#pros for other people you get a second chance at first impressions

[alioshakaramazov]

i don't remember names i don't remember faces every time i meet someone new i hope to god i never have to see them again only to save me the embarrassment of those 0.2 seconds of awkward interaction

[octuscle]

Hey Chronivac, could you help me out? My bf is Dutch and we’re in Rotterdam to meet his family. But his dad and brothers are all big bodybuilders and I’m a tiny nerd. Is there a way you could help me blend in and impress them?

Dan zal ik zien wat ik voor je kan doen... Is your friend also a colossus like his father and brothers? If not, you may soon be crushing him….

Your "brothers-in-law" have fun almost crushing your hands when greeting you. And your "father-in-law" greets you with a hug that leaves you breathless. Your friend laughs and tells them to leave you in one piece. You smile and ask where you can put your suitcase. Your friend says that you sleep on the second floor and a brother-in-law asks if he should carry your suitcase up. No, it's okay, you can do it. With the last of your strength you reach the room. You are drenched in sweat. And you ask your friend to excuse you downstairs for a moment. You would like to lie down for a moment. Zeker, geen probleem!

You open your suitcase. What kind of necklace is that? It must be a surprise gift from your boyfriend. It looks damn expensive. And it looks a bit silly around your neck. But somehow it feels good. You grab a t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts from your suitcase, change, and lie down on the bed. And immediately fall asleep.

No idea how long you have slept. But you wake up to a crash. And you have a strange pain in your right upper arm. Because you haven't blown up your sleeve yet. You yawn and stretch. You tense both biceps again. And your right sleeve is also hanging in tatters. You have to make a real effort to take off what's left of the T-shirt. And you'd better take off your boxer shorts, too. They won't last much longer either. A glance at your watch shows you that you've just dozed off for fifteen minutes. And that you should slowly do a training session again. The long flight and the drive from Amsterdam have thrown you out of your training routine. Your suitcase is a bit smelly. The sweaty clothes from the training during the stopover in London are not dry yet. But maybe your boyfriend and/or his brothers are up for lifting some weights with you now. So you put on your sweatshorts, tank top, hoodie and your training shoes and run down the stairs. The family is sitting in the kitchen. And your father-in-law seems to read your mind? Do you want to beat jet lag with a good workout? You nod. Jongens, wie komt er? asks your friend's father. And his three sons jump up.

With five people in the jeep, it's pretty cramped. Even though you're the smallest in the group, you all take up a lot of space in each other's shoulders. When the car parks in front of the gym in Sint-Andriesstraat, you breathe a sigh of relief. Because you can get out of the cramped car. And because you can literally smell the iron. The gym is just the way you like it, reduced to the essentials. And a good selection of nutritional supplements. Since the last real meal was way too long ago, you first get yourself a decent protein shake. And then jump rope for ten minutes to warm up. The wimps go on the cross trainer. Only your friend and his father follow your example. Fuck, your friend is really hot, but the thought of a threesome with his father makes you really horny.

It's really cool to learn from experienced bodybuilders. Your father-in-law gives you and your friend a lot of good tips. A lot of it would have helped you in the gym at the university in the States for sure. Shit, you guys could have been a lot bigger. Your friend and you pose in front of the mirror. You are really satisfied. But it goes even bigger. After two hours, the others have no more desire. But you would no longer fit together in a car anyway. "Ga je gang, ik heb nog een uur nodig en dan kom ik met de metro." you call out to them. You need another hour here.

After the workout you need a shake. And you talk a bit with a trainer. He thinks you have a good chance of turning pro. Maybe with an injection cycle. He has some good stuff. Your father-in-law takes it too. Okay, you already thought that. You don't get that big just with good nutrition and hard training. You answer in almost accent-free Dutch that you are thinking about it.

After the workout, just a quick check in the mirror before you put your sweaty tank top back on. Very clever not to take anything with you to change… But you like the picture in the mirror. The chain comes really nicely. Could have been a bit longer. If you develop as planned, it will be too tight on your neck… But now you have to let the air out of your intestines. The protein falls are one of the best parts of the workout.

But now off to the Maashaven stop and then home by train. Maybe you jog the last meters through the Zuiderpark. The sweatier you come home, the better.

[lilac-hecox]

Shaymien at a fair/carnival? I just think it’d be cute to read about them going around playing carnival games, going on the rides and eating the classic fair foods together. It could just be them going as friends at first and then it sort of turns into a date? Up to you!

Shayne/Ian - Carnival

--

"Point out which one you want," Shayne says, flexing his muscles in an overexaggerated way, "and I'll win it for you." He waggles his eyebrows at Ian.

Ian snorts out a laugh, he has a small fond smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His clear blue eyes scan the row of dumb, cheap, stuffed animal prizes strung across the top of the tent. He nods towards a weird looking elephant with huge floppy ears and a crooked trunk.

"That guy," Ian says.

Shayne smiles, slaps down a five dollar bill on the counter, and waits for the carnie to hand him three baseballs, the leather worn around his fingers from other people's countless attempts at the game.

"One elephant coming right up!" Shayne says, lining himself up with the metal bottles stacked in a triangular formation. Shayne knows these types of games are usually rigged, usually unwinnable, but he's also seen those videos that show you tips on beating the 'unbeatable' games.

Shayne lobs the first baseball and it is too far off to the right, missing the bottles entirely. Ian is quiet next to him, but Shayne can tell he wants to make a joke, that the only reason he isn't is to spare Shayne's feelings and the fact, that, you know, the two of them are on a date right now or whatever, and Ian Hecox has the tact to know not to rag on his date.

Shayne throws the second ball, right for the lower corner, that's the trick the pros all say, aim there and not the middle. The ball collides with the bottles and they fall away from each other as Shayne successfully topples the triangular formation.

He glances at Ian with a satisfied grin and Ian raises his eyebrows, smiles in amusement.

"Consider me impressed," Ian says.

The carnie is less than thrilled when he comes to ask Shayne what he wants for his prize. Shayne points to the weird little elephant toy.

"We want the elephant."

The carnie is back seconds later with the floppy eared, trunk too big, elephant that Ian had pointed out. He hands it off to Shayne, and Shayne holds it in the air triumphantly as he and Ian walk away from the tent and down the row of bright and noisy games, the barkers calling out from their own tents, beckoning them to try their games of chance.

Shayne stops a moment later, under the glow of the yellow hazy tent lights and offers up the elephant.

"Your elephant, sir," Shayne says.

Ian laughs. He isn't really the sentimental type, he has no real use for this dumb and ugly stuffed elephant, but he still takes it from Shayne, tucking it safely under his arm.

"Thanks Shayne, you're my hero or whatever," Ian says with a smirk, but his eyes seem to sparkle under the lights from the tent.

This date had been Shayne's idea. The LA carnival was not exactly Ian's ideal date, but Shayne had asked and by some miracle Ian had agreed and here they were. This was their third date. The first one had been something of a group date with other Smosh members, something where the lines had blurred between friendship and flirtation, something that led to the two of them staying in the restaurant long after everyone else had left and talking for what felt like hours, realizing that something was there between the two of them.

The second date was a long drive in one of Ian's fancy ass rich guy cars and then a picnic just off of a secluded hiking trail that Ian liked. Now this, the carnival on a Thursday night, Ian with his stuffed elephant and Shayne desperate to do anything to see Ian smile.

It was getting later, the sky a thick purple that would soon fade to black. They probably wouldn't stay too much longer, but there is one more thing Shayne would love to do with Ian, if Ian will oblige him.

Shayne reaches out and takes Ian's hand, causes Ian to look into his eyes.

"Can we ride the Ferris wheel together?" Shayne asks.

"God," Ian says with a laugh, "Alright, alright. I guess it isn't an authentic carnival experience without the Ferris wheel."

Shayne feels himself fall a little more, every day, like it is the easiest thing in the world for him now. Maybe all along he's always loved Ian and that love is shifting into something powerful, something strong.

The two of them walk to the Ferris wheel. Considering it is a Thursday night the line isn't too long. They stand shoulder-to-shoulder. There are couples in front and behind them, all waiting to ride the Ferris wheel.

"This was really nice," Ian says, "I'm having a good time with you."

The words from Ian mean a lot because he isn't one to be overly mushy, Shayne has learned this, has learned to read between the lines with Ian.

Shayne reaches between them and takes Ian's hand, squeezes it softly.

"I'm having the best time with you."

"And our son." Ian says, holding up the elephant.

"Wow, third date and we're already raising a kid together," Shayne jokes.

Before more can be said it is their turn, the carnies lining up their empty carriage. They sit together, pressed warmly next to each other. Shayne puts his arm around Ian's shoulder.

The wheel turns and begins leading them upwards, lifting them into the night sky. The two of them can see the lit neon carnival grounds, the bustle of people walking around, the light row of tents where Shayne had won the elephant.

Shadows and glittering lights cling to Ian, reflect in his glasses, making him look ethereal, a vision. Shayne's heart clenches in his chest. The hand on his shoulder brushes the back of Ian's neck, and Ian turns to look at him as they reach the peak of the Ferris wheel, stopped at the very top.

"Would it be cliche to kiss you right now?" Shayne whispers, as if speaking too loudly would break the moment.

Ian's eyes are soft, "Yeah, but do it anyway."

Shayne nods, leans in, and presses his lips to Ian's. Their first kiss. Ian tastes like overpriced lemonade and the sugary sweetness of a funnel cake. Ian's hand spreads open along Shayne's jaw as their lips move together softly.

--

Weeks later, when Shayne is coming over to Ian's for dinner and to watch some weird ass movie that Ian will not stop talking about, Shayne walks into the living room and spots it. The weirdo elephant that Shayne won for Ian that night at the carnival is tucked on to a shelf next to some books and other odds and ends. Shayne had expected Ian to toss it off the top of the Ferris wheel after their kiss, to give it away at the office, the last thing he expected was for Ian to designate a home for the weird little guy amongst his possessions.

The thought of it being there, of Ian wanting it there, it makes Shayne smile.

[lageografiademicamino]

Who will qualify from ESC SF1 in 2023?

Eurovision is on! Rehearsals are on! We’ve seen most of them performing at the multiple preparties and the first clips (even super shots ones) are in! 

It’s time to predict who will qualify on May 9th from Semifinal 1! These are my predictions based on the reactions, comments, listens and clicks in social media, Youtube and Spotify.

Some I will get right, others I may not - that’s the risk you will take by continuing reading this. 

1. Norway - Alessandra - Queen of Kings

She’s IN. No question. HUUUUUUGE viral hit by now. There was some concern about Alessandra’s vocals (MGP used autotune) when performing live but she’s on point based on the first rehearsal clip. Visually they’re loyal to National Final one but her outfit is a bit different, she’s wearing a crown look a like hair band and there’s more light now on the stage. 

2. Malta - The Busker - Dance (our own party)

This is worst spot in semifinals to perform as second in Eurovision. Lots of good entries have failed because 15 other amazing songs will follow and people tend to forget. However, Malta’s lively and colourful performance does stand a chance. The song stands out with its saxophone sound. If this did go through would I be sad, definitely not but being where it is, second and between two dark songs (Norway, Serbia) I say this is OUT.

3. Serbia - Luke Black -  Samo mi se spava (Само ми се спава)

One of my faves this year but I know a lot of people who’re not warming up to this Hatari II. However, their staging looks improved and Luke’s performing very confident. This kind of dark pop is exciting for many! In Eurovision it doesn’t matter how many haters you have but how many lovers, based on the interest in Spotify / Youtube I’d say this might appeal enough voters to be IN.

4. Latvia - Sudden lights -  Aijā

Indieband with a strong chorus. In the national selection the staging didn’t impress me but this is one of my faves again. Lamps are there though but there’s a good energy in here which I hope will come across to the audience.  This is still boarderline, this can go to either direction. But I have faith so IN. 

5. Portugal - Mimicat -  Ai coração

Portugal has been topping their game in preparties and even though you wouldn’t like this kind cabaree music - this is very authentic, catchy, memorable. And she can sing and perform - true pro! The stage looks a bit empty without the couch but I do have faith in Portuguese staging skills because they have nailed it during the few previous years. I still say IN.

6. Ireland - Wild Youth - We are one

Why the producers put this at 6th? If this had been an opener for this semi Wild Youth could have had a chance. However, they’re going all the way with the staging, using every inch of that stage: we have golden body, pyros, stairs - we know the guy can sing but the song is a bit generetic and forgettable. This breaks my heart but OUT. 

7. Croatia - Let 3 -  Mama ŠČ!

A big fan favourite. Huge interest before going in to Eurovision, they also did well in the preparties. We saw some aspects from the pics and Tik Tok clip that we saw before (same LED screen, cannons). Not my personal favourite but a lot of people love this kind of quirky performance so IN.

8. Switzerland - Remo Forrer - Watergun

One of my personal faves this year but again - a lot of people don’t agree with me though. The anti-war song was actually written two years ago which I kind of hope would push some buttons among the voters. However, Switzerland was one of those unfortunate countries last year who went to Final with Jury votes only and received 0 points from audience. This time around Semifinals have only audience voting so I’m afraid there might be payback and especially since it’s another Swiss ballad. 

Staging like this can be strong but the clip didn’t convince me yet. Pretty dark and they have similar strings attached to the dancers as Finland had in UMK (why are you coping??). I love this but I say OUT. 

9. Israel - Noa Kirel - Unicorn

She’s IN. This is not my favourites to be honest, just because it’s so messy genre like. Israel was a bit of mystery to everyone because they didn’t participate to any preparties and they kept all their plans as a secret. But she sounds amazing and the Tik Tok clip and the photos promise us a spectacle. The seem to have a running unicorn in the LED screen, she’s in this bright box, upside down and in the end she’s making Chanel style break dance. This will please many for sure and high chances of becoming a top5 in the final. 

10. Moldova - Pasha Parfeni -  Soarele și luna

This is one of the most ethnic entries this year and Pasha Parfeni is no stranger to Eurovision as he represented Moldova also back in 2012. The song is memorable, it does stand out and the live performance even just from the pictures doesn’t disappoint. Moldova is a master of creating memorable performances even with a smaller budget and there’s no way that this didn’t go through. So IN.

11. Sweden - Loreen - Tattoo

Do I need to say this? IN. The LED sandwich so called what they used in Sweden was a lot bigger(16 m² ) but I don’t think the current size (6,25 m² ) will cause actual problems because the camera work will make it look larger. This is copy paste from Melodiefestivalen so pretty epic. A lot of people do complain however that Loreen is not bringing anything new to ESC as this does remind her victorious song Euphoria from decade ago. However, potential winning song for sure! 

12. Azerbaijan -  TuralTuranX -  Tell Me More

One of the indie entries we have this year. I quite like it but... this is not a crowd pleaser unfortunately and in Eurovision you kind of have to be. This is such a good feel song but no. Stating isn’t doing much either, they’re standing on the platform of spaped by the heart playing their quitars. Unless there is something major happening what wasn’t revealed in the Tik Tok clips. I’m sorry, OUT. 

13.  Czechia -  Vesna -  My Sister's Crown

There’s so much love for this entry but at the same time there’s talk that this might be the shock non-qualifier. They didn’t perform as well and confidently as people were expecting them to during the preparties. However, in their live rehearsals we see them wearing rose coloured outfits, they have long braids - there’s a message of we’re not your dolls combined with some doll movements so very strong female empowerment thing going on. This can get too messy but hard to say from the Tik Tok clip itself. I still belive this would be IN. 

14.  Netherlands -  Mia Nicolai & Dion Cooper -  Burning Daylight

Another sleepy ballad. I don’t hate it. And to be honest this has the strongest ballad staging I’ve seen so far. Mia and Dion are standing on this moving platform and walking towards, around, from each other. This can be a moment, beautiful one. Their voices go nicely together. BUT this comes after a strong Czechia and before Finland. I don’t see this year being very kind to the ballads, people are clearly having more reactions (clicks, listens etc) towards the quirky songs of ESC 2023. I say OUT. 

15. Finland - Käärijä - Cha Cha Cha 

A big fan favourite when going in for the rehearsals. Many didn’t expect Käärijä’s team to change the stating at all actually because it was pretty damn good already at the UMK. However, they have upgraded it. They have this big wooden box on the stage, according to photos and the Tik Tok clip he’s in it at some point and also the dancers where they emerge at one point. The silhouette is awesome! Great add and super powerful! There’s pyro at the end also, colours of the rainbow - the human snake has movement. This is so good! If Finland doesn’t win the ESC alltogether I do belive this will make the televotes to explode at the semi for sure! IN! 

What do you think of the songs in Semifinal 1 and who do you think will qualify? Talk to me in the comments below! 

[steampunkforever]

I feel I've often been quoted as saying that propaganda films should at least be well done. Usually I level this at military propaganda or films directed by people who think they're Micheal Tomasky and Adam McKay's long lost child. Which is to say, people justifying the countless foreign and domestic human rights abuses of the GWOT and also Ivy Leaguers with heads too far up their own diplomas to understand how American social issues might cause people to (*scandalized gasp*) vote Republican.

Of course most of my critiques are aimed at bad political soapboxing and movies where cops/soldiers violate constitutional rights/commit war crimes. Simply put, there are more bad propaganda films than good ones. Preaching is best left in the pulpit, and is worst when shoehorned into the narrative rather than into the subtext. Because of this, we rarely see a well done propaganda film, but if we're looking for one, Steven Spielberg's 2005 film "Munich" is a pristine example.

Quick sidebar: Spielberg is Jewish, despite the viral post referencing his ownership of MLK's speeches calling him white, and his political leanings reflect Zionist attitudes. In the conversation of Jewish history within media and entertainment, the conclusions often go ugly places regarding who controls the establishment and pushes narratives. To that point, one should be careful when discussing media narratives about the Israel-Palestine conflict.

As far as those media narratives go, Munich is much more nuanced than I expected. This is a film about the aftermath of the 1972 Olympics, in which Palestinian terrorist group Black September massacred 11 members of the Israeli Olympic team and were subsequently hunted down and executed by secret Israeli hit squads for their participation in the massacre. No need to get too sympathetic for the guys who tossed grenades into helicopters full of handcuffed hostages.

For a film about murdering terrorists, Munich is surprisingly good at giving the other side a chance to state its motivations. I'm sure that if you're pro-Palestinian it's not a satisfying representation of the Palestinian viewpoint, but for outright propaganda I'd say this was still a pretty solid dialogue between ideologies. Paired with the narrative's acknowledgement that much of this Israeli savagery was neither morally correct nor wholly warranted, and I will say I was impressed with how subtly Spielberg managed what could have just been "the IDF does John Wayne's Green Beret."

Subtlety only goes so far in propaganda, I will admit. At the tail end of the film, we witness two key conversations that spell out the movie's final conclusion. The first, between the protagonist and his mother, concludes with the assertion that for Jews to find a place they can be safe, they must forcibly take and hold it. The second conversation, held between the protagonist and his Mossad handler in what is the final scene of the film, assures us that the violence was simply a nasty inevitability. This is the takeaway of the film: It's worth it, and they had it coming.

Maybe those specific guys did deserve it. I would also assassinate terrorists killing my countrymen, even if they really were "doing an anti-imperialism." Except propaganda requires context, and Munich entered production in the middle of the Second Intifada, the conflict that set conditions for the current Israeli apartheid state as we know it. This is the context Munich speaks to.

"It was worth it." "They deserved it." The final shot of the film, a pan up from the final conversation, pulls out wide and holds on a view of the World Trade Center's twin towers. The connections Spielberg makes here are clear. Either way you read it, it's an ugly piece of propaganda. It's also incredibly well done.

[sharkinlovewithadolphin]

For the ask thing, 27, 32 and 35 l. Maybe with tattoos. Maybe?

Thank you!! ❤ Sorry for the wait <3 50 cliché tropes and prompts 27) Help me I’m being hit on at a bar please be my fake boyfriend for a second 32) A soft smile before leaning in for a kiss 35) “Do you trust me?” Read on AO3 (it's too long to post here ;_; fuck tumblr). Sneak peek under the cut:

Rin really wishes he hadn’t gone along with his coworkers’ suggestion to go out for a drink together but, alas, here he is, downing another out of too-many-shots, getting his eardrums blasted with some loud beats to a song he he can’t fully make out over the bass and the noise of his coworkers attempting to yell to each other louder than said music. He’s only 27, so he doesn't really consider himself old quite yet, but he still feels way too old for this. Then again, it had never really been his forté to go clubbing, if he's being completely honest. A coworker named Chiaki turns away from another coworker and towards him instead, then yells something, but Rin can’t hear what she’s trying to say over all the noise. “What?” He yells back, and she moves closer to him. “Want to go next door? To the bar? It’s getting a bit crowded in here,” she yells again, this time nearly directly into his ear. It’s been crowded since before we came, he’s tempted to point out, but he doesn’t. “Sure,” he agrees, and helps them gather the rest of their coworkers before all six of them head out. They go into the bar, and Rin instantly notices how much quieter and less crowded it is, way before he even gets a chance to properly gain any other impression of the place. Then slowly: it’s dark, but lighter than the club. People look older here, too, though not old. There is a gathering of roughly 20 or 30 people dancing in one area, otherwise the rest are scattered around the bar or sitting down around the tables and booths. The music is at an adequate level, one where Rin's actually able to make out words and tunes other than just eardrum-damaging bass.

Working as a hair stylist has its pros and its cons. Rin enjoys the work a lot. He loves the variety of experience he gets, the work flow, his coworkers and most of his customers, and the pay at his current salon is surprisingly also nothing to complain about. However, his job does include having to stand up almost the entire day, and having done so this day - standing up for his entire 9 hours long shift, followed by another hour at the club, he can currently feel the day catching up to him. He decides to stay at the bar, sitting down on a stool just to rest his feet for a little bit, declining several invitations to go dance with his coworkers to regain some sense of feeling in his feet and legs. He orders a yuzu cocktail, and sips it while watching his coworkers on the dancefloor with a smile, his back leaning slightly against the counter of the bar. He manages to finish his drink before his thoughts are interrupted. “Are you here all by yourself?” A male voice asks from beside him. Rin turns around towards the sound, unsure at first if it was really him that was being asked, or if it was someone else. A young man has sat down beside him without him noticing it, and he wonders for a moment how he didn’t - the man is tall, with dark, greasy-looking hair slicked back and distinct features, including a prominent jaw. He appears rather sophisticated, wearing a suit as if he just got out of either some important meeting or a boring office job. “No,” Rin simply says with a polite smile. “That’s too bad,” the man says. “Who are you here with?” “Why do you ask?” Rin doesn’t want to come off as rude, but he also knows from past experience to never indulge strangers in even the vaguest of suspicious questions. People usually only ask others whether they're alone or not if they have some sort of intention to go with that, and Rin doesn't have any interest in whatever intention lies behind this man asking it. “Hey, no need to be cold,” the man chuckles. “Can I buy you a drink?” Rin is about to answer, when a hand is suddenly on his shoulder. He quickly looks up, only to see Makiko, another coworker of his, smile far too widely at him, almost as if it’s a bit forced. “Hey, wanna come dance with us?” she asks, and Rin gets the hint immediately. She’s trying to help him out. “Sure,” Rin smiles back, grateful for the way out. He looks down at the stranger, and, as politely as possible, says: “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to say no.” The stranger looks annoyed, but Rin can’t find it in him to care, and allows Makiko to drag him off to the relatively small dancing area. He dances for what feels like hours, but is likely no more than 20 minutes, judging by the few songs that have played in the background. After a close and almost provocative dance with a coworker named Minato to some upbeat pop song, he goes to order another drink for himself, something light this time, just to take off the worst of his thirst. He notices a guy with dark, raven-colored, soft-looking, short hair sitting at the bar. Their eyes meet, and Rin swears he’s never seen eyes so deeply and perfectly blue before. A part of him feels a little speechless for a moment, but he still manages to smile at him. Surprisingly enough, even though the guy doesn’t seem to be the type of person who would smile back, he does. A little smile, but it's still there. He appears quite fascinated with Rin at first glance, but he quickly looks away again. Rin gets his drink, thanks the bartender, downs it, then goes back to the dance floor with a last glance to the stranger with pretty eyes, disappointed not to get to see them again, but just the backside of the guy’s head. Read the rest on AO3.

[h-pelessly]

May Reads

Books I Read this month;

Heathen & Honeysuckle by Sarah A Bailey (8/10) This is my first Sarah A Bailey book. I genuinely thought this was her debut novel which absolutely blew me away because it was honestly very descriptive and beautiful.  Besides the stress on the amount of ARCs that I have/had, I still had a good time. I loved the flashbacks which made me feel comfortable and at home (I am an ocean girlie after all) but the second chance part was unrealistic (like how are you gonna tell me over a decade, a MAN will never forget and dedicate his life to a girl that left him in the middle of the night a literal decade?) Like it’s very romantic don’t get me wrong, but it’s crazy how whipped Leo was for Darby. Darby was very boring like straight-edged, and she really needed Leo, but just hearing about her lifestyle made me feel stuck (small town vibes.) ALSO, I love that Leo calls Darby honeysuckle like that’s such a cute nickname, but like??? He tells her her mouth is deadly from the moment they meet like HUH???? I was under the impression the spice was spicing, but regardless, the story is chef’s kiss. Unrealistic but sweet like honeysuckle.

The Lies We Tell by Cassandra Diviak (6.9/10) This was an ARC read. I’ve never read anything from the author before, but I was happy to give indie authors a chance. Although the tropes caught my attention, the book was kind of boring. I couldn’t connect to the characters. Maybe it was just the fact that they were a part of the higher economic status and seemed (uncharacteristically) proper, and my stigma on stuck up higher class people. I also dislike the poor vs rich trope. I mean it isn’t that bad considering I have a manuscript kind of using that trope, but some times the trope really bothers me. It was fake dating, but maybe I just couldn’t see the sparks between the two as well. It was a slow burn which I don’t mind, but like I was saying, there was no tension between the two in my opinion so it was so boring. But the ending had so much sex like damn yall are like bunnies. ANYWAYS, I feel bad, but I could NOT connect at all.

Same Time Next Year by Tessa Bailey (6/10) I felt bad for this being such a low review, but it was a novella and hence it being short, so much was left out in addition to it not making sense. It was fun and tension filled, but Google could've been Miss. Bailey's friend through all this. Yeah, it was romance filled, but at what cost? Not only was the MMC, Sumner, not hot, but the FMC, Britta, was a walking red flag. Sumner was described to look like a thumb, but he was also creepy. Like how tf are you gonna tell me he got off to the imagined image of Britta walking down the aisle holding flowers? If that doesn't scare just EVERYONE, I'll be damned. Maybe that makes me a walking red flag also. However, Britta doesn't want even a relationship because she's so assured it will fail. It is understandable, but Miss Girl needs therapy not a husband. Yeah, I love the "my wife" microtrope, but the whole thing didn't make sense. They were about to make out in the immigration parking lot, and when seeing the officer, he says "I know the real deal when I see it" hello???????

Mile High by Liz Tomforde (6.5/10) only giving it a .5 more than the last one (although it is also a 2 stars on my GRs) because of mental health. Other than that, what the fuck was this. 5% in, I wanted to DNF because the MMC was so unattractive to me like Miss Liz could've threw in something instead of "I'm just a pro hockey player" and am always on the go and hookup. Like that's the go-to with pro sports and I am sick of it!!! At least give him some personality. NGL, it was an audiobook so the voice gave me the ick-- the reader sounded southern (which is a huge part of where I'm going.) Towards the middle, I realized he was black. I'm like ?????? WHAT?????? I did NOT get that, and that's such a bad writing technique in my opinion. I did live the FMC, Stevie, at first, but then her only personality became living in ragged sweats. Like???? hello make her more interesting. And the author kept writing her as having unmanagable hair. Then a quarter in, I realized that she's half black which makes sm sense of the author reading (which still sounds southern in my opinion, but it is what it is.) But the author describing her as having unmanagable hair????? A WHITE AUTHOR??? WILD. And their third act breakup was so stupid like at least in Consider Me, it was heartbreaking and believable. This was stupid like I know Stevie has a low self esteem, but like ???? did she not know what dating a pro sports player would entail? Also, he, whatever the fuck, Zanders, broke up with her like a toy and she was hurt over it even though SHE was the one hesitant to get with him in the first place? Makes sense tbh, but like have some self respect girl. And also, running from her problems??? The one who should be badass after putting up with her mom and ex's shit for so long? Also, as a mental health advocate, how could Zanders not see that Stevie needs a therapist more than a relationship? But ok.

Small Town Hero by Olivia Hayle (7/10) I thought this book was adorable. It was a sweet romance— I would say clean but I guess it’s more of a YA although they do kiss like a few times. The best friend’s brother/brother’s best friend trope enthralls me, but this book was slow for me. It was slow in the way that I could not connect to the characters. Maybe it’s because I didn’t read the previous book, but it wasn’t needed to understand it. Jamie, the FMC, was emotionally abused by an ex so she and their kid picked up and moved back to her small hometown. She runs into her ex best friend’s brother who is immediately in love with her. Parker, the MMC, always saw her beauty and admired her, but he kept his distance as a cool kid. I’m okay with this trope of cool guy/nerdy girl, but what I don’t understand is how Jamie, who was explained as a rulebreaker/strong girl succumbed to her ex. Like I know emotional abuse works, but how did she let it get so far if she were such a strong leader? Anyways, I love Parker. He’s so kind and patient with her. I hope as a single mom book, we saw more of the kid/boyfriend interaction, but it did well to skipping boring parts so we can see the MMC/FMC interact.

Hating the Player by Rebecca Jenshak (7.89/10) I don’t know why I expected Violet’s book to make me like Violet more, but absolutely not. She was so annoying and like I get that she’s a fashion student, but I was like dude this is so boring. Anyways, Gavin was the best part of this book. I like how calm and collected he was. I was so conflicted to like this book or not bc it’s enemies to lovers, second chance, no third act break up but VIOLET!!!! People were hating on Gavin bc how could he hook up if he believed Violet was the love of his life which I completely agree, but you can only do so much if the other person doesn’t want you. So I did like this book, but the FMC was annoying.

Hilarious by Jess Savage (6.9/10) I honestly don’t remember signing up for this ARC bc I haven’t read the last 3 books, but it is what it is. This is supposed to take place 5 years after the last book I guess so they are 23/24 now. Ella, one of the FMC, is to be wedded off after her stunt of declaring she was part of a throuple. When she admitted this five years ago, her family shunned her, and the only way to get back in their good graces was to carry on life as if it never happened without and stunts. In order to do this, Ella shuts out Jack, MMC, and Hailey, FMC. When she comes back, she runs into them and all her memories come back. I honestly don’t believe Ella ever loved the two. I think most of it is lust because she constantly talks about her parts tingling with the thought of them but like her heart??? There was no commitment when she says she loved them. Her mom was the worst, and though her dad was the one that originally shunned Ella, her mom makes a 360 at the end to accept her. Like ??? Nah, it’s because her mom is a clout chaser since the Stewarts no longer own the club. Ella will always be the mean girl to me. People say Hailey is annoying, but Ella literally exists like she chose her reputation. I get as a child you’re scared, but she had YEARS afterward to reconcile, and she still chose her homophobic parents. Jack is a lovesick idiot, and Hailey is always horny and has daddy issues.

The Teacher by Freida McFadden (7/10) Honestly I was confused about the plot of the story like I didn't know what we were going towards. I wasn't the biggest fan of the plot because it had a lot of cheating and SA, but Freida's writing is fast paced and easy to digest. I like the professor x student/forbidden love tropes, but this book gave me the biggest ick ever because not only was it a minor and a teacher, I was confused!!!!!1 This man, Nathaniel, gave me the biggest ick ever like he was obviously cheating on his wife which made him a big red flag, but also like he was "attractive" and all, but like how do we know. He was literally called "hot" and attractive, but like what was he like? Descriptors would help, but anyways, words wouldn't help him anyway because he is a child MOLESTER!!!!!11 Back to the story like Eve, the wife, wasn't a girls' girl and honestly shouldn't be an educator because like I get this girl got your mentor fired or whatever, but like to have a personal vendetta against someone half your age is insane. To add on, she made Adi's life miserable like what is this???? I get students being mean to her for this rumor, but a teacher???? No way, dude. Anyways, Eve was cheating on Nate all this time because the man wouldn't give Eve attention, whatnot. Then Nate becomes obsessed with Adi and yadiya, you know the gist. Then Adi accidentally kills Eve????? But Eve didn't die then Nate kills her???? Then Eve isn't dead yet????? How is this even real like what are the chances? And it turns out the guy Eve was cheating on was Adi's best friend?? Like HUH??? Is it a case of SAs all around or like what the fuck because like Hudson "Jay" is seen at school also???? HELLO?????

[rafaelmonroyus]

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[amaya-writes]

Meet The Family: You Meet His 'Child'

Day Five of Teacher's Pet

Notes: I'm back! gonna have consistent updates from now on

Warnings: n/a just fluff

Characters involved: Hawks, Dazai, Shinichiro,

Gender-neutral reader, you/yours

Hawks (Keigo Takami)

A small grin spread across your lips as you quickly moved around the agency, the path to Keigo's office feeling almost second nature what with how much time you spent at his agency.

However, you were forced to a stop just as you reached out to pull open the door.

"They're having a meeting, I would advise against disturbing it."

The sudden statement had you spinning on your heels to face an unfamiliar boy you hadn't noticed before.

Compared to the brightly-dressed adult heroes around the agency the boy stuck out like a sore thumb what with his black get-up and almost serene vibe.

However, it was that very feature that had a name jumping to the tip of your tongue.

"You're Tokoyami, right? The kid who's interning with Keigo."

Tokoyami nodded along as you spoke, gesturing you to one of the empty seats beside him.

As you took a seat beside him, you couldn't help but feel your smile widen. Keigo would never admit it, but over the course of his previous internship he had come to think of Tokoyami as more than just a fellow bird hero to look out for.

In fact, he cared for the kid more than he realized.

"So, you're the famous partner?"

"How did you-"

Tokoyami shrugged at your words, almost as if it was obvious.

"You referred to Hawks with his first name. And he's spoken of you before."

The two of you remained quiet for a moment after that, but the silence was quickly broken by your curiosity to see just how close your boyfriend was to his student.

"So, what do you think about him?"

"Hawks is he's impressive. Honestly, I had never thought of him much before my internship, sure he's a great hero, but after meeting him I-"

The way Tokoyami trailed off had you quickly turning to gauge the younger boy's reaction, however, the small smile on his face eased any worries you might have had.

"-began to look up to him. He makes me want to be a better hero. Maybe it's because of how close we are in age compared to other pro heroes, but Hawks makes me feel inspired. Like he can teach me how to be the best hero."

Tokoyami had begun to relax in his seat as he spoke but was quick to jump up and turn to you once he processed his words.

"But don't tell him any of that! It'll get to his head and-"

"Of course, your secret's safe with me."

The wide grin on your face probably didn't look too convincing, but Tokoyami wasn't given a chance to argue as the office doors were pushed open and a certain feathered hero pulled you to his side.

"You're early."

Hawks was quick to lead you into his now empty office as he spoke, whether it was because of the light blush dusting his cheeks or the rush of heroes now in the hallway, you weren't sure.

However, one thing was for certain. He had heard Tokoyami.

"And you're adorable."

"Shut up."

His office was consumed with laughter as you took your time teasing your boyfriend, with the latter attempting to block off any mentions of his little relationship with Tokoyami.

However, even as the two of you poked fun at each other and wasted away his lunch break, you couldn't help but feel a warm feeling blossom within your chest.

Neither Keigo nor Tokoyami realized it, but perhaps, meeting each other was exactly what they needed to reconcile with a part of themselves they had forgotten.

Dazai Osamu

Dazai Osamu was a complicated person.

People who didn't know him thought of him as the suicide-obsessed detective who kept the agency alive and running, often literally, and the ones who did were either scared of him or found Dazai endearing.

You had never really come across anyone who didn't fit in either of those boxes. Up until your encounter with one of the port mafia's best.

You weren't really aware of Dazai's past with the port mafia, but one thing you knew for sure was that after a crazy day of saving the city, Akutagawa more than deserved at least a bit of recognition from his mentor.

Dazai could almost feel the way you were glaring at him from your spot behind Akutagawa, perhaps that was why he hesitated for a moment before completely dismissing his student's requests.

"You did-"

His gaze finally flicked over Akutagawa's shoulder to meet your encouraging gaze, a sight he couldn't help but give in to after such a tiring day saving the city.

"-you did good. You've improved."

A soft sigh escaped his lips as Dazai spoke, however, that was completely concealed by the sound of Akutagawa's frame hitting the floor.

You would have thought he had broken them if it weren't for the half-assed reassurances Dazai threw your way as he dragged you away from the scene.

"You did good too."

A wide smirk spread across his face as Dazai turned to face you, with his hands shifting from your arm to instead rest on your waist so he could easily pull you into his chest.

"Only good?"

You hummed at the question, letting him pull you against his chest as a smile of your own formed across your lips.

"Fine, you did amazing."

Your words only served to widen his smile as Dazai finally sealed your lips with his, with his grip on your waist tightening the longer the two of you remained that way.

"Maybe being nice to Akutagawa isn't such a bad idea after all."

You playfully slapped his chest at the statement, but even as the two of you fell into a playful stream of banter, you couldn't help but notice how Dazai seemed a lot more pleased with Akutagawa than he let on.

He would never admit it, but Dazai already felt as proud as Akutagawa as he wanted him to be. Perhaps, someday would find it in himself to admit as much.

Shinichiro Sano

After a day full of fun with your boyfriend you were ready to return home and sleep the night away, however, that idea seemed increasingly impossible the longer you lingered outside the Sano house.

"Shin, I can go home by myself, seriously!"

Shinichiro let out a low groan at your words, with his hold on your waist tightening to keep you stuck between him and his bike.

"I already drove us till here, I can take you home too."

"We literally live in the same neighbourhood."

He seemed to perk up at your words, but you were quick to shut down any ideas of walking together with a stern look.

Usually, you would have been more than happy to go home with Shinichiro, but as the oldest Sano sibling there were certain responsibilities he had, responsibilities that he had already avoided to spend the day with you.

And knowing Shinichiro, he would probably want to spend more time together once your home came in view, something that you would ultimately give in to and hate yourself for.

The Sano kids were already neglected enough as it was, you didn't want to be the reason to take away their older brother too.

Thankfully, his younger siblings intervened right before he could convince you to give in.

"Oi Shinichiro, Emma's been- oh."

The blond boy leaning against their house's doorframe was quick to stand up straight and awkwardly run his hand through his hair the second your eyes locked, with his actions making you increasingly aware of how you probably looked at that moment.

Shinichiro pulled away the second he registered his brother's voice, choosing to instead lean against his bike beside you.

"I got your things, I'll be in in a minute."

Mikey nodded along to his brother's words, sparing a quick look at the dorayaki packet on the bike before walking back inside the house.

However, even as you watched the blond disappear past the front door you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. You had been so excited to meet Shinichiro's younger siblings, but after how he had just seen you, Mikey's mental image of you was probably the opposite of what you wanted.

Shinichiro seemed to sense your disappointment at the prospect of being looked down on by his siblings and was quick to wrap an arm around your shoulders, squeezing them in an attempt to reassure you.

"Don't worry, Mikey isn't the type to judge people like that. Plus-"

he returned to your front as he spoke, this time with a goofy grin stretched across his lips.

"-I talk about you enough for him to know better."

Usually, people would have been shy to admit such things, but Shinichiro's willingness to be truthful about his emotions was what made you like him so much.

That, paired with the fact that even if he usually stumbled around with his words, he somehow always knew how to make you feel better.

"I want to meet them."

He hummed at your statement, pulling away from your form to instead take your hand in his and tug you towards the front door, with the packet of dorayaki in his other hand.

"Luckily, I picked out enough dorayaki for four. Why don't you spend the night?"

You probably weren't going to be staying for that long, but it was the prospect of being able to learn about a new side of Shinichiro's life, one he often hid away from others, that had you grinning in excitement.

Maybe meeting his loved ones would take the two of you one step closer to acknowledging the love you felt for one another.

[storiesofsvu]

First Date Turned Tradition

Peter Stone x reader Warnings: language, fluff. Covers the "stargazing" square for @adarafaelbarba bingo! for the sake of the story peter stays on playing ball and doesnt become a lawyer

Peter obviously loved baseball season, though baseball season was kind of year round when you were playing pro. But there was something so much more exciting about the actual season when games were played, the stands were full of excited fans cheering, drinking, and having a great time.

He loved the adrenaline of a good game, the sneaky cues between him and the catcher to know exactly what kind of pitch to throw the other team off with and win the game.

He would never admit it to certain people, but he also loved the ego boost that came with being a pro ball player. The cheers and claps on the back from the men, often accepting drinks from those who were fans if they ran into each other later in the night. And it was more than easy to get free drinks from the girls, the ones who would give a little shy giggle from across the bar, their skin sun kissed from a day in the stadium, already a little tipsy from the overpriced shitty beers.

He usually would just flirt his way through the night accept the drinks and on the rare occasion, take one (or two) back to his hotel room and keep the party going all through the night.

But then there were the special ones, the ones who he could tell were actually there cause they enjoyed the sport, knew exactly what was going on, yelled appropriately when strikes or bad calls were made. The ones who weren’t just smirking cause they were ball bunnies.

 Sometimes they were hidden away in the pricey sky boxes with top shelf liquor and snooty friends, rich supporters of the team.

But sometimes, like today, they were right on the sidelines, directly above the dugout and in the ample spot to chat.

Peter would flash a stunning grin, sign a couple of jersey’s, leisurely lean up against the fence while making some small talk with various fans in between innings.

But there was something about you that caught his eye, you glanced his way a couple of times, returning his smile with a glittering one of your own before your eyes darted back towards the game, letting out an offended yell as the other team tagged out one of the Cubs.

You were dressed in a cub’s jersey, fitted just enough but loose just enough to be comfortable, a pair of jean shorts with a matching hat. It was clear you were a fan, and you knew exactly what the game was about.

When he caught your eye again after coming off the field, he nodded his head in a ‘come hither’ motion and you rolled your eyes with a grin, playfully shaking your head before you scooped up your beer and moved over to the railing.

He introduced himself, some playful banter exchanged between the two of you as you laughed, saying you knew exactly who he was, and that his striking out record was pretty impressive. You managed to keep up with him jab for jab, pulling laughs from him, even managing to fluster him a little bit.

He disappeared into the dugout for a second, returning with the sharpie he used to sign mitts and jersey’s with, pulling the cap off with his teeth before grabbing your arm, scrawling his phone number onto the inside of your forearm before shooting you a wink and dashing back out onto the field.

You couldn’t help but shake your head at his flirtation, the grin evident on your cheeks as you returned to your seat.

When the game was over, you gave Peter a celebratory salute and wave before leaving the stadium with your friends. Despite not texting him right away, you did end up at the same bar by chance where he offered to buy you a drink and you got to know each other a little more personally.

“You wanna get out of here?” He asked with a wicked grin, “I’ve got an idea.”

“Oh Mr Stone… I do not go home on the first date.”

“Call me Peter. Mr Stone’s my father. And I promise I will walk you home like a perfect gentlemen when the night is up, nothing but an innocent bit of fun. Scout’s honour.”

You couldn’t resist the sparkle in his eyes, the cheeky grin on his face, he would stay true to his word, you knew it.

Much to your surprise, he sneakily looped his arm in yours, walking through the streets and the conversation drifted back to baseball. How you’d grown up on the sport, going to games with you Dad. He’d worked for the city, which mean weekly free tickets and extra free BBQ’d hot dogs and burgers through the season. How you tried your hand at playing but it was always just for fun, you were definitely not good enough aside from a group of friends drinking beers and playing ball during the summer months.

You were laughing at yourself, reminiscing about the time you’d nearly broken your cousin’s nose with a rouge ball when you stopped suddenly, realizing you were outside the stadium.

“What’re we doing here?” you asked, looking up at Peter who smiled in response.

“It’s a clear night.” He gestured toward the sky, “and there’s nothin’ like the view of the stars from the pitcher mound.”

“We’re breaking in?!”

“Nah, that would be illegal.” He shot you a wink before leading you towards one of the back doors, punching in a code and leading you through it before quickly silencing another alarm.

Hand in hand he lead you out to the field, watching the grin spread on your cheeks, the way your eyes lit up as you looked toward the sky.

There was no lie to his words, the sky full of glittering diamonds against a dark background.

“it’s so beautiful.” You said in awe and he chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“oh I know…”

He tugged you to the pitcher’s mound, dropping down to sit next to it right in the middle of the diamond, slotting you between his legs, your back resting against his chest. “see… told ya…” his voice murmured against your ear and you couldn’t help but let out a small shiver, smiling at the way his arms wrapped around you.

The two of you stayed like that for hours, sharing soft little stories, laughing over your pasts, your childhood memories, getting to know each other on a whole new personal level.

You barely felt Peter’s lips brush against your clothed shoulder, your cheeks flushing as you marked it up to him simply being too close to you when he spoke.

Finally, he nudged you gently, murmuring something about overnight cleaners coming soon and you chuckled, prodding his side with a tease “you bring all the cute girls here?”

“Only the ones I really like.”

Just as promised, he walked you home, hand linked in yours the entire way, sharing more stories, glancing up to the glittering sky at each stop light you hit.

You slowed to a stop outside your building, turning to face him with a warm smile on your face as you glanced up at Peter.

“This is me. Thanks for the walk Pete.”

“For a girl like you, anytime.” He smiled, pushing a stray strand of your hair back behind your ear.

“Maybe we can do it again next time you’re in town?”

“I’d absolutely love that.” He paused for a moment, waiting for you to step away after he stepped closer to you, his hand trailing down your cheek. A small grin on his cheeks he leant in, kissing you softly, lips moving with grace against your own in a very easily found rhythm. “Sweet dreams. Don’t forget to call.” He smiled, watching the gleam in your eyes grow as you assured him you wouldn’t forget before he made sure you got inside safe and sound.

That little night of stargazing?

That was five years ago.

Now you were at every game of Peter’s, at home or on the road. And you always turned down the fancy box seats with the top shelf liquor and free finger foods.

Because you’d always much prefer being right about the dugout, cheering your husband on from the sidelines with cheap beer and nachos, close enough to steal a kiss whenever he came running back in from the field.

And on those lucky nights? He’d always sneak you back into the diamond after hours to watch the stars, murmuring just how much you loved each other until the late hours of the night.

______________

@fandom-princess-forevermore @lovesomerafi @michasia24 @altsvu @lawandorderimagines @whimsicallymad @averyhotchner @teamsladsandgents @mysticfalls01 @ssaic-jareau @barbasbodaciousbeard @alwaysachorusgirl @beardedbarba @rafivadafreddy @australiancarisi @itsjustmyfantasyroom @wandas-wife @caracalwithchips @thestarrynightslover @sia2raw @xoxabs88xox @im-just-a-mississippi-girl

[scarlettriot]

Stood Up

Pairing: Sero/F!Reader

Summary: When you find your dating making out with someone else at a Halloween party, Hanta swoops in and reclaims your evening, rekindling an old flame.

Contains: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Demisexual Reader, Astronomy/Greek Lore Nerd Sero, Old flame

Warnings: 18+ Below the cut, Minors DNI! Swearing, Demi Problems, Praise/Smidge of Degradation, Name-calling (slut & whore), Pet names (Love, good girl, pretty girl), Car Sex, F Masturbation, Oral M Receiving (Road Head) I think that's everything

A/N: This took me much longer than I expected. It's also my first time writing Sero. Given the season, I decided to add a touch of Halloween and costumes to this one.

If you'd like to read other's in the Stood Up series, here are the links:

Stood Up - Bakugo - WC 3,502

Stood Up - Kirishima - WC 3,612

Stood Up - Kaminari - WC 2,461

Word Count Starting Below: 3,494

Denki Kaminari's annual Halloween bash was in full swing by the time Hanta had arrived. He'd come straight from patrol, wrapping himself up in his own tape making a half assed mummy costume for himself. Not like anyone would notice with the flashing colored lights, loud music, and abundance of liquor.

However, Hanta didn't even make it up to the double glass front doors of Denki's home. Not before doing a double take at the very familiar pirate that ran by him.

"Y/N?" You stopped allowing him the chance to catch up to you, "Holy shit, it is you, when the hell did you get back?"

Three years you'd been gone, working in America. Time differences and busy schedules made it so the two of you barely kept in touch. It was a shame, Hanta thought, considering how close the two of you used to be.

"I- uh- just a few weeks now. I heard you were helping out with the disaster relief after that storm."

It had to be his eyes playing tricks on him, the funny colors of the dancing lights were what made your cheeks look wet, right? Those couldn't have been tears.

"I was, yeah, but I got back yesterday. I didn't know-"

"Get the hell outta here!" His head snapped back towards the front of the house, just in time to see Eijiro, dressed in an impressive werewolf costume, literally throw someone out of the party. The guy drunkenly stumbled off, Eijiro walking over towards where Hanta was standing with you. "Y/N, you good?"

You nodded while Hanta tried to piece together what'd happened. "Sorry, it took me a second to find the bastard. Do ya wanna come back in? I'll make sure he leaves."

"No, Eijiro, thanks though. I'm just gonna head home."

The wolfman frowned but understood. "We'll have a smaller party for ya! Just the gang as a welcome home! You know Denki will look for any excuse to throw a party." He turned his gaze on Hanta. "A mummy, really?"

"You've been a damn werewolf for the last two years! You don't get to give me crap."

Eijiro poked the fuzzy pointed red ears carefully set into his spiky hair. "Mina and I worked real hard on this costume... seemed like a waste to only wear it once."

"We both know you haven't just worn those once, big man."

That got a chuckle out of you while all Eijiro could do was shrug and try to hide a shit-eating grin.

He asked you again if you'd like to stay and once more you said you were going to just head home. It was when you specifically said you were going to be walking home that Hanta spoke up offering to drive you back to your home since it was Halloween and people were creeps.

You were a damn pro hero but he still didn't feel right about just letting you walk home alone.

When you agreed he told Eijiro he'd be back soon and walked over with you to his car.

>>><<<

A part of you missed the old station wagon Hanta used to drive, not that this BMW he now drove wasn't absolutely amazing, you just sort of missed the comfort of the old car.

He waited until he'd reached the end of Denki's long, winding driveway to finally speak. "So, you wanna tell me what happened back there, or am I just supposed to pretend like Kiri didn't kick someone out on your behalf?"

"You could probably just ask Kiri and he'd tell you."

"I could, but, I'd like to hear it from you."

You knew you could tell him, there was nothing you couldn't tell Hanta. There was once a time when the man knew every single detail about your life. Sure, time and distance had put a strain on that relationship but you were back now. There was no reason why you couldn't at least start rebuilding what you and Hanta once had.

"Y/N, if you don't wanna say anything-"

"I was just casually seeing this guy. You know me and dating, how we don't always work out." You said abruptly and he quit talking, "And so, we weren't like official but we said we'd go to this party together. Well, I got here and went looking for him and found him making out with one of Hawks' sidekicks. I got a little upset when he noticed me and, well, he just said he found someone better."

Hanta actually stopped the car, pulled off to the side of the road, threw it in park, and looked right at you because he knew what found someone better meant exactly. You'd used those words in high school when that guy from Shiketsu that you'd been seeing got pissed off that you wouldn't put out and ended it with you. You went to his dorm crying because he 'found someone better', is what you told him. It took him a few hours to get the truth out of you.

You'd always been the kind of person to love with your entire heart but sexually, you'd confessed that you felt different from all the other kids your age back then. Not having the same urges and desires that everyone else seemed stricken with.

"Hanta, it's fine, really. Kiri heard the whole thing and, well, you saw what happened."

"Doesn't make it right! So, you went on a couple dates with a guy, that doesn't mean he just gets to expect you to put out for him! Even if you weren't demi, no one gets to just assume they deserve sex."

His lips were pressed in a narrow line, nostrils flared once in annoyance. He was usually so calm and laid back that you thought it rather cute when he got overprotective. "It's alright, Hants, really."

He still gave you a look that said he disagreed but then shook his head, dropping the subject for now at least.

"Still like those late-night drives?"

"I love them."

"Good."

Hanta waited for a car to pass and whipped the car in the other direction.

It wasn't long before he had the windows rolled down, conversations filling in the blanks of lost time, in between belting out choruses of your favorite songs. Minutes slipped by the further he drove, you lost track of both time and kilometers, letting him tell you all about the ridiculous antics the group had been up to.

Eventually, you caught the scent of salty air and even in the dark, you had a pretty good idea where Hanta was going. He followed a winding road, making two left turns and then a right leaving you on a stretch of road that paralleled the ocean.

You let your head fall against the seat, eyes falling shut and inhaling that wonderful smell you missed so much. Hanta had just one hand lazily on the wheel, his elbow resting out the open window, a relaxed smile was illuminated in soft orange lights off his dash.

You let your head roll onto his shoulder, not as easily done without the bench seat in his station wagon but it worked nonetheless. "Thanks."

His free hand came to rest on your knee, "Anytime."

He turned the wheel, pulling over and parking in front of a small beach access that you guys had found at 3 in the morning five years prior. Hanta kicked off his shoes, leaving them in the car to avoid them being sand-filled and you did the same with the knee-high boots purely because you longed to feel the sand between your toes.

The wooden planks were worn, parts buried beneath the sand until eventually, none remained. Breaking waves flooded your ears and you made a run for them! Before you could reach the lapping water though, tape had wound around your middle and yanked you backward.

"Not happening!" Hanta said firmly. "Last time I let you talk me into late-night swimming we didn't have a change of clothes either and we both got so sick! I think I might have actually died without Bakugo's soup!"

You chuckled, remembering being nineteen and curled up with Hanta on the sofa in the living room of the apartment you all shared for nearly a week. The sniffles didn't cease for almost three weeks.

"Okay, okay, no swimming." You flopped back down into the sand, his tape still attached meaning the cellophane hero was pulled down with you. "Tell me about the stars then, Hants. Who's out tonight?"

Astronomy was a hobby of Hanta's you learned about after moving into the dorms your first year. It wasn't uncommon to find him out on the roof most nights, laying on his back and looking up into the clear night sky littered with twinkling stars, usually with a joint pressed between his lips. It became almost a habit for him to grab you on his way up, pulling you along because you were more than happy listening to him tell you about each constellation and the stories behind them.

It was around this time of year, in your final year of high school; somewhere between him recalling the greek mythos of Aries and Sagittarius that you noticed your heart beating a little faster. You realized something had shifted between the two of you, and, holy shit, was this what it felt like to have a crush! When the hell did that happen?

You'd entrusted everything to Hanta back then, and now, laying in the sand shoulder to shoulder while he talked about Draco, that familiar feeling stirred again. You remembered what it was supposed to be like when you weren't forcing it for some random guy. How simple it was supposed to be.

You inclined on an elbow and he stopped mid-sentence. "Eh, everything alright?" You nodded but he looked anything but convinced, mirroring your position and asking you again.

It was easy for you to lean forward, to brush your lips against his for the first time in three years. And, when you pulled away, he looked about as shocked as he had the night you'd done it when you were eighteen.

"You- you still like me?"

When you left for America, you'd both agreed to put a pause on your sort of relationship. Free to date and screw whomever you pleased because three years was a long time and it just seemed like a fair decision to make. The realization that he might now have someone else special in his life dawned on you...

"Yeah but I totally understand if things are different now and I shoulda asked- oof!"

He kissed you so hard you toppled back into the sand, quick pecks, one right after another, ending them with a long one that nearly left you breathless.

"I didn't know how to bring it up. I didn't want to make you feel awkward about things or make you think I expected something. I thought that maybe since we didn't talk for a while your feelings might have changed."

"I can say with confidence they haven't."

"Thank fuck." He groaned and captured your lips in another searing kiss.

It was easy to lift his shirt off, the shreds of tape that remained were now covered with gritty sand that clung to your fingers as you traced the chest and torso you knew so well. Gliding over defined muscles, lingering on old scars and mapping out new ones he'd collected in your time apart.

His own hands were busy flicking open the brass fastenings of your corset, huffing about it being so much more difficult to get to your chest and something about it being very unfair.

By the time he'd undone the last one, bright headlights shown across the beach. "Shit."

Giggling ensued from the walkway and you both sighed, at least it wasn't the police or a hero patrol. Hanta gathered his shirt and ran back to his car with his hand in yours.

"I thought our days of being caught were over."

"At least it wasn't Mr. Aizawa this time."

A chill ran down your spine remembering the night and the lecture you'd received when your teacher had caught Hanta sneaking out of your room early one morning.

"So, uh, do you still plan on going to Denki's party?" You asked innocently enough but Hanta knew you far too well.

"I think I'm gonna miss it this year." His hand found a home on your upper thigh. "Apparently, you and I have a lot of catching up to do. Lost time to make up for and all that."

"Too bad you don't have that old station wagon anymore. If you did, we wouldn't have to wait to get back."

Dark eyes glanced over at you not so subtly parting your legs.

"I dunno. It's not too often I travel in the backseat of my own car but I've been told it's pretty roomy. Lots of legroom."

Your hand ran over your legs, dipping down to lightly brush your more sensitive parts, thankful you opted for the thin pair of black leggings rather than the dark skinny jeans. Your fingers danced again and this time you let a soft moan pass your lips. "Eyes on the road, Hants."

"That's a little hard to do when I've got you spread out in the passenger's seat." He grabbed your free hand and pressed it against the bulge in his pants. "You've got me distracted, filthy little woman."

You appreciated him testing the waters, a subtle way of checking if you liked those nicknames he used only in private with you, giving you a chance to protest if your likes had changed. They were one's that only felt right coming from him and you were eager to hear more.

Forgoing your own high, you leaned over the center console as best you could, undoing his belt first, followed quickly by his zipper letting his strained cock be free.

His grip tightened on your leg when you kissed the tip of him. "Just like old times, huh?"

A chuckle turned quickly into a moan, taking him in your mouth, pushing yourself further on his cock, fighting your gag reflex to get him down your throat. Hanta reclined his seat further, giving you more room to work with.

Your legs clenched tighter with every groan you pulled from him, wiggling your hips in the seat, letting a hand fall back between your own legs. There was an attempt of a moan around his cock when his fingers coiled in your hair. "Such a good slut. Keep fuckin' goin'." He let you continue at your own speed, needing to focus as best he could on the road rather than what you were doing but, damn, you were making that increasingly difficult.

He wasn't stopping you though. He rarely did. You'd sucked him off on countless drives before and only stopped when- "That's it." He lifted you off him by your hair at the same time he pulled off the road. There was a convenient turn-off, hidden by overgrown brush you noticed before he shut off the headlights.

Hanta took you by the chin, smearing drool. "Backseat, pretty girl." He reached into the glove box and pulled out a foil wrapper, "What do you say we test out that legroom?"

He wait to watch your smile grow wide before crawling into the back because he had to be the first to go if this had any chance of working. Once situated, pants under his thighs, he patted his lap for you to climb over.

You slid easily onto his lap, hands traveling up and over his shoulders, kissing hard while you rocked your hips against impossibly hard length.

There was so much comfort in the familiarity of him. It wasn't awkward to fall back into rhythm with Hanta, to remember that he loved the feeling of your nails dragging down his chest. And he was just as eager to get your shirt off, reach your breasts he'd missed so much, and get his tongue on your nipples.

Your head tipped backward, loving the pace he set, hips bouncing creating the perfect tug on your nipples between his teeth.

"Love, if I promise to buy you a new pair, can I rip these damn leggings? They're just so thin and-"

"Please." Your breathy moan had him smirking and with a single grunt the leggings were ruined, cool air from the vents had only a moment to touch your bare ass before Hanta's hands reclaimed it.

There was no way he hadn't felt your arousal before ripping your clothes off, you soaked through your panties and leggings, you knew that, but that didn't stop him from commenting on how soaked you were now on his fingers. "Want me inside you, whore? I think you do."

You nodded with a whimper and he slipped a finger in. "Hants, noo- I- I want your cock, please."

"You're gonna take my fingers like a good little slut first." You clenched at the words falling from his mouth. "So fuckin' tight you can barely take a finger. How'm I supposed to fit in here if you can even take a single finger? Need you to loosen up, alright." He pushed another finger in, scissoring the two inside you.

"This gonna make you cum? You need this bad, don't you? Tell me. Tell me how bad you need to cum."

"I want it. Please, please, I need it. I'm so close," You babbled and ripped the foil open with his teeth, rolling it with one hand on his cock. In an instant, his fingers had been replaced with this dick. Sticky fingers on your ass helping you ease down on him with a hiss.

"Fuck," Hanta let out a throaty chuckle, "You still fuckin' feel the absolute best." He dropped a kiss between your breasts, letting you adjust to his girth. "Perfect. Good girl. Such a fuckin' good little slut."

He wasn't about to last long. Not once you started bouncing up and down on him, your tits right in front of his face.

"Couldn't even wait for me to get you home, had to fucking tease me in the damn car." He held onto the fat of your ass, pulling you along him and slamming you down hard.

"Kinda pathetic how desperate you are. Fuck. Kinda hot too."

When the top of your head bumped the roof of the car, he scooted lower, trying to give you as much room to ride him however you pleased.

"What do you need? You wanna cum, don't you, pretty girl, what do you need?"

"Faster, faster please."

Hanta shifted even lower, making you grab onto the two headrests while he thrust his hips up into you at a rapid speed. His thumb on your clit was the additional stimulation you needed to fall over the edge. Nails clawing at the black leather as he continued to moan below you now chasing his own release.

You stayed poised above him, using every last bit of strength to stay upright until his mouth was rambling and his cock pulsed inside of you. Fingers bruising your skin before holding your pelvis snuggly against his.

He was bent in a way that looked entirely uncomfortable and yet he still smiled so widely. Reaching up to brush hair out of your eyes, "You okay?"

"Perfects, Hants. A little sore but I'm sure you are too." He moved off his lap, letting him slip out of you with a groan, "Is your neck gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine. Having you back, love, is more than worth a little bit of a neck cramp."

As he tied a knot in the condom, depositing it into a plastic bag he had tucked away under his seat, Hanta raised a brow, "Love, really, are you alright? Please, tell me if I hurt you at all."

"No! I'm good, why?"

"You're sitting silly."

You were sitting a little odd, perched on your knees rather than sitting on your ass because the leather was chilly and you told Hanta as much making him laugh. "Wait, I think I can help." He leaned back to the front of the car, flicking a button making it glow. Once he tucked himself back in his pants he hopped out of the car and you could see him rummaging in his trunk through the rear window.

"I keep forgetting to take this out from our camping trip a couple months ago. Guess it turned out to be a good thing." He laid the blanket down over the passenger's seat, declaring that should help a bit.

You wrapped the now toasty warm blanket around your bottom half while Hanta drove back towards the city, your head on his shoulder, his hand on your thigh.

"So, shopping tomorrow? I believe I owe you a pair of leggings..."

"It's a date."

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 328: Pandora’s Box of Discourse

Previously on BnHA: DEKU TOOK A BATH.

Today on BnHA: 

Also Naomasa grew a beard. Goddamn. 

please let this be a cool chapter that plays nice with my ADHD lol

(ETA: lol I feel guilty because a lot of people hated this chapter, but I’m just happy there was a lot of stuff to make fun of, and also that I have another week to work on my backlog of meta posts since the kids were MIA.)

around one month ago?? ah, okay, so we’re gonna find out what was in that Tartarus security file huh

I love that they just randomly set the place on fire

was it necessary to do this in order to escape? no. was it a good idea to set the island they were occupying on fire while they were in the midst of still occupying it? uh. was it cinematic as fuck? fuck yeah

wow it’s a pervert!!

that’s so great that the villains set loose this fine fellow who I’m sure is definitely not a serial rapist. truly the LoV is so noble and misunderstood. they’re just trying to free society from its chains people

oh my god??!

SHANKED!!! oh my god I cheered for Stain before I realized what I was doing. time to have an identity crisis I guess

so he’s all “hey what’s going on.” which, while a respectable question, is something I personally would have waited to ask until I had put a bit of distance between myself and the fiery murder island. but that’s just my personal preference

Stain you really are tenacious I’ll give you that

“what’s the point of escaping prison if you’re not gonna be smart about it” well shit. anyways yeah you’re dead right, society is in the process of collapsing and the outside world is in total chaos, good call there

oh shit

I mean it’s not like we really expecting anything otherwise, but still. fucking brutal. I feel like these guys’ fates were decided the minute that one guy called AFO “scum” back in chapter 94. AFO is unmatched at getting long-term revenge

??

ahh, was it the security footage??

fdsdfk he’s still alive??

and he’s immediately launching into an inappropriately theatrical monologue even as the darkness closes in on him fdlfksjdlk. you know, was it ever confirmed that the other guy back in chapter 297 was Seiji’s dad? I’m just saying

very impressed that he’s still coherent enough to weigh the pros and cons before making the decision to gamble on giving this info to Stain, who at the very least has his own moral code and isn’t allied with AFO. it was definitely still a risk, but as we now know it was also the right call

what a weird alliance. so Stain tells him that he’ll give it to a just person, and the guy is all,

okay for real though I’m gonna need someone to run a DNA test on this guy. maybe it was some kind of cuckold situation?? the other guy had the family resemblance, but this guy absolutely 100% raised Shishikura Seiji and you are not going to convince me otherwise

anyway, so Stain is all,

PRISON GUARD: “???? ??????? what the hell. what the fuck does that fucking mean. I’m dying here, jesus christ, whatever man fuck you”

(ETA: I kind of feel like this might have been Stain’s last appearance in the manga, given all the fanfare. there’s not really much else he can do for the story at this point, and he seems to have gotten all the character development Horikoshi was planning on giving him. so if this really is it, hasta la vista and good riddance I guess.)

DWLFDKSLDK MEANWHILE, OUTSIDE

(ETA: I feel like this is meant to be evocative of that Sermon on the Mount painting, but in a really fucked up way lol.)

if it were me stumbling upon this scene I would just shake my head and walk right back into the flaming building. not getting involved in that mess. sorry not sorry. I’ll take my chances with the fire, especially given that it’s half-assed neutered BnHA fire lol

blah blah blah and so he decided to pass the info on to All Might -- HOT DAMN, HOLY SHIT

NAOMASA HOLY SHIT. THE APOCALYPSE LOOKS GOOD ON YOU, BOY

“I really like that facial scruff thing Aizawa’s got going on, I think I’m gonna get in on that” yes sir. “also thinking of ditching the tie in favor of the bulletproof vest look. also thinking of getting totally fucking jacked.” good lord. except I’m pretty sure that’s just body armor, but also I don’t care. anyway I should probably stop staring and actually read the fucking speech bubbles here lol

“All Might first handed this information over to Nao, and then went to see Deku, and then came back to Nao” thanks for that tidy little summary Horikoshi. we are capable of piecing events together in sequential order, I just want you to know that. but thank you

“so has Deku finally gotten a bath? also, sucks that Stain saved the day, but what are you gonna do” Nao I missed you so fucking much and didn’t even realize. how am I just now realizing that you are the perfect man

for a second I was gonna ask why Tartarus’s security systems would be cut off from the outside world, and then I remembered that’s a basic security control, and then I actually got impressed by how sensible that is. like, it’s been a while since I could genuinely say that the good guys (excluding class 1-A) did something smart. not that it helped them much in the end, but still

anyway so they’re talking about how AFO was able to coordinate the attack by communicating between his horcrux self on the outside and his ugly peanut-faced self on the inside

huh

okay you have my attention. I am taking notes here lol please continue

ah okay so he says that prior to Jakku, the transfer of information between him and his Vestige self was only one-way. but post-Jakku when Deku was in the hospital, he was able to tell what was happening inside the OFA Radical Lisa Frank Dead People Book Club Realm when he touched him. I feel like we established that before, actually. but he didn’t talk about how it actually felt, though

boy we already know this lol. yes AFO can talk with his horcrux self. and he can also communicate with his little bro in OFA too, let’s talk about that sometime why don’t we. what exactly does that imply, based on the rules we’ve established here

my god I cannot get over Naomasa and his fucking facial hair

no wonder All Might was in such a hurry to leave Deku and get back here

like I have no idea what this radio waves nonsense is but my god, people

that jawline. also so it’s a quirk, I see. except last I checked Deku didn’t have a radio waves quirk, so that doesn’t really explain his connection to AFO. but whatever, hopefully we’re at least getting closer to some kind of reveal here

(ETA: since I sometimes forget that other people’s lives don’t revolve around my theory posts, here are the two relevant links if you by chance want to know my thoughts about this.

Hagakure is still The U.A. Traitor™ regardless of whether Deku is passing information on to AFO through his psychic link, which he almost certainly is.

speaking of said psychic link, Deku is a horcrux.

just posting these now, because whenever trippy OFA stuff happens I tend to get an influx of theory asks. so hopefully this will be a bit of a time saver lol.)

-- wait, what

THAT’S what the recording was??!? holy SHIT. I genuinely was not expecting that. y’all wiretapped his fucking telepathy. fucking quirks, man. wild

AND THEY USED THAT POWER TO DETERMINE WHAT WE ALREADY KNEW, HUZZAH. GOOD SHOW

-- oh shit wait lol, except I forgot we’re not talking about 38 days from the present, we’re talking about 38 days from the date the conversation was recorded. heh. um

yeah that’s the face I would make too if All Fucking Might just casually told me we had eight days left until the end times

oh, pardon me. three fucking days

r.i.p. anyone who thought we were going to have another band arc sob. I sure hope Deku is enjoying that nap

(ETA: I realize people were hoping for a longer rest period here, but given that the man warned us all the way back in chapter 306 that we were entering the final act, you can’t really blame him too much when that turns out to be true. anyway but I do recognize that we’ve reached the point in the story where this kind of discourse is going to become a weekly occurrence, simply because there’s no possible way for Horikoshi’s actual endgame to line up perfectly with the variable headcanons of millions of fans, all of whom have wildly differing and in many cases contradictory expectations which can’t possibly all be fulfilled. anyway, so I’m already bracing myself for that lol. this coming year is going to be a wild ride.)

damn, U.A. out here looking like the motherfucking United Nations

-- is this U.A.?? I actually just realized, U.A. is four interconnected buildings, not two. wait holy shit is this Shiketsu?

wait holy SHIT

based on the overwhelmingly powerful vibes of bureaucratic incompetence, I’m thinking this really is the (future) U.N., or whatever organization it is that deals with international hero stuff

“just let them handle it themselves I’m sure they’ll be fine” yeah okay, thanks guys. appreciate it

wait oh shit did he say that it’s not just Japan?

soooo, what you’re telling me is that AFO is this close to bringing about the end of not just Japan, but the entire world, and you guys don’t think it’s a good idea to help the Japanese heroes stop him? so, genuine follow-up question: are you guys already planning your rich people exodus into space a la Wall-E, and that’s why you don’t give a fuck?? like, what??

omg international heroes

these guys are from World Hoodie Mission, right? is this Horikoshi’s way of reminding me to buy tickets

(ETA: and it worked too lol.)

WHO??? WHAT???

don’t tell me you’re introducing yet another badass new female character for me to fall in love with only to watch as you dismember them and/or blow them up, Horikoshi. I’m getting tired of playing this game my dude. don’t lie and tell me this time will be different. we’re not doing this again goddammit

noooooooooooooooooooo

god fucking dammit lmao. [sighs and rips the previous paragraph into shreds]

on behalf of Americans I apologize for our superheroes always being Like This

I also apologize because I love her already and I’m gonna be shameless about it. so fucking shameless you guys

is her fucking hair red white and blue. it is, isn’t it

this is the volume cliffhanger, 100% lol. it will take every ounce of Horikoshi’s willpower not to put her on the volume cover. he’ll have to settle for the spine or the inner cover this time because Deku VS his class 1-a superpals takes precedence. but it will be a close thing let me tell you

tbh it’s that smile that does it for me. she’s definitely All Might’s protege. get out there and show them how it’s done girl. and maybe call Salaam and BRD and see if you can’t convince them to play hooky from their governments as well. why not. world’s ending in three days you guys. “sorry, I’m busy this weekend” ain’t gonna cut it lol

so while I am not fully caught up with Vigilantes, I have read far enough to know that there’s an American hero named Captain Celebrity whose superpower from what I recall is being a humongous douchebag. and while I haven’t read far enough to know what happens to this guy, I can’t say I’m very disappointed to learn that he’s no longer the number one hero in the U.S. (actually, didn’t they kick him out and that’s why he moved to Japan to begin with?). anyway, so my thanks to Horikoshi for having a marginally higher opinion of Americans than Furuhashi, even though we have definitely not done anything to warrant said opinion lately, and you may have inadvertently opened the door to a pandora’s box of discourse lmao

(ETA: lol I went into the tags and they don’t disappoint. “why is she dressed like a flag” because she’s an homage to Captain America and Major Victory and literally every other character on this list. again, I apologize for fictional American superheroes being Like This. “oh boy another thicc waifu to make the fanboys happy” look, tumblr fandom never seems to have a problem thirsting over Dabi or Tomura or Aizawa or Nao, lol, I’m just saying. “where is Captain Celebrity” idk, probably murdered by the exploding bee cartel, let’s just be grateful for our good fortune and try not to Beetlejuice the man.)

anyway, so let’s see if Horikoshi’s recent character development with regards to making Mineta not terrible anymore will apply to other aspects of his writing as well. I know I was making light of discourse just now, but I do think the complaints about him introducing yet another new character at the 11th hour to be cannon fodder in the final battle are absolutely valid. and again, it wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t keep maiming/killing off his female characters one by one instead of developing them and letting them kick ass long-term. but that said, I will never complain about Horikoshi adding another female character to the series, regardless of how clumsy the attempt may be. go ahead and pander away, just give us more girl power lol

anyway so we’ll see how it goes, but I think I’m gonna be optimistic and let myself hope once again, even though I’m probably gonna regret it lol. it is what it is. she is standing on an airplane just chilling for fuck’s sake. I’m only human. anyway fingers crossed

[no-droids]

Mercy, Sabotage, and Dead Space

(gif credit to @redwyyne-archive)

Part One of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.7K

Summary:

1. No sex.

2. No touching yourself.

3. No orgasms.

Warnings/Tags: DUBCON/NONCON elements, fuckboy Poe (OOC), Enemies to Lovers, degradation/humiliation, mentions of oral sex, SMUUUTTTTTTTT also I’m not sorry for what I did but you’re not allowed to read if you’re gonna get mad at me okay byeeee

***

This.

This shit, right here.

If the question was ever, “What’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever let Poe Dameron somehow talk you into doing?” then the answer is this stupid shit, right the fuck here.  This is like.  You remember that one game, Mercy?  The one where you’d dig your nails in and twist arms and just needlessly inflict pain on each other as children until one of you cried uncle because someone somewhere once decided to turn torture into a matter of pride?

You always thought those games were fucking ridiculous.  Who can hold their breath the longest, who can handle a lit deathstick against their flesh the longest, who can take the hardest punch—who cares?  It’s child’s play.  It’s self-inflicted agony for the sake of bragging rights and even as a youngling, you refused to fall for it.

But then you met… fucking Dameron.

You know those people that… they don’t just rub you the wrong way, but literally every single aspect about their personality is sandpaper against wet skin and your whole entire being feels chafed raw just by existing in their general vicinity for an extended period of time?

You’re… you’re not usually a competitive—much less aggressive person.  You never have been.  It’s just not part of your nature.  If you ever excel at anything in life, it isn’t because of some secret, deep-seated desire to win or be better than anyone else.  You just… do you.  You do whatever you do, and if it’s good, it’s good.  And if it’s bad, it’s good.  Because at the end of the day at least it’s still you, and you’re okay with that.

But this?

This shit?  Right here?

“This is fucking dumb,” you say, because you know it’s what you both must be thinking so you may as well just get it out in the open.  “This is the dumbest fucking thing, Dameron.  What are we doing?  Why are we doing this?”

The grumpy, orange-jumpsuited figure sitting behind you just sighs heavily and slumps even further down in his bucket seat, as if it isn’t the first time you’ve tried asking this incredibly valid question (it totally is), bringing a palm down to thunk the top of the guidance controls between his legs in a quiet irritation you’re almost certain has everything to do with the very topic you’re trying to bring up. 

“Because,” comes that infuriating drawl.  You can only see his face from this angle by looking at his reflection in the transparisteel barrier directly in front of you, but even just imagining the way his mouth moves while he rounds out the words makes your jaw clench.  “The coordinates we picked up were scrambled and this rendezvous could be going down at any one of thirty-six locat—?”

“No,” you interrupt him with a scowl, “not why I’ve been floating in dead space in this Maker-forsaken ship with you for eight fucking hours a day since… fuck, what’s today?  Thursday?  Friday?  Nope, can’t be Friday, Friday’s our off-day.  Thursday, then. …Thursday?”  You shake your head.  “Ugh, see?  Time doesn’t exist when I’m not allowed to cum, life is like one never-ending nightmare.”

“Oh.”  He takes a second to think about it in silence, the calloused tips of his fingers scratching the side of his face while he considers.  It wouldn’t usually be as loud as it is right now.  Maybe it’s the haunting quiet of space surrounding the ancient powered down hunk of metal you’re both stuck in, inadvertently isolating and amplifying the sound—or maybe it’s because your copilot’s jaw is currently covered in a thick, dark beard that you swear barely took his testosterone-overloaded ass a fucking week or two to grow, if that.  Regardless, the dark bristles crunch loudly under his short fingernails and it takes you about a grand total of five whole uninterrupted seconds of the scraping sound to realize you’re grinding your teeth along with it.  “Well,” he finally says, “that was your stupid idea.”

“Hmmmmmmmno,” you contest firmly, wiggling your elbow back to poke at his shin with your index finger once, twice, thrice, until he finally slaps your hand away in quiet irritation.  To the misfortune of you both—and likely the other hundred or so pilots concurrently taking rotating shifts in these tandem x-wings in a glorified mass stakeout, the cockpit of this ship is just way too fucking small.  Your arm is squeezed uncomfortably against machinery and electronics to get to him from this angle and a light slap isn’t going to stop you now that you’re here.  “You—” (poke) “—have a superiority complex and decided to turn it into a competition, not—” (poke) “—me.”

“Oh, I have a superiority complex, okay,” he scowls and nods in vehement, fake agreement, finally giving up and letting you poke at will, but the appeal is lost as soon as you realize he’s over it and your arm eases back into your lap.  You watch his reflection look out of the viewport and scan the empty void of space for the twentieth time in the past five minutes, clearly just as desperate to get back to base as you are.  “So what is it you call saying—wait, no no, not even saying, loudly declaring—‘Of course I can go longer without sex than “wham bam thank you ma’am” Dameron, you brainless fucks, it’s a simple fact!’”

“Alright—I don’t sound like that, fuck you very much,” you return, in reference to his shrieking, high-pitched impression of you surrounded by your fellow pilots in the rec room when you’ve had a bit too much to drink.   “Also, you don’t have to finger-quote literally every single syllable of my fucking sentence, Dameron.  First and last word, that’s all it takes.  And if it’s so superiority complex-ey of me to state simple facts, then what is it you call saying ‘betcha two weeks worth of pay you can’t, pretty baby’?”

“Uh, easy credits?”  He immediately asks, side-eyeing your reflection through the transparisteel.  “ Easy credits.  Just begging for it.  Two weeks of your slutty, sexy, easy fucking credits just begging to be taken and used— ”

“You need to get laid,” you cut in to tell him bluntly, scrunching your nose in what you hope looks like disgust.  As per protocol, the power to the x-wing was cut at the beginning of your shift—what feels like a fucking eternity ago—as a preventative maneuver in case the target falls out of hyperspace unexpectedly.  Avoiding the scanners of a fleet that may never actually show means it’s cold and dimly lit in here—just starlight in front of either you, but you’re hoping he can gauge the severity of your revulsion with your back to him.  “You just turned my money into a sex object.  It was vile.  I feel violated on its behalf.”

“Sounds like you’re the one who needs to get laid,” he tosses carelessly back at you, and you roll your eyes with as much sass as you can physically muster, so tired of all the dodging.  You know this hasn’t been easy for him either, he just has too much pride to admit it.  “Besides, you’ve gotta be past the withdrawal stage by now.  Is it really all that bad?”

“The fuck you mean, ‘Is it really all that bad’?”  You snap at him, shuffling around grumpily in your seat, hating the way the bulky weapons controls sit right between your thighs and prevent you from closing them.  Withdrawal stage, ha.   “Of course it’s all that bad.  It’s horrible.  It’s the fucking worst.  And more importantly, how are you not having any trouble with this?  Oh, wait—that’s right,” you answer yourself before he has a chance to.  “Because you cheated.”

“I did not cheat,” Dameron’s reflection immediately challenges with an accusatory finger pointed at you.  “I did not.  When the fuck did I cheat?  I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half—all because you don’t believe in the honor system—just so you could tell me I fucking cheated?”

You scoff, feeling your annoyance spark even more.  He’s always been able to get under your skin, but the neglect you’ve been forcing your body to endure is just throwing gasoline on an already roaring fire.  “Okay, first of all?  Rude.  I am a fucking joy to have as a roomie, alright?  I put up with your snoring, your 2:00 AM dinners, you blasting your radio while I’m trying to sleep, I barely complain about your body odor—”

“My snoring is adorable, I get snacky at night, only sad people with fucked up lives hate music, I smell amazing,” Dameron casually lists off on his fingers, the self-confidence so easy and unshakeable that you swear he’s almost preening at the compliments he just gave himself by the time he’s finished rebutting everything you can think to throw at him.  And, while you’d never admit it, he does smell good.  He smells… unbelievably fucking good.  Always.  Something dark and woodsy, you can never quite put your finger on.  It pisses you off, so much that you’ve made a habit of pulling a face of disgust whenever the warm, rich scent noticeably reaches you, hoping it deflates his ego just a little bit.  No such luck so far.  

“Whatever.  The point is I’m a good fucking neighbor, alright, I’m neighborly as fuck,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.  “And don’t make it sound like I’m putting a chastity lock on your balls every night, because you can fuck anyone you want.  In fact, I strongly fucking encourage it—I just want to know about it when it happens.”

Dameron smirks and you groan, already knowing what’s coming.  “You wanna hear it?”

Yep, there it is.  “Second of all—”

“Feel the whole bunk rock with it?”  He goes on, completely ignoring you.  “Use the excuse that you’re trapped up top so you can just stay there the whole time and listen?  You know you can do a lot more than just—”

“Second of all,” you project over him, “you’re seriously telling me you haven’t had any wet dreams then, hm?  No snorgasms?  Hmmm?  No happy naps?  No captain midnights?  No mattress fracking?  Hmmmmmm???”

His voice very quickly sounds… shocked.  “How many fucking euphemisms—?”

“Wait wait, one more—” you quickly interrupt, too much momentum to stop now, “—sleepskeet.”

You watch in immense satisfaction as his expression seems to progress through all five stages of grief, before he exhales a long, unamused sigh and scratches his beard again.  You want to pluck each strand of it out of his face one by one.  “Anyways.  Wet dreams are totally different and don’t count.”

“It’s not different!”  You burst out, unable to help yourself, “it’s an orgasm, and rule number three is no orgas—”

“I know what the rules were, Gold-Ten,” he returns calmly, and it infuriates you, how he’s always able to make it seem like you’re the instigator who’s overreacting.  And he knows exactly what he’s doing by calling you by your flight designation, and it pisses you off even more because calling him Black-Leader in any other situation besides active warfare just feels like an unnecessary reminder of his skills.  Why he’s currently behind you manning the guidance controls and why you’re currently stuck in the front seat with the bulkier weapons systems.  “The question is if you’re seriously that bad enough of a sport to automatically disqualify me because of something that happens to any human with a dick indiscriminately when we blueball ourselves.”

“But that’s the entire fucking point, Dameron!”  You shrill, throwing your hands in the air in pure exasperation.  “There it is!  You need it more than I do, you just said it yourself!  Not to mention I said I can go longer without sex than you can— sex , not orgasms, but as it turns out I win at both.  Now can we please call this shit off so I can finally cum?  This isn’t fun anymore.”

“Nope,” he says immediately, popping the P with a bit too much hard emphasis to be genuinely amused.  He’s frustrated, too—his voice is too pleased, too fake to not be masking irritation underneath.  “Sorry.  But this was also your stupid idea, so.”

“You’re insufferable,” you grumble, anger flaring equal to his, just way more… verbal.  And descriptive.  “Wet dreams don’t count, fucking right.  Tell that to the oceans of Kamino I got going on down there, huh?  I move on this seat wrong and I’ll slide off it—”

A loud slam of a palm against the controls suddenly echoes throughout the small cockpit, causing you to jump slightly.  

“Don’t,” Dameron snarls, “... say shit like that to me.  Not right now.  Not right now, fuck .”

You go quiet for a moment, not expecting that much of an outburst at something you considered to be a throwaway remark, but then… oh.  Something occurs to you, something… sinister.  Oh, well, now there’s an idea.

Everything inside you immediately surges up and burns at the thought—the mere whisper of a way out of all of this, quickly, without giving in and letting him hold your surrender over you for Maker knows how long.  It’s so fucking simple, you don’t know why you didn’t think of it before.  You don’t have to wait him out at all; instead, you just need to… entice him into giving in first.

Neither of you say anything for a while, and you don’t know what he’s thinking (nothing, probably—a dry tumbleweed bouncing across an empty desert landscape, you imagine) but you take the dip in conversation to consider a plan.  You can’t go at it too outright, it’ll be too big of a turnaround and he’ll see it coming lightyears away.  A halfhearted joke about your pussy tossed out without thinking is what catalyzed the most substantial reaction from him you’ve seen, so… maybe you can keep steering the conversation towards the idea.

“How many wet dreams have you had?”  You suddenly ask, your heart beginning to pick up in your chest as soon as the words are out of your mouth.

“Excuse me?”  Dameron grunts from behind you, and you catch his reflection raising a thick eyebrow at you.

You take a deep breath and disguise it by stretching your back out just a little bit, lifting your shoulder blades and arching the sore muscles there, before settling back down in your normal crappy posture once more.  “Now many times did you cum in your sleep?  Had to at least been once for you to claim they don’t count.”

“Why does it matter?”  He asks, completely sidestepping the question for the second time.  “It was involuntary.”

You shrug.  “Just so I know how many freebies I can get tonight.”

“No,” Dameron instantly counters, his voice dead serious.  “Not fucking allowed.”

“Why not?”  You ask, and this time, there’s significantly less challenge than you’d typically deliver it with.  Instead, your voice is soft, questioning.  Not argumentative, but curious, and there’s just enough of your point left unsaid that it’ll seem like he conjured the rest of the image himself.

There’s silence while he considers his response to the perfectly executed bait.  You assume you’re both picturing the same thing, because it’s what you’ve pictured almost every single night spent in this celibate hellscape.  The cool darkness of your shared quarters, the standard-issue sheets that still feel crispy and rough on your skin no matter how many nights you’ve slept in them, with one of your hands pressed tight over your mouth and two of your fingers circle your clit.

“You only get to do it if I’m in the room,”  he poses instead, and you swallow thickly, feeling your body tighten with an unintentional drop of pure heat through your tummy at the thought.  Maker, it must be really bad if Poe fucking Dameron is getting to you like this.  The bane of your existence shouldn’t make your insides twist in on themselves—at least, not in a good way.

“Not like I’d have much choice,” you eventually respond, keeping it purposefully ambiguous.  “It’s your room, too.  Unfortunately.”

Stars, it’s been so long since you’ve done this, since you’ve walked the fine line between flirtation and seduction, wanting to turn on the charm slowly—gradually ease it up like a hyperdrive lever under your fingertips so that you’re at maximum by the time he realizes you’re even there.  You take a moment to glance at his reflection, watching Dameron look back at you curiously, a flash of interest in his eyes.

“By the way, how does that one girl feel about us doing this?”  You ask out of nowhere, suddenly remembering the existence of his pretty little number.  You’ve seen her under his arm around base at least a few times, which is more than you can say for the rest of them.  “Red-Six.  Tall brunette with the tattoos—I don’t bother learning names, they all come and go.”

“Nihla,” Dameron nods with a wistful sigh, tilting his head to rest against his shoulder.  “Or, wait… Neah.  No—it was… Nalal.  Yeah, Nalal, I think that’s right…”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter.  “One of the greatest mysteries of the universe is how many people get in line for you, I’ll never fucking understand it.”

“They just want me for my cock,” he tells you without missing a single beat, sounding like he’s not joking in the slightest.  “It was starting to get obnoxious.  Glad I finally have an excuse to turn them down.”

“Unbelievable,” you repeat, stunned by how truly, mind-blowingly full of himself he is.  “You’re… fucking…”

You end up just staring at him and making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, at a complete loss for words, and Dameron eventually shrugs and continues on after you fail to form a coherent thought in the allotted time frame he provides.

“Now I can just tell them I’m in a long-running bet with Gold-Ten over who can sexually deprive themselves the longest and weirdly enough, they don’t seem all that interested anymore,” he remarks, tilting his chin up and rubbing at his beard again, and for some reason… the sound of it bothers you somewhat less now, the way he phrased that resonating deeper inside you than it should.  Lower than it should.  You blink a few times, almost shocked by your body’s unprecedented response to his admission—Poe Dameron uses you as an excuse to turn down sex with pretty girls?  Happily?—and your mind goes blank for a second while he watches you through the transparisteel.  “It’s alright,” he eventually goes on, tilting his head.  “Sometimes a sabbatical is good.  I do really miss pussy, though.”

“Well,” you finally tell him, oddly not having much else to offer at the moment.  “I’m sorry?  And… you’re welcome.  I guess.”

Dameron shrugs once more and makes an apathetic sound without opening his mouth, and you drop your stare down to the machinery between your spread thighs after feeling like you were looking at each other for too long.  The position started uncomfortable and seven hours later, it’s still fucking uncomfortable.  At first the discomfort twinged at your hips and lower back, but now the sensation seems to be… centering itself a bit more, finding a spot right between your legs, especially when his words echo through your subconscious and make you naturally want to push your thighs together.  I do really miss pussy, though.

You try to snap out of it a bit, try to stop hyperfixating on the way your underwear has felt sticky and wet for fucking hours now, but it’s so fucking difficult to chill yourself out when your body already went into this whole situation with a month and a half long stumbling block.  He’s not really doing anything at all—he’s leant back in his chair and staring out the window into the black emptiness of space when you steal a look once more, but something about how his casual responses are affecting you makes it seem like he’s the one currently seducing you.

Maker, you have to focus.   You have to control yourself.  You’re starting to feel a little warm in your thick jumpsuit—a particular shade of orange that does not compliment your complexion but you normally rejoice in wearing regardless.  It’s baggy and uniform and hides most of your curves and most importantly, it keeps you toasty on missions like this.  Space is cold —especially this far out in the Cauper Void, and there’s no fucking reason this powered down hunk of floating metal should feel as muggy and stifling as it does in here.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you suddenly hear yourself say, spontaneously, no thought put into it whatsoever.  One last try, one last attempt to avoid it, a last-ditch go at flight before he gives you no choice and you’re left with this one remaining option.  “This isn’t a good idea.  It’s… not healthy.  I don’t want to do this anymore.”

This gets a small chuckle out of him.  “I know you don’t, pretty baby.”

“Then let’s just call the whole thing off,” you propose once again, trying to lighten your tone, make it a… a friendly thing.  It sounds so fake, even to your own ears—since when would you be desperate enough to let the dreaded petname slide?—but granted, you know what they say about time and measures and all that shit.  “We can call it a tie, just go back to the way things were befo—”

He cuts you off and pins you with his gaze through the reflection.  “You realize that you begging me to put an end to your suffering is—ridiculously hot, mostly—but also only an incentive to make me keep pushing until you finally give in?”

You groan and comb some of your hair off your forehead, not liking the way it’s getting just the slightest bit damp.  “Fine, we won’t call it off, but can we at least just stop—”  You immediately catch yourself, not wanting to unintentionally push this too far too quickly, but your hesitation is clear and compelling enough for him to prompt you.

“At least just stop what?”  Dameron asks, and though you don’t think it’s intentional or even noticeable from his perspective, something about the way his voice sounds… husky.  Low to the ground.

“Stop dragging it out,” you breathe, your heart pounding.  Why is your heart pounding so fucking fast?  This is a fucking sting op, a facade, so why are you getting so caught up in the lie you’ve spun for yourself?  “Finish it.  Sooner, rather than later.  Quit being masochists about it, just fucking put it to—”

Maker, your eyes instinctively snap to his at your poor choice of wording, having almost said bed on complete accident.  Genuinely, you didn’t mean to phrase it that way, but at the same time, the thought of it almost burns you alive.  Fuck.  Dameron, and you, in bed.  It could be mean.  It could be rough.  A fight for dominance more than anything.  He’s bigger than you and he could make it fucking hurt, especially after going without it for as long as you have, but something about how double-edged that type of relief would be isn’t really sinking in for you right now.  Like a person slowly dying of thirst that’s fantasizing about drowning.  Regardless, the idea of a night with him and the sudden assortment of vivid imagery it provides is enough to get you to shut up and take a deep breath, just wait with your mouth shut for whatever his response is.

Unfortunately, you don’t have to wait long at all.

“This is cute,” he suddenly tells you, and you jerk back and sputter a bunch of consonants stupidly like he smacked you.

“Fuck you?”  Are the first recognizable words that can be heard.  “I’m not—this isn’t fucking— cute?”

“It’s cute,” Dameron repeats, hiding a soft smile from you with a few of his fingers pressed to his lips.  “You,” he says as he points at your reflection, twirling his finger around in circles, “trying to be all sneaky about it, go about your little performance.  It’s like… watching a little kid just blatantly fuck up a magic trick but they’re naive enough to think it’s working.  Keep going, I’m enthralled.”

You hold still for just a second as ice suddenly sinks through your tummy and clears away any trace of warmth you may have once felt from before.  Of course.  Stupid.  Stupid, you shouldn’t have even tried something like that, you don’t know why you thought…

Horrifyingly, you go dead silent and the lack of an immediate response from you hangs awkwardly in the still air.  You’re usually so quick with him, so fiery, letting the things he throws at you just glide right off you, but for some insane reason, you’re actually fucking… embarrassed?  A little bit?

You should say something, but your whole body is just frustratingly blank, almost buzzing in mortification, and it gets worse and worse the longer you stay quiet.  You don’t usually put yourself in a position to be compromised, and you certainly didn’t think the place he decided to jab this time had particularly thin skin.

You… you’d forgotten what it’s like to have someone laugh at you when you’re genuinely trying your best to flirt.

Well, it’s too late to say anything now, you think.  Now it’s just uncomfortable in here—true discomfort, not the typical angry silences.  You’re used to that, you’re used to huffing and crossing your arms and ticking your jaw through the breaks in conversation, refusing to say a word because you’re beyond pissed off.  This is different.  This quiet sits different in the air, this emotion hits different in your chest, somewhere vulnerable.  A crack in your armor he found without even necessarily intending to, but at this point, the stupid way you can’t seem to hide the wound from him is just as much to blame.

“So, uh…”  Dameron clears his throat as you shut your eyes tight against the awkwardness, but you can still feel a strange little shift in the air from behind you.  There’s something about the enclosed space, the quiet darkness surrounding you both, you feel… too close to him.  Sharing his air, feeling the energy when it’s cramped and you’re not able to just get up and storm away from him like normal.  You don’t like it.  You don’t like that you can immediately tell something has changed without being able to see him, that type of intimacy between you is pushing a boundary you can’t quite pinpoint but know exists.

You snap your eyes open and look over at Dameron’s reflection when he’s quiet for too long, and though you try to glare as fiercely as possible at him while you do it, the look on his face almost stops you dead.  The pure intensity raging in his expression, the way he’s got his eyes narrowed, flicking back and forth between yours, carefully studying you, wondering if perhaps he may have gotten it all wrong.  “I mean, y’know.  Theoretically speaking, and all.  If I broke, you’d let me fuck you?”

You… aren’t expecting that.

You don’t know why but your heart suddenly starts to race again, but it’s not the same as before.  Before it was speeding up and at an angle, like a rocket trying to escape a body’s gravitational pull, to go somewhere, search for something.  This time it just feels like it’s ricketing downhill, unsteady and out of control, about to break apart with every single pothole that rattles and slams through you.  Shit.  You didn’t expect the ultimatum would be presented to you so up front like that—you thought there’d be… some resistance, at least.  

Fuck, you take way too fucking long thinking about it, and your face feels warmer and warmer the more you mentally pick apart his specific phrasing, wondering where you should even begin.  You still haven’t said anything, but the damage is already done.  What should've been a firm, instantaneous go fuck yourself is left suspended, unanswered, open for interpretation.  You miss your window of opportunity to shut him down, you overshoot it by a longshot, and then you feel that spark of a what-if flare deep down once more.

No, fucking stop it.  Stop it.  Maker, your eyes do everything they can to not look at him while you concentrate and work to tap into your anger, stoking the flames of your fire to avoid feeling… temptation.  How dare he?  How fucking dare he do this to you, especially when there’s no chance to get out of here, to abort mission and cut your losses?  You clench your jaw and isolate that fury, magnify it until it’s the only thing you can feel anymore.

“My turn now,” Dameron eventually breaks the silence to clarify, blinking at you, and by this point you’re so fucking pissed off that you don’t recognize that isn’t actually a question.

“No,” you immediately snap, strung far too thin to deal with this new, treacherous territory with him.  Defaulting to normal is best, it’s easier.  “No, it’s not your turn, and fuck no, you can’t fuck me, not even if it means I win this stupid bet.  No to everything that has anything to fucking do with you, alright?  Don’t talk to me.  You’re lucky if I agree to sleep in the same fucking room as you tonight.  And—and?—I think your beard looks dumb.”

Okay, so maybe the last part was just a little bit childish, but you’re in such a bad fucking mood and you want to insult something he’s clearly just trying out for right now, hasn’t yet solidified as part of his usual appearance and unshakeable confidence in it.  It’s a downright lie—you think he might look more attractive with it than he ever has.  Effortlessly rugged and masculine, framing his face and making his eyes all the more piercing.

You don’t think it works, but regardless, he heeds your sharp words and says nothing for a good few minutes at least.  You had hoped the break in interaction would allow you the ability to reset a little bit, give yourself time to work through it, but it’s like the pressure in the air steadily increases regardless of how silent it is in here—or perhaps, because of it.

You can’t help it.  You flick your eyes to the transparisteel in front of you once more and catch his reflection staring directly at you, unmoving.  It jars you as much as it sparks your anger, and you glare down at your hands and give him a few seconds.  A few seconds of grace, of mercy, before you try again.

Sure enough, he’s still got his dark eyes pinned to you when you go to check once more, like he’s actually fucking thinking about something right now, which is just… astounding, for obvious reasons.  Mainly, the nerve of him.  The fucking nerve of him to be able to look at you like that, like he’s just entitled to study your every feature, searching your eyes for things you’ve never looked deep enough to find within yourself, making incredibly loud assumptions with his mind that he has absolutely no right to be making.

“Shut up,”  You snap at him defensively, feeling like you’re sweating buckets even in the freezing emptiness of dead space.  You can’t figure out if it’s a cold sweat or if your body is legitimately just malfunctioning under his stare.  “Shut up.”

You watch as his reflection suddenly drops his head back against the seat and rolls out the stiffness of his neck, blinking his eyes shut and raising his eyebrows like you’re completely overreacting, like he has absolutely no idea.  “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re not that dumb,” you challenge.  “You’re… plotting.  Evil plotting.”

A thick eyebrow drops so that only one is quirked up, and a grin pulls at his lips.

“You’re right,” Dameron admits casually after a moment with his eyes still closed, his voice pitched low in the cramped ship.  “I was thinking about what it’s gonna take to get you to lose.”

You swallow against the dryness in your throat, starting to unintentionally bounce one of your legs up and down without even realizing it.  Fuck, this ship is small, it’s too fucking small in here—you gaze wistfully out at the vast endlessness of space, wanting to grit your teeth at the irony of being surrounded by the one thing you so desperately wish you had.

“I just have to find a weakness,” he shifts forward in his seat and reveals to you, bewilderingly shameless in his honesty.  Like all of a sudden you’re an accomplice to this endeavor instead of its target, as if he isn’t spoiling the secret by letting you in on it.  “Something that you like, that gets you going.  Something that riles you up, gets you all hot and bothered down there—”

“So you can exploit it,” you huff, slouching over a bit and trying not to sound like you’re pouting.

“—so I can exploit it,” he finishes happily, collapsing back into his seat like he’s glad you caught on so quick and he doesn’t have to explain further.  “Now we can do the whole routine—the bickering, the tension, the undeniable sexual chemistry we have—or we can skip all that and you can just tell me flat out what it’s gonna take to rev that pretty little engine up, because I want it purring.”

And, it’s so fucking weird, because the specific verbiage that would normally make you cringe just hearing it spoken aloud doesn’t inspire the typical response, even though it feels like it should.  It feels like you should be grossed out, it feels like a moment you should screw up your facial expression and act offended, but you’re… not.  This is actually fucking working, it’s unbelievable.  The undeniable fact infuriates you just as much as it stumps you.

“You do realize that everything you say is a game that two can play at, right?”  You point out, not really sure where you’re going with this but feeling heated about it all the same.  “What’s stopping me from exploiting something you like?”

“See now that’s a great idea,” Dameron announces, clapping his hands together happily and sending you jumping a few inches in your seat at the sudden sound, your hand automatically shooting up to rest on your thumping heart.  “I can tell you what I like, and you can just listen.”

Alright, no, wait—backtrack—

“How about I tell you what I don’t like,” you snip breathlessly, tucking your hair behind your ear and feeling all the blood rush to your cheeks.  Default to normal, default to normal.  “Your fucking attitude.  Your demeanor.  The way you talk down to me.  You don’t listen.  You walk around like you’re such hot shit just because you’re a good pilot but none of that means anything when you don’t ever fucking listen.  You’re terrible at it, doesn’t matter who’s talking—you don’t listen to me, you don’t listen to people who actually like you, you don’t listen to orders, you don’t listen to reason—”

“You think I’m a good pilot?”  He suddenly asks, and you have to take a second.  This cockpit isn’t designed for anything other than sitting, much less turning all the way around, but you’re sure you can find some way to throttle him from here.  He chuckles as you let out the loudest sigh you’ve ever heard yourself make—which, is an incredible feat you think both of you should be congratulated for—before Dameron eventually carries on.  “You could tell me that,” he admits with a shrug, a hidden smile on his face that he’s trying to bite back.  “Or you could tell me the truth.”

You shouldn’t encourage him, but you just can’t fucking help it.  There’s something inside you, something you can only compare to a morbid sort of curiosity.  Maybe you’re just a glutton for punishment, even more so than agreeing to this bet has already confirmed.  “And that would be—?”

“That you use anger as a defense mechanism because I touch a nerve you didn’t realize you had,” Dameron replies breezily.  “Have since the moment we met.  And that you maybe want me to touch something else, but you’re too stubborn and proud and committed to hating me to ever admit it.  You can admit it, it’s okay, I can touch whatever you need me to tou—”

“How about the emergency eject button?”  You hiss, finally feeling your frustration peak.  “Pop the top on this bitch.  Put me out of my fucking misery, right now.  You’ve got such a big head that the blood flow will probably keep your tiny little brain warm enough as long as you strap yourself down beforehand, I’ll wait.  And then you can go back to base, alone , and find another poor girl to emotionally torture since you probably don’t get enough of it from the ones you work your way through but can never remember the most basic things about.”

Remarkably, that actually shuts him up.  You’re doubtful the jab really hurts him, but you’re not going to feel bad about it either way.  He deserved that.  You cross your arms over your chest and don’t even bother looking at him, huffing and flushed with the climax of your ferocity, now left feeling strangely exhausted in its wake.  Eventually your breathing evens out and disappears into the silence, until nothing at all can be heard.

It’s like that for a moment—only a moment, before the loud tearing of velcro suddenly shreds through the quiet in the cockpit, completely rattling you.  Automatically your eyes shoot over to his reflection, watching large hands pull the orange jumpsuit apart at his chest and then shrug it over broad shoulders.  It’s not sexual.  It can’t be sexual, because there’s just no fucking room to allow it—it takes him forever to pull the long sleeves down his arms, but the way he drags it out somehow just increases your anticipation for an event you should have absolutely no interest in spectating.  He’s wearing a white sleeveless undershirt underneath and the jumpsuit bunches at his waist, making him look all the longer and more defined as he finally collapses back into his seat and reclines in it, the distant constellations bathing his lean torso in dim speckles of starlight.

Your gaze catches on every good part of him—it falls down the muscular lines of his neck and follows the thin gold chain wrapped around it, disappearing into the white of his scooping neckline.  His toned body finds a place to rest and stretch out without looking awkward or uncomfortable, coarse hair darkening his jaw and dusting the strong lines of his forearms—but it’s his eyes that make your heart stutter.  They’re endlessly deep and dark and knowing , and you can’t seem to look away from him, not even when he opens his mouth to address you.  

“You’re always so fucking mean to me,” Dameron remarks, and for just a split second—just a split second, you feel a stab of regret.  “I should eat you out tonight.”

Fuck, he hits the nail right on the head on his very first try, and just hearing the words come out of his mouth so effortlessly makes your pussy clench in on itself in need.  Nothing about his inflection changed from one sentence to the next, nothing in his voice made it seem like he just flipped the fucking galaxy upside down with just a few words.  To an onlooker who doesn’t speak Basic, they’d have absolutely no hint as to why your face is suddenly radiating heat at an industrial capacity, blazing hot enough to warm the whole cockpit.  You feel like you’re literally burning up with it.  You have to put a palm to your cheek to make sure it’s not actually on fucking fire.  “What— what did you just say to me?”

“That’s what you need,” he drawls, unbothered by the sharpness of your tone.  “What you’ve needed, ever since I can remember.  Should’ve done it a long fucking time ago, now that I’m thinking about it.  How long’s it been?  Tell me the truth, I know it’s been awhile.”

You feel like you’re being roasted alive like one of those hairy little Kowakian monkey-lizards that you’re pretty sure have sentient designation but are the first to be skewered and cooked over the firepit regardless.  Your heart is slamming against your sternum and you scramble to come up with an even slightly clever response after such an ambush.

“This is your plan?”  You raise an eyebrow at him, feeling a bead of sweat drop down your temple and onto the corner of your lashes.  Oh fuck, be cool, be cool.  “You think this is gonna work?  Ask me if I want a weak orgasm and rugburn on my thighs?”

“I can shave,” Dameron proposes quietly, lifting his chin and gently scrubbing the side of his cheek.  The sound of the thick bristles against his fingers makes you swallow thickly and push back very vivid thoughts of how his face would feel between your legs.  How soft and wet his mouth would feel at the center of that thick, coarse beard.  “Tonight, I’ll shave it off.  Make it nice and smooth for you.”

Something inside you surges up to assure him he absolutely should not shave, and you actually have to bite your tongue to keep it buried at the last second.  Stars, that was a close one, what the fuck prompted that?

“I don’t give a shit what you do,” you quickly return, resisting the urge to wipe your brow.  “Beard or no beard, makes no difference.  Foreplay is overrated, I’m not big on wasting time.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” he immediately laments—so quick , and the worst part is that the sympathy in his voice actually sounds sincere.  You’re having trouble looking him in the eyes right now, hearing the genuine pity come through in his tone.  “Who… who did this to you?”

“You said you want to figure out what I like, what turns me on,” you return, tucking your hair behind your ear once more and trying not to sound self-conscious.  Maker, how long until your shift is over?  You need to get out of here, this shit is… way out of your league.  “I’m not into it, so try again.”

“Really?”  Dameron takes a moment to look at you, furrow his thick eyebrows at you in barely concealed curiosity, before his head tilts sideways and drops to his shoulder.  “Normally I’d respect that, but I meant it when I said you need it.”

“We fucking hate each other, Dameron,” you hiss, a reminder to him as much as it is to yourself.  Fuck, you really don’t like where this is going.  “You don’t know anything about me, you don’t know what the I n—”

“I bet you think we’d fuck hard,” he murmurs, low enough that you have to take an unsteady breath and physically brace yourself for whatever is going to come from that dirty mouth next.  “You think that maybe I’d throw you around a little, give it to you from behind, teach you a fucking lesson for always talking back to me.  But that’s primitive shit, Gold-Ten, that’s not for you.”

Resist.  Resist .  You’re part of the fucking Resistance, for Maker’s sake, you’re taught to hold out until death in torture scenarios.  Since when did this tin can suddenly become a new POW camp simulation you have to train for?

“I want to take you apart so slow that you can’t talk at all,” Dameron continues quietly, and you close your eyes, biting your bottom lip hard enough to sting.  “We don’t even have to fuck—I mean, I want to, but mostly I just want to taste you.  Go nice and slow.  I want you on your back, so I can look in your eyes and see all that anger just… fade away.  I want to watch you try to fight how fucking good I’ll make it.  How hot it’s gonna be when you can’t glare at me anymore, when your pretty doll eyes go all soft and sweet and you finally realize that I’ve never hated you at all.”

Maker.  This is a trick.  It’s not a question, it shouldn’t be presented like one—this is a dirty rotten trick , and you’re not gonna fall for it.  You can’t fucking fall for it.  It’s a low blow, and you refuse to even acknowledge he said anything at all.  He’s lying to get your guard down.  He laughed at your flirting.  He’s a shit person, he’s using you, this isn’t real.

Real or not, you still gulp loud enough for him to hear it.

“We could go back to our room after our shift is over,” he offers out of the blue, and you have no clue why, but when he pauses and lets it hang in the air for a second, you don’t interrupt him.  You stay completely silent while he waits for you, waits for your typical snarky comeback.  You have it in your head instantly, you know what you’d normally say.  Your room.  It’s not ‘our’ room, it’s fucking your room that you’re generous enough to let him bunk in, a privilege he’s this fucking close to losing—but you can’t find it in yourself to say it right now.  Your anger is gradually losing the war to your arousal and you’re forced to watch every single small defeat inside you happen from the sidelines.

His reflection blinks at you through the transparisteel, his eyebrows raising just slightly at your prolonged silence, before he suddenly sits up a little and leans forward.

“And I could lock the door,” Dameron continues, lowering his voice, both in volume and register.  “The lights in there are way too fucking bright but I don’t want to be in complete darkness, so maybe we can turn them off and open the port shade, let just enough light come through to see.  I could turn on the radio, find something quiet, easy to listen to.  Something you like, I’ll let you pick it out.  And then… Wait, hang on, which bed?”

You clench your jaw and purposefully say nothing even as your pussy squeezes, glaring right through his reflection into the black void of space.

“Mmm.   Your bed,” he eventually decides.  “I want you comfortable.  You shower at night.  Your hair will be wet and you’ll be in those baggy pajamas that you think I can’t see your nipples through, the ones that I know you take off under your covers and then put on in the morning when you think I’m still asleep.  That’s good, I want you relaxed, so that maybe… maybe you’d let me take your panties off at some point.  And you could lay back and open your legs, and I could go down on you for a little while.  However long you need.”

Fuck.

No, this isn’t fucking happening.  Your lower muscles aren’t twisting in so hard that it actually fucking hurts, your pussy isn’t leaking through two layers of fabric under your jumpsuit, your body isn’t outright revolting against the sheer neglect you’ve put it through.  Maker, it’s fucking painful.  You have to clench your hands into fists and dig your fingernails into your palms before you can open your mouth.

“You want to know what I need?”  You nearly wheeze, a drop of sweat sliding down the back of your neck this time.  Your body feels like it’s three sizes too big for this cockpit and your skin feels like it’s three sizes too small for your body.  “I need you to shut the fuck u—”

“What you need,” Dameron purrs, sliding up closer behind your seat and sighing soft against the worn material of your headrest, “is a warm mouth to cum in.  Don’t be shy, pretty baby, you can tell me.”

You growl out his last name as threateningly as you possibly can before he purrs yours right back in your ear, and fuck, you’ve never heard it sound so sexual before.  Last names allow pilots to maintain a respectful distance from each other.  Flight designations are Resistance-wide, but last names are just… allies.  Not friends, not companions, but a vast network of people brought together by a common enemy.  It hurts to lose a first name.  But the way yours sounds rolling off of Dameron’s tongue is just too sinful, too intimate when calling you that is meant to sever intimacy by design.  He says it slow and makes it dirty, muddies it in the back of his throat as he slides up even closer to you, until his face is right next to yours as you stare at each other through the transparisteel.

“I’m really…” he pauses, before exhaling through his nose and swallowing thick enough to make his Adam’s apple drop and bounce up again, his tongue coming out to wet his plush lips as he blinks slowly at you with a heavy gaze, “… really good at it.  Call me Poe and I’ll do it for you all night.”

Shit, your pussy is just a fucking mess right now.  It feels like it’s melting sweet and syrupy all over your thighs, throbbing and pounding and clamping up and screaming at you to do something, at least press your hand down there to alleviate some of the aching tensi—

No— stars, no touching yourself is rule number two.  You drop your hands to your thighs and squeeze them, trying to reign yourself back in.

“I think you’re—just projecting,” you try, but turns out responding in general is just an all-around bad idea.  Nothing about it comes out right.  The ‘just’ sounds like your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and your voice cracks on the word ‘projecting,’ but you don’t even have time to be self-conscious or embarrassed at how much you’re giving yourself away—all your energy has to go towards fighting the tightness between your open legs, how you’re so fucking turned on that you’re worried you’ll cum without even touching yourself.  Oh Maker, can you imagine?  How fucking proud of himself he’d be?  You can’t let that happen, but fuck, holding back something so appealing is so much harder than it sounds.

Tap into that anger, tap into that anger—only, you can’t suddenly find it.  Where’d it go?  Fuck, doesn’t matter, conjure it.  Quick, before it’s too late, get mad —don’t let him lure you into a… a false… 

Dameron tilts his chin down towards the line of your shoulder and then slowly turns his head towards your neck, breathing you in gently.

A false sense of…

His soft exhale makes goosebumps break out all the way down your arms.

… What?

“Maybe you’re right,” Dameron acknowledges, talking just under your ear.  You watch his eyelids dip and the dark beard brushes against your skin and you catch just a hint of that woodsy, spicy scent engulfing you.  Like… teakwood, maybe?  Stars, you don’t know, you think you’re starting to lose your mind.  What the fuck does teakwood even smell like?  “Maybe it’s just what I need.  You should exploit it, chances are I’ll still cum first.”

That rockets another painful spasm down low.  It hurts so fucking bad—fuck, maybe you could… rub yourself up against these weapons controls?  Just a little bit?  That joystick, right there, just ease yourself up against it just to nurse this wound a little bit…?

No, fucking— bad.  That’s bad, you have to stop—

“This isn’t real, this isn’t—y-you just…”  You flutter your eyelashes shut, digging your fingernails into your thighs like it’ll help break through the fog of his lulling voice, how fucking amazing he smells right now.  “You just want to win th-the b—”

“ Fuck the bet,” he tells you quietly, his head dipped low enough now that his lips brush against your neck, and you shudder so hard at the sensation that your shoulder almost knocks into his chin with it.  “You really think I’m doing all this for a fucking bet?”

Don’t trust him, don’t trust him, don’t—

Your deep breath is so stuttery and uneven that it’s technically just a series of shallow inhales all anxiously strung together, too desperate for oxygen to go about it legato.  It’s painfully obvious to him by now, it has to be, but you very quickly miss the shaky breathing as soon as he takes away your ability to do it all together.

“Let me taste you,” he whispers, his voice almost breaking with how gentle it is, how it sounds like it flips in and out of his register when he speaks this low.  “Right now, let’s make it real, let m—I know you have to be soaking fucking wet, baby, just let me try a little bit of it, please—I’m… holy shit, I’m so hard just thinking about it.”

“You c-can’t,” you stammer, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration.  At him, at the situation, at the painful throb of emptiness between your legs.  “Fuck, it’s not allowed, it’s against the rules—”

“It won’t be,” he assures you, and you hiccup when you suddenly feel his hand brush against your side, strong fingers branching out to curve against your ribcage.  “You don’t have to do anything, you can stay just like this.  Just a few seconds and then I’ll stop, I promise.”

Oh, Maker, it’s on the very top of your tongue, so unbelievably close to telling him something—but you don’t know what it should be.  You’re right at the tipping point, on a tightrope right between what you want and what you should want.  And, knowing you’re this close to giving in, Dameron slowly eases his hand down your side and starts to trail it inwards, and just the lightest brush of his warm tongue against your neck shatters any composure you have left.

You whimper and instinctively try to close your legs, but you fucking can’t— your knees are forced wide apart by controls and your whole body freezes when his hand slides down and folds gently along the curve of your pussy through the thick fabric of your jumpsuit.

The feeling of being held like this by him is just too good , cradled so perfectly in his palm as he opens his mouth and flutters his tongue out to taste your skin again, giving you a little more of it this time and letting you feel the roughness of his beard with the way his lips move.  Your breath catches, then he hooks his fingertips up just the slightest bit and pulls back, and you suddenly have to smack your whole hand over your face in a terrible attempt to stifle your loud gasp.

“Oh, Maker, I c-can’t,” you stammer against your fingers, not being able to trust him or your own body.  You continue to protest even after he moves back up, resting his palm low on your abdomen, letting the heat bleed through the fabric and transfer directly to your floor muscles as he lifts his head up from your shoulder.  “I can’t, we can’t, I…”

You can’t see him, but you know he’s looking at you.  He’s staring right at you through the reflection, studying the way you’re hiding your face from him, how you’re still melting, still losing your composure just from the warm palm pressed tight your tummy.

His touch leaves you for a second. But then the deafening sound of velcro ripping at the crotch of your jumpsuit has you dragging your hand down your mouth and your eyelids dipping.

“Dameron,” you breathe into your fingers, just as his carefully slip into the small opening and begin to work at the button to your pants. “Dameron, this isn’t—you don’t want—”

“You don’t get to tell me what I don’t want,” he grunts at you, and you try not to bite yourself at the sound of him unzipping things and yanking fabric to the side.  “What I really fucking want is the real thing, but I guess this’ll have to do for now.”

“I—”  Your mind whirs desperately, trying to process when his fingers wedge under your panties and down.   But he doesn’t give you a single fucking second.  As soon as the tip of his middle finger reaches your slit, he’s dropping it and sliding it through your slick, hot, unbearably neglected cunt.

“Fuck,” he spits, and you feel like you might be about to break your own fucking jaw with how hard you’re clutching it, trying so desperately not to make a noise.  The pad of his finger is rough and calloused as it drags against your clit in slow, tight circles, and you clamp your eyes shut and try to breathe normally, but it’s no use.  Fuck , it’s been so long .  You’ve been aching for it for a full fucking month and a half now and you know that even if he couldn’t feel it, he can hear how drenched you are right now.  It’s making an obscene sound as he steadily masturbates you with one heavenly finger, giving your body what it’s desperately craved for so many weeks.  “Fuck, baby’s pussy got fucking wet hearing me talk about how good I’d lick it, huh?”

That sends a bright flare launching through you and you gasp raggedly, both hands whipping out to snatch at his forearm where it disappears between your legs.  “No, shit, wait, stopstopstopstop stop , I—”

His hand slips out immediately and yet you continue to tremble like his finger is still right there, like your clit is just imagining it so vividly that it’s successfully convincing itself of the illusion.  The aching bit of flesh is burning, that good burn, the one that’s searing and bright that makes your muscles continue to chase the sensation long after the stimulation is gone.  Fuck, he almost made you cum.  He barely touched you for a few seconds and yet your fingers have to tighten into claws to slow your body down the fuck down, flexing against your thighs and trying your best to halt the impending climax.

By the time you’re able to wrangle yourself back from the edge and look at his reflection, his middle finger is already in his mouth and he’s blinking slowly at you, his pupils blown wide.  You’re breathing hard at him, staring open-mouthed at the way his lips are closed below his second knuckle, how he takes forever dragging it back out again.  You have to close your eyes.  You have to clamp them shut and keep them that way, knowing you won’t be able to look at him through whatever he’s going to say next.

Except, oddly, he doesn’t say much.

“Shit,” he breathes, dropping his mouth to your neck once more.  “Shhhit.  I…”

Your eyes snap open in sudden, blind panic when he doesn’t continue, horrified at the possibility that he doesn’t like it.  Dameron always has something to say, he doesn’t go speechless.  “Oh—Maker, is it not—?”

“Mmmfuck, just—” he grits, panting hot air against your skin, “—fuck.  Give me a second.”

You can only see the crown of his head with the way he’s angled, but you can see his shoulders a little further back.  They start… moving slightly.  Just the littlest bit, a smooth motion, like his whole body is slowly easing back and forth—

The nav controls are between his legs, you immediately realize.  He’s grinding up against them with how close he is to you and your seat.

And suddenly, it’s like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.  A ray of sunshine that breaks through the raging storm.  Dameron might cum in his pants like this.  Which means you’ll win, and arguably more importantly, you’ll finally be able to cum.  You don’t even take a moment to consider the potential consequences—how you’re going to have to withstand the stimulation until he succumbs to it, how you’ll have to outlast—but you’re not thinking straight.  You’re not really thinking at all.

“You can…” you suddenly hear yourself whisper, and your heart pounds in your throat when he instantly stops moving.  “One… one more.  If you want.  You can put your finger inside this time, it’s where I’m the… w-wettest.”

“Fuck,” Dameron croaks into the crook of your neck, his voice scraping low and rough and sending a tremor through you.  “Fuck, okay, yeah—”

His hand slides across your hip and down, but you catch him just in time.

“But don’t touch my clit.”  You try to sound as firm as possible through the breathlessness, still trying to put your foot down even when you’re giving in, and Dameron’s teeth come out as he stifles a soft groan into your neck in response.

“Yes, baby,” he murmurs obediently as his hand sinks down once more, and so diligently, he avoids it altogether.  His fingers slide under your panties and fall straight down to your entrance, down to where you know you’re the hottest, where your pussy is flexing and pushing wetness out with a steady, wicked throb.  The pad of his middle finger presses gently against the tight muscles there, rubs just the slightest bit to feel that resistance, and then the length of it eases inside you so slowly that your knees rattle against bulky metal.

“Fucking Maker , ” he hisses as he slides it in, his body making a sudden jerk against the controls.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of something inside you after so long, after such a torturous buildup, and you grasp at his forearm again when it curls naturally up against searing pleasure.  Oh, it’s so good, it’s so good, your hands shake while he very carefully moves it in and out, the raw sparks of heat threatening to incinerate you as your muscles cling to every ridge of his finger.  He gets it sopping wet, bathes it so completely in your slick that you’re almost certain it’ll come out pruny and drenched.

“Shit, okay,” you pant, squeezing desperately around his finger, “o-okay, fuck, that’s enough.”

His hand pulls out… slower this time.  He slips his finger out of you quick enough, but he drags the tip of it through your folds as he retreats, just barely grazing your clit and making you jolt in your seat.  Shit, you don’t know if it felt intentional enough to fault him for it—mostly it just excites you, thrills you to have him edge you like this without really needing to put any effort at all into it.

Dameron lifts his head to sink his finger deep into his mouth once more, and you tremble as you watch him enjoy it, staring at the way his shoulders seem to relax as soon as your taste is on his tongue, how his face goes soft with it and he almost slumps.

Relief.  Genuine, not embellished.  He still doesn’t say anything after he slowly slides it out and blinks at you, no sugar sweet drawl telling you how amazing you taste, no candied words to make you give in and let him have another go.  You’re both breathing hard at each other, staring, waiting to see who will break first.

Stars, you… fucking like this.  You want him to keep going, but you can’t offer it again.  It’s just too exposing, too revealing to let him you’re actually really fucking enjoying this, you can’t—

“Do you w—?”  Your voice automatically comes out through the silence without your permission, sounding just absolutely fucking wrecked by this point, but his palm is already slithering back down as soon as you speak, and you make the softest little submissive noise in your throat at him taking immediate initiative like that.  He’s not as careful about it this time—his hand finds its target with less frill, his finger slides in quicker, sinking deep into your heat with little hesitation, lighting you on fire from the inside out, and you bite the meat of your thumb to stay quiet.

“Fuck, this is so hot,” he suddenly breathes next to your ear while your legs spasm and you gasp brokenly.  “This is so—fuck, pretty baby letting me do this to her, I can’t fucking believe—”

Dameron eases a second finger inside you this time, letting you feel that delicious stretch from this angle, unable to lift your legs or shuffle around to help and subsequently resigned to simply experience it the way he gives it to you.  Your teeth have probably permanently indented your bottom lip from how hard you’re clamped down, a testament to how much you’re trying to hold back the loud moan you miraculously haven’t released yet.  Somehow it makes it sexier, not letting him hear you, not having your own noises to drown out the spark of urgency in his voice beginning to peek through.

Shit, it’s too much.  You can only let him touch you a few seconds at a time before you feel that familiar tug towards mind-numbing bliss, and the more he does it, the more appealing that feeling then becomes.  It’s teasing you, floating right in front of you and calling into question what could possibly be so bad about just reaching out to meet it?  You could.  You could cum right now.  What’s two weeks of pay?  You could cum all night long if you want, that is a thing you can do—

Quickly snapping out of your hypnotic downfall, your trembling hands snatch at his forearm once more, and Dameron, the fucker, drags his fingers slowly over your clit on the way out— so not accidental, not even close to it this time, but the sensation makes your hips stutter upwards and chase it nonetheless.

“Fuck you,” you groan at his audacity, your chest arching as you drop your head back, “I said don’t touch my—” but two wet fingers slipping past your lips and onto your tongue muffle the rest of your sentence.  Your heart does half a somersault before slamming down early, the taste of your pussy filling your mouth as you automatically start sucking on them.

“None of that,” Dameron tells you softly, massaging his fingers along your tongue before pressing a sweet kiss under your ear.  “Be nice.  I’m being nice.”

You should bite him.  Instead, you just close your eyes and mphh weakly around his fingers, your body sagging as you give into it and let him explore your mouth with them, your lower muscles cramping up in painful desperation even when he’s not anywhere near that part of your body right now.  Your tongue even comes up to lick between them, swirl around them so soft compared to how hard you’re puffing through your nose.

Dameron slowly inches his fingers out, letting the tips of them rest against your bottom lip for just a brief moment, before his hand is moving again.  Not down, but back and around, so he can open his mouth and taste you another way this time.

Shit, you feel like you’re dying.  You need air.  Your hands clench into fists and you use the back of one to wipe the sweat from the bridge of your nose while he takes his time sampling you like this.  If anything, he looks just as blissed out as before, continuing to rub his crotch up against the solid metal between his legs and teasing you with it as much as he’s teasing himself.

“Maker, let me do this for real tonight, okay,” Dameron pants after dropping his fingers from his mouth, sounding like he’s fighting for his breath while you can’t find yours at all.  Your eyes flick down to watch the way his hand disappears behind the chair to grab the controls and push his cock up against them even harder, how he drops his forehead to your neck like he just can’t fucking handle it anymore.  “Fuck, I’ll shave, I’ll do anything you want, just let me—”

“Cum,” you gasp out before you can stop yourself, and there’s a moment after it where his hips suddenly stutter against the controls, and you both freeze.

Shit.  Shitshitshit, did that actually work?

No, you very quickly realize, his body isn’t spasming like it would if he finally emptied his load after a month and a half.  He’s just… holding there, his head buried in your neck, completely still.

You didn’t mean it like that.  Well… fuck, you did, but you didn’t realize you’d be that reckless about it, that upfront about reissuing the challenge.

Dameron pulls back to look at you from the side this time, but it’s too cramped—he keeps his head turned facing you even as his eyes flick up to the transparisteel to take in the finer details of your features, the thin sheen of sweat on your forehead, and the slightly alarmed way you’re blinking back at him, worried you just shot your blaster at him in the midst of a mutual ceasefire and you fucking missed.

You see the understanding in his eyes instantly fall into place, and it’s not fucking good.  Ohhhhhh no, it’s not good.  Your chest starts rising and falling rapidly, suddenly registering the position you just put yourself in.  Fuck, you didn’t think—you saw your opening, so clearly, you didn’t have time to think about the consequences.

“D-Dameron…” you try your best to placate.

“Don’t touch your clit?”  He asks quietly, the raspiness of his voice ripping a hole through you while his hand suddenly shoves its way back down your body once more.

“Dameron,” you whimper, your heart stuttering in panic as you grasp weakly at his arm reaching between your spread thighs, “Dameron, this is—this is against the r-rules—”

“You keep saying that,” he comments, his fingers easily finding the opening in your jumpsuit no matter how hard you flex your thighs against bulky mechanics to try and close them.  “How clearly do you remember the rules?  What were the rules again?

You open your mouth to respond but his hand sliding under your panties and down just obliterates any chance you were going to attempt.  No words, nothing comes out but a shaky whine as his finger sinks into your soaking heat, going right for the kill.

“Come on, baby, the rules,” Dameron reminds you when you never give him an answer.  “Tell me.  No fucking, no jerking off, and…?”

You suddenly struggle forwards in a last-ditch attempt at preventing the inevitable, hoping you can scoot up enough in your seat to escape his reach from behind.  But fuck, your thighs have been shoved wide open for nearly eight hours—none of the muscles are working the way they should be anymore.  There’s just enough room in front of you to get there and you probably would’ve been able to do it at the beginning of the shift, even with his hand between your legs like this, but you’re sluggish and your thighs pull sharp and urgent with the movement.  The frantic maneuver enough to veer his fingers off course just slightly, moving one of your lips to the side at an angle, and you keep pushing against the pain no matter how useless it is.

“—No cumming,” he finishes for you, and his other hand is slithering up under your arm and groping one of your breasts through the jumpsuit before shoving you back tight up against your seat once more, totally helpless against it.  “Probably have another fifteen minutes or so before our shift ends.  Better hold it in, pretty baby, because this one is all you.”

“This—this isn’t fair, this is—”  The second the slippery pad of his finger presses hard against your clit, you’re biting your lip to cut off a breathless whimper that slips out.  “This is… is sab— sabotage— ”

“Oh, I know,” he moans next to your ear, mocking your high plea of distress with a fake, overly sympathetic whine.  “Feels so fucking good though, doesn’t it?”

Fuck, it does.  The build feels like an orgasm in itself, just working your way to it.  You’re already so unbelievably close after just a few seconds of direct stimulation, an obvious consequence of originally agreeing to such a hardcore edging workout.  You’re pouring sweat, so swollen and tight between your legs as you do everything you can to revolt against your body’s needs.

“Oh fuck, stop touching my clit—” you gasp raggedly, heart thundering in panic while your lower muscles start to immediately seize up, “oh—fuckfuckfuck— Poe, take your finger off m—”

Instead of doing it, his hand just slows down until the tip of his finger comes to a halt, maybe less than an inch over top of it.  You still can’t catch your breath though, not when you feel yourself throbbing against absolutely nothing, the calloused pad holding perfectly still over the bundle of nerves.  The swollen bud still arcs and flares at a steady frequency, building and building, and you choke out a wordless garble, absolutely fucking furious that this is what’s gonna make you cum.

“Don’t make me cum,” you switch up your sentence but not the terrified plead in your voice, the way it’s pitching up and out of control in the dead quiet of space.  He doesn’t even acknowledge it.  “Don’t make me cum, don—”

“Say it again,” he prompts instead, and lightning arcs up your spine.

“Poe,” you wheeze, the words coming from you without thought, your fingernails digging into his forearm even as your hips jerk up into his touch, “fuck, don’t make me cum, Poe—please don’t make me c—”

“But it’ll be so good,” he counters lowly, and your clit throbs in desperation at the richness of his voice when he speaks like this, saying things from deep in his chest.  “It’ll be so fucking good when it happens.  Stars, you’ll feel so much better, won’t you?  Cum right now and I’ll give you as many as I can until we have to go home.”

“N-No,” you whine, feeling his teeth scrape at the crook of your neck.  “No, I can’t—”

“Cum for me,” Dameron raises his voice, sharpening it into a direct order.  “Right now.  Come on— fucking make yourself lose.”

“But I—I—” you sob, starting to feel your body curl inwards, nearly about to succumb to the burning, the tightening, right on its last breath, “I-I don’t want to cum—”

“And I don’t fucking care,“ he hisses while your hands start flexing unintentionally, grasping helplessly at his immovable forearm where it disappears between your legs, the dark hair sliding under your fingertips as you claw desperately at it.  “You’ll fucking cum when I tell you to cum and you’ll like it, you disrespectful, cock-deprived, bratty little—”

And then everything goes dark.

No, literally.  The stars disappear.

The cockpit is suddenly shrouded in pitch blackness, and you’re almost certain it’s because you pass out, except then Dameron is all but ripping his hand out of your jumpsuit and cursing repeatedly in alarm.  You crumple in on yourself, eyes clamped shut and not hearing anything, right at the peak of your ecstasy and ready to soar into the light completely unassisted, your muscles doing all the work on their own—

“—shit, they’re way too close—” you hear his voice shout, “—we have to turn the engines on—Gold-Ten, baby, turn the fucking eng—”

You’re almost there, you’re almost there, you’re gonna cum, you’re gonna fucking—

Your first name, roared out in startling, blinding panic.

You don’t often hear it.  Just during roll calls mostly, but only if you’re flying with a different squadron and need a new temporary flight designation for the day.  First names hurt.  You can’t remember a time you’ve ever willingly told anybody yours.

Your head jerks up to look at his reflection but something else beyond the transparisteel takes immediate precedence.  Your brain takes about two seconds to catch up before thundering terror slams through you and halts your previously inevitable orgasm in its fucking tracks.  A runaway train about to launch off its tracks suddenly slamming directly into a megaton force-field of cold, hard fight or flight instincts.

A staggering fleet of First Order ships silently plunging out of hyperspace on all sides—your powered-down x-wing stationed right in the middle of the drop location.

***

Stay tuned for part two coming soon!!

[moonbaby26]

Title: What the Heart Wants

Pairings: Young!Shota Aizawa x GN!Reader

Summary: You were a young hero in training, living in the United States. And when your high school offered an exchange internship to one of the hero agencies in Japan, you were first in line. But the last thing you expected was to fall for another of their young hopefuls.

Notes: Story features the other dumbigos as well. It’s implied that this story is just the reader reminiscing, and that the reader and Aizawa have been in an established relationship ever since.

Warnings: Mention of blood and a little battle damage, otherwise just superpowered teenage friends being pretty wholesome honestly.

My Masterlist

——————————

The first time you’d ever met the now pro hero Eraser Head, he hadn’t been much more than another teenager in over their head so much like yourself.

Back then you hadn’t known how to say no to anything either. While most of your classmates had been taking the typical internship offers from your state’s local hero agencies, you’d heard about a new exchange program abroad. And of course you’d jumped at the opportunity, anything to set yourself even one hair’s edge above the amazing competition.

Your Japanese had been terrible too honestly, so much so that you’d almost been afraid to speak for fear of ridicule once you reached Japan.

Luckily, the hero you were assigned to, Stunner Man was fluent in several languages. And his quirk was something akin to fireworks from his body at will, like a human flash bang. It greatly complimented your own quirk of consuming light energy to then expel it as energy blasts as well.

For the first few jobs together, you’d likely grown too confident and complacent because of this. It was all too easy to replace your own energy by drawing in that light from his fireworks. Sometimes to the point that all around you went dark, before then expelling the energy again as concentrated blasts from your hands to help incapacitate the small time villains you both ran across.

But then had come that rainy night and reports of a much stronger villain taking out actual teams of heroes somewhere downtown. Multiple agencies had responded to this of course, but your hero had been adamant about you staying behind. This was real danger he said, and it would be unheroic to let your desire for success blind you to your own inexperience. You would be a liability in the main battle, and you could be just as valuable assisting firemen and police in their efforts to evacuate the nearby apartment buildings instead.

Of course you were obedient, and so there you’d been, running up the stairs and through the corridors as fire alarms blared and people cried in panic in these high rise buildings. You’d put on your best act of confidence, directing the scared people to exits, asking them to mind their neighbors. You told them not to push, to please help those that were elderly or disabled, and that it would all be all right. Surely it would be because so many pro heroes were now on the job.

But just as you were almost done clearing the last floor at the top of that building, a terrible crash had sounded from far down the hall. Maybe debris breaking through from the nearby battle? You were cautious enough though to make sure that the police and firemen safely exited this floor entirely with the last civilians before you went to investigate.

You would make sure no one was left behind, that no one was hurt or trapped. But as you’d rounded the corner, in a glitter of broken glass and blood, that was where you’d first seen Shota Aizawa…Eraser Head.

He was only a sidekick you thought immediately though just from his age, so similar to your own. Yet he was already trying to get back to his feet even as you called out to him. The hole he’d come through in the large windows and the cracked wall around it were letting the rain now blow fiercely inside.

“Get back!” He’d yelled right back to you in Japanese however. As if he wasn’t losing blood all over the floor as you did pause brief enough to hear an odd humming sound outside even over the rain.

It was reflex of course. He hadn’t even been facing you, but the way he tensed you’d assumed what was going to happen only that fraction of a second before it did. Before whatever villain had just thrown him through this window attacked again, you’d used your energy reserves to make a shield of light between Shota and the broken windows and wall.

The blast that came through the hole had likely been intended to finish the boy. As it was, it still exploded violently against your force field, the recoil sending pain through your arms as you’d dug your boots into the floor beneath you as much as you could just to keep from being knocked backwards with the force.

You wouldn’t be able to take another direct strike like that without gathering more energy. And in the confusion as the blast did dissipate, you ran forward, grabbing the boy by the wrist. “Come on!”

You only saw the surprise in his reddened eyes for just a moment, the first time he’d really looked at you. His shaggy black hair was dripping on you from the rain before you both ran together.

“It’s going to get dark. Just hold on to me and trust me!” You spoke as you pulled your goggles down from off your head to cover your eyes in mid run. The goggles were a support item developed especially for you. In darkness you could switch between night-vision and thermal imaging to allow you to still see when your opponents and even teammates could not. And when you used your light abilities to discharge energy again, the opacity of the lenses darkened instantly to keep you from being blinded by the brightness of your own quirk as well.

As you both ran, you activated your quirk to draw energy from the artificial lighting in the hallway. True to your word, the whole hall became almost pitch black in short time. Your skin darkening to an inhuman shade as well as you used your power, a color akin to the lightless void now around you as you led him to a stairwell in the center of the building.

“Will the villain follow us in?” You asked as you closed the door, but making sure not to absorb all the light of the stairwell as well as you could still hear people making their way down to evacuate below. You knew you couldn’t stay in this place long. You had to protect these people you had already been trying to rescue as well. But information was always crucial to having a better chance at victory, and you needed anything that the boy could tell you quickly now.

As you lifted your goggles back up in the light of the stairwell, you were already trying to assess his wounds as well. But when you realized he was just staring at you, you finally made eye contact with him again just before he spoke.

“He’s more powerful out in the open.” The boy said. “So I don’t think he’ll follow us inside yet. But you’re assuming I’m a hero?” He sounded somewhat surprised? But the way he was looking you over, he was also trying to discern your quirk even in his own confusion.

“You told me to get back when I found you in the hallway, even though you were hurt.” You saw now that most of the blood was coming from his lower abdomen. A puncture wound maybe? “Who else would worry about others even when being attacked themselves?”

You saw his eyes widen a little at the sort of compliment, but you kept on. “And I’m sorry if I’m hard to understand. My name is (Y/N). I’m from the United States. Part of the intern exchange. I’m working for Stunner Man right now.”

“I can understand you.” He admitted. Though still looking at you in that odd way. “My name is Shota Aizawa.” He paused, seeming a little less confident, before he admitted his nickname. “Codename Eraser Head. I’m interning from the UA with His Purple Highness.”

“Oh,” You said, impressed truthfully, as that school’s hero course was obviously world renowned. But from the quizzical look you couldn’t help but show at his codename, he clearly had already discerned your next question.

He answered before you could ask, but even as he did you could tell he was already steeling himself for your disappointment. “I can erase others’ quirks just by looking at them.”

“You can…what?” You stared helplessly, for a moment almost forgetting your training to always be cool and collected as you tried to fathom what on earth this boy could really mean.

But he just stared back at you, was he that surprised at your reaction?

When he said nothing more, you had to shake away your shock to press further. “I’m sorry. This might be the language barrier again, but I need you to explain that to me please.”

Hero work could lead to unexpected team up situations at any time. And if this was to be one of those times, you both needed to know what you would be dealing with.

He frowned slightly, like he was having to talk more about himself than he was comfortable with. But he did comply. “If I activate my quirk while someone is in my direct line of sight, it inactivates theirs. But I can only do it for so long. Once I blink, or the line of sight is broken, their powers will come back.”

Silence hung between you for one long moment after his admission, and you could sense the tangible unease building in him.

You didn’t mean to make him jump either when you just blurted out. “That’s amazing!”

You still didn’t yell, but it was loud enough to be unexpected. But you couldn’t help it. You’d never heard of such a quirk. How could anyone be so powerful to make someone else quirkless just by looking at them!?

And why the hell did he look so self conscious about this? “You can’t be this modest. How are you not believing me that this is amazing!? I bet you only got thrown in here then because the rain obscured your vision, right!?” Your voice was quickening with your excitement. Your strategies to victory also readily multiplying in your brain. You could make a shield of light to push away the rain and Shota could look at the villain to make them helpless, then you could take them out with a subsequent light blast!

“My quirk has no offensive merit.” He deadpanned.

“Not every quirk has to!” You retorted, but maybe yourself now finally starting to understand a hint to his self conscious nature. “There are always multiple ways to win! Don’t they teach you that at UA?”

“We need to get moving,” He grumbled still in resistance to this subject. “People could be being killed out there.”

He wasn’t wrong you knew, as you nodded. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to gather information.” Which fair was fair as you tried to keep your own explanation as straight forward as you could.

“As you saw, my quirk is that I can absorb visible light energy. It doesn’t matter what kind. I darken everything as I absorb the light around me. I can store it inside myself, then discharge it when I’m ready, to make force fields for defense…or light blasts for offense or distraction to blind opponents.” Like everyone though, there was always still a catch as you continued. “But the weakness is that once I’ve discharged what I have, I’m tapped out until I can absorb more light. Which, at night in a rainstorm like this…there’s not much to be had.”

He was mostly stone faced as he listened to you though. But there was an analytic sharpness to his eyes, like you were inputting information into a human calculator before abruptly he tried to walk back away from you as if to continue up the stairs.

“I have a plan then,” He announced quietly, his back already to you again.

As much as you somehow believed him already though, you grabbed his hand before he could get much farther. “And whatever that plan is, we still won’t be much help to anyone if you faint from blood loss.”

It was obvious he was someone not used to being touched, you could tell that from the instant way he stilled and looked back at you.

But you didn’t weaken at the stare, only offering him a slight smile. “I’ve been trained in emergency first aid as well. There are first aid kits all through this stairway.” You’d passed them on the way up. “I’ll be quick, alright?”

————————————

The logical side of him must have won out that night in that stairwell. He’d known you were right about at least stopping his bleeding. But that was the real beginning you thought. This odd relationship that would keep its hold on you both for so many years to come.

Him, still so skinny then and self conscious, quiet and awkward as he’d sat on one of the stairs, holding his shirt up so you could clean and disinfect the wound just above his belt while you kneeled in front of him. Luckily the injury was not as deep as it could have been. Just too wide to close or clot on its own as you’d wrapped his abdomen with the appropriate bandages after cleaning out the debris.

And you kept your word, you still weren’t negligent of your duty as a hero in training even then. You didn’t waste any time at all, being as quick and efficient as you could while working on him. But even if all your training told you to also keep your mind on the mission at hand, you’d still felt that warmth in you.

The intimacy was practical, professional. But it still had its effect as you’d run your fingers across his abdomen to finish securing the bandage. You felt him tremble just for the slightest moment, and then it was over. His shirt was back down and he was standing again.

He’d only muttered a quick “Thank you,” as you’d both headed for the roof to execute his plan.

And still only being teenagers then, the clumsiness of your yelling and waving to attract the villain’s attention again would be something you’d both have been embarrassed about now. But at the time, you’d really both done rather well considering your low experience levels.

That villain of course hadn’t been the only villain that night. The main heroes had had their hands full with the other, stronger one at the heart of downtown. This one had been more like the sidekick really, just trying to keep on the outskirts to run interference and keep even more heroes from joining the fray for his boss.

He’d picked off Shota earlier he thought, so he was easy to get worked up when he realized Aizawa was now back for more.

But that villain had drawn his power from the difference of electrical charges in the air. Obviously then at an even greater advantage over the two of you with the thunderstorm above. But the trick had only been avoiding his electrical blasts, but drawing the light energy from them enough times to eventually surprise him with a big enough blast in return.

There’d been a few miscues of course, as well as you using your shielding to protect Shota all the while trying not to get hit either before you could finally land that big enough return hit to stun the villain. Then Shota binding him up in his scarf like weapon and removing the enemy’s quirk long enough to deliver a decisive knockout kick to the villain’s head.

It was your first ever victory as a team.

—————————————

And it’d been a bit of a whirlwind afterward. The congratulations and acknowledgement from your respective heroes for the small, but positive role you had both played of course. But more personally for you, you had owed so much to one of Shota’s best friends you had met immediately in the hustle and bustle afterward.

Oboro Shirakumo, otherwise known as Loud Cloud had been there immediately, ecstatic to hear the story of Shota’s and your success. His extroverted and effervescent personality such a direct opposite to Aizawa’s quiet nature. But Oboro had been the one seemingly so excited to learn you were from the United States as well.

He’d insisted that he, Shota, and their fellow UA student and other best friend, Hizashi Yamada (codename Present Mic) show you the real young hero life in Japan before you would leave again in the coming weeks.

Without Oboro’s intervention, there was likely no way otherwise you would have gotten to see the shy Aizawa so many times again after that night.

As a group the four of you had gone to malls, out to eat, and to see the touristy sights you likely never would have gone to alone. They didn’t even make fun of your bad Japanese, well not seriously anyway. Hizashi did a few times, but in a way that had you laughing with him as he teasingly walked you through a few pronunciations you’d butchered yet again.

On your last night in Japan, you’d been feeling a little sad really though as you’d wished you had gotten to speak to Shota a little more one on one. Even though he’d accompanied you all on your excursions together in those few weeks, you still had noticed how little he really talked and how often he seemed to always be looking away from you.

In the end you just had to think you were being silly for the way you’d felt in the stairwell with him briefly that night and how often you’d thought of him ever since. You’d probably never see him again you knew.

That night though you’d all gone to a park together that met the beach and ocean. Oboro was insistent that you needed to see the view of the sea there before you flew back to the United States the next morning.

Oboro had made one of his clouds, taking just the two of you up high into the air. As Shota and Hizashi still on the ground grew smaller and smaller, you did look away to the horizon and the starlit ocean beyond. It was beautiful of course.

But what Oboro said next, made you forget all about that view entirely.

“He likes you you know. He just doesn’t know what to do about it.” The blue haired boy said as if it was as simple a truth as saying the sun would come up tomorrow.

Your head turned immediately, just to see Oboro smiling at you in an almost conspiring way. “And you feel the same don’t you?” He asked you. “You look at him the same way he looks at you.”

“He doesn’t look at me!” You blurted, stupidly protesting as if your stomach wasn’t already trying to tie itself into a knot.

But Oboro just laughed, that genuine, happy one you’d heard from him so many times already. “Well he knows what to do with his eyes doesn’t he? He has practice. Of course he doesn’t let you catch him staring!”

So many emotions ran through you at once then. Embarrassment at your naivety, sadness that you still had to be leaving the country regardless, shock that this could even be true, and….frustration that you would just be being told now!?

“I’m leaving tomorrow, Oboro. Why would you even tell me this now!?” You asked somewhat desperately, but still keeping your voice down in your escalating panic.

He raised his hands innocently, yet unafraid of you either way. “Hizashi and I have been encouraging him as much as we could to speak up, but Shota is like those stories where an unstoppable force meets an immovable object…but in this story both are Shota!”

You stared, the absurdity only mounting at his words.

He chuckled, looking a little embarrassed then. “He’s quite stubborn is what I mean? And he says it’s pointless because you’ll be thousands of miles away. And I said that’s what phones, email, and video calling are for! Of course conversation is not one of his better skills…”

“Oh, man” You sighed, yet trying to think in your nervousness. “Did he send you to tell me all this? Or does he even know we’re having this conversation right now?”

The boy just shook his head. “He didn’t tell me to, and I didn’t ask his permission, no. He would have only told me not to. But sometimes heroes have to do what heroes have to do, right?” A kind look overtook his face again. “I want to see him smile sometime. He actually has a nice smile you know. I think I’ve seen it all of twice,” Oboro joked.

And it was true, it’s not like Shota was cruel or anything. But he didn’t smile, he didn’t laugh. It was like he was always afraid to perhaps. You weren’t really sure yet. You hadn’t known him long enough. But surely Oboro and Hizashi had. You should at least be able to trust that they had made a correct assessment of their friend’s feelings.

“Well…” You hesitated. “If I told him I wanted to stay in contact…do you think he’d actually call or write me?” You looked at Oboro imploringly, unsure if it would hurt more to try this and be rejected later anyway if you still never heard from him again.

“I can only promise you that we’ll try to keep him from screwing up if it’s only his fear that’s holding him back. We all have to overcome fear in one way or another if we’re going to be pros one day.” He smirked then, before looking a little more boastful. “You know, when Shota, Hizashi, and I graduate, we’re going to start our own hero agency. I’m sure by then if you wanted to come and do some more work in Japan, we could make a space for you too. I’d be a bad manager to turn down foreign talent you know.”

He did seem so sincere, you couldn’t help but smile back at him. “I’ll talk to Shota. But, whatever happens, thank you for trying to help either way.”

Oboro gave an exaggerated thumbs up with, what honestly you were guessing was his best imitation of an All Might type grin. “Of course! Plus Ultra! Always!”

———————————

It was something how quickly Oboro and Hizashi got themselves out of sight, now just you and Shota on the beach together. Yet you suspected they may still be in earshot somewhere in the distance. No doubt painfully curious of how this would go and silently cheering their best friend on.

At first you were afraid that Shota was angry actually, the way he’d visibly bristled, shooting his friends’ quite unhappy stares before they’d left as he fully realized what was about to happen.

But he didn’t ignore you, nor did he look away from you this time as you got closer to hopefully speak a little more privately. “I’m sorry if this is…weird.” You started awkwardly. “But I don’t think you should be too hard on your friends either. It’s obvious they really care about you.”

Your foot was kind of shifting in the sand. Nervousness still flowing freely as you just kept on. “But I’d still like to hear it from you…if you’re wanting to keep in touch. If you want to get to know me better, I’d like that…so…um-” Ah, this would be awful at any time, but stumbling over words you’d only recently learned made it all the worse. “So is it true, Shota? Do you want to keep talking after I’m back home…maybe I can come back again though…I’d like to see you again…I really would.”

He was silent at first, but he was clearly listening. Intently, as if analyzing your every movement, your every word.

But it was painful how long you had to wait for a response. Surely it wasn’t really as long as it felt though before he finally responded. His voice surprisingly even, almost emotionless?

“You’ll be a successful hero if you keep to your studies and training. I find it unlikely that you wouldn’t be able to start at any agency of your choosing in the United States once you graduate.”

A huge compliment to be sure, as you stared at him in surprise. But what did that have to do with the subject at hand? Was he trying to avoid your questioning entirely?

Yet his eyebrows lowered before you could interrupt as he kept on. “So I don’t understand why you would ever want to come back to Japan longterm where your reputation would have to be built back up again just to get equivalent job offers to what you could attain already in the US. The one instance with capturing the villain at that apartment complex isn’t enough for top placement at the agencies here in Japan. Especially without UA accreditation on your record. You would be putting yourself at a disadvantage to be here. It would be a mistake for your career.”

You could swear you almost heard a groan from somewhere in the distance. If you’d put your goggles on now, you were sure you’d probably see Oboro and Hizashi hanging on every word, wherever they were hiding to eavesdrop in the dark.

But your brain was also quite busy trying to digest the most words you’d ever heard from Shota at one time. Was this his excuse to reject you more lightly? To say he was only thinking of your career?

Of course he was under no obligation to feel anything for you. You knew there were certainly those with more powerful or interesting quirks than your own, or people more physically attractive. You weren’t anything amazing in your own mind compared to all the potential superstars you interacted with on a daily basis back home.

Yet if he didn’t feel how you did, you wanted to hear it outright instead of buried in a confusing way like this, and you couldn’t help but admit so then. “So you think I shouldn’t ever want to date you because it could make me spend too much time in Japan and not become as famous as I could have been otherwise? Nice that you assume working at a top tier agency is the only thing I would care about for my future….”

Perhaps you did come across a little harsher than you intended, but the way his normally tired looking eyes suddenly widened in shock had you realizing you had definitely brought some sort of emotion out of him at last with those words.

“You…wanted to…date me?” He uttered the words as if he never would have expected that combination of syllables to ever leave his mouth.

Well, you never would have been so forward if you didn’t feel he forced your hand with that strange insinuation of saying your personal choices should all be tied to a need for future fame and fortune.

You put one hand on your hip, trying not to sound as dumb as he was making you feel in this moment. “Well, not like tomorrow or anything. We’d need to get to know each other some more of course. But yes, I thought about it a lot these last few weeks. But if you didn’t like me like that, then friends is fine. I was hoping that was what we were going to talk about here. If you…liked me like that or not.”

Oh Lord, was this high school like it should be or was this elementary playground kind of drama? You didn’t have enough experience to be any more adult about this. But it was a yes or no type of question wasn’t it? Either he felt some sort of interest and attraction like you did, or he didn’t. You just needed to know.

“I…think you’re talented. And capable.” He said, like it was taking so much just to do this.

It was maddening somehow though. Could he not just say he felt nothing if that was the case? Was he so afraid of hurting your feelings? But honestly, he didn’t seem the type to ever mince words either. “Shota…” You tried. “You know you don’t have to worry about sparing my feelings. All you have to say is that you’re not interested. I’m not some delicate flower.”

Yet, you were starting to feel guilty yourself. Maybe this was all wrong, trying to force him out of his comfort zone too much. You should just take a hint right?

When he still said nothing more, your stomach finally sank as you stepped back from him a little again. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to know the truth, so I didn’t have to worry wondering later. If I’m not your type that’s okay. I appreciate you taking the time to try and talk to me like this.”

Oboro must have been wrong. That was all it could be. His friends had seen something that wasn’t there, and then pushed it this far in a sincere, but misguided attempt to help their friend.

But the let down still hurt. In the span of a short time, Oboro had gotten your hopes up and then they’d crashed down again. You’d been able to admit your feelings to Shota, just for it to end up as one sided.

Or so you thought.

You started to walk away, not wanting to be further embarrassed if the disappointment in your face had really started to show.

But you froze as soon as you felt his shockingly quick hand grab around your wrist. The memory of you doing the same to him in the apartment complex flashed through your mind.

“I didn’t say you weren’t my type…not that I’ve had a type before.” He spoke, but not in his usual even tone as you looked back at him.

And that was likely the very first time you’d ever seen a little bit of fear in his expression. He was still holding your wrist tightly, but it was like he didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know how to express whatever it was that he was really thinking.

“Eraser really is that bad at this! Just run with it, (Y/N)!” Hizashi’s voice boomed in the distance even if he was only partially using his quirk. The vibration startling you both as Shota immediately shot a death glare in that direction, his hair levitating as he activated his quirk as if trying to lock on to Present Mic even in the dark.

And you couldn’t help it then, slipping your wrist out of Shota’s grip at his distraction, but just as quickly clasping your hand warmly around his own instead as you used your quirk to absorb some of the ambient starlight. It created a dark spot on the beach between the two of you and the others, just enough that Oboro and Hizashi would no longer be able to see. Though Shota would still be able to see you as you chose to take a risk, leaning in enough to kiss his pale cheek.

His hair fell back down at that very personal touch, the red glow also leaving his eyes as he looked back to you.

But you couldn’t read him then. You weren’t sure at all what would happen.

Yet he was still human wasn’t he? Even as stoic and calculating of a person as you’d ever met, he was still human, and still young then with that touch of recklessness you all had deep down.

And when you felt his lips touch yours not long afterward, it was as clumsy as could be expected for teenagers. But you didn’t care at all as you easily returned the kiss.

You knew immediately then that you would be coming back to Japan as soon as you could. Your goal was still to be a pro hero, but it didn’t really matter where.

A true hero’s spirit came from the heart. And if your heart ended up in Japan…who were you to tell it no?

———————————

(End for now. ❤️ I will likely write more of this pairing, but not sure of how soon. Thank you for reading!)

[shima-draws]

Me, clapping my hands: SUPPORT COURSE IZUKU! SUPPORT COURSE IZUKU!! ...WITH A PROSTHETIC!!

I’m sure people have had this idea before but I wanted to put my own spin on it!! And now for the info:

-Izuku's been fascinated with heroes since a young age. However, after finding out he was quirkless, he refused to give up, and switched gears to start investing in the support field. He figured if he couldn't be a pro hero he could at least do his best to help them and be a hero in his own way.

-Izuku's an absolute GENIUS when it comes to inventing--he's on par with Hatsume. However, Hatsume focuses more on support items that break convention and are very innovative and unique. Izuku's focus is more on items that actually help heroes on the field and support their bodies, and items that also allow them to use their quirks to their full extent while still being able to control them properly. (Basically, Izuku's gadgets act as a control stick for heroes that go all out i.e. Toshi.) He also makes a lot of gadgets that support disabled heroes, because--

-Izuku has a prosthetic arm! It's his right one. This was the result of a villain attack that he got involved in after meeting All Might. Toshi blames himself for what happened to Izuku because he couldn't get there in time. He and Izuku are very close--Izuku knows the secret behind Toshi's appearance and he knows about One For All. Mirio is the one to inherit OFA in this AU--so Izuku's very close to him as well! Izuku makes support items for both Toshi and Mirio, to support their quirks. Izuku's gadgets have saved Toshi in a pinch a hundred times over, and are designed to support him when he needs that extra push when he's already reached his limit.

There is more ahead~

-After Izuku lost his arm in the villain accident, Bakugou does a total 180 and starts treating him better. From the start their relationship was less strained than in canon bc Izuku went into doing stuff for support early on, and Bakugou didn't see this as much as a threat compared to if Izuku still wanted to be a pro hero despite being quirkless. Nowadays Bakugou is VERY protective of Izuku--and both of them have reached a point where they're genuine friends. Izuku teases Bakugou a lot and easily snarks back at him when he's being a little shit. Bakugou won't ever admit it openly but Izuku is his best friend :') He cares about him  a lot. He used to defend Izuku constantly back in middle school after the accident, but Izuku soon learned to stand up for himself.

-Going off of that, Bakugou taught Izuku how to fight physically, and they try to spar once or twice a week if they can! It's good practice. Izuku was awful at it at first especially since his sense of balance was off due to the weight of the prosthetic, but Bakugou's a good teacher despite all his shouting lmao. Now Izuku can easily hand his ass to him if he gets into it enough. He can handle himself in a fight pretty brilliantly, even against villains, and Class 1-A quickly learns not to underestimate him.

-Bakugou refuses to get support items from anybody else but Izuku. He bitches at Izuku a lot but Izuku always takes his advice--Bakugou usually offers good tips and pointers on how to improve his gauntlets! Baku always says that while Izuku fucks up all the time (false), he at least trusts him enough to get the job done, while he scorns the rest of the support course fnjdsdd

-Since Izuku isn't in Class 1-A in this AU--guess who is? Yeah, it's Shinsou! Besides Baku Shinsou is probably Izuku's other closest friend, along with Hatsume! Shinsou's got a crush on Izuku and probably knows it won't be reciprocated, but he's fine with that. If Shinsou isn't in class he's most likely hanging out in the development studio with Izuku and Hatsume. The three of them are kinda like a mini Big Three haha, they've got a reputation around UA

-Do not put Izuku and Hatsume in the same room together or they'll bounce insane ideas off of each other and create outrageous things. They get each other super fired up LMAO and go to each other for advice when they need it!

-Izuku has the biggest, most obvious and absolutely endearing crush on one (1) Shouto Todoroki. Bakugou teases him about it CONSTANTLY. The reason for this is because they actually met back in middle school, before Izuku lost his arm--and Todoroki just made a really memorable impression on him bc he was the first person to ever treat him really kindly (they bumped into each other on accident because Izuku was getting chased by bullies, Izuku scraped up his hands, Todoroki chased off the bullies and then iced his injuries, and then they had a really deep conversation about heroes and encouraged each other). Todoroki kinda becomes Izuku's first love in that sense;; ofc it's nothing super serious but Izuku definitely feels all floaty and happy about it afterward. When Izuku gets into UA and notices that Todoroki's in the hero course he almost has a stroke because 1. Izuku gave him encouragement to get into UA waaaay back then and he's shocked Todoroki actually took his advice, 2. He finds out that Todoroki is in fact Todoroki bc they never gave each other their names, so Izuku's Shook his "first love" is actually the son of Endeavor, and 3. Todoroki's grown. He was pretty back in middle school but now. He's hot. HE'S HOT OH NO. After that Izuku keeps noticing him and hears rumors that Todoroki is an ice cold prince type character that has no real feelings. Izuku's like "Someone who takes the time out of their day to save you, heal your hands, and encourage you on your path to be a hero can't be that type of person" so Izuku just KNOWS Todo's actually a very kind boy. Izuku keeps watching him and gets super smitten after the Sports Festival ;) But he's like "He's practically famous, he'd never notice somebody like me, he probably doesn’t even remember me from middle school, haha" (so it's a bit like a celebrity crush). Shinsou and Hatsume bug him about his crush just to see him get flustered and it's very cute lol

-The second time Izuku and Todoroki meet is a goddamn mess and technically counts as their first because Todoroki has a shit memory and can't connect Izuku's face to the boy he met in middle school (also that boy definitely had two flesh arms and Izuku only has one). Todoroki walks in right as one of Izuku's gadgets explodes, absolutely showering him in dust and soot. Izuku freaks out and apologizes a lot while he helps him clean up (while Hatsume is teasing in the background). Note that Izuku's only wearing like a tanktop and sweats, and his hair is all messy and swept back especially since he's wearing his trademark goggles, he's covered in sweat and dirt, he has a really cool looking prosthetic (and Todoroki didn't realize he'd have a thing for that but apparently he does), and Izuku's really fucking toned so Todoroki has a big ol Gay Crisis right there in the development studio. Izuku is INCREDIBLY attractive and Todoroki doesn't know what to do with that info. After Izuku cleans up and manages to get an order for a support item out of Todo, Todo leaves and immediately texts Momo saying, "Yaoyorozu, I think I just had my gay awakening" and on the other side of campus, Momo chokes on her drink. Meanwhile back in the studio Izuku is SCREAMING like "Oh my GOD did that really just happen--did Shouto Todoroki walk in, get blasted by one of my inventions going haywire, let me clean him up and TOUCH HIS CHEST, HATSUME, I GOT TO FEEL HIM UP, and THEN HE ASKED ME TO TAKE AN ORDER, I'M GOING INTO CARDIAC ARREST. TELL MY MOTHER AND TOSHI I LOVED THEM AND TELL TODOROKI I'M SORRY FOR GETTING HIS PERFECT BEAUTIFUL HAIR DIRTY" and she's just laughing her ass off LMAOOOO

-It isn't until their third meeting that Izuku realizes Todoroki doesn't seem to remember him at ALL. And it stings, a lot (but he kinda figured this would happen esp since Todo didn’t recognize him the last time they talked), but he's still happy for the chance to know him now, and get to design support items for him!! Meanwhile Todo's like. Starting to catch on that maybe he DOES know Izuku after all? He isn't sure? But he's definitely falling for him. 

I’ve got more headcanons and stuff but yeah this is all the basics!!! I got so excited to flesh this AU out and make designs fnasjkbdnasds it’s definitely gonna be a fun one to play around with!

I want to either call this the Support Course Hero AU or maybe just Support Hero AU would work--what do you guys think?

[certified-dumbass02]

Gold Rush (pt.1)

A college AU.

Yelena is a playgirl….but really she’s just a huge flirt who’s been too chicken to really do anything for the last year because she’s secretly just as in love with you as you are with her.

Inspired by the always excellent @peachbear88 and Taylor Swift’s gold rush. Split into two parts because I thought it was getting too long.

~*~

Yelena Belova will be the death of you.

To be fair, she’s the death of pretty much everyone she crosses paths with on campus. Her prowess has, unsurprisingly, earned her several flattering - to her, since she laughs and preens at them - nicknames: Russian Assassin, Femme Fatale…Black Widow.

With her devastatingly gorgeous good looks, frustratingly charming personality, and annoyingly enduring popularity as one of the star athletes at the university, Yelena is never short of admirers.

What’s worse is she’s fully aware of her affect on others; men, women, everything in between - they all flock to her in a crowded room, clamoring to hear the Russian lilt she inherited from her immigrant parents glide silkily over a sarcastic quip or flirtatious comment.

Being around her is like being underwater, or being sucked into a black hole; reality just doesn’t seem quite the way that it normally does. People seem to lose their sense around her, trip over themselves just to try and impress her for the night, or grab her attention.

It is for this reason that you steadily avoid Yelena.

The idea of being enamored with someone to the point of foolishness has always left a bad taste in your mouth, and eliciting that behavior just happens to be one of Yelena’s specialties.

You want no part of it.

As appealing as she is, and you can’t deny that she is, you’ve never seen yourself entering what would surely be an ill-fated endeavor with someone that everyone wants. The stubborn part of you that has always gone against the grain, that prides itself on individuality and refuses to jump on any bandwagon, will not permit you to step into the Widow’s web as most others do.

Unfortunately, despite your vow to steer clear of her, you always find yourself in her orbit. It’s not your fault, really, and it’s not a problem - at least not at first. It begins with a forced partnership, a group project for a class you share, and when she isn’t being an obnoxious, terrible flirt determined to get a rise out of you, you get along really well.

She’s intelligent, observant, and she makes you laugh - internally, of course. You won’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that you actually enjoy her presence rather than just tolerate it; your other group members stroke her ego enough. When the project is over, you’re overcome with the startling realization that you might miss bantering with her. You let out a sigh of relief to be done with it, because you already know that further exposure to Yelena Belova will be the death of you.

Naturally, you are further exposed to Yelena Belova.

You two have always run in similar social circles, connected loosely by mutual friends and choice of hangout spot, but previously you’d managed to duck her prowling green gaze, at least as long as it would take her to find her toy for the evening. After you’d been placed on her radar, however, it becomes impossible to hide.

Any room you’re in, no matter how crowded, she finds you.

Time and time again, she seeks you out, her mob of admirers following. You find it amusing how ironic the situation is: they clamor for her attention, and are ignored while she clamors for your attention and you ignore her or coolly brush her off.

You know you have no business humoring her because the second you give in, you’ll just be the latest in a long line of people that she’s loved and left. You refuse to be taken for a ride.

(If you privately admit to yourself as you watch the sway of her hips and the flex of strong arms over the swell of her chest that it would be one hell of a ride, that’s nobody’s business but yours.)

The problems arise when she ceases flirting mercilessly and instead shifts into something resembling an actual human being, wiggling her way into conversations and debates with you that last throughout the night. She still flirts, of course, but you’re accustomed to it now. She grows on you and grows on you, and the moment she begins to be your friend you groan knowing you cannot stop the inevitable.

Yelena Belova will be the death of you.

~*~

It’s been almost a year of being friends with Yelena, and you are miserably, ridiculously in love with her.

If there’s one thing you’ve learned after countless conversations, shared drinks and laughs, it’s that she’s annoyingly easy to fall in love with and annoyingly difficult to fall out of love with.

Your stupid heart beats faster whenever you see her stupid gleaming eyes and her stupid glossy blonde hair that always, always falls perfectly into place around her stupid pretty face; you feel like one of Pavlov’s dogs whenever you hear that raspy Russian drawl roll over your ears and you absolutely cannot stand it.

It’s stupid- she’s Yelena, and everyone still wants her. You’re stupid because you thought you could avoid joining that statistic, and it frustrates you to no end; it’s bad enough to develop feelings for Yelena, known playgirl, but it’s even worse when you develop feelings for Yelena, your best friend.

In an effort to get over her, you let your other best friend set you up on a date with one of their friends, hoping that it can turn you into something resembling your old self, because then you can get back to acting normally around Yelena instead of…whatever this is.

You meet up with your date at your favorite bar. It’s familiarity brings you comfort because you’ve always been awful at dates, and even if you don’t know this girl, you still feel nervous.

She introduces herself as Kate as you two settle into one of the more isolated tables in the corner of the bar, and you’re grateful she seems to make conversation much less anxiously and awkwardly than you do.

Kate is pretty and seems really nice; she’s bold when she flirts with you, which catches you off guard because you’re used to how Yelena flirts. You can’t really bring yourself to flirt back, because somehow it feels like a betrayal, but Kate is patient and takes it in stride. You find yourself not resenting your best friend’s pick as much as you thought you would, and an hour and two drinks pass by rather painlessly.

Kate gets up to go to the bathroom as you thumb the wet ring around your third drink, and consider the pros and cons of replying to the text Yelena sent you hours ago.

It is truly unfortunate that just as you sit your phone down without answering, determined to leave it alone, she walks into the bar.

Yes, you know this for sure: Yelena Belova will be the death of you.

~*~

You will be the death of Yelena Belova. She knows this.

You do not.

You are everything that enchants her and frustrates her; from the moment she’s partnered with you, she can’t stop thinking about you.

Yelena is both a complicated and a simple girl.

(“I’m an onion. I have layers,” she tells you one night early in your tentative friendship, and startles because it’s the first time you’ve ever laughed aloud at something she’s said; she decides immediately it’s her favorite sound and endeavors to elicit it any chance she gets.)

Yelena is both a complicated and a simple girl, but she knows when she wants something and she always pursues what she wants.

(“It sucks!” She laments one day to her sister. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as Y/N, and I can’t even do anything about it!”

Natasha glances unimpressed at her sister dramatically plopped onto the couch beside her. “You could always, I don’t know, ask Y/N out.”

Yelena grabs a pillow and shoved her face into it with a groan. “I’ve tried that, don’t you think I’ve tried that! Every time I flirt, I’m brushed off. I’m not taken seriously!”

“Well you do look like a clown, of course it’s hard to take you seriously.”

Natasha easily dodges the pillow flung at her head as Yelena scowls at her. “Not helping, Natasha.”

“Okay, okay,” Natasha holds her hands up in surrender. “What if you tried a different approach? Maybe ease up on the flirting and try acting like a friend first.”

“But I want to be more than friends,” Yelena pouts childishly, and Natasha blinks.

“I feel like I’ve just slipped into an alternate universe. Yelena Belova wants to enter a committed relationship,” Natasha deadpans and dodges another pillow aimed at her head.)

Yes, Yelena wants you and has wanted you for a very, very long time, but she’s got no clue how to tell you she loves you without you thinking she’s joking or misunderstanding her entirely.

(“Y/N, I looooove you,” she drawls one night, drunk as you ease her into the back of your car. You don’t know it, but it’s the first night she’s turned down a convenient partner because she just couldn’t get you off her mind. Afterwords, she wasn’t sure if she got so trashed in mourning or celebration and called you because you’re the only thing solid in her vodka haze.

You answered, assumed she’d needed a DD - which she did - and rushed to take her home.

She falls in love with you even more with how quickly you come to get her, how dependable you are even in the middle of the night.

So she tells you she loves you, over and over again, and you furrow your brow at her in your rear view mirror in confusion.

Then, you giggle because she starts singing loudly.

She pouts at your laugh, and you wonder what is going on in that pretty little head, completely unaware that the only thought running through it is you.

Yelena babbles more at you, love pouring from her lips over and over because she’s desperate for you to understand that you’re the most beautiful thing she’s seen as the moonlight glances off your cheekbones in your car and she’s never met someone who calls her on her shit and you make her laugh and-

“Alright, comrade. Let’s turn you on your side. There’s a trashcan right here, and a couple of water bottles and ibuprofen right there,” you say gently as you guide her into her apartment and into her bead. She clutches at you as you slide her shoes off, tries to tell you again, but you just shake your head with a smile.

She goes quiet, stunned by the sight of it.

You pat her on the head, pull the covers over her, and turn out the light. She makes a sound of protest as you say goodnight, but stirs no further, and you leave silently back to your apartment.

Yelena wakes up with a dry mouth, a headache, and a text from you that says:

Are you alive, comrade?

She furrows her brow because you’ve never called her that before and dials your number as she guzzles down her pills and water.

As it rings she remembers telling you everything, but can’t recall your response; it makes her heart beat more rapidly than when she runs.

“Good morning, comrade!” You chirp smugly, practically hearing her wince.

“Morning. What’s with the comrade, comrade?” Yelena asks, her hope tentatively rising because you don’t sound like someone totally disgusted with her for confessing her feelings.

You laugh, and she automatically smiles in response.

“Well, you were very chatty last night.”

Her hope blooms further in her chest, because finally, finally you understand she’s serious about you.

“But you were absolutely committed to your mother tongue. I don’t think you said one word in English the whole ride back to your place, besides my name.”

It is only then that she is overcome with the crushing realization that she spent the entire night professing her love to you in Russian, which you do not speak.

Yelena feels like the wind has been knocked out of her, but she forces a choked laugh out anyways as you go on. She’s thankful you do, because she’s not sure that after all the words she’d said last night uselessly that she has any words left in her.

“You know, you kept saying something, it sounded kind of like this,” you mimic the phrase, stumbling a little over the pronunciation but it’s almost perfect. It is perfect to her.

Those green eyes you adore so much well up in tears to hear you say “I love you” to her, especially to hear it in Russian. But it’s so, so cruel because you have no idea what you’re saying, no idea what she meant when she said it to you first.

She laughs again hopelessly, quickly changes the subject and lets you rant on and on about what you have to do that day.

When you get off the phone, she sighs and falls back into bed, playing the way you said I love you over and over in her head.)

Yelena loves you, and she knows you’ll be the death of her.

She becomes especially aware of this recently, when you start acting odd. You’re distancing yourself a bit because you’re in love with her so much it hurts, but she doesn’t know that and she’s bothered like never before.

So she finds herself at her favorite bar, which is also your favorite bar, to ease her nerves. She’s both surprised and thrilled to see you sitting in the corner table there, if a little confused. Still, she’s pulled to you like a magnet, like she’s been for the past year, and she approaches you with a grin.

Pt.2: