#the second i become too aware of being ‘trapped’ in a space too small i start to freak out

[buck-yyyy]

why are two of my worst fears receding gums and losing my hair and not like- death or snakes like normal people

[cjsoleil]

Straight from the Tortured Poets Department (Bang Chan x Reader)

Summary: It’s 1964 and Chan is well aware of his place in the world, and it is not with some upper class girl who’s way out of his league. That doesn’t stop either of them from falling in love.

Authors note: Sorry I haven’t updated for so long, I hope that this will make up for it. This is part one of a two part story. No warnings for this one, but part two will have smut. Anyways, get ready for some poetry, Taylor Swift references and overuse of the word babydoll. (Unrelated but Ateez Golden Hour is so so so amazing, I’m obsessed)

Update: here is part two

“Rich folk.” The man comments as he walks around the rich part of town. Looking around at the pillers of houses and multiple cars in the driveway, he whistles, “With a fence around every tree.” He kicks the metal bars around a tree lightly, the sound startling a few birds. He doesn’t end up in this neighborhood that often, but sometimes he zones out during his walks and finds himself here. That, or he is too busy running away from an angry shopkeeper or a policeman to focus on where he is going. He’s about to turn around to make his way back to town as he’s not welcomed by the upper class, but a little something catches his eye first. ‘I guess I can take a detour.’

Laying with her back on the soft grass of her backyard, Y/N takes in the warmth of the sun. Much more pleasant than the blinding white light of the hospital. After a long year, she finally got to come back to her home after exam season. It’s the very first beginning of May and she will not have to go back to school until September. She is happy to be back home, she lives in a more upscale neighborhood and is oftentimes left by her lonesome as her parents work all day. It doesn’t bother her. Her neighbors, Jongho and Seungmin, pay her visits frequently. They’re sweet and younger than her by some years. She answered all their questions about school, how long she would be back and whatever else they wanted to know.

The light breeze makes the wind chimes let out a lovely tune and she sighs. Nothing could ruin the serenity that she has built for herself.

Well, maybe it would be if she noticed that she was being watched. The metal fence surrounding the backyard is small, only reaching Chan’s hip. He admires the girl, viewing her as Persephone in her garden. It nearly feels criminal for him to even look at her. For a moment, he considers speaking to her but forces himself to take a step back instead. It nearly hurts him physically. Looking at her house, he sighs before leaving the neighborhood he is unwelcomed in. He’ll have to leave properly meeting her up to the cosmos.

Taking a nice walk is one of Y/N’s favourite ways to pass the time. She will walk to town and visit the bakery, florist and the pet store. The girl has always wanted a dog and oftentimes leaves food and water dishes out for the strays. Unfortunately, not many people are as caring as her. Hearing a crashing sound coming from the alley she is walking past, Y/N peers over and sees a few men her age throwing rocks and trash at a dog.

“Excuse me!” She announces herself with a steady voice. Once the men face her though, her sudden bravery disappears, “Um.. please don’t do such things…” her voice trails off and she shrinks into herself as their gazes become predatory. At least the dog ran off at this point.

“Well, aren’t you pretty broad?” One guy steps forward into her personal space, “I can tell we will have a good time.”

While Y/N can be stupid, she is smart enough to not stay around to figure out what he means. Within two seconds she is running down the street. Dreadfully, she can hear footsteps close behind. After running long enough to feel the burn in her legs, she reached a dead end in some alley. With nowhere else to turn, Y/N presses her back to the brick wall trapping her. Heart racing, she stares wide eyed as the men creep closer to her.

“Now, that’s no way to treat a lady.” The man closest to Y/N turns around, and is instantly punched by the new person to appear. Y/N watches the stranger as he beats the three men that chased her. She is not used to seeing much violence, but the way the stranger moves reminds her of a dance. Almost organized although chaotic. And he’s so handsome. His jawline is sharp and his biceps bulge in the confinement of his leather jacket. His clothes are dirty and his onyx hair is messy, but she finds it adds to her attraction to him. Oh, god forbid her father learns about her thoughts. After a few minutes, the stranger allows the bloody men to retreat, watching with a threatening gaze as they leave. When he faces the girl, it’s like the flame has been doused, as he looks softly at her.

“You alright, babydoll?” Ignoring the blush that comes from the nickname, Y/N nods. “I-yes. Yes I am, thank you. Are you?” Stepping closer to him, she notices his knuckles are bleeding. Without a second thought she grabs his hand and examines it, “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing.”

“No it’s not. You’re bleeding because of me. Allow me to take care of you.” Guilt overcomes Y/N. Even with the knowledge that he must have been a number of fights to be able to handle himself so well.

“Doll, it’s fine. I can’t feel a thing.”

“I insist.” She is firm on her stance and starts to walk out of the alleyway, “Come along now.” And like a loyal dog, the man follows. She leads them to a little store that Chan has never stepped foot into, which is a good thing. He would hate to be recognized by a shopkeeper and be called a criminal in front of a girl he will soon be going out with. It’s weird, Chan has never felt an instant pull like this towards anything. Such a strong feeling of need. He felt it the first time he saw her and it only becomes more intense with every word she says.

When she’s buying the bandages, he is bashful. Keeping his head down as the girl thanks the cashier. Afterwards, she leads him to a empty bench nearby. All while Chan ensures that he is along the outside of the sidewalk.

“So what’s your name?” Y/N asks as she starts to wrap his right hand. He completely forgot he never introduced himself.

“Chan.”

“I’m Y/N.” She finishes bandaging his hand but doesn’t bother wrapping up the other one since it was barely bleeding. Chan flexes his right hand, “You did this really well.”

“I would hope so. I'm a nursing student.” Y/N laughs, “I’m here on my break for a few months, but I go to school towns away.” She lets go of him and Chan hums a melodic sound. “So you’re smart aren’t you?” He smiles, crossing his arms, “Too smart to be wasting time with a guy like me.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Chan simply shakes his head with a smile, standing up and offering his arm to the girl. Y/N grasps the crook of his elbow and he leads them out to the sidewalk.

“Nothing.” The man looks up at the sky. It's only mid afternoon and bright outside. He’s surprised Y/N nearly got attacked in daylight, “Just- if I were to ask you to waste your day with me, would you say yes?” She smiles, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“As a matter of fact, I would. But what would we do?” Chan stands up, wearing a handsome grin on his face.

“Go on a little adventure. You in?” He holds out his hand to her and it only takes a second for Y/N to take it.

They end up wandering through a park, Y/N admiring the flowers as Chan admires her. Y/N has gotten a closer look at Chan and noticed that his clothes are stained and he has a few light scars on his hands and a faded one on his neck. She wonders how many fights Chan has got in, he doesn’t seem like a very violent person. Even when he was beating up those men. Chan is older than Y/N by a few years, him being twenty five and her twenty. He does many odd job, but works as a bartender. Chan refrained from telling her he makes shit from it since he lives above the bar for next to nothing.

“So Chan, is there any reason you asked me to spend the day with you?” She’s holding onto Chan’s arm with one of her hands, unconsciously rubbing her fingertips on the creases of his leather jacket.

“There is.” The man leads them towards a water fountain and they sit down on the edge, “I wander and strain to hear the movement of the stars above our encounter and what if you are to be my fate..” Chan finishes the verse with a smile, “The Encounter by Vladimir Nabokov.” Y/N is left in a state of bewilderment from Chan’s words.

“I did not take you as the type to know, well, any poetry.” Letting out an awkward laugh, Y/N looks down at her Mary Jane’s. Chan isn’t offended, he is rough around the edges and appears much more feral than he is.

“I always have. The poem was written for Nabokov’s wife hours after he met her.” He lifts Y/N’s head up with a gentle hold on her chin, “Maybe you are to be my fate. I think so. ” Y/N doesn’t notice that he said that as if he’s seen her before today.

“Why is that?” The girl smiles softly and Chan pulls away from her, dipping his hand in the fountain.

“I am heaven strucked.” He said the words so quietly, Y/N didn’t even hear them. And before Y/N can question him more, Chan lifts his unbandaged hand and flicks water on her. He laughs when he sees her flinch.

“Rude.” Forming a cup with her hands, she scoops up some water and quickly pours it on Chan’s head. To retaliate, Chan splashes her and Y/N shouts slightly as she stands, grabbing the attention of a few others at the park. The man pays them no mind as gets up.

“Let’s get outta here doll. I think I saw a candy shop nearby.”

And that continues throughout the week. Y/N will run into Chan while she is out and about and they will go do something together. Chan walks her home since her parents are out of town for a month. Not that Y/N is ashamed of Chan being her friend, but her parents are rather protective. Especially when it comes to boys. It explains why she has never been on a date before. Chan found it funny when she told him that.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing babydoll?”

“No, we have to be a couple to be dating.” He leaned closer to her at that moment, the corner of his lips curved up in a smirk, “And what would I have to do to make that happen?” After watching her struggle for a few moments, he placed a quick kiss on her cheek.

“You’d have to meet my parents.” Y/N finally answered and Chan’s smile had faltered. Y/N didn’t know that it was because Chan believed that he would not be approved of.

“Hello Channie.” Y/N greets the man with a grin on her face, resting her hand on the doorframe of the front door.

“Hey pretty girl.” Chan reaches out and twirls a stray lock of hair around his finger, “I like your hair up. You should style it like this more.” Y/N makes sure to remember that.

“What are you doing here?”

“We’re going to that old movie you mentioned yesterday.”

“Old yeller? You’ll really go with me.” He shrugs.

“ As long as you’re happy, doll.” Y/N blushes. He has to stop saying things like that before she completely burns up. She looks past Chan’s shoulder and sees a car. A white thunderbird.

“I borrowed it from a friend.” It was easy to convince Changbin to lend him the car. He simply explained he needed it for a pretty dame.“Ah okay.” She steps out, closing and locking the door behind her, “I will enjoying seeing you cry.” “I’m not going to cry.” Chan opens the passenger door for her.

“You are.”

“Told you.” “Shut up.” Y/N grins and leans across the console, wiping Chan’s tears. “How are you fine?” Y/N shrugs.

“I read the book, so I was prepared. Don’t worry, I was much more of a wreck than you are now.” She tries to place a firm kiss on his cheek but he moves his head, so she ends up kissing the corner of his lips. After pulling away she bashfully looks out the window and avoids eye contact.

“I’d love to have a dog.” Chan says out of nowhere, “As long as I didn’t have to kill ‘em like in the movie.” He shivers at the thought, “I have a name picked out and everything.”

“Oh really, what is it?”

“Berry.” He fakes an offended expression when Y/N laughs, “ What? It works for a boy or girl.”“No, it’s cute.” The next movie of the night starts but neither of them care to pay attention, “So a dog named Berry. What else do you see in your future?”

“You.” His answer is instant, and Y/N’s face turns red. The air in the thunderbird becomes thicker and she just noticed how close Chan really is to her.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He hesitates for a moment, but leans closer to her. Eyes closed, Y/N feels Chan’s lips barely brush against hers. Her mouth parts and just as Chan is about to kiss her, a scream makes both of them jump. It’s only one of the characters on the screen but the moment is already ruined.

“Hey I’m- I’m gonna go grab a soda. Be right back.”

“Wait.” He shoved a five dollar bill in her hands. Much more than enough

“Thank you.” She quickly gets out of the car. Groaning, he rests his head on the steering wheel. It’s not like him to be so down bad for someone, but he’s starting to feel like he might as well just die if he doesn’t have the girl.

“Fuck.”

Y/N actually did want something to drink so it’s not like she was lying. She got a coke for Chan too. Hopefully the rest of the night won’t be awkward. Just as she is about to leave, she hears someone call her name.

“Y/N? That you?” Turning around, she sees San, a boy she went to go to high school with.

“San!” She exclaims, giving him a hug the best she can with her hands occupied, “Lovely seeing you, how’s school?”

“Going good. You?”

“It’s just fine.” He looks down at the two cups in her hands.

“Now, who are you here with?” Y/N has always admired how straight forward he is.

“My friend.”

“Who, someone from school?”

“No no.” San suddenly smirks, making her confused, “Why are you-“

“Hello baby.”

Arms wrapped around Y/N’s waist, she feels herself being pulled against a man’s chest. Blood rushes to her face and San doesn’t have to speak for her to know he’s teasing her. She’s so embarrassed she barely registers Chan taking one of the cup’s from her hand.

“Hey man.” San greets, a knowing glint in his eye, “Miss.Y/N here was just telling me about you. Choi San.”

“Chan.” He sounds pleasant, but Y/N can feel the tension in the older man’s chest, “How do you know my girl?”

My girl. The words echo in Y/N’s ears. Her heart flutters at the meer thought of being Chan’s.

“We- we went to school together.” Y/N says softly as Chan rubs his thumb just above the waist line of her skirt.

“It’s cool Chan.” San smiles, “I’m not into your lady like that. Just friends. I’ll see you around Y/N, let’s catch up sometime.”

“Of course.” San walks away and Chan holds Y/N’s free hand with his own.

“Let’s go.” He starts to lead her outside.

“Were you nervous around San?” Y/N asks him, earning a confused glance from Chan, “You were all tensed up.” Shaking his head, he grins.“No. Not that.” Y/N thinks about it for another second, before she grins. “You were jealous weren’t you?” He laughs, “What, you were getting ready to beat the man?”

“Only if he touched you again.” Y/N tsks as the get inside the car.

“We’re old friends. Besides, you shouldn’t be so quick to pick a fight.” She grabs Chan’s hand and lifts it while resting her elbow on the middle console, “Look at these scars. That’s all fighting is gonna get you. You’re gonna break something.”

“Isn’t that why I have you, Nurse Y/N? To fix me?” She sighs, putting down their arms.

“I will try my best too.” Chan reaches over and cups the nape of her neck.

“You’ve been doing pretty good so far.” He doesn’t elaborate on how she makes him want to better himself. Become someone worthy of her time.

If Y/N heard his thoughts, she would be quick to deny. Chan does not have to change in any way.

When the movie ends, Chan drives Y/N back to her house. He walks her to the door, but the girl doesn’t make a move to go inside. She faces Chan and grabs one of his hands.

“So.” She starts, face heating up, “Am I your girl?” Chan seems confused fora second, before he lets out a small laugh.

“Yeah babydoll.” Placing his hands on her waist, he pulls her closer to him, “As long as I’m your man.” Instead of answering with words, Y/N takes a tiny step forward. Hands on Chan’s shoulders, she leans up on her tiptoes.

“What about your parents?” Chan whispers, glancing at the house they’re infront of, “I thought you wanted me to meet them first.”

“I don’t care anymore.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, Y/N sighs, “I only want you, my dear.” The endearment makes Chan lose all sense of self control he had. He kisses her softly at first, to give her the feel of it. Odds are he’s her first kiss. The thought makes his hold on her waist tighten, as if she will fly away if he doesn’t.

Tilting his head, he deepens their kiss, running his tongue over her lower lip. Y/N could swear he moaned a bit. When Chan pulls away, Y/N sees that his face is flushed and he smiles shyly. Cute. Y/N steps away from the man and quickly unlocks the front door. Stepping inside, she turns to the other.

“Goodnight Chan.”

“Night doll.”

“Sorry this isn’t so fancy.” Chan apologizes to Y/N as she looks around the diner. As much as he would love to bring her to a nicer place, he simply can’t afford to.

“Oh it’s charming.” The diner is small and quaint. Very colourful too. The booth they sit at is baby blue and the stools at the front are bright red. The large windows give them a view outside. Specifically of a couple birds hopping around and looking for crumbs, “Just like you.” Getting Chan flustered is one of her favourite hobbies Y/N decided, much to Chan’s dismay. He lifts up the menu to cover his face, making her laugh.

Y/N takes a forkful off her cake, chocolate of course, and holds it across the table up to Chan’s lips. He instantly opens his mouth and takes the bite of the desert. It would normally be a little sweet for his tastes, but he has a newfound fondness for sweet things.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything else?” He swallows and shakes his head.

“All good here.” He looks past Y/N’s shoulder, “Wait one sec.” Chan gets up and Y/N watches as he makes his way to the jukebox at the back wall. He flips through the records until he finally decides on one. Can’t help falling in love with you plays throughout the diner.

When he is infront of Y/N, he dramatically bows with one arm at his back, the other wrapped around his front.

“May I have this dance, Y/N?” She has to conceal a laugh at how serious he sounds. He barely ever uses her name, preferring to go for a nickname ever since they first met.

“Here?” Y/N looks around. The diner is mostly empty, but she still finds it embarrassing to do such things in public. When Chan urges her by holding out his hand, she takes the last bite of her cake before accepting it. Chan pulls her up and puts her hand on his shoulder, his own going to her waist. Their free hands are held up and linked. Chan starts to lead her into a dance.

“My my Channie, where did you learn to dance?”

“I picked up a few things throughout the years.” He spins her and when he brings Y/N back to him, she rests her head against his shoulder.

“Are you moving back here when you’re done school?” Chan asks after a few quiet moments. Y/N lifts her head and looks at him.

“I don’t really have any other choice.” Their swaying slowly now, not acknowledging the song change, “Everything is here. My house, my family, you.” She says the last word quietly. Chan pulls her closer to his chest and lets go of her hand to hold her waist.

“I’d follow you anywhere.” Y/N laughs at how outrageous he is.

“This is our first date.”

“First of many.” Chan rebutted and Y/N would be lying if she protested.

“You’re such a romantic, Chan dear.”

“I can be even more romantic.” He gestures to the door, “Let’s get out of here.”

Chan leads her to a somewhat small hill and holds her hand as they start walking up it. Once they get to the top, they sit down on the grass under a cherry blossom tree.

“I’ve been looking for a job.” Chan breaks the silence, leaning his head back against the trunk of the tree, bark slightly digging into his scalp.

“I thought you already had one.”

“I need a better one.” He sighs, “The one I have pays shi-“ He stops himself, “Now that I have you, it’s not enough anymore. It barely was to start with.” Y/N hums.

“I’m happy for you.” She thinks of his words for another second, confusion growing, “What do you mean ‘now that I have you’?”

“You’re mine, are you not?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Chan lifts his head and looks at her properly.

“Babydoll, as of now it’s my job to take care of you. Provide for you. I don’t want your life to be less than you deserve just because you chose to be with me-“

“Hold it.” Y/N slaps her hand against Chan’s mouth, “If you think I’ll be any less happy with you, you're truly mistaken. Money has nothing to do with that.” She moves her hand and Chan stares at her for a second, before he grins a boyish smile.

“Still. I don’t want to be jumping people for twenty bucks just so I can take you on a date.”

“You rob people?” It shouldn’t be surprising, but Chan’s personality doesn’t come off as someone who looks to fight. Chan looks amused though.

“I’m not a great person, doll.” Y/N thinks for a moment, not really minding if Chan steals or robs. It’s what some people have to do.

“Tell me every terrible thing you ever did and let me love you anyways.” Upon hearing the quote, Chan smiles. He leans over and kisses her cheek before wrapping his arm around her. “That would take too long.” Y/N leans her head down on his shoulder, “Besides, I’m leaving all that behind me.” Become as amazing as you are. He doesn’t say the words, but lets the thought linger. Chan would change himself a hundred times over to be what Y/N should have.

“Speaking of leaving…” Y/N starts, tugging at the bottom of Chan’s jacket, “I’m leaving town at the end of summer. You’ll- you’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

Chan doesn’t answer. He lifts Y/N’s head up and cups her face, bringing his head down to kiss her. It’s not nearly as soft as the first time, making both of them lose their breath.

“We already established you’re mine.” He whispers between kisses, “I’m yours.” He kisses her neck, making Y/N shiver from the unfamiliar contact, “I’d wait for years if I needed to. You’re my fate, remember?” Another kiss on her neck.

“Yeah.” A large hand is placed on her thigh as Chan starts to nip at her neck, free hand tangling into her hair. Suddenly, the chirping of nightingales and the sounds of crickets disappears and all there is, is Chan.

It’s not until his hand rides a little higher, does Y/N come back to reality. She flinches and grabs Chan’s hand, making him pull away. Before she can talk, Chan starts apologizing.

“I’m sorry.” “No it’s-“ “It’s not okay. It’s unacceptable. I’m sorry.” Silence fills the air around them for a few moments. Chan didn’t mean to get carried away. Y/N just makes him a little out of control, though that gives no excuse.

“I can help you. Look for a job, I mean.” Chan’s happy for any break of their awkward silence.

“Really?”

“Yeah. If that’s what you want.”

“Thanks babydoll.”

[the-elevator-twins]

>[The doll's air of anxiety is soothed as soothed as it is patched up. It starts to radiate a presence of calmness, it seems much more comfortable without your twin around. It feels almost like it's... listening to you. If it hadn't been for the past couple of weeks, that would seem batshit crazy.]

>[But now, it's just the norm. Like everything else.]

>[The doll seems to like you. It likes being called by a name too. You don't know why, but you can just tell. The closeness to you, the comfort... is this what the real Colleague is like?]

>[Outside of the room, Neil is left alone. The notepad is left on the table, and for once, there's no pages exposed. The front is made from leather, and from the side, it looks like the pages get progressively worse in shape]

>[Read it?]

(i) > You couldn't help the small smile plastered on your face as you held the doll close. Despite it's scars, you find the doll endearing. Colleague always seemed like the runt of the two back on floor 8. It was honestly kind of sad to see him in the state he was in. You reckon you can become a menace if you really were trapped like that.

> "Maybe I shouldn't call you Bryce per say. . . That would be my coworker's name. . . If he ever sticks to one." > "What about. . . Bruce? It's a nicer name for someone like him."

(i) > Talking bad about your coworker like that when he's not even here. . . That's a new low, even for you. Despite that, you're content on naming him Bruce for now. Keeping it close has a sense of fondness wash over you.

(î) > With your brother tending to the second doll, you flip through the lifeless channels upon your TV. News coverage, ads, more ads, static. . . It bores you quickly with how little there is of entertainment in this hellhole. Still, better here than up there in that small cramped box.

(î) > You get up to get a snack from the refrigerator, but in a glimpse of an eye, you noticed the notepad, closed. Picking up the already cursed object in your safe space of 'home' you squint to look at the sides. You've never been one to be messy, at least back then, but seeing all the papers in poor condition discourages you.

(î) > Curiosity gets the better of you, sadly you're aware of that fact. After all, the damage to yourself is already done. In the end, you're cursed to remain here for the rest of your days. Why worry about cursed entities wanting you to kill and suffer?

> "Honestly. . . You just love being cryptic, don't you?" > "Fine, what utter chaos do you want me to commit this time?"

(î) > In your brother's absence, you take the notepad back to the couch and flip open the contents.

[jinmukangwrites]

weep little lion man (3/14)

First-Previous-Next

Fandom: Jedi: Fallen Order/Survivor Rating: T Warnings: panic attacks, unreliable narrator, author refusing to back down from Cal's lightsaber definitely being orange. Ao3 Notes: somehow still going strong with every Thursday uploads????

Summary: After defeating Dagan Gera for a third and final time, the Compass ends up in Bode's hands without a scratch. He could go back to Jedha with Cal... but he's holding what he wants. He doesn't see the point in pretending any longer. He makes a split-second decision. Or: Bode's betrayal goes a bit differently.

---

Cal wakes to one of the worst headaches he's sure he's ever had.

Granted, he says that every time he gets even a minor headache.

But this one is different, it feels like he's trapped under the crushing weight of an ocean planet, desperately trying to swim up for air, but there's nothing. He doesn't even know if he's moving.

His temples are pounding, and his tongue feels thick in his mouth. He hasn't tried to move yet, but he can feel a pool of nausea in his stomach just waiting to pounce. The urge to just conk back out is strong, which is saying something as Cal isn't exactly known for wanting to sleep.

So he focuses on his breathing, not moving a muscle, not opening his eyes, ignoring every ache in his body until his stomach doesn't feel like it's going to turn inside out.

But that's the thing, the more he stays still, the more he's aware of those aches in his body. They start mild, something only a little more painful than what he's used to on a daily basis, but they're intensifying. Protesting. Begging him to stretch and shift so he's not so much on one hip and his arms are in front of him. He's been in one awkward position for a long time, it seems.

Alright, he thinks, hyping himself up, if I move slowly then maybe I won't throw up.

However, he finds his efforts quickly halted, nearly before he can even flex his shoulders.

His arms are locked behind him. His legs stuck together.

Unease immediately takes root, mixing horribly with the nausea and the headache like that horrendous cocktail he tried once on some Mid Rim planet that had the famous Tatooine blue-milk mixed in. Didn't sit well, if one wanted to know how to completely down Cal for three days and replace his lightsaber with a barf-bag: it's that.

He tugs on the restraints, and his stomach flips making him gag as something comes dangerously close to reaching his throat.

Or... he would gag if his jaw opened.

His eyes fly open and the situation becomes grimly clearer to him, memories flooding in. He's restrained. Good restraints, too. The kind of restraints that when he reaches out to the Force, he doesn't feel a single thing reach back. There's something locked over his nose and sealed around his jaw, keeping his mouth shut and muffling any sounds he can make with his nose. He's curled up into a cramp, dim space, unable to even try to wiggle into a more comfortable position as there's bags and tools shoved in with him. The only light-source comes from a small panel of white in the center of the ceiling, and when he listens, he can hear the humming of a familiar engine.

Bode.

Bode.

Red-hot anger floods his veins, but before he can even try to decide what to do with that anger, the ship rattles with unexpected turbulence, forcing Cal to shut his eyes and take deep breaths through his nose, fighting the terrifying urge to empty his stomach and have it have nowhere to go as his mouth is sealed shut.

He wants to kill Bode. Though he backs off from that thought when a softer, 17 year old version of himself thinks that that's a little extreme. He lessens the anger and the betrayal to something a bit more manageable, like thoughts of beating Bode into a bloody-pulp with his bare hands, and when his face is as bloody as Cal's knuckles he'd grab Bode by the color and scream at him until his vocal chords are shot to the point he'd be called "bacta-breath" for the next month.

The thoughts are comforting, but he has no idea what he's going to do once he sees Bode for real.

He's expertly restrained, horribly nauseous, definitely injured. He's not going anywhere until someone gets these restraints off him first, because it's already clear there's no way he'd be able to get free on his own.

There's nothing he can do but seethe.

Turbulence hits the jet again, bad turbulence, but thanks to Cal expecting it he manages his stomach a bit better. However, something new reaches his ears other than the engines and the rattle of metal around him.

The small squeak of a little girl.

"It's okay, baby girl," a familiar voice says softly, the metal walls muffling the baritone of the words. "Nothing your papa can't handle."

Bode.

Kata.

"I know... it's still scary. What if we get lost?"

"See this? It's a one-of-a-kind compass through here. As long as we have it, we'll never get lost."

"..."

"How about we sing that song your mother always liked," Bode suggests at her answering silence. "By the time we finish, we'll be at our new home."

They're a song's distance from... from Tanalor?

The realization sits heavy next to the pool of nausea. They must be in the abyss, navigating through an un-navigational space-terrain to somewhere no one else can reach.

Cal's on his own. No one will save him from this one.

"Will there be friends there?" Kata asks, ignoring Bode's suggestion.

"Maybe," Bode says, voice becoming a little tight. "That friend I told you about... he might come too. We're practically brothers. I think you'd like him a lot."

"Brothers... so, like an uncle?"

She sounds so hopeful.

It tears at Cal's heart.

Bode laughs, "yeah, baby. Like an uncle."

"I hope he comes, then."

"Me too."

Silence settles in the cockpit until there's another bout of turbulence. Only this time, Kata doesn't startle, she just begins to sing a song to herself, one that Bode quickly joins in on.

"Ghost star, wonder where you are~"

Cal sighs and attempts to wiggle into a more comfortable position as the two of them sing their song. He doesn't succeed, he has no movement and he honestly doubts that the way he's tied isn't going to let him be comfortable no matter what position he gets himself into.

So he closes his eyes and tries not to listen to a father sing with his daughter.

He hates this. He hates this.

The emotions swirl like a confusing whirlpool, and he thinks it's unfair for Cal to be stabbed in the back and then next thing he knows his captor is having a touching moment with his daughter. Cal knows this is not Kata's fault, he can't be angry with her and the things Bode's done in her name, but...

But Cal is angry. He's in pain. He's frightened and confused and... and he doesn't know what his friends are doing.

Bode threatened them before Cal lost consciousness. He threatened to turn them in to the Empire if Cal resisted, and Cal resisted.

What if Cere, Merrin, Greeze, Cordova, BD-1... what if they're all dead right now? Cal has no idea if Bode made good on the threat, after Cal got hit with the blaster's handle everything after was foggy and muffled beyond any comprehension. He thought he heard Bode talking to someone, but was it to Cal? To himself? To the Empire?

What would Cal do if Bode did tip the Empire on the Archive's location? Surely, Cal can't take a father from a child, not when he himself knows what it's like to lose the last bit of family and stability he had left when Order 66 was called. Sure, he found a new family, but that trauma, that loss, it follows Cal everywhere he goes.

He doesn't want to be the cause of an orphaned child, but he also doesn't know how he can live on being Cal if he loses his second family for good. It was hard enough when they went separate ways, the thought of losing them to death sickens him more than the nausea can.

Lost. Cal feels lost.

The pair in the cockpit continue their eerie, sad song, and soon enough Bode proves himself right as the final words are sung, Kata cuts off with a gasp.

"Welcome home, Kata," Bode says, sounding breathless.

There's a final spout of turbulence as the ship enters a planet's atmosphere, and Cal closes his eyes and does his best to prepare himself for whatever comes next.

-o-o-o-o-

"Papa, look at the colors!" Kata announces as the ship comes to a stop on solid land. The bounce the suspensions make sent another bout of sickness through Cal's whole being, but a skill he's told he shouldn't be proud of is that he can usually ignore most injuries or sickness until he can throw up at a more convenient time. He's pushed through a lightsaber-to-the-side to get himself and Cere out of Fortress Inquisitorius and escape Darth Vader; honestly holding down some measly stomach bile should be nothing.

He's still thankful that they've stopped moving, at least. He doesn't think Bode thought about nausea when he...

When...

Stars. Bode muzzled him. He doesn't know why that hasn't clicked until now. Bode, a man Cal has considered one of his closest friends, had not only stabbed him in the back, threatened his friends, and kidnapped him, he bound and muzzled him. A different kind of anger flares in him, a rare kind of anger that's felt for himself.

Up until now he's only been worried about his friends, what this meant for his family. He completely forgot that he's been degraded and violated at the hands of a man he used to trust with his life. It's laughably strange; being upset on his own behalf. Humiliated, embarrassed, deceived. Tricked. Used. He hasn't felt anywhere close to this way since... since the time he found out who the Second Sister was and how she related to Cere. And even then, that felt mild in comparison to what twists in his guts now. Cere lied but it wasn't out of malice. The lies Bode's told? They've hurt Cal in the end. Burned him worse than Dagon's lightsaber.

"Yeah, the colors sure are pretty," Bode says while the sound of the cockpit opening accompanies his words. "You see that temple over there? That's where we're staying from here on."

"It looks lonely," Kata says softly.

"Yeah, but it's safe."

Cal listens as Bode's boots scrape on loose pebbled dirt. He grunts then, as he must be helping Kata out of the jet.

There's the sound of footsteps over wild terrain before Kata suddenly protests. "What about my bag?"

"Papa will get it later," Bode says, the footsteps continuing further away. Cal's heart speeds up. They're... leaving Cal behind. Trapped in this kriffing compartment. Alone. For who knows how long. "Don't you want to explore a little first?"

"Okay..."

Their footsteps carry away, and Cal no longer can hear legible words being said.

He's never been claustrophobic. Most people know him as The Guy who's willing to squeeze himself into tight spaces without knowing what's on the other side. However, the walls seem to close in on him now. Everything hurts, one of Bode's bags presses painfully into the small of his back, and he desperately wants to stretch every muscle in his body, but there's nothing he can do.

He wants out. And the only person who can get him out just walked away for who knows how long.

He grunts, panting slightly as panic rakes its claws down his ribcage. He tries to shift, pushing through the pain in his injured knee to get his legs over and bent toward the compartment's door. The nausea from before seems barely noticeable as it's drowned out by the overwhelming need to get out.

He shimmies, wiggles, angrily does what he can with what miniscule movement he has to push bags out of the way so his back is now pressed against the far wall, neck bent awkwardly and his knees pressed to his chest.

He doesn't have much movement, but he does his best to kick at the door anyways. He realizes quickly that he has zero momentum, and he growls in frustration, attempting again. And again. And again until he ends up desperately just pushing against the door with his feet, spine digging into the far wall. He only stops pushing when his vision starts blacking out; there's pain in his ribs like a vibro-blade had been squeezed between each bone. He's not getting enough air. He's hyperventilating and either the compartment doesn't have enough air supply for a struggle while the jet is off, or the muzzle is suffocating him. It doesn't matter, either way it makes him panic harder.

He needs to get out. He needs to get out. He needs to get out-

But he can't breathe. The black spots in his vision aren't going away, just hanging out in his vision like a threat.

Focus. Focus, Cal. He can't have a panic attack right now, ignoring the fact that he probably already is in the middle of one. He painstakingly shifts his legs away from the door so he can better stretch out his chest, squeezing his eyes shut and fighting for the short pants to become longer and more controlled.

It takes entirely too long. Luckily, it seems Cal's breathing problem came from not enough air being let through the muzzle and nose, not from the air supply itself. That fact allows him to calm even more, swallowing thickly on silenced sobs and breathing in, out, in, out, in...

Footsteps.

Heavy-set, sure-footed.

Bode.

Cal desperately wipes the corners of his eyes on his shoulders, hoping it doesn't look like he's just come out of a full blown fit. Bode has to let him out now, right? He doesn't hear Kata's accompanied footsteps, and Bode's gait doesn't seem burdened like he's carrying her.

The desire to leave this kriffing box overwhelms the desire to kick Bode's ass into the nearest red giant.

He stays still, listening to Bode's approach, then fights a sigh of relief as he stops near where Cal's stored even though he knows that sigh would be muted. There's a moment of silence before a small knock sounds through the metal.

"I'm going to get you out now," Bode says, and Cal nearly goes boneless with relief, he almost forgets what he's angry at Bode for. "I'm sure you're angry, and uncomfortable," Bode continues, his voice carefully level, like he's putting effort into it, "-but I promise the moment you're out, I'm taking off that muzzle and we can talk. If all goes well, I'll take everything else off too. Just... don't fight me for a minute is all I'm askin'."

Cal doesn't give a rat's-ass about the muzzle and the restraints right now. He just wants out.

Bode sighs, and soon there's a hiss as the vacuum-seal releases. Daylight filters through the crack as it opens fully, revealing a familiar broad shouldered, muscular man with his lips pressed tight and his jaw clenched.

Cal freezes at the sight of him, and Bode does the same. They stare at each other for a moment, until Bode clears his throat. "Deal?" he asks.

And the anger floods back. A furious, burning part of himself wants to kick Bode in the face right now even if it meant staying in the compartment, but the other part of him remembers the promise of being let out and untied. If he can just... play along until Bode releases him, then he can give Bode a good heel-to-face.

He nods slowly, but tightens his eyes into a glare.

"Alright," Bode says, dropping his eyes from Cal's own, "just hold still. I won't touch you long."

Cal has to focus on his breathing again and force himself to not flinch as Bode reaches in, avoiding Cal's eyes, to get one arm under Cal's knees and the other under the small of his back. He keeps glaring at Bode; he can't speak but maybe this way he can get the message across that he's beyond pissed-off and he's not going to make this easy for Bode. They're not best friends. They're not brothers. Cal is Bode's captive, and Bode is Cal's betrayer. Nothing more. Bode's nothing to Cal.

Bode grunts as he lifts Cal up and out of the compartment. Cal desperately wants to keep his cold glare on Bode as he's lifted out, but the daylight assaults his irises, forcing them squeezing shut to avoid any new unwanted tears from forming.

Bode didn't lie when he said he wouldn't touch Cal for long. It takes just a few moments for Cal to be sat down on a boulder a small distance from the jet, back to the sunlight. Bode raises his hands as Cal catches his balance, groaning at the stiffness of his limbs. The downward motion reignites his need to throw up, but he breathes through it and slowly cracks his eyes open to resume his irritated glower. Bode kneels a small distance back, palms up but eyes looking at Cal's shoulders instead of his face. Cal can't help but drop his own eyes from Bode's face as well to look at his hips. Two lightsabers, three blasters. All on his body.

He glances up quickly so Bode doesn't notice his looking and waits for Bode to make the first move.

"Okay, scrapper," Bode says finally, "Here's how this goes. You can say anything you want to me, everything I'm sure is on your mind. Stars know you look ready to pounce me with every insult you can think of. It's ok, I deserve it, I won't hold it against you or punish you for it. However," his big brown eyes finally level back to Cal's, "leave Kata out of whatever you're thinking. She's innocent in this, she doesn't even know you're here. One wrong word toward my little girl, Kestis..."

The threat goes unsaid. Cal doesn't know if Bode would kill him for threatening Kata, but luckily he wasn't planning on threatening her anyways. In fact, he's almost insulted that Bode would think Cal would stoop that low.

He nods his head sharply. Bode sighs, his eyes turn Cal's face again. "Alright, give me a second."

His hands reach around Cal's face and Cal can feel every muscle tensing in his body as Bode's bare fingers brush the back of his head. It feels like poison, which is heartbreaking because Bode's touch used to be so welcomed.

There's a click, and Bode unpeels the muzzle from Cal's face. Cal leans his head back, gasping and working his stiff jaw open. He hasn't even noticed how tightly his teeth had been pressed together, the roots of his molars ache. Bode steps back and sets the muzzle on the ground while Cal gets used to having free-will over his own mouth again. It takes only a minute for Cal to get his first word out, however.

"Traitor," Cal hisses.

Bode gives a small subdued nod. "I deserve that."

And that sets Cal off. Cal snarls at him, throwing every insult he can think of into long strings of sentences, most of which including words like "sleazy" "liar" "worthless" "monster" and a few slangs he's picked up over the years, the worst originating from the scrappers on Bracca. Bode sits through it all, never meeting Cal's eyes, but wincing at a few particularly choiced words on how Cal feels right now.

"-never should have taken a chance on you-"

"-I wish it was you, not Bravo, Gabs, the Twins-"

"-should never have let you get this close-"

"-I trusted you-"

He keeps going until he stops for a gasping lung-full of air. Then, he just pants and glares.

Bode lets the words float between them for a moment, looking visibly chastised, but Cal has no idea if that's a lie too.

"Can I explain now?" Bode finally asks.

Cal seethes. "I don't give a kriff what your explanation is. But you're not the one tied up."

Bode winces again. "It's all for Kata," he says, and Cal can't fight an eye roll. Bode quickly continues. "Cal, I know I lied about a lot of things, but I won't anymore. You deserve to know the truth."

Bode eases into a story about a young Jedi who was trained and tasked for infiltration and espionage. He was on a mission when the Purge began, and stayed hidden to stay alive. He lived like that, for a long time, before meeting the most incredible woman alive. He married her, loved her, and had a child with her. And then, he got a message to not come home. The Inquisitorius came looking for him, and they killed his wife. He doesn't know how he slipped, how they found out, but it didn't matter. Kata was all he had left of her, and he needed to protect that. The two of them were on the run until Bode decided to contact an old handler. A commander at IBS now. Denvik promised to keep Bode's identity hidden and Kata safe as long as Bode kept useful. He sent Bode on a mission eventually to infiltrate Saw Gerrara's band of rebels, get close enough to known Jedi Cal Kestis, and use Cal to find out the whereabouts of Cere Junda.

That's all this was all about. At first.

But then he begins to tell about how Bode couldn't help but find kinship in Cal, and then everything with Tanalor and the Compass, he saw it as a way out of the Empire, a safe haven for Kata. He couldn't let it get to the Hidden Path, but he didn't know how to do that without betraying Cal in the process. Cal was obviously set in his ways and wouldn't back down from giving the Compass to the Hidden Path. He couldn't allow that. He doesn't expect Cal to understand, or forgive him...

...and that's what makes Cal all the angrier.

"If you told me before you shot me," Cal can only whisper, cuz if he doesn't he'd scream, "you wouldn't need my forgiveness."

Regret flickers through Bode's features, but he quickly masks it by looking at his boots.

"But Bode," Cal continues, he can't keep the fury out of his voice no matter how hard he tries, it shakes his tone, "the Hidden Path can make Tanalor a safe haven for everybody. Even you. And Kata."

"A safe haven doesn't train soldiers, Cal."

"Then we don't have to," Cal stresses. "We can take just the refugees. Start communities. Allow more children just like Kata to grow up unafraid of the Empire. That's what this is about. It doesn't-"

"Cal, do you think I'm the only spy capable of infiltrating a group of rebels?" Bode snaps. Cal freezes, eyebrows shooting up. "Say you do that, and it's good for a long time, but one day one of your refugees is going to be someone like me, and you won't notice until it's too late. The Empire will come, they're resourceful enough to find a way to make their own Compass, if that spy doesn't give it to them first. Could you live with that, Cal? Making a home for hundreds of people, lying to them that they're safe, only to watch as it's all ripped away and Tanalor is lost?"

"That's not fair, Bode."

"The Empire isn't fair!"

It's the first time Bode's raised his voice at Cal, and it feels like he's been shot all over again. It's like up until now, there's been a crack between them, but now it's torn itself into a gaping canyon. Cal can't reach Bode, not like this.

But... does he want to reach Bode?

Cal swallows, fighting to keep his voice from matching in volume. "So what now, Bode? You know I don't agree."

Bode clenches his fists, but he doesn't look like he's about to attack Cal, he's just fighting just as hard to keep calm. "There's no way off this planet for you, Cal. I've already hidden the compass, and soon the jet will be hidden too. It's only you, me, and Kata. I don't expect you to agree, or forgive me, but if you want those restraints off, then you have no choice but to at least play along and accept it. Who knows, sometime in the future, one of us will change our minds."

He says it like he already knows it won't be him. Cal disagrees, but he doesn't say so. There's one more missing piece, one more source of anger he doesn't have an answer to. He swallows thickly.

"And what about Jedha?" Cal demands.

Now, Bode freezes, his eyes going wide. "What do you mean?" He asks, quickly collecting himself.

Cal immediately thinks something's horribly wrong. "You threatened them. You said if I didn't surrender, you'd tell the Empire about the Archive. I didn't surrender."

Bode pauses, then sighs. "Cal, I wasn't going to turn them in, I just said that hoping you'd believe me. After I took you down I... I couldn't do it. They're safe, the Empire doesn't know."

It doesn't sit right. Cal can't bring himself to fully believe it. "You shot at BD-1."

"My blaster wasn't set to kill," Bode says, "if I'd hit the droid, I would have taken him with us. He would have been fine."

Cal shakes his head. "I- I can't trust anything you say,"

"Why would I lie?" Bode asks with a forced smile, his voice becoming a touch desperate.

"To get me on your side."

"I already know you're not," Bode insists, "after getting the Compass, my mission didn't matter anymore. You think I'd stoop to helping the Empire a final time after I just got free? They're safe Cal, they don't know. But, if you make this difficult, that can change."

Cal tenses. His hands form into fists behind him. "Holding my family hostage is low, even for you."

"But it'll work, won't it?"

Cal doesn't back down. "And what if I did the same to you?"

Bode pauses, finally meeting Cal's eyes once again, but then he relaxes. "You wouldn't hurt Kata, I may be protective of her and have made a few threats, but we both know you'd never do that."

"Because I'm not a monster, Bode."

Bode laughs. "Cal, you've never officially completed your Padawan training, and yet, you've successfully taken on armies of stormtroopers, multiple Inquisitors, bounty hunters, Rayvis, High Republic renegade Jedi? Cal, you're a good man, but those are things only monsters can do." Cal startles at that, but he doesn't get to say anything in reaction before Bode continues on. "You're a survivor, Kestis, and survivors are monsters. The difference between the monsters who are good guys, and the ones who are bad, is that one targets the problem, and the other targets what the problem loves."

"Then that makes you the bad guy, Bode."

He shrugs. "I never said I wasn't. Look, scrapper, we can both argue about this until our heads turn blue and our hair gray, but I want to sleep and I'm sure you don't want to be in those," he nods at the restraints, "no more. Clearly, neither of us are willing to give ground right now, so let's just cool off, alright? Give us time to think and time to explore the area. We can always visit this again when we're in a better headspace."

Cal wants to argue that time won't fix this betrayal. Time won't put him in a quote unquote better headspace. He wants to go back to Koboh. He wants to hold BD-1, explore with Merrin, eat Greeze's food, learn from Cere. Being captive on a beautiful planet that the Empire doesn't know about doesn't change the fact that Cal isn't here willingly and he doesn't have a choice in whether he stays or goes.

Instead, he asks a final question. "You promise you didn't call in Jedha?"

Bode, this time, doesn't hesitate like the question's caught him off guard. "I promise, brother."

Cal still doesn't know if he trusts Bode, a broken and betrayed and hurt part of himself can't help but think it's a lie. But Cal doesn't know what to do if that's proven right. So he grabs onto those three words, lie or not, and wraps them in layers and layers of hope. The relief crashes into him, the anger for his situation and the fear for his family melts into a manageable faint lingering sense of betrayal.

He nearly goes limp in his bindings, feeling some sort of relaxed for the first time since waking up in that damn storage compartment. Now with the answer of his family's well-being being promised, every worry washes away to let the pain and nausea return.

His stomach churns. "I'm going to throw up."

Shock at the change in subject visibly shakes Bode, but he makes to rush forward, hands outstretched. Cal flinches away.

"Don't touch me."

He pants, fighting his rebellious stomach, until he feels better enough to look up and snap at Bode who looks painfully lost at the command to not get closer.

"Untie me."

Bode's shoulders sag. "Not yet, I can't."

"What?" Cal snaps. "You said-"

"I know, I will. I need to move the ship first while I know you can't try and follow. I won't be long."

"Bode, what if I'm attacked?!"

"There's no record of violent wildlife..." Bode looks Cal up and down, then sighs. "Fine, let's compromise. I'll take off the rope and put your hands in front of you."

"And give me my lightsaber," Cal says, hoping his voice sounds as firm as beskar.

To his shock, Bode nods. "That sounds reasonable. Can I touch you now?"

Cal hates how concerned he sounds, how sorrowful his face looks as he refuses completely untying Cal. He almost thinks Bode would back off if Cal says no, not yet. Cal finally looks away, no longer to look at him. "Make it quick."

Bode does, untying the rope that Cal hasn't noticed how tightly it dug into his arms and legs until pins and needles spread across his forearms, fingers, and calfs. Bode gives him a warning look as he unlocks one cuff on Cal's hands. As soon as it's off, Bode steps back and pulls his blaster, pointing it at Cal.

"In front, scrapper."

Cal glares at him, then painstakingly moves his arms to be in front of his stomach. His shoulders burn with the movement, he doesn't think he'd be able to fight back even if he tried. One cuff still remains on, cutting off his connection to the Force, and his arms feel like noodles. The last time he tried to fight Bode without a weapon is the whole reason he's in this mess. So he angrily complies, fitting his own wrist back into the other cuff, ignoring how badly he just wants to stretch.

Bode relaxes as Cal finishes doing as he's told. He goes to his hip and grabs Cal's lightsaber, but he doesn't hand it over just yet. "I won't be long. I'll come back before you know it."

Then, he turns, sets the lightsaber down a distance Cal would have to awkwardly hobble to with the shackles, then jumps in his ship like he's afraid the second Cal has his weapon in his hands he's going to attack Bode and take the jet himself.

Cal watches the jet fly away with clenched fists until it goes out of sight. He doesn't bother remembering what direction it went off to, not when he's sure Bode will probably loop around and find some hidden spot no one can find without asking him. He slowly gets to his feet, finally letting himself verbalize his discomfort in a low groan.

The lightsaber sits a taunting distance away, and not for the first time since waking up Cal curses Bode. There's no give in the shackles, his heels are practically touching. That's not even considering the smarting wound in his knee.

Slowly, he shimmies to his lightsaber, grunting every time he pulls his knee a bit too hastily, fighting the urge to hurl. This is cruel, he seethes, an insult to injury.

When he finally reaches his lightsaber, he carefully lowers himself to the ground, stretching his legs out in front of him and holding his weapon in his hands, inspecting it for tampering. He knows every single speck of metal, every detail, every scratch on this thing, and luckily nothing seems out of place. Experimentally, he ignites a single orange blade, staring at its light for a few moments, letting the low hum comfort him before he carefully lowers it towards the shackles.

The lightsaber rests on the metal, and he quickly removes it before the metal would heat up and burn him. Damn. The Empire has gotten concerningly good with lightsaber resistant equipment. If the metal isn't straight up immune, then it's designed with a high melting point where the wielder probably shouldn't bother anyways, especially if that metal is connected to them.

He has no doubts that the cuffs promise the same effect, so he sighs and turns off the blade and latches it to his hip.

He stares around him for a little while, finally managing to study his surroundings without having to worry about making sure Bode knows he's all levels of pissed with him.

Tanalor is beautiful.

Pastel and bright in all the right ways. The flora seems to sparkle with what Cal could almost swear was simple and pure magic, but realistically it's probably pollen or bugs. Pools of deep, bright reef blue settle all around him, contrasting with the white terrain in a mesmerizing way. Jagged mountains stretch in the distance and smaller boulders decorate the landscape nearby with grand cliffs to compliment the highs with breathtaking lows.

It's beautiful in person. He wishes he set first foot here on his own terms.

He allows himself to finally relax, listening to the wind and a nearby waterfall, stretching what muscle groups he can while still lacking full range of motion. He checks his pockets too, seeing what Bode has taken and what he's left on him. His blaster is gone, a given, but so is his locator. His grapple is still on him, as well as a few ration bars and a flask of water. Other trinkets he's collected sit neatly where he's left them; it seems Bode was only concerned about disarming and making sure they couldn't be tracked.

The only people who would think to track him through that would be the crew of the Mantis, which means Bode had to be telling the truth if he was so worried about them tracking him.

He sits there for a decent stretch of time longer, to the point boredom settles in. He misses BD-1 already, it's strange not having his companion to talk to. Cal's a talker, he always had been, the headphones he had on Bracca were actually a gift because Tabbers got annoyed with him talking to himself all the time and thought some distracting music would fix that. He smiles fondly at that. He hopes Tabbers is alright, along with the rest of the guild workers. Cal has no idea what the Empire did to the scrappers after he escaped. Did they punish the guild for housing a terrorist? He hopes they got left alone. The guild itself was hell, but he misses the people.

He pauses. Odd. He's never felt homesick for Bracca before.

Footsteps. Cal sighs, awkwardly rising to his feet a second time and leaning on his good leg. Bode enters through the trees carrying multiple bags, though Cal has no doubt Bode probably even circled around on his walk back to give no hints on the location of his fighter jet. Not that it matters, Cal's sure the Compass is hidden far in some opposite direction.

Bode sets down the bags, giving a small smile but still refusing to meet Cal's eyes. "Let's get you out of those," he says. Cal stands rigid and allows it, the intoxicating concept of moving his limbs separate from each other far overpowers the desire to be stubborn.

Bode thankfully gives space the second both restraints are off, though Cal doesn't miss him stuffing them into one of his duffles as he stretches his shoulders and legs. Bode picks up a second duffle and tosses it at Cal's feet. Cal pauses, admittedly staring down at the duffle like it personally insulted him.

"You look like sewage, scrapper," Bode says, and Cal bites back the and whose fault is that retort. "Stopped at a moon on the way here and grabbed you some changes of clothes. I guessed your sizes, so I hope they fit. There's also some bacta and clean bandages in there, you can reapply it to your knee and chest."

Cal stares at him for a moment before sighing and bending down to inspect the duffle. He remembers this one, it was stuffed under his hip.

Inside is true to Bode's word, changes of clothes and various hygiene supplies. He closes the bag and bites off a grunt as he lifts it to his shoulder. However, before he walks off towards a private place to change, he glances back at Bode, biting his lip before speaking.

"I don't think it will ever be normal with us again, Bode," he says softly, the anger pulsing into sorrow and grief.

Bode gives a sad smile. "I don't expect it to be. I just need you to keep Kata out of it."

Cal turns, he doesn't trust the moisture in his eyes to not fall.

Play along. Find the Compass. Get the Jet. Get out of here and get the others.

He can play Bode's game until then. He just has to be patient so he can leave Tanalor and get back to doing what he's meant to be doing. Stopping the Empire.

"Patience, Cal," He mutters softly to himself. "You'll get through this."

[fanartbyherd]

What you going to say to your door man?

-Not a joke but not serious either.

Anyways poor attempts at humor aside we have some more Mundane Horror Au art.

I probably should call it something else but hay I don’t know.

So plot: Gerry and Michel Meet in uni, and eventually become friends and more. It’s mostly a slice of life story, with stuff happening in the background, until it affects them.

World wise I’ve mentioned that the powers are common knowledge, also that powers can either take over a person or they can become a part of a person. Also mentioned that there are other powers besides fear, and that they can affect places, animals and artifacts too.

Note: the other two powers are knowledge and “love”

This time around for my not trying to rant but probably will be a rant regardless: I will talk about that and how things come to be affected in the first place.

In regards to people, as it’s the easiest to explain, there are two ways to get the powers. The first and easiest is to be born with it. This occurs when one or more of your parents have a power themselves. This is the case for Gerry. So it’s always just kind of been in his life. The second way is having a power some way affect you embryonic. Though this is very rare, and more often than not just result in certain powers being more drawn too a person. Though you also get things like the “common twin thing” that occurs. (I’ll explain that in a bit)

The second and far more prevolent way of getting a power attached to yourself (being marked or touched by a power) is too somehow stumble across a source of power in the world, and either through repeated exposure or by a single extreme event having it leave a “mark” (marks are normally invisible though not always the case)

This is the method of how Michel got his alignment to start off with.

Sum.: you can either be born with it or you can get it later on in life.

Places and occurrences:

Places are often infected with a power or another, especially if a place is gaining and retaining the energy of a power. Other times one large tragic or extraordinary event seeped into the space itself. These places rarely become domains as they stay entirely on the surface, often fading away with time. These places are often the home of smaller phenomena. Like a house with a bad vibe or a door that leads to unexpected places, normally these places are called haunted and might have echos of past events replay or have people see strange things every now and again. This will fade and this explains why there are no (or at least very few ) places haunted by dinosaurs.

Domains are small pockets of space time that are claimed by one power or an other. How large and how active any individual domain is varies, domains are a bit like gardens. They’ll probably have a “gardener” who is a resident entity up keeping a domain. Most people will not notice when they pass through a domain. Only those with their own alignment are likely to notice, those who live in it will be aware of it, and those who somehow get trapped by its limbo version.

Domains are relatively rare, with the exception three domains all known as the otherworld.

The otherworld: also called the backspace, the dreamland, or limbo. These are all technically different versions of the same thing.

- backspace: the space of the spiral, consists of all that space between spaces. Liminal in nature, natural wild and ever changing if not formed into a maze by some entity or another. It’s basically the backrooms on steroids. Things will slip into this place all the time and with ever changing hallways and wild spaces it is difficult if not impossible to get out. Not to mention there are a lot of dangerous creatures that get stuck here. Or perhaps come from here. Distortions are the masterminds of mazes. Building new ones and abandoning old ones. Sometimes domains of other powers will form in abandoned mazes, allowing people to accidentally slip into them and become stuck.

-dream land: a land of the unconscious. It’s spectacular and in most way not real. That dose not mean it is not dangerous. It has a constantly shifting landscape. And the impression of dreams and those dreaming is found here. It’s a place a few people can enter at will, and also access people’s thoughts through in some ways. It is also a place rife for spawning monsters that make their ways into the mazes and mirror plane and sometimes jumping in to the real world. It’s a place guarded over by the dreamers, mare and sandmen and the land of dreams has a strange and close relationship with the power of the end. With a smaller more distant relationship to the beholder and the knower. The land of dreams is not just a place of dreams but also of nightmares.

The land of dreams are “deeper” than the backspaces, collecting and interlocking old mazes and domains connected them into a hellish underworld for the unconscious.

-limbo: a place where lost things go. The mirror world. A shrouded empty reflection to the real world. It is not entirely as physical a space as the backspace is but it’s not as intangible as the dreamland. It is filled with echoes and can often be infiltrated by other powers, echoing what they influence in the real world. It is primarily the realm of the lonely and the navigator (a knowledge domain) ghosts are it’s only true inhabitants (ghosts = lonely avatars) as the travelers from the navigator only use it to jump through (they also use backspace like this.) this is where earth bound domains reflect what their true form is and trap it’s fuel. A domain is hard to enter inside of limbo.

Outside of the domains there are Phenomena or Occurrences. These are things that occur on occasion. I would best compare it to the weather. The way most people are familiar with any kind of power is through these phenomenon. There are seasonal ones or ones that occure every few years or so. There is even a field of study tracking the movement patterns of the different phenomena so that people do not get caught up in them.

There are phenomena like the wild hunt, that is a combination of the hunt and the slaughter and you really do not want to get caught outside in. There are waking dreams that walk streets at night. So on and so forth.

Animals:

Like In TMA proper human fears (love and knowing) are not the only things that affect the powers. But the other creatures become affected too. This can often result in monsters but just as often it dose not affect the normal life of animals.

It is worth noting that the majority of monsters are usually things that crawl out of the world of dreams or where once animals. Though generally it is from the former. Certain creatures have a very strong affinity for one power over an other and some powers are noticeable to be human exclusive (abstract thought and all of that)

Plants can also be affected by the powers.

Artifacts: now here is the most common kind of thing touched by power. Because unlike all the other things, that occurs naturally or by chance, (or by a very manipulative elderich boss) artifacts can be made.

Shure artifacts can also occur by accident, in a similar way a place gains a power. But making them with meaning only takes a good craftsman.

The most common kind of artifact are charms. They are made to keep away powers of certain kinds. Cultures all over the world make their own charms. But in order to do so they use a different power to do so. Dream catchers for example use the power of the web to keep the power of dreams and the dark away, trapping monsters or preventing them from forming in the first place. Evil eyes use the power of the beholder to keep others from knowing and keep envy and hatred away. It’s a sort of uno reverse card. And there’s a great number of talismans that seal or ward off things. Charm making is actually big business.

Other artifacts have more specific uses. A good deal of information on how to make some artifacts has been lost over the centuries, not to mention that most artifacts are made with somewhat strict regulations after the 1800s

Things like lithners are not unusual and certainly items will have certain properties. Though results are unpredictable.

Powerful entities can make artifacts. Either on purpose or by accident. in fact gerry makes one at one point, to his own distress. most of these items made by entities that are not the craftsmen, will often fly under the radar.

there are a lot of collectors of these sort of artifacts, bit of a black market for them, not always a black market. but these sort of items are a bit iffy. after all some of these can and will just kill you.

I did mention key charms in an earlier, they prevent a person from being taken while making their power stronger. it is temporary and sort of separates a person from their powers. keycharms are tenderly not accessible to the general public.

So most people don’t have them.

I guess if I had to categorize. The difference items I would diffienturate them between, what power(s) they belong too. how harmful they are (ie if they are safe or will mark a person), why they where made/who/what made them. and then how rare they are. I need to do some more work on this, but its fan fix so im kinda just going with the flow.

[todoscript]

coming home and finding out you fell asleep with lingerie on

characters: bakugou katsuki. todoroki shouto. genre: smut. warnings: 18+. very heaty moments. katsuki and shouto have no restraint. author’s note: This came out of nowhere, but I had an urge to write some spicy stuff so this is what happened. I was going to add Izuku too, but these things became longer than I thought they would (sorry baby). I’ll probably post his version of this with another character in the future though! The actual steamy stuff is written underneath the bulletpoints & read more! ;-)

bakugou katsuki

isn’t surprised to see you passed out on the couch with a small blanket over you, being that he arrived back at your shared apartment late at night due to another full day of hero work

cue his expression softening to those secret endearing eyes of his he never shows in front of you as he watches you for much longer than necessary, breathing in and out evenly in your sleep 

but hey, can you blame him? you’re pretty damn cute when you’re so sound asleep like that—word by word thoughts going through his head right now

he knows you can’t stay here for long though. it gets pretty chilly in the living room and he doesn’t want you to catch something, considering how flimsy the blanket is that’s covering you. the material barely reaches to your ankles.

“Babe. Hey, babe. I’m home, c’mon let’s sleep on the bed,” he says low in his gruff voice, running a hand up your arm that’s clad in the blanket.

shakes you a bit to stir you awake so you can both walk to the bed together, but you don’t budge the first couple of times, only humming in your sleep

so he takes it upon himself to carry you to your room and properly get you to bed

however, when he moves the thin blanket off of you, that look of surprise slowly envelops his face when he sees inches of bare skin unveiled the more he pulls the sheet down

- - - - -

You’re practically naked aside from the sheer, wine red lace that only covers your most intimate parts, and even that isn’t enough to keep Katsuki’s eyes from wandering and his thoughts from wandering further.

With the blanket drawn off you, there isn’t a barrier to keep the cold from nipping at your skin—a sensation that agitates you awake as you stretch out your sleepiness on the couch. You’re still unaware of the lecherous eyes that stare at every angle you offer them. Spreading your body out like that, where the fabric clings to you, accentuating all your curves right in front of him? You may seem half-asleep, but there has to be a vixen at work inside that mind of yours. There’s no way you can’t be aware of what you’re doing to him. 

It’s not until you rub away some of your drowsiness that you finally perceive the blonde kneeling before the couch. The surprise at discovering his attentive, red eyes glaring at you startles you to attention. You fix your hair, moving the strands out of your face and cleaning off the invisible marks of drool that might have abided your lips.

“Oh, welcome home, Katsuki,” you manage to greet, but Katsuki does not return your welcome. Instead, you feel his large calloused palm run up the length of your legs, and you realize the situation you’re in—how you decided to surprise him that night, wearing a new matching set of dark red lingerie, only to end up dozing off on the couch waiting for him. Though it seems it wasn’t all for naught. With the carnal expression he gives you in your most vulnerable state, he’s more than surprised alright. He’s absolutely thrilled.

Katsuki’s hands explore across your skin, mapping through every expanse despite being more than familiar with the territory. But in actuality, he’s paying all his attention to the lace—the fabric seeming so flimsy, so obscenely indecent on that figure of yours, yet at the same time, equally exquisite. You don’t wear lingerie often, but when you do, it always spurs something to tighten down in his pants, seeing you like this.

His hand trails up the material, tracing the texture before slowly inching his fingers beneath the waistband. “Mm, babe, were you planning something? Looking all sexy, wearing this—” he snaps the elastic against your bare skin, stinging any sleepiness lingering in you away as you wince at the sensation, “skimpy thing while I was gone? You must be desperate to get fucked, right?”

Even if you want to answer, he doesn’t let you. Any words desiring to leave stay trapped in your throat when Katsuki suddenly leans in to fervently capture your lips.

Despite the usual rampant pace of his actions, you soon adjust into his air of lust like it’s second nature. Your tongue mingles against his through each succession of your lips locking together, your hands twining into his ash blonde hair. Katsuki gets to work at removing his shirt with one hand, but remains mindful at busying the other by palming at the lace, gathering your flesh in his grasp before the other joins in on the ministrations.

He finally makes his way onto the couch with you, towering over your body and revels in the noises sounding past those pretty lips when his fingers find your center. All the sensations pile in your body, making you tremble in waves. The wetness already seeping through your delicate panties becomes slicker at his touch.

“Barely even did anything and you’re already this fucking wet? You really do want to get fucked don’tcha?”

“God, yes, please Katsuki. Please fuck me, I want you to fuck me so bad,” you whimper, not sugarcoating your words. You need him right now. Need him so much you’re willing to beg for him without restraint, dropping every ounce of your dignity if it meant he’d pound into you and relieve you of that ache building in your lower-half. It’s to the point where just the sound of his belt unbuckling around his pants is enough to delight and send tingles of anticipation to your cunt.

“Oh, don’t worry, babe. Waiting on me all this time? I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. All. Fucking. Night. Long.” The tone his timbre descends toward incites a whine past your lips, and he smirks at the desperate sound.

“But on one condition.”

“W-What?” You’re quick to reply—anything to lessen the delay and continue the heat of your passion. However, you’re hesitant at what this condition might entail, especially when Katsuki’s grin widens further. His hands do not relent in pulling and pressing against you through the red material of your lingerie.

“I get to fuck you in this thing.”

todoroki shouto

grumbling on his way home because of how late it is and how long you must have been waiting for him

his old man just had to drone on and on at him when the former pro hero visited his agency that night

because of that, he enters your shared space where the silence and dimness of the apartment are what welcome him

he wishes you were the one that would greet him instead, arms open for him as you ask about his day

but he’s more than aware you fell asleep waiting for him all this time

especially when he strides into his bedroom and beholds you laying on your large bed with a fluffy robe wrapped and tied around your body. your eyes are closed in slumber and you’re curled up atop the sheets

you look so precious to him, he can’t stop an adoring smile from finding his lips

he slightly nudges you. when you slowly rouse awake, your small, dozy movements add to his endearment for you that spurs his lips to your forehead while you adjust to your surroundings

“Love, I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Let’s get to bed.”

you hum a pitched “alright” in reply that comes out in a whine while you rub your eyes, saying you should get changed then

he sits on the edge of the bed, watching you saunter to the bathroom as you untie the sash of your robe along the way

just before your figure disappears inside however, he catches your skin, decorated in intricate black lace when you let the fluffy material fall below your shoulders

- - - - -

Shouto can’t help the look on his face while he unknowingly ogles you, eyes growing lidded with every peek of your body shown through the sizable crack of the door. He almost releases a groan when the long robe obscuring him from the rest of you finally piles in a heap on the floor and catches the full appearance of your body covered in the enticing black set.

The way it enhances your curves and brings out the beauty of your skin tone is beyond sinful in his eyes. He’s wondering how something so dainty can incite such a hardened reaction from him so quickly, and why he can’t seem to tear his gaze away at your mussed form still ridden with bits of sleep. You must be a succubus, right? Because how can you look so innocent, yet so tempting at the same time?

His attention on you leads to him lifting off the bed and striding to the bathroom, still trained on your figure with only lascivious thoughts running through his mind. He wants to touch you, squeeze you, feel the elaborate, lacy texture of your lingerie as he presses your soft lips on his, and hear all your lustful cries in the course of his insatiable greed.

Utterly devour you.

You have absolutely no idea what’s going through him right now, too occupied tidying bits of yourself in the mirror with a set of sleeping clothes lying on the counter, waiting to replace your beribboned attire. You wore this with the idea of wanting to treat Shouto to a good night of passion, but considering the time and how he must be tired after a long day at his agency, you figure it’s too late for such desires now. Oh, how wrong you are.

Undoubtedly so as the moment your fingers find the clasp on your back holding your bra together, they’re thwarted by a hand wrapping around your wrist and moving them out of the way. Within that instance, you’re also spun around. Your back presses against the sink counter as you come face to face with the sensual glint in Shouto’s gray and blue eyes.

You feel small underneath his unwavering, heavy gaze, squirming in place while his hands still grip your wrists that subdue any thought of you getting away from him. “Shouto, I need to get changed so we can go to sleep—”

“How long have you been wearing this?” he interjects, ignoring your plea and slipping a finger beneath the satin strap of your bra. Meanwhile, the other hand caresses up your warm, bare thigh until it arrives at your panties’ lace. The gestures leave the air hitching in your throat. You have to swallow down a gulp in order to reply to him amid his methodical strokes and caresses.

“I had it on all evening…” you admit, voice becoming quiet. Shouto hums at your answer, leaning into you and pressing your back further against the counter. He traces up your form with not only his hands but also his eyes, committing your bewitching state to memory, familiarizing himself with the intricate patterns of your lingerie.

“For that long, love? You expect me not to appreciate the effort and thought you put in, bearing your pretty body in this—” he palms at your breast through your underwear, rousing a moan to slip from your lips, “and waiting for me this entire time?”

“I-I thought you’d be too tired to—ah—t-to do anything so I figured we should go to sleep now, mm—” You find it hard to keep your voice steady. Not with Shouto’s ministrations descending to your cunt, stroking the wetness gathering at your center that saturates the crotch of your black panties. He captures the slickness around his fingertips and earnestly licks it off with his tongue, admiring your taste while keeping such intense eye contact. It makes your cheeks burn and your arousal heighten.

“On the contrary, baby, seeing you in this just riles me up even more. Makes me want to ravage you while you’re wearing it,” he tells you with an edge in his tone that reduces you to whimpers. Before you can come up with any coherent thought, he hoists you up onto the bathroom sink, effectively spreading you open in front of him as he kneels eye level toward your clothed pussy.

“And that’s exactly what I intend to do. So sit there and let me admire you as I appreciate everything you have to offer.”

[aenaxes-moved]

momentum

[hunter x afab!reader] hunter thinks it's a good idea for you to learn hand-to-hand. and if it's a way for you to see him sweaty, sleeveless, and in close quarters, who are you to turn down the perfect opportunity?

warnings: unprotected vaginal sex

w/c: 4.7k

a/n: i'm a simple creature—i see the sexual tension of hand-to-hand combat, and i am brought low. also the marauder has a cargo hold for literary purposes, now. anyways enjoy my first nsfw fic on this blog. reposting bc tumblr censored me :/

“Try again,” Hunter orders as he crouches down beside where you lie sprawled, chest heaving and arms limp on the training mat. “Just like I showed you: trap the wrist, lock the arm, twist and throw.”

“Unlike you,” you wheeze, struggling to lift your head off the floor, “I’m not exactly built to throw people around.” You forego your weak attempt to get up, and you swear you feel your teeth rattle as the back of your head hits the mat with a dull thud.

You turn your head, meeting the sergeant's piercing gaze with a weary half-grimace half-grin. There’s a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes—maybe incredulity—that he might be training a half-fledged jedi in the brutally graceful art of floorslamming an opponent over a shoulder while the others had taken Omega on a trip to meet the natives. It’s something you should know well, having spent your youth under the wild and unrelenting martial acrobatics of master Voss, but at the end of the day, you would choose swordplay over brute physicality without hesitation.

Especially if you’re facing off against an opponent who can and has hefted you high above his head and practically launched you across the training mat.

If Hunter’s amused at all by this knowledge, he only makes it known with a huff.

“Empire’s out for your head; you need to learn to fight in more ways than your fancy jedi training. That includes hand-to-hand just in case you lose your lightsaber. Again.”

“That was once, Hunter!” you whine, warmth spreading across your cheeks. But he’s right. Loathe as you are to admit it, no amount of force pushing would have gotten you out of that mess on Onderon, and it was a miracle (otherwise known as Echo) that you’d found your lightsaber at all.

It’s an embarrassing memory and, deeper down, a dangerous one that could have ended in more than stray blaster fire. Petulant as you would like to be, Hunter has a point. So you reach up, flapping your hand about until you feel Hunter’s hand wrap around yours, callused and firm, and yank you up to your feet. You stumble as you regain your footing, but as soon as you’ve collected your bearings, you’re shaking your hands out and bouncing on the tips of your toes.

“Fuck it. Let me try again.”

“Do you want me to go slower on the approach?” Hunter asks, this time, a sure note of playful teasing dancing over his tongue. The corners of his lips curl up, imperceptible to most, but you’ve flown long enough with the crew to pick up on his slight giveaways. You narrow your eyes, fixing him with an accusatory frown.

“‘Imps won’t slow down for you y/n,’” you parrot his words with a sour expression, begrudging theatrics complete with an exaggerated eye roll.

Hunter laughs, but he’s already drawing back into a low crouch, arms raised and muscles coiled, ready to strike. You take the brief moment of clarity between your warm up and readying stance to admire him, his hair tied with his bandana, piercing eyes set in a razor focus as his chest rises and falls, even, steady. The sharp clarity is made complete, authentic, with his garb. Having swapped his standard blacks for a sleeveless top, a sheer veil of sweat glimmers brushed over the toned muscle rippling under his skin. It’s an appealing point of motivation, a reward for the small price of being thrown around for the past hour.

“You’re learning,” Hunter smiles, small and crooked, but a smile that breaks past his stolid stoicism nonetheless. “Attagirl.”

Your heart flutters, and you lunge.

Two rapid steps, and you’re meeting Hunter in the middle as he rushes towards you. Right foot, anchor heel, pivot, and the sharp wind of his arm shooting forward nearly knocks the breath from your lungs as it just barely brushes past your cheek.

He’s fast. But you’re faster, you challenge, and you shoot your left arm up, closing your grip with your right hand and trapping his forearm in your hands just beneath the hem of his glove. And when you find secure purchase, confident enough that he can’t counter, you yank with a sharp, vindictive shout. For the first time today, your grip holds.

You feel him roll over your shoulder, guided by your hand, compelled by gravity, and you’ve won. After all the blocks and parries and attacks-turned-scrambling-defenses, you’ve got Hunter exactly where you want him. Hunter may have size, bulk, experience—well, everything other than the Force—that you don’t, but if he’s taught you anything during your time with the batch it’s that timing is king.

You whoop as you feel his back roll off yours, squeezing your eyes shut as you claim your victory into the empty cargo hold.

You forget, however, the unspoken and very important step of letting go.

As soon as the split-second of simple victory flashes through you, you yelp, pulled off your feet and centre of balance flung off to the far reaches of the room. You’re reduced to an ungraceful flail of limbs and panicked disorientation as you fall, bracing yourself for an imminent collision and a sure promise of a bruise the day after. But instead of the forgiving, plasticky foam of the floor, you land with a soft oof on something else, harder than the mat, damp, bony…?

When you open your eyes, you’re propped up on one elbow, your other shoulder dipped close against Hunter’s chest, and your nose just a breath away from his collar, and, Maker help you, you can see his collarbones, sharp and clean through his blacks, rising and falling rhythmically with his heavy, straining breaths. You lift your head just in time to meet Hunter’s eyes, lightly curtained by one single swath of perfectly mussed stray hair, pupils blown wide with pride, wonder, and—

Shit.

“Uh, yay me?” you offer weakly, hoping you can blame the tremble in your voice on bone-deep exhaustion, not the blooming heat roiling in your gut.

“Yeah,” Hunter says, eyes trained on yours, steady and still.

It doesn’t take force sensitivity to feel the tension buzzing high in what little space separates your faces, the boundaries of playful sportsmanship bowing under the weight of testing curiosity, circling, prodding. The breath that passes your lips quivers, of which you’re only aware when you see Hunter’s eyes flick briefly to your lips. He lingers a moment, and you swallow hard, almost audibly, when you catch a flash of his tongue darting over his lower lip.

It might be an adrenaline high—his dilated pupils, the wild thumping of your heart against your ribs. High velocity combat and being thrown flat onto your back would do that.

You hope it isn’t.

The silence is enough to steal the sound from your tongue, just low breathing as you hover above him. It demands to be broken, something to be the first push back into the rhythm of which you have become so accustomed, the comfortable banter and competition devoid of anything more than meaningless flirting. Because for his ruggedly handsome looks, his commandeering presence, an aura that had men and women sending him drinks from across the bar, you had never let yourself seriously entertain the idea of being able to have him.

It’s hard to entertain attraction, much less romance, when you and the batch are high priority on the Empire’s list to shoot on sight, but the possibility has kept you awake at night, fingers shoved between your thighs while he sleeps two doors down. The fantasy of having, breathing him in like air, makes you feel alive, makes you feel the rare and fleeting feeling of safety. You, exiled jedi. Him, one of millions, the dedicated soldier sworn to a cause.

And yet, here you are.

Hunter lifts one hand from the floor, reaching up to brush the hair from your eyes, and you find yourself having to bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from turning your head and nuzzling into his palm, from pushing close and staying, indulging. And while your mind blurs in the frantic flurry of fighting it, he gives in freely, turning his wrist to run his gloved thumb over your jaw. It’s the softest you’ve ever found standard issue blacks to feel, but more importantly, it’s the closest he’s ever been.

“Yay you,” he whispers.

Hunter leans forward, sliding his hand across the side of your neck, his thumb soft at your ear as he curls his fingers into your hair and closes the distance. One moment there’s a vast breadth of space between you; the next, you feel Hunter’s nose brushing over your cheek, his breath ghosting over your skin for that last moment of separation. Then you’re moving with him, meeting his lips with soft motions pleading for more as you slide one hand up into his hair and press your chests flush.

He doesn’t taste quite like your dreams, all smooth, sweet freshness dancing over your tongue. Instead, there is raw exhaustion and strain bitter and heady on his skin as he licks over your lower lip. But no matter; it is real and present and Hunter all the same.

The training room silence is broken when he nudges a knee between your legs, pressing close between the want pooling low in your belly, as you barely manage to muffle a whimper into his mouth, breathy and high as you break away to gasp. Hunter grants you that moment of rest, and he’s pulling you back down against him again, holding you tight.

“I’ll stop if you want,” he mumbles against your lips. “We stop, and we forget this ever happened. But.” He pauses to nip at your lips. “You give me the word, and we take this as far as you want, y/n. Understood?”

You nod, too busy chasing his tongue to feel his gaze fixed on you. And, as always, your blissful ignorance does not escape Hunter’s watchful eye. You whine as you feel his fingers close around your chin and lift, pulling away just enough that you can see his dark eyes steady on yours.

“I need to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you whimper, reduced to little more than pleading submission, doe-eyed and dreamy as he slowly runs his thumb over your lip. “Want you, Hunter. Need you.”

“Attagirl.”

He makes a noise that sounds like quiet laughter, but all you care about is that he’s nuzzling against your skin and holding you close. Hunter kisses you with a trembling restraint that you practically feel vibrating under his touch, the excitement of being able to have, the roiling fear of intimacy, vulnerable and open under your palms.

It’s something you know well. You feel the same.

“We should really wash up,” he murmurs into your mouth.

“‘Fresher’s big enough for two,” you say a bit cheekily.

“You really want it all, huh?” Hunter chuckles, squeezing the back of your neck as he presses a fleeting kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Never get anything if you don’t ask,” you smile against his lips.

“Can’t disappoint the lady, then, can I?” he grins, dropping his head back down onto the training mat. You sigh, resting your cheek on his collar for a single breath before you feel him shift beneath you, pulling you into his lap as he sits upright. Hunter offers you a final peck, a promise for more in just a short while.

You silently promise you’ll return to the hold come morning and clean up the mats before Echo can chew you out for any sloppiness, but cleanliness is the least of your concerns as you stumble with Hunter towards the threshold, all soft laughter and kisses strayed off their mark. Whatever concerns about anything other than the bliss of the now are even more obscured as the refresher doors slide shut behind you. You laugh as Hunter twists out of his blacks, which almost has you tripping out of your own, but he’s there to catch you, sturdy arms and warm skin to pull you into the stall and under a startling shock of cold water.

Maybe it’s that brief shock of cold before the showerhead runs warm that offers you a moment of clarity, the space and quiet to realize where you stand and take in the man before you. You’re no stranger to proximity, having spent more than one mission squeezed up against Hunter’s side, but closeness doesn’t begin to describe where you stand now, bared to each other beyond simple undress.

A smattering of scars stretches over Hunter’s skin, an organized chaos of milky pockmarks and slashes so often hidden under his armor. You recognize a few, blaster fire and frightened memories of blood and acrid fear, and the rest you save for a later night when you’ve sated the flutter in your chest as your eyes drift lower.

It would be embarrassing, how your mouth waters when you catch sight of his cock, half-hard and framed by a dark thatch of curls. But any need for shame is dismissed by the sheer gravity of want because he’s thick. You had always imagined him to be big—that isn’t much of a surprise—but your stomach churns delightfully at the thought of him stretching you open, making you feel him for days after.

“You’re staring,” Hunter huffs softly.

“Can you blame me?” you breathe.

Hunter laughs, rich and resonant over the patter of the shower spray, and he reaches that short distance forward, gently taking your hand in his and lifting your palm to his lips. You step backwards, letting him crowd you between the wall as you cup his cheek.

His hands, rarely bared to his brothers, let alone you, are strong and weary with scars of war, and he lets them follow the slope of your arm, tracing down your shoulder, your waist, and coming down to your hips, seeing in full clarity under his fingertips.

“Hold on tight.”

“Hunter, wait—ah!”

You yelp as he slips his forearms under your thighs without warning, hefting you up against the cool metal. In your hazy delirium, it occurs to you that you’re both exhausted from sparring and that him holding you up would only wear him down further. You want to tell him you’re perfectly fine on your feet. But whatever protest you may have had planned dies on your lips with a choked sob when you feel his fingers knead into the soft skin of your thighs and tug.

You arch off the wall, breath catching in your throat when you feel Hunter shift his hips forward and anchor you in place as he grinds his cock over your clit. Any hope of forming coherent words, let alone sound, is completely beyond you, now. Heat coils in your gut, all-consuming, white-hot tension pulled tight and ready to snap with each slow motion he makes.

And—the bastard—he’s good at it, too, leaving you squirming under his grip when he shifts away, cruelly aware of the brief moment just as your pleasure crests. Hunter lets you whine, filling the space with firm, insistent kisses over your collar: enough time for your high to ebb, enough time for him to stoke the frustration, the need tight in your core. Then he’s pressing your hips against the wall again and chasing you forwards, hips flush as he nips over your jaw.

All you find yourself able to do is dig your nails into his shoulders and sob.

“Shit, are you crying?” Hunter gasps, nearly dropping you down into a helpless heap under the warm water.

You shake your head wildly, locking your ankles around the small of his back as you keep him in place. It’s enough to startle him back into stillness, and he readjusts his grip on your thighs, the weight of his cock heavy against your throbbing cunt as you gasp for breath.

“I just—I’m fine,” you laugh, bordering delirious as stray drops of water catch on your tongue. “Just fuck me, Hunter. Make it better,” you breathe, chest heaving as you lick your lips. “Please.”

You know the expression that flashes across his face, the need to tease and prod, making gentle light of a dire situation. But this time, Hunter does not entertain it with his signature deadpan drawl, instead meeting you with a soft, imploring kiss.

“So pretty when you beg,” he whispers.

You open your mouth to offer a snappy retort; even in your desperation, there must be some dignity. Instead, your ears fill with the sound of your stuttering gasp over the water pattering against the refresher walls as, finally, finally, you feel the blunt head of his cock dip into your cunt.

Hunter pushes into you with a maddening slowness, one that reduces you to breathless whimpering broken between what gasps you can take. You dig your heels into his back and meet him with a straining moan because Maker, he’s even bigger than you thought, and it’s everything you’ve ever needed.

“Gotta breathe,” Hunter grunts, sinking deeper into you.

You’re not entirely sure whether it’s a reminder for you or for him, but you manage to slip in a gasping breath before he’s nudging up against a spot that has tears blurring your vision in dizzy euphoria. And when you come down from that high spark, legs jerking over his arms, he’s still pushing impossibly deep into you.

You watch him in a dazed trance, fixed on how his brows furrow with each quiet, flinching gasp that passes his parted lips as your cunt flutters around him. And how, through it all, his eyes never leave yours, boring into you with a fierce intensity, devotion, demanding your attention and pleading for your touch. It’s more than pure physicality, sex under the crushing uncertainty of a bounty and the shadow of conquest at your heels. He reaches for you, as open as he’s ever been, and you reach back.

“Hunter, I—”

Your words give way to a long, aching moan as you feel the sharp dip of his hips finally press up against your ass, filling you like you’ve always been meant to take him. (And you have, you swear, to him, to everything you know.)

“Gonna start moving, okay?” Hunter says through a shuddering sigh. He trails one hand up your side, thumbing over your chin while you tremble in his arms. “Cyar’ika, tell me I can.”

“Please,” you whimper.

And he delivers. You whine, feeling the slow drag, the toe-curling burn as Hunter eases almost completely out of you then pushes back in, just as slow as the first. He’s measured in his motions, and if you could see past the tears welling in your eyes, you’re sure you would see the razor focus over his features. There’s a tense edge you can barely make out from your slack-jawed disorientation, a restraint behind each careful thrust. He’s savoring it, you think as you bite down on the inside of your cheek.

But when Hunter jerks forward, punching the breath from your lungs as he drives up hard, pulling an obscene noise from your lips with a stuttering apology, you realize it’s not some way to draw this out as long as humanly possible. And as good as it is now, it’s not enough.

“H-Hunter,” you start. “Hunter, you—you don’t have to hold back—!” Your voice rises to a wavering pitch when you feel his thumb trail down your stomach, nestling close above where you part around him as he starts to rub gentle motions into your clit.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasps sharply with you when he presses deep again.

“You—you physically threw me across the cargo hold—like an hour ago,” you laugh through hiccupy sighs.

“That was different,” he chokes out a soft chuckle. “I want this to be good. For you.”

Trembling wildly, you muster the strength to lift your hand to his cheek, stroking over his wet skin as the refresher patters down around you. The aching stretch of Hunter’s cock between your thighs ebbs into something sweet, warming your chest when he turns his head to kiss your palm.

“You are good to me,” you whisper, brushing your thumb over his skin. “I want this. I want you.”

You hear him inhale sharp, holding his breath as he meets you with dark eyes, wide and searching. To his gaze, you offer him a soft smile. And it’s enough.

You barely have enough time to loop your arms around his neck and hold as Hunter shifts his grip, firm and high up on your thighs, and starts a brutal pace that has you near screaming into his neck. Your legs jerk helplessly with every relentless thrust, and you find yourself knotting your fingers into his hair, cradling his head for some—any—purchase you can find.

It’s reminders like this that while Hunter doesn’t have the imposing stature or towering height of his brothers, his sheer presence alone is overwhelming, surrounding you and consuming you whole in ways the others simply could never. The power is intoxicating, crushing in its pressure, the submission and release to pleasure it demands of you, and you sob, a whiny, choked sound you barely hear over the frantic, wet slap of Hunter’s skin against yours. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and it’s so, so achingly good.

“Fuck, I’ve always—” Hunter gasps, craning his neck to nuzzle up against your jaw. “I’ve always wanted to do this. To have you like this.” You turn your head, meeting him in a lopsided kiss, all tongue and shared breath. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

“More,” you whine, crying out when he pins you against the wall, just so he might reach between your thighs again and thumb insistently over your clit.

Even with the water showering over your skin, you’re distinctly aware of the tears streaking down your cheeks, only fitting for the overwhelming sensation building in your core, cresting in blinding heat with every drag, every ridge of his cock moving inside you.

He fucks into you with soft noises, low enough that they might be drowned out by the sound of water if you weren’t pressed so close. It’s fitting, that the stolid discipline of a sergeant might follow him off the battlefield and into the bedroom, but as characteristic of him as it may be, you can’t bring yourself to particularly care—not when he’s holding you up like a ragdoll and bending you to his pleasure. You cling tighter to him with a muffled sob.

It’s nothing like your nights alone in your bunk, wishing for a warm body and something more than hopeful fantasy. Where your fingers only offered you a shot of momentary bliss, this feels like you’re falling apart in his hands, utterly powerless in only the best of ways as the coil in your gut draws tight.

“‘m close,” you croak as the heat seeps bone-deep, spreading down your spine, blazing in the tips of your fingers, and finding home in the buzzing haze between your eyes. “Hunter, I’m—I’m so close.”

“Let go,” Hunter croons, bearing the rough pad of his thumb harder against your clit, pressing firm with every thrust forward, soothing as he draws back. Your cunt squeezes down around him with the spike in want pooled in your gut, drawing a low moan from his lips, and he meets you with a thrust hard enough that you squeal. “Doin’ so well, cyar’ika.”

Trembling, you bury your nose in the juncture of his neck, but you’re pressed backward instead, a light, unyielding pressure at your neck before the back of your head is guided against the metal wall. Hunter holds you at the throat, nothing but a hovering presence of his warmth over your skin, but enough that he commands your attention, steady gaze, pupils blown as he thrusts up against you, pushing you higher and higher against that mindless gap of pleasure with every intent to pull you apart.

“Look at me, y/n,” he murmurs, low and hoarse. “Look at me when you come.”

He drives into you once more, hard, and the tension mounting in your gut breaks like a dam, flooding over your tongue in sweet, simple pleasure that pulses and shudders through your core. You feel it like your body, your visceral pleasure, is not your own, floating in a mindless state of bliss no longer anchored to anything but your rapidly beating heart and the shivering tremors buzzing at your fingertips. Lips parted in a silent cry, your lashes flutter as you let yourself be swept up in the peak of your pleasure, swept up in him, his gaze trained firm, fond on yours.

And you’re too fucked out to do more than gasp, breathy, stuttering inhales as Hunter settles his hands around your waist and starts a pace impossibly faster than before. Somehow, through the aching tremor in your legs and your limp form pressed up against the wall, you manage to keep your grip steady and keep your arms wrapped snug around Hunter’s shoulders. He pulls your pleasure, agonizingly long with no end in sight, chasing his high as you whimper and plead unintelligibly into his ear.

“C-Close?” you manage, digging your fingertips deeper into the sinew of his back.

Hunter hums, a feeble attempt to keep what little composure he has left, but you feel his movements lose the steady rhythm he had maintained thus far, forgoing fluidity and grace for the raw and primal need to satiate. Lucid sensation beyond you, you simply let him take his fill, lazily running your tongue over his lips and holding him tight as he continues to fuck into you with erratic, stuttering thrusts.

And not a moment later, Hunter bears your hips down hard on his, gasping like he’s taken his first breath of air as his climax thunders through him. You squirm in his hold with a thready groan, reveling in the warm spurts of come filling your cunt and oozing down the curve of your ass onto the refresher floor. For all your exhaustion, you curl your fingers at the base of his neck, pulling him close into a slow, lazy kiss, more languid touches than an actual kiss, but a promise of intimacy all the same.

Hunter tips forward and shifts one arm to wrap snug around the small of your back, propping you both against the wall with the other as the tension drains from his coiled poise. He sags forward with a final, shuddering sigh, pulling out of you and setting you on your wobbly feet, to which you promptly pitch forward against his shoulder.

He laughs and catches you with breathless ease.

“I have no idea how we didn’t slip,” you gasp through heaving inhales, shuddering as you feel warm rivulets of come dripping down the skin of your inner thigh. As the pleasure subsides, you return to your surroundings in a haze, faintly aware of the running showerhead, the steam, and you drop your head forward, knocking your forehead gently against Hunter’s.

“Neither do I,” he laughs and nuzzles close. “Next time, we’ll pick somewhere with less water.”

“Next time?” you prod, knowing full well that neither you nor Hunter were particularly fond of mindless flings.

“Next time,” Hunter grins, tipping his head forward and brushing his lips over your brow.

“If you two are done in there!” Echo’s voice, exasperation weary and gruff, cuts through the patter of water against the metal paneling with a bang, nearly sending you and Hunter scrambling apart if the refresher stall wasn’t already so narrow. “We need showers!”

“What do you mean ‘you two?’” Omega chirps from outside the door. You have to clap your hand over your mouth to keep from laughing aloud as you watch the rosy pallor drain from Hunter’s face as you hear her muffled protests as someone (likely Wrecker) coaxes her away.

“Not it—you’re giving her the talk,” you quip, biting back a smile as you peck his cheek.

“Maker help me,” he mutters.

[iamreddit]

Run away (Venti)

So this is based off of @pandoraw27 Self Aware AU in which the characters are aware they are in a game and are yandere for the player. I highly suggest checking their page out, they respond to a lot of asks and it’s great. This is also planned to be a little series, if it goes well at least, where the premise is roughly the same, but the reader/player runs to a different character. If you want to have a specific character be next or have it written feel free to let me know! I’m not used to writing in second person so sorry if it’s not up to par.

Warnings!: Yandere behavior, kidnapping, mild mentions of blood

To say that you were a little freaked out would be a horrendous understatement. But being transported into a video game world and basically held hostage by one of the game's characters would do that to anyone. Albedo was nice, mostly. He was still the mostly emotionless man you meet while playing the game, but he was still nice, if a little obsessed.

Another understatement. Albedo himself admitted as much himself, though it was clear he played it down. Even with all his emotional issues it was painfully clear how much he was obsessed, and he wasn���t the only one either. Albedo has let it slip that there were others who were aware, others who were just as obsessed and not as kind, caring, merciful as him.

You waited for him to head out to get some materials for his newest experiment. You had been with him in Dragonspine for about a week now, and you’ve had enough. So what if the other characters were just as bad as him? If you were going to be trapped with an obsessive, self proclaimed boyfriend, you may as well choose your own poison right?

At least fifteen minutes went by before you decided it was safe to make your move. And so, you set off into the cold of the mountain.

If you remembered correctly, you could probably make it to the statue of the seven before Albedo knew you were gone, and with any luck you could run past any monsters and not run into the alchemist. After that it would just take some luck.

The first problem was the bridge. There weren’t any extra gliders, not that you knew how to use one, which meant that you had to either climb, or run and hope to clear the gap.

Climbing was the choice you made, cautiously grasping for hand and foot holds as you made your way across the gap. The air was cold but the rock made your hands even colder, making it even harder to hold on.

Just as you were about to grab the wood of the broken bridge, your foot slipped on a patch of ice. In a panic you quickly grab the bridge just before you fell, accidentally cutting your hand on a rock.

You manage to pull yourself onto the bridge and lay on your back to catch your breath. Your right hand is cut pretty badly, an almost straight line that runs along your palm is bleeding pretty badly, but you’ll live. For the moment it doesn’t hurt, and you can find something to bandage it later.

Now comes the hardest part: getting by those hilichurls. You know it’s a direct path to the statue if you stay going right, but there’s a small group of hilichurls along the path.

You stand near the teleport point to warm up a bit, watching the hilichurls dance. Then you run. It took you a while to cross the gap, and even more time to catch your breath. There was no telling when Albedo would be back and he could cross this distance much faster than you.

And you wouldn’t get a second chance.

You manage to dodge some of their attacks and outrun most of them, but an arrow got lodged into your left side and a blast of ice from the mage hit your right arm, but you kept running.

As you ran they eventually lost interest, and you stumbled your way up the spiral walkway to the statue.

It was cold.

So, so cold.

The fire seelkie warmed you a little before you walked over to the statue. You hoped you were right about this.

You turned your back and collapsed down on the foot of the statue, using it to support your back as you caught your breath.

It was only a second or so before you felt a warm breeze. When you opened your eyes you were greeted with the sight of a very concerned Venti. He rushed over to you, the statue lighting up as your wounds healed. It felt nice, not unlike the breeze Venti brought with him when he arrived.

“(Y/N), what are you doing here? How-Why-“ Venti was at a loss for words. It took him a second to remember that Albedo conducted his experiments here, then everything made sense.

Your first thought was ‘He knows my name?’, but of course he did. Albedo said others were self aware, and Albedo knew your name too, after all.

Venti was about to talk again when the both of you heard someone running. You both turn and you saw Albedo pause for a second, shocked to see Venti, before the wind obscured your vision.

When the wind dissipated you found yourself at the base of Venessa’s tree. Venti looked visibly shaken before his expression darkened into something you’d never seen on his face before.

“Did he hurt you?” Rage. It was rage.

“No, I just ran into some hilichurls.” That made his expression soften a little, but not by much.

“But he just let you wander the mountain alone? Even if there weren’t monsters, you could still freeze to death!”

“Well, I kinda didn’t ask for permission,” and you explained how you got there, and how your last week had been. He sat beside you and listened closely, you decided not to bring up the lack of personal space he gave you.

“Wait wait wait. So you’re saying you decided to just, pick someone to stick with and try to avoid all the others?” Venti cut you off as you tried to explain why you ran.

“I know it sounds stupid, but there’s no way I can fight. Everyone has magic and their visions, and years of experience and I’ve barely thrown a punch. Someone is going to catch me, and I doubt that I’m going to become some great escape artist. So, why not pick my poison, right?” You turn to look him in the eyes, his face very close to yours.

“And you picked me?” Venti leaned a little closer, eyes wide as he was ecstatic to realize you had chosen him. Well of course you had, he was your favorite after all, right?

“Well I hope you realize,” he leaned over more, causing you to lean back to make space, but he just kept leaning. He stopped when his nose was touching your cheek, his bright eyes stared into yours.

“That I’m never letting you go.”

Again, I’m not used to writing in second person, so I hope this isn’t too bad. Hope you enjoyed it!

[theepisceswriter]

Jjk dudes promising just the tip but breaking it like 2 seconds later please!

Bestie I know you wanted multiple JJK characters, and I’ll probably still give it you, but I had something similar to this in my notes with Toji, so I decided to make a little ficlet with him instead surrounding this idea....kinda.

Synopsis: Your toxic baby daddy Toji hits you up after not being heard from for months with that smirk on his face that you just can’t resist.

TW: Dub con might apply here but I did my best to make reader aware that Toji was 99.99% lying abt just the tip and knew abt his intentions from the start, but I guess you can interpret it how you want, fembodied!reader, Toji is a trigger warning on his own, manipulation, implied that you have a child together, pregnancy mention briefly, breeding kink, toxic relationship, 18+, MINORS DNI

Word Count: 1.7k

Your heart dropped to your stomach when you flipped your phone over to see ‘TOJI WOJI 🥺🧸🥰....is FaceTiming you.’ Whatever he was calling for couldn’t have been important or even worth your time listening to at all. It was edging on 12 am in the morning, the ungodly hours of the night where sin ran rampant and thoughts became loud as the world around you silenced, a concoction of emotions that meant nothing good. Especially when the last time you received a phone call from him this late it resulted in a booty call that led to you pregnant with a child that Toji barely came to see. Still, you found your thumb lingering over the green answer button and faintly tapping on it, hoping that it wouldn’t go through, but instead, you were met with the sight of Toji. The raven locks on his hair poking out like always, the same old scar over his lip, and the same basic black tee decorating his body. He looked exactly the same as you had last seen him except the outside lights of the world illuminated his face as he appeared to be in what you assumed was the driver’s seat of his car. You felt your heart clench in your chest, memories of your relationship before he up and dipped on you clouding your mind to the point where you were damn near in tears wondering why it had to end so abruptly; why he left you the way he did. But those tears were soon pushed back by with an anger that had you ready to hang up in his face. You were so conflicted when it came to him, always had been.

“What do you want Toji?”

“You. I miss you, y/n. I’ve been thinking a lot about you and our family.” God, here he went with this bullshit again. Just when you thought the cycle was over he always popped up again, little white lies about missing you and his child so he could find solace in your bed for a week or two before dipping like he always did. Apparently, he wanted to come in and talk things out, just talk and try to redeem your relationship. You knew he was just telling you everything you wanted to hear with an ulterior motive behind his words, but you couldn’t resist that grin on his lips and the compliments of how nice you looked even in your nightclothes.

He was too good at this because the next thing you knew he was sitting on the couch in your living room with his legs manspreading out and trying to inch his way closer to where you sat on the opposite end. Your arms crossed and staring daggers into him while all he did was look at you as fondly as he could, as if he were genuinely envisioning a future with you and the child he left you within this moment.

“What the fuck do you really want Toji?” Your voice had a bite to it that left him smirking at your attitude and digging deeper into his mind to pull out lines he knew you wanted to hear, lines he knew would get him that satisfactory ending of you giving into his sweet talk and bold advances as he scooted a couple of inches closer to you. So close that his hand was able to rest on the part of your left thigh that the shorts you were wearing left exposed, gently kneading the area with his palm.

“You know you look good right?” You scoffed and rolled your eyes ready to push his hand off of you but his other hand blocked you from doing so, bringing both of your arms over your head and adjusting the two of you so that you were now smushed between him and the cushioning of the couch. As mad as you wanted to be at him you just couldn’t. He had indestructible shackles placed over your heart that tugged with each time he forced himself back into your life just like how they were now.

Flashbacks of the night you got pregnant suddenly came flashing before your eyes. The vivid imagery of the way he had your legs folded to the point where your ankles were by your ears as he pounded into you ruthlessly from above, hand around your neck tightening your airways and making tears form in your eyes. Blissed dazed out in a space that was too similar to subspace, too out of it to even respond to the “I’m going to fuck a baby into you and how ever many I want after that. Use you like the slut you are and breed you so good.” That had left his lips at that moment. 

Which is exactly what he did and here he was again, the two of you in the very same spot shimmied out of your clothes, and him ready to fuck a baby into you again once more.

“I just want you.” When he says it like that, voice soft and laced with what you hope to be some form of honesty, it’s easy to pretend like this is okay in a relationship—if that’s what you could even call this. That if you squinted your eyes hard enough and looked past Toji’s flaws that all this pain and suffering he put you through in the end would be worth it. Your feelings changing for him with each entrance and exit he made in your life. Always wondering what the two of you could’ve been if he was a better man. You had to be soulmates, there was no other explanation for why you kept coming back to each other. At least not any logical one that you could think of.

All the logical thinking left your mind the moment he pressed his lips to yours, those oh so soft lips that you missed and craved badly on nights when other men’s lips couldn’t contort to yours the way that he did.

This is exactly what he wanted—his gentle caresses and touch to distract you from the real reason why he was here. Which was only to use your body how he wanted before he went on with his life, not thinking about you again until he got horny once more. And it was the touch of his cold hands against your skin, working its way up to grope at your enlarged breast, that brought you back to this realization. Lips moving off of his immediately and backing up against the arm of the couch. Your lips opened in protest, only to be cut off by him speaking up first.

“You don’t understand how much I’ve missed your touch—your body. Do you know how much gorgeous you’ve become with a post-pregnancy body? Just looking at you is driving me crazy.” He continues on with his compliments. Each one hitting you straight into your heart and going up to your head to shush those thoughts that scream at you to not fall for his trap, but instead, you fell right into it. Allowing his to resume his position on top of you.

“We don’t even have to do much. Just the tip, I promise. I just miss the feeling of you around me so much.” It’s the first time this whole night that you were able to recognize one of his lies as just that, a bold-faced lie. You knew how he got when he was in the mood, how dark and clouded his mind got with lust to the point where he was a whole different Toji. But you let him believe that you believed that, a small okay leaving your lips along with a nod as you accepted his lips on yours once more; his tongue slipping past your lips to find yours, gently sucking on it and letting out a light moan at the familiarity of it. He didn’t even have to use his hands to guide his cock to your entrance because he was just that big, breaking away from the kiss to look at where the two of you connected and using his hips to guide his erect tip inside of the warmth of your cunt. For a minute, maybe even less, he kept his “promise” of inserting only his tip, but the feeling of your walls gripping on only the tip of his cock was enough for him to go crazy. Something on the verge of a whimper and a moan leaving his lips. He needed more of you and he was going to have more of you. Disregarding his promise like you predicted, he ruthlessly bucked his hips up against yours, his whole length entering you with ease from the build-up of your arousal that had taken the physical form of wetness.

“Pussy so wet just for me that you swallowed me whole.” He tried to pin it on you and if you weren’t stuffed to the brim with him right now maybe you would’ve rolled your eyes and told him how dumb he sounded, but you went along with it. He didn’t even give you time to adjust to him because even after months without touching each other he knew the pussy that he trained with constant fucking every week would remember his shape and form, adjusting your legs so they were folded up against your stomach and immediately getting to work.

“I might have to put another baby in you if this is what post-pregnancy pussy feels like. You feel so good and right around my cock, baby.”

Each thrust was like heaven on earth, his cock curved in just the right spots to his every sensitive area inside of you that left your toes curling and a faint white creamy line begin to form at the base of his cock. It had been so long since you’ve had a nice good fucking. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so full, so good to the point where tears formed around the edges of your eyes. No one, not even the toys you had spent $100’s on tucked away in your closet, came close to the affect that he had on your body.

He always knew just what to do and just what to say to have you crumbling underneath him. One of your favorite but also most disliked quality that he possessed.

[utilitycaster]

Wizard Breakdown Tracker, #135

Each week I think “man it would have been cool if I had thought of this idea, in which I make jokes about how stressed out the wizard NPCs are, during, you know, the Vergesson heist or something when we were interacting with more than one wizard NPC instead of during a dungeon crawl with only one wizard NPC, emphasis on crawl” but you know what, I persevere, because where else am I going to put song parodies about the death of Vess Derogna that are literally only funny to me? Twitter?

Anyway while I am personally team Jester, in that the faster Lucien is simultaneously disintegrated, run through in the chest with both a vestige and a holy avenger, shot through the heart (and Veth’s to blame), beheaded with a hand axe, banished, punched in the face, and sent into a black hole the better, the party has other plans. Thanks to the long rest though it has been about 12 hours, plus the 4-ish from last week, so I guess we’ll check in with a few of our other wizard friends as well.

As a reminder Caleb Widogast is a PC and thus excluded from this list.

Currently sidelined

Presumably having a good day: Pumat Sol (blissfully unaware of all of this); Allura Vyesoren (saint-like patience and a wealth of experience with disaster adventuring parties; at least this one has a cleric at more than 0.33 FTE, a wizard, and some lesbians), Ludinus Da’leth (this miserable pile of power plays wakes up every morning and is like Isn’t it Grand to be head of the evil wizard council and no one realizes I probably destroyed the first non-drow elven civilization on the continent to arise after the calamity! Fetch me more pastries!).

No idea but here’s hoping he found the cat portion of ScryTube: Oremid Hass

Lady DeRogna, taken off the scene, sorry that your murder happened while off-screen.

Trent Ikithon: I’ve established that I think the only real things that can damage Trent emotionally are Caleb paying too much attention to him so as to destroy his standing within the empire, or else Caleb ignoring him. Honestly if Trent would not continue to torture students and spread propaganda if left unchecked I think he could be slowly murdered solely through Caleb expressing apathy. So despite the amulets of nondetection I like to imagine that somehow, somewhere, Trent felt Caleb reaffirm to Essek that his top priority is still stopping the city from returning, not Trent, and it necrotized just a little bit more of his liver.

Conclusion: 7/10. I went to the OG evil mageocracy and no one knew who you were.

Essek Thelyss: Well on the one hand he’s still flirting but on the other imagine spending a literal century being like “what if we’re wrong about how we approach the fundamental basis for our society” and he just got proved right. I have to imagine he’s got that kind of stress where suddenly everything becomes dead calm and also this explains why he unnecessarily cast a 3rd level spell, which he knows could in theory cause him to lose all his hair, to impress a boy. I didn’t even get into the conversations he had with Caleb, the bad dreams and eyeballs, Fjord teasing him, Yasha being like “ALRIGHT ALREADY”, the horrible Aeorian creatures, the fact that robots might be back(?) or his ongoing terror that the Assembly is after him!

Conclusion: 8/10 but he’s like, kind of having a good time. Essek is in all ways but physical in a Hawaiian shirt right now drinking a Mai Tai and going Nothing Matters; I presume he will have a full breakdown following the boss battle and honestly he deserves it.

Astrid Beck: Others have already established the parallels between Essek and Astrid but honestly I want to highlight it because really, on the one hand we have Essek, whose world is crashing around him because he was right all along and is in terrible immediate danger but surrounded by friends, and on the other we have Astrid, whose world is crashing around her because she was wrong all along and she’s probably not in immediate danger but Eadwulf is the only person she can trust and we don’t know all the details about that either.

Conclusion: 8/10 but in the bad way, not Essek’s kind of fun way.

Wulfpupy:

Conclusion: 3/10. You know that tiktok with the blonde woman with glasses who has a lot of highlighter on her nose who talks about how sometimes if you have guy friends they will say something deeply fucked up and you’ll be like “oh my god do we unpack this right now” and then you look over at them and the only thing in their mind are the lyrics to Kokomo? That’s Wulf. He will activate the second Caleb comes back in town or Astrid actually falls apart but until then he is on Island Time.

Yussa Errenis: I wonder if there’s a small part of Yussa that is part of the city’s awareness and, moreover, can see what Beau and Caleb at least are doing, and he’s like “I’m so simultaneously proud and impatient, also we live in a world that does not have IV fluids so like, hopefully my body still exists in some kind of functioning state when I am rescued” (note: did I google “how were coma patients kept alive in olden times” for this? Perhaps.) Anyway if he is aware he’s also just like, watching all this like “I WILL GET YOU SO MUCH PAPER OH MY GOD CAN YOU JUST KISS THE OTHER WIZARD SAVE ME FROM THE EVIL HIVEMIND CITY.”

Conclusion: I mean still infinity/10, he is still trapped in the city of madness and also if he does have a small part of his mind that is sane and able to observe the material plane he also is aware that Trent and the Volstruckers broke into his tower.

Known Gem Wizard Hotsauce Lutefisk: I know, I know, weird that I brought him up. However consider: Yussa’s wizard tower now contains two wizards in suspended animation, their consciousnesses trapped in eldritch astral sea-related spaces. This is incredibly funny to me. We’re in a real Old Lady who swallowed a fly scenario except it’s centuries-old wizards getting sucked into traps because of their own hubris. The reason why mageocracies no longer exist isn’t the lack of magical knowledge or even because power corrupts absolutely, it’s because literally just put some lightly fried forbidden knowledge under a box with a stick propping it up, add your parody of Long-Term Nuclear Waste Warnings above it, and a wizard will be like “that sign won’t stop me because I CAN read and what’s more I’m better at reading than you are!” And then they get trapped in a box.

Conclusion: what is a breakdown tracker to a man whose mind has been stuck in a gem for, from his perspective, at minimum about 35 years?

[oscarseyebrow]

Here’s a prompt for you: 24 “Don’t mind if I do.”

Feel free to ignore this but I’m thinking AU Poe? Maybe something focusing on what his life would be like if he hadn’t joined the Resistanc? Thank you, love you 😘

gif by the wonderful @zoriis 💖

Rating: M Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader Word count: 5k Warnings: Drinking, language, smoking. AN: Song lyrics taken (and changed) from Never Had. Masterlist | Taglist

The cantina is heaving by the time you finally arrive - late, as per usual. It really isn’t your fault. Whatever your friends may say -- if you ever make it to the table -- it’s not your fault. For every task you’d managed to wrap up at work, two more came across the desk for you and Maker, you really need to learn how to say no.

Leaving work late is the domino to topple the rest, which somehow sees you almost an hour late as you turn sideways, trying to squeeze between two groups of people. It’s so fucking busy and you don’t want to be here.

Come for drinks! They had said in the messages being exchanged throughout the day. There’s some live music on tonight. They’d then added. After the week you’ve had, the thought of drinks is a delight -- but not the live music. Not the packed cantina, full to the brim with people. You should have known it would be like this. Yet, here you are.

Everything is so warm and clammy in the dimly lit room; the heat from all the bodies mingling with very little space to dissipate between the walls and the low ceiling. It’s the kind of heat that wets your skin and causes clothes to stick to a thin covering of perspiration. You can already feel it as the smallest beads begin to build on your lower back beneath your layers. And you’re so desperate to reach the booth and relieve yourself of your jacket, but now you’re trapped. The fabric caught between the two bodies you’re attempting to squeeze between.

“Excuse me,” You tug and tug at your jacket, but to no avail. “Hey, can you… Just…” Another tug and you’re free; the abrupt release causing you to stumble backwards and straight into someone else. There’s a sudden yell that’s quickly followed by a wetness filling your boot and your jaw is already clenching as you glance down, seeing the empty glass rolling away and the contents of it now soaking through to your sock. Fucking great. Yes, please, allow this night to become so much worse than you could have ever foreseen.

Really, there are no words. You can’t blame this guy, you were the one to stumble into him and knock his drink out of his hand. But you still feel the unjustified rage bubbling in your stomach while you glare daggers at him. Without saying anything, you fix your jacket from where it has slipped down over your shoulder and then trudge the rest of the way to the booth; the trail of single wet footprints being left in your wake.

“You made it!” Zee, a friend from your previous place of work, is the first to spot you as she gets to her feet to throw her arms around your shoulders for a quick hug. “What took you so long?”

“Work.” You groan and give her one of those exasperated looks before moving to take a seat beside the others, but you’re quickly stopped by the hand of another friend, not allowing you to move any further.

“Last one in buys a round of drinks.” He grins up at you, clearly a few rounds deep already. In an attempt to keep your thoughts to yourself, you press your lips together in a tight line and look between all of the glasses on the table. They’ve barely been touched. “Hey, I don’t make the rules.” He then shrugs and leans back in his seat, looking all too smug with himself. If only he knew the tight thread your patience is hanging from right now, he wouldn’t be sitting there looking so smug. Finally, your eyes sweep back over to Zee and watch as she gives you a small, apologetic shrug.

Right.

With a heavy sigh, you turn on your heel and begin the struggle of pushing your way through to the bar; that unjustified rage bubbling away again with every shoulder and elbow that catches you as you weave between bodies. Finally, the bar is in sight, it’s only a few feet away and that’s when you stumble; hands quickly grasping for anything within reach to steady yourself as you gasp loudly. It’s a stomach turning moment, much like misjudging the last step in the dark. You lose your footing and know the floor is going to be greeting you real soon.

Thankfully, a hand catches hold of your arm to steady you and guide you forwards so that you can brace yourself against the wet bartop. When previously thinking if this night could get any worse, it hadn’t been a challenge to yourself. Yet, somehow, another domino topples over as you straighten up and turn to give your thanks to the stranger who saved you from the embarrassment of falling down. Your mouth opens but your words stall, not quite making it out as you meet the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen.

“I… Uh…” You stutter while drinking in the handsome face that’s still watching you with interest; eyebrows arching towards soft curls that have fallen free across his forehead from where his hair is swept back. Maker, he’s beautiful and all you can do is stare. “I…” You try again, but become very aware of the hand that is still holding your arm to keep you steady. A whole different kind of heat creeps across your skin now, adding to the warmth of the cantina while your eyes lower to the way his dark hair curls beneath his ear.

“Thanks.” You clear your throat, managing to force your unwilling words out. It starts as a hint at the corner of his lips, his mouth twitching ever so slightly while watching you before a smile finally curls over them. It’s a smile to light up a damn room. It’s vibrant and it radiates warmth as you watch the way his eyes crinkle, showing you how genuine this gesture is. Oh, you’re in trouble and your eyes are falling faster than you were only moments before. They come to land on luscious lips and that’s where they linger for maybe a second longer than they should -- they look so soft, so welcoming and they’re parting as he finally speaks.

“You doing okay?” Your saviour leans forwards a little as he asks that, allowing you to hear a voice that you swear drips actual honey. You should be embarrassed. But, you’re not. And for a fleeting moment, you find yourself smiling back at him, allowing him to captivate you and draw you in. It feels like the first genuine smile you’ve given since walking into this place, and you’re throwing it at a stranger you’ve just met.

“No.” You laugh, unable to help yourself. “I’m really not. I’ve been dragged here to see some shitty musician, I have someone’s drink swimming around inside of my boot and I have to buy a round of drinks because I’m late.” The man’s hand finally leaves your arm while he leans against the bar, keeping his body turned to yours now that you have seemingly caught his attention.

“Nice to meet you, Late. I’m Poe.” His hand extends towards you as he introduces himself and it takes you a moment for his awful joke to finally click. Oh. Stars. He’s witty as well as handsome. And as an automatic reaction, your hand reaches to take his, curious to know what his skin feels like as you shake it in greeting. Smooth, yet calloused. His palm holds a softness that his fingertips lack and you can’t help but wonder what his story is.

“That’s not-” You begin, as though considering correcting him and telling him your actual name, but you think better of it and simply shake your head with a small laugh. “You know what? Never mind.” Releasing his hand, you turn your attention to the bar and try to make eye contact with the server to let them know that you’re waiting. It’s so busy. You know this is going to take some time.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Poe doesn’t beat around the bush, does he? He’s straight in there, very forward with his offer while he continues to watch you long after your eyes have left him. But even as you stare at the coloured bottles behind the bar, you can still picture the jaw-line, covered with a few days worth of stubble which gives him a somewhat rugged look that counteracts the smoothness of his voice. And those lips. Full and perfectly even at the top and bottom. Your timing is all wrong as you finally glance back over at him and catch him licking at them after finishing his drink, waiting for your answer before ordering another.

You should go back to the booth. You’re here with friends, to see some live music and hopefully have some fun. But the longer you stand here, the more this offer seems much more appealing. They won’t miss you for one drink, will they? It can be quick. So you finally nod and force your eyes away from those lips, desperately trying to keep your face from showing everything you’re thinking right now.

“You can.” And so it’s decided. Tugging your jacket off, you’re hoping it helps with the heat and the way your hair is already beginning to stick to the nape of your neck, but it really doesn’t. It’s heavy and almost suffocating with all of the bodies packed inside of the cantina, yet, this man feels like a breath of fresh air. An attractive, bright, breath of fresh air and you’re desperate to breathe him in.

Poe makes a small motion with his hand on the bar and one of the servers walks down towards him, greeting him with a smile of familiarity. Interesting. This man appears to be known here, perhaps a regular - in any case, the two men know each other as they interact and Poe orders his drink first before turning to you so that you can do the same.

“Jet juice, please.” Poe watches you for a moment, silently storing that information to mind, or silently judging you from your drink choice, you’re not quite sure. But then his attention is gone and he slips the credits across the bar top to pay for the drinks. Even his profile is striking. You make yourself comfortable on the stool beside him while watching him, completely distracted from the chain of events that had brought you to this moment. It’s as though a domino in the line had fallen out of place, breaking the toppling effect to give you a break and as much as you don’t want to admit it, you find that you’re actually enjoying the evening now.

“So, why are you walking around with a drink in your boot?” Those dark eyes sweep back over to you again while Poe turns his head and after some consideration, his body turns, too. It’s now that you notice his shirt is open a button or two more than you’re expecting, revealing hints of a toned chest that’s covered in a light sheen under the lights. Maker, you can only imagine what his skin must feel like beneath your tongue. The warmth and the taste against the strong muscle while you drag it upwards along his throat -- no, stop. You need to stop. But you find that you can’t. Not now that your eyes follow the chain around his neck, right down to the ring that glints and glimmers against his chest.

Is he married? Was he married? You can only make up stories in your head about this stranger as you judge him based on what you can see.

“I bumped into someone…” You begin to explain.

“Do you do that often?” Poe’s response seems to bounce back instantly, the ball quickly falling into your court and keeping you on your toes in the most pleasant way.

“No, I got stuck. I mean, I got my jacket stuck. And then I stumbled and bumped into someone and…” You motion with your hands in an attempt to show him the way the liquid had fallen down your leg to fill your boot. His eyes practically sparkle as he presses his lips together in an attempt to keep himself from laughing at you.

“Don’t…” You warn him, despite a smile curling onto your lips again. “This is not a day to laugh at me, Poe.” There’s something that feels familiar in the way you speak his name, as though this isn’t the first time your mouth has formed the word. But, you can’t seem to place it. You’ve never met him before - That much you do know. You would remember someone this handsome.

“Is your sock wet?” The amusement drips from his voice now and he quickly glances back towards the bar as the two drinks are set down.

“Wet and sticky.” You laugh. Almost simultaneously, you reach for the glass at the same time as he does; your hand briefly grabbing his instead of the cold glass. The warmth is unexpected and not entirely unwelcome before you quickly snatch your arm back and throw an apologetic glance over at him. Somehow, you don’t think he seems to mind because he doesn’t flinch or try to pull back from the brief contact. Poe is still calm and collected as he pushes the glass towards you this time, helping you to avoid any further embarrassment. Why are you like this?

“Did you not think to take it off?”

“Take it off?” Your question doesn’t really answer his question as you take a sip of your drink and swallow down the bright liquid. It adds even more warmth to your body while it slides down your throat and seems to pool in your stomach, blazing a trail the whole way down. “I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.” You admit and then lick your lips to collect any lingering taste there.

That’s when you notice Poe’s eyes drop, almost in the exact same way yours had when mesmerized by his own lips. They seem to linger for a moment before he reminds himself to look back up to your eyes again, watching you with interest. You have his attention. And just to test that, you reach up to swipe your thumb against the corner of your lower lip -- his eyes instantly falling again to follow it. The initial attraction is no longer one-sided.

The sound of a glass smashing and cheering over the other side of the cantina breaks the moment as you both glance over, watching a group of friends laughing at a member of their group who had dropped a drink. Pity your boot wasn’t there to catch it. When you finally turn back to look at Poe again, he’s taking a couple of gulps from his drink; the muscles in his throat working with each swallow until he lowers his glass again. Look away. Look away. But all you can do is swallow thickly until he speaks again.

“Did you say you were here with friends?” That suave voice enters your thoughts and brings your attention to the present moment as Poe asks his next question, interested to learn more about you. He’s making easy conversation from the first thing you told him; your wet boot and the fact that you were here with friends to see some musician. Would you still rather be at home now?

“Yeah, they’re over…” You trail off as you sit up taller on the stool, attempting to look between heads and shoulders to spot your group in their booth. Eventually, you make eye contact with one of them and give them a small wave. “There.” Poe’s eyes follow yours to where more of them are looking now, pointing over at you and clearly having a discussion about the fact you're sitting at a bar with someone you’ve just met. You know, it’s not your usual style -- but there’s something about Poe that seems to draw you in after stumbling into his gravitational pull.

Poe also waves over to them and the look on Zee’s face is an absolute picture. You’ll fill her in about him later and how you ended up here.

“They look happy to be here.” He observes with amusement and he’s right. They really do. You’re not sure what they’re so excited about, but they’re practically buzzing as they talk amongst themselves while looking over at you again.

“They’re always happy to be here.”

“But you’d rather be at home?” Poe asks, as though he already knows your answer to that.

“Yes.” You tell him honestly and laugh again. “All day I’ve been thinking about drinking wine on my sofa and falling asleep.” Your truthfulness has him laughing this time and the sound is wonderful. It’s so rich and full of character as it rolls out from his chest, catching the attention of others around him. It’s a sound of happiness in its truest form; nothing forced, nothing fake - simply Poe enjoying the moment that he’s sharing with you.

“Yet, here you are.”

“Here I am.” You smile at him and take another sip of your drink.

“Willing to put yourself through the torture of listening to a shitty musician, just for your friends.” It’s you that laughs this time and you set your glass down, drying off the condensation against the side of your leg.

“You think he’s shitty, too?”

“Oh, the shittiest. Never seems to get any better.” Maker, he gets it. You’ve never actually heard the artist you’re here to see -- Hell, you can’t even think of the name now that you try, but Poe seems to understand. “But for what it’s worth, I’m glad you came.” There’s such honesty laced with his amusement and it momentarily catches you off-guard; your laughter falling silent while you watch him with a lingering smile.

“Yeah… Me too.”

An easy silence settles as you take the time to look over Poe’s face again, picking up subtle details that you may have overlooked the first time. The peppering of greys in his stubble, a small scar on his cheek and the way his eyelashes seem to fan out right at the ends of his upper lids. Those striking looks make it difficult to avert your eyes when his meet yours, so you hold them for a few seconds and simply smile at each other, as though already knowing where this encounter is going to end up.

But the man behind the bar interrupts the moment all-too soon; his presence in your periphery also catches Poe’s attention as he glances over at him.

“Is it that time already?” Poe asks and finishes his drink without ordering another. There’s a sense of disappointment settling in your stomach at the thought of this man leaving before you’d really got to know much about him.

“Got a few minutes, but they’re ready whenever you are.” The man taps the bar top a couple of times and then leaves Poe to it. But he’s already straightening up as his eyes find yours again and before he can say anything, your mouth is blurting out words you weren’t intending to voice out-loud.

“Are you leaving?” As much as you try to play this casually, there’s still a hint of disappointment in your voice and you know that he hears it.

“I am…” Poe trails off and then throws you a grin; it’s different to the smiles you’ve been getting out of him and you suddenly find out why. “Got some shitty music to play.” It takes you a few seconds, but then something clicks. A light comes on so suddenly in your brain and you feel your mouth open, then quickly close again -- a motion that you repeat a few times as everything begins to make sense.

“You’re-”

“I am.”

“No…” You trail off, feeling the heat of embarrassment rush to your face and the back of your neck. “Why didn’t you say something?” Maker, you’re mortified. You’ve been sitting here, indirectly complaining about being dragged to see him. He’s the shitty musician.

“You didn’t ask…” Poe trails off, as though it’s the most obvious point he could make. “But it was worth it. Your face, a real picture.” And then he pauses, as though he wants to say something before thinking better of it. Instead, he quips, “I hope your sock dries out.”

“Yeah, me too.” You smile and watch as his lips curve upwards to return it; the genuine quality of it bringing that same sparkle to his eyes before he finally steps away to make his way through the crowd of people. Within a few seconds, he’s gone from your sight and you exhale a heavy sigh before laughing to yourself. Maker. That was embarrassing, in the best possible way.

By the time you make it back to the booth -- luckily, with no more accidents -- the first song has already begun. Seconds. That’s all the time it takes for the cantina to fall silent; everyone seemingly absorbed in the man who takes command of the whole room with only his voice. There’s no theatrics, no big show -- just Poe. Poe, his guitar and a soothing voice that washes over the crowd.

And you have  to admit, he’s not a shitty musician. In fact, he’s far from it.

That melancholy voice stirs emotions inside of you that you weren’t expecting to feel tonight. They’re simultaneously heartwarming yet somber. His tones are gentle, yet rough. You’re no longer angry and frustrated at the events that had led to this moment; in fact, you’re far from it as you sit there with a soft, mellow smile on your face. Each song earns applause and sounds of approval from the crowd, causing the man on the stage to smile in the way that illuminates him brighter than the spotlight trained on him.

“There was no writing on the wall, no warning signs to follow... I know now, and I just can't forget... You're the best I never had.”

You can’t decide if it’s real or just wishful thinking, but it feels as though his eyes sweep across every so often to your direction, almost as if he still remembers where you had pointed out your friends to him earlier. You tell yourself that he’s not actually looking at you, not with all these other people in here who want to see him perform. But with each meeting of his gaze, it’s hard to convince yourself otherwise. It makes you feel almost giddy to think that in a cantina full of people, you still have his interest.

“In this motel, well past midnight... When I'm bluer than a bruise...”

It’s not a crush. It’s not. You’re not a kid, but it sure feels similar; it makes you smile and avert your eyes, it makes your stomach flip with a combination of excitement and longing to talk to him again. Maker, you want to be close enough to him to admire the way those eyelashes caress his skin with each blink, or the way his eyebrows raise to signal his amusement in conversation. You want to allow yourself to gravitate towards him again and lose track of time while appreciating the way he seems to listen to each word you speak.

But then, you swear everything momentarily stops. Everything around you becomes nonexistent, as though you’re the only person sitting there while your heartbeat kicks up a notch inside your chest.

“You come stumbling in, through the half-light, in your funny… wet boots.”

No, this isn’t a crush. In this very second, it’s a whole goddamn explosion of exhilarating amusement as you find yourself laughing out loud at the obvious change in Poe’s original lyrics. They don't even rhyme but they're about you. It’s endearing mockery and an attempt to draw you in. He knows that he has you because there’s a grin on his lips as he continues singing. Maker, how can one man be so kriffing charming?

Suddenly, you have a million reasons to be thankful you accepted the stupid invitation to come here tonight

You sit and listen to Poe’s captivating voice with a soft smile on your face, reveling in the intimacy he’s created between you with a simple reference to your shared joke. Despite the fact that this place is packed and he has a large audience hanging onto his every word, it almost feels like he’s singing for you.

As soon as the set is over, the bustle of the cantina resumes; everything becomes far too loud again. You can’t deny it, the good mood that you’re now in, mixed with the flow of drinks through Poe’s show has a relaxing buzz settling through your limbs while you try to keep up with the conversation going on in the booth.

“Another drink?” Zee motions to your empty glass that you’re still holding in your hand, having unknowingly finished it while distracted. You weigh your options and shake your head.

“No, thanks. I’m going to grab a smoke.” You politely decline and wait until she slides out of the booth so that you can follow as you pick up your jacket and slip it on. It’s still far too warm in there to be wearing layers, but you know the air outside carries a bite tonight.

Thankfully, your attempt to get out of the cantina is much more successful than the one getting in and you’re soon wrapping your arms around yourself as you step out of the way of the doors, trying to keep in some of the warmth you’d been willing to leave you earlier. Even from outside, you can still hear the muffled rumbles and voices coming from the other side of the wall.  A faint smile settles onto your lips as you slip a cigarette between them and make quick work of lighting it up.

No sooner are you exhaling the smoke and watching it curl upwards towards the cloudy sky, than the door to the cantina opens again and there’s a momentary rush of warm air spilling out into the cold night air. Your eyes slide over and that smile begins to curl further onto your lips as you watch Poe look to his right, then to his left before he spots you.

“Hey, Late.” His movements are almost a copy of yours as he steps out of the way of the door and comes to stand in front of you instead. “Your friend said I’d find you out here.” Of course she did. Your eyes move over Poe’s face, noticing that some of the curls you’d been staring at earlier were now damp and clinging to the skin around his temples from where he’d clearly been sweating while performing.

“Had to make my escape…” You trail off and lean back against the wall while you watch him. “Could only take so much of that musician.” This earns you a laugh while you pull the small, compact tin from your pocket that has your rolled cigarettes inside and offer it to Poe. “Want one?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Poe doesn’t need to step as close to you as he does while accepting one of your cigarettes, nor does he need to rest his hand against yours while dipping his head when you offer him a light, but he does. And the smallest contact of his hand brushing against yours creates the same tingling sensation as it had when reaching for the glass at the same time.

Poe frowns slightly as he takes a deep drag from the cigarette and then exhales slowly; his tongue licking at his lips, which momentarily distracts you from everything else. The lower one glistens in the lights strung up outside of the cantina and it takes every bit of self control you have not to step forwards and kiss him. And he knows it. It’s written all over his face while he watches you without saying anything.

An easy silence settles as you take turns drawing from your cigarettes; you, still leaning against the wall and letting your eyes drink in every inch of him while he stands before you, doing the exact same. Occasionally, you share a smile when your eyes meet his and hold him in a lingering gaze. He’s still just as handsome as the moment he caught you; his striking looks having stolen your words from you while you’d tried to compose yourself.

But now he was so much more. Charming, yet a tease, with a voice that could melt like butter and ooze a delightful softness. But there was something about him that was rough around the edges; a rugged energy that drew you in and made you want to know more.

“Do you want to grab some food with me?” Poe finally speaks after what feels like the longest time. Food? With this man? Your smile tells him your answer before you’ve spoken a word, yet you still take a few seconds to keep him hanging before you finally nod.

“I’d like that.” Your answer has that smile curling over his lips again as the corner of his eyes crinkle softly.

“Yeah, me too.” Poe throws your last words to him from earlier right back at you as he holds out his arm, and with the final drag on your cigarette, you discard it and push yourself away from the wall so that you can link your arm through his.

Maybe coming to see a shitty musician hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

--------

Taglist: @the-scandalorian @fett-ching @ohkarabast @salome-c @dinjarin-baket @meanperegrine @uncle-kenobi (hope you don't mind me tagging you, fellow poe hoe 💖) @the-little-ewok @mypedrom (didn't forget you this time sweetie 💖)

[odos-bucket]

Bruce Being Super Protective of His Kids in Their Out-Of-Costume Lives Pt. 1

The thing about Dick is that he has a way of making people feel comfortable around him. It probably comes from being a performer, certainly comes in handy when he becomes a vigilante, and later an older brother. He puts people at ease. It’s a skill that he can manipulate to his advantage, but not necessarily something that he needs to put effort into; it’s kind of automatic. People have a tendency to talk and act around Dick as if they’ve known him their whole life. Which can come in handy, sure, especially as he gets older and fine tunes it along with his other abilities.

But he doesn’t receive the same automatic comfort from others that he gives off. And especially as a small child, strangers talking to him, coming into his personal space, or touching him without permission can be overwhelming, and disconcerting.

At Haly’s it had been something he’d kind of dealt with, but usually only within the deceptively controlled environment of pre or post show adrenaline, and always as a single member of a large company of performers. He was honestly barely consciously aware of it back then.

For the most part it doesn’t even really bother him. Dick likes people. He likes interacting with circus patrons, and later with fellow guests at the events that he and Bruce attend. He likes attention, likes it when people want to watch him do a cartwheel (even if he feels like they’re way too easily impressed).

Dick doesn’t understand what’s happening when he feels himself suddenly start to shut down towards the beginning of a charity gala for the Gotham hospital. He likes people. He likes parties. He’s never been bothered by crowds. He should be fine.

But the ladies who are crowding and cooing over him are making him feel trapped. And the band that’s fighting with each of the dozens of different conversations that are taking place in the room for every individual’s full attention is giving him a headache. The lights are so much dimmer than the big top’s, but somehow still way too bright. He keeps finding himself needing to rub at his eyes.

Dick tries to politely extricate himself from the women he’s been talking with, but they seem reluctant to let him go. He’s “such a charming young man,” after all. And it isn’t often that the socialites of Gotham are “graced with the company of a performer of his caliber.”

Dick smiles, and tries not to flinch away from a woman who pats his cheek. He’s not sure why the contact bothers him, normally it wouldn’t. But he’s not himself right now. Maybe it’s because of how hot it is. He’s not feeling right in his skin, all sticky, and prickly.

He doesn’t realize how dazed he’s become, until the sound of someone saying his name is shaking him out of it. No one’s actually said his name in a while, mostly it’s been variations on “honey” or “dear”. Sometimes they’ll call him Richard, hardly ever Dick though. But Bruce is calling him Dick as he approaches through the moderate crowd, and that gets his attention right away.

The ladies have the good sense to at least shift out of the way, and soon Bruce is kneeling down in front of him.

“Hey, chum,” he says softly. “You’re looking a little wobbly there. You doing okay?”

Dick doesn’t know why, but when he opens his mouth to answer something between a whine and a sob comes out. Confused and embarrassed (and exhausted, although he doesn’t quite know to identify that one) he pitches forward on rarely unstable feet, and smashes his face into Bruce’s shoulder.

He’s caught in an instant, and lifted up into steady arms, a hand coming to rest at the back of his head.

“Hey, shh. . . it’s all right.”

Bruce’s voice seems to fade, blending in and out of the rest of the muttering conversation that they’re surrounded by. Dick’s not bothering to hang on for any of the specifics of what he’s saying. Something about “being able to tell when a child is exhausted,” and “not treating my son like a performing seal.” If Dick had been more alert he may have thought to wonder ‘since when does Bruce have a son?’ but as it is he’s barely aware enough to pick up on the poorly concealed anger in his voice.

A moment later he can feel himself being carried.

“‘M tired,” he mumbles.

“I know, sweetheart,” is the last thing he hears before passing out.

---

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Dick says later, after they’re back at home.

Bruce frowns, and pauses his gentle stroking of Dick’s hair.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he says, more carefully than Dick is able to pick up on.

Dick scrunches his nose, and flings his arms into the air, before flopping them back to the couch.

“Why did I get all weird tonight?!” He demands.

“If I had to guess,” Bruce says slowly. “I’d say you were tired, and maybe a little overwhelmed.”

Dick makes an annoyed noise, that morphs into a wide yawn.

“I should have noticed,” Bruce continues. “We shouldn’t have gone-“

“No,” Dick interrupts. “But that wasn’t my regular me! I don’t get overwhelmed!”

“Everybody gets overwhelmed. And you’ve had a long week, lots of late nights, that math test on Wednesday-“

“Do you?” Dick interrupts again, saving Bruce from needing to continue to prove that he’s tuned into what’s going on in his life (something which Dick is becoming increasingly aware of Bruce feeling the need to do).

“Do I what?”

“Get overwhelmed.”

Bruce considers the question with a deliberately thoughtful expression.

“I’m very good at hiding it when it happens,” he finally says.

“Oh. . . okay.”

“Dick, you know there’s nothing wrong with feeling overwhelmed.”

“Then why’d you bother to get so good at hiding it when it happens to you?” Dick asks without missing a beat.

Bruce doesn’t have an answer for that. Years later he’ll find himself wondering why he didn’t take the time to make it clear to Dick that hiding his emotions like that isn’t something he ever expects of him. He’ll catalogue it as one of his many failures as a parent. In the moment he just holds himself awkwardly under the child’s expectant, if slightly bleary-eyed, gaze.

“Sometimes you have to do things to keep in control of a situation,” he finally says.

Dick turns big eyes up at him.

“I want to get better at it.”

You don’t need to, is what Bruce should say.

“You’re already pretty good at it,” is what he does say.

Dick makes a contemplative face.

“You weren’t the problem tonight,” Bruce continues. “Those grown-ups should have been able to tell that you were tired, and left you alone.”

“. . . You’re mad at them,” Dick realizes.

“Yes,” Bruce admits readily.

“Oh, okay. I thought that maybe. . .” Dick trails off into another yawn.

Bruce frowns down at him.

“I didn’t want you to be annoyed at me,” Dick says sleepily, adjusting himself so that he’s leaning more fully against Bruce’s side.

“Why would I be annoyed with you?”

“I’dunno,” he half says, half hums.

Bruce’s frown deepens.

“Do you worry about that a lot?” He asks quietly.

He feels the responding shrug more than he sees it.

Dick mumbles something about not wanting anyone to be disappointed.

“You’re not responsible for keeping other people happy,” Bruce tells him.

Several seconds pass with no response. Bruce is about to ask for confirmation that Dick realizes this, when a soft snore informs him that the time for discussion has passed. Instead, he goes back to running his fingers through his ward’s hair, and begins a mental list of people not to let near his child.

[remsmoonlight]

— title : sweeter than candy

— word count : 3k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : daryl is good at keeping things buried, but when the thought of words left unsaid do you both realise you have both been thinking the same thing about the other. 

— warnings : mentions injuries, mentions of death

“ hi!! OMGG I came across your account and I’m obsessed with your writing!! I was wondering if you could write a Daryl Dixon x Reader following candy coated promises. Where Daryl has developed feelings for reader and following an errand run she gets injured and has to stay in bed. And Daryl find out! If that makes sense! Thank you!!! “

           ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open ! / requested by anon *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A deep desperation of yearning to be useful has led you to forget the risks involved in the interminable list of things that wish to cause you harm and are able to on such an intense scale. Luck had been on your side for so long, the illusion of life’s greatest ally refusing eluding your group for this long has proved itself to be just that — nothing more than an illusion. Once the burning of fear had dulled to nothing more than a dim ache, all you now feel is the one wound that does not run red yet pours into your veins as if it does. Stupidity. You’d volunteered yourself to go on a run with a small group, you’d spent enough time before the barbed wire fences, that you felt yourself becoming trapped.

A deep regret that would follow you even in death would be if any of your group would, too, meet their chapter’s end too soon by an immense error made on your part.

One thing that lays dormant in your mind, yet unable to completely fade is the fear of becoming too settled in safety. Spending too much time wrapped in a blanket of comfort that provides refuge from the grit the outside world revels in only hands you a vulnerability unsuitable for a reality submerged in death that roams freely. You don’t want to forget how to survive, you’ve come too far for that.

Part of that is how you have ended up being put to bedrest.

Your brain is yet to sort through and file the fleeting images that blend together into one disorientating image instead of a folder of what had occurred picture by picture. In one instance the group and yourself had been rummaging through the shelves that still contained some stock and the next, you’re rushing Maggie out of the way and pushing over shelves onto a growing horde of walkers. Though in the next second, your heart fell a thousand feet below as you lost your balance from the liquid coating the floor from where they’d tumbled and smashed to the floor, with the shards of glass forming a bewitching hazard.

“ your ankle still givin’ you trouble? “

The voice pulls you out of your thoughts, your sight settling on Maggie.

“ I don’t know if that hurts more or if these scratches do. “ You complain, your fingers lightly tug at the bandages that cover the fresh wounds that coat both of your palms, you take note of a number of loose fibres from the material.

“ Glass’ll do that to ‘ya. “ She chuckles, slowly moving into the room. She grabs a chair from the metal desk on the side and moves it next to your bed. “ I never got a chance to say thanks. “

“ You don’t have to worry about it. “ you refuse, shaking your head in turn.

“ I feel it’s my fault you’re like this. “

“ If we’re going to blame anyone, let’s blame my eyesight. I should have seen that wet patch. I should have been more careful. “ Frustration that burns bright in your reply as you turn away from her. Perhaps you’d spent too much time concealed from the harsh reality that constantly claws at you all as it takes refuge in a thick coat of a hauntingly isolating fog as it waits to drag you down with it further into the depths.

Mistakes are synonymous with fatalities now, one moment you’re on top of the world and in the next you can be in a free fall clutching the thin air as if it should be your saviour. Never have moments been promised, and this fact has never shone clearer than when the dead claimed the Earth for itself in an effort to void it of life wholly.

“ Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. “ Maggie brings a hand forward to squeeze your shoulder momentarily, a comforting smile packaged with it easing some of the self loathing you could feel weaving itself into your being.

“ I don’t have much to do in here by myself, I have to keep myself entertained somehow. “

“ Well, I got an idea.. “ She trails off, a mischievous grin lifting her lips.

“ Maggie.. “ You utter a strict warning, already knowing where the conversation is about to lead.

She pauses for a second, laughter bouncing from grimy wall to grimy wall as she reacts to your cautionary tone, the light in her eyes bursting with the power of a thousand stars as it illuminates her features. Gratitude for the fleeting moments of rare normalcy that reflects a past occurrence in the old world runs deep, for a fraction of a second you can pretend you’re simply two friends joking about something goofy and foolish. For a minute, you’re not sheltering in a decrepit prison as you run from walkers, it’s a perfectly average afternoon.

“ You can’t tell me you don’t realise the way he looks your way now? I know you’ve been lookin’.. “

“ Okay, I think I'm tired now. “ You huff, shifting your body as to your ability with your injured ankle to face the wall that has an array of stains permanently painted into its surface.

Maggie only laughs in response, the sounds of steps dulling into nothing more than a ghost of an echo that informs you of her departure. Her words have pulled a string you’d not wished to pay attention to until it would be absolutely necessary. Needless to say that as much as you’d tried to bury the budding seeds of affection into the dirt, they’d only bloomed in force into a sea of colour with the evidence left to coat your fingertips for everyone to see.

Never had it been your intention to entertain this idea, when anything positive you’ve managed to seize with both hands can be ripped away so unexpectedly that you are left to nurse the empty space left behind of what once had been, grieving the idea of what could have been. However, there’s a dim curiosity that softly grows in size that envelopes around you, compelling a desire to reacquaint yourself with a human intimacy that fell to the back of the queue as the instinct to survive overwhelmed it. You don’t want to fear living, you don’t want to fear connecting to others on a deeper level, but you can’t help but simply.. be afraid.

Had you been in a different reality where the world continued on as normal, you would have probably fallen under his spell sooner.

Only after that one night you’d spent on watch together after he’d gone out of his way to bring you such a simple gift illuminated him in a way that your sight would often lean towards him. Many times you would find yourself analysing his actions on a deeper level, a coy warmth burying itself in the pit of your stomach when realising he’d included you in his thought process. From the chocolate bar, to you being the first person he’d check on if you needed anything before heading out on a run, to even the simple act of being there just to talk when life felt rough. A shape of one Daryl Dixon had been carved out by the man before either of you had realised.

A thunderous groan erupts from your lips as you turn onto your back to stare at the bunk on top with the realisation hitting you like a train threatening not to stop. You completely adore the Dixon.

About an hour away from the Prison Daryl secures the last of the rabbits caught, they swing side to side with each of his calculated movements. All Daryl finds himself wanting to do is to get back to the Prison, unable to push down the inclination of being back to the comfort the life behind those metal fences bring. It’s been a long day and all he’s interested in is getting back to those he holds dear.

That thought is when a fleeting frame of your face crosses his mind. Though he speaks not of which he truly wishes to share, the time you do spend together is something he cherishes more than a billionaire would with all of the money and rubies in the world if they had them in the palm of their hands. The darker side of him, the side that would always listen to those who preferred to taint his waters with their gloom, doesn’t allow the emotions constantly swirling within him to be touched by the burning sun rays as they are laid bare.

Heavy breaths fall without grace from his chest as he’s let through the gates, the stony expressions etched deeply into Carol’s features. No words need to be uttered to know it’s to do with you, Daryl doesn’t even allow a thought before he’s making his way on a path he has walked a thousand times and will walk a thousand times more. Creaks that echo in the darkening corridors that are not lit by the comforting flames of candles, the prison sounding as if it’s more in pain than it appears — still, he pays no care. His only goal is to check on you, he’d be unable to forgive himself if anything were to happen to you and he’d never be able to see you one last time. His brain conjures a number of horrific scenarios and tainted pictures to accompany them as it runs wild in a sea of dread.

The crossbow that had been secured in Daryl’s grip is lowered gently to the ground as he scans your form, a grateful sigh when he sees the slow movement of breathing.

He lowers himself into the chair next to your bed, trying to pinpoint the moment he’d stopped gazing upon your form as a friend to replace it with an aura of starlight — no longer did he see the colour of your eyes, but galaxies full of life and wonderment. Daryl allows himself a few seconds to chase each other by as he considers his next action, though deep down he’s aware his decision had already been chosen, as he threads his fingertips into yours to allow your warmth to comfort the panic that had been raging at the thought of your demise. His thumb traces a circle that is light enough to keep you tucked away in a slumber and as a comfort technique for him, where his mind allows him the time to placate himself.

Before he’s aware of it, the sky blends into itself once more as the pastel hues paint it with dashes of gold from the sun as dawn breaks and he’s hunched over with your hands still connected as one — the position held the entire night. Nothing can be heard in the confined space except a symphony of soft breathing from you both, the serenity only the early hours in which no one is awake brings comfort to the sleeping forms of you and Daryl.

A lengthy yawn escapes your lips as your eyes fight to open as they blink heavily to adjust to the light that invades as much as it can. The weight of something lying comfortably in your hands confuses you, as you distinctly remember there had been no pressure previously, the image before you washes your entire body with the icy grip of shock as you scan the trail leading from the hand within yours to the person it belongs to. Teeth grip your bottom lip as you bite it, attempting to battle away a smile that wishes to break free, you can’t believe the sense of humour that the universe has. Not an inch is moved by any part of your body, you seek to savour the intensity that such a simple action bears, your eyes positively glowing in adoration as a softer side to the man is revealed. Moments like these are few and far between, it leaves you wanting to bottle it up and pocket it forever.

A squeak of displeasure cuts through the serenity the early hours have worked so hard to cultivate as you inch your injured ankle to the side, clearly different positions prove to be the opposite of beneficial. The noise is enough to wake Daryl, his sudden alertness makes you doubt whether he’d truly been in a deep rest, but it’s the least of your worries as he realises he spent the night with his grip connected to yours. The warmth that brought a grounding comfort to your being now is a phantom touch you crave again once an eerily coolness now surrounds your empty palm.

“ ‘M sorry ‘bout that. “

“ There’s nothing to apologise for, Daryl. It was nice. “ You confess, your volume touches the air with a softness of a feather that descends to below in an elegant waltz.

“ Mhm. “ He turns his gaze to the floor, a thumb is chewed upon lightly as he’s wondering what he should say next. “ ‘Was worried about ‘ya as soon as I got back. “

“ Yeah, things just kinda happened. “

“ ‘Ya gotta watch y’self more out there. “ He scolds you with a light scorch of misplaced anger that almost lays eternally with him, a wave of anxiety at the thought of losing you are twins in a realm of horror he never wants to bear witness to.

“ I know, Daryl. “

Poisonous words full of fire and fury born out of dread of your existence in his life being cut short itch to burn your indifference to the situation. As he settles his gaze upon you, all he can see are the stolen moments you both have shared away from the group, where the person he’d created in his head built without even speaking to had been smashed into shards the more he got to know — you’re a fresh breath of peace in an unstable world that thrives on chaos. Quiet moments where all he can hear are the flickering embers of the fire are the memories he finds himself kicking for, all that lost time to never be recovered due to his preconceived notions.

“ Do ‘ya? “ Daryl shakes his head in frustration, his soul a pot of swirling emotions and thoughts blinding him to the point he can’t see straight. “ I can’t lose ‘ya. “

His voice is so low you barely hear it, your brows thread together in the slightest form as they’re unused to the window of Daryl’s vulnerability being so widely open.

“ You won’t. “ A faint twitch of your lips means well, you try to comfort the man. Your touch is delicate as your palm overlaps his with warmth.

“ Y’can’t promise that. “

“ But I can try! “ You argue lightly, a bounce in your response.

“ Forget it. “ Daryl sighs harshly, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thoughts that run circles around his mind.

“ Daryl! Wait. “ Your voice falls on deaf ears as he’s already halfway towards the exit of the room, for a moment you forget your injury and a burning sensation flies with boundless wings up your protesting muscles and you land in a heap on the floor. The bandages do nothing to cushion your fall, you cry out in pain from the intensity of the throbbing plaguing your body.

“ Why can’t ‘ya be careful!? Damn it. “

Before you know it, Daryl is level with you as you feel his touch grazing your skin — ensuring you’d not injured yourself further. Guilt pools in his stomach at the thought of your current suffering being his fault, his ire now directs itself brightly towards him.

“ Dar — what’s going on? Why are you acting like this? “ You quiz as your expression contorts into a grimace. You’d not seen him behave like this for what feels like a long century, even more so when directed towards you.

“ Like what?! Huh? “

“ You’re being crazy! “ You state, your finger jabs into his chest.

“ Ain’t it obvious? “ Daryl asks suddenly.

Your head shakes, confusion clouds your features as if it’s an angry storm that has waited long enough for the calm — nothing can be seen through the darkened skies. All you want is for the sunny rays of truth to shed light upon this mess.

“ ‘Ya mean more to me than you should. “

“ Daryl? Do.. do you — ? “

He nods suddenly, unable to hear the words out loud no matter how true they ring, because as real as it is. There would be no taking it back then. Your lips purse as a sad smile lifts itself with no help from you, your heart hurting as you realise this could have been avoided entirely since you both appear to be on the same page. You acknowledge the fact that actions would speak louder than words in this scenario, your fingertips brush through darkened strands of hair as if they play a sheet of music with the aging competence of a commanding pianist. This is one of many songs your mind finds itself conjuring, a burning hope of this forging something more between you. It’s not long before your arms are wrapped around his neck, with Daryl unable to believe the scene in which he finds himself in, you’re a sky full of stars that he finds himself wanting to get lost in.

“ We can take this one step at a time, yeah? “ You question softly, not wanting to be witness to the fleeting images of a set of angel wings.

He agrees silently, a warmth spreads outwards from your cheeks and treks outwards to cover your completely. The moment is sweet, as it concludes with a honeyed kiss on his tanned cheek. In one frame you both are thinking the same thing, just how lucky you are to have fought through your fears of living and given in to taking the plunge into unchartered waters that Maggie and Glenn have already found themselves navigating.

In a world full of the dead, you both agree that to love shouldn’t be a reason to cower and hide.

[from-a-reckless-writer]

part i 

She comes to with a pounding in her head and the feeling of something being lifted off her chest. 

Literally. 

In seconds, her whole body feels lighter. The next thing she registers is a hand in hers. When she stirs, the hand around her tightens and she hears Brainy’s voice, “Director—”

The moment she opens her eyes, she is met with Alex Danvers; a stethoscope slung around her neck and a small flashlight on hand. In her periphery she confirms that it was indeed Brainy, holding her hand. 

“Lena, Lena, look at me. You’re at the DEO, you’re safe, you-”

“Alex, I know the drill, this is—  what? My 91st time now?” She says dryly as her hand slowly slips out of Brainy’s and her fingers massage her temples; eyes clenched shut. Alex visibly relaxes in relief, “Good. Thank fuck your sarcasm’s still intact,” she says, “But I still have to check you, alright?”

Lena nods and she guesses Kara most likely had harassed her sister just to get her hooked in. If Alex mumbling “-so damn stubborn all the damn time…” under her breath was any indication. 

She’s well aware of the other person in the bed next to hers. The one, that is now also starting to stir into consciousness. Lena had just noticed that J’onn and Nia are in the room as well, near Kara’s bedside. 

She wants to ask how she got here, how Kara found her, how the fuck did a Black Mercy get her? But everything is spinning and her coherence is slowly devolving to exhaustion. Her brain was pushed to its limits with that illusion. 

Which makes panic flare in the back of her head thinking about how Kara had seen her ideal world. 

A world, that her mind had fucking decided should center around her ex. Her ex who just happens to be a superhero. A superhero that pulled her out of her own delusions. 

Oh God, Lena thinks she’s going to throw-up. Alex takes one look at her face and immediately shoves an empty sterile container to her. She dry-heaves unto the bucket as Brainy rubs her back and holds her hair. 

“Fuck,” she whispers as Alex hands her a tissue to wipe her face. “Your vitals are fine. Your brain activity spiked for a few seconds there. But you got out at just the last minute-”

“What the fuck happened, Alex?”

She asks as she tries to sort out all her feelings long enough for Alex to give her a full explanation. 

But it isn’t Alex who answers her. 

“I found you.”

The three words are bullets flying across the room directly shot at Lena.

“Unconscious. On the floor. Black Mercy attached to your chest. That’s what fucking happened.”

Kara sounds like shit.

Was her first thought when she heard Kara speak. She guesses she looks like shit as well, but Lena can’t be certain. Her back was to her as Nia removes the wiring still wrapped around her. Her voice was firm, but Lena knew better. She knows Kara; knows she never really swears; knows when and where Kara uses the Supergirl voice. When she’s scared and she doesn’t want anybody to know. 

“Your pulse was so weak. I- I could barely hear it.”

This second statement is in contrast to Supergirl’s venom. This time words catch in her throat and Lena is fucking thankful that Kara’s back was to her. Because she knows she can’t handle those eyes. But before she could answer, Alex starts to speak, eyes briefly darting to Kara.

Lena doesn’t know whether she should be thankful for the interruption or not. 

“Which is why,” Alex cuts in and making sure to stress her next words, checking that Lena is listening, “I need you to stay here till we find out who did this. And as your doctor I’m saying you need at least 12 hours of rest.”

“What? No, somebody give me my phone. I need to call Jess,” she protests and Alex looks like she’s about to give Lena a piece of her mi—

“Are you kidding me right now? I found you on the floor, thinking you were dead, pulled you out of a parasitic trap and you want to go back to L-Corp? To what? Get killed again?”

This time, Kara’s two steps away from her bed and fuming. It makes Lena...feel...things.

“I have to call Jess—”

“Do you not get it? I spend my days trying so hard not to listen,” She grits out, “ To not to check in on you every single second of every day and then the one time—” Kara’s conviction crumbles, voice breaking, eyes shining.

 “And then,” she falters, voice heavy with emotion and tries to control herself.

“The one time, the one fucking time I decide to break my own rule, what do I hear? I hear nothing, Lena.”

The last part is a whisper. She’s shaking and all eyes are on them now.

“Do you know why? Because your heart-rate was so slow that I couldn’t pick up on it.”

Kara looks like she’s two inches away from imploding. Lena’s heart is pounding and the room falls silent and it feels like it’s just the two of them in the room having a staredown. 

“I— I’m sorry. I—”

I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to care. I’m sorry. 

“Thank you for saving me,” she voices out instead in that calm methodical way she uses when talking in the lab. Amazed at how she sounded because she herself is also less than two inches away from a complete meltdown. 

Kara’s shoulders visibly sag as she holds back tears. Lena knows she should probably say more but... she doesn’t really know what to say. 

She was still processing everything. 

It was so vivid that Lena was half-expecting to see a ring on her finger once she looks down, a stubborn part of her brain insisting that there’s a matching one in a chain around Kara’s neck.

Before Kara can say another emotional heavy statement, Lena turns to Alex instead, “Fine,” she says, agreeing to Alex’s previous order. 

“But I can’t stay here for 12 hours. And also, I need my phone, my tablet and my assistant. I’m helping in the investigation,” she says leaving no room for argument.

Alex looks like she might agree but Kara speaks up again.

“No, no. No, you’re not going near that investigation and you’re staying the 12 hours here,” Kara grunts out, jaw-clenched as Lena looks at her with sharp eyes. 

“You have no right to decide that for me—”

“Not to mention we have to tal— “

They both spit at each other at the same time.

“We have nothing to talk about,” Lena objects and she knows how much of a lie that is, but Kara just won’t fucking back down. 

“Nothing?! You’re calling this nothing?! You’re calling the fact that your ideal world was us married, nothing? You’re telling me—” she trails off and scoffs, pinches the bridge of her nose in disbelief, “You’re unbelievable-”

That was what she meant when she said Kara was two inches away from imploding.

“Supergirl.”

J’onn’s voice seem to bring the both of them back to reality and Lena notices how heavy the air in the room has become, how Nia is standing stiffly at the side, how Alex’s eyes keep flicking between the both of them

“That’s quite enough from the both of you,” J’onn says and Kara whips around to face him, Lena was scared that she was going to deck J’onn for interrupting but Alex also intervenes. 

“J’onn’s right.” She puts a hand on her sister’s shoulder turning her away from J’onn. Looks like she had the same train of thought as Lena. 

“My patient needs her rest. So, all of you get out,” At which Nia nods at her with a sympathetic smile and then Brainy is hugging her whispering, “I’m glad you’re okay.” before leaving the room as well. 

“And that means you too,” Alex emphasizes at Kara, who looks like she’s going to shoot lasers out of her eyes at her sister for suggesting such an incredulous notion. 

But Kara takes a breath, gives Alex a hard look to which Alex merely raises a brow in challenge before taking a step back and speeding out of the room, not sparing Lena another glance. 

Once everyone is gone, Lena collapses back on the bed, letting out a heavy sigh. 

“She changed the timeline, you know. And reality too, I guess. Or at least she tried to.”

“What?”

“Before you two became a thing, before beating Leviathan,” Alex recounts,  “She tried to change the timeline to save your friendship.”

“I’m sorry- What?”

She’s sure she looks pretty absurd with the look on her face right now. Kara did what? Kara did that? How did she not know that? How did she not know Kara literally teared apart at space and time just for her? 

“She struck a bargain with a Fifth-Dimensional imp so she can fix everything. Said she’d rather change reality than face the possibility of having to fight you.”

For a moment she feels she’s going to throw-up again. But then again, after what the both of them just went through, Lena’s not surprised. God knows the lengths she would go through for Kara.  

It feels even more visceral now, not to mention it was Alex who told her. 

“I don’t know what the hell happened between the two of you, but God, Lena she hasn’t been the same since. And I don’t really want to know what kind of bullshit the Black Mercy put you through, but I think both of you could really use their best friend right now.”

Alex sits at the side of her bed, putting a hand atop hers for a moment.

“Just think about it, while you rest,” Alex tells her, squeezes her hand and gets up again. 

“You can’t just tell me those kinds of things and expect me to rest,” Lena retorts, making Alex turn her head back to her. 

She’s glad that Alex doesn’t seem to pick sides. When the break-up happened she was expecting the DEO Director to turn up at her front step with a taser and point canons for breaking her sister’s heart. But Lena was surprised when Kelly turned up instead, telling her that Alex is with Kara, so she’s getting Kelly for the night.

The couple didn’t get anything from Kara or Lena that night, despite their various attempts at coaxing the truth out. The night was sobbed away or in Lena’s case, drank the night away; chugged enough wine that Kelly had forcefully pried the bottle from her hands. 

“Look, Lena, The two of you are really overdue for a talk.”

Alex's words bring her back to reality. She pulls a tablet out and Lena’s work phone is retrieved from her pocket. 

“So, talk,” Alex enunciates as she hands over the devices. 

“Because I am locking you here. No going to L-Corp, no trying to escape with Jess and no overworking till midnight. You get to call your assistant, tell her what happened and then you rest. That’s an order, got it?”

“Got it,” Lena grits out rolling her eyes, hiding the fact that she’s beyond warmed by the gesture. Alex merely shakes her head at her before stepping out. The door slides close behind her and Lena is finally left alone with her thoughts.

Alex has a point. Alex has a great point, her mind screams.

But...not ready, is an understatement. She is not ready to talk to Kara about the break-up, much less about why her Black Mercy induced dream is an overtly domestic version of their love story. 

She decides to file it under ‘Things For Later’ which is probably a bad idea. Her therapist would most likely tell her that. Then again, she doesn’t really think she’d be seeing her therapist any time soon. 

How does one unpack a whole alien parasite attack on your psyche in one session, anyway?

***

Alex finds her stood before ruined slabs of concrete. 

“Any updates?”

“We’re skip-tracing all employees from L-Corp between the graveyard shift and the morning shift.”

“Good, I have a feeling it was an inside job.”

Alex lets out an audible sigh. 

“Something you wanna say?” She says as cement crumbles under her fists and dust particles rain over her red boots. 

“Talk to her. “

Kara snorts. 

“You say that as if I haven’t tried talking.”

Alex puts a hand on her shoulder stopping her from launching another punch. 

“Really talk to her this time,” her sister stresses the words in that classic Alex Danvers’ ‘I’m-serious-so-you-better-fucking-listen’ way. 

She lets the words sit in the forefront of her mind, shoulders dropping, fists and arms following suit. 

“We were married,” She whispers and it takes two seconds for it to register to Alex before she steps closer, an ‘Oh, Kara.’ slipping past her lips. 

“We were married and happy. So happy. It felt so real, Alex, it felt so re—” 

Sobs choke her and Alex closes the gap and she lets herself be tugged in a tight, tight hug. Alex rubs comforting circles on her back as Kara’s chest heaves and tears pour. 

The thing about it was, she didn’t even spend more than one minute in that fantasy world, yet her brain acts as if she’s lived that life. As if she didn’t drop smack right in the middle of a stranger’s bedroom and the first thing she saw was a doppelganger of herself and her ex. In bed. Together. 

It was as if everything came to her in one terrifying moment of clarity. Boots in the corner. Cape haphazardly slung. Lena’s work laptop. Chew toys for dogs. Scattered Science books, then— 

Golden rings, on a finger, in a chain.

Mating bands around wrists.

Wedding portrait. Weddin— 

It all hits her at once faster than a whiplash and harder than a superpowered punch; knocking the  wind out of her lungs, until she realizes she was gasping. 

“Lena, we have to go, please. Please believe me, this isnt-” 

“Real. I know-”

“What’s your surname?”

“Luthor.”

Just like you promised. Promised. Promised. 

Always. 

Alex squeezes tighter and Kara is pulled back from the depths. 

Her sister lets her go and steps back a bit to cup her face in her hands; snotty nose, sniffles and all. 

“Hey, look at me. That wasn’t real. And I know how bad you want it to be real. But Kara, nothing will happen if the both of you keep pulling away from each other. Someone needs to take the plunge.”

“She doesn’t want me, Alex. She ended things.”

Alex takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, shakes her head and then lets it all out in one go. 

“Kara. I don’t really wanna say this to your face while you’re sobbing over me. But,” Alex lets out an exasperated sigh with a shake of her head and then lets out,  “Good fuck, that is the most stupid thing to come out of your mouth. I don’t know how to stress this enough but...her IDEAL world is the two of you playing house. What more do you need? She wants you.”

“But she-” 

Alex holds a finger up to stop her from talking. 

“Nope. No. Listen to me, you are being an idiot. Well, Lena is too. But we’re talking about you right now, so… again, you are being an idiot. Just— Talk to her, Kara. How many times do I have to say that?”

Kara goes from sobbing to shocked to skeptical in the few seconds that Alex was speaking. 

“I- I don’t know, Alex.”

“Kara, she wants you. She’s just scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“You won’t find out if you don’t talk to her.”

Well, that was a great response. 

Alex is hoping that it’s great enough of a response to convince her sister.

***

There’s a blue lump on the side of her bed. 

A blue lump with blonde hair?

Lena rubs the sleepiness off and slowly sits.

Kara, it was Kara. 

Kara was asleep, back hunched, head pillowed on folded arms on the side of her bed.

Lena immediately realizes the uncomfortable position she is in, not to mention the cape that is now roughly bundled at the back of the plastic chair. 

She carefully lays a hand on Kara’s shoulder and shakes her softly. 

“Hey, Kara, wake up, hey,” Lena mutters quietly. 

“Wha- Lena?” Kara startles awake and shoots up from her position.

“I- you looked like you were gonna have a back ache so I-uh,” Lena was grasping for words in that usual way she does when Kara’s around. 

“Here.” She pats the space next to her, “Come on, sit here, climb in. We uh- you’re right, we should talk, might as well do it while we’re both comfy, right?”

She attempts at lighthearted conversation, she already knows the next few minutes are going to be the most emotionally draining moments of her— their life. 

Kara hesitates a bit, before nodding and wordlessly hoisting herself on the bed. 

“So, do uh- do you wanna start or should I?”

Again, she was grasping for words. 

“Go ahead,” Kara says barely above a whisper, Lena was kind of hoping Kara would go first but well, here goes nothing. 

“Thank you for coming to get me, I wasn’t expecting you to come,” Lena confesses, she really was surprised when Kara—the real Kara— showed up to rescue her. 

“I’ll always save you, you know that,” Kara butts in, as if what Lena had said was the most ridiculous thing ever. She guesses it is, to Kara’s ears. She did promise always after all. 

“Yeah, I know I just— for a moment there I just thought...well, never mind what I thought honestly-”

“You thought what? That I don’t care about you anymore? That I won’t fly off the moment I sensed you were in danger?”

Well, she’s on fire today. 

“It’s not like that, you know that,” Lena protests but Kara interrupts again.

“It is like that. You thought just because we’re over I don’t give a shit about you anymore. You of all people, know I can’t—” Kara cuts herself off as if in pain, “I’ll always save you, Lena. Together or not. I care about you,” Kara utters, turning her head to meet Lena’s eyes before facing in front again. 

Lena feels like care is a placeholder for something both of them aren’t capable of saying at present. 

She doesn’t dwell on it too much because Kara is saying something again. 

“I think…” She begins with a voice full of an emotion Lena can’t name [read: don’t want to name.]

“I care about you a little too much and that...”

Lena holds in a breath. 

“And that scares you doesn’t it?” Kara finishes and she looks at her again but this time  around Lena’s cheeks are wet. 

Kara puts a hand atop hers and squeezes and the gesture pulls words from Lena’s throat. 

“You wanted everything so fast, Kara,” she whispers, not really trusting to increase the volume of her voice lest it shakes. 

“You were telling me all these grand plans of settling down and staying together and I was still having a hard time telling you ‘I love you’ and-” her voice breaks, “And even though, you kept saying it was okay, that you were just thinking out loud, I saw how hurt you were whenever I hesitated.”

Lena’s mind briefly flashes to all those nights spent with Kara, beside her and just feeling this massive fucking pressure of living up to what Kara wants. Shy I love you’s and fear, just so much fucking fear...and insecurities screaming at her that she isn’t what’s good for Kara. 

“I- I couldn’t give you what you wanted and I just kept thinking was it me you really wanted? Or was it this domestic bliss that you’ve conjured in your head? Something you can have with somebody else. And it just kept spiraling from there. Thinking somebody better can give you what you want, somebody who’s not tainted, somebody who you can be proud of, somebody who won’t feel so fucking scared of saying ‘I love you’.”

She was aware she was one breath away from sobbing and when Kara moved closer and softly said, “Oh Lena,”

The dam burst. 

“Oh, baby, come here, I’m sorry. Rao, I’m so sorry, I- I didn’t know I made you feel that way, I’m sorry,” Kara murmurs to her as she cups Lena’s cheek and uses her thumb to wipe tears. 

Lena’s eyes were so green at the moment and Kara has to remind herself that they still have a long way to go for tonight. 

“Look at me, I’m sorry I didn’t know, I’m sorry you felt pressured but Lena, there is nobody else I want. You are the one I want, hell I’m pretty sure every me out there in the multiverse is looking for their own Lena right now. You are the best I could ever have.”

The words hit Lena and it just makes her sob harder. Kara fully turns her body to the side to gather Lena in her arms and lets her sob into her neck. 

“I- I left because I thought I couldn’t be enough, I didn’t want to. But everything was happening so fast and you wanted so many things and I couldn’t give it to you and I felt like such a fucking failure,” Lena sobs out, words slightly muffled with how hard Kara is pressing into her. 

“Lena you are not a failure oh, come here. Listen to me, you’re not a failure, you’re not supposed to build your world around me okay? You do it for yourself. You are brilliant. You are not a failure and I am so so sorry that I made you feel that way.”

Kara rubs circles on her back and squeezes around her every so often. It feels like forever that they stayed that way. Kara whispering, “Shh, breathe, breathe with me,” and Lena sniffling into Kara and Kara just wrapping all around her and calming her. When Lena’s sobs start to subside and she feels confident enough in her ability to speak she slowly breaks away from Kara. 

“I’ve been going to therapy,” she begins, “It helped...a lot. Helped clear out a lot of things f-for me. And I think,” She pauses, “Kara, I- I also think you need it more than I do.”

At that Kara’s face scrunches up in confusion. 

“How so?”

“Remember when I told you you wanted so much so fast?”

Kara gives her a nod. 

“I think you were trying to run, darling.”

She knew she should be focusing on what Lena was trying to tell her but she can’t help the little flutter of her heart at the pet name. 

“Run? Run from what?”

“Kara,” Lena starts, unsure about how she should really go about all this.

“You went through hell and back trying to fix the universe, you watched another home of yours get erased from existence. And not to mention that before and during all of that, the two of us were fighting. And then to make things worse at the end of it all, you get ejected into a universe you barely know with my brother as its savior.”

Lena lays out all the facts methodically, slowly, carefully but just blunt enough to make Kara realize that all that trauma should not just be brushed aside.

“You went through a lot.”

A lot, doesn’t even begin to describe the enormity of everything the both of them went through. But Lena supposes they can unpack that another time. There’s a pause and Lena watches Kara take a breath.

“Kara, I think you jumped into a relationship with me because it made you feel good. It made you forget about all the recent hardships you just went through. And I guess maybe I did too, you know? We both just wanted to feel some crumb of peace, but God, did we go about it the wrong way.”

Lena watches her words sink in, how Kara stops, blinks slowly only to take a sudden breath as tears slowly track down her face. 

“I- No. I didn’t. No, you’re wro- Lena, I-” Kara fails to tie together a sentence as tears start to fall down. It’s easy when everything else is in your head, when you can replay memories and cover them in filters made by your own brain, but when someone else puts it on the screen for you? That’s a different matter altogether. Nobody had shown Kara the severity of her trauma before and now it’s taking its toll.

“Oh, Kara. Come here, come here,” Lena coos, this time it was her pulling Kara in. Kara melts into her and Lena feels the telltale signs of heavy sobs come through. 

“I don’t know- I-”

“Shh, it’s okay, Kara, it’s okay.” 

She lets Kara fall apart in front of her. She knows those tears are oceans of their own, those drops carry the memory of a fallen planet, an entire culture, stories, people, loved ones. Every drop is a person Supergirl had failed to save, another universe, another home. Every drop is every lie she ever told Lena and all of the pain there was when she was gone. 

“I’m sorry, Lena, I’m sorry.”

She can’t beg forgiveness from an extinct race or a wiped out universe but Lena? She could still have Lena. 

***

Alex finds them curled tightly together in the Med Bay come morning. She kind of wants to cry in relief at the sight. 

Finally, fucking finally. 

She doesn’t have the heart to bother them so she grabs them an extra blanket and tucks both in, exiting with a small smile to her lips. 

***

They both wake up to the sound of laughter, the perpetrators— a couple of low-rank agents— stop in the tracks at the sight of a disheveled Supergirl, scowling madly at them with one Lena Luthor tucked in her arms. 

“Uh- sorry, we’ll just uh-” 

The agents bolt out of the room immediately, letting Kara slump back into the pillow. 

“Hi,” Lena croaks out with a rough voice, eyes puffy from last night. 

Snippets from last night immediately flashing in Kara’s brain. 

Kara holding Lena. 

Lena holding Kara

Teary apologies

Catching-up on each other.

Talking till yawns interrupted their words. 

Kissing. 

More kissing. 

More kiss-

You get the picture. 

“Good morning,” Kara replies with a shy smile. 

“Is scaring agents one of Supergirl’s many talents?” Lena teases, as Kara scoffs fully turning unto her side to face Lena, hand casually brushing a stray strand of her on Lena’s face

“Serves them right for just walking in-” Kara stops mid-sentence, fingers freezing and her eyes turn hesitant, “Sorry, is this okay?”

Because even though last night had happened even though they’ve talked until words could no longer name the depth of their feelings and they turned to silence instead, Kara is still unsure. Hesitant. Wary of giving too much too soon or asking for too much too soon.

But the most difficult part is over and they both realize this as the sun from outside filter through the many wide windows of the DEO, as Lena’s next words ring about in the warmth of the morning.

“Kara, it’s okay,” Lena answers her, catching Kara’s frozen hand and leaning into the touch, pressing closer to Kara’s face, noses touching, lips a breath apart. 

“In fact, it’s very much okay.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

The first tell was the lack of a body next to her. The second was the freezing cold. Her bed was almost never cold these days. She’s grown used to sharing her bed with a Kryptonian heater, and so, to wake up from a nightmare alone in bed was now an unusual occurrence. Unusual nough to make her panic. 

She sits up, disoriented from her nightmare. Lena groggily registers a low melodic humming crackling from the baby monitor on her nightstand. 

“Kara,” she whispers into the quiet of the room, “Please come back to me.” 

The humming from the monitor begins to sound distant as it gets louder to Lena’s ears; drifting nearer and nearer to the bedroom. 

The door opens and Kara strolls in, messy bun, sleepy voice and all. In her arms a squirming, kicking, sniffling, very much awake bundle fits.

“She doesn’t want to sleep, I tried everythi-” Kara whines and then stops as she takes in Lena’s racing heartbeat, shaking lips and shining eyes. 

“Oh no, did you have a nightmare? I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s okay, Kara. Just— Come here? Please?”

Kara shuffles quickly towards the bed; Lena lifts the comforter, making room, the bed dipping as her wife climbs in.

“You okay?” she asks, once she’s settled down next to Lena. She continues rocking her arms as an attempt to get their daughter to sleep for the nth time tonight. Her wife doesn’t still doesn’t answer her, although she doesn’t miss how Lena slightly calms at her presence.

“Lena, hey, you with me?”

“Kara?”

“I’m here, I’m here.”

“Thi- this is real, right?”

Because sometimes, there are nights where dreams feel all too real and pain comes rearing at you as if it all happened yesterday. Because after all these years, Lena still carries fear inside of her; fear that none of this is real, fhat Kara doesn’t really love her, that she’ll never be good enough, that she’ll be abandoned again. Fear that all of this is just a figment of her imagination. 

“Oh, Lena. Come here, I’m going to pass her unto you alright?” 

Lena’s eyes snap up to hers for a minute in hesitation but she finds herself slowly nodding. Kara wouldn’t give their daughter over if she isn’t sure Lena could handle it. She slowly transfers their child to Lena’s arms. 

“Do you feel her warmth?” 

“Mm-hmm.”

“Do you feel her weight?”

“She’s real, Lena. I’m real,” Kara says as she wraps her arms around them, cradling her wife and child close. 

“She’s getting heavy.”

“Yeah, yeah that she is. This is real, Lena.”

“Here,” she gently puts a pillow beneath Lena’s arms for support as she slowly grabs one hand and puts it right over her heart. 

“Feel this? Can you feel it?” 

Lena does, Lena can and she nods and it’s real and Kara’s heartbeats are steady under her palm; each beat an echo of Lena’s name. She’s certain of that, because she’s pretty sure her heartbeats are all echoes of Kara’s name again and again and again.

“This is real.”

“Promise?”

“Always.”

[thepremedthatwrites]

Checkmate

request: hi! I love your writing! I'm wondering if you'd be open to writing a chess game between the reader x Edmund, that turns smutty or something like that? thanks!

warning: smut below the cut

“Checkmate!” the brunette exclaimed as he placed his knight in its spot, trapping my king.  

“Seriously Edmund, can’t you let me win at least once?” I complained as we moved to reset the board.

“But then you would be mad at me for going easy on you,” he pointed out.  I let out a sigh before moving one of my pawns two spaces ahead.  I rested my head against my hand as I watched Edmund, expecting him to move his own piece.  Instead, he smiled.  “I think I have an idea on how to make this game a bit more interesting.”  I raised an eyebrow.

“What’s your idea?”  I waited in silence, knowing I was either going to love or hate the idea.

“Why don’t we spice things up and play strip chess.”  The grin on his face widened.

“Strip chess?  What in the world is that?”

“It’s like strip poker.  Except it’s chess.  Each time a piece of yours is taken that isn’t a pawn, you have to take off an article of clothing.”

“How ridiculous,” I muttered, my face turning warm as I thought of stripping in front of Edmund.  

“Why?  Scared you’ll be the one to become naked?”  I looked into his eyes, his brown irises looking back with the same fire that was in mine.

“Fine, whatever Pevensie,” I said, looking away from his eyes as my heart raced in my chest.  I could feel his eyes still watch me as I focused my attention on the board.  “I just hope you’re wearing lots of layers.”

It wasn’t long until Edmund captured one of my rooks.  I let out a groan as Edmund let out a victorious laugh.  “Alright, (y/n).  Clothes off.”  I rolled my eyes as I pulled my shirt over my head.  My vision of him was shortly obscured by the red shirt before being returned to normal as I flung the piece of clothing away from me.  I was suddenly glad to be wearing one of my nicer bras as I felt Edmund’s eyes study the newly exposed skin.

“Stop being a creep Ed,” I said as I moved one of my pieces. 

“Sorry,” he muttered.  His response caught me by surprise as I had been expecting a witty comeback.  Instead, he focused his eyes on the game in front of us, his cheeks colored a light rose.  It wasn’t long until I captured his knight.

“Alright, Edmund.  Clothes off,” I said, repeating his words from earlier. 

“Very funny,” he said as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt.  I let out an impatient sigh.

“C’mon Ed.  We don’t have all day.”  He let out a chuckle, moving his fingers at a faster rate before the white button-up was off his body.  I had never seen Edmund shirtless before.  I had always known he was strong but I wasn’t aware of the abs that hid behind the fabric of his shirts.  His skin was tanned from the sun, most likely due to afternoons playing football.  

“Admiring the view?” Edmund chuckled, causing my face to heat up as I snapped my head back to the board.

“You wish,” I shot back, suddenly very interested in the game.  I studied the pieces in front of me as I attempted to slow my heart rate.  Luck must have been on my side as it wasn’t soon until I had captured Edmund’s rook.  “Let’s hope you didn’t wear your Care Bears boxers today,” I joked as Edmund stood up to take off his pants.  He started to unbuckle his belt and as he did, I couldn’t help but notice the butterflies in my stomach. 

I turned my attention to his face as he took off his belt and pulled down his pants.  He returned to his spot on the floor, his face filled with concentration before making his next move.  I tried to concentrate on the game but all I could focus on was the slight bulge visible in his black boxers.  “(Y/n),” he said, causing me to wake from my daze.

“Hm?” I replied, looking up to face him.  In his hand was my bishop.  

“Pants off princess.”  I know he meant it as a joke but my heart fluttered at his words.  I swallowed thickly, suddenly very aware of Edmund’s eyes on me.  I got up, unbuttoning my jeans before pulling them off, leaving me in only my underwear.  I saw Edmund lick his lips as he looked at me.  I blinked my eyes a few times before focusing them on the chessboard and not Edmund’s crotch.  Surely I was just imagining the growing bulge in his boxers, although Edmund’s uncomfortable shifting seemed to suggest otherwise.

Edmund had become increasingly silent as I pondered my next move.  I leaned forward, playing out my plan in my head as I slowly moved my hand to one of my pieces.  Before my hand could reach it, a larger hand grabbed mine.  “Are you going to continue teasing me like this?” Edmund questioned.  I was about to ask him what he meant when his eyes flickered to my cleavage that had slowly become more visible as I leaned forward.  I could feel my face start to warm, my eyes flickering to his crotch.  While I might have been able to write off his erection as part of my imagination before, it was now very much evident. 

“As if you aren’t teasing me as well,” I said, returning my gaze to meet his own.  His brown eyes studied my face as his hand traveled from my hand and up my arm.  He studied my facial expression, waiting for a sign to stop.  I didn’t give him one.  Instead, I crawled closer to him.  With one single swipe of his hand, the chessboard was gone.  Chess pieces clattered across the floor, not that either one of us cared.

Both of his hands wandered my body as I climbed into his lap, my legs straddling him as I wrapped my arms around his neck.  I slowly leaned forward, giving him enough time to stop me.  He didn’t though and soon, my lips were on his.  The pair of lips that were usually twisted in a sarcastic grin was as soft as silk.  I felt his tongue brush my lips, asking for entrance.  I parted my lips slightly, allowing his tongue and mine to be together.  They waltzed together, pressed against each other as Edmund’s hands worked on unclasping my bra.

After a moment, I felt the piece of fabric loosen before falling between the two of us.  We parted for a moment, both of us panting heavily from a mixture of the adrenaline pumping through our veins and the make-out session.  I ran my hands through Edmund’s brown locks, looking into his admiration filled eyes.  I experimentally rocked my hips back and forth, feeling his erection rub against my clothed sex.  Both of us let out a moan at the friction.  His hands gripped onto my hips almost bruisingly, pushing me down onto his hardened cock.  

“Oh God Ed,” I moaned, the friction much needed.  Edmund seemed to need more as he shifted our positions so that I was now laying on the floor.  His lips were quick to find mine.  Our lips moved together as his hands traveled to my panties.  He tugged on the fabric but it wouldn’t budge.  My realization that I had to raise my hips to allow him to take them off came too late.

“For fuck’s sake,” Edmund muttered before the sound of ripping fabric could be heard.  There was a moment of silence afterward.  I was now completely naked in front of my best friend.  I fought the urge to cover myself as his eyes wandered my body.  

“Those were my favorite pair of underwear,” I said, only half-joking.  A grin appeared on Edmund’s face, dissipating any self-consciousness I might have had.  

“My deepest apologies, love.  I promise to make it up to you.”  As soon as the words left his mouth, I felt a finger on my clit.  I let out a gasp.  A smirk formed on Edmund’s face as he started to lightly rub circles.  He added another finger, increasing the pressure slightly.  My hips rocked in time with his fingers, my body chasing its orgasm.  I closed my eyes as the pleasure built.  

“Edmund,” I gasped as I felt myself come undone, my head falling back as a moan left my mouth.  Edmund slowed his fingers until they had stopped moving altogether.  

“You look so beautiful when you cum,” he whispered.  I opened my eyes slowly to look at Edmund, a smile on my face.  He leaned forward, his lips pressed against mine in a soft kiss before pulling away.  I watched as he removed the only article of clothing from his body.  I bit my lip as my eyes landed on his erection.  He was definitely bigger than anyone I had been with before.  My pussy fluttered as I imagined his cock in me, stretching me out as he thrust into me mercilessly.  

I didn’t have to imagine for much longer as Edmund climbed on top of me.  My hands automatically wandered his body, touching anything it could reach.  I pushed his head down so that I could kiss him.  My moan was muffled by the kiss as he pushed into me, my back arching in pleasure.  He stayed in place for a moment as I stretched to accommodate him.  Soon enough, he started a slow pace.

Although the pace was slow, his thrusts were strong.  My body moved with each thrust, my nails raking down his back.  His mouth traveled from mine to just under my ear.  “Ed,” I moaned as he started to softly suck on the skin.  The pace had started to become faster as one of his hands went between our bodies.  I let out a gasp as his finger brushed my nipple.  He continued to toy with the sensitive area as I felt myself getting closer to my release.

“I’m so close,” I gasped.  I could feel Edmund smiling against my skin, the knowledge that he was able to unravel me like this probably amusing to him.  

“Cum for me (y/n),” he whispered into my ear, his hot breath tickling my neck.  My body obeyed his command as my entire body shook with pleasure.  My walls collapsed around him which seemed to be his tipping point as he moaned into my ear.  “Fuck (y/n),” he moaned as he gave one last thrust before spilling into me.  I let out a small moan as I felt his warm spurts of cum enter my body.  

After a few seconds, he pulled out of me.  He rolled off of me and to my side, turning his head to face me.  A smile was on his face as he brushed a strand of (h/c) hair from my face.  “See, wasn’t that better than boring, regular, old chess?”  I let out a chuckle.

“It seems you did have a good idea for once.  Although you still owe me a new pair of underwear.”

“Fair enough,” Edmund replied as we both got up to find our discarded clothing.  

[awkwxrdapple]

Fallen Angel (Part 1) - Peter Parker x reader

Request: Hi! I love your writing! I was hoping you could do a peter x reader where the reader gets badly hurt and captured and it takes a long time for the avengers and peter to find her and once they do, she is scared half to death, jumpy, nervous, and stays by Peter's side during pretty much everything. They are living in the avengers tower with everyone and since they are the youngest, Peter is particularly protective of her during her recovery. Thank you!

Word count: 1.6k 

WARNINGS: mentions of anxiety, light torture, injury, trauma (after reading if you think I should include any others please let me know thank you)

Part 1

Simultaneously, you removed your headphones and slammed the textbook shut in front of you. Your assignments were getting tiring. It wasn't that they were hard and you were struggling, it was just that after being part of the Avengers, doing calculus and algebra seemed too easy for you. You could do it easily, but after all that you had done and seen already in your life, you knew your time could be better spent. 

Being the youngest Avenger alongside Peter Parker was exciting. You felt unbelievably honoured to be given the opportunity to be part of a team that did wonderfully amazing things. You had made friends for life, and most especially so with Peter. When you had come to New York you were enrolled into the same school as Peter. Midtown High was a good school and you enjoyed it, it also meant spending more time with Peter even though you both lived in the Avengers Tower now. 

Lying back against your bed you realised you were hungry, you'd been studying for what felt like ages. 

Knowing you had nothing sweet that you wanted to eat in the tower you decided that a quick trip out would let you get what you needed. If you were going to carry on studying you were going to need all the help you could get. 

Grabbing your purse from your dresser, you wandered down the corridor to where Peter's room was. The door was slightly open but you knocked anyway and waited for his reply. 

"Hey, I was just going to go to the store, do you want anything?" 

He, like you had just been, was sitting on his bed with papers strewn around him. When he saw you he gave you a warm smile. Having Peter living with you in the Avengers tower was amazing. Peter really was your best friend and you trusted no one more in the world. 

"I'm ok, but thank you. What are you going for?"

"Chocolate, ice cream, cake, anything." You said. 

"Homework giving you a hard time too?"

"Is it that obvious?" You laughed before placing your hand on the door handle again. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Bye Y/N."

Taking the elevator it didn't take too long to get to the ground floor and out into the centre of New York. You knew there was a little grocery store a few blocks over that made homemade chocolate cake. 

Unknowing to you, a set of eyes were watching you leave the tower, cross the street and make your way down the sidewalk. It was busy, and you were tired. Your instincts were slower and less aware of your surroundings. The one set of eyes soon became two, then three, then four. You were blissfully unaware of the imminent danger you were about to find yourself in. 

Taking a swift left at the next building you passed, your face collided with a hard arm and sent you stumbling backwards. Jolted out of your oblivious state, you raised your guard and lunged to land a punch square into your attackers chest. They struck back, using their larger build to throw their weight towards you forcing you to the ground. The air was knocked out of your lungs. 

Kicking back up from underneath them you tried to force their body off you, but they were heavy, and armed. You could feel a gun strapped to their hip pressing into yours. Rapid footsteps were heard around you as more people wearing a similar black combat suit to your assailant emerged and began to hold you down. You continued to fight in any way you could but soon all your limbs were rendered useless. 

"You're coming with us. Don't try to resist." A low male voice spoke into your ear as a cloth was placed over your face, a strong smell evaded your nostrils and then you relaxed back into the concrete. 

+ + +

Upon waking, you found yourself cold, aching and stiff. Your head hung towards your chest and a dull throb emanated from your forehead and rang throughout your skull. Your hands were tied behind you back and placed behind a chair, with your legs also tied to the chair legs completely restricting all of your movement. 

Fear and panic flooded through you and your chest became horrifically tight. The room around you was incredibly dim, with the only light coming from a single dull light bulb above your head. Feeling your breathing become hastened you remembered your training.

Don't panic. Be calm. Assess the situation.

The situation looked bleak. There were no sounds to be heard so you couldn't even begin to work out where you were being held. You remembered the last memory of being free, but couldn't place the people from anyone or thing you had seen before. 

You weren't kept guessing for long as a door creaked open to your left and two figures entered the room. The door was roughly closed behind them and a click of the lock was distinctly heard. You nervously swallowed and waited for one of them to speak. 

"We hope you aren't too badly hurt, Y/N." One spoke and made his way over to you. His voice was calm, and in any other situation you would have mistaken him for a nice man. 

"How do you know my name?" You ignored what he had actually just said to you. It was far more disturbing that your first name was known to these people. 

"That doesn't matter. We may know a few things about you, but you know much more than we do about things important to us."

"And those would be?"

The other man laughed coldly at your attempt to sound confident. 

"Your friends." The first man now knelt down a meter away from where you were sat. 

"My friends?"

"The Avengers."

To this you had nothing to say. You instantly felt guilt at being caught in this way, no other member of the team would be trapped like this. It made you ashamed. These people needed you for whatever heinous reason they had. 

"We understand you know a great deal about the runnings of that Tower, and of the inner workings of the group itself." The man continued. "We think you would be very useful to us."

"I won't tell you anything."

This brought a sigh from him. It was almost sarcastic. 

"We thought you would say that." 

He stood up and took a few steps backwards, allowing the other man to walk into your focus. 

"Maybe this will change your mind."

The first strike to your face stung. The next hurt. The third, numb. The intensity of the punch quickly removed all feeling. You could taste your own blood as your lip was cut upon the second blow. 

"It… it won't change my mind." You spluttered. Tears welled up in your eyes but you were not going to give them the satisfaction. You would never betray your friends, your family. 

"We shall see."

+  +  +

"Has anyone seen Y/N?" 

Peter was worried. You had left the tower four hours ago, and still had yet to return. 

"No I haven't, why?" Nat answered him as she wandered into the shared living room and kitchen space. 

Peter told her that you'd told him you were quickly going to the store and that you weren't back. 

"I'm sure she will come back soon. Maybe she ran into a friend?" Steve offered as he sat holding a mug of black coffee. 

"Yeah… you're right." Peter tried not to think about it too much. But after an hour or so that he hadn't heard you walk down the corridor, he went to check your room to find it empty. And he couldn't find you anywhere in the tower. 

Wanda gave Peter a small smile. She had seen how close you two had become. It was only natural that Peter was concerned. 

"If she isn't back tomorrow morning, we shall then worry, yeah kid?" Tony walked behind Peter and placed a brief hand on his shoulder. 

"Ok…"

The next morning resulted in Peter's worry increasing exponentially. He had sent you multiple texts and phoned you many times to receive no response. Usually you would let him know if you were staying with a friend. The whole situation seemed off. 

"Still no sign of Y/N?" Tony asked as Peter wandered through the kitchen on his way to school. 

"No. I am worried." 

Tony considered Peter for a second. 

"Come with me, I might be able to find her." Tony stated and headed for the elevator. "School is important, but it can wait."

Walking into one of Tony's labs, Peter realised he hadn't been into this one before. Tony tapped on a screen and brought up a map of New York on one of the monitors. 

"Mr Stark, what is this?"

"I regret not telling you sooner but I have tapped yours and Y/N's phones. So even when it's off, it can be tracked."

"You're going to track her phone?"

"I think that's what I just said." Tony raised his eyebrows. "Let's see if she still has it with her." He could see how upsetting this was to Peter. He began to wonder if you two were just friends, or something more.

After putting more information into the computer a yellow dot appeared on the map, quite far from the Tower, but still within the city. 

"Is that her?" Peter asked urgently. 

"It should be. I don't like the fact she's in a decommissioned warehouse though."

Peter suddenly felt a sudden urge to drop everything and run to you. 

"According to this, the signal hasn't moved in 12 hours." Tony turned round to face Peter. 

Peter's jaw was tight. Tony could tell he was ready to fight. 

If you would like to be in the tag list for part 2 or any of my other Peter Parker imagines please let me know! 

"Alright kid, suit up."

PART 2

Tag list: @unmistakablyunknown

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