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screechthemighty · 2 years

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Hey, remember how I said that I wasn’t gonna post that new Moon Knight fanfic tonight?

Jake Lockley and Gena Landers enjoyers, come get y’all juice.

AO3 link will be in a reblog, but I’ve also posted the first of this fic’s six chapters below if you want to read it here and now! Standard disclaimer: Author does not have DID or speak Spanish, please correct me if I am wrong about things. Also, the timeline is something I made up entirely, so don’t take it as canon.

meet me at our spot: part 1/6 (2019)

Another day, another morning spent rushing around like a chicken with its head off. Wake up. Get the boys ready and off to school. Get back to the diner to help with the breakfast rush. Wasn't even 9 a.m. and her feet already hurt.

Of course, this being the city, it was damn busy. Even with half the population gone, they did good business this time of day. If anything, being one of the only joints left in town was probably giving her more business.

Real shitty way to get it.

But there was no time to think about that. Apron on. Start taking orders. There were a lot of regulars that morning, and some new faces on top of that. Not too many, not with the city having gotten a lot smaller, but still. It almost felt normal, once she got into the rhythm of things.

"Toast and eggs over easy for the man in the cap," she said as she set down the plate. Cap Man was one of the new faces–dark hair, dark eyes, tired eyes, but an easy smile. He flashed that smile at her as he looked up from his notebook. "More coffee?"

"Por favor," he replied. He fiddled with a pen as he spoke. She could see teeth marks on the cap. "Busy morning?"

"They're all busy." She got him the coffee while he started on the eggs. "Life's kept going, somehow."

"Sure has. Lo que pasa, pasa."

"Y solo tenemos que vivir con eso." Gena replied. Cap Man looked pleasantly surprised. "I grew up in the Bronx. You pick up a thing or two. You enjoy that, okay, hon?"

"Lo haré, señora. Gracias."

Any other day, that might have been the end of it. But that day just got busier and busier. Gena kept the place well-staffed (and she'd been damn lucky most of her original employees were still with her) but even a well-scheduled restaurant could hit a few snags.

Sometimes all it took was one broken coffee pot.

The shattering caught Gena's attention immediately. The barrage of swearing really caught her attention. "Can't you watch where you're going? Fuck's sake…"

Gena emerged from the back. One of the new hires, Sarah, was frozen in front of a pissed off looking older man wiping coffee off a briefcase. The swearing would be unacceptable on its own, but Sarah was a sweet girl. She'd had to put off going to college to help her family after her father had vanished. She really didn't need this. "I'm…I'm sorry…" Sarah stammered.

"Sorry's not gonna be good enough if you ruined this."

"It was an accident," said a new voice. It was Cap Man. His friendly tone had completely vanished. "She's trying her best."

"You stay the hell out of this."

"Excuse me," Gena said firmly. She took in the scene as she stepped from behind the counter. Some coffee had gotten on the man's briefcase, but it looked like it'd be fine to her. Most of it was on the floor. "Don't swear at my employees."

Briefcase Man looked taken aback. "She spilled coffee on me."

"And she didn't mean to, I'm sure. Sarah, sweetie, could you get me a mop?" Getting the poor thing away was the first order of business. Fortunately, Sarah didn't need to be told twice. "I'm sorry about your briefcase, but there is no need to speak to her like that."

The man's face went red. At first, he stayed quiet. Maybe he sensed the stares from the other patrons. Regulars who didn't take kindly to newcomers disturbing the peace. Sane people just trying to eat breakfast. She hoped that judgment would be enough to make him back off, but there was always the chance he'd dig his heels in.

And, of course, that was exactly what he did, squaring his shoulders and looking Gena straight in the eyes. "She…"

That was as far as he got. Gena heard shoes hit the floor. Cap Man had gotten off his chair and walked to stand by Gena. He didn't say anything at first, just scanned Briefcase with calculating eyes. "How much?" he asked finally.

"What?"

"Breakfast. How much?"

"...fifteen…"

Cap Man took a twenty out of his wallet. "You're settled," he said, placing it on the man's table. "So you can go now, sí?"

Briefcase looked at the money, then up into Cap Man's eyes. He must not have liked what he saw, because he got up and left without a word.

Like a sigh of relief, chatter returned to the diner. "Cabrón," Cap Man muttered. "No manners anymore." He looked at the mess and crouched down to start picking up the bigger pieces of glass.

"Hey, no, you don't have to-"

"You've got enough on your plate, señora. I don't mind." His smile was back as he glanced up at her. "I'll be careful."

He wasn't wrong, so Gena decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and got back to work. "It's Gena," she corrected as she walked away.

"Jake."

Gena filed the name away and went back to orders.

By the time she'd caught up and returned to the mess, Sarah was just about done mopping up. Jake sat nearby. "...guess if this is the most exciting thing to happen all trip, I can consider myself lucky," he said. "You sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine," Sarah said. She still sounded shaken, but her eyes were dry at least. "I had worse when I was working fast food."

"Still." Jake glanced Gena's way. "Hope I didn't overstep earlier."

"Listen, you didn't start a fight and he went away. That's what matters." Gena took the twenty off the table and held it out to him. "Here."

Jake shook his head. "That's yours."

"No, it's yours. You've done enough to help."

Jake relented and took the bill. "Well…" He stood up and stretched. "...if you insist. One more cup of coffee if you've got the time?"

He had his last cup and paid cash before leaving. Gena wasn't the slightest bit surprised to find the twenty tucked under his mug with a note attached. For Sarah. Consolation prize for having to deal with assholes. Gena looked around, but Jake was long gone.

She had no idea where he'd come from, but it was nice to know there were still some good people left in this city.

~~~

It was late when she saw him again two days later.

The city was drenched in rain. Ricky and Ray were holed up at a window booth. They were supposed to be doing their homework, but kept sneaking comics when they thought she wasn't looking. Gena was too dog-tired to scold them for it.

The bell above the door jangled. Gena did a double-take when she saw who it was. "Well, buenas noches, mister."

"Señora." Jake grinned as he shrugged his damp coat off. "Really coming down out there."

"Sure is." It was bad enough that even the dinner rush had been slow. Jake draped his coat over one of the counter stools and sat down. He was wearing a t-shirt underneath. The logo across his chest caught her attention. "Really? The Cubs?"

"Stole it from my brother, but yes, really."

"A Cubs shirt, in New York?"

"I like to live dangerously. Besides, I think I can milk the curse breaking for another year or two."

"If you say so." Gena passed him a menu, caught sight of the boys as she did, and sighed. "Ricky…"

Ricky had moved from reading to stacking creamers. Gena sighed. "Richard Douglas Landers."

"Whaat?" Ricky whined.

"Your homework done?"

"This word problem doesn't make sense."

"Well, bring it over here, then." She glanced apologetically at Jake. "Sorry, do you mind?"

"Take your time," Jake said. He shot Ricky a smile, and didn't seem offended when Ricky didn't smile back.

"Okay," Gena said. "Let's take a look."

They had to re-read the problem a few times before it sank in. Ricky's face was listless and frustrated the whole time. She couldn't blame him, of course. Not for that. It hadn't even been a year, and here he was doing word problems as if…

Gena shook her head. "That better?"

"I guess." Ricky wrote his answer down. "I miss Ms. Scott. It made more sense when she explained it."

"...yeah, honey. I miss her, too." Why'd it feel like only the good ones had gone away? No wonder some people were convinced it had been the Rapture. "Just do your best with that, okay?" She leaned over the counter to kiss his forehead. "So long as it gets done."

"Okay." Ricky got down from the chair, dragging his homework after him. "Can I have French Toast?"

"Finish up your homework and you can. And tell Ray I said that." She watched him sit back down before turning back to Jake. "Thanks for waiting."

"That was more important," he said. "Both yours?"

"Yeah, my babies. Well, I guess not babies anymore. You got kids?"

"No, just two brothers. Same difference, sometimes." He passed her back the menu. "Eggs and toast, por favor?"

"Over easy again?"

"You remember."

"You made an impression. Sarah was grateful, by the way. Thank you."

Jake smiled. "Least I could do."

He ate his late-dinner-breakfast quietly, no notebook this time. A few times, she caught him staring out the window. She thought at first he was waiting for someone, but it seemed like he was just people watching. "Really hope this lets up before I have to leave," Gena said. "Absolutely miserable."

"Eh. I've been in London a lot these days. I'm used to it."

"London? What brings a guy from London to Manhattan?"

"Work. Personal chauffeur with some extras."

"Extras, huh?"

"I was in the Marines. Comes in handy these days."

"Ah." She understood now. Jake was pretty unassuming when he was just sitting there eating eggs, but she remembered his presence when he was dealing with Briefcase. Just forceful enough to be effective. Protective. "Must be exciting. Lot of travel, then?"

"Oh, all over. Demand's been something else." He methodically wiped up the egg yolk with the last of his toast. "Something about half of the planet going missing really brought out the worst in people."

"Don't I know it. It's gotten better, but it was bad here for a while. Bad enough that Daredevil left the Kitchen."

"Who left where?"

Right, he wasn't local. "So, New York has a lot of vigilante types," she explained, "and they tended to stick to their neighborhoods back in the day, so Daredevil didn't really leave the west side. Except crime spiked, not enough cops to handle it, so he's been spotted all over."

"Huh. Who else have you got?"

"Luke Cage has Harlem. Knight Wing mostly operates out of Chinatown. Jessica Jones will go pretty much anywhere, but you usually have to pay her. Usually. Queens used to have Spider-Man, but…" She glanced at the boys and lowered her voice. "...last anyone saw him, he was fighting aliens with Iron Man before…it happened. No one's seen either of them since, so…"

"Right." Jake finished off his toast. "Knight Wing and Daredevil, huh?"

"In their defense, Knight and Wing are their names," Gena said with a smile. "Colleen Wing and Misty Knight. Good folks. Don't know what Daredevil's deal is."

"Maybe he didn't pick it?"

"I feel bad for him if he didn't. Can I get anything else for you?"

"More coffee?"

Gena nodded. She was just grabbing the pot when Jake spoke up again. "Actually, do you have to-go cups? Lost track of time, I have to…" He got up with an irritated sigh. "...be someplace."

"Sure thing."

Despite his pensive tone, Jake was all smiles when she came back with the coffee and the check. Paid cash, slid the tip under his plate. Looked like at least 30%. "You stay dry, señora."

"I'm not the one going outside," she pointed out. "And really, you can call me Gena."

Jake grinned as he put his coat back on. "Señora Gena," he said, lifting his cap in a salute. "Buenas noches."

And with that, he slipped out the door and into the rain.

Gena shook her head. "Foolishness," she muttered to herself, but it was said with a smile. He really was something else.

~~~

Theo McCain was an aspiring crime boss. After notorious NYC crime boss Wilson Fisk vanished in the Snap, he began the process of unifying what remained of Fisk’s crime ring.

This process was cut short when he was found strangled to death in his apartment after his son, Teddy, called the police. He gave no description of the attacker, saying only that "the boogeyman" had come for his father.

The segments he had managed to compile were quickly broken up over the next three days, going back underground after being struck by a "specter" who targeted any remaining leadership.

~~~

The damp of spring turned into the heat of summer, then finally chilled into the fall. Life went on as much as it could, all things considered. The boys started a new school year. The diner stayed open, and moderately busy. New York stayed New York. Gena kept moving.

Lo que pasa, pasa.

She didn't think about Jake too often. He passed her mind once or twice, when she had to make eggs over easy with toast or a customer tipped generously. She wondered where he was, and if it was raining there.

But he was out of her mind enough that she almost didn't recognize him when he came back.

It didn't help that it was outside the boundaries of the diner. She was on her break, rushing to grab some things at the closest bodega. She was trying to get the last carton of milk from the back of the damn cooler, cursing quietly to herself at the inconvenience of it, when someone reached up to nudge it closer to her. "Thanks," Gena said instinctively.

"No problemo." Then, "Oh, hey, Señora Gena!"

Her brain stalled for a second. It was the hat that clued her in.

"Jake!" She smiled, her previous frustration forgotten. "Back in town?"

"Just for a few days. How're the boys?"

"Still struggling with word problems, but getting better." She grabbed the milk and gave Jake a once-over. He looked exactly like she remembered, just with a bit of a five o'clock shadow. "New job paying well?"

"Decent enough." Something buzzed in his pocket and he cursed quietly. "And that's probably them…I'll see you, though, all right?"

"See you."

Sure enough, he was back in the diner that evening. Toast and eggs over easy with coffee again. He was back to his notebook, but not for very long. Gena tried not to be nosy, but she did catch a glimpse when she was refilling his mug. Looked like scribbles to her, mostly.

"Yes, it's shorthand," Jake said without looking up.

Damn. Caught. "I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. That's why I learned." He closed the notebook and set it aside with a heavy sigh. "Just happy I'm back in a city that makes sense. You ever tried driving in Boston?"

"Can't say I have."

"Don't do it. And they hate the Cubs even more there." He grinned and took a long sip of coffee. "They get Daredevil out of his neighborhood again?"

"A few times, I think." She tried to stay out of it. As long as the fighting wasn't in her neighborhood, she figured she was allowed a little ignorance. "Your employer treating me okay?"

"Riding my ass a bit, but nothing I can't handle." He shrugged. "Hard times. Makes people testy. I can always take a longer route if I want to be spiteful. Don't think he knows the difference."

Gena chuckled. "Fair enough. How are your brothers?"

"Doing okay. Both busy, too."

"What do they do?"

"Steven's unemployed right now. Marc…doesn't talk about work. Nothing illegal, he just likes to keep his cards close." He shrugged. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Which deity did your staff make a deal with? Because these…" He pointed down to his eggs. "...have been perfect three times in a row. I am never that lucky."

He was so earnest about it, too. "That's proprietary," she said, "but I'll pass my compliments along to the chef."

"Well, whatever it is, keep doing it. I'm not complaining."

The door slammed a little too hard. She didn't miss the way he winced as he glanced back over his shoulder, then relaxed when he saw it was just a patron with their arms full. "Consíguelo," he scolded himself. Then, "Hey, when does the snow start around here?"

"If we're lucky, we'll get a few months before it does. Why?"

"Curious if I'll miss it. Never seen a New York winter."

"You'll have to go upstate if you want it pretty. It's nice here for all of half an hour, even with the decreased traffic. And if you’re thinking of coming back for the holidays, the ball drop’s not worth it.”

“Not even for a one-time experience?”

“Not even for that. Too damn cold.”

“Fair enough. So…what is worth doing in this city? I don’t want to spend my free time in the hotel room again.”

Gena had to think about it. She’d lived in New York her whole life. It made seeing the special places difficult sometimes. And so much of the city had been closed up or abandoned since…whatever it was that happened.

But she knew there were still some places left.

“You got space in that notebook?”

He did, and he wrote down every single location she suggested. There was a quiet intensity in his eyes as he did, like it was all the most important things anyone could’ve told him.

“...and I suppose if you want to do the touristy stuff, you can,” Gena finished.. “I’m sure some travel blog has a listicle of places still up and running.”

“Probably.” Jake set down his pen. “Gracias. I’ll let you know how many I try.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t let your employers grind you down too hard, yeah? I know they’re handing you a paycheck, but you’ve got to live sometime.”

Jake sipped his coffee and nodded. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, that’s good advice.”

~~~

Suspected serial rapist Edmund Weller was found dead in an alley on the west side. The only witness–his would-be victim–claimed a white-clad figure saved her, walked her to a 24 hour convenience store, and disappeared once she was safe. The clerk backed her story; however, police were unable to find evidence of any such figure in the city.

~~~

She only saw him once more that year.

It was winter break. She had managed to get the boys out of the house to see some fresh snowfall in Central Park. It was mostly abandoned, save for the odd family or overly ambitious jogger.

And Jake, sitting on a park bench, watching the snow fall.

Gena thought about going to say “hello”, but the peaceful look on his face stopped her. He had the look of a man enjoying his solitude; she didn’t want to disturb that.

Besides, something told her she’d be seeing him again.

~~~

He didn’t know what happened on that trip.

In a way, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t his job to handle everything for Marc. Just the burdens he couldn’t bear.

It was nice to slip out for no real reason for once. To enjoy some quiet and peace.

He didn’t get that very often.

#moon knight #jake lockley #gena landers #fic: meet me at our spot #I can post fics to tumblr again because I actually installed a word processor and it doesn't eff up the formatting like google docs does

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dark-fics-4-you · 10 months

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Ex-Best Friends with Benefits ch. II

Dark!Rafe Cameron x friend!Reader

After Rafe crosses a major boundary, you realize that it’s time to end this fling with your friend.

Warnings: dubcon, smut, oral f!recieving, coercion, manipulation, drugs, drinking

Note: Y/N/N = your nickname

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2 months earlier

You took another drag off the blunt being passed around by your friends, laughing as Topper and Rafe told a story about some uptight geezers at the country club, before passing the blunt to your left.

“I swear to god, they took 30 minutes on one hole! And me and Rafe were in the golf cart just burning up and wasting the day away, but we didn’t want to skip this hole became it’s got the best views of the milf’s!” Topper and Rafe high fived, snickering amongst themselves at the retelling.

“So Topper decides that he’s gonna try to scare them off and run at them with a golf club, screaming his head off about how long they’ve been on the green,” Rafe looked his left, locking eyes with you, smiling slyly and you laughed along with him.

“Well, we move on to the next hole and the next thing we know, some country club workers came up to us, saying all ‘you can’t be harassing the other members, we’re gonna revoke your membership’ yadda yadda yadda. So I turn to these assholes and I said ‘if you had any idea who we are, you would know that I could get away with murder and still have a membership at this shitty golf course,’” Rafe boasted, shaking his head with a grin.

The rest of the table laughed, Kelce mimicking Topper running around with the golf club and screaming to the amusement of everyone.

Rafe passed the blunt to you and you inhaled before blowing the smoke out in his face. He pretended to be pissed off at you, waving a hand in front of his face to clear the smoke before snatching the blunt from you and taking a hit out of rotation.

“What, can’t handle a lil smoke, Rafe?” You challenged lightheartedly, a playful grin blooming across your face.

“Oh please, who’s the one that had to take care of your ass when you greened out at that party last week?” He chuckled, one eyebrow raised as he leaned over you to pass the blunt to your left.

“Shut up! That was one time!” You rolled your eyes, trying not to remember how fucked up you had been, so paranoid you had locked yourself in the bathroom before Rafe finally calmed you down.

The conversation moved on, focusing on how to get back at some Pogues who had apparently sunk Topper’s boat.

You were getting a little bored, never one to take part in the Kook vs Pogue war shit. You had always thought it was stupid.

Rafe turned to you before leaning close and quietly saying, “you know, I have some coke if you wanted to do a line or two. Just you and me. I know the guys are annoying you with the whole ‘revenge on the Pogues’ thing. Plus I don’t think they want any, they had a lot earlier.”

Your eyes lit up, turning to him and nodding your head, “fuck yeah.”

“Bet,” he stood up and you followed him, letting the group know you two were going inside.

You thought you saw Rafe and Topper exchange a weird look, but you couldn’t decipher it and you brushed it off.

Rafe led you upstairs to his room, which you had been in many times before, just hanging out and smoking, so it wasn’t anything unusual to you that when he closed the door.

You and Rafe sat on his bed, grabbing a tray to line up the coke for the two of you.

“How much did you want, Y/N?”

“Umm, give me the same amount you’re doing.”

“You sure?” He chuckled, eyebrow cocked in amusement, but you were up to the challenge.

“I’m trying to get fucked up, Rafe. You’ve never done me wrong before, I trust you,” you replied earnestly, leaning back against one of his pillows.

“Oh then you’re gonna like this, sweetheart.”

You glanced at the tray, impressed by the lines he had formed for you both. He handed you the rolled up dollar bill after he snorted his, and he held the tray for you as you leaned over it, before he placed it on his bedside table.

You looked up after snorting the line, head hazy from the rush of the drugs to see Rafe looking at you with a sly smile. He didn’t say anything.

“What?” You questioned him, leaning closer on the bed, ready to start joking with your friend.

“Nothing, Y/N/N. You’re just… really pretty.” His honesty surprised you. It’s not that you thought that you were unattractive, but Rafe was one of your best friends and he had never expressed any thing like this to you before. Not to mention, you didn’t exactly fit the type of girl he usually went for.

And of course you found him handsome, but you had never even entertained the thought that he might be attracted to you.

You blinked at him in surprise and before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, lips pressing to yours, soft at first, before becoming more forceful. Electricity crackled in the air around you and you pulled away quickly, shocked eyes meeting his to see only determination written across his face.

“Rafe, I don’t think we should do this,” you nervously glanced towards the door, trying to express your discomfort as you shifted on the bed.

“Why not?” He challenged, an edge to his voice that made you feel uneasy, but the butterflies that were filling your gut and the warm feeling between your legs had you doubting yourself. He slowly began to close the gap between you.

His hand found your leg, lightly brushing near your inner knee and slowly climbing further down your inner thigh.

“You’re one of my best friends, Rafe. I just think it would get too complicated if we- if we-” your voice faltered as his hand crept closer to your core under your skirt.

“It doesn’t have to be complicated, Y/N/N,” he whispered, lips nearly touching yours again as his hand was traveling dangerously close to a place you weren’t sure you wanted it to be. Your head was spinning, body buzzing with anxious energy. “I just want to make you feel good. Isn’t that what friends do?”

“Y-yes but-”

“Y/N/N,” Rafe sounded disappointed, and you were about to apologize but you let out a yelp instead when you felt him rub your clit over your panties. “You don’t really want me to stop now, do you?”

His lips were on yours before you could respond, one hand tangled into your hair, pulling teasingly as his other pushed your panties aside and slid a digit into you slowly.

You gasped at the feel, back arching and Rafe took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth and devouring you messily. Your arms shot out to grip his shoulders, trying to push him back but you were no match for his strength and he forced you back against the bed.

His finger pumped into you lazily, curling and twisting as he stroked your desire.

Rafe’s lips left yours, kissing down your cheek to your jaw, sloppily nipping and biting along your neck, and eliciting whimpers.

When his thumb found your clit, teasing the bundle of nerves slowly, you moaned embarrassingly loud, eyes rolling back in your head as your friend fucked you with his fingers.

Blue eyes met yours, hungrily raking over your body in a way you had observed before, but you had never been the target of his attraction until now.

He pulled his finger out and climbed between your legs, kissing down your clothed body before he reached your thighs, pushing your skirt up as he planted warm kisses on your inner thighs.

Your breathing was fast, chest rising and falling rapidly. The drugs were heightening every sensation you felt while making the rest of the world feel fuzzy and far away. Anxiety began to rise in your chest as you felt Rafe slid your panties down your legs and part them before slowly licking up your slit.

“I- I- ah-” you babbled, unable to string a coherent thought together.

His tongue pressed to your clit, lightly circling it before he slowly pushed one finger into you.

Your hips bucked and his other arm latched across your hips, holding you in place and allowing no escape.

Rafe’s finger curled inside you as he lapped at your clit. Head thrown back and sweaty, you gasped at the feeling of him devouring your cunt, biting one of your fingers at the knuckle to muffle your noises.

You could feel the pleasure inside you building to a peak as Rafe massaged your walls and teased your clit.

Your emotions swirled at the implications of what you were doing. This was wrong, right? You didn’t know if you thought friends should be doing this.

You rolled your hips against the arm holding you down as much as you could, twitching with each curl of his finger.

When you felt him push a second in, it was too much, and the pressure inside you exploded. Expletives fell past your lips as Rafe slowly fucked you through your orgasm.

Rafe pulled his fingers out before putting them in his mouth, tongue swirling around to lap up your juices.

You were quiet for a few moments, unable to meet his eyes, before you softly whispered, “Maybe we shouldn’t have done this, Rafe. I feel like this was wrong.”

Your friend chuckled before he moved from between your legs, climbing over you and straddling your waist before he grabbed your arms and pinned them by your head. With one free hand he tilted your head up towards you, drinking in your face. Rafe leaned in, lips brushing yours before whispering, “It can’t be wrong if it feels this good.”

#rafe cameron #outer banks #dark!rafe cameron #dark rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron dubcon #obx #drew starkey #rafe cameron smut #ex friends with benefits

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ikonoklastes · 1 year

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Chapter 2

They leave the Magdalena house a few hours later after leaving the twins, Rigor and Pallor, to take care of the body, stopping only to search Nuñez’s apartment. A few flash drives of information, a container of fudge brownie ice cream, and a closet of oddly high-grade weapons were all that waited inside that proved interesting enough to take.

“So his crew’s gonna be pissed, yeah?” Max says through a spoonful of ice cream as he watches Reign skillfully relock the door. “We’re lucky guns aren’t anything special around here, so we have the cops off us, and those creepy fuckin’ twins won’t leave a trace of the guy, but someone’s bound to notice their leader won’t answer their calls.”

Paris leans against the wall across from the door, arms crossed. Max offers him the spoon, attempting to lighten his mood.

“What a mess I’ve made, huh,” Paris says. He closes his eyes and shakes his head gently, scratching at his neck nervously.

“Got that right, bossman,” Reign chimes in. She stands up straight, pocketing her lock picks, and reaches for the offered spoon of ice cream only for Max to pull it away. “We’re in for some shit if we stay here much longer. Apparently Nuñez ran /Las Amapolas/, a tacky-ass name for a band of crazed heroin dealers with ties to the Russian mob.”

Max whistles at that. “Small-town, pissed-off, doped-up mobsters, nice.”

He pulls the ice cream out of Reign’s reach, which is easy because Max has a solid foot on her. She mimes kneeing him in the crotch and stands on the tips of her toes, arms waving in the direction of the container and spoon.

“Girl, get your own,” Max laughs, relenting and bringing the container back down to her level.

Reign smiles and hits Max’s arm as she takes it. “Suck my dick.”

“Oh, so forward. I only go down after the second date, unlike some—“

“I swear to God if you don’t shut up—“

“Lets go,” Paris interrupts. He jingles his keys in his pocket and starts off towards the staircase.

Reign oohs and pushes Max in front of her. “Nico, go calm your boyfriend down.”

Max flips her off but still feels his face heat at the implication. He’s grateful his skin is too dark to visibly blush in the dim lights of the hall, or Reign would have herself a field day making fun of his crush on their boss. He continues down the hall, fidgeting with his own keys in his coat pocket and licking the last of the chocolate off his lips.

—

They get to Austin without issue and meet up in an packed Denny’s parking lot.

Max and Reign perch on the hood of the Maserati and wait, Paris thumbing at his phone and scrolling through a never ending contact list until he finds the one he wants and walks away to make the call. Its brief and as he comes back, avoiding a large family loudly ambling towards the restaurant, he pulls a notepad out of his coat pocket and jots something down in his narrow scrawling handwriting.

“There’s an Astoria downtown, namedrop Miss Nora St. Claire and they’ll give you whatever you want,” Paris explains shortly. He rips the page from the notepad and hands it to Max. He points at Reign. “I want you with me.”

Reign nods dutifully. “What’s going down, bossman?”

He smirks, but its kind, lacking any of the venom from earlier. “This will be a... whats the word, surveying mission? We are going to become familiar with every last corner of this city and use that to track down Rin Whittaker.”

Max pushes himself up. “And I will be...?”

“At the Marriott. Get our living situation in order, restock, do what you need. We are going to be here for a few weeks, at least.”

Max can’t stop the sound of disapproval that bubbles up from his throat. “Why do I have to handle that? Reign would be more useful at the hotel, after all I’m better at lookout.

Paris sighs. “I’ll... explain later. Believe it or not, I have my reasons.”

Reign snorts. “You two, I swear. Come on, ‘Ris, let’s get going. I don’t want to be in the car when it gets dark and your shitty navigational skills get us lost.”

She makes her way to the passenger side and swings the door open, narrowly missing the minivan in the space over. Before she sits, she raps her knuckles sharply against the roof and catches Max’s attention. “You should get us lunch, Nico. No fish or weird southern style soul food bullshit.”

With that, she slides with practiced grace into the car, drawing out her phone to hook it up to the stereo system.

Paris makes eye contact with Max. He’s smiling, but he looks uneasy.

Max smirks. “I’ll try not to get separation anxiety while I’m alone at the hotel. Anything you want for later?”

Paris visibly relaxes, though whether its at Max’s attempt at banter or something else, Max is never fully sure. “I would be fine with anything, thank you.”

Paris gives a half-salute and gets into the drivers seat, and then they’re off, leaving Max alone in the parking lot with his and Reign’s cars. He thinks about Paris’ easy smile and goes warm inside. Reign is right: he’s too far gone.

—

Max sets up shop in one of the two suites given to them by the hotel staff. His contacts are out and in their cases on the sink, his textbooks and school laptop sit on one of the desks, his guns and med kits lay in their bags under the bed, and his phone and earpiece charge by one of the room’s two beds. He sits idly in the desk chair, spinning slowly as he listens to the TV on the wall.

The room itself is bigger than the first floor of his parent’s townhouse back in Louisiana, he can’t help but notice, and decorated a million times more elegantly and expensively, but he can’t help but miss the simplicity of his previous life. Sure, he never felt as alive then as he does now, but he had his family, his degree, his friends. Routine, certainty, the guarantee of safety; these were things he’d abandoned the moment he got into Paris’ now long-gone Cobra six months ago.

Max groans to no one in particular and pushes up his glasses to bury the heels of his palms into his eyes. He’s exhausted, but why wouldn’t he be? He killed a man before breakfast then drove partway across the state with a brooding team and a somewhat guilty conscious, and now Paris was already onto the next step in his big secret scheme and Max had no idea what it would even entail.

The clock on the desk reads 11:49 when there’s a knock at the door, making Max jump out of his thoughts and nearly out of his chair.

“Nico, you in there?”

Max rushes to his feet, pulling at his button down in a vain attempt at flattening any wrinkles in the cotton.

Paris stands in the doorway holding a Dunkin Donuts bag. “Can I come in?”

Max nods and steps aside, gesturing towards the rest of the room. “Back so early?”

Paris shakes his head as he shrugs off his coat. “Reign can handle herself, you understand.” His teeth chatter a bit as he speaks, making him slur his already accented speech. He places the bag and keys on the counter of the suite kitchenette, and motions towards the couch.

Max settles on one end, pressed in the corner to allow Paris as much space as he needs, which turns out to be all of it as he stretches out, feet in Max’s lap, across the cushions.

“And anyways, I am here for a reason. We must talk, Niccolò.”

Max meets his eyes and, not for the first time, drowns in them. They always look a bit wet and glazed over, comprised of a million and one overlapping shades of a deep, muddy brown that on occasion catch the light in such a way that they turn to gold. Fitting for Paris, a man that seemingly falls so easily into a life of opulence and brilliance yet chooses to remain in the dirty, shadowy world of a life on the run.

Max registers too late what Paris said and sees a smirk play on Paris’ reddened, bitten lips. Max stutters before shaking his head and averting his gaze.

“What do we, uh, need to talk about?” he asks, trying to distract from being caught staring.

“You remember when you first joined me and Reign, forever ago?”

Max nods slowly.

“You remember how it felt, then. Confusion isn’t the right word, but it was difficult, no? After all, it was very much on a whim, you were taking a big risk getting in the car with someone who was completely up front about the legality of his... occupation,” he smiles wryly at that, nudging Max’s leg with his heel, “and it was a bit before you actually found your footing with us.”

“Disorienting.”

“That’s the word, yes.”

Max crosses his arms impatiently, almost unconsciously. “What’s going on, ‘Ris? Why’re you bringing all this up?”

“We’re getting a new member, and I want you on orientation duty.”

That wasn’t what he expected Paris to say.

“Wait, what?” Max can’t stop the words from leaving his mouth, and they come out louder than they should.

“He goes by the name Águila and is going to be on tech and demo. He should be here soon.”

“When the hell did you recruit him?”

“Earlier today, over the phone in the parking lot. Technically I did not recruit him, he was assigned to us after I explained this morning to Ramses on the drive to Austin.”

The elusive Ramses, apparently the source of most of their side jobs and keeper of more secrets than a priest in a confessional. Paris is the only one who’s ever met the guy in real life, or so he claims. Max has never so much as heard his voice or seen his picture, but even he, fresh as he was on this scene, knew Ramses was one to be obeyed. There was no going against his word; that was how they lost their last tech guy Ciaran, according to Reign.

“So you’ve never met Águila is what I’m guessing.”

Paris shakes his head.

“Does... does Reign know? She doesn’t exactly take to new people well if when we met was anything to go by.”

Paris nods. “I explained before I came here so you could avoid her wrath. She nearly crashed my car driving me here then took off as soon as I closed the door.”

“She took it well, then.”

“I made it here uneviscerated, did I not?

They share a look, Paris with his easy smile and Max feeling his own face softening. Max looks away and pushes the legs off the lap gently and stands, smoothing his jeans more out of a need to fidget than to avoid wrinkles. He goes to the counter and pulls out one of the sandwiches.

“So, why did Ramses assign a new guy?” he asks before taking a bite. “We aren’t exactly understaffed and three seemed like his magic number for team size.”

Paris raises his arms above his head and stretches. “No idea, my friend. All I know is, we go against him, we eat wood.”

Max pauses mid-chew. “We... what?”

Paris hums as he continues to stretch. “What, did I say something?”

“What do you mean, we’ll eat wood?”

“Is that not a saying?”

Max laughs and prepares to explain that it definitely isn’t but instead follows it with a choking noise as he inhales part of his sandwich.

Paris rushes to his feet and hits him on the back, with more force than necessary.

“Jesus Christ, I think I just died,” Max breathes, his chest heaving with panic as he coughs into the sandwich wrapper. “Think I just ate the fuckin’ wood, holy shit.”

That gets a laugh out of Paris. “That is not how you use that phrase. It is more of a threat, I suppose. I cannot explain as I do not know any English equivalent.”

Max nods. “Where do they say that?” he asks, seizing his chance to get more information on Paris just as his lungs are seizing for more air.

“My mother’s country, Greece. Where I grew up, actually.”

“Huh. Only your mother’s country?”

Paris leans against the counter. “Don’t think you are getting my entire history, Niccolò.”

It sounds like a threat, but he’s still smiling the same soft smile.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, boss. Can I ask where in Greece?”

“Heraklion,” he says, his accent shifting as his tongue rolls around each syllable, “A big city on Crete, most beautiful in all of the Mediterranean...” he trails off.

Max sets the sandwich down and moves closer, resting his hand inches from Paris’ hip. “You miss it?”

Paris’ smile turns sad, wistful. “Every goddamn day. You miss yours?”

“My...?”

“Your hometown. Shreveport, I believe.”

Its Max’s turn to feel homesick. “Yeah. Every goddamn day.”

“You can always go back. I would never stop you from visiting, you know.”

“If I go back, I don’t think I could return to this life. Its one thing being away, but having to leave again? It—“

“It would kill you,” Paris finishes for him. Six months since they met and Max has never felt closer to anyone in his life. “I understand completely, though I hate to think that you would not come back for me.”

Max feels himself lean in, and he thinks he feels Paris do the same, and he must be losing his mind because there is no fucking way he is about to do this, yet here he is, the distance between them getting shorter and shorter until—

Theres a resounding knock on the door, strong enough to echo around the room and make them both jump out of their skins and to opposite ends of the counter.

A muffled voice comes through the thick wood of the door.

Paris straightens himself and pointedly avoids Max, which stings more than being interrupted in the first place. He goes to the door and twists the lock, but as he does the door flies open, scuffing Paris’ arm.

The person is short, tan skin stained with black tattoos creeping up their neck from the collar of an expensive-looking coat into their buzzed dark hair. They pull their white shades from their face to reveal icy blue eyes, the right one surrounded by pallid brown skin and shallow white scars. They look ready to pounce, lips pulled up into an indignant scowl that could easily turn into a snarl.

Paris stands aside as the person strides into the room, untouchable, insurmountable, unimpressed.

They pocket their shades and cross their arms.

“I’m Águila,” he spits, glaring at Max. His voice is high, reminiscent of a prepubescent boy, but carries all the weight of a grown man’s in his harsh, flippant tone. “Which one of y’all is Paris?”

#wip: petrov #writeblr #writers on tumblr #original character #original writing #uhhhhh

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rose--coloredboy · 2 years

Text

2022

This one's probably going to sound pretty hostile. That's because these were for the most part, written as it was happening. The other ones were written and explained thoroughly awhile after the fights, so I wasn't necessarily upset while writing those. These ones, I'm not going to edit to seem nicer. I want you to see and read every emotion I was feeling when it happened.

_________________________________________________________

January

January 4th:

i mention how i’m not excited for the -18 weather tomorrow

“oh you work inside”

“yeah barely over half the time i’m there”

“you just walk room from room”

i mention that i actually spend more time outside than that bc we have to carry everything back and forth across property by hand

“oh but still you’re in the warm rooms most of the time”

yup okay. not having this argument.

“i’m just saying i’d be doing that in a t-shirt.”

okay.

“i would!”

Notes: You're constantly trying to minimize everything I do. I work, you work harder. I'm cold, you're colder. You were getting legitimately mad at me for trying to mention how much time I actually spend time at work...such a pointless argument yet you had to win this one, just like always.

January 24th:

I really need to get the fuck out of this house and away from you. You came home today AUTOMATICALLY in a pissy mood, spitting attitude at me. You cut another finger open, yeah that sucks. But you came in practically barking at me to call my mom to give you a ride to the store. No sweet hellos. Fuck you.

I called my mom, asked for the ride, she headed over. Before you know it you call your mom/dad and they end up offering their help, that's great! But then I have no way of calling my mom to tell her not to come get you yet. When I tell you she's already on her way, you get pissier and yell "jesus FUCK!"

As if it was that big of a deal? Fuck dude. Not to mention the string of attitude you gave YOUR mom on the phone because she couldn't hear you for just a second. You just yell "hello?? helLOOO??!" OVER and OVER again. Get the god damn memo, sometimes people can't hear you it's fucking FINE.

There's no god damn reason to get that fucking pissed off over something that isn't even the other person's fault. No matter how good or shitty the phone service or weather, technology is technology, and sometimes it bugs out a little bit for FUCKS sake. Shut the hell up. It's fine. No fucking reason for you to get so god damn upset all the time.

Jesus you piss me off.

January 26th: There's no fight to document today, I'm just in my feelings...I'm having trouble grasping that this is gonna end sooner or later. I find myself having to force my mind into imagining scenarios where I have a happy/healthy relationship. It helps. This sucks because some days we do pretty well. But I just can't let go of all the past hurt. I cant. I think we could be "perfect" for years, and I'd still hold onto all the hurt. You've bruised me. Physically shoved me so hard that I've lost my balance and fallen to the ground. You've hurt me. That alone should have been enough. But I'm so dependent on you I can't leave. I can't do it on my own. But I'm not happy. Sure, we have happy moments, but I'm not happy. You get even SLIGHTLY upset and I find myself swearing that I hate my life and to an extent, that's true. I hate it here. I hate walking on eggshells. You lose something it's all over. A phone call drops or cuts you it's all over. So many things trigger you RIDICULOUSLY easy. You miss an alarm? Ape shit. You're so fucking quick to anger and that has NEVER changed. I left you at the end of July last year, and told you pretty much everything I'm typing here. Nothing has changed. Except instead of drunk texting Lexy, you FUCKED her lmao. I cant. I can't do this. I know about the girl you scheduled a date with DAYS after I left. DAYS. I spent my nights crying myself to sleep because my entire world shifted and I didn't know what to do. And you were out at the bars making date reservations with other people. Which is fine, you're allowed to move on, I'm not saying you can't. But it had been DAYS.

February

February 11th:

“i’ll do dishes before you have to make dinner”

you say you gotta go run errands and i ask u to bring me ONE single water from cenex

*leaves to give zach $200 and give wesley weed you owed him*

you come back like an hour later say ur high as fuck bc you smoked w zach and wesley. didn’t bring me a water. probably not gonna do dishes bc it’s now 7 pm.

i’m not making dinner.

then you get a wild hair up your ass to make edibles, and still don't clean the kitchen, just make it MORE of a mess so you can make some fucking weed cookies.

________________________________________________________________________________

that's honestly one of the last times I logged anything negative. I've lost all motivation and all hope that things will ever change. Nothing ever will. You'll always be controlling over money. You'll always worry more about spending what extra money we do have on weed or alcohol and act like we're gonna go into debt every single time I ask for anything. I can't even count on two hands how many times I've heard you tell me that we can "get it next paycheck." or "soon we'll get it" i've been hearing it for YEARS. Even when I'm making my own money and paying as MUCH of the bills I can. Anything left over goes straight in your pocket and you get whatever the hell you want. Not anymore. I'm done. We've been on a HANDFUL of dates. I don't try anymore. I used to beg to go on picnics and it's never happened. You always tell me to remind you but I shouldn't have to remind you. That feels like a burden, that's not fair. I'd love to surprise you with dates, but you dont ever let me have control of any of my own money, and anything we ever do end up doing together gets tainted because you get mad or grumpy at SOMETHING that happens and ruins the whole mood. It always happens. When we lived at Sam's house, I came home from work to a candlelit dinner once, that was lovely. We had those same candles for four more years and not once did i ever come home to anything sweet EVER. Sure, neither did you, but why would i wanna spend my time and energy on something for you when all you do is scream at me or storm around the house pissy about something that never even had anything to do with me???? It makes no fucking sense. I'm done. I'm tired.

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mamamilki · 2 years

Text

Empress of the sun

“Your empress will return”

(Warnings: Implied SA (never something to joke about) Harsh Language, terrible plot (On my part) shitty grammar (on my part) 18+ you’re a player :p)

word count: 2.9k

The cold wet concrete scent filled the air, light reflecting off the puddles from the lamps on the sidewalks guiding the wanderers who may have gotten lost on their journey. But not this case, heavy pants filled the almost silent night as a man was running down an alleyway, stepping on puddles disturbing the still pocket of water on the floor. Only a couple of light posts on the side of the buildings light the way to see the alley, barely. ‘Shit shit shit! I’m going to get killed!” trying to not trip on the crates and garbage cans next to the mucky walls. Multiple hurried footsteps were heard in front of the man, halting his steps he quickly changed his route to the other direction, he cowered in fear. Panicking he felt tears falling down his face he saw his breath escape his mouth into the cold air not realizing how cold it is. “There he is! Get him!” another voice was heard, he darted his head towards the source of the sound. His eyes widened before running the opposite way only to find it blocked by a big wall of muscle. “G-guys, I can e-explain!” “No. You stole from us multiple times, even after all the warnings I’ve given you. I have been lenient but you got too greedy.” The boss spoke behind his men.

The poor boy's wide glossy eyes shook his head whimpering “I-I swear! Only r-reason I stole f-from you are b-because of my mother! She-e is sick!” the boss didn’t budge as he held his gun out pointing towards the boy's head “PLEASE!” the boy shook heavily thinking that this was the end for him, he couldn't even say goodbye to his mother “Aw..you aren’t gonna give the poor kid a chance?” Your voice startled the men, they didn’t hear you approach them. The boss stared at you up and down like you were a piece of meat, and he hasn't eaten in weeks. You internally puke looking at him. He barely fits in the suit he is wearing, his toupee barely on right, his double chin sticking out rather prominently. “Well well well, what do we have here? You look lost, little girl. Come with me and we can have a good time cutie.” Shaking your head shocked the boss “I highly suggest you get your ass here before my men will have fun with you instead.” the way he spoke pissed you off. Completely ignoring the incompetent man you looked at the crying boy, he looks to be of age. “Are you alright sweetheart?” His glassy doe eyes met mine through his puffy curly hair, you smiled “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it” reassuring the boy.

The boss and his men were furious “Go and have your way with the whore. I don’t care if you leave her bleeding or pregnant! Just show her how to respect men and not talk back to us that way.” The boss yells I can’t believe how this man is talking to me like that. It angered me to no extent, turning around back to the boy I smiled before telling him to look away and covering his ear, he nodded before doing what he was told. “You should learn how to respect women.” I cracked my neck before smirking, “I’ll fix that very soon.” the men pulled out their guns aiming them at me, this is going to be fun.

You ran towards the group of men at an unbelievable speed, the men shot as many rounds as it would let them, you appeared in front of the boss. He fell on his ass as he was trying to say something, you rolled your eyes before you grabbed the man and got on top of a roof far away from the alleyway “I’m sorry, were you saying something?” you held your free hand near your ear, your other hand was holding onto the man's tie. Looking around you would be around 50 feet (15 meters) up in the air, with a gorgeous view of all the buildings and skyscrapers with lights. If you weren’t holding an overweight man dangling off the roof by his tie. “Please! Spare me! I did nothing wrong!” Leaning a little bit further the man almost falls off, he screams crying for mercy “You’ll give the boy enough money to financially support his family, and leave him alone.” He kept screaming and crying, ``You almost let him go only holding him by the tip of his tie “Say. It” Glaring down at him, your eyes glowing in the dark adding to the menacing vibe around you. Still, the man didn’t say anything “you men are always so stubborn” before letting him go, turning around and walking away, you hear his sweet scream. You walked towards the edge again before smiling sinisterly, you jumped over the building gaining speed to catch up to the man “You enjoying your flight??” Yelling at him he screams louder crying “HELP ME PLEASE I WILL DO IT” finally you sighed before grabbing him, golden wings appear behind you, and they shimmer in the night sky with the light reflecting off the buildings. The man’s eyes widen “what…are you?” I looked back it’s him before shrugging “I don’t know”

Flying back to the alleyway you saw the men surrounding the boy, “any of you lay a single dirty ass finger on that boy, I’ll kill your boss.” Threatening the men, they immediately stopped their action before putting their hands up in the sky. Shaking your head, you threw the boss in front of the men. “Now get out before I kill you all” all the men ran to wherever they came from, I groaned before making my way to the boy, he was still whimpering “Hey, you’re going to be ok now.” he looks at me again with those sad eyes “r-really?” I nod “mhm! Come on, you must be freezing, let's go get drinks!” he nods before standing to his full height ‘wow, this dude is tall’

We made our way to the closest cafe, entering the warmth quickly washed over us both, and the barista welcomed us in before we started to order our drinks. The boy who is name I recently found out Oscar ordered his drink “Can I p-please get a Hot lemon citron tea please..” then I ordered my drink. We walked to a table before sitting down. We both sat in silence before I decided to break it “So, how old are you Oscar?” He looked nervous, his pulse was rather fast “I just turned 18..h-how about you miss..” my eyes widen ‘he just called me miss. I'm going to kill myself’ “I’m not that old…I just turned 20” his eyes shot wide open “oh my god I'm so sorry for calling you miss, I swear I call everyone that” he kept on rambling making me smile before laughing he looked at me with a nervous smile, after my laughter died down I reassured him that it was alright, the barista made their way over to our table “Heres your order!” I smiled before thanking them. I heard a voice whisper to me looking to the corner of the room with a frown the boy looked in the same direction before looking back at me “Hey you alright?” he waves his hand in front of my face. I snap back to reality before I gave him a nod “I need to get going. Can you get home safe? Will you do that for me?” he nods as his cheeks flush into a pink color “y-yeah I can do that..” I smile before patting his head “Atta boy, see you around?” his cheeks darken before quickly nodding again. I chuckle before walking out the door leaving the boy staring at me flustered.

When you left Oscar quickly realized he didn’t ask for your number. He ran outside trying to find you but you were gone like the wind. Readjusting his hot drink he found a piece paper slipping off the cup, he leaned down to inspect it. His eyes widen seeing what's on the paper “Don’t be sad, let us keep in touch if you feel unsafe, I’m a call away. See ya <3

(696-696-6969) (Not a real #) ”

I was watching Oscar at a distance before smiling “You are outrageously cliche.” I rolled my eyes at the 9-foot-tall god “You wish you got some bitches.” I heard a small gasp from the sun god making me laugh “Watch your language Y/f/n (full name) after you became my avatar you have been slacking common decency.” I laughed more “I-I know hahaha I j-just can’t h-help ithahahahahah!” you spoke in between your laughs before calming down “what do we need to do now?” Ra looked at the artifact I took from a museum not that long ago “We need a couple more pieces before the ritual can be done.” I nod ‘oh the ritual. The one that involves a lot of blood’ “Yes that ritual.” I slapped the god’s arm “I told you to stop reading my mind” I looked up to the big golden armored bird, he chuckles lowly before patting my head, his hand clearly bigger than mine I shook him off clicking my tongue. I smiled at the memory of you and Ra first interacting.

“A-avatar??” the deity nods “what is that…like the show about that bald boy?” Ra groans “you fool, you have no idea do you?” I shook my head with my lips pursed. Ra explains to me how an avatar works and all of the quirks. (an excuse cause I forgot hehe) “even if I can, it sounds extremely dangerous!” I looked out at the window seeing a cat staring at me and the god hissing at him “This is why I am offering you: my armor of destruction.” my eyes widened before figurative smoke came out of my ears “I’m confused…” I giggled before the god grabs my arm lightly “I will show you what I mean.” within a blink of an eye I am on the highest building there was in London I grabbed onto the god screaming “What the hell is wrong with you!” the god ignored me as he opened his golden wings that were resting behind his back “You are gifted with the abilities of; flight, enhanced speed and strength, teleportation, you can make a weapon suited for you in any battle. There are more, but you are not ready for them.” I listened in shock as I looked down to see many cars driving by before my knees grow weak out of fear. The god left before I could say anything “wha–what the hell!?” I yelled at the sky thinking he’d be there “how am I supposed to get home?!” “fly back home. I’ll be awaiting for your arrival” the god’s voice boomed in my ear making me groan.

I finally made it back after a long ass time on the clock tower, it took a while before I grew a set of balls and jumped off the building, not before I knew how to summon wings no thanks to the sun god. Opening the door I saw the god standing there “Good job, you were quicker than any other of my avatars.” I looked at him with little tears prickling my eyes “I didn’t even agree!” I yelled at him “I’m just 16! I can’t do whatever you want me to do!” I don’t care if I’m overreacting it’s seriously messed up putting a child through all this. The sun god made his way to me, clearly, I was intimidated and stepped back “You, little one are special, unlike any other avatars I’ve ever had.” I looked back up at him doubtfully “No way…I’m just a nobody” “You have a good heart, and you follow your own rule, not anyone else’s.” I looked at him again before smiling softly.

It took me fully 2 months to finally give him an answer, but obviously, I said yes to his offer, not long after he made me his avatar and we were off. With whatever duties he needed me to fulfill, I did as I was told. I didn’t mind the missions either, I gained many skills throughout my missions now, three years passed, I turned 19 it’s 2018 and it has already been a couple of years since the blip has happened, it has impacted everyone’s lives during the past 5 years...

I walked in the busy streets of China, our last needed relic was last seen here making my way to the subway I pulled the hood of my hoodie down to cover my hair and face. I heard the relic was kept by a fearsome gang leader that goes by the name ‘Reaper’ . The name made me scoff due to how corny it was, ok so slip in get it, and get out, simple as that. I cracked my neck before quietly sneaking into the hideout, I felt the floor for vibrations closing my eyes. I silently count ‘1..5…14…..27.’ There were 27 people there. That'll be a hassle especially if they all carry guns. The more action the more fun it’ll be I suppose!

I woke up suddenly taking a deep breath, where the hell am I again looking around everything suddenly came back to me I checked my phone for the time ‘6:45 am March 14th, 2022.’ I double-take at the year ‘what the fuck’ stumbling out of bed trying to recall the recent memories last time you checked it was 2018. Was it all just a weird dream? How old am I? Looking at the full body mirror in the hotel room I see my scar adorned body “yeesh, I thought your healing suit would heal my wounds, Ra” the god appears on my bed sitting down he shrugs while continuing to stare at me I dismissed him while I checked myself out, I have a rather toned body, wearing only a shirt and underwear I quickly change into better clothes. “Wanna go visit the museum?” I asked Ra, and he agreed before disappearing I grabbed my keys and left.

London hasn't changed whatsoever I don’t even mean it in a bad way, I just missed it. I haven’t been home in forever so seeing it hasn’t changed made me happy. Arriving at the museum I smiled before quickly entering the building, apparently, they have more Egyptian artifacts than before so I’m really excited to see them “e-excuse me?” I felt someone lightly tap my shoulders turning around I see a rather cute guy with curly hair and a shy smile staring at me “are you lost? I couldn’t help but see you were looking at the Statue of Ra are you interested in that artifact?”

” he asks, I nod my head “no I’m not lost, and yes I am interested in the statue of ra, can you be my tour guide?” his eyes quickly widened before he hesitated “I-I’m sorry, I’m not the tour guide..I just work at the gift shop..” he looks at his feet while his hands were shoved deep in his pocket, he is wearing a greyish blue coat that fits his look really well, his soft brown eyes look around the museum “you seem like you know a lot about these artifacts.” I glanced at the statue next to me “can you tell me about this statue?” I point towards the Statue of Khufu before he quickly made his way to my side “oh Khufu, he is an ancient Egyptian pharaoh of the first dynasty and builder of the Great Pyramid of Giza, he has ruled for 63 years from 2589BCE to 2566BCE. Pretty cool innit?” he smiles before looking towards me, something about him makes me feel warm I smile back before looking at his name tag ‘Steven’ I read “wow Steven! that is super cool!” I was about to say something before a woman came walking up to me and Steven “Stevey what are you doing? You aren’t the bloody tour guide” the women looked at him before smiling at me “I am so sorry if my employee was pestering you” I quickly shook my head “No no no! He isn’t pestering me at all! I was just looking around before he told me some awesome facts about the Statue of Khufu! You should make him a tour guide!” I see Steven blush before shaking his head.

You glanced at the clock before you looked back at Steven who was making his way to the gift shop, walking towards his place you could see him talking to himself ‘doesn’t he look crazy?’ Ra spoke in your head “shut up, don’t be rude” I got to Steven finally getting his attention “Steven!” He let out a small yelp before realizing who it was “woah woah woah, you alright mate? You seemed like you’re in a deep thought” I gave him a soft smile before he mimics the gesture “y-yeah no you’re alright, I was in a deep thought. Did…did you need something? Uh j-jelly?” He stutters as he is trying to make a conversation, it made me giggle before I stopped him from embarrassing himself more “it’s alright, I was actually wondering…if you wanted to hangout after work? I know it might seem sudden but I enjoy your company!” He looks absolutely adorable with his face pink and his eyes wide, it took him a second before he started to nod his head rapidly “s-sure! Uh I get o-off work at 7pm! So will you be f-free?” I nod before taking a couple steps back “yeah I’ll be free! I’ll see ya soon. So It’s a date?”

Steven nods “y-yeah, a date!”

#fanfic #marc spector #marc spector x you #marvel #marvel community #marvel content #moon knight #moon knight x reader #moon knight x y/n #moon knight x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant x y/n #steven grant #steven grant x you #Steven grant is too cute

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1-imaginary-girl · 2 years

Text

Couples Fight Sometimes

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: After a hunt gone wrong, you and Dean get into a heated argument. Reader uses she/her pronouns.

Warnings: Angst with a happy-ish ending, mentions of death, negative thoughts, swearing.

Word Count: 1433

A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first time posting a fanfic on here so I’m a little nervous, but I hope you enjoy it! I might be a bit inconsistent in my uploading since I tend to just write when I feel inspired and motivated, but I will try to post as much content as I can.

* * * * *

“Don’t you walk away from me!” You hear Dean yell from behind you. But you’re done with him and don’t want to deal with this right now. You’re all still exhausted from the hunt, and the non-stop hunting from the past few weeks, but apparently that won’t stop Dean fucking Winchester.

“Who’s gonna stop me?” you yell back as you make your way to the kitchen for some water. Leave me alone. I know I messed up. Please just go away.

As you reach the kitchen you hear Dean’s heavy footsteps enter the room as well. You keep your eyes on the sink in front of you.“You don’t get to just leave after that; we are talking about this,” he says in a stern tone of voice.

“Are we talking or are you just going to yell at me again?” you ask. You can feel your blood boiling, but you’re trying to remain calm because God knows one of you has to.

“I would love to talk to you like an adult but you’re acting like a child!”

“Oh, real mature.”

“That makes one of us.” Your hands clutch the kitchen counter as you try one last ditch effort to calm things down.

“Let’s just get some rest and—”

“What, and act like this never happened? Because news flash, people died!”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” you scream at him while whirling to face him. Your face feels hot and you notice Dean’s face is red with rage. This had been a particularly bad hunt. But Dean wouldn’t give you a break. You got tired and you got sloppy. What were you supposed to do? Switch places with the victims, a voice in your head says. You try to shake it off. “But people die every day.”

“Yeah well not because of you.”

A knife digs itself into your heart with that one sentence. You gasp and you feel your eyes burn with tears. That was low. And Dean knows it. As soon as the words slip out of his mouth, his face turns from angry to shocked and sympathetic.

“Y/N I’m sorry—”

“Wow, that was fucked up. What the hell is the matter with you Dean? What have you become recently?”

His face shifts back. “Excuse me?”

“It’s like you don’t give a shit about the rest of the world and it’s all about Dean Winchester! What makes you so fucking special that you get to treat the rest of us like garbage?”

“Hey I don’t—”

“And like you’ve never messed up! You’re acting like you’re Mr. Perfect when you’ve screwed up more times than I can count!”

“At least I tried my best!”

“So now you think I’m a shitty hunter? Because EARTH TO DEAN we all did our best!”

“Well a good hunter would have gone for the kill, but you hesitated and now that girl is dead!”

You’re done with this conversation. This isn’t your boyfriend; this is an angry shell of himself. And to be honest, between your grief and exhaustion, it isn’t you either. But you are still pissed.

“Thanks for the reminder. I’ll be sleeping in my room tonight so you can go fuck yourself.” Dean stares at you, still steaming. You glare at him one more time before leaving. You barely make it to your room and as soon as the door closes, you collapse onto your bed and break down.

†††

When Y/N leaves, Dean’s still pissed and, not having anything else to take it out on, he trashes the kitchen. He sees red and all he wants to do is get these feelings out of him. He screams and smashes objects until the kitchen is a complete disaster. Sliding down the wall, he takes a breath and rubs a hand over his face.

He just needs to breathe.

These past few weeks have been exhausting. They’ve been on hunt after hunt, desperate for answers and trying to find a win. Well…thinking back on it, he was a little more desperate than Sam and Y/N. Actually, he was mostly leading the runs.

It’s like you don’t give a shit about the rest of the world and it’s all about Dean Winchester. Has he been acting like that lately? Has he been treating them that poorly? He’s been so wrapped up in his own crap…

Shit, you may have a few points there. Truth is Dean doesn’t know who he’s become but whoever he is, Dean doesn’t like him. It’s so hard to act as if things are normal when they never are. Sam and Y/N have always been better at making things brighter while Dean just makes every room he walks into gloomier.

What is wrong with him? He took all of his frustrations and grief out on his loving girlfriend who was trying to act rational and mature while he just kept pushing. He always pushes too hard.

He messed up. This last hunt was particularly brutal, and they lost a kid. That’s always harder to handle. But he shouldn’t have handled it like he did. He definitely needs to apologize profusely in the morning but right now you probably want nothing to do with him.

He stands up and looks around the destroyed room. He’ll have to fix that in the morning too. He begins walking back to his room when he hears something. He stops in front of Y/N’s room and listens in. It sounds like…you’re crying.

He feels a harsh pang of guilt hit his chest as he realizes he’s part of the reason why you’re so upset. You definitely don’t want to hear from him…but he can’t just leave you like this.

He softly knocks on the door. When he doesn’t hear a response, he opens the door slightly. He peaks in to see you curled up on your bed struggling to breathe through the sobs. The view is heartbreaking.

“Y/N?” he says quietly. You don’t even look up.

“Please go away,” you cry. He pushes back his own tears at seeing you like this.

“I’m not here to yell at you.” He enters the room and closes the door. “Y/N I’m so sorry I said—”

“Don’t apologize,” you sniffle and hold back your sobs to talk to him. But you still have your hands over your eyes. “You were right, about everything. I killed her. I’m a horrible hunter and I’m so sorry Dean—”

“Hey, hey no don’t talk like that.” He quickly rushes to your side, sitting on the edge of the bed, knowing you’re more upset at yourself than him right now.

“It’s true, I’m a monster I’m sor—”

“Please stop apologizing.” Dean’s never been the best at comforting, but he has to try to help you. “What I said, I said because of my anger and grief, I didn’t mean it and I’m so sorry I said that to you.”

“It’s nothing I wasn’t already thinking.” That hurts more. He liked it better when you were mad at him.

“Well you shouldn’t, accidents happen on hunts all the time and it has nothing to do with the hunter. You know that right?” You don’t say anything. He knows words alone won’t help you.

He stands up and scoops you into his arms before lying back onto the bed. You curl your fists into his shirt and cry onto his chest. He rests his chin on the top of your head as he holds you tightly and combs your hair with his fingers. He lets you cry while gently shushing you and whispering kind things to you.

“I’ve been a bad boyfriend to you lately and just a terrible person. And I’m sorry. I’ll be better for you, okay?” The only indication that you heard him is that your grip on him tightens.

He was a bad boyfriend for not being mindful of what you needed and instead focusing too much on his own needs. You needed this, not to be yelled at. You don’t just need words; you need to know that he’s here for you.

So, he won’t tell you that he’s sorry. And he won’t tell you that it wasn’t your fault that girl died, it was his. He’s been dragging you and Sammy around for weeks, not giving you a break. He realizes now that you were sloppy because you were exhausted and that’s his fault. No, all of that can wait for another time. Because it isn’t about him right now.

Couples fight but they’ll always be here for each other. Because he loves you and your needs come first.

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Mercy, Sabotage, and Dead Space

(gif credit to @redwyyne-archive)

Part One of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.7K

Summary:

1. No sex.

2. No touching yourself.

3. No orgasms.

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

***

This.

This shit, right here.

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

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

But then you met… fucking Dameron.

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

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

But this?

This shit? Right here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yep, there it is. “Second of all—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You… aren’t expecting that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alright, no, wait—backtrack—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A false sense of…

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

… What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except, oddly, he doesn’t say much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. Shitshitshit, did that actually work?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then everything goes dark.

No, literally. The stars disappear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Stay tuned for part two coming soon!!

#poe x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #SMUTTTT #reader insert #star wars #fanfic #the formatting on this one is downright horrendous but im so mad that i cant even fix it right now so thatll have to come later im sorry

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teklarn · 3 years

Text

𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭 - 𝓴. 𝓫𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓰𝓸𝓾

character(s): katuski bakugou x gn!reader

a/n : y’all this was gonna be for kirishima bc i love possessive kiri but like it works so well with bakugou. first part will be from third pov, following parts will be from second pov (reblogs are greatly appreciated !! <3)

summary: bakugou x gn!reader. they have feelings for one another but have no idea how to express them, however y/n has someone pining for their attention.

genre: uhh idk a lil bit teeny-weeny dash of angst i guess

warnings: mild cursing, possessive bakugou, mutual pining, jealousy, aged-up to third year, possessive y/n, love triangle (square?), implied manga spoilers but not directly stated, tiny bitta tokage slander (sorry lol), slow burn romance (like SLOWWW SLOW BURN), lowkey enemies to lovers, like a lotta tension between bakugou and y/n

word count: 3k

UNEDITED w/ minimal or no typos. i shoved it into grammarly’s ass and prayed for the best okay

here’s pt 2 loves <3

- - -

y/n was used to picking and their skin, irritated at the girls fawning over bakugou. they were always on the sidelines, watching from afar, jealousy warping their heart. could these stupid girls not see that bakugou didn’t even care for their attention?

this time it was setsuna tokage who was begging for his eyes on her. y/n assumed it started in their first year when they’d been put against one another when the classes still had a clashing rivalry. (they still did, much more tame now, however.)

she leaned forwards, tugging on his short sleeve. bakugou’s uniform jacket was slung over one shoulder. he’d lost a lot of his angry demeanor from when he was younger, however it was easy to tell when he was pissed. it was inevitable he wasn’t going to lose his temper entirely.

it was easy to ignore the girls—most of the time, at least. what was ticking y/n off the most was the fact that bakugou didn’t seem pissed at all. his face was neutral, almost like the perfect mirror of todoroki on a daily basis. his eyes were not fired up in his usual ‘get the hell off of me’ manner. he was relaxed.

it didn’t seem like he reciprocated tokage’s feelings, however he wasn’t doing anything to get her off him and it was pissing y/n off to no end.

her sensuous lips were pushed into a slight pucker as she spoke, arching her back in a manner that made it appear much more provocative than she probably intended.

bakugou stood there, eyes flicking from her grasp on his sleeve and back up to her eyes. he didn’t say anything, didn’t move, only kept looking her up and down. not in a romantic way, of course. right?

y/n scoffed at themselves. they swallowed the lump in their throat, shoving down the pinging envy in their chest with it. why wasn’t he reacting?

heat rushed to y/n’s cheeks. why do i care?

tokage was nearing his face. she didn’t have any intent to press her lips to his, which y/n was more than glad for.

y/n had come to the conclusion they had feelings for the explosive boy weeks ago. perhaps they always had, but now that they were fully conscious of them... gosh, it was frustrating.

“you’re staring again.”

y/n turned to see kirishima, the only other person who knew about their feelings for bakugou. he’d lost the twinkle in his eyes after first year. he’d picked up a dominating sneer and a withering glare reserved for anyone who desired to cross his friends. everyone at UA had after what went down. it was a shock most of them survived anything.

“so?” y/n snapped, shoving their hands away and kicking a pebble before them. kirishima and y/n continued their walk through the courtyard.

“so it makes you look creepy.”

“no, it doesn’t. he didn’t even notice me.”

kirishima snapped his fingers. “partially my point here. that’s bakugou katsuki, you really think he’s going to notice you?”

“excuse me?”

kirishima pursed his lips, twiddling his thumbs. “i didn’t mean it like that, y/n. it’s just...well, he has so much to work for.”

y/n raised a brow, questioning his nervous antics.

he continued. “bakugou works hard. probably the hardest worker in UA aside from midoriya. and it’s bakugou. he doesn’t really see a point in relationships. you know that.”

“it’s not like i’m looking for anything with him, though. gosh, kirishima, you’re acting like this is some school girl crush.”

he tilted his head, giving y/n a look that screamed, are you really sure it’s not though?

y/n huffed out a breath, crossing their arms. they’d already vomited up their feelings, why all of a sudden call it a crush? sure, it was a tiny crush that was no larger than the brain of a dinosaur.

“i can swear that it isn’t, kirishima. you’re looking too deep into things,” y/n defended once again.

the red-head held his hands up in surrender, sucking his lips in to avoid another snarky comment slipping out.

the two looked up at the towering building that had been home to them for the past three years: Heights Alliance.

during their second year, the teachers had settled with having the dorms set up in a way that allowed the students’ rooms to be set up in a gender-neutral fashion. they’d been able to select new dorms beside whomever they wished. rooming next to kirishima was a blast, but the only person bakugou wanted to room next to was him.

mina had moved in next to you, and kaminari to her right, and sero right across from y/n.

y/n had no issue being squished between a group notorious for their goofiness and ability to never take anything seriously, however (especially on weekends) they were exceptionally loud to the point they were sure China could hear the blaring music.

friday was finally going to be over in a few hours. y/n felt a giddiness well up inside them, anticipating the weekend. it’d been a rough few days, for everyone, not just them.

class 1A had been bombarded with assignments and pop quizzes. y/n was lucky they finished it all in class. some of the homework was finished when they’d sacrificed their precious free time to get it done, but in the end, it was worth it all.

y/n let their bag sag down their arms as they entered Heights Alliance.

bakugou had just been asked out on a date. for the third time. first time, he’d denied. second time, he had to shove tokage off him. third time, he’d calmly accepted her offer, and she’d skipped away with more than a smile.

she’d squeezed his bicep, gave him a wink and an unnecessary peck on the cheek that bakugou had wiped off the moment she turned her back. he was now in his bathroom and, despite her not wearing any lipstick, he was scrubbing his cheek raw so that the skin was a blotchy red.

the date was tonight, and he found himself wanting to go, and questioning why he accepted in the first place.

bakugou forgot about tokage the second he won that match his first year and tossed her in the cage. he only noticed her when she and her group of friends giggled and passed by. (it was mostly her chortling, but whatever.)

he continued rubbing his cheek aggressively with a scratchy towel. he was repulsed by how he had stood there without bothering to snap at her to leave him alone for the third time.

instead, bakugou’s mind had buffered, and if he was in a video game, he had surely glitched. he should probably just tell tokage he didn’t want to go anymore. in fact, he never wanted to go in the first place and wants to jump out his window and escape.

it was almost comedic. the thought of him going out on a date? goodness, he wanted to throw up.

as he continued scrubbing the cloth along his cheek, bakugou found himself more than grateful for how much his quirk made him sweat. if it wasn’t for the nitroglycerin-like substance he produced, his skin would be scratched and dried up.

a knock sounded at his door. silence came, until the knock found its way to his ears. a set of three knocks, then five, then it was a needy banging.

whoever was on the other side heard his audible groan and shuffling feet dragging across the floor, because they knocked a lot harder.

he swung the door open, hinges crying out.

bakugou’s upper lip curled in disgust. tokage twirled her hair around a finger, eyelashes sticking together with mascara. “katsuki,’ she greeted.

his eyes narrowed on her. “don’t call me that.”

“what should I be calling you, then? baby? or honey?”

oh yes, bakugou wanted to vomit. what even was her name again? whatever, it didn’t matter. “lizard teeth, listen. i-”

“lizard teeth? why would you address me like that?”

“because i don’t know your damn name, alright? i don’t-”

“tokage. need me to spell it out for you?”

“no. shut up. i need to-”

“you should remember it, because i was one of the few who got in through recommendations, remember?”

“and yet here you are in class 1B. can you shut the hell up now?”

“well, you’re just being shitty.”

“why are you here, tokage.” more of a demand than a question, as bakugou’s questions always came across if he ever bothered to ask them.

“because, for our date tonight, I need to pick up some things and I really hope you’re up for coming with me.”

“no.”

“please?”

“no. stop pushing. and I don’t want to-”

“come on, grouchy.” tokage activated her quirk, one scale slipping into his dorm and pushing him towards her. she gripped the collar of his shirt and grinned. “come with me for a short bit, and I’ll count that as our date, m’kay?”

bakugou opened his mouth once more to protest, but tokage silenced him by pressing one slender finger to his lips.

“I’m fully aware you don’t want to go on this date with me.”

he relaxed, shoulders slumping. if bakugou was younger, if he was even just a little bit more stubborn as he had been before, perhaps he’d be out of this mess already, or never in it in the first place.

tokage let her hand fall back to her side—both of them. the scale returned to her lower calf; the jet-black leggings she wore now had a perfect hole in them.

“do you think i’m dense, bakugou?”

“then why ask me out?” bakugou felt himself leaning back.

“because if i can get under the skin of that stupid little...what do you like to call them? stupid little extras? yeah, that stupid extra who can’t stop fluttering googly-eyes at you every minute, then i’ll be perfectly content.”

“who the hell are you talking about?”

“alright, so you are oblivious.” tokage took a step back and crossed her arms. “are you both unaware of how you’ve both been pining for each other’s attention? y/n, that classmate of yours.”

“...y/n?”

“do you know their name or do i have to describe in excruciating detail what they look like?”

“no, no i know who you’re talking about. but you’ve got to be shitting me, alright? there’s nothing there.”

“i’m from 1B, and if there’s something going on in 1A, monoma is going to tell us.”

“shithead, get out of my face.”

“you still have to go out with me.”

“why the f-”

“because, bakugou. if you don’t, i’ll be sure to make sure y/n knows about your feelings, whether they’re real or not.”

“why would they care? more importantly, why would you care?”

y/n kicked their feet up and down, a lollipop in their left hand, phone in their other. kirishima was in his bathroom while y/n was playing a game on their phone. they’d stashed away a bunch of candy back in their dorm and had snatched a handful for the two of them to share while hanging out in kirishima’s.

he was currently combing a hand through his hair, and then proceeded to rummage through his cabinets.

kirishima emerged with his lips puckered. “want to come to the drug mart with me?” he stuck a thumb to his door.

“what for?” y/n didn’t take a glance away from their phone.

“this.” he chuckled softly. when y/n looked up, kirishima had two fingers parting his hair. the roots were a jet black, just growing long enough to become the slightest bit visible.

“you’re going to fry your hair.” they were already shoving their phone away and tossing their sucker into the trash bin.

“it’s a monthly tradition to do this, y/n. it would be fried by now if i was bad at it,” he joked, tapping his roots once more.

y/n laughed alongside him as they exited the room.

it was late, and the lights made everything feel like it was set in a world of backrooms. when the rest of the world is sleeping, it is more than quiet, and nothing feels real―possibly in the best ways.

kirishima scratched at his chin, staring intensely at the hair-dye boxes lined neatly on the shelf before them.

y/n tapped their foot, not out of impatience, but because of the creep staring at them through the aisle. yes, through.

between the boxes of hair dye and scattered makeup products, the beady eyes of setsuna tokage could be seen. she smirked when she tugged her hostage closer.

bakugou’s height had shot up to around six feet in the past two years, so all that was visible was his chest and the black sweatshirt loosely hanging off it, however his grumbling and stream of colorful language was unmistakable. it was him.

“you okay?”

y/n’s head snapped to their friend. “what?”

“you seem on edge. is something wrong?”

“nothing. nothing is wrong.”

“you sure? if you need to talk, i’m here.”

“yeah, yeah, i’m okay. don’t worry.”

“alright.” kirishima held up a box, wiggling it in one hand. “got it.” he gave y/n a toothy grin.

“good.” y/n snatched his arm up and dragged him along.

“woah,” kirishima released a breathy chuckle, tugging his arm back. “what’s got you in a hurry?”

“nothing,” y/n said, shrugging. “just wanna get home.”

gosh, kirishima knew them too well. his eyes squinted just a bit, and there was that playful grin lingering on his lips, just ghosting over his face, barely visible to anyone who didn’t know him. instead of pointing out the obvious, which was standing just a few aisles behind, kirishima decided to play around. “goodness, honey, the kids are going to be fine back home.”

heat raced to y/n’s face. “what?”

kirishima winked. “it’s nice that you care about them, but care about me a little, would’ya? i miss you, too,” he said a tad louder.

this caught bakugou’s attention. his eyes clashed with y/n’s, and he didn’t look away until y/n did. even a few seconds after, y/n still felt the blaring heat of his gaze upon them.

kirishima slung an arm around his friend, enjoying their flustered image. of course, he would never even think about pushing boundaries. the thought never crossed his mind, but he knew they’d let him know if they were uncomfortable.

when y/n looked back as kirishima led them away, bakugou’s jaw was clenched, and his eyes were alight with jealousy.

of course, y/n didn’t notice the emotion flaring.

tokage smirked, clutching his loose sleeve.

y/n looked back to their friend, and kirishima flashed them another knowing smile. bakugou was getting antsy with his best friends’ hands all over y/n. well, not all over, but a tap on the shoulder was enough.

despite the way kirishima’s face dropped, y/n swiped his arm away and wandered over to tokage a bit more angrily than intended. they glanced up to bakugou, who was reaching up to retrieve something for tokage.

“what brings you guys here? didn’t expect to see you.” inside, y/n was screaming. gosh, their heart was angry.

“just running errands together.”

bakugou? going for errands? with tokage?

“cool, cool,” y/n said, nodding. “i was doing the same with kirishima.” they paused, awkward silence filling the space.

impatient as ever, bakugou tossed the item into tokage’s basket and clicked his tongue.

y/n didn’t know why. why were they being so stubborn? despite their protesting thoughts and their entire body screaming to hold back, y/n wrapped their fingers around bakugou’s wrist.

“actually, bakugou, i have something to ask you. i need your opinion on it. you’re smart, right?” y/n’s voice lifted at the end. although they couldn’t see the, what the hell are you doing face kirishima was making behind them as subtly as possible, they could definitely feel the glare burning into their back.

“tch, of course i’m smart, shithead.”

“good.”

“we’re actually kind of in a rush,” tokage spat out, snappier than usual.

“do you think i fight okay? i need someone with a perspective like yours to know if i do.”

“what kind of question is that, dumbass? i don’t care if you can fight well or not, just so long as i can beat the shit outta ya.”

tokage let out a low growl.

y/n smirked, hand still around bakugou’s wrist. “i’d like to know if i can beat you, then, so you can tell me if i’m good or not.”

ohgoshohgoshohgosh where was this coming from?

bakugou squinted. he leaned in closer, like he didn’t hear them. “speak up.”

y/n knew he heard them correctly, but he got awfully close.

feeling a little sneaky themselves, y/n ghosted their fingers over his strong jaw, tilting his head closer so they could speak clearly into his ear. “let’s train together,” y/n said, staring tokage dead in the eyes.

it was a stupid rivalry, really. they’d both been accepted through recommendations. they’d been friends all throughout middle school, and yet when y/n made it into 1A, tokage felt it a necessity to excel at everything and rub it in their face. no way was y/n letting them get away with this.

“i want to see how strong i am.” y/n let their voice drop just a bit. “you’re strong, right?”

“are you taunting me?” bakugou said, voice nearly a whisper. he still hadn’t moved from leaning down and hadn’t bothered to move y/n’s fingertips from his jaw.

“absolutely not.” y/n sent a small grin in the direction of their rival. “let’s just see who can beat who. we’ve never been against one another like this.”

tokage huffed, tugging bakugou back. his eyes were softened when they met y/n’s, and there was simmering, small grin on his face.

tokage, however, looked less intrigued. “he’s not your boyfriend.”

y/n shrugged, already backing away. they spread their arms in a mockery of surrender. “he’s not yours, either.”

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