definitely help out if you ever needed it. His words. He handed you one as well and you inspected it. “Here you go. A good luck charm.”

“What’s this? A bomb?” Kuina asked.

“Use it when you’re in a pinch.” he said casually.

“You have questionable hobbies, Chishiya.” you hummed, spinning the object in your hand before putting it in your jacket, “Thank you.”

“I second that. Thanks.” Kuina chuckled.

The sound of shots rung in the air as well as several running footsteps along with it. You checked Kuina’s side and saw Arisu and Usagi hide behind the car directly next to yours— Just a few meters away. Kuina tilted her head, “Are you hurt?”

“Did you seriously stop to try and save someone?” you followed after glancing at the dying boy they’d seemingly carried all the way there, and Arisu looked at you with wide eyes, before looking away and grimacing. Nothing new, you thought.

Shots fired again but the sound didn’t drown out the clear, loud honking of a car. You thought you’d imagined it, honestly, because logically speaking there was no reason for anyone to not only show themselves so obviously with a moving car but also announce themselves by honking.

Yet when the entire group looked over to the road there was, indeed, a car waiting. Ann and Tatta. Your eyes widened. “What?”

“Hurry up! Get in!” Tatta yelled.

Usagi and Arisu were the first to run into the car, closely followed by Kuina. Chishiya, irritating as he could get, refused to take his hands out of his pockets to run. You were a bit behind, careful, and caught up to him quickly. “What part of hurry up are you missing?!” you exclaimed.

Chishiya stopped and stared at the ground. You were about to question why he wasn’t going into the car despite standing right in front of it but followed his gaze.

A grenade.

“This is bad. Run!” he instantly yelled, pulling you back and moving to start running away, “Get going! Drive!” he told Tatta, knowing there was no point in risking getting into the car anymore.

“[name]!” Usagi yelled.

Kuina seemed just as worried, “Chishiya!”

The sound of their voices were quickly drowned out when your head hit the hard concrete of the sidewalk as you and Chishiya jumped as far away as possible from the bomb. The explosion went off before your senses could start coming back and just as the car started driving away. You covered the sides of your head with your arms and felt Chishiya’s arm wrap around them.

Everything was spinning. For a moment, you weren’t sure you were alive. Then Chishiya’s voice brushed that thought away.

“We have to move.” he tried to speak over all the noise. You nodded faintly and got up on your feet to the best of your ability, before running away with him— Bullets following you closely.

To Chishiya, this would’ve been fine if you hadn’t been there.

If he had been alone during that shooting, even including the part where he fails to get in the car because of a grenade— it would all have been fine because Chishiya Shuntaro is used to dealing with whatever hellish cards the Borderlands hand him. But that’s where the problem lies;

You’re there.

Chishiya met you before the cruelty of the reality of the world stripped him of his empathy— Forced him into the stoicism of a person suppressing their own emotions. He met you before his job ruined a part of him, and his feelings seemingly didn’t waver one bit at that. The importance of your wellbeing had been something he cared about before but even with attempts at erasing his emotions he couldn’t erase the quickening pace of his heartbeat if he heard you weren’t doing well.

Chishiya made the mistake of letting himself fall for someone back in college (though he claims fall is too ridiculous) and now has to deal with the pains of feeling like he needs to protect said person. You were good at dealing with things yourself, too— Sure, but that didn’t mean anything to the instinctive worry that held him by the throat.

So he watches you, unconscious due to the amount of things that happened in a few seconds, lying on the ground of some empty apartment complex— With something anyone could easily mistake as disdain. It used to be easy dealing with complicated things when he was alone. He was also sure playing games would be so much more simple if you weren’t by his side. All he would have to care for would be his own survival and that would just be it. Now he had to fear Heart games and count you into every calculations he made to get himself out of a deadly game of chess.

It was almost infuriating how much you unconsciously forced him into changing his ways, even after all these years. He figured that was just how things went when you loved someone.

When you shift in your sleep and start sighing, eyes slowly blinking to force yourself awake, Chishiya doesn’t feel the smile form on his lips. “You’re lucky we found this place before you decided to pass out.”

“My God.” you grumbled, sitting up with some effort. “Have you just been sitting there? I’m surprised. Were you watching over me, or something?”

Even in situations like this, you just didn’t miss an opportunity to try and tease him. It’s not like it ever worked, but the attempts were amusing.“You weren’t out for that long.” he spoke as calmly as usual, “Sleep fine?”

“I dreamt of fireworks at Shibuya.” you said, and your voice dropped to a silent low. The shift from casual to slight anxiousness was barely noticeable, but very obvious to Chishiya. You cracked your neck and stretched. “Guess my head decided to make people yelling and loud sounds seem more happy than how it really was.”

“At least your mind’s version of the events that just transpired is less disturbing and nightmarish. Glad to know you slept well.” he said, pushing himself up to stand. “We should check the game nearby. I don’t like the idea of us standing there waiting.”

“Less chances of getting shot by that Kind of Spades, I guess.” you sighed, following him to stand up, “Just as many to get killed, though.”

Chishiya held his hand up and you looked at it, then at him, and a small smile pulled at your lips. You high-fived him and then you both wrapped your fingers around the other’s hand.

“Not if I’m there.” he claims, smirking a little. You scoff lightly and Chishiya knows you feel slightly better. It’s enough for now. The feelings of anxiety are pushed back far away enough for you to focus during games. Enough for you to play properly and keep yourself alive. Chishiya nodded a bit, “Let’s get going.”

“Alright.” you tightened your hold on his hand and you both walked towards the game near where you were staying at— Steeling yourselves for whatever the Borderlands had prepared for you.

[lovings4turn]

[ 🐈‍⬛ ] slide out the window -send me a prompt + a character / driver , and i'll write a mini fic based off of it

i could go for the obvious but i think jess mariano deserves more love. so jess + he finds the poems you write about him.

jess does in fact deserve all of the love ever you're so real lari !! thanks sm for sending this in n im so sorry for how long it took to get this out-

"you know, this would be a lot easier if you cleaned your room more often."

"that is so rich coming from you!"

playful bickering had filled the room for the better part of five minutes as you practically ransacked your room in pursuit of jess' missing jacket. it was here somewhere, but where, you had no idea.

it was almost frustrating. your room wasn't even that big, and unless jess had gone out of his way to hide it, there was no reason the search should have turned into an all out scavenger hunt.

"this is worse than that time kirk lost all of those eggs," you groaned, pushing yourself to stand after searching underneath your bed.

"so dramatic," jess quipped, though his search in your wardrobe also proved futile.

"what did you even do with the thing?" you questioned, unable to hold back your laughter as even the most odd places were found empty.

"i hadn't seen you in four days, i'm sorry that my priority was-" jess cut himself off, dark brows furrowed as he scanned something on your desk.

"what are these?"

after a moment, jess held up his hand, a few loose sheets of paper clasped between his fingers and confusion written across his face. you, too, were confused for a moment before you realised.

"oh, uh," you scrambled for words, feeling your cheeks heat up as you realised exactly what he'd found. "they're nothing."

smart.

"nothing?" jess repeated, clearly amused. "well, 'nothing' looks an awful lot like some poetry. pretty good poetry, by the way. you write these?"

there was no point trying to deny it. not when he was looking at you with a slightly crooked smile and a soft gaze reserved only for your company.

"i guess, yeah." you shrugged, still embarrassed. "they're nothing special, scribbles, really."

"no? they seem awfully romantic," he teased, though there was something else behind his words. "are they... y'know. are they about me?"

you could have laughed at his question, the answer being so obvious, but the moment between you both seemed so vulnerable, a bubble that could easily be popped by even one wrong word.

"of course they are."

with great care, jess placed the sheets back down onto your desk and made his way over to you. warm hands found your own, lifted until they were held between yours and jess' frames. he gave you another gentle smile before his lips were on yours.

each movement of his mouth was poetry in its own way, conveying every small thought and feeling jess wished to tell you. every sigh was a confession, the trace of his tongue against your lips his pen upon paper.

the search for jess' jacket could wait. jess had found something far more precious.

[mazeinthemiroh]

you need a holiday. [part 4]

pairing: hongjoong x best friend! reader

genre: friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn / slow romance, suggestive, fluff, crack

word count: 1.6k

warnings: suggestive, hongjoong is awkward, reader is a down bad, both of you are massive simps <333

summary: hongjoong escaping his work life to go on holiday has proven to be more ideal than he expected it to be... [part 1 , part 2, part 3, final part]

author's notes: this part is a little bit more spicier and also cute if i do say so myself. please let me know your thoughts and... well... enjoy!!

"You have arrived at your destination."

The magical words of the pilot sounded as you tried to gaze out the window. Hongjoong's head, which had landed on your shoulder, was obstructing most of your view. He had dosed off to sleep during the flight, which wasn't surprising. This man needed all the sleep he could get with the schedule he had.

When everyone had gotten up in a rush to get out, you didn't have the heart to wake him at first. You gazed at his face fondly. He looks so at peace. Not happy, not sad. Not stressed about deadlines or the other members or any responsibilities he had in Korea. He was thousands of miles from home, there would be nothing to worry about, surely?

Heat rose to your cheeks at the close contact. Hongjoong wasn't the touchy type of friend, which you viewed as a good thing, for your own sake. If he was a physical contact type of guy, you might even begin to grow feelings for him. Even now, as he snuggled his head down, now perfectly settled on your shoulder, you could help but be very aware of the way your heart fluttered because of it.

"Joongie~" your sing-song voice sounded, but it was a half-hearted attempt, too quiet for him to possibly hear it. You looked around you desperately for help, for someone else, anyone else, to wake him up because you just couldn't.

Fortunately for you, there was a loud clutter of someone's suitcase falling to the floor, which seemed to bring him out of his slumber. His eyes opened first, and as his dream melted away, he became aware of the shoulder he was leaning on. Your shoulder.

"Ah, sorry," he lifted his head and shook his head to wake himself up more, rubbing his eyes with his hands. "How long was I out for?"

"Pretty much most of the flight," you shrugged, finally releasing yourself from the seat belt across your lap as you tried to calm down your rapid heartbeat.

There was an awkward quietness among the both of you as you scrambled to take hold of your hand luggage, before finally exiting the plane, saying thank you to the cabin crew.

Next stop: the hotel.

Hongjoong managed to get the hotel room just across from yours. How convenient.

Part of you didn't feel too happy about this. In your own romantic mind, somewhere deep down in your complicated soul, there was a sparkle of hope that 'oh no, there are no more rooms left in the hotel' which would soon lead to 'oh no, there's only one bed, whatever shall we do!'

You flopped onto your bed and stared at the ceiling. Why did you feel this way? Perhaps, you were just excited about spending to him with your best friend. It had been so long, after all. Surely, that must be the only reason. There's no way you were developing feelings for him already, right?

You dreaded to think that... if you were feeling this was already, so early into the holiday, how will you be feeling after these 5 days?

"Y/N, you in there?"

Hongjoong knocked from outside of the hotel room, which made you sit up on your bed. You looked around at the state of your room, clothes everywhere and not yet sorted out, packets of crisps you consumed because you were peckish after the taxi ride where, and duvet covers ripped off the bed because you hated how they were tucked in so harshly.

"Uhh, yeah, just a second!" You replied, whisking around in a frenzy to try and get some coordination. But when it was no use you simply opened the door to your handsome friend, hiding most of your body behind it as you peeked into the gap with a smile.

"You ready to go down to the pool?"

You soaked in his new look - a loose shirt delicately down up halfway to allow a generous view of his chest, a pair of swim shorts which clung to his thighs magnificently, and a cap on his head to show off the charming features of his face. He was absolutely, phenomenally, totally, utterly gorgeous. You almost started to drool at the sight of him.

"Y-yeah, of course," you shrugged, cursing yourself for stuttering like a fool. What had gotten into you?

"Cool, I'll see you down there," he gave you a little grin, before sliding his shades onto his face. So cool.

Grabbing your towel and a bottle of sunscreen, you shoved the items into your bag and took a deep breath, bracing yourself for what was to come...

You didn't prepare yourself mentally for the sight you were now beholding. You knew that you were going to see your best friend half-naked in all his glory, but perhaps you should've given yourself a pep talk.

Because staring at his now very openly exposed chest, you realised how very not-ready you were for this situation. The sunglasses helped to shield your curious eyes.

Sitting down on the sunbed next to him, you gazed out to take in the largeness of the pool before you. There were only a few people surrounding the pool, all scattered to their own, individual areas, not wanting to be too close to people they didn't know There were two people swimming, one doing lengths of the pool while the other bobbed about on the tiptoes. The sun was hot, tickling your skin with its heat deliciously. There was a soft breeze that could barely be felt, but you could see it from the movement of the palm trees which decorated the corners of the resort. You smiled and sank into your seat.

"I'm going in," you announced, sunglasses still on your face as you got up, removing the cover-up that elegantly framed your body before. Now you were in the same compromising state as Hongjoong was, and suddenly neither of you knew where to look.

Hongjoong averted his gaze as you squeezed the sun cream into your hands, covering your body with the appropriate amount, starting with your legs. Making your way up and up and up, you realised you weren't going to be able to reach your back by yourself.

A smug look came upon you. There had been this confused and palpable tension between the two of you ever since you had gotten off the plane. And you thought that you would finally use it to your advantage,

"Hey, do you mind putting some sunscreen on my back and shoulders?" You asked, ever so innocently, looking straight at him from over your shades. He looked up, his mouth open as if to question you, but no objections came out.

Finally, he came out with a 'sure' whilst internally screaming. Hongjoong stood up as your back was turned to him. He collected some cream into his hand as you moved any of your hair out of the way for him to have better access. When his hands connected to your skin, butterflies rippled through your stomach as your closed your eyes, sighing with contentment. You needed his touch again.

Meanwhile, Hongjoong's mind was going at 100 miles an hour, while his movements were slow. He cleared his throat awkwardly and massaged the sun cream into your shoulders, the feeling of his thumbs rubbing into your skin making you both relax as well as on edge. You felt goosebumps prickle your skin at the sensations of his little, delicate touches.

"Thank you," you turned around to him, looking up at him with big eyes as he finally had the confidence to look down at you, his heartbeat quickening, but he had a small grin playing on his lips now. He laughed off the tension and shook his head, not believing the tremendous effect you had on him all of a sudden.

"I might as well get in too," he sighed, removing his sunglasses from his face, "you wanna do me?"

He blinked multiple times as his eyes grew wide. Perhaps it wasn't the best sentence he'd ever phrased....

"I don't mean do me, like umm, I mean do me like.. do my sunscreen... for me. You know, put sun cream on my back. Oh, forget it..."

You snorted in his frantic recovery, happily obliging to his suggestion.

"Don't worry, I got you," you laughed as he huffed, exasperated at himself for waffling like an idiot.

Still, things didn't feel as awkward anymore. Perhaps, when boundaries are crossed, the initial awkwardness melts away. The fact that you were both half-naked in front of each other certainly was a hurdle to get over. But here, now, with you guys freely touching each other as if it were nothing, and yet it all felt significant. So significant and meaningful.

Or perhaps you were romanticising things again.

The late afternoon ticked on into the evening, and you both still swarm in the warm waters, floating and talking gently as the water trickled around both of your bodies. Onlookers passing by would think you guys are dating. The attraction was there, sparkling around the both of you like some kind of tangible magic. Hongjoong looked at you with an gentle gaze, smiling and laughing frequently in between breaths of ease.

Thoughts of work were far behind him. There was a chance for him to disconnect, and then reconnect with his passion after all. He didn't think it would be possible. Heck, he didn't think he would be able to relax at all here. But as he listened to you speak, watching your animated expressions and comfortable gestures as you ranted about mundane things in life, he realised that his holiday and quest for relaxation didn't start when he landed in a different country.

It started when he realised he loved you.

tags: @anyamaris, @xlovehwa, @yeosangsbiceps, @a-wandering-stay, @acciocriativity, @hawaiian-angel, @toolovelyforyou, @saltedplum-squid, @dandycharmer, @baek-at-it-again95, @yeosxxx, @chansburgah, @doggopepper, @darkmentalitystarfish-blog, @dutchessskarma, @jisungxident, @justaprettywriter [lmk if you want to be added/removed from the taglist]

[darkness-and-books]

I Like Your Sweater

TOS Leonard McCoy x gn!reader

⚠️: none I don’t think, just fluffy at the end

word count: 758

My alarm rang throughout my quarters, so I turned it off and rolled over. “It’ll go off again in ten” muttered angrily to myself. I was wrong or maybe I was right but I didn’t hear it, I don’t really know. What I do know is that it’s 9 AM and I am laaate, like the kind of late where I hopped out of bed and scrambled for any of the nearest clothes, most of which were on the floor and yesterday’s or older. Just as I was hopping about, trying to get my other leg in my pants while also brushing my teeth, Scotty’s face popped up on the video communicator. Thunk I fell over backwards, I was hoping that maybe no one, or at least no one important, would notice that I was late. I could hear Scotty’s laughter radiating from the communicator. “I see you’re already getting ready!” He belowed between fits of laughter. “Yes, why do you call?” I inquired rather loudly as I was still on the floor trying to get my pants the rest of the way on. “I just wanted to let you know that when you do finally get down to engineering, we’re having our monthly meeting to assign projects” Scotty informed while attempting to hide more chuckling. (I dunno, I just made up something important) That was today?!? “Are you kidding?!?” I popped up with my pants finally all the way on to look at Scotty. “Nope, serious as a heart attack” He deadpanned. “Fine, fine, I’ll be there!” I shouted as I dived back down to find my toothbrush in this mess. “You’ve got eight minutes, see you there!” Scotty singsonged before hanging up. Eight minutes, so really I’ve got five minutes and enough time to take the turbo lift down, and not miss anything but basic introduction. Why is it so cold in here? I know I’ve got bigger fish to fry at the moment, but I’ve gotta have a uniform sweater around here somewhere. “Bingo!” I swiped the sweater off the floor and put it on. I didn’t have time for a shower, so I did the next best thing and used a handful of water to smooth out the top of my hair and put on deodorant. I run for the turbo lift. “Morning Chekov!” I shout as I run. I get into the turbo lift and pant out engineering. I’m so grateful that it was open and I didn’t have to use the stairs. Once off the lift I run into the conference rooms in engineering, there are six of them and Scotty didn’t actually say which once we were in this morning. I started to just randomly pop my head into other meetings, fifth time’s the charm I guess because we were in room five. I slipped in and tried to sit without being noticed, but the door slammed behind me. Suddenly everyone was giving me various degrees of judgemental looks. “What?” I ask in irritation, “Nothing, you just late” Scotty reassured while glowering at all the other engineering personnel. The meeting was long and slow, the only thing I learned was that despite previous mistakes I was still working in the engine core. I had nothing else to do unless something got broken so I headed down to the medbay to see what was up with my favourite CMO. The whole way there I kept getting looks, was my hair really that bad? I thought about this and automatically ran a hand over my hair. News travels fast around here, maybe they just all know I was late, I can’t have been the only person who was late today though. I walked on into the medbay to find Leonard at his desk. Must be the luckier part of my day, he’s usually being dragged around the medbay if not the whole ship for various emergencies. “Hiya, Len!” I call to him as I make my way over. He turns to look at me and whatever he was about to say dies on his lips. “I like your sweater, darlin” he says in a slightly mocking tone. “It’s just a uniform sweater” I tell him, “Yeah, but whose uniform?” He questions, crossing his arms and eyeing the sweater. I finally look down and much to my near horror, I see a medical officer’s sweater over my engineering shirt. “Don’t worry bout it darlin. It looks better on you anyway” Leonard compliments me as he gestures me over for a hug and a kiss.

[intoxicated-chan]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 ✠ ❝𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬❞

(A/n) ➳  I welcome you all to my mini-series. I had planned to make it longer but came to the conclusion to do five chapters but long ones. So please forgive me if chapters take awhile. But enjoy!

Word Count ➳ 1.2k  

Content Warnings ➳ Female reader/Assassin reader, alcohol use, death of a parent, violence, mentions of death, mentions of marriage...

Dreamers Masterlist

NEW YORK, 1747 

Shay stumbled through the crowded tavern, his sense dulled by alcohol and his grief. He had lost track of time since his father’s death and the storm that claimed he and the crew’s lives. His thoughts were chaotic, swirling around his head, and unable to focus.  

The air reeked of ale. Shay now found himself hunched over a wooden table, nursing a drink. He barely registered the commotion around him, but he could feel the glares from other patrons of the tavern. 

They surrounded him, at the neighboring tables, seemingly drinking. And if Shay thought correctly, it was going to be another tavern fight... He reached for his pocketknife, ready to attack the presence behind him until a voice cut through, sharp and familiar yet distant in his drunken stupor.  

“Shay! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  

Startled, Shay looked up, squinting to focus his blurry gaze. Though the blur, he saw the silhouette of a man standing in front of him. But his face was blocked by the terrible lighting of the tavern.  

He leaned over and when he couldn’t see him, he tried to stand. But gentle hands steadied him, helping him to his feet with tenderness. It was then that he felt the soft touch of another person, their presence was soothing, unlike his mind. 

“Easy now.” The voice spoke, laced with concern. “You’re in no state to brawl, let alone stand on your feet.” 

Shay blinked, confused, trying to make sense of the situation. And then, like the fog in his mind had lifted, he saw him, Liam, his best friend. He stood in front of him with a mix of frustration and worry.  

“Liam?” Shay muttered, his voice hoarse and filled with confusion. 

“That’s right.” Liam replied sternly. “And if weren’t for (Y/n) here, you’d be lying in a gutter somewhere.” 

Shay's gaze moved, and for the first time, he saw her.  

You, the young girl who had come to his aid. He can see the nervousness in your eyes, watching him and managed to keep him up straight.  

You, (Y/n), Liam’s younger sister. You were the same age as Shay.  

Despite the chaos of his life, despite the pain and the loss, there was another pang in his chest. He was in no state to think about it further but pushed it down.  

Yet one thing became clear, though his suffering alone and in the dark, you had become his lifeline. 

And for that, Shay knew he would be forever grateful.  

DAVENPORT HOMESTEAD, MARCH 1752 

"Quickly now!” Hope called out, hands on her hips as she watched a group of assassins scramble around, looking for you specifically. “She’s in the trees! On the ground! Behind you!”  

They scattered across the training grounds, Hope’s eyes followed their every move. She watched with amusement, her laughter echoing through the air as they failed to find your lurking spot.  

You moved like a ghost but graceful, blending into your surroundings as if you were part of them. Your ability to remain unseen was something Hope hadn’t seen before. Maybe as good as Achillies. 

Shay and Liam stood at the sidelines, watching as well. Shay couldn’t hide the happiness that swelled every time he saw you emerge. He exchanged a playful look with Liam, a smirk tugging the corners of his lips.  

“She’s something else, isn’t she?” Liam remarked. “She might be better than all of us in stealth.” 

Shay snorted. “I can count the number of times Chevalier wet himself whenever (Y/n) comes out.” Shay was careful when he said it, making sure Chevalier wasn’t around or else he’d be in another fight. 

“I heard.” Then Liam sighed, it was heavy and solemn. “Achilles shouldn’t have allowed her to join the Brotherhood. I promised my father I’d protect her, keep her safe, I didn’t want her to come. She should be back in the city, married by now, enjoying her life.” 

Shay's brows furrowed. “You know as well as I do that (Y/n) would never be happy with a life like that. She's a fighter, just like you.” 

Liam knew Shay was right. You were young, could barely remember him but he could see how happy he made you.  

When Liam discovered that Achilles was in contact with you, he lost it. Shay attempted to talk him down, noting that you were grown and can take care of yourself. But Liam felt betrayed. He confided in Achilles that his biggest fear was losing you and now you were at risk.  

It took him a couple of days for Liam to calm down. That same day, he found you on the training grounds with Hope and Kesegowaase, you were ginning, just happy to be here. 

Liam promised himself that he’d do whatever he could to keep from harm’s way, even if you were an assassin like him.  

“Wrong! Again!” Hope’s shouting made him focus once again, seeing you jump from a tree and into a pile of leaves. He saw the smile on your face as you fell.  

“Even if she was back at the city, you would approve of no man.” Shay scoffed, shaking his head. 

And how no man was worthy of you. 

And he had a feeling that Liam wouldn’t approve of Shay. 

They were childhood friends, best friends, nothing could tear them apart... Almost nothing. Shay always kept quiet for the years he had met you and when you joined the Brotherhood.  

He would rather die than admit to Liam that he wanted to be with his sister. They were in the middle of looking for the Manuscript, there was no time or room for starting a relationship.  

But he couldn’t stop himself from staring when you’re near, how his smile became bigger whenever he heard your voice, and how he wanted to seek you out every time he returned from a mission. 

You made him want to forget you entirely, you were a distraction to him. Blocking his mind when he tried to fucus, thinking of his future with you when he knew there was a possibility of not having one.  

Yet when he stood on that cliff, Manuscript in hand, his eyes locked with yours for a second. Everything he dreamed of flashed before his eyes.  

You and him on the deck of the Morrigan, it was just the two of you. You were smiling as his crew sang, his arm around your waist to pull you closer, and your soft lips against his.  

You were his dream, and he didn’t want to lose you.  

But it was only a matter of time before you heard what happened in Lisbon. What would you think of him then? Were you going to be disgusted, horrified, angry? He didn’t want to look you in the eye and see his answer. 

Shay engulfed you tightly, he was trembling. Not cause of the cold but because of fear. You were in his arms, demanding answers, wanting to know what the shouting was about but he didn’t what you to know.  

His tears soaked your shoulders as he felt your arms come around him.  

“It’s okay.” He heard you say. “Everything is going to be okay.” Rubbing his back. 

And as he fell over the cliff, feeling the pain of the gunshot running through his body. He remembered you shouting his name and Liam having to hold you back from trying to chase after him.   

Maybe Shay could die in peace, at least he stopped the assassins, even if it was just for a couple days or weeks before they found the Manuscript. His only regret was making you cry, he hated seeing you in pain. 

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission. 

» » YOU’RE HERE « « ⊰ TWO ⊰

[parkerdoesparkour]

-Prologue Track 7: Candy-

Staring down the mouth of the cave, Titania and Grim got into position. She picked up a nearby rock and tossed it inside. It bounced into the darkness before falling into the silent nothingness of the mine. She frowned. 

“Do you think it’s still here?” she asked. Grim shivered, his flames momentarily growing dim. 

“It has to be,” he said and she threw another rock. “Hey, monster! Over here!”

From somewhere in the mine, they heard the groan of the creature. “Come on, come on!” Titania shouted. “Or else we’re going to steal your stone!”

The monster growled. “LEAVEEEEE!” 

“Gah, it’s coming!” Grim scrambled into Titania’s arms as the monster appeared in the mouth of the cave, brandishing its pickaxe. “Thief… won’t give… won’t GIVE!” It swung down and split the earth apart where Titania had been standing moments before. She leapt back, but not far away, so that the monster would move closer to her and farther from its home. 

“That punch is a finisher,” Grim said. “Make sure it doesn’t hit you.”

“You got it, boss.” 

Titania danced around the monster's attacks all the while luring it away, inch by inch, as it chanted, “Go away! Go away!” Finally, it was far enough and Grim jumped out of her arms as she dove to hide behind a tree. 

“Now!” she signaled, and Ace and Deuce appeared from the shadows of the forest.

“Okay, I got this!” Ace grinned. He lifted his magic pen and the wind picked up immediately. It swirled around the monster like a mini cyclone and the monster groaned. 

“Time for the Great Grim’s special attack!” Grim used Ace as a springboard. He leapt into the air and let loose an enormous blast of fire. The flames were swept into the cyclone and burned across the body of the monster. With more wind magic from Ace, the flames increased in intensity until it was impossible to tell where they ended and the monster began. 

“Deep breaths… deep breaths…” Deuce muttered. He raised his magic wand high. “Come forth, cauldron!”

The enormous, black cauldron from earlier reappeared and came crashing down on top of the monster. The flames and wind died out, and the monster let out one last anguished cry before going still underneath the cauldron. 

Titania returned from her hiding spot and sighed. “Good work, everyone.”

Grim cackled. “The monster’s flat as a pancake! Just like Ace!”

“You don’t need to bring that up, again!” Ace retorted. He swiped at Grim but the monster cat dove out of the way just in time. Before the two could get into another fight, the monster shifted under the weight of the cauldron. 

“We should go get the magestone, before it gets free,” Deuce said. The monster let out a pained cry. 

“Waiiitttttttt!” 

“Go, go,” Titania commanded. She pushed Ace and Deuce towards the mine while Grim dashed ahead of them. He lit the way with his fire until, finally, a bright crystal caught their eyes. 

“There! A magetsone!”

“Hands oooooffffffff!” 

Ace swore, glancing back at the mouth of the mine where the monster lay. “That thing’s almost free.” Titania dug her fingers into the dirt around the magestone in an attempt to pull it free on pure strength. 

“Deuce, throw more stuff on it!” Grim said and Deuce jumped. 

“Oh, oh, um,” he sputtered before raising his wand. “Come forth, cauldron! And, uh, cauldron! And one more cauldron!” 

The clanging of cauldrons falling on top of each other rang in Titania’s ears as she worked at the mage stone. 

“Can’t you summon anything other than cauldrons!?” Ace accused. 

“Shut up, I’m at my wit’s end over here!”

Just then, Titania yanked the magetsone out of the wall and clasped it in her bloody fingertips. “I got it!” 

“Then, let’s get out of here!”

They rushed towards the entrance but when the monster saw the stone in Titania’s hand, it shrieked and threw the cauldrons off its body. “THAT IS MINEEEEEE!”

“Are you kidding me?” Ace cried. They ran as fast as they could through the forest, back towards the house, but the monster was quickly gaining on them. 

“Give… back… give it back!”

“It’s going to catch up on us!” Deuce said. 

“We don’t have a choice then,” Titania said. “We have to go for it!” 

“And by ‘it’ you mean…?”

Titania halted her run and spun around. She placed the magetsone in her pocket and picked up a large stone laying nearby. As soon as the monster appeared from the line of trees, she threw the stone as hard as she could into the monster’s body. 

Her exhaustion was evident in her body and her throw; the stone only managed to pause the monster’s assault for a second. It recovered and swung its gas lamp at her. The crack echoed throughout the forest and she fell backwards into the dirt of the forest. Thick, warm blood fell from her nose, across her lips, and stained her shirt a terrifying red. 

She rolled onto her back to see the monster looming over her, pickaxe raised. How many times would she have to die until she could finally rest? A brief thought of fighting back flickered through her mind, but she was tired and her body ached and she figured that the others had escaped by now, so what was the point?

Then, the monster burst into a flame so bright, the forest lit up like it was daytime. It howled and moved away from her to face Grim. He took a small breath, then another blast of brilliant fire flew from his mouth at the monster. Deuce joined Grim in the fight and Ace appeared at Titania’s side. 

“You don’t have a self-preservation bone in your body, huh?” he sighed. He helped her to her feet and wrapped her arm around his shoulders so she could lean her full weight against him. “I got you, okay?”

“Okay.” 

A final cauldron fell onto the monster and Titania watched, dazed, as its body seemingly vanished like tufts of dandelions in the wind. Deuce lowered his wand and Grim let out a long, relieved sigh. 

“You guys did it…” Titania said, softly. Ace puffed out his chest in pride. 

“Of course.”

“We won!” Deuce cried. He rushed forward and enveloped Ace and Titania. He squeezed them tightly as Ace laughed and Grim leapt onto Titania’s shoulders. 

“We’re alive!”

“We’re alive,” Titania repeated. She thought the phrase would taste bitter, but it was salty and wet and slightly metallic, and she realized she was crying when Grim began licking tears off her cheeks with his rough tongue. Ace placed his cheek on top of her head and Deuce tightened his hold on them. 

“We’re alive thanks to your plan,” Ace said. “So, thanks, I guess.”

Despite herself, Titania chuckled. “Don’t sound so happy about that.”

“We won’t get expelled now,” Deuce said. “I’m so relieved.”

“Great, now Loosey-Deucey is crying, too.”

“Shut up, there’s nothing wrong with crying!”

Titania laughed louder. “I’m glad everyone’s alright.”

“Can we go home now?” Ace whined. Grim’s nose twitched and he raised his head. 

“Hang on,” he said. “Something smells good.” He climbed down from Titania’s shoulders and walked towards where the monster had been finished off. “What’s this?” He picked up a black crystal in his paws and held up for the others to inspect.

“It kind of looks like a magestone,” Deuce commented. “But I’ve never seen one so dark before.”

“It kind of looks like coal,” Ace added. Grim’s mouth watered. 

“It smells so good,” he said. “Time to dig in!” Then he shoved the crystal into his mouth without warning. 

“No way, he actually ate it!” Ace shouted. Titania rushed towards Grim. She knelt in front of him and grabbed his cheeks in her hands. 

“Spit that out, now!” she said. “We don’t know what it is!”

“Hmdnjshs shkjwm hemkjk,” Grim replied before swallowing the entire thing whole. 

“Grim!” she shrieked. 

He responded with stars in his eyes. “It’s delicious!”

“HUH!?” Deuce said. 

“It’s sweet and aromatic and tastes like I’m eating a whole field of flowers,” Grim explained. “It’s so good!”

“I guess monster’s really have different taste buds than the rest of us,” Ace sighed. Titania pulled at Grim’s cheeks.

“Don’t eat random stuff on the ground,” she huffed. 

“Don’t worry,” Grim smiled. “My stomach’s a lot stronger than yours.”

“Then you better not complain when your stomach starts hurting.”

After checking to ensure the magestone was unharmed, their group finally made their way back to the school. Once they passed through the mirror, they were met with Crowley’s shocked expression. Titania imagined his feathers on the end of the rustling in pleasant astonishment. 

“You guys actually went?” he said. “You went to the dwarf’s mine?”

“HUH!?” the boys shrieked. 

“You told us that’s where we could find the magestone!” Deuce argued. 

“Well, sure, but,” Crowley paused. “I never thought you would do it, let alone return with the stone. Plus, I already completed your expulsion paperwork…”

“The nerve of this guy,” Titania muttered and Grim’s fur rose. 

“You were going to toss us aside without a second thought while we had to fight some crazy monster!” he hissed. That seemed to catch Crolwey’s attention.

“A monster?” he repeated. 

“It was living in the mines or something,” Ace said. “It was crazy strong, too!”

Crowley seemed troubled. “Let’s talk about this in my office, if you don’t mind.” They followed him to the headmage office where he sat behind his desk and leaned back in his chair. Once they filled him in, he hummed. 

“So, the four of you worked together to defeat the monster in order to bring back a magestone?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say we worked together…” Ace said.

“It was my idea,” Titania said. 

“Our goals just aligned for the moment,” Deuce said. 

Suddenly, Crowley covered his face with his hands and sobbed loudly. 

“Hey, what the fuck?”

“Why is a grown man bursting into tears?” Grim asked. Titania placed her hand over his eyes. 

“Don’t look, boss. This is too terrifying.” 

“In all my years as Headmage,” Crowley cried, “I never thought I’d see the day my students would face an enemy together, hand-in-hand!”

“I did NOT hold Ace’s hand!” Deuce shouted and Titania fought the urge to make a face. 

“That is definitely not what he said,” she sighed. 

“Wait, how old are you, Headmage!?” Ace attempted to ask but Crowley continued without bothering to acknowledge the question. 

“I’m just so overwhelmed! And, you,” he turned towards Titania, “you have the talent of a beast tamer?”

“Bless you.”

“Our students all have great potential to be mages,” he said. “But, they often are prideful, egotistical, and self-centered who never stop to think about others.” Titania looked at Ace and he shoved her arm. 

“Shut up!”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Ms. Goodfellow, perhaps because you cannot use magic, you are able to get those who can to cooperate with each other. Such a talent is something this school desperately needs!” Crowley explained.

“I feel like he’s not saying anything nice about us,” Deuce grumbled. 

“I have no doubt your continued existence at this academy will be beneficial for our students,” Crowley smiled. Titania shivered. “So, along with rescinding Mr. Trappola and Mr. Spade’s expulsions, I shall grant Ms. Goodfellow permission to attend Night Raven College as a student!”

“Huh!?” the boys shouted. 

“Really?” Titania said. She raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“I’m very sure. My intuition as an educator is never wrong!”

“I doubt that very much,” she sighed. “Plus, you said this was an academy for mages and I…” She paused to find the right words. “Well, you know my situation.”

“That is true and completing lessons would prove difficult for you because of this. Which is why,” now Crowley turned towards Grim and his flaming ears perked up, “Grim will be attending alongside you, and the two of you will count as one student.”

“Fgnah!?” Grim said. “I can really go here? Not as a janitor or as handyman, but as an actual student?” 

Titania squeezed him lightly and smiled. “This is a good thing, huh?” He grinned up at her.

“Obviously! My talents have finally been recognized!”

“As long as an incident like today does not happen again,” Crowley added. “Am I clear?”

“Of course,” Titania nodded. The Headmage waved his hand and a lilac colored gem appeared around Grim’s neck. It looked similar to the gems on the end of Ace and Deuce’s magic pens. 

“This magestone is a symbol of your status as a Night Raven student. I placed your’s on a special collar, since it would be impossible for you to grip a pen in your paws. Oh, how kind am I?” Grim ignored Crowley in favor of showing the stone to Titania. “Would you please listen to me when I speak to you?”

“I’m so cool,” Grim giggled and Crowley sighed. 

“Ms. Goodfellow, I will need you to continue keeping an eye on Grim,” he said. “Clearly, he isn’t used to living in human society, so you’ll be in charge of keeping him out of trouble.”

“Sure, sure,” she sighed. Ace snickered.

“Your first day and you’re already a prefect,” he said. 

“Well, there is only two of you in the dorm,” Deuce added. 

“Yeah, if you don’t include the ghosts.”

“The huh!?”

Titania ran her fingers through Grim’s fur. “I’ll do my best.”

“I’d also like to entrust you with this.” Crowley reached into his desk drawer and withdrew some kind of box with a strap attached to it. She tilted her head. “Ah, do you know what a camera is?” 

She shook her head and he explained the basic functions to her (it’s like a painting but instant!) then added, “This particular camera is known as a ghost camera.”

“Oh, wow,” Ace whistled. “That’s a pretty old magic tool.”

“It allows for the pictures taken to retain a part of the memory of the subject and the taker,” Crowley explained. “The closer the two are, the stronger the memories are and the photos might be able to come to life. I would like you to take pictures of your time here at the academy, of Grim and the other students.” Titania took the camera and placed it around her neck. Grim hummed. “Make sure you take lots of cool pictures of me.”

“If you have any more questions, you can reach out to me,” Crowley said. “Now, you all should return to your dorms. It’s gotten quite late.” 

Titania thanked Crowley and the four of them left his office before letting out a collective group sigh. 

“We really did it…” Deuce said. “I’m exhausted.”

Ace yawned then faced Titania with a smile. “Guess we’re classmates starting tomorrow.”

“Should I introduce myself now or something?” she asked and he rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t think that’s necessary, considering you broke my nose this morning.”

“Let it go, Ace.”

“I’m going to take the top spot and leave you all behind!” Grim declared but they mostly ignored him. 

“Oh!” Deuce’s eyes lit up suddenly. “We should take a picture together with the ghost camera. You know, to celebrate the first day of classes.”

“And surviving a monster attack,” Ace added. 

“Um,” Titania lifted the camera, “how do I do that?”

“Press the button here to take a picture,” Ace explained. “Though, we should set a timer, so you can be in it, too.”

“Here, I can do it,” Deuce offered. He placed the camera on a table across the hallway then quickly rejoined the group. He and Ace stood on either side of Titania and she held Grim up in her arms. “Smile, guys!” 

The camera emitted a flash and once it died down, Deuce retrieved the camera from the table. “It came out good,” he said, then passed it to Titania. 

“You look tense, prefect,” Ace teased. 

She pouted. “This was my first time ever taking a picture,” she said.

“What is your home like, anyways, if it doesn’t have cameras?” Deuce asked, but she only shrugged and kept her mouth shut. 

“We should take lots of them, then,” Ace said. “That way you can do your job for the Headmage properly.”

Deuce yawned. “We can talk more tomorrow, but let’s head back to the dorm for now.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe I’m stuck in the same dorm as Loosey-Deucey,” Ace groaned. 

“That’s my line, you troublemaking Ace,” Deuce shot back. Ace stuck out his tongue. 

“Whatever almost-expelled-crybaby Deuce.” Ace waved to Titania as the two walked away together. “See you tomorrow.”

Once she was certain they were out of ear shot, she said, “Those two seem like they’re made for each other.”

“Those two seem like they’re made for each other,” Grim said at the exact same time. They locked eyes for a moment before bursting into a fit of giggles together. 

“Let’s head back, too, okay?” she said and Grim snuggled into her arms. 

“Our shiny new life at Night Raven Academy begins tomorrow!”

Candy by Robbie Williams

[sofiiel]

Dial Tone Ch.6 | Untitled

Chapter Theme | Previous | Masterlist | Next

"Harvey?" You called entering Thatcher's, "Oh hey, you found her." He called to Mick and Axel. "Just in time, too." Mick hummed.

Walking up to Harvey, you looked up at him with an urgent gaze, "I need to borrow one of the clunkers." You said quickly. Harvey arched a brow, "this about Eddie?" He asked. You shrugged your shoulders and smiled faintly, stating, "is it ever about anyone else?"

Harvey tilts his head to a small rusty sedan, "take that one, owner skipped town on me. It runs, just... you know, don't need it to go fast." he said.

"We just need transportation." said Axel.

"What's happened?" Harvey asked you in a whisper, so that his other workers could not snoop. "Jason Carver is on a mission. He nearly crushed Gareth's hand." You told him.

"Kid has his mother's temper." Harvey sighed, "dated her a year, pretty girl, crazy as a loon when she was pissed." He said. "Yeah, madness runs in my family too, if he keeps pushing, Jason will find out just how much." You murmured.

The sedan started up behind you, "eh, it's not bad for a rust bucket." Axel said from his place behind the wheel. "You ok with getting in a car with these people?" Harvey whispered to you. Glancing over your shoulder, you watch as Mick took the back seat.

"I don't have any other choice, they can hold their own, and I need all the help I can get." You tell Harvey. He gave a nod as one of his employee's called out for him for the fourth time. "I'm coming, keep your drawers on!" He shouted back.

Exhaling, you turn and head for the sedan. "You got any idea where to start looking?" Mick asked you. "I feel like I've looked everywhere as it is. But that's just been where I expect him to be." You explain.

"Well that's stupid. Nobody hides where you expect them too." said Axel.

"I was hoping he'd be waiting for me somewhere he'd know I'd find him." You confess, "thinking back, yeah it was a bit stupid." you said, getting into the passenger seat.

"Did you get any leads on Jane?" You asked, trying to fill the silence as Axel steered the sedan up the quiet streets. "Not yet," he said. "Funnily enough, We can't find this Dustin Henderson anywhere."

"Y-you can't?" you stammer, "I just talked to him yesterday?" Squinting, you search your thoughts, "or...was that the day before yesterday?" You whisper. "The brat's losing it already, you can't remember?" Axel asked.

"Forgive me if my mind is a little scrambled." You snapped. "He always like this?" You turn to ask Mick. "It's kind of his default most days. It's cool, it means he likes you." Mick laughed.

"The hell it does. I'm nice when I like you." Axel grumbled.

"Mmmhm, like running away bullies?" Mick asked him.

"Shut up." Axel shot. "Where are we headed?" He asked.

"I guess... maybe we can check the Star Court ruins?" You suggest. "They've been slow with demolition. It's not the safest place to hide for your own health but, no one would look there, that's for sure." You explain.

"You're going in alone, I'm not going to be flattened for this guy." Axel warned. "I'm used to doing things on my own at this point." You said. "We're going in, Axe." Mick said. "Says you." He said.

You frown, "I hope the Mini is ok. Hopefully he didn't get snatched up too, following Eddie's tracks." You find yourself thinking. The anxiety that had waned with Mick and Axel's banter, started to boil once more.

"These two don't know the town well, maybe they just didn't look around well enough." You tell yourself. You side glance, "Then again, maybe Dustin is simply avoiding Jason, maybe Lucas warned him." Yourmind wouldn't stop going.

At the Star Court ruins, you look up at the half demolished building, they'd taken down the most unsound section that the fire engulfed. You'd heard the stories, they were vague, as most tragedies in Hawkins seemed to be. You knew the city lost it's police chief and lifted his name like a hero.

"In this town, the only way you become worth their time is if you die." You murmured as you stepped inside with cautious feet. "Will Byers, Benny, Barb, Heather, Billy, that shit ton of people who died in this fire." You think, peering around.

The building gave off deep muted groans and the sound of shifting rubble was unsettling. "Eddie?" you called out to him, "if he even heard that." you sighed, but shouting wasn't the best idea. "You'll bring the whole place down."

A car that was once a real showstopper lay tossed and crumbled on it's side. You could remember gawking at it the few times you and Eddie visited the mall to wreak havoc upon the mall betties. "Was that because of the fire or the demolition?" You asked.

"Do you always talk to yourself?" Mick asked you.

You'd completely forgotten she was there. "Only when I'm stressed, and then, much more than anyone should." You sighed.

"Eddie? " You called out again.

"Eddie? It's me, it's Y/n! If you're in here, you can come out. It's safe," as you spoke dust sprinkled from the second level and onto your shoes, "well, safe-ish."

"I don't think he's in here. Nobody would want to linger in this dump. I don't know him, but I'd expect he'd be running for a chance not to have to hide here." Mick reasoned.

"Eddie doesn't always think clearly when he's scared." You said in a sigh, "Once, we thought a robber broke into my dad's house one Halloween. He'd asked to have a horror movie marathon, and well. He thought the robber was hiding from us." You chuckled quietly, "Eddie stuck the pizzas in the oven and burned them, whole place filled with smoke, "smoke him out!" he said, great idea that was. Smoked us out too, I got in so much trouble. The smell of burned pizza was stuck in everything permanently." You said.

Mick shook her head, "and, was there a robber?" She asked. "Yep," you said words soft and fond, "A mouse."

"Dude really is a dumbass, isn't he?" Axel's voice chimed.

Both you and Mick turn to look over your shoulders, but only you were glaring. "I thought you said you weren't coming in?" she asked him. "Shut up, dorsal head." You snapped.

"I got bored, and that sedan smells like seven months of spilled booze and french fry grease." Axel complained. "Maybe that's just you?" You asked, "because I didn't smell any of that in that car, it smells like rust and leaked oil."

More of the rubble shifted and a baseball size chunk of glass crashed from the ceiling, landing between the three of you.

"Time to leave?" Mick asked.

"Yep, sounds good, he's not here." You say quickly.

"Where to now?" Axel asked, "Let try and find Dustin. Make sure he's ok." You said. Though you didn't know that would be a task easier said than done.

You'd been all over town, "come on Henderson, you are not this sneaky." You breathe, the sun was setting quickly, Mick and Axel were clearly running out of motivation.

"My feet are killing me." Axel complained as he trailed behind you and Mick in the woods. "Why'd the kid be out here anyway?" He asked.

"Looking for Eddie, probably. This chunk of woods we haven't checked yet, and -"

"I see a light." Mick said.

You fall silent and followed Micks finger as she pointed through the ever darkening trees. A flashlight blazed in the distance. "Do you think it's either of them?" Axel asked. "Could be, though, I don't think Eddie would be shinning a light about." You murmured.

"You're the one who said he gets a little ditsy when he's scared." Axel reminded you. "Not that bad," You sighed, "The guy smoked out your house over a mouse." Axel said flatly. "Because he thought it was a robber. He was concerned for our safety - shut up, I'm the only one who can make fun of him." You grumbled.

"And the guys, and Wayne, the only ones" you repeated.

"So odds that it's this Dustin?" Mick asked, ignoring the mildly bickering pair. "There's an even enough chance." You replied.

The three of you press on through the trees to find a small cabin. "This old thing looks like it's been abandoned for years." Mick muttered. "Sounds like a good enough place to hide, maybe you actually stumbled upon something useful, Brat." Axel said to you.

"How long are you going to keep calling me that to my face?" You sighed.

Motion could be heard behind the cabin, "Where's Lucas?" Patrick's voice questioned. You froze in place, whispering "shit."

"What is it?" Mick questions quietly.

"Sherlock is probably looking for more clues." Andy snickered.

"Can you two focus? Find the freak." Jason ordered.

"ooooh, the pretty little douchebag." Axel sang. "This little parasite is everywhere, isn't he?" Axel asked. "He has a reason, devil's advocate, but... I'd be on a rampage too if I was in his shoes. Not like this, though." you whisper.

"We should get out of here, neither Eddie or Dustin would be out here if they heard Carver and his goons." You said.

"I need to get back home anyway. Check on Wayne, and see if maybe one of them tried to reach me." you sigh.

"So you are in contact with him?" Jason asked. Your body cringed at the sound of his voice as he and his team walked around to the front of the cabin. Mick and Axel were quick to get defensive.

"We going to have a problem?" Mick asked evenly. Jason sized her up and scoffed. "That depends," He said. "Really, the tough act won't work here." Axel said. A smooth smile slipped across Jason's face as he rose his hands into the air, "maybe we can help each other." he said, steadily inching closer.

"Look," Jason pressed his fingers against his chest, "I'm just using tough love to loosen some tongues." He said. "You hurt Gareth," You shot. "I got a little...overzealous. You understand right? Look, we really just want to talk to the freak. Ask him some questions." Jason said.

"Yeah, like why the hell he was with Jason's girl in the first place." Andy muttered. Jason's jaw clenched.

"Easy. Chrissy asked me to set up a deal between her and Eddie after breaking down in the bathroom. So I said yes because she looked like she needed it. That's why." you answered.

"Eddie's a dealer, but honestly he cares about his customers."

"Chrissy isn't a druggie." Jason strained through clenched teeth. You tilt your head, "you don't have to be one to try it. Word of mouth makes things sound real good. Stress, self-doubt, pressure, expectations, burdens, they mess you up. Nobody is immune to the need to have a moment where you don't feel any of it." You said.

"That's why I'm here for her. That's my job, Chrissy would have come to me!" Jason shouted, his voice echoing through the trees.

Your breath gets caught, and for a moment, your heart aches for him. "I've been telling myself the same thing. We don't get to know why they don't come to us. We only get to accept and deal with the fact it didn't happen. You fuck up, and you don't always get to fix it. But what you don't do, is become something they'd hate." You said, glancing at Mick and Axel.

"Chrissy trusted Eddie. Obviously right? I mean, unless you think she's stupid enough to get into the car with a guy who she's afraid of?"

"Maybe he made her, forced her to go with him." Jason said.

"Are we talking about the same metalhead? Eddie's loud, he likes to shock people sporadically. But regardless of what he'd admit to, he's the nerd in the background just trying to be seen. And Chrissy is queen of Hawkins high, you got to have spine for that role." You were struggling to stay civil with your tone as you spoke.

Axel gave a bored sigh, "Can I just knock him out, put him to sleep. We need to report back to Kali." he said. "It's not off the table." You muttered.

"You know what I think?" Jason asked, closing in on you. You tried to hold his gaze as he stood nearly nose to nose with you.

"I think you're hiding him. I think you're playing the whole town with the devastated girlfriend/boyfriend routine. I think you, and all the other freaks, know exactly where Eddie is. I think you're trailing us, to throw us off," Jason's voice turned into a low growl, "and I think you're all in on what happened to Chrissy, with that sick cult. I think you never left it, I think you're lying." He whispered.

"I think you've lost your mind" You speak calmly.

Jason flashed a scornful smile, "I hope when the police find him, that they dust off the chair and fry him. I hope you get to watch, so you know this feels." Jason whispered, seethed through cracked words.

Dragging the mucus up your throat, you spat a glob out at Jason's face. "Screw you Carver, you hateful son of a bitch!" You shout, lunging forward. Axel was quick to take your arm. "No, not worth it." He said quickly as Jason backed away with a chuckle.

"See?" Jason called back to his team.

"She/he had murder in her/his eyes! It doesn't take much. Loyal dog to the Leader!" Jason called out.

"You're insane, Carver, go get help!" You shout, allowing Axel to pull you away. "Come on, let's go, any more run-ins like this, and you'll be in hiding too." Mick said.

Sitting alone in your room, you hold your phone in your lap. There weren't any messages, and you'd been staring at it for the past hour, trying to will it to ring. "I should try calling, I don't know how he'd pull it off, but home would be the last place anyone expected him to be." You try to justify the aching need to call.

"Or I could leave a message, just in case if he isn't there, one day he might return. Remind him he can come to me." You pick up the receiver and hold it to your ear as you dial.

"Or maybe you just want to hear his voice anyway you can." your mind whispered.

"Yeah, I'm not here, you know what to do."

*BEEP*

You exhaled, your hopes weren't too high. But the lazily spoken voicemail prompt hit your ears like a salve against your soul. "Eddie? If you get this, I'm looking for you, I am on your side, and I'm here, always. I know we weren't talking, but. I just need to know you're ok. It's the end of day two and my nerves are shot. We might not be a thing anymore, but you still matter to me, you little-" you sigh "just...let me know, a sign or, or something. Bye, I guess..." You murmured, hanging up.

Looking to the doorway of your room, you find Wayne leaning against it, in his hands two trays of TV Dinners. "Chicken fried steak and the twilight zone?" He asked.

You look up at Wayne timidly, "Isn't that you and Eddie's thing?" You asked. "Yeah, but you're family, you can be his substitute for now." Wayne offered. You managed a smile, "sounds good." you said.

Wayne manage to coax a few laughs out of you while watching the twilight zone, sing "how dry I am" with the character in the storyline.

But when the time for sleep came around, the silence left you sick. The person you'd call to feel better was the cause and unreachable. "It's karma at it worst." You thought, biting your lip. The cord to your phone was stretched to sit on your bedside table.

You lay there watching it, reaching out, you pick it up and dial, one.

"Yeah, I'm not here, you know what to do."

You sigh at the sound of his voice, the tears well again. At the beep, you dial again, each time your finger hits the speed dial faster. You draw your teeth from your lip, breath shaking as the water rolling down the side of your cheeks.

Rolling over onto your back your eyes camp shut, the fear bubbles over, and it shakes your body, you stuff your wrist in your mouth to silence your sobs, muffled cries taken in by the recorder of the phone. At the 6th beep, it dawns on you, and you quickly hang up. Pawing the tears away from your face.

You hold your stomach as it feel sick and try to calm yourself once more.

"She/he did what?" Robin asked with an amused smile, "Yeah, Y/n's a bit..." Dustin lulled, "Protective." Lucas said. "They're like that with each other, Eddie wouldn't hurt a fly but-"

"Beg to differ," Steve muttered, "not gonna let that go huh?" Max asked. "Could have been my neck." Steve said.

"That and I've seen him swat a fly in gym class." Steve added.

"You know what I mean!" Dustin shouted in frustration, "But he kicked Theo Garcia in the nuts first semester, Theo was high and was flirting a little too aggressively." Dustin said.

"Oh, I remember people talking that! He like felt up their butt or something. I heard it was bad for Theo." Robin said.

"Yeah, his sister said he was walking funny for three days, Didn't know that was Y/n and Eddie." Steve said as he lowered his lamp.

"Jason and the team are going berserk. It's pretty bad." Lucas said.

"Y/n's on a mission herself, things could get hairy if they clash again." Dustin said. "We've heard stories, Eddie brags about each one. But, sometimes I don't think he sees it, Y/n's...."

"a little mental? Yeah, you should have heard Her/His mouth towards Nance when Barb went missing. Blamed her bad, Nancy was in tears for days." Steve muttered.

"Eventually she/he said sorry but, was a little wild." Steve said. "Nancy said Barb told her Y/n suffers from messed up shit her/his parents did or...suffered from or something." Steve said.

"Eh, Eddie called it abandonment issues." Dustin shrugged. "Either way, we need to fix things because the whole town goes crazy, and It gets to Max."

"Before what gets to Max?" Lucas asked cautiously.

Morning turned quickly, you don't remember when you got dressed or putting on your clothes, but you did it. With a vague memory of the breakfast Wayne left you in the microwave, you don't remember tasting it or smelling it.

You exit the library with two packs of printing paper worth of flyers Wayne helped you make. Tucking the heavy stack into a messenger bag, you exit the library with one in your hands.

"It's a good picture." You think to yourself as you absently head for your bike.

"Hey, long time, what are you doing?" A voice called you'd not heard since freshman year. Turning around from the bulletin board in the park, your eyes fall on an odd pair relaxing in the shade of a tree.

"Oh," You exhaled, eyeing the boy with short hair dyed a dirty vivid blonde, and a face full of makeup. "Huh, good use of blush, Pj." You murmur. Pj and Samantha glanced at each other and then back to you.

"What's that?" Asked Samantha, pointing to the flyer you'd stuck to the bulletin. "Ah, you know..." You murmured, "It's all over the news that Cunningham was killed at Eddie's house." said Pj. "Nobodies said anything about him, though." said Samantha.

Your breath comes out shakier than you'd hope for as you mumbled, "Because no one can find him." as you pass the pair a flyer. "It's been three days. No one's heard from him. No one's seen him. He hasn't even called Wayne." You explained.

"He didn't call is uncle?" Pj questioned with hints of worry.

You shake your head. "Well, that's stupid, someone could have him somewhere, or he could be-" Samantha swallowed her words as she watched your eyes become distraught.

"Sorry," Samantha whispered.

"Here, give us a few, we'll help you post 'em." Pj offered, holding out his hand. You glance between them, "Look, I know things soured after..." Pj sighed giving his head a shake, "Nevermind, but we're still your friends, I'm still your friend and I wouldn't be who I am if I didn't have Freak the first to tear down some walls so...give me some flyers." Pj said.

With a small smile and battling the urge to cry again, you pass Pj a stack of flyers. "strangelings need to stick together, right?" Samantha asked, taking half of the stack from Pj.

"Thank you." You said, "both of you."

"Yeah," said Samantha. With a bow of your head, you adjust your bag on your shoulder and hop back onto your bike. "You know we'll be here, right? If you every just....need somebody?" Pj asked.

"Thanks, but I'm sure I need the clarity." You call to him. Pj frowned, "I wasn't talking about the stuff, Y/n." He muttered. "Yeah, Pj's a year clean now." Samantha said with pride. You manage a small smile, "I'm sorry, that's great. Well done." You said.

Pj smirked, "yeah, so, you can call us." He offered again. You manage a nod and ride away.

Eddie chuckled to himself as he exited the bathroom of Reefer Rick's home, "You might be loosing it, when a whiff of soap gives you a feel good boost." He muttered to himself. "Y/n and you're Yardley must have." He thought, shaking his head.

"But it smells like her/him, so it smells like," Eddie's thoughts exhaled into a sigh, "safety." he muttered. Eddie glanced around, "what did I do with the knockoff of wannabe Michigan J Frog." He muttered.

"You should just have Dustin send her/him a note or something." Eddie thought to himself, "or you could send her/him a note," his mind went on. "Buuut that's probably a bad idea. No matter what you tell Y/n they'll still rush into bullshit nose first." Eddie thought.

Eddie flopped down on the small sofa in the messy living room, leaning his head back to watch the ceiling. "I just want to hear your voice, make that silly little laugh come out, and I'm good for days." Eddie muttered.

To remove his thoughts from the surrounding chaos, his mind had taken on the hobby of replying the break-up, and every time Eddie went over things in his head, he found the whole thing ridiculous. "We're both kind of stupid, aren't we?" He asked, cracking a derisive smile.

Eddie looked down towards the windows, where the blinds and curtains were pulled shut. "When all this is over with, we can fix this." a tiny smirk lingered briefly on his lips, "after all, if you're crying your pretty eyes out for me, you never wanted an end to us anyway." He whispered.

Eddie groaned, "too bad it only took us months to defeat Vecna the first time. Let's hope for many crit rolls this time around."

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[mad4turtles]

Nothing Haunts Us (like the things we don’t say)

Part 2/3

(part 1 here)

---

Donnie stares at the spot Leo had been with haunted eyes. His face is paler than April has seen since the invasion, the hand he'd stretched out for his brother shaking as it hangs in the empty space. April stares, too, cradling her throbbing hand to her chest.

Mikey lets out a choked sob.

Then Donnie jolts, scrambling to his feet and running from the room. Raph and Splinter follow him at a run before the door to Donnie's bedroom slams in their faces, several bolts jamming into place—there must be a rule about that, surely. No matter how many times they knock and plead, the door remains shut, unmovable.

Casey helps an inconsolable Mikey to the living room, holding him close as he cries into his shirt. April sits nearby with her face in her hands. It's cowardly—she should be helping Casey calm Mikey down or helping Splinter and Raph get through to Donnie before he hurts himself.

She brings her hand up to her face. There's a speck of blood on her palm.

Haven't I done enough?

“He—he hates us!” Mikey sobs. “He hates us, he hates himself—!”

“He doesn't hate us, Mikey,” Casey soothes, his cheek pressing against Mikey's head. It's such a 'Leo' mannerism that it's probably doing more harm than good, but Casey learned this from somewhere, and April is glad it was Leo. An older, somewhat wiser (if not scarred and jaded) version of her little brother. “He was just upset. You said it yourself; we say a lot of nasty things when we're upset and scared—”

“But it's the truth!” Mikey cries, hiccuping over every other word as his tears soak Casey's t-shirt. “We're—the truth spell, he—he said all those things and he meant it! Donnie—he doesn't think they're twins, and Leo—Leo thinks he'd be better off dead—!”

April brings her knees to her chest to hide her tears. Leo did say that, didn't he? And April had slapped him for it.

Truths can hurt. But it hurts more when you know it's the truth. What the boys had screamed at each other in that moment of frustration was more than a petty spat. It was worse, and they'd hurled those truths at each other like weapons, drove them in with fists—and it was April who'd dealt the final blow.

God. This—it can't be the truth. They don't always get along, because what sibling does? But these boys adore each other. She sees it every day. Their love for their father and clan brought a creature of death and destruction to its knees. Their love for each other had exiled aliens into nothingness. Their love for Leo brought him back through a tear in reality. So why, how, on earth could—?

Wait.

We say a lot of nasty things when we're upset and scared.

April lifts her head from her knees.

The truth. Truth spells compel you to tell the truth. The truth can be anything, at any time. And if the world of media, fake news and politics she's grown up with have taught her anything, the truth can be whatever you need it to be, whatever you feel it is at the time...

And many mystic spells, she's found, are heavily focused on feelings.

Feelings. Not facts. 

Oh, April thinks, realizes. This spell is a bitch.

April leaps to her feet, nearly face-planting on the floor, making Mikey and Casey jump and gawp at her. She rushes past them, pushes past Raph and Splinter and bangs her fist on Donnie's door. “What's the ninety-ninth digit of pi?!”

She feels Raph and Splinter stare at her. She ignores them and burns holes into Donnie's door.

A switch flips, something else clicks, and the door slides open two inches to reveal half of Donnie's red-eyed, tear-stained face. “... what?” he mutters, voice scratchy and wrecked from crying.

Her heart aches to hear it, but April lifts her chin and repeats, “what's the ninety-ninth digit of pi?”

“Seven,” he replies immediately. “But you already knew that, so—”

“How much would a teaspoon of neutron star weigh?”

Donnie blinks, opening the door all the way. “Six billion tons. Is this for a project, or are you just—?”

“What's Pythagoras' theorem?”

Donnie frowns. “The square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides in a right-angled triangle. Basic maths, of which we both already know, so I don't see why you're—” 

“What are the elements seventy-eight through eighty-six on the periodic table called?”

 Donnie rolls his eyes. “Platinum, Gold, Mercury, Thallium, Lead, Bismuth, Polonium, Astatine and Radon. Seriously, April, is there a point to—?”

“Why aren't you and Leo biological twins?”

“Because we're two different species of turtles!” Donnie throws his hands up. “He's a red-eared slider and I'm a spiny soft-shelled turtle! We're the same age—I'm older by two days, just saying—and thanks to Draxum's experiments and Dad's DNA, we are actually related by blood, which would make us half-siblings—”

“And does that fact matter to you? Does that make you any less a family?”

“Of course it doesn't matter! Leo's my brother, and I adore him, I couldn't ask for anyone else to call my twin even if he's an asshole and a pain and his jokes sometimes suck and he's an actual creature of darkness! Of course facts don't matter because Splinter said a long time ago that family is whatever you want to be and what I want is—!” 

Donnie's jaw snaps shut. He stares into nothing for a heartbeat.

April grins. “That's right, Dee,” she says softly, stepping closer. Emboldened when Donnie faces her and doesn't immediately shuffle away, April holds her hand out, palm up. “Those things you said to Leo... they hurt, no question, and there was some truth in 'em. But feelings aren't facts. And feelings can change.”  

Donnie looks down at her hand. He reaches back, and she twines their fingers together and squeezes. 

“You said some nasty things to each other a few minutes ago. And at that moment they were true. But what are you feeling right now?”

A tear slips down Donnie's cheek. His chin wobbles as he squeezes April's smaller hard enough that it almost hurts. Then he grins back with a laugh that hitches like a sob, bringing their joined hands to his cheek. “You... you're kind of a genius, April,” he says. 

April's smile wobbles. “Hell yeah I am.”

“And truth spells suck.”

“Hell yeah they do.” April reaches to wipe a tear off his cheek with her free hand. “But we've solved the puzzle. So what're you gonna do now, smart guy?”

Dropping her hand, Donnie takes a deep breath, lifts his head and pounds a fist against his plastron like a warrior off to battle. “I'm going to find my dum-dum twin brother and tell him that I'm sorry and I love him.” 

April could cheer, cry, or both. She settles for grinning like a loon. “Hell yeah, D!”

“And it will be the most heartfelt, icky-gooey emotional thing I will ever do for the rest of my life because I am sick of these mother-hecking feelings in this mother-hecking lair!” 

“Hell yeah!”

“Seconded,” Raph says, and April jumps. She'd forgotten he was there. The snapper's eyes are damp but bright with all the determination and love she adores him for. “And you can count Raph in on the search. The Mad Dogz stick together, truth spell or not.”

“Count me in!” 

“Me, too.”

They turn to see Mikey and Casey, arms draped over each other's shoulders. Mikey's mask is still damp, but his smile burns like the mystic flames he wields with fervour. “April said at the start that we'd ride this out, push through like we always do. So... so let's stop moping around and do that.”

Raph grins at their little brother. “Right. We'll find Leo and beat this stupid freakin' spell the same way we beat everything else that comes our way.”

“With wanton destruction, mindless shenanigans and an obligatory turtle pile under a Genius Built blanket fort, Mikey's Lair famous hot chocolate and Dad's hugs?” Donnie chimes with a grin that's only half-manic.

“Bet!” Raph cries. April whoops, and Casey and Mikey echo her, pumping their fists in the air.

“Extra on the hugging part,” Splinter adds, whiskers twitching above his smile wrapped in wry warmth. “Daddy has plenty to go around tonight! But first, bring your brother home. Heavens knows where he might be.”

Donnie snaps his fingers. “That, I can handle.” He pulls up his holographic screen and starts scrolling. “Based on data I've collected over countless spats between myself and Nardo, plus arguments between him and Raph over the last two years due to the completely out-of-nowhere decision Pops made in essentially demoting Raph and announcing Leo as the leader, which lead to a butt-load of tension in and out of the lair that only recently got resolved but only after the—”

“Donnie,” Raph warns.

“Sorry, sorry. That was both a truth and a fact, compelled to make it. Anyways! Based on that data, I can break potential LBSs—that's 'Leo Brooding Spots'—down to about five places, all of which I have listed riiiiiight—here.” 

He expands the screen so they can all read the surprisingly short list.

Run Of The Mill Pizza is a given. The playground where they usually play basketball is also not a bad choice, though it's a bit open. Big Mama's penthouse... well, the spider yokai isn't quite an ally and not one of Leo's favourite people, but she's become more of a crazy aunt to them these days than a genuine villain. Draxum's place is a surprise, though—

“Old Lair?” Casey reads the last option aloud. “Is that where you used to live—?”

“Before Shredder ripped it to pieces, yeah,” Donnie replies, swiping the screen away. “I found Nardo there once or twice after a fight. He'd sit in what used to be the rec room and stare at all the old graffiti and stuff, probably remembering all the good times we had before—ugh, freaking spell!”

“Alright,” Raph claps his hands, bringing the teams' attention back to him. “We got five places, so we'll have to split up. Sensei, you stay here in case Leo comes back, and I'll head to the old Lair. Mikey, you go to Drax, and if Leo ain't there, ask goat man to keep an eye out. April, you check the park. Donnie, you check Big Mama's penthouse, and for the love of God, do not pick a fight with the woman.”

“I am compelled to say that I will try, but I cannot make any promises.”

“Good enough for me. Casey, you check with Hueso at Run Of The Mill, though I'm pretty sure Leo will be there. He and Hueso are pretty tight these days.”

Casey salutes. “Yessir! But if I could make a suggestion? Has anyone tried calling Leo?”

“Tried, failed,” Donnie says. “Leo left his phone here. And even if he didn't, it's not like he'd answer.”

“Oh. True enough.”

“Alright, guys,” Raph rolls his shoulders back, and April has to marvel for a beat. It's been a while since Raph's had to truly step up as the leader, and it's good to see. “Let's find our brother and fix this mess!”

They hurry out of the Lair, Splinter wishing them good luck as they book it through the tunnels. Hope blooming in her heart, April knows they'll be back in no time.

~0o0~

Leo isn't at the ballpark. April isn't surprised as the sun is only just setting.

He's not in the old Lair. Raph damn near tears the place apart twice over digging through the debris, but he finds nothing. April's not worried.

He's not with Big Mama. Donnie stays long enough for a cup of tea and a cookie to calm his nerves, flying off after calling the spider yokai a bitch on impulse. According to Donnie, she'd laughed so hard she fell off her chair. Again, April's not worried.

He's not at Draxum's. Their stepfather joins the search and hops across rooftops with Mikey for a short while, but even then, Leo's nowhere in the area. Concern steeps in April's chest, but she holds onto hope. There's still one place left.

Then Casey calls. “He's not here. Hueso hasn't seen him since our pizza run last week.”

Now April is worried.

They regroup at the park, empty-handed and heavy-hearted. 

Donnie mutters under his breath, pacing back and forth and typing frantically into his wrist tech brace, Raph sits on the bench, wringing his hands, and Mikey perches on top of the slide, hugging his knees. Casey has his arms folded as he rocks back and forth on the seahorse spring rocker. April would laugh if the situation wasn't so dire.

Because if Leo hadn't even gone to Hueso's, it really is dire.

“Where else could he possibly be?” she asks the group. “He ain't at my place for sure, and we've looked everywhere we know he'd go—”

“Which can only mean Leo has subverted all of our expectations and has gone somewhere he knows we won't know he knows where to go when he's upset,” Donnie sighs. “Curse my poor foresight! I should have known he'd try to play us like the cheap kazoos we are!”

“The more you look at it, we never gave Leo that much credit,” Mikey mutters into his arms, but his voice carries across the little park. “He acts a fool a whole lot, but when it comes down to it, he's prolly the smartest next to Donnie. He knew we'd come lookin' eventually, so he's running rings 'round our shells.”

There's a bit of comfort in that, April thinks. Leo knows they're looking for him. That means he knows they care, right? 

So why is he trying so hard to stay lost? Where are you, little blue?

“I'm just wonderin' why ya haven't whipped out your tracking device locator or whatever the heck you call it, Donnie,” Raph says. Everyone stops to look at him. Even Casey stops rocking. Raph stares back. “What? Like we all ain't pretending we don't know Donnie chipped us?”

April certainly wasn't aware of this, but it's Donnie, so she's not as mad as she should be. As long as it's nowhere on her, Donnie gets to live.

“Oh no, Raph is one hundred per cent correct, I totally chipped you all,” Donnie says, “and for one, screw you for making me admit that even though you all clearly knew already, and for two, I did try that on my way out of Big Mama's place, but it came up 'Deactivated' on my holographic. I must have punched it off of him during our tussle.”

“Ow, dude,” Mikey hisses. “How'd you even do that?”

“Because I put the tracker in—”

“Donnie,” Raph says, holding up a hand. “There are some things we're probably better off not knowing. That is one of them.”

“... point taken. I shall refrain.”

“Either way,” April says, eager to change the subject, “that only complicates things. Leo's not anywhere we'd know he'd go, and we don't know where else he'd hide or blow off steam.”

“And the longer we leave him under the influence of a truth spell and in an emotionally vulnerable state, the more danger he'll be in,” Donnie sighs, pinching the bridge of his beak. “Y'know, the saying is 'never a dull moment', but sometimes I really wish we could have just one? I see why father constantly complains about his blood pressure because mine is through the roof. Literally, I'm looking at my blood pressure right now, and it's pretty damn high, look at that thing go—”

“I'm sorry I can't be much help,” Casey slides off the spring rocker to the floor, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. “I could tell you all of my Leo's haunts and hiding places where he'd go to brood where I wouldn't see, but those places don't exist now.”

Raph looks tired beyond his years, but ever the big brother, he reaches for Casey's shoulder and squeezes, smiling. “It's alright, Junior. You're doing your best. That's more than enough. I'm sure if we put our heads together, we can think of—”

“HEADS!” 

Raph jumps half a foot in the air with a shriek that April echoes. Mikey falls off the slide into the wood chippings, and Casey chokes on his own spit. “Donnie!” Raph cries, a hand splayed over his heart. “Could you not—?!”

“Raph, you're a bloody genius!” Donnie whirls on his big brother with a smile that, under normal circumstances, would make April nervous. “What better way to find our dum-dum brother than to put our dum-dum heads together!”

Raph stares. “Donnie. I just said that.”

“No, no, not—ugh, I mean literally! Ninja Mind Melding!”

Raph blinks. “Oh.” He blinks again. “Oh. OH! Of course!” He pounds a fist in his palm, fully grinning as he jumps off the bench. “Ninja Mind Meld!”

April, however, is lost. “Ninja what-now?”

“Oh yeah!” Mikey flips to his feet in a spray of plastic wood. “That really cool and convenient technique you and Leo used literally in that one episode, and then we never brought it up again, though it's speculated we used it subconsciously while fighting Shreddy and again with Krang Prime but—” 

“Michel! There is a wall! Quit breaking it!”

“Wait, you mean that thing where y'all read each other's minds outta nowhere, eyes all glowy and everything?” April asks. “You're gonna try and read Leo's mind?”

“Oh, I remember! You guys used that technique on the field during rescue raids!” Casey chimes, balling his fists and all but vibrating where he's sitting. It's been a while since she's seen this fanboy side of him. “In my time, whenever you Mind Melded, you were unstoppable! I've always wanted to try it, but... well, we never actually got to finish my training.”

Raph reaches down and pulls Casey up in the air by the back of his shirt like a kitten. “Well, ain't no time like the present!” he says. Swaying in his grip, Casey beams.

“There may be mild interference depending on distance,” Donnie says, pulling April by the arm to sit with him as they form a circle in the middle of the playground. “But if the four of us combine our ninpo, plus Casey, we should be able to reach him.”

“And you're sure it'll work?” April asks. “I mean, I've never Mind Melded before...”

“Don't worry, sis. We'll guide you,” Raph says, flashing her a smile. “You'll be fine.”

Still feeling like a fool and someone straight out of Star Wars, April shrugs and links hands with Donnie and Mikey. But ridiculous as it feels, she hopes it works, and it's quick and painless. “Okay, then. Soooo, how's it work?”

“It's a whole thing, and I only got like half of it,” Mikey says, “but from what Dad explained, Ninja Mind Melding involves, as the name implies, opening your mind to allow others in to read your thoughts, kinda like uh—” 

“Telepathy,” Donnie says.

“Yeah, that! Super wicked!”

Oh. So it's like a door? And they'll be reading each other's minds, too? Fun.

“And are you sure any of you are in the position to let anyone inside your minds? Better yet, if Leo's conscious of us prodding his subconscious, what are the chances he'll even let us in?”

Donnie meets April's eyes. “He will,” he says.

April believes him. 

Taking a breath and squeezing Mikey and Donnie's hands, she shuts her eyes. “Here goes nothin', then.”

She can do this. Easy peasy. Just gonna let four, possibly five, people rummage through her brain real quick. It won't hurt a bit.

(God she hopes Leo lets them in.)

“Alright, y'all,” Raph says softly, barely above a whisper. “Focus. Deep, slow breaths. Think about Leo. Let him know we're here and we're lookin' for him. Let him know we miss him. We love him, and we want him home.”

April breathes in—

We're here, Leo. We're all here, we're all lookin' for you, baby.

—and out. In—

I'm sorry for what did. I never meant to hurt you. We never meant to hurt each other. You know we love you. We love you so much.

—and out. In—

Leo?

—and—

And then she hears it.

She. Hears. Everything.

—01001001 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110100 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110011 01101111 00100000 01101101 01110101 01100011 01101000—stupid stupid so STUPID why'd I have to go and run my mouth like that of COURSE I love him he's my stupid idiot twin no don't panic control you are in control April's hand Mikey's hand focus on them they're holding me oh wow can they hear me right now this is embarrassing—

—chill out Donnie, it's okay—oh wow this is WILD I can hear myself I can hear all y'all this is scary I don't think I like this this was cooler when Raph and Leo did it I miss Leo Leo LEO where are you I miss you can you hear this can you hear us April's hand is so warm MAMAAAAA OOOOOOOOOHHHHH, DIDN'T MEAN TO MAKE YOU CRYYYYYY—

—Leonardo, it's Raphael and the guys, we're all so worried about you little brother and we want you to come home, this spell is scary and unfair but we can work through it together just like always holy CRAP Mikey are you seriously singing right now? FOCUS! We gotta get through to Leo—!

—holy stinking crap I'm Mind Melding I'm freaking Mind Melding I wonder if my eyes are glowing like Dad's did—oh my god wait you can all hear my thoughts now SHIT that's embarrassing—no, no, focus Casey, FOCUS, gotta find Leo. Focus on Leo, he needs us—

—Nice one, Junior! Everyone, focus. Think about Leo. Let 'im hear us.

Gotcha, Raphie! Leo, it's us! Your brothers! We love you and we miss you!

Okay. Okay. I can do that. Leonardo Hamato, younger twin, my better half—oh COME ON truth spell!

How you holdin' up, April? Not too much is it?

…why are y'all so damn LOUD? I thought the inside of my own head was bad! Oooohhh this is trippy, I want off.

Sorry, April!

Yes, you get the full taste of my neurodivergent mind! Autism be upon ye!

Guys.

Sorry, Raph.

Apologies—wait, you feel that?

April feels it. A brush of a fifth presence against her ninpo, prodding curiously, hesitantly, foreign to her in this untethered space between reality and consciousness but familiar in every other way that matters.

She reaches out.

Leo?

But then—

—nonononono what are you doing get out get out why are you all here leave leave leave me alone I have to go WORK you stupid portals WORK I don't wanna go YES YOU DO you told Donnie yourself you said so many awful things you're not WANTED here this place is so gross ew ew ew why am I here what am I doing GO BACK NO I DON'T WANT TO—

Jesus, Leo, Leo what's wrong?!

Sensei, talk to us, we're here!

Leo, it's Raph, talk to me, little brother!

Leo...?

Leo, baby, where are you? Tell us and we'll come to get you!

…

Nardo...?

GET OUT.

She's thrown back into her body with a force that knocks her flat on her back, gasping.

Staring up at the stars as she fights for breath and her lunch, she vows to never Mind Meld again. That was awful. The flashes of colour, ringing silence and ear-splitting shrieks from some other-worldly thing (she knows what it is, and she hates it), images of the past and present from five different perspectives, a world on fire, an endless void of darkness and debris—

And Leo...

What was that?

She sits up at the same time a wide-eyed, breathless Casey does with arms that tremble beneath him. Raph is cradling his head between his hands, tears running down his cheeks. Mikey's shivering and hugging himself until April gathers him up, holding him to her chest. And Donnie—

Donnie stares at the ground. His eyes are wide, unseeing, but April can see the cogs turning—they're always turning, working at a speed she can never hope to match. She'd heard it, felt it, and it was exhilarating as it was overwhelming. He feels like that all the time?

“Donnie?”

He jolts. His head snaps up, and she knows before he even opens his mouth.“I know where he is.”

All heads whip around to stare at the soft shell. Raph sniffs hard and wipes his tears. “Where?”

Donnie's eyes shift, and they look haunted.

“He's at Staten Island.”

---

Reblogs are appreciated <3

Part 3 will be out soon :)

[sillylittleabyss]

The Tiny Zone: The First Trial

One night, on two worlds separated by the vastness of time and space, a man and a woman went to sleep in their beds and woke up somewhere else entirely. Neither of them would ever understand why they were chosen or how they got there, but the strangest things can happen... in the Tiny Zone.

Ethan tossed and grumbled in his sleep. He was having the weirdest dream, a dream of falling and flying and spinning all at once through a kaleidoscope of dizzying colours. His brow creasing, he reached for his blanket - but his hands closed over the empty air. In fact, he realised as he started to blearily regain consciousness, the cold hard surface underneath him didn't feel like his bed at all.

Suddenly aware that something was very wrong, Ethan's eyes shot open. With an intense sense of vertigo, he sat up and took in his new surroundings: he was still wearing the boxers he'd gone to sleep in, but his bedroom had been replaced in the night with a cold, alien chamber of cavernous proportions. Bare walls of sterile plastic stretched in every direction as far as the eye could see, a featureless white cube with a ceiling as tall as a skyscraper.

And he wasn't alone. Ethan's breath caught when he saw her: curled up in the corner, snoozing peacefully with her eyes shut tightly, was the biggest woman - scratch that, the biggest living thing period - that he'd ever seen. She was easily 30 feet tall. Hell, could she be 40? It didn't really matter, because either way he was approximately mouse-sized in comparison.

How is this even possible? Ethan thought frantically to himself. I must still be dreaming!

Ethan gasped as the monster in the corner began to move. Her eyes creaked open and she gave a huge sleepy yawn, stretching out those vast arms and rubbing at the mess of auburn hair that tumbled like vines around her face. He saw that she was wearing soft fuzzy garments covered in little bumblebees, and part of him wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his situation. Was he really about to be killed by a giant wearing bumblebee pyjamas?

The giantess suddenly gave a start, and Ethan froze as she started to look around the room nervously, her eyes open wide. When she finally spoke, her voice was like a wave of sound rumbling over him.

"H-hello?" Despite her terrifying size, her expression just looked lost and a little scared. "Where am I? Is anyone there?"

There was nowhere to hide in the little room, and it only took a moment before her eyes settled on Ethan. A look of profound confusion crossed her face, like she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Acutely aware of how measly his little voice sounded coming in the wake of her booming tones, Ethan spoke up.

"Please don't hurt me!" he called out as loud as he could across the vastness of the room. "I don't know how I got here either."

"You're so small!" said the enormous woman. "Why are you so small?"

"I..." That was a good question. Why was he so small? "I'm not small, you're the one who's big! You're enormous!"

"Hey, it's definitely not me! I'm a completely normal size, and I've been watching my weight lately too!"

The gargantuan woman scrambled to her feet as she spoke, and Ethan blanched as she rose to her full height. He'd known she was big, but seeing her tower above him like that... his head barely cleared the tops of her socks! As the giantess took a step towards him, sending shuddering vibrations through the plastic floor, Ethan cowered in fear.

"Woah... hey, little dude." She stopped. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm just... I have no idea what's going on!"

Cautiously, he lifted his hands from his head. "I don't... I don't know either," he said. "I just woke up and I was here."

She sighed, fiddling with her hair anxiously. "Okay. Well, I'm Riley. If we're going to be stuck here together, we should be on the same team, right?"

Ethan looked at her dubiously. The same team? She was like, a billion times his size! What could he possibly have to offer someone like her? But then again...

"I'm Ethan," he said. Being on Riley's team sounded a lot better than being her enemy, that was for sure. "Thanks for... not squishing me or something."

"Why on Earth would I do that?" Riley said with a quizzical chuckle. She started walking around the room, taking slow careful steps and keeping far from Ethan's corner. "Anyway, we must be here for some reason. There must be... oh. Do you see that?"

He followed her finger with his eyes. Yeah, there was something. The angle made it hard to see from the ground for someone as small as him, but it was...

"It's like, a box. Or a little tunnel or something, in the wall." said Riley, peering into it. "I think I can see something down there!"

She stuck her fingers into the hole, but frustration soon showed on her face. "Dammit," she said. "It's just... too fiddly. Twists and turns all over the place, I can't get my hand in."

Riley suddenly looked thoughtful, and she toyed idly with the buttons of her pyjamas as she turned to give Ethan an appraising look.

"Oh no," he said. "No way. That thing is like twenty stories up."

"Ethan," she said gently, starting to advance on him. "We're going to have to work together if want out of this place. Don't worry, I'll be holding onto you the whole time!"

"That's exactly what I'm worried about!" Ethan cried as she got nearer, taking a step back as she reached out with those huge scary fingers.

"Just... trust me! C'mere!"

Riley dropped to her knees and snatched at him. He tried to scramble between the legs of her pyjama pants, but her hand shot out just a little bit too fast to evade. Ethan paled as she snagged him and pulled him into the air, shuddering in terror as he felt her powerful fingers close tightly around his bare torso.

"Right!" said Riley, straightening and lifting him up to her face with a rush of momentum that made Ethan's head spin. "Now we can actually talk face to face. Wow, you are so small! It's kinda cute, actually!"

Ethan's heart hammered in his chest as Riley's huge brown eyes and lips loomed up in front of him. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a panicked gasp came out as he imagined all the various ways she could end his life right now. Squeezing him, dropping him, slipping him between those big soft lips...

"Okay, okay, calm down, dude!" Riley said. "I just wanted to look at you. This would have been way easier if you hadn't freaked out like that."

The wind rushed past his ears again as she swung him around, placing him gently in the entrance to the little plastic tunnel in the wall.

"See? Told you I'm not gonna hurt you. We're both in this thing together, little guy."

Ethan looked down from his new vantage point and immediately regretted it. Retreating into the safety of his little mousehole, he gave her an indignant look. "Please don't do that again." he said.

Riley made a face, but spread her hands in a placating gesture. "So," she said. "Can you see anything in there?"

"Yeah... there's like, a little switch. I think I can get to it..."

Climbing a little deeper in, Ethan found a small red lever - the first Ethan-sized thing he'd seen in this place, he thought - and he pulled on it until it swung down with a click. Almost immediately, a hissing sound started up from the far side of the room. What was previously a flat, featureless wall of white plastic suddenly sprouted a seam, which became a door that hissed open.

Riley beamed and clapped. "You did it, Ethan!" She peered through the newly revealed door, then bounced over to the bolthole and held out her hand, palm out flat, for him to climb onto. "As long as we work together, I bet we'll get out of here in no time!"

Ethan regarded the big, slightly sweaty palm of Riley's hand nervously, glancing up at her open, smiling face. The idea of willingly stepping into her grasp again sent a shiver down his spine - but she really did seem genuine about this whole "working together" thing. And she hadn't hurt him yet, had she?

"OK," he said, stepping out onto her hand. "Let's do this."

---

Read more of my writing on AO3!

[alloftheimaginesblog]

Trust Me {Steve Harrington}

Plot: Your brother, Steve Harrington, has been acting weird. You follow him and see him doing some pretty freaking weird stuff. You investigate.

Character: Steve Harrington x Sibling!Gender Neutral Reader

Requested by anon: Hope you like it!

Note: This takes place during S4 Volume 1, no major spoilers though.

"Why the hell are you out here, Steve?" You muttered to yourself as you made your way through the woods towards the lake. You were following Steve Harrington, your brother, and his friends. The last week, Steve had been acting super strange and had barely been home so you were following him to see what was going on.

You frowned as you squinted through the darkness to see Steve and his friends in a boat on the middle of the lake. What the hell? You were used to your brother hiding his new girlfriend of the week from you because you usually teased the hell out of him but what was he hiding now?

It was then that Steve stood on the boat, pulled his shirt and shoes off, and dove into the water. You gasped. Quickly, you hurried through the woods trying to see what was going on. You recognised the other people in the boat; Nancy, Robin and was that... Eddie Munson?! You'd heard what had happened to poor Chrissy and you'd heard the rumours that it was Eddie Munson who had killed her. Obviously, you didn't know what was the truth but why would Steve be hanging around with Eddie Munson, helping him evade police, especially at night time on the lake? Something was fishy about this whole situation.

It was as you cleared the trees you realised that Steve hadn't yet resurfaced and you could see in the dim moonlight Nancy standing up, preparing to jump overboard. Something was wrong. Nancy leapt in first and then Robin and then Eddie. As soon as you saw the three of them disappear under the surface of the black water, you wasted no time in kicking off your own shoes and wading quickly into the water. You were never a strong swimmer, that was Steve's strength, but you swam as though your life depended on it (well, Steve's life depended on it) and it wasn't long before you could see a reddish glow illuminating the bottom of the lake. As fast as you could, you pushed forwards looking at the red glowing almost flesh like tendrils that lay in the sand. You reached a hand out and pushed the middle thin fleshy bit, it tore open and almost immediately, fleshy vines stretched out, grabbed you and pulled you in.

"Holy shit!" You screamed, gasping for breath as you were lifted from the water and thrust onto hard stone, "What the fuck?!" Moments previous you'd been underwater at the bottom of the lake and now... now you were somewhere else, you had no idea where but all you knew was that it wasn't home. The sky was red and the ground was covered in the same weird fleshy vine things that had dragged you from the water, they moved like snakes. You didn't have much time to really process anything because you heard a yell from behind you. You turned to see Steve stomping on a weird bat looking creature.

"Steve?!" You shouted out, scrambling up and running over to the group. It was only when Steve stopped jumping on the bat thing that the group turned to you.

"(y/n)?!" Steve panted, hands clutching at his side, "What the hell are you doing here?!"

"You're asking me that?! What on earth are you doing out here?!" You hissed, "What the hell is this place?" Steve winced as he pulled his hands back and realised they were covered in blood, "Jesus, Steve, what happened?!"

"Steve," Nancy said quietly as she looked up to the sky to see the Demobats circling as they prepared to attack again, "they're coming back."

"Dude, we gotta go," Eddie said, tapping his foot impatiently, "like now."

Steve glanced anxiously upwards to the sky, "(y/n), I'm really sorry but we seriously don't have the time for this. You gotta come with us." It was the first time you'd really seen your brother look scared, "I promise I'll explain everything but right now, I can't." He shoved his hand out, "Do you trust me?"

"Steve, I-"

"(y/n), do you trust me?" He spoke over you, voice loud and quick. He glanced upwards to the sky again, something was coming.

As soon as you heard the panicked edge to his voice, you nodded, "Yeah, I trust you." You put your hand in his.

"Then we gotta go." You allowed him to pull you away with the rest of the group. Into the depths of hell you'd follow your brother so of course you blindly put your faith into him and ran like your life depended on it.

[wkemeup]

Play Pretend (II)

summary: In the aftermath of Munich, Bucky struggles to go back to how things were before. But now that he knows how it is to love you, he's not sure he can. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 5.8k warnings: smut (18+), mutual pining idiots a/n: here is the final part! make sure you catch up at part 1 first! gif by @crispychrissy

Bucky couldn’t get the image out of his head for days after the mission in Munich. Pictures of you laying so beautifully beneath him, the slight curve of your lips as a moan slipped past, skin so soft it begged to be touched and soothed and worshiped. He couldn’t let go of how you sounded, how you cried out his name or the gentle whimpers spoken so sweetly against his ear. He couldn’t stop craving you wrapped so tightly around him, your hands caressing down his arms, his back, his shoulders, your unbridged desire to touch every part of him, even the parts he despised.

Memories that found him in his sleep in the early hours of the morning, in the shower when his legs were weak and tired, at the breakfast table when you strolled in wearing a t-shirt down to your thighs and the evident curve of your breasts bare beneath the fabric.

Bucky tried to push the thoughts away. He tried to stop thinking of what happened in that cold, abandoned Hydra base. He tried to bury that longing somewhere deep, somewhere he’d never be bothered by it again. But it always came back in the image of you in that cell.

It plagued him. It taunted him.

He wanted more.

He didn’t know how to admit it. Not to himself, and certainly not to you. So, he did his best to suffocate those feelings, those cravings for something real, but they still found their way to the surface.

They spilled over on movie nights with the team and Bucky would find himself inching closer to you, in the gym when he took just a second longer to lift his weight from your body after a winded match that ended on the surface of the mat, on walks around the compound when he found himself wanting to capture your hand in his own as your fingers brushed by.

Those feelings slipped from his smothering hold on missions when he watched your back far more than his own, when he’d missed an obvious target in an attempt to clear your enemy line and ended up catching three bullets himself. He lost composure whenever you didn’t respond on coms or when you’d stumble back onto the quinjet with an injury you’d been hiding. He dove headfirst into fires and threw his body up as a shield and spent every night in agony wondering if you knew that he’d give his whole life to you if you’d asked.

It made him stupid. It made him reckless. It might actually get him killed.

But it hadn’t started in Munich. No, that was just the catalyst of it all. Bucky had loved you long before that drug infiltrated his system and left the two of you in an impossible position. He’d managed to keep his feelings at bay for years; hiding behind quick witted jokes and friendly banter and a genuine friendship and it had been enough. Honest, it had.

Only, now he knew what it was like to be with you. He caught a taste of what it would be like to make love to you and he didn’t know if he could ever forget and move on. It had been weeks since Munich and it still felt like it happened yesterday.

He had to do something to keep it from consuming him, even if it broke your heart. Even if it broke his, too.

***

“What the hell do you mean you can’t work with Y/n anymore?”

Steve groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose. It had been a long day of debriefing with about a dozen agents making demands he was unwilling to compromise on. This, separating his best team, was among them.

“It’s just not a good idea, Steve,” Bucky said, arms folded tightly over his chest as he watched Steve pace relentlessly down the conference room.

“That’s ridiculous, Buck.” Steve slumped into the chair beside his friend. “You two are the best insurgent team I have.”

“Just trust me. You’ve seen how I’ve been in the field lately. I can’t keep a straight head around her, okay? Not after—” Bucky clenched his jaw, turning away.

Steve sighed, hanging his head. “You ever gonna tell me what happened in Munich?”

Bucky’s lip was chewed raw; scars over broken wounds, teeth digging into painful cracks. It was a nasty habit he picked up after Munich. He wasn’t used to this kind of nervousness; a deep and unsettling feeling churned to stone in the pit of his stomach.

“Reassign me, Steve,” Bucky asked again, firmer. He could feel Steve’s eyes burning on him, tracing every inch of his face, searching for a tell, but he wouldn’t find one. Bucky was trained better than that. He knew to keep his features cold, stoned, even if his heart was pounding against his chest. He wondered it Steve could hear it, too.

The silence hung heavy in the air.

“Alright,” Steve finally conceded. He shook his head reluctantly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Bucky sighed a breath of relief, the weight of months filled with a longing he couldn’t tame and painful twist in his heart slipping from him in seconds. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Steve stood up from his chair, gathered the papers from the desk and made his way to the door. He paused just at the frame, turned around slowly to find Bucky had relaxed a little too much for his liking and added, “you’re going to be the one to tell her.”

“What?” Bucky scrambled out of his chair, nearly losing his footing and all composure as he stood to face Steve.

“You’ve been partners for years,” Steve shot back tensely. “She’s had your back on countless missions, saved your life on more than one occasion, and—come on, Buck— you guys are friends! The two of you spend every day together, even when you’re benched! You don’t want to give me an explanation? Fine. But you sure as hell owe her one.”

Bucky shook his head rapidly, hands clenching at the fraying edges of his t-shirt. “Steve, I—”

“Just talk to her,” Steve said, a heavy disappointment lingering in his voice. His lips parted, as if there were more he wanted to say, but decided against it. He hung his head, pat Bucky firmly on his shoulder, and left.

***

Had he always been able to hear his own heartbeat like this?

It was pounding in his ears, thunderous, deafening, and he swore just about everyone else on the floor could its thumping as he approached your room.

The door was open ajar with a small glimmer of sunlight streaming out into the dimly lit hallway. You were singly quietly to yourself – humming, maybe – as you sat on the edge of your bed, staring down onto your phone. You didn’t seem to notice him at the door. He knocked.

Your head popped up, surprised at the sudden intrusion and your eyes only narrowed upon finding it was Bucky standing below the doorframe. You looked at him for a moment before you turned back to your phone without saying another word.

He deserved that.

“Can I come in?” Bucky asked sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. He was still staring into the room through the small slit in the door.

You shrugged. “Depends. Are you still avoiding me?”

A sharp sting burned in his chest as Bucky tried to unclench his jaw. Truthfully, he had been avoiding you for days now. Ever since he made up his mind to ask for a reassignment. It didn’t matter if Steve shipped him off to Alaska or the Amazons or out into space with the goddamn raccoon; all he knew was that every minute he spent beside you was agony and he needed to get away from it – away from you – before it consumed him whole.

None of that was your fault. You didn’t know why he was suddenly too busy to spar on your usual weekdays or join the team for movie nights. He never told you why he suddenly started pulling away, cutting off all contact as if you hadn’t been friends for years before Munich.

“I’ve got something important to talk to you about,” Bucky replied, clearing his throat.

You sat up, sitting the phone down by your side as you recognized the tone in his voice. Clinical. Mission oriented. Business. He didn’t want it to sound so cold, but he wasn’t sure he could do this if it wasn’t.

Bucky stepped into the room, prying the door open gently with a slow squeak on its hinges as he closed it behind him. He’d been in your room dozens of times before, but somehow, in this moment, it felt like an invasion of privacy, like he wasn’t supposed to be there.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep focus. He took a few steps forward and gingerly sat on the edge of your bed, keeping careful distance as he wrung at his hands in his lap.

“I’m being reassigned.”

You furrowed your brow. He could practically hear your heart skip a beat.

“What? No. They can’t do that!” You shook your head, determined. There were traces of disbelief on your face – anger, too. Your hands gripped tightly into the sheets at your sides. “They can’t just reassign you, Buck. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Y/n, you don’t understand,” he started to say, but you were already on your feet, pacing around the room. It was how you calmed yourself when your thoughts were racing too fast. The stabbing pain in Bucky’s chest only seemed to dig deeper.

“I know the field has been messy lately, but that happens to everyone! They can’t split us up because of a few extra trips to the med bay,” you argued, wearing trenches into the carpet of your bedroom. You stopped abruptly. “Who gave the order? Steve? Tony? I’ll take this up with Fury if I have to, okay? I won’t let them—”

“Y/n, stop. Please.” Bucky hung his head. His right hand was red as his left clasped and tugged at the skin. He couldn’t find the courage to meet your eye but he could tell from the way you stilled that you knew what he was about to say. “It was me. I asked for reassignment.”

It didn’t seem to hurt any less though because your stance still faltered. It was barely noticeable, not to the human eye, but Bucky’s sensed were advanced thanks to his time in Hydra. He saw the way your body weight shifted just slightly, how your breath caught in your chest, the slight flicker of your eyes. Shock. Betrayal. Hurt.

“You said it yourself,” Bucky reasoned, trying to find excuses where there were none, “there’s been too many ER trips lately. I keep getting hurt.”

“Because you insist on using your body as human shield, Buck!” you retorted, arms flung out to the sides. “Just knock that off and we’ll be fine!”

Bucky shook his head, his lips curling ever so slightly though it didn’t touch his eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course, it is!” you argued. You started pacing again. “Don’t be an idiot, Barnes. I’m not losing my partner. Go tell them you were joking or concussed and not thinking straight!”

“I’m not going to do that.” Bucky clenched his jaw. His right hand was starting to lose feeling from how tightly he was gripping it.

Why couldn’t you make this easy on him? You were supposed to be angry with him for ignoring you for the last week. You were angry with him and yet you still fought for him. He couldn’t make sense of it.

The pacing stopped again, though this time it came in slow, like a realization that found its way piece by piece until it melded into a visible image.

“Was it something I did?”

Bucky jumped up to his feet, instinctively wanting to walk towards you but you held your ground. He froze, standing several feet away.

“No,” he said firmly. “God no. You didn’t do anything wrong, Y/n.”

“Then what?” You raised your arms out to the side in question. “We’ve been partners for years, Bucky. I’ve relied on you all that time to have my back, to keep me alive out there, and—and—” you groaned rather loudly, “you’re my best friend! You can’t just up and decide you’re done with me and move on!”

Bucky frowned. “That’s not what this is.”

You shook your head, arms folding tightly over your chest protectively. “Sure feels like it.”

The silence between you was unbearable. Bucky didn’t have a good excuse. You were right to be angry with him. He was abandoning you. He was a coward. He was running away from a painful situation to avoid facing it head on because he was terrified to lose you. Though, as you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, pulling them away a moment later to find a soft glisten of reflection in their wake, Bucky started to wonder that were already true.

“Oh God,” you exhaled, a heavy realization in your voice as you turned to him. Your shoulders slumped. “This is because of Munich, isn’t it?”

Bucky flinched. He tried not to, but you noticed. A look of absolute devastation crossed your features as your lips parted, sinking down onto your bed.

“I knew things were different after that mission. I mean, how could they not be?” You leaned over against your thighs, letting your hair fall down to shield your face where Bucky could not see. “I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have given in. You couldn’t consent with that shit running through your veins. Not really. So— fuck – I completely understand if you can’t be around me after I—”

“That’s not what happened,” Bucky interjected sharply, shaking himself from the fear coursing through him as he crossed the room to you. He knelt down beside your bed and waited patiently for you to lift your head and let the curtain of hall fall away from your face. “I could have fought it. It hurt like hell, but I would have survived it even if we… if we hadn’t…”

He let his voice trail off, his cheeks turning a slight side of pink. He sighed. “The point... is that I wanted to. I really wanted to. And that’s the problem.”

You narrowed your eyes, confused.

Was he really going to tell you? Wasn’t this what he had been trying to avoid? Throwing away years of friendship to confess deeper feelings he was all but sure you’d never reciprocate?

But there was something about the way you were looking at him. With tears glistening in your eyes and a grief he couldn’t quite place nestled into the lines on your forehead, Bucky began to wonder if walking away would give him any relief at all. He wasn’t sure he could ever leave this room again if you were left blaming yourself for his crimes.

Bucky slowly placed his right hand on your knee, rubbing his thumb gently along the dimple. Your eyes followed his movements, watching curiously until he found the courage to speak.

“We’ve been partners for a while,” he started, clearing his voice when it came out shaken. You nodded. “I feel like sometimes I know what you’re thinking just by looking at you and when we’re out in the field, even in the middle of chaos, it’s like you can tell what I’m doing before I actually figure it out myself. We’re really good together. Out there. It’s hard to find that these days.”

You didn’t say anything and for that, he was grateful. He needed to get this out before he shut down completely.

“I think we only got that good because we’re… uhm… we’re close, you know?” Bucky took a deep breath, releasing his grip on your knee when he realized he’d started to squeeze it a little too hard. Your hand was sitting on your thigh, but you’d inched it closer to his, enough so the tips of your fingers overlapped onto his.

“We’re friends.” Bucky paused at the term, deciding it wasn’t strong enough. “It’s more than that though. I trust you with things I wouldn’t even tell Steve. You were the first person I felt like I could be myself around. Not the Bucky that Steve remembers or the one Hydra manipulated. This one. Whatever that means.”

Your whole hand covered his now, as much as it would allow. He glanced up to find your fingers curling under his, a slight squeeze to tell him you were still listening. He exhaled another breath and the pressure in his chest felt a little lighter.

“What happened in Munich didn’t awaken anything or… or open my eyes to something I didn’t know was there,” Bucky continued, his eyes trained on your legs, unable to find the courage to face you. “I’ve known how I felt about you for a long time. I was okay with it. I learned to live with it and manage it because being your friend and being your partner was too important to lose. But…”

He felt your hands squeeze his again.

“But after Munich… I don’t know how to go back. I don’t think I can.” Bucky didn’t dare to meet your eye. He could feel the words slipping past his lips before he had a chance to pull them back in. A waterfall of confessions he couldn’t hope to control. “It’s why I’ve been so reckless in the field, why I keep ending up in the med wing. I can’t shove it down anymore and it punctures me right through the goddamn heart when I see you surrounded by armed agents or when there’s a weapon aimed at you and my instinct is to run towards you. Screw what happens to me.

“I know you’re good at your job,” Bucky stressed, shaking his head. “I know you can handle yourself and you don’t need me to protect you but… but I want to. I want to keep you safe and hold your hand when you’re getting stitches and curl up beside you at night just so I can remind myself you’re real when the nightmares get the better of me. I want… I want more than I should.”

He could hear the skip in your heartbeat, how it gradually picked up in pace the longer he spoke. Your breathing was shorter, too. Shallower. Bucky was certain it was all confirmation of the story he’d been telling himself for years.

“This… How I feel… It’s not good for us. As friends. As partners. I’m trying to do us a favor and just remove myself from the equation.”

Bucky still had yet to meet your eye. He’d turned to examining every detail he could find on the fabric of your sleep shorts, in the sheets you sat upon, in the divots and dimples and blemishes on your thighs. He wasn’t sure he’d have the resolve to leave if he looked at your face.

Several beats of silence passed by and Bucky wondered how it was possible you hadn’t lashed out at him yet. He expected you to be angry for driving a wedge between you with something as reckless as love and affection. He expected you to turn your shoulder, reject him for everything he was, because it was one thing to befriend the Winter Soldier, another entirely to love him.

Bucky slowly rose back to his feet, letting his hand slip away from your knee and your gentle hold on him fell away. He mistook your silence for acceptance, maybe even agreement. He cleared his throat, starting to back up towards the door.

“So, um,” Bucky said nervously, trying to fill the silence in his escape, “that’s why. I hope you can forgive me some day for all of this. I’ll, uh, I’ll go.”

Bucky barely had his hand on the knob when he heard the soft squeak of your mattress springs as you rose to your feet.

“You’re wrong.”

The sound of your voice startled him, enough to get him to look back at you before he could stop himself. Your hands were clenched at your sides, eyes red with tears, bottom lip chewed raw.

“Y/n, I—”

“You’re wrong,” you said again, almost angry and somehow that was a relief. It would make it easier for him to leave if you were angry, but you had different plans. “You’re wrong if you think you’re doing me some kind of favor by leaving.”

Tears were on your cheeks now and Bucky’s stomach lurched. This wasn’t what he wanted. This was agony.

He took a step closer to you. “You have to trust me, it’s not a good idea for us to—”

“You’re wrong,” you continued, cutting him off again as you rubbed at the tears under your eyes. “You’re wrong to assume that I don’t feel the exact fucking way about you and—and if you leave, Bucky, I swear to God it will kill me.”

Bucky froze. His heart stopped beating completely, might have plunged down through his stomach, broken through the floorboards and buried itself into molten lava and dirt, because of all the things he was expecting you to say, that was not one of them.

“Don’t do this,” you implored, voice a little broken, barely above a whisper. “Please don’t go.”

Bucky was at a loss. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this. He never even considered you might beg him to stay, that you might feel for him in the way he felt for you. It never once crossed his mind. It felt like a dream.

“I miss you.” Your voice was so small and still, it nearly tore him straight in half. “I miss how we used to be. I miss seeing you smile and your stupid jokes at the most inappropriate times in the field.” You laughed to yourself, under your breath, and even through the tears it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. But you sighed, the smile falling away. “I miss you when you’re not here. All the time. So much it hurts. I feel like I’m going out of my mind when I’m not with you. You’re my best friend, but I… I also… I miss Munich.”

Bucky’s eyes widened and you only caught a glimpse of him for a second before your face was in your hands, trying to shield yourself from him.

“I know it’s wrong,” you murmured, muffled by your palms. “I know it’s not right to miss a moment when you were in pain and made to feel something you didn’t ask for, but… I think about it a lot and... how much I want more.”

Stunned silence. Throat dry. Heart pounding.

“What are you saying?” Bucky finally found the courage to ask.

You lifted your head, finally meeting his eye and there was a relief there as you looked up at him. Your shoulders eased. A soft smile returned to your lips and it nearly melted him completely.

“The same thing you are, I think.”

He swallowed. “Oh.”

Bucky watched, near frozen, as you crossed the room, bare feet padding softly over the carpet until you were only inches from him. The space between you closing as your hands slid up his arms, resting against his shoulders, cupping at the sides of his face, just observing, just feeling. There was no venom in his veins and yet, Bucky felt electrified under your touch. His heart stammered in his chest as your fingers wove at the strands of hair at the base of his neck.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you told him and he wondered for a moment if he stopped breathing entirely. "No Hydra chemicals. No foreign influence. Just us, okay? You and me.”

Bucky nodded, a little stunned.

Slowly, you inched up closer to him, your eyes drawing closed until you were a breath from his lips. Just barely grazing upon his own, waiting, and Bucky let his hands slid up against your back, tugging you closed against him, and captured your lips in his own.

It was different than the first time in Munich, less rushed, less desperate, but instead filled with a longing that had spanned years between you, coated in affection and heartache and need for one another beyond anything a serum in a lab could fabricate.

Your hands wove into his hair, his arms pressing you firm against his chest, and it was like you were holding onto him for dear life. Your feet began to carry the two of you backwards, dragging Bucky towards the bed, and you yelped as your knees caught on the edge of the mattress, sending the two of you spiraling onto the bed.

“You alright?” Bucky laughed, brushing away the hair in your eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows caged around your shoulders; most of his weight laying upon you in the sweetest comfort of pressure.

“I'm perfect,” you replied, bright smiles and joy radiating from every pore. It was contagious.

“We can stop here, if you want,” Bucky offered sincerely. He was riding a high he never thought he’d ever experience and anything you’d be willing to share with him was a gift within itself. He’d kiss you for hours if you’d let him.

“And if I don’t want to stop?” you questioned, staring up at him with a hunger in your eyes. Your fingers trailed down his t-shirt, dancing around the hem of the fabric at his hips. “If I wanted to keep going... If I wanted you...?”

“I’m yours, sweetheart.”

A simple answer. A true one. He’d never been more certain of anything in his life.

Bucky knelt back, tugged on the fabric of his shirt between his shoulder blades and pulled it over his head. You watching him as he tossed it to the corner of the room before he settled back down against you. Your hands ran along the lines of his muscles, over the scars and imperfections, and for once, Bucky didn’t shy away from the hands of a woman. It didn’t feel like a twist to his gut, he didn’t hold his breath. No – instead, it felt renewing, healing almost.

His hands slid under the waist of your shirt, inching it higher as he rand his touch along the curves of your sides, until you leaned up for him to help remove the fabric. It joined his shirt at the edge of the room.

Perfect and bare. Stunning in your nakedness. A privilege he never thought he’d be granted.

“You want to take a picture or...?” you teased him, noticing how long he’d been staring at you.

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t temp me. Besides, I’m hoping I won’t need a picture to see you like this again.”

“Definitely not,” you confirmed, tugging him down to meet your lips again.

It was laced in smiled and laughter and ages of holding back from one another all rolled into one. A freedom of taking your time, of enjoying one another, and learning to memorize your bodies. Bucky would have wondered if he were dreaming if not for the way you wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding against his hardening cock – no dream could produce a feeling like that.

With his lips on your neck, Bucky played with the hem of your shorts, waiting until you lifted your hips just enough to give him the access to slid them down your legs, removing the last remaining fabric along with it.

Bucky kissed his way down your body, mapping a trail from your neck, to the hills of your breasts, to your ribs, to the comfort of cushion at your stomach, to the crevices at your legs and inner thighs. He paused for a moment, setting his cheek against your thigh as he drew his fingers between your lips, separating them to give access to the sweetest parts of you.

You flinched a little as he touched your clit, a gasp emitting from your lips as your hands curled into the sheets. Bucky grinned, encouraged by your reaction as he began to circle the pads of his fingers at your entrance. Listening for the subtle changes in your breath, the moans the slipped past, and the curl of your fingers, Bucky leaned in and wrapped his lips around your clit.

“F-fuck, Bucky,” you whined, hands snaking into his hair and gripping tight against his scalp.

He smiled at the feeling, at the way you cried his name, and he pressed his slicked fingers inside of you. Perhaps it was the haze of the foreign chemicals the last time he had you under him like this, but he didn’t remember you being so vocal, so sensitive to his touch. It was a rush and he had to keep himself from rutted up against the mattress as added a third finger, curling them just enough and massaging at the walls as they squeezed tight around him.

Tongue lapping at the wetness, sucking around the sensitive bud of nerves, fingers perfectly drawing out the high as it built at your core, it only took moments before you crashed. You cried out his name, legs wrestling against him in the sensitivity as he drew out the feeling as long as he could, moving slower and slower until you stilled under him.

“Fuck,” you exhaled, a laugh entranced in your voice.

Bucky grinned, pleased with himself as he crawled his way back up the bed to meet your lips. He didn’t bother to wipe the remnants of your high from his mouth and you didn’t seem to mind as you kissed him, certainly tasting yourself upon his lips, and it only made him want you more.

“You’re turn,” you smirked, trying to slide out from under him as you licked your lips, but Bucky held you down.

“Next time, okay?” he countered and you sunk back into the mattress with a pout on your lips. “I don’t think I can last if you get your mouth on me.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” you teased, running your fingers down his stomach until he began to shiver.

“Yes,” he chuckled, swatting your hands away playfully. He winked. “I’m gonna die if I don’t have you right now.”

“Jesus, Buck, don’t even joke,” you laughed, hiding your face in your hands.

“Hey, someone's gotta,” Bucky grinned as he tugged down his pants, kicking them off to land amongst the rest of the discarded clothing. “If it got me here, I’ll happily make light of a fucked up Hydra breeding experiment.”

“Would you have told me if it hadn’t happened?” you asked, voice a little softer, peering out from behind your hands.

Bucky stilled, his grin falling into something gentler and he shrugged. “Don’t know if I ever would have had the courage. I never thought we’d be here. Never could have imagined you’d feel the same way.” He leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder. “Would you have said anything?”

“I don’t think I really knew until you threatened to walk away,” you admitted.

“Well,” Bucky sighed, pressing a trail of kissed along your collarbone as he settled between your legs, his length pressing against your thigh, “good thing I’m not going anywhere.”

“Better not,” you murmured against his lips as you drew his mouth to yours.

Then, as he felt the hitch of your breath against his lips, he sank into you. Stretching walls and guiding your legs to wrap at his waist to offer an angle that left your jaw slacked. Your eyes fluttered closed, lips parted, and Bucky felt a rush unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Even through the smoke filled haze of that serum in Munich, he’d never felt an ounce of the relief as he did in this moment. To be completely and entirely yours.

He felt you squeeze at his shoulders, urging him to move, and slowly, he rocked his hips against you. Slow and steady. Needy. Until your nails dug into his spine and Bucky couldn’t prolong the tender build up any longer.

Chasing and chasing; higher and higher. Bucky could tell you were close from how tight your walls were clenched around him. It took near everything he had not to come on the spot, but he held on, waiting, watching as your lips parted, as the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard slipped past, and you cried out his name.

“Oh fuck—fuck—Bucky, don’t stop.” Your breath was hot against his cheek. “I’m so close. I’m—ah—”

A hitch in your breath and your whole body seemed to fall slack. It only spurred him on. Hips snapped, fingers rubbing quick circles at your clit, until you were whining and shaking under him, until he was satisfied with the blissful look on your face and he let himself go.

He spilled into you, rutting his hips in a few final, lazy thrusts as he sank into the crook of your neck, panting. Dizzy and content, riding a high that extended beyond his body, Bucky hummed into your collarbone as he felt your nails draw patterns along his back in gentle sweeps. It tingled on his skin, send shivers along his spine, and he never wanted it to stop.

“Hey, Y/n?”

You paused, just for a moment, before you resumed tracing the lines on his back, over muscles and scars alike. “Yes, Bucky?”

He could hear the teasing in your voice, the light-hearted laugh, the warmth that made him fall in love with you and his heart clenched. He wrapped his arms under your shoulders, the full weight of his body still pressing you down to the mattress, still buried inside of you.

“Promise me this is real.” An embarrassment crept up as he said it, though the drawing on his back didn’t skip a beat. “You and me. I’m not dreaming or stuck in my head. This is real, right?”

Your hands slid up along his shoulders to his neck, and then to the sides of his face as you guided him off your chest to meet your eye; more beautiful than he’d ever seen you, with a glimmer of sweat and an afterglow radiating in the smile lifting your cheeks.

“This is real, honey,” you told him, leaning in to kiss him sweetly on the lips.

“Okay. Okay, good.” Bucky grinned, cheeks flushed in heat. He settled back against your chest, resting his cheek to your heart as you resumed drawing the lazy patterns on his back.

Perfectly content.

Warm. Safe.

Home.

---

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[bump1nthen1ght]

Late Night Favor (Shadow Monster x Reader)

Genre: Fluff, Urban Fantasy

Warnings: Explicit content up ahead (18+ ONLY), Oral, Fingering

Word Count: 4000 Words

Summary: A couple of small good deeds leaves you with a late night visitor, looking to repay a debt.

Request: "You unknowingly rescue a shadow monster and bring it home with you, after a couple days of lurking in the shadows of your home and recuperating it shows you just how thankful it is." I had this idea forever ago but was never able to execute it. My opening idea was that a few kids are shining flashlights at something, tormenting it, and you swoop in to save it and chase the kids away. You thought they were hurting a cat or something, but find nothing and head home.

What do you think? Would you like to take it on? I'd be honored if you would 😊

A/N: *Throws this into the street to appease for the fact I haven’t updated Out of the Woods in THREE MONTHS IM SORRY*

It was the perfect weather for a lazy day inside. The pitter patter of the rain on your window had almost lulled you back to sleep during breakfast, and the thunder had provided great ambiance for reading. You hadn’t bothered changing out of your pajamas and we’re enjoying a soap opera binge on the coach when the peace was disturbed.

At first it was just the sound of clattering trash cans, not uncommon from the alley outside your window. But then it was followed by the raucous laughter of teenagers, rocks being thrown against the concrete, and a sharp hissing.

You hoist yourself up and off the couch, meandering toward the balcony, expecting to see a bunch of kids fucking around; Maybe using the cover of the fire escape to hide from the rain and smoke some weed.

Ah, memories.

But instead, you see a huddled group of boys pointing a flashlight into the pile of garbage right by the dumpster. One of them picks up a pebble and throws it into the light beam, causing another hiss and a jerk of movement. The boys laugh even louder, the one on the right nudging the one with the flashlight.

“Dude, do it again!”

Flashlight agrees, quickly moving the light into another corner as the one on the left throws a rock in the opposite direction. A shape of pitch black hisses again, deterred by the rock and scared by the brightness. Your brow furrows.

“Hey!”

The boys jump, looking in all directions.

“What are you three doing down there?” They finally look up at you, messy-haired and bleary-eyed. They shrug and ignore you, one even throwing another rock, bigger than before. There’s a sad yelp as it collides with the blackness.

You grit your teeth, grabbing your jacket off a nearby shelf and yell again.

“Fuck off! Leave the poor thing alone!”

They all laugh insufferably, the way most stuck up teenagers do.

“Or what?”

You shrug on your raincoat, picking up the baseball bat you keep strategically placed by your couch.

“Or I’ll come down and make you, jackass!”

You kick open your  fire escape, slippers already damp, and start marching down the staircases. The boys get the message and run away, still jeering and laughing. Seems you weren’t as intimidating as you’d like.

You shuffle down the fire escape, slowing down as you approach the poor creature. You lower your back and peak under the dumpster.

“It's okay, little guy, I won’t hurt ya.” You set down your bat and crouch, kissing your lips as you hold out your free hand. All you see is a hint of glowing eyes, nervously peering out, before the dark shape disappears completely, hidden by the shadow of the dumpster. You’re tempted to sit down and wait for it, hoping to check if the poor stray was injured, but the wet concrete looks unappealing. The bottom of your sweats are already drenched.

You stand up, sigh, and go back up the fire escape. You unlatch the dusty pet door on your sliding glass balcony and make sure to leave a hot thing of milk and some water just outside. You ponder going out to get cat food, but the well-timed weather report tells you to stay off the streets. Slumping back down on the couch, you keep on eye on your fire escape, hoping that whatever it was, it’s okay.

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

The next day is sunny, the rain clearing away any air pollution and leaving blue skies to shine down through your window, waking you up extra early. As you sit down with a cup of coffee, switching on the news before starting work, you notice the empty bowls on your balcony.

You set down the mug, walking over to the door and checking the bowls. Seems that little stray had needed the refreshment, as both were licked clean.

You refill them, making sure to add  cat food to your grocery list.

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

After a long day of work, you’re feeling particularly domestic and decide to bake some cookies. Your brain is sore after staring at a screen for eight hours straight, a simple task like this is the perfect thing to keep it from melting completely.

You open up your window, letting the cool night air into your kitchen as you check  on your baking cookies. Wiping flour off your pants, you turn on the radio and throw a glance to your living room.

You had set up a tiny blanket pallet right next to your pet door, the weatherman’s warning of another thunderstorm tonight having you worried for your stray. Hopefully a full belly of milk will convince them that your house is safe enough to find shelter in.

But the afternoon is beautiful, not too cold and not too hot, only the slight tang of metal in the air hinting to rain. With a ding from the oven, you take out the cookies and set them on a cooling tray on your window. The smell of cinnamon and sugar wafts over you as you take a sip of your tea, staring out into the city streets. Small puddles still speckle the pavement, catching the headlights of nearby cars and flashy billboards.

A quick sound, something hitting your balcony door, that jerks you out of your reverie. You set down your mug and slowly peek out from your kitchen, wondering if you should’ve grabbed  a kitchen knife. But it’s just your pet door, flapping back and forth in front of two, now empty, bowls. Aww, seems your stray took a step inside. Too bad you missed it.

The gurgle of your stomach convinces you to take a crack at the cookies. If they were too hot, you could just wash them down with a nice glass of milk anyway. Maybe even put on a sitcom while you snack.

You lightly tap the top cookie; Warm, but not unbearable. Steam rises as you break it open, blowing in the middle and taking a tiny bite.

Fuck, good job _____.

They’re perfectly done, just soft enough to melt in your mouth. You grab two more, holding them in between your fingers as you hold the other half in your mouth. Maybe you could bring the batch into work tomorrow, give your coworkers a nice surprise. That is if you didn't have 10 tonight. But 20 should be just enough-

Huh, that’s weird. There's only 19, including the one still dangling out of your mouth.

You could’ve sworn you baked 20.

Well whatever. Your coworkers can handle not coming back for seconds tomorrow.

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

“Ow! Fuck!”

You bite your lip, trying not to yell out more curse words as you rub your stubbed toe. You limp to your kitchen, fumbling for the light switch to avoid another incident. All you had wanted was a midnight sweet snack, was that so difficult? You’d thought you could navigate your apartment pretty easily in the dark, but the pain in your foot says otherwise.

The light flickers as you finally find the switch, reminding you that you’re going to need to change the bulb sometime soon. But that's a problem for another day; Right now, it’s cookie time.

You don’t bother pouring yourself a glass or getting a plate, devouring the treat in three bites and throwing back a quick swig of milk. It’s almost midnight, not like anyone’s watching-

Oh, wait.

You slowly close the fridge door, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to wake the little stray curled up, asleep. The little ball of black was snuggled into the pallet, tossing and turning. A flash of lightning cracks outside your apartment, washing your living room with light. The ball jerks in shock, the thunder afterwards only frightening it more, forcing it to curl up even tighter.  

You take small and light steps towards the tiny bed, not wanting to approach the scared beast too quickly. The room is lit up again by another lightning strike and the little stray forces it’s body backwards and away from the window. You crouch down real low, the small bits of light helping your eyes adjust to the layout.

“How are you doing, little guy?” You whisper, mostly to yourself, tapping your fingers against your carpet. Part of you wants to pet it, but think it might be better not to. No need to startle it. “Is the lightning scary? You can come to my room if you want, I’ll protect ya.”

Midst the black, you see two little eyes, little blips of light that open with another flash of lightning. But they aren’t yellow, nor are they slitted, nor are they anything remotely animal.

They're like the headlights of a car, blinding white with no definition at all. Not even pupils. You're startled, eye’s widening as the creature lifts it’s head. A long smile runs across their face, full of razor sharp teeth.

“Oh my, that sounds delightful.” They purr, and you find yourself losing your footing and falling back on your ass. Your fingers dig into the carpet as their body slowly begins to unfurl out of a ball and stretch into a massive form, as if their whole size had been hidden away somewhere else; Like it had been literally in the shadows.

You scramble backwards, breath picking up as the creature stretches it’s long limbs, colorless eyes still locked onto you as it stands up and up. It rolls back its shoulders as it sits on its haunches, its form still towering over you even when crouched. You notice the shades of huge antlers sticking out from the side of their head, only adding to their intimidating height.

The creature still has that terrifying smile, all canines and no molars, it’s unblinking eyes still staring deep into your soul.

You’ve heard people do weird things in times of high stress, of strong emotions, good and bad. Like the wires in your brains get crossed when trying to find the right response.

“Uh, do you want a cookie?”

You think you get that now.

The creature chuckles, a soft timbre that echoes unnaturally.

“No, dearie, I have already indulged in your confections. You see,” They creature leans forward, falling to its knees to crawl towards you. If it weren’t for the overwhelming fear constricting your heart, you’d almost think it was seductive, “You’ve done so much for me these past days, I think it’d be only fair if I helped you indulge in a far-” The creature’s face looms over yours, their arms caging your sides as they lick their lips, “-sweeter treat, yes?”

Your eyes search their face, trying to find signs of trickery or malice, maybe even some demonic sense of humor.

As if I’d even know what that looks like.

“Are you-” You catch a breath, now noticing the fine musculature of their shoulders, and the definition of their arms, “Are you propositioning me, like, for sex?”

The creature laughs again, their eyes crinkling up as they throw their head back. But when they look back down at you, you can almost feel the lust radiating off their gaze, details be damned.

“Yes, lovely, I am.”

You take your eyes off their face, a little too overwhelmed to stare directly into their blistering expression. Not to mention the blinding light which has begun to put red spots into your vision.

Instead, your eyes fall upon their thick thighs, the small tail waving behind them, and how unnervingly sexy you find the way their claws are digging up your rug.

You slowly move your head, catching the creature’s eyes.

“I-uh-I guess? Yeah, yeah I guess that sounds good. Um, what was your name?”

The creature smirks, a single claw tipped finger tilting up your chin, as they whisper,

“Nocter.”

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

Well, this is definitely the weirdest way I’ve gotten someone into bed.

Nocter’s antlers brush against your stucco-ceiling as it pushes you down on the bed, their shining white eyes staring deep into yours. Their lack of pupils is almost unsettling, but when they run their claws down your chest and pinch your nipples, you find it hard to care. You bite your lip, fighting back an embarrassing whimper as they trace one finger around the bud, pebbling the skin.

“Aww, has it been a while, sweetling?” You roll your eyes, but let out another squeak as they flick their thumb across your other nipple, the palm of their hand pressing against your ribcage.

“M-maybe.” You mutter, digging your finger into your bed sheets as their hands dance across your skin. One pulls up the bottom of your pajama shirt as it nudges one of their legs in between your thighs, pushing their knee up against your crotch.

“Don’t worry,” They push the fabric up to your neck, laying a kiss on the center of your stomach, then your chest, and then your jugular. When they plant one on your jaw, they lean in real close, “I’ll make sure to treat you right.”

Nocter’s long tongue splays against your jaw, licking a stripe up your cheek as one of their hands moves from your chest to the waistband of your shorts. They slip a couple fingers underneath, lightly petting the area right above your crotch. They’re such a tease, and you love it.

Nocter pecks the side of your face, over and over, while their hand moves further and further down your body at an agonizing pace. Their hot breath sends goosebumps down your neck, washing over your face as they exhale with every kiss. You catch them off guard when you turn your head toward them, catching their lips-mid peck and eagerly sticking your tongue outward. They purr with delight, their thin almost-lips quickly devouring you.

A long string of saliva connects the two of you as you detach, taking the time to shimmy out of your shirt. You pull them closer, your hands digging into their shoulder muscles and fingers just brushing over the long ridges on their back. They chuckle once again, pulling their fingers out your shorts and merely digging their palm into the fabric of your crotch.

“Eager, huh?”

“Shut up,” You mumble in between kisses, “This is for me, isn’t it?”

“Ohoho,” kiss, “Someone’s showing their feisty side a little early.” kiss, “What happened to my benevolent, saintly saviour?” kiss.

You pull away from their lips, quickly latching onto the crux of their neck and taking a nip. “S’not fair.” You say, taking a deep whiff of their skin as you suck and bite. They smell like brimstone and a bonfire, not quite what you 're expecting, but not unpleasant. “You can’t tease me like that and not-” Your cut off as the pad of one Nocters fingers presses up against your entrance, the fabric only amplifying the sensation as they begin to tease it.

“Deliver?” Nocter finishes, sinfully smug. You throw them a glare. “I’m a good guest, scout’s honor.”

You roll your eyes right before they lock you into another kiss, rubbing the pads of their fingers up and down your crotch. They use their hand to push you backwards, sinking deeper into the mattress as they situate their knees under your thighs. One they pull back from the kiss, your face and lips thoroughly debauched, your legs are splayed up on their pelvis and they easily slip off your bottoms. Nocter takes a whiff of your underwear, the crotch now slightly damp, giving you a wink before they throw it over their shoulder.

You jerk your hips slightly upward, and Nocter tuts.

“Patience, sweetling.” They roll a hand down your abdomen, fingers splaying onto your stomach, nails just teasing the skin. With a kiss to your inside calf, Nocters hand ghosts across your entrance. You can’t help biting your lip, the heat and their touch sending your mind into a frenzy.

They continue a path of kisses down your leg, now pressing their finger right up against your hole. They only pause to suck on their index and middle fingers, coating them with a heavy and blue-tinted saliva. Once they’ve reached the middle of your thigh, nipping at the apex, they sink into you.

Nocter’s fingers are long, articulated and move with sure movements. They start off slow, scissoring you open, simpering as you dig your nails into your bed sheets. The pads of their fingers push against your walls, just grazing sensitive spots as they make a slow ‘come hither’ motion. Your hips jerk forward, humping into their palm. They smirk against your skin, nipping another love bite as they retract their fingers until only the tip remains. You catch your breath, holding it until they sink back into you, shoving their fingers forward with far more force.

You whimper as their fingers pull back, only to follow with quicker thrusts. Nocter’s aim is pin-point in finding the most pleasurable spots inside you, the feeling only amplified by the pinpricks of their teeth into the fat of your thigh. The tip of their tongue licks hot trails of spit tantalizingly close to your hole, which clenches around their bony fingers. The slick sound of your juices, the skin of their palm slapping against yours, is downright pornographic.

Your legs try to clamp around their shoulders, the overwhelming stimuli triggering an instant reaction, but Nocter pins your right leg down to your bed easily, never losing focus on fingering you. The tips of their claws trace the inside of your leg, the hard edge of their wrist digging into fat.  Your fingers reach to grip around something, anything to keep you grounded as the knot in your stomach grows tighter and tighter. They find their way around Nocter’s left wrist; You’re almost afraid you’ll leave bruises, before remembering how sturdy every part of their body seems to be.

You let out a whimper as the crests of an orgasm seem to overwhelm you, nearly gasping as Nocter quickly removes their fingers. In any other state of mind you might have made a comment, look down and wonder why they’ve stopped. But the heat in your belly compels you to grip their wrist tight and to throw your hips upwards. With a desperate breath, you plead,

“P-please! Please, don’t stop.”

Nocter doesn’t chuckle, doesn’t make a sly remark about your neediness or your lewd movements. They lean forward, giving another kiss right below your navel, and pet your wrist.

“Of course, dearie.”

With a wink, they lean down a lick a long stripe up your hole, giving one last kiss to your leg before plunging their tongue inside.

You didn’t think it was possible for them to reach even deeper inside you with their tongue than their fingers, but the sparks which fly in your core say otherwise. The ridges of Nocters tongue brush against your walls as they flick the appendage back and forth, the tip pressing forward with controlled motions. It doesn’t thrash back and forward haphazardly, but reaches for those sensitive spots and plays with them.

“Oh, f-fuck!” You yelp, feeling an icy-cold liquid run down your ass. From the sound of smacking lips and muffled moans, it must be Nocter’s saliva. They let out a groan, pushing their jaw forward as their eyes clenched shut. The hand on your leg pinches skin as it tightens up, the other pressing your hips down, but the pressure they apply is phantom at best. Nocter seems to revel in your pleading humps for more, meeting each movement with a thrust of their jaw, the base of their tongue stretching you open.

The two of you keep that rhythm for what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a couple of minutes. Sweat drips down your chest and off of your belly, your legs muscles on fire as you continue to push upward and into Nocter’s face. You start feeling that impending wave begin to crest again, with your limbs shaking and your throat hoarse.

“Nocter, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna-I’m so close!”

This time, Nocter doesn’t let up on their pace, reaching one hand down to deliver a hard slap on your ass and forcing a yelp out of you. Your speech devolves into slurred curses and your hands move to touch them, to find some grasp in reality. Nocter continues to suck and tongue-fuck your hole as your thighs clench around their head. Your humps are tiny and weak, your lower half barely holding itself up.

The knot gets tighter, a firecracker fuse about to blow in your abdomen. In the heat of the moment, your hands find their way to Nocter’s scalp and grab onto the base of their antlers. Their moan rumbles through you, right before you yank their head forward, their tongue hitting the deepest part of you as you shutter and-

“I’m cumming!”

Another moan vibrates against your hole as your body shudders and jolts, your hips still pressed firmly against Nocter’s face. But in the next moment, a heavy weight falls over your body, slumping you down onto the bed. Your chest heaves, eye’s fuzzy as Nocter’s tongue ‘pop’s out of you.

Your gaze wanders over your stucco ceiling, droplets of sweat rolling down your neck as you try and catch your breath. You can feel Nocter’s large hands rolling a massage into your thighs, their own heavy breathing brushing over your crotch.

A fuzzy shape of pure black comes into your vision as Nocter hovers over you, their body hovering just an inch above yours. They give you a small peck on the cheek.

“Feel good?” They whisper.

All you can do is nod, your shaky hands wandering over their back. There’s no sign of sweat on their skin, but you can feel the heat running off of it as they nuzzle into your neck.

As your fingers dance over the ride of their back, you can hear the rumble of a low purr coming from their chest, but they stay hovering over your body. You press your hands into their back, applying weak pressure to encourage them to relax.

“It seems I’ve repaid my debt.” Nocter murmurs into your ear, pushing themselves up onto their hands, pulling even farther from you as their eye’s look around your room. You keep your hands wrapped around their waist, stopping them from fully getting up. They look back to you, white eyes slightly widening.

“Would you-” You take another deep breath, “Want to stay? For the night?”

Nocter stares at you, the black void of their face almost unreadable. But when they run a claw down the side of your face, it burns with affection and longing.

“Would you want that?”

Your room is nearly pitch black, only the lights of the street peeking in between your curtains. Nocter’s body seems to absorb all light near it, their hot body like a heating pad. But their eyes are so bright, so full, so mesmerizing; Like a full moon on the dark city sky.

“Yes, I would.”

Nocter’s nods, their expression barely changing, but you think you can see a hint of a smile amidst all the black. They let their body relax, pressing their chest against yours as they sink into the sheets and nuzzle back into your neck.

You can smell the sweat coating your body and feel the way you stick to the sheets. Frankly, the both of you kind of smell.

But it doesn’t stop you from snuggling into Nocter’s body, eye’s heavy as you peacefully fall into sleep.

[no-droids]

Rumors, Freebies, and a Race for Last Place

Part Two of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

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

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

***

It’s recommended to read part one first.

***

Getting into the x-wings is always fun.

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

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

You came back in one piece this time.  Barely.

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

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

Dameron.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*** 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You request mission assignments together,” Rossi adds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

You're finally alone.

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

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

And yet, you can’t seem to enjoy it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, this is so fucking… presumptuous of him.

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

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

You don’t even think you want to anymore.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His tongue softly grazes your knuckle as it works.

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

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

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

There.  There’s the drop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything except his face, you soon realize.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cum.

You lose.  Fair and square.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

You lose count.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, that’s it.  That is it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then you just start giggling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… to pull a bag of chips out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He has a nice voice, you think.

[sweeterthansammy]

All Yours || Stucky

Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes; The reader is Bucky and Steve’s girlfriend.

Summary: Being claimed by someone can be frustrating, especially when they’re super soldiers. However, Y/N has no choice but to give in and face reality; she’s theirs. All theirs.

Genre: Smut

Written in third person point of view.

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, male x female, male x male, threesome, bondage, gagging, knife kink, innuendos of exhibitionism, face-slapping, use of sex toys, fingering (anal), orgasm denial, anal penetration, vaginal penetration, daddy kink, hair pulling, double penetration, marking, some fluffy shit at the end, polyamory relationship, and mild language

Word count: 3.2k+

A/N: I’m genuinely proud of myself because, for the first time in a very long time, I have been able to write a full one-shot in one day. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Feedback is appreciated as well.

Thinking that Bucky was just calling her in for another mission, she answered the door, only to find both him and Steve standing before her.

“Um, what do you-”

“If you don’t want your little Jonathan in there to be our next mission, step out right now.”

She looked around, Jonathan getting prepared to take her out for dinner in his bedroom.

“What is this about?” she asked, turning back to face the pair.

They appeared to be much closer than before, toned bodies centimeters from hers. She stepped back into the apartment as their arms reached for her.

“Tell me what you want and I’ll go with you,” she spoke cautiously.

“We want you,” Steve started.

“We need you,” Bucky finished.

She slammed the door shut as they again, reached for either of her arms.

“Who was that?” Jonathan asked, doing the button of his shirt as he approached her.

“I-It was the plumber,” she stuttered, guarding the door to her best ability.

“Don’t lie to him, princess,” Bucky sung.

Y/N sighed, body going limp against the door.

“Princess?”

Jonathan was quicker than her, reaching for the doorknob before she could stop him. Seeing a needle full of clear liquid disappear into his neck, Y/N scrambled to her feet, running to the nearest room. She felt bad for the guy but spared not one look back at him. She didn’t fail to slip a teensy pocket knife, more like a dagger, under the strap of her bra, throwing one leg over the edge of the window, doing the same with the other, before landing on the fire escape.

She waited a few seconds, slowing her breaths to her best ability. She scanned the area, neither of them in sight as she leaned up against the cool brick wall. The buzzing in her back pocket caused her breath to hitch. She quickly silenced the call, shutting her eyes as she heard the footsteps of people approaching.

Leaning over the edge of the fire escape, she checked to make sure the coast was clear. Using her hard-earned superhero abilities, she jumped about fifteen feet down, quietly landing on the tips of her feet. She put her head down, brisk walking to wherever her mind sought out.

One night spent with the pair, and suddenly they thought they owned her. Jonathan was a casual hookup, a distraction from both Bucky and Steve. While she hated the thought of being claimed as someone’s property, she was inevitably theirs. No one made her as happy as they did, no one made her smile as they did, no one fucked her as good as they did.

There was some sort of thrill being hunted down by the super soldiers. She hid in the darkness of a corner, cursing under her breath as she heard Bucky’s vociferation.

“Come on, kitten! Speak when you’re spoken to, it’s the least you can do!”

She watched, standing on her hinds before turning the opposite way.

“Going somewhere?”

If she’d only looked the other way to make sure Steve wasn’t there, she wouldn’t have been caught.

“It was fun while it lasted, I’ll admit that,” Steve retorted, arm tight around her bicep as he led her over to Bucky.

She fought against Steve’s grip, grunting as she landed right into Bucky. They both held her tightly as they took off for their shared apartment.

“For fuck sake, let go of me!”

“You want to get us into trouble, don’t you?”

Bucky shared a chuckle with Steve, the two soldiers using their strength to their advantage as they dragged Y/N down the dark alleyway. She’d completely forgotten about the little dagger under her shirt, the tip gently digging into her skin. With many things digging into her skin - Bucky’s metal fingertips into her wrist, Steve’s fingernails into her bicep, and the dagger into her breast - she hissed.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked, his grip managing to tighten around her wrist.

“You’re hurting me,” she paused, knowing Bucky would let go. “Both of you.”

Their expressions softened, grasps faltering.

Idiots.

She hunched over, pretending to cradle both of her arms before standing straight to stretch, her dagger pointed outward at Steve as she took off. She winked at them, dashing through the doors of the apartment building before rushing up to the boys' floor. She put the shower on, stripping down to her undergarments, and throwing her clothes about. She quickly punched Bucky’s phone number into her keypad, smiling wickedly as he picked up, voice gruff and breath heavy.

“Wha-”

“Come find me.”

She hung up before he could say anything else, tossing her phone onto the island before making her way to the bedroom, hiding behind the curtains of Steve’s floor-to-ceiling glass windows. She felt like a five-year-old playing hide and seek, even though she knew she’d be ruined by both Steve and Bucky. She held her breath, their footsteps going crazy on the wooden floors.

“She’s not in the shower,” she heard Steve huff.

“Wait….” Bucky’s voice trailed off.

She leaned back against the window, giving anyone outside quite a view. She squeezed her eyes shut as he swiped his hands across the curtains, his metal arm landing straight around her neck.

“Jackpot,” he muttered, peeling the curtain back to properly wrap his hand around her neck.

She shuddered at the difference in temperature - his cold hand on her hot neck.

“Found her, Stevie.”

He kept his eyes on her the entire time, the sound of Steve’s footsteps ascending toward the bedroom after he turned off the shower making her heart thump against her chest ten times faster. Bucky’s eyes landed on the dagger between her fingers, reaching down to grasp it between his own.

“I should fuck you right against this damn window.”

“Who’s to say that I’d let you fuck me anyw-”

His hand tightened around her throat, constricting her airways the slightest bit.

“Did I tell you to speak?”

“You told me to speak when I’m spoken to,” she quipped, squealing as he lifted her with no effort, throwing her on the bed.

“Such a smart ass, aren’t you?” Steve tutted, fingers puckering her cheeks as he shook her head side to side, smacking her cheek after he hoisted his hand.

She whimpered as Bucky worked on the rest of her body, binding her feet to one another, as well as her wrists behind her back with thick rope. Her eyebrows furrowed as he grabbed her neck, the rope soon replacing his fleshed hand. She rotated her wrists, crying out as her neck was pulled back by the garment.

“You move, you make it worse for yourself,” Bucky grinned, watching as her spine was straightened out for them.

Using her little dagger, he slid the blade beneath the strap of her underwear, sawing it back and forth until her underwear snapped. He did the same to the other side, snatching her underwear from her body before bunching up her underwear in his palm. Her eyes widened as he pried her mouth open, the remnants of her lace underwear being shoved into her mouth.

“Now, that’s to shut you up.”

Oh my god.

She narrowed her eyes at Steve as he brought in a tall chair for her to get a full view of the unholy acts that were about to unfold in front of her. She looked up at Bucky, the brunette smirking down at her.

“What’s wrong? You scared now?” he mocked, delicately dragging the blade up her torso before slicing through the center of her bra, leaving her completely nude with pieces of rope laced around her body.

She gulped, the cloth in her mouth giving her a severe case of cotton-mouth.

“Steve, put her on the chair for me, baby.”

His hand held onto the undersides of her thighs, lifting her before placing her on the chair.

“You look amazing like this,” he mumbled, teeth digging into the plump flesh of her bottom lip.

She sighed at the feeling of the cool leather pressed up against her heat. She seemed to be relaxed, watching Steve and Bucky lock lips as they slowly stripped each other of their clothing. They stopped briefly, lips parted into a pleasant grin as they looked over at her. The sight of her seated there so primly almost made Bucky spare her pity, but he learned from the last time.

“Don’t think you’re just gonna sit there and not receive any punishment,” Steve chuckled, walking over to her.

Her eyes glossed over as he took a hold of her breast, pinching down on her nipple. 

That damn dagger.  They were having too much fun with it, but she’d brought it herself. His hands spread her legs, running the blade up her thigh before pressing it flat against her cunt. She let out a throaty groan, legs shutting in the process.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned her, pressing the blade into the inner part of her thigh yet again.

Or what?

He pulled the blade away from her skin, leaving her exposed for both him and Bucky. Reaching into this magical drawer that seemed to be the actual jackpot, Steve’s fingers twisted at the end of the little pink toy, the toy vibrating against his palm.

How many people have you used that on?

Steve seemed to read her mind, chuckling as she jolted at the contact.

“This one’s just for you princess. This is the lowest setting, any movement, I put it up higher. If I see that you're cumming, I put it up higher. Got it?” he asked.

The silicone was smooth against her velvety walls, her back arching at the feeling of the vibrations inside of her. His fingers twisted her nipple again, regaining her attention.

“You move, or you cum, and I put it up. Got it?” he asked again, watching the way her eyebrows furrowed from bare pleasure.

She nodded desperately, her legs fighting the urge to clamp shut. He and Bucky went right back to their business, never failing to take their eyes off of her.

“Y’know, it kinda hurt my feelings when you said I was hurting you,” Bucky blurted out, his puppy-like eyes reeling her in.

She wasn’t seeing straight, her head dizzy and the temptation of her arousal about to burst in her lower stomach growing.

“Was I really hurting you doll?”

She shook her head no, her eyebrows furrowing as her fingertips dug into the bases of her palms.

“You made our boy sad. You should be ashamed of yourself,” Steve tutted.

She could feel her wrists involuntarily writhing against the restraints, her neck being pulled farther back. Her mouth opened wider, tongue working to find any saliva. She watched as Steve had Bucky laid on his stomach, both of their muscles on full display. 

Bucky moaned and groaned and whimpered, face contorting in pleasure as Steve pumped his fingers in and out of his tight hole. She watched as Steve’s hips slammed into Bucky’s from behind, both men letting out vulgar moans. She shivered at the sounds being made, hips rocking into nothing as she yearned for either of their touches.

“Steve,” Bucky panted, only not a moan of his name but a calling for Steve to increase the level of the vibrator.

Steve groaned, pulling out of Bucky with a grunt before walking over to her.

“Why can’t you fucking listen?” he grumbled, fighting the way her walls clenched around the toy as he pulled it out of her cunt.

She let out a sigh of relief, slouching in the chair as he twisted the knob several times.

Oh fuck.

Her eyes widened, jaw slackened, as the vibrations progressively grew louder.

“That’ll keep you busy,” he murmured, forcing the little toy back between her legs.

She sat upright again, knees bending inward as she neared her orgasm. She used every muscle in her tongue, prodding at the fabric until some of it was out of her mouth. She spat repeatedly, smacking her tongue against her chapped lips once her underwear was completely out of her mouth.

“Let me cum! Please!”

Her voice was broken, her throat parched.

“Please, I’ll do anything! Just let me cum!”

She begged over and over and over, her boys watching in amusement as she thrashed against the bindings, legs screwing shut as she clenched every muscle to hold her orgasm. They both looked over at her, Steve being the first to walk over to her.

“You get to cum on one condition.”

She groaned, head falling toward to rest on his rock-hard abdomen. He chuckled, fingertips tugging at the roots of her hair, pulling her head backward for her to look up at him. She rested her chin atop his stomach, her legs pushing themselves together even more.

“If you want to cum, I need you to look at me.”

She did exactly that, her lips puckering to place soft kisses along his skin.

“You can’t butter me up as easily as you do Bucky, kitten. If you want to cum so bad, you need to apologize to daddy-“

“I’m sorry, daddy-“

“No. I wasn’t done talking. You’re gonna over there, apologize to him, and ride him like the good little slut you are. Got it, baby?”

She nodded, her cheeks hot as he leaned down to undo the rope around her ankles. He pressed a sweet kiss to her heat, removing the toy before directing her to stand up.

“M-My hands,” she mumbled.

“No, no, kitten. You’re just gonna use that pretty pussy of yours to get the both of you off.”

She obliged, swinging one leg over Bucky’s waist, bending both knees as his hips parted her legs.

“‘M sorry, daddy,” she muttered, littering his chest in a series of kisses.

She let a quiet moan slip as he grasped her jaw, sloppily kissing her lips. His hands roamed down her body, hoisting her by the thighs the least bit before sheathing himself between her walls. Coming back up her body, his forefingers clutched onto the rope that so sweetly left welts in her skin. He tugged on it, earning a loud moan from her as her back arched. 

Steve came up behind her, pushing her right back onto Bucky’s chest before stuffing two fingers into her anus. She cried out, teeth grazing against Bucky’s jugular as she hid her face in the crook of his neck. She remained like that, Bucky’s hips snapping up into her as Steve found his way into her right hole bit by bit. She could feel herself shaking under both of their touches, an array of moans and profanities tumbling from her lips.

“Sit up, I wanna see your pretty fucking face,” Bucky hummed, watching as Steve caught her spent figure in his arms.

His lips bit and kissed the skin of her neck and her shoulders, fingertips digging into her hips as all three of their skin slapped in unison. That was until her phone rang. She wasn’t sure how it ended up in the room but both men’s paces slowed momentarily, Bucky putting the phone on speaker before holding it up to her face. She stayed quiet, her breathing heavy as they picked up the pace again.

“Answer or we stop,” Steve grumbled.

“H-Hel-lo?”

“Y/N, where the hell are you?”

Jonathan.

“I-I’m with S-Steve an-d Buck-y.”

She moaned the last syllable of Bucky’s name as he reached up, marking her breasts with his teeth.

“What’re you doing with them?”

If Jonathan didn't already hate the two men, he sure as hell did now, but they gave zero fucks.

“She’s getting her brains fucked out, buddy. Don’t call her ever again unless you want to fall asleep and never wake up again.”

Bucky hung up after he felt he had gotten his point across, pulling one last glass-shattering moan from Y/N before chuckling into the phone, singing a “buh-bye.”

“Does he fuck you like we do? Can he make you cum over and over?”

Her head rolled back at his words, walls clenching around him.

“No. H-He could never fuck me a-s good you guys do.”

“Good. Now, you’re ours, right?” Steve chimed in, one hand cupping her breast while the other rubbed tight circles on her sensitive nub.

“Yours. All yours.”

Those were the words that granted her access to finally cum. She let go with a broken moan, back arching into Steve as their movements continued. Their paces picked up and slowed down, hips sputtering as they too reached their high. She looked down at Bucky, chest heaving as his metal finger ran up and down her side.

“That was just round one, angel. We’ve got many more hours of love-making ahead.”

-

She pulled Bucky’s large t-shirt over her naked figure after just getting out of the shower, her skin covered in slick and sweat after hours upon hours of being sandwiched between her two soldiers. She watched as they made a space for her in the middle of the bed, being sandwiched between them yet again. Her back was pressed right up against Bucky’s front, her legs trapping Steve’s in their messy tangle of limbs. 

The side lamp was still on, giving a gentle, golden glow to the room. Bucky examined her hands, eyes tracing to where his metal hand clamped around earlier. Though there wasn’t a visible mark, he felt guilty at the thought of actually causing her pain.

“Does it hurt?” he asked quietly.

“If you’re talking about my legs, yes-“

“No. Your wrist.”

The giggle that she and Steve shared died down as she turned around to look at him.

“Bucky, you didn’t hurt me. I knew you had a soft spot for me and I took complete advantage of that.”

“Yeah, but, if I did hurt you-“

She shut him up before either of them could start crying. She could see the faint layer of gloss covering his eyes. She pushed him onto his back, her hands cradling his face as she properly kissed him. His arms securely wrapped around her waist, keeping her close to his body. His eyes shut in content, leaning into her embrace. She pulled away, forehead against his as her thumb grazed against his cheekbone.

“You never hurt me, Bucky. I promise. I’ll let you know if you ever do, but you didn’t hurt me at all, except for the wicked ache both of you gave to my legs,” she chuckled, kissing him softly once more.

“And what was that? The thing you said earlier? Something about being ours?”

She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, running her fingers through Steve’s hair as she rested her head on Bucky’s pillow, her chest resting against the side of his neck. She watched the big smile that broke onto both of their faces, not a single word even exiting her mouth yet.

“I’m yours. Both of you,” she breathed out. “I denied it for a long time, sleeping around with other people, but you two just keep reeling me back in.”

Steve kissed her knuckles, watching as Bucky tilted his head back to kiss her neck.

“So it’s official?” Bucky asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes as he looked up at her.

“It’s official. I’m all yours, mon amours.”

Taglist: @ronbrokemyheart​ @quxxnxfhxll​ @eunoia-kth​ @siriuslyslyslytherin​ @dracomalfoys-wh0re​ @rudypankowisdaddy​ - if you want to be tagged in any fics, here is my taglist. Any and all Marvel fics are categorized under miscellaneous.

[harry-writings]

Bothered

- A blurb in which somebody flirts with Y/n for the first time, and Harry lets jealousy get the best of him

This is a little Drive Me Wild extra for all your valentine’s day needs!!! I hope you enjoy :) 

Masterlist

-

“Tequila, please. The best one you’ve got!”

Open bars at work parties are an absolute lifesaver.

Harry and Y/n have been nonstop on their feet since three, wearing their sunday best, talking to all the higher ups and other officials at the firm with as much professionalism as possible. And though it was certainly a nice break from the work setting, it was still a lot for the both of them to keep up with.

It’s nearly eleven now, the party near its end and the exhaustion finally settling in. But Y/n wouldn’t ever dream of passing up unlimited free drinks whenever offered (neither would Harry, but getting her home safe is his biggest priority). Besides, she needed to take the edge off, somehow.

The bartender smiles at her, his eyes looking at her up and down very briefly before making her drink.

She’s humming softly to herself, her fingers tapping against the bar, the palm of her other hand resting on the back of her neck and she looks around the venue, admiring the architecture and the chandeliers that hang from above her.

“How long have you been working for them?” The bartender asks as he slides the shotglass to her, to which Y/n smiles.

“Almost three years! It’s been really good to me so far. I must say, though, it gets a bit stressful and there are a handful of times we end up having to take our work home. But I’ve met some of the best people through the company, so I can’t complain much! Especially when this is the only job I’ve ever considered staying at for so long.”

When the bartender doesn’t answer, yet rather just stares at her with amusement and endearment in his eye, Y/n starts to get nervous.

She considers diverting her attention back to Harry and moving on with her night as if she hadn’t spoken a word at all, but she’s never been the kind of person to walk away from an uncomfortable silence. And most certainly, she has never found it in her will to escape somebody’s pressing and persistent stares.

All of it just makes her so anxious.

So, as an attempt to calm her nerves, Y/n throws her head back as she takes her shot of tequila, her nose scrunching and eyes squinting as it burns down her throat and settles in her chest.

“What about you? How long have you been working as a bartender? I’ve heard it’s a lot of work, remembering all the recipes and stuff. Whenever I went to university, I would go to bars and get drunk by myself and watch how fast all the bartenders made drinks. I found it mesmerising, really. Like an art, almost. A sport, too, I suppose, given how much you all have to think and act quickly yet unmistakably.”

Harry smiles softly to himself, a bittersweet feeling bubbling in his chest as he listens to her get caught up in her rambles.

She doesn’t do that much with him anymore, not in the way she used to. And it isn’t because she’s lost any trust in him, or because she loves him any less — rather, it’s because she trusts and loves him so much more that she doesn’t feel the need to fill any gaps or spaces between them anymore.

He doesn’t make her nervous.

She doesn’t need reassurance with him because she already knows how madly in love they are with one another and how they are undeniably bound to spend the rest of their lives together. The silences they share are comfortable for her, his simple presence enough to make her feel at ease and loved and respected without him having to constantly remind her.

And surely, Y/n still chews his ear off here and there, but he only ever wants more of her.

It’s a disease, his greed and longing for her. She is so enough yet so not enough at the same time, it kills him to think about it, but only in the best way possible.

But the smile and the admiration die down nearly instantly when Harry’s eyes catch the way the bartender looks at Y/n, and the way he straightens himself before her, and the way his bottom lip tucks between his teeth ever so slightly.

Harry crosses his arms at this, watching the way another man is drooling and fonding over his Y/n and not at all trying to hide it. And the sad part is that he can’t even blame him for it — how could he? He had done the very same thing for nearly two years straight.

So he suffers with it in silence.

“My goodness, I do love me a woman who can carry a conversation.”

Harry’s eyes squint over at him, his arms still crossed over his chest, his fingers twisting as he watches him blink flirtatiously at Y/n and the upward twitch of his lip whenever she flips her hair over her shoulder.

She only ever does that when she’s sweating, he knows this because she’s his girlfriend and he knows her more than he’s ever known himself. He also knows that Y/n thinks too lowly of herself to ever consider one’s kindness as flirting.

And though Harry wouldn’t dare to dream of changing anything about her, he does wish, just this once, that she’d see it.

Y/n blushes at his comment, but only because she doesn’t know what to say.

“Can I have another shot, please?” She asks as a form of distraction, but in such a sweet manner the bartender barely seems to notice. “I never get to go out to drink much nowadays, with work and all. So, I’m sorry if I order too much. Large groups of people aren’t really my thing. Not that I hate people, or anything. I guess they just make me nervous.”

And as the bartender pours her shot glass full of tequila, his eyes don’t make the slightest move to leave her. He’s gawking, looking smug as if he could ever stand a chance.

Y/n pretends not to notice.

“Look, I close down the bar in an hour. And since large groups of people aren’t really your thing, why don’t I take you somewhere nice —”

“Oh...”

“— just you and me, so I can have the chance to get to know you more? Maybe in more ways than one, if I’m lucky?”

Oh, fuck no.

Flirting is one thing, but listening as some stranger talks about wanting to have sex with his girlfriend is something entirely different. Especially when she hasn’t done anything other than be nice and considerate towards him.

He’s taking advantage of her kindness.

Harry can’t hold himself back anymore.

“Excuse me?”

And curse his fucking natural lack of emotion because it was supposed to sound threatening and protective, but rather, it must have come off the way any other customer were to grab a bartender’s attention because he looks over at him with a tight and strained smile, clearly laced with annoyance, with not a hint of suspicion.

“Yes, sir, what can I help you with?”

Harry clenches his jaw and nods his head, his gaze falling to the top of the bar as he tries — really, really tries — to keep himself together instead of knocking this poor bloke’s teeth in.

The urge is there, but he could never scare Y/n like that, or sacrifice his job for satisfaction’s sake — he was lucky he didn’t jeopardize it when he landed a solid right hook on his coworker a few months back. But to make such a rude, blunt, disrespectful comment to his girlfriend is too much for him to process.

But it’s not all anger. There’s something else there — something else brewing and swelling inside of him that’s never been there before. He can’t identify it no matter how hard he tries.

“It would help me tremendously, actually, if you were to stop asking to sleep with my girlfriend right in front of me.”

It’s silent for a moment, the air thick with tension as the bartender looks both between Harry and Y/n, Y/n and Harry. He looks weary of it, as if it were so impossible for her to ever be seen with somebody like him.

“You’re with him?” He asks Y/n, as if Harry’s word wasn’t enough and it nearly throws him off the deep end.

Y/n’s eyes blink with confusion and shock as she tries to adjust herself to her surroundings. Everything happened so quickly to her, she feels like she can’t keep up.

Harry senses this — he senses her uncertainty and uneasiness and takes notice in the way her fingers begin to grip at her shot glass a bit tighter. Confrontation and arguments are not Y/n’s strong suit and in the hands of either one, she is defenseless.

“Is my word not enough for you?”

The bartender lifts his hands up in defense, his eyebrows raised as if somehow proving a point he’s clearly been missing. “Can’t blame me for assuming she’s single, you’re sitting next to the prettiest girl on earth and you look like you couldn’t even be bothered.”

Harry’s hands turn to fists, his jaw clenching and eyebrows twitching as he hears him speak all the words he’d rather die than hear spoken again.

How a complete stranger can cut a wound so deep within him is unfathomable, but here he is, bleeding out with all his insecurities and flaws and weaknesses along with it. And it pains him. It hurts and if one more wrong word is spoken, he’ll fall victim to all the darkest parts of himself.

He can’t risk that, not around Y/n.

“I would highly suggest you stop talking now —”

“You aren’t even interested in her! I gave her more attention in the last ten minutes than you’ve given her all night!”

“Hey.” Y/n cuts in with pouted lips, her face fallen as her voice quivers at the argument brewing in front of her. “That’s not true. He — he’s been beside me all night. I thought it was — I thought it was obvious.”

“Doesn’t matter anymore. We’re going home.”

Harry’s tone is unlike anything she’s ever heard. It’s stern, harsh, laced with impatience as he stands from his barstool and scrambles to gather her belongings.

And Y/n’s at a loss, just standing against the bar helplessly, looking at Harry with tearful eyes and shaking lips. He has never been this angry at her before and she doesn’t know how to fix it. Talking was what got them into this mess, she’s sure talking won’t get themselves out of it.

But it doesn’t hurt to try.

“Wait, H. I’m sorry, I —”

“That’s enough, now. We’re making our last rounds and then we’re going straight home.”

That was the first time he’s ever interrupted her.

-

It isn’t until Harry starts the car that Y/n breaks the silence.

“H, I didn’t know he was going to ask me out on a date.” She speaks with a voice small and shoulders slumped as she tries desperately to fix all the trust she has broken. “I was just trying to be nice and —”

“Not now, Y/n, please.”

She realizes the severity of the situation when he doesn’t call her a pet name.

Her eyes fill with tears, fully aware that even when he was most upset with her, he never interrupted her while talking or avoided her gaze like it was the last thing he ever wanted to see. He’s doing both right now and to say that it hurt her is an understatement.

He’s sick of hearing me speak. He’s angry at me for talking too much to everybody and not noticing the consequences. He’s tired of listening to me make excuses for myself when I’m never going to change. He doesn’t want this anymore.

Her mind can’t help but to think such things, and though deep down in her heart she knows he’d never feel that way towards her, words of her past can’t help but torment her in the heat of this moment. Because this is so different than how it usually is with him, and it all started with her.

Harry can feel how much of a toll his words took on her, but he doesn’t know what to say. He is feeling so many things, and processing so much, he feels like he’s lost himself. All sense of everything else had left him the second the bartender spoke the words he always feared to hear.

You’re sitting next to the prettiest girl on earth and you look like you couldn’t even be bothered.

He knows it isn’t true, and he also knows she knows it isn’t true, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

To know other people see it that way devastates him. He doesn’t date Y/n to look uninterested in her, or bored of her, or tired to be with her — he dates Y/n because he wants to show her off, desires to make her and everybody else see how in love with her he is, to make it known she never has to walk this world alone.

To know he has failed to do that simply by being himself is a lot for him to take in.

He sighs, ripping off his glasses so his other hand can rub at his burning eyes before settling the both of them back on the steering wheel, his gaze still set on the windshield.

“I’m sorry for not letting you finish talking, twice now. It wasn’t right and I know what that does to you. And I’m not angry or upset with you, either. I’m just — I’m just not in the mood right now, alright? I need some time to think.”

Y/n nods, fearing that whatever words she chooses to speak will only make it worse.

Neither of them talk the rest of the way home, but that doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t reach his hand over to her thigh to squeeze at it three times, as if to tell her he loves her.

-

It isn’t until they make it into their bedroom that Harry starts to let it all out.

He’s pacing, his hands fidgeting with his clothes and running through his hair, his eyes wild but still refusing to look at her, muttering curses under his breath but nothing directly towards her just yet.

Y/n’s standing by the dresser, taking off her remaining jewelry and allowing him his time to dwell on his feelings. He needs this. She knows she’s the only person that he’ll ever show this kind of emotion to — he couldn't even show it to himself — so she listens, smiles sympathetically at him here and there, refusing to leave his side until this is all figured out.

He huffs before letting out a sickened laugh.

“Who the hell does he think he is? Telling me I’m not interested in you. I can’t be walking around kissing and hovering and touching all over you at a work party, I respect you too much. But he wouldn’t know a damn thing about that, would he?”

He throws his suit jacket down on the bed, only allowing himself one beat of a moment to shake his head before his hands start to fidget again, pacing around the foot of the bed to try and understand his primary emotion.

He feels a million and ten different emotions scrambling within him at once, he can’t make sense of them. Whether he’s angry, or sad, or hurt, or insecure, or humiliated… he doesn’t know. It all feels the same yet all feels so different. He is utterly lost in all of them.

“Then proceeds to have the nerve to say he’s given you more attention than I have. What the fuck does that even mean? All he does is serve you two drinks and speak one sentence. I give you all my time, all my company, all my attention, and somehow he thinks he’s better for you than me?”

And it hits her.

No wonder he’s been acting so different towards her and so quiet despite him not blaming her for what happened — he’s jealous, which is the exact reason he doesn’t have an understanding with it.

She’s his first girlfriend, and until now, there had never been any reason for him to feel this way.

But as sick and twisted as it sounds, Y/n’s heart warms at the thought of it. Because never once has someone ever had a problem with letting her go. Her loss never affected anybody around her, and so nobody had ever feared it.

To know that out of all people, it’s him who does, means everything to her.

She hums at him, an all too knowing smile on her face as she makes her way to her frantic lover, who stills when he notices her closeness.

Her hands rest at his chest, rubbing at it over his dress shirt, just the way he likes. It reminds him of the night of their first date — when she gave into her cravings and put her hands nearly everywhere they could touch — and so she always goes back to that very first moment.

It never fails him.

“It’s okay, lovebug.” Y/n smiles softly at him, her voice even more soft and tender than usual as she tries to get him to relax.

Her hands slither down the hem of his trousers, her fingers resting just above the swell of his bum and pulling him in closer to her. And he wraps his arms around her shoulders, a heavy sigh leaving his lips before bringing his chest toward her cheek for it to nest in.

“Don’t let somebody get the best of you. Especially when they don’t know anything about you or me or our relationship. We know what we are and what we have, it doesn’t matter what he thinks is better for me. I have what’s best. Forever.”

He sighs, the weight of the night lifting from him slightly, but not enough.

He rests his chin on the top of her head, his eyes on the verge of being soaked with tears. Because though he knows her words to be true, he just can’t seem to shake what’s rattling in his bones and picking at his skin.

He wants it all to be okay, and it almost is, just not fully. And it’s killing him from the inside out.

“It’s a new feeling for me.” Harry confesses sadly, trying to think of the right words to say to explain what’s burning in his chest. “It hurts me to feel it. I’m so comfortable and confident in you and yet somehow I can’t — I can’t stop thinking about you and that fucking bartender and him touching you and making you laugh and —”

“You’re jealous.”

She pulls away from him slightly, her eyes looking up at him softly and sympathetically. He gives into her gaze for only a beat longer before looking away from her again, unable to take it.

It all makes sense — the unfamiliar feelings, the scrambling of emotions, the sensitivity to the words that had been spoken about him. His relationship had been threatened for the first time since it started, how could he not be?

“Of course I’m jealous. Which is absolutely horrible because you look so pretty yet it hurts too much to look at you.”

She chuckles, a playful smirk on her face as she reaches her hands up to his cheeks. And she turns his head to the side, forcing his eyes to look into hers as she rubs her thumb along his cheekbones.

Even like this, he is the most perfect man she’s ever seen. She has loved this person longer than she has loved anything else, how he could ever feel jealous of anybody is absolutely beyond her. He is all she will ever need, and everything she will ever want.

He is the only person that has ever deserved her.

“Baby, you have nothing to be jealous of. I don’t think, since the moment I’ve laid eyes on you, I’ve ever bothered to look for anybody else.” His breath faults, then, his heart dropping as if it were falling in love all over again.

And just like that, the hurt is gone.

“I’m yours, H. I have always been yours.”

He wants her to keep going, so instead of answering, he taps the back of her thigh twice. He’s never done so outside of sex, but he needs her all over him, holding him, hanging onto him. He needs it now more than ever.

She giggles, understanding exactly what he wants before jumping up until her legs are wrapped around his waist and her arms are looped around his neck. He catches her instantly, snuggling his face into the crook of her neck and kissing at the exposed skin.

She loves how much her words have an affect on him.

“I love you so much. I always will. No matter how many sleazy men ask me to sleep with them.”

He whines, lifting his head from her shoulder before looking at her with sad eyes and pouted lips at the subtle reminder that somebody else thought of her that way. Only he has, only he can, it doesn’t matter the circumstance.

She’s his.

She smiles down at him with a small blush on her cheeks, her arms unwrapping from his neck so her hands can grip his face again.

“I sleep with you. Every night. In more ways than one.” She kisses at his lips. “Cause I’m lucky.”

And for the first time tonight, he smiles. And as if that wasn’t enough for her, he laughs too — quietly, breathlessly — his hands rubbing all along her lower back and her thighs.

“Hmm... I am lucky, aren’t I?” Harry hums in bliss, his eyes looking at her fondly as she hangs on his neck in their home and it doesn’t get better than this. She had a man practically drooling on her lap and yet she’s here, with him, loving him, choosing him, just like she always has. “I do have the prettiest girl in the world. And the sweetest. And the strongest.”

“Too bad you couldn’t be bothered.” She teases, a smirk on her lips before her tongue pokes out to run quickly against his closed lips.

He lets out an almost sinister laugh, rumbling so deep in his chest she somehow manages to feel it in her legs.

“Why don’t I show you how bothered I am?”