#When Nightmare tells them to stop they grumble and shuffle out
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I think that nightmare living with his boys after the truce(actually even before that) is literally hearing a clink and him yelling "KILLER, DUST, GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN AND STOP FIGHTING"
(I don't know if I worded that right so I'm sorry if you can't understand-)
Oh absolutely!! When Nightmare hears rummaging around in any room he has to go check, because usually it's just Horror preparing food or one of them doing something, but there's always a chance he's about to break up a fight
What I like to imagine is how long after an agreed truce (and assuming Dream comes to visit now and then) does Dream feel confident enough to break up the fights
(He's very good at it, as it turns out)
#Ask#Anon#UTDR#UTMV#I understood perfectly anon you're all good! :D#And yeah Nightmare cannot go a full week without becoming a referee lol#They don't realise it yet but Dream can really shout when he wants to#And it's like when the chill teacher gets mad it really catches everybody by surprise#When Nightmare tells them to stop they grumble and shuffle out#When Dream tells them to stop they fuckin jump back
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When You Wish Upon a Star
Summary: You and Bucky Barnes have grown close, bonding over sarcasm and shared trauma. You make it your mission to help Bucky experience all the joys of life that Hydra took from him. A little Disney magic is the perfect place to start.
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x reader (platonic)
Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 2.4k
Warnings: A few curse words and references to past trauma.
A/N: Who wouldn’t want to go to Disneyland with Bucky?
It was always the same. Your eyes shot open as the sensation of falling washed over you. Slowly, you rolled over and lifted your head to check the clock. 3:12 am. Fucking perfect. After a couple of deep breaths, you lifted your tired body off your bed. You throw on your favorite sweatshirt before opening your door and shuffling down the hall.
It was dark, but you knew the way by heart. A frequent late-night visitor to the compound halls thanks to your PTSD. Your nightmares came in bunches, and when they did you needed a distraction when you woke up to keep yourself from spiraling down completely. You reach the kitchen and are just about to open the fridge when you see the outline of James Buchanan Barnes sitting on the sofa in the dark.
“Bucky? What are you doing out here?”
“Moonlighting as a vampire”, he grumbled.
“You know, I usually just take your hundred-and-eight-year-old sarcasm at face value, but it’s late and I’m genuinely curious”, you said, as you sit across from him on the sofa. One leg tucked up under your body and your arms crossed over your chest to keep yourself warm.
Bucky looks over at you stone-faced, but you can tell he’s trying to read you, searching for an ulterior motive. The gears are turning endlessly inside his head. After about five seconds of silence, you decide to return the favor. There are dark circles under his eyes and his disheveled hair is standing on end. You can tell has been up much longer than you.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh, sorry. I thought we were having a staring contest”, you said lightheartedly to cover up your attempt at reading him. You can’t help but notice the small smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth, disappearing as quickly as it came.
“Do you ever feel like you don’t matter? Like, despite it all, you’ll never be free of the pain?”
“All the time”, you stated without hesitation.
He turns to you with a furrowed brow and a look of surprise.
“What?”
“Nothing, sorry. It’s just, in the past when I’ve said that to people they usually give me a bunch of hollow platitudes,” Bucky said.
“Well, that’s not me.”
“Me either.”
That was the first time you and Bucky had a bonding moment. Moving forward there were many more late-night talks and quietly waiting up for each other. A movie always queued up to help pull each other back into the present moment after a mission. You could be alone together in a way that you couldn’t be with anyone else. It stumped the rest of the team, to say the least. Two people who would rather silently take in the world around them than be forced to speak had become best friends.
*^_^*
You wiped the perspiration off your forehead, sitting against the wall in the gym after a joint training session. Bucky insisted on helping you improve your hand-to-hand combat skills. He noticed you had gotten a bit complacent in relying solely on your powers. After you arrived home from your last mission with a black eye, Bucky was adamant about training you himself.
Taking a sip of water, you turn to Bucky, “Have you ever been to Disneyland?”
“You ask the most random questions, and no. I remember some of the original Disney cartoons, though. Steamboat Willie, Oswald the Lucky Rabbit. Before we started moving around to different army bases, my parents would give me a dollar and I would walk to the movie theater in Shelbyville, Indiana. They would joke, “Don’t spend it all in one place, James”, he said with a smile that slowly faded. “After my parents died, I stopped going to the movies. And… the Winter Soldier never had a vacation.”
It was only in the last few months you started to notice Bucky differentiating himself from the Winter Soldier. You assumed it was thanks to Dr. Raynor and his pardon-mandated therapy, but he would never admit it was you who was helping him see that the Winter Soldier and James Bucky Barnes were not one and the same.
“Well, something to add to your list then. Come on, dinner is probably ready,” patting his thigh. You mentally file away what Bucky shared for later. There was a whole new life for him to live now, and you were determined to help him do it.
A couple weeks later you and Bucky are infiltrating an old Hydra base off the grid. A simple in and out to retrieve a backlog of digital files, and you were back on the Quinjet within a couple of hours. You offered to pilot the jet home while Bucky took a nap. He awoke a few hours later to you poking him repeatedly on the shoulder with a dorky grin on your face.
“What?” Bucky groaned, wiping his hands over his face. “Are we home?”
“No, we’re making an unscheduled stop,” you said, as the super soldier sits up.
“Where the hell are we?” Bucky walked to the window surprised to find no landing pad, no buildings, no New York.
“Surprise, Buck! We’re going to Disneyland,” you declared. “I cleared it with Fury. We have tomorrow off, and I already sent the files we retrieved to Maria with a written debrief. We’re officially off the clock for the next 36 hours.”
“No, Y/N. I’m too old for this. What if someone recognizes us?”
“First of all, you’re too old for everything, but that doesn’t matter in the Happiest Place on Earth. Second of all, I’ve got that covered,” pulling a change of clothes for him out of your bag.
You both change and are about to depart the jet when you remember one more preventative measure. You grab both your suits and fiddle with them for a second before removing two of Tony’s trackers.
“This trip will be our little secret”, you wink.
You departed the jet and activated stealth mode at the top end of the Mickey and Friends parking structure, away from prying eyes. After a short ride on the tram and walk through security you’re standing at the top of Main Street USA. You look down at Cinderella’s castle as the sights, sounds, and smells of Disneyland envelop your senses.
“Okay, so I thought we could hit Adventureland first. Jungle Cruise, Indiana Jones, just to get your feet wet. Then we’ll do Frontierland and New Orleans Square. Wait until you see Pirates of the Caribbean! Oh, and Fantasyland has the Matterhorn, I have a feeling you’ll love that ride. Then maybe we could grab dinner at the Jolly Holiday cafe and watch the fireworks. That will leave us with Tomorrowland tomorrow, no pun intended. Finally, I thought for shits and giggles we could check out the Avengers campus in California Adventure Land before we leave.” you rambled happily. You finally look up from your park map to see Bucky eyeing you like you are speaking another language.
“Sounds great, but how are we paying for this? I doubt it’s on Shield’s payroll.”
“Ask and you shall receive”, you said with a devilish smirk, as you pulled Tony’s Black Master Card from your pocket.
“Where the hell did you get that?”
“Tony’s wallet. You’re not the only superhero here remember? Plus, Nat has taught me a thing or two about pickpocketing over the years,” you grinned. “Come on James, we’re going to spend it all in one place this time,” linking arms with the super soldier who simply rolled his eyes.
The next day and a half was a whirlwind of Disney magic. You went on every ride you possibly could. (You may or may not have hacked into the fast pass system to make your wait times in line as short as possible). Bucky made you go on Big Thunder Mountain Railroad twice and didn’t judge you for screaming in a way that would be considered very un-heroic by your teammates. You bought him personalized Mickey ears with his name embroidered on the back, and it only took ten minutes of arguing to convince him to wear them in a picture with Mickey. Meanwhile, Bucky took every opportunity he could to capture your Disneyland experience. Discreetly snapping a candid photo or filming as you happily sang along to the music on every ride.
After a good night’s sleep in the jet, the two of you made your way over to the Avengers campus in California Adventure Land. “Well, they got the aesthetics right,” you remarked. Taking in the scenery and park guests clad in Avengers merchandise.
You took a selfie in front of the Avengers campus sign that you immediately made your new lockscreen. It took a couple minutes, but Bucky found a spot for both of you in front of the compound to watch The Amazing Spider-Man! Peter welcomed the guests and conducted various flight tests in his new suit. There were flips, jumps, and web slingers galore. Each move executed smoothly, until he tripped over a few boxes and landed flat on his face.
“Yeah, that’s about right”, Bucky joked as you nod in agreement.
The campus is full of cast members dressed as all of your teammates interacting with park guests, Dr. Strange illustrating the mysteries of the Mystic Arts, and the Warriors of Wakanda demonstrating disciplines of the Dora Milaje. After exploring a bit, you decided to take a seat outside of Shawarma Palace to rest your feet. You both removed your hats and are scrolling through your phones when a curly-haired little boy wearing glasses and an Iron Man t-shirt quietly approached your table.
“Hi”, he whispered shyly.
“Hi, what’s your name?” you smiled. You put your phone down and place your hand on top of Bucky’s hand. The gears turning in his head like the night you found him on the sofa in the dark.
“James”, he answered, swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet. You looked over at Bucky as he visibly relaxed and smiled.
“Are you Bucky Barnes and Y/F/N Y/L/N?” he asked. Pushing his little glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
“Why do you think that?” trying to hide your grin.
“I have a poster of the Avengers in my bedroom! You look just like them, and umm, we learned about you at school. Oh, and I had an Iron Man cake for my last birthday. I got a helmet and everything!”
“That’s amazing, James! Iron Man is my favorite Avenger too.”
“Hey?!” Bucky said.
“Okay, original Avenger.”
You look over at Bucky eagerly. He seems to read your mind and nodded in agreement.
“We’ll let you in on a little secret, but you have to promise not to tell anyone,” you whispered as you motion for James to come closer. You hold out your hand and focus as small blue sparks dance around your palm.
“Woah!!” James yelled.
“Shhhh,” you giggled.
Bucky looks around carefully before taking off his glove and rolling up his sleeve to reveal his Vibranium arm.
“That’s so cool,” James said mesmerized.
“We’re here on confidential Avenger business and we must keep our cover. Can you help us keep our identities secret?” Bucky asked as he rolls his sleeve back down and put back on his glove.
“Yeah!” your new friend exclaimed proudly.
“Thank you, James. You will make a great Avenger someday,” Bucky said.
He gave the small boy a fist bump, and you do the same. James walked away proudly, and you can’t help but look over at Bucky. Your eyes shining with unshed tears.
“That’s why you matter.”
For the first time in your friendship, you think he believes it.
The sun begins to set as you both stroll out of California Adventure Land. Bucky is about to suggest walking across the street to wait for the tram when he sees you running back toward the Disneyland entrance.
“What are you doing? We need to get going. I’m sure everyone is already freaking out that our trackers are offline” Bucky shouted.
“There’s one more thing we have to do. Come on!” you yelled, motioning for him to follow you. You lead your best friend back down Main Street USA before stopping in front of the cinema. You waited for him to catch up to you and pointed up at the marquee.
Main Street Cinema Presents:
Steamboat Willie
Plus six great original Disney cartoons.
I thought you might like a little walk down memory lane before the clock strikes midnight and we turn back into pumpkins.”
Bucky stared at the marquee for a few seconds before looking back at you. Before you can ask him what he thinks, he embraced you in a hug. You walked inside and strolled from screen to screen. Taking in the nostalgia of the classic black-and-white Disney cartoons. You reached the last screen just as Mickey began to whistle the theme to Steam Boat Willie. You glanced over at Bucky and noticed his eyes shining with unshed tears this time. You rub gentle circles on his back until the credits roll.
“Thank you, Y/N”, he sighed, wiping his eyes. That meant a lot to me. This trip meant a lot to me. I never thought I’d say this, but I loved it.”
“You’re my best friend, Buck. You deserve to experience all of the beautiful moments in life. It’s never too late. Hell, everyone should have a first trip to Disneyland. I’m just glad I got to do it with you”, putting your arms around him. “Come on, let’s go home.”
Back on the jet, Bucky offered to pilot so you can get some sleep. Fortunately, the night air is calm and clear, so after about an hour he put the jet on autopilot and sat down next to you. The super soldier gently covered you with a blanket before pulling out his phone. He can’t help but laugh at the sight of the two of you sharing a giant Dole Whip or screaming as the train dipped and dove on Thunder Mountain. For the first time in forever, Bucky sees himself smiling and almost doesn’t recognize himself.
You finally stirred when the wheels touched down on the compound landing pad. Bucky had yet to notice you’re awake. Preoccupied with shutting down the jet and grabbing both your bags. You lay there silently as your eyes followed him. You smiled to yourself as you heard him softly whistling “When You Wish Upon a Star”.
Mission accomplished.
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x y/n#winter soldier#mcu#the avengers#fluff#disneyland#super soldier#super powers#vibranium#white wolf#james buchanan barnes
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Was thinking a lot about Cass’s @somerandomdudelmao most recent comic,, specifically the little sketches of Casey, Leo, and Mikey sleeping under some covers and couldn’t help myself…
————————————
When asked, Leo would tell Casey that his nightmares are rare, and usually dull. Surprisingly not about the Krang directly, but instead finding family members who were injured from an “unknown” enemy.
“It’s more like a vivid picture.” Leo had told Casey long ago. “Everything else fades away when I wake up and I’m left with a scene playing on loop for a bit. Then that fades away too.” The slider ruffles his hair fondly, “But don’t worry about me too much, they’re just nightmares anyway.”
—————
When Raph agrees to be used as a generator, Leo’s first reaction is anger. Casey could hear him from down the hall, where the cave starts to narrow. His sharp tone bounces off the walls, echoing all around Casey and the main hall. Some of the other survivors look up for a moment, curious before recognizing the resistance leader’s voice. They shuffle away knowing that they shouldn’t hear this.
Then the shouting stops, and the caves are silent. A moment later, Leo and Raph walk out together. The former can’t look anyone in the eye as he announces that they have a new generator.
Raph is gone within the hour.
—————
Most of Leo’s time is spent near Raph now. Either balanced on his metal knee, leaning on the side of his leg, or curled up in his palm when no one is looking. He still tends to each resistance fighter with the same care, but Casey has noticed a far off look in his eyes and an uncanny silence to him. He only talks when absolutely necessary, otherwise his lips are sealed in a tense frown.
With how worrisome his silence is, Leo makes up for it with physical comforts. Wrapping an arm around Casey and Mikey, he would pull them in together and lean his head down to rest on top of theirs. Casey notes that he mostly does it right as everyone wakes up. Still groggy with sleep, he would let his sensei gently pull him to his plastron before settling his head.
“G’morning, Sensei.”
“Good morning, Case.”
Then Leo would rise a few moments after, beelining towards where his eldest brother lay still. A lot of his “free” time is spent cleaning the dust off of Raph. The Hamato family’s way of grieving is understandable, so Casey didn’t think too much about his sensei’s more cuddly behavior in the mornings. That is, until one sleepless night, Casey hears a breath hitch and shifting of covers to his side. He rolls over slowly, glancing over to where Leo rests.
His sensei has curled into himself, a tense mound of a thin ratty blanket. Casey squints his eyes and notices his sensei’s face is scrunched in a grimace. That’s when it clicks in his head.
They’re just nightmares anyway.
Casey huffs, carrying his thicker blanket as he shuffles over to Leo. Gently, he tucks his own blanket around one side of the sliders’ shell, and slowly lowers himself while bringing the other side of his blanket over to him. As he settles, he hears a low grumble and a sniff behind him. Leo’s arm flops over Casey’s shoulders and pulls him in, and he feels the exact moment when his sensei starts to relax.
An hour later, Casey feels another cloth settle on top as he buries his head in Leo’s shoulder, his head cradled by the turtle’s hand. He hears Mikey shuffle under the covers on Leo’s other side and feels the shift of weight as Leo brings his other arm over his little brother as well. A long sigh is heard and finally Leo uncurls himself under the covers.
After that night, the three of them would find themselves sharing the same blankets and cloth as they drift off to sleep together.
#somerandomdudelmao#cass apocalyptic series#rottmnt#the way that I saw those sketches and suddenly my brain just turned on#never written something so fast#sorry if it sounds rushed aaaaaa#fic#this was honestly so fun to write#like wow I need to do more of these before starting on my bigger fics
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TLC
Pairing: Bucky x Reader
Word Count: 1.7k
Warnings: Previously on awkward-author. Little angst, lots of fluff
To say that your day had been one massive shitstorm would be an understatement. Nothing had gone right from the moment you got up. You had had a particularly bad nightmare the night before, leaving you sleepless hours after it had slunk back into the corners of your mind. Because of this, you had slept through your alarm and missed your mandatory training session with Steve, who looked like he was in a particularly foul mood himself for one reason or another because he decided to chastise you like a toddler in front of a large group of agents.
The lack of sleep and the public embarrassment clouded your mind, meaning you didn’t pay as much attention as you should have in your makeup training session, which resulted in a painful blow to your chest that was still throbbing hours later. You had hoped that would be the end of it, but by the time you got to the kitchen the coffee was finished and the jar was empty. The breakfast you had tried to make for yourself was completely inedible unless you wanted a severe case of food poisoning, and Sam had finished the last bits of your favourite cereal.
To top to all off, your least favourite sibling had called you. Normally, you could stand the bullshit that they came out with, but everything just struck a nerve with you today. You were used to being single, you enjoyed it, but your sibling had just gone on and on about how you needed to find someone or you’d be alone forever, and maybe you could stand to drop a couple of pounds and stop eating so much to attract someone’s attention. There was only so much you could take before you snapped at them to fuck off, which resulted in some particularly horrible texts from them.
Today was not going well at all, which is what resulted in your decision to skip out on the rest of your duties and go back to bed. No doubt Steve would have something to say about this, but a quick command to FRIDAY to keep everyone out of your room would hopefully fix that.
“(Y/N)?” Wanda’s soft voice drifted towards you as you made your way down the corridor slowly. “Are you okay?” she held onto your elbow gently and pulled you to a stop.
“I think you know the answer to that already,” you grumbled, shaking her off. “I’m going back to bed. If Steve comes yelling, tell him I’ll incinerate him if he even thinks about disturbing me.” She had to have sensed how utterly defeated you were, because she didn’t push you, and instead, gave you a small smile and let you get on your way. You had only just managed to pull on your favourite oversized shirt – which you had definitely not stolen from laundry – when a hesitant knock came from your door.
“Miss (Y/L/N), Mr Barnes is here to see you. I informed him that you wanted to be left undisturbed, but he is insisting,” FRIDAY said softly.
“Doll, come on, let me in,” he said from the other side of the door. “I know you can hear me.”
“Leave me alone, Barnes.”
“(Y/N) –”
“Seriously, Buck. I don’t need to see you to burn you to ashes. Leave me alone. I’m in pain, hungry, tired and pissed off.” He fell silent on the other side of the door, making you assume he had walked away. With a sigh, you pulled your duvet over your head and buried your face in the pillow. Realising you had been such a bitch to Bucky when all he wanted to do was help made you feel worst, and soon, the stress from the rest of the day finally caught up to you. You cried silently, your pillow slowly becoming soaked as you tried to get a grip on yourself. Another knock on the door made you freeze, and you sniffed and tried to stay as quiet as possible in hopes that you would be left alone.
“Doll, I know you’re awake in there,” Bucky’s voice sounded quiet and muffled through the door. “Let me in, please? Wanda told me how bad your day is going. Let me help.” You heard him sigh a few minutes later when you didn’t reply, and heard him shuffle around. “I’m just gonna sit right here until you let me in, then. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Why won’t you just go?” you croaked out, pulling your head away from the pillow.
“Because I want to help you. Can you let me do that?”
“Why? Why bother?” you moved over to the door slowly, your blanket wrapped around your shoulders.
“What do you mean?”
“Why do you want to help me? I’m –”
“(Y/N), if you try to degrade yourself by saying you’re worthless or helpless or useless, I will break down this door.”
“But I feel like it,” you said quietly, your head resting against the door in defeat as a new wave of tears cascaded down your face.
“You’re far from any of those things, (Y/N).” You could hear him stand up quickly, and his voice suddenly sounded clearer, as if he had his head pressed against your door as well.
“Don’t lie to me and tell me what you think will make me feel better,” you scoffed. “Not today. I don’t think I can handle it today.”
“You mean everything to all of us. So don’t you dare tell me you’re worthless. Natasha tore into Steve when she found out how he belittled you this morning, and he felt so bad afterwards. Bruce went and had a bit of a chat with the agent that hurt you during training, and even though we all know it was an accident the man still looks shook up. Clint was beyond concerned for you during target practice, but you just zoned him and Sam out and didn’t hear a word of what they were saying as you went through the motions. Wanda just came to me looking devastated because she said you were hurting and she didn’t know how to help. Tony is restocking a whole damn cupboard with your favourite kind of coffee so you never run out again. We all love you here. So don’t tell me you’re worthless.”
“But –”
“As for useless and helpless?” he paused to laugh sarcastically. “Doll, you’re terrifying. It’s probably not want you want to hear at the moment, but when you’re in the zone on a mission, nothing gets in your way. You kick ass and get out of it all without a scratch. I’ve seen you take down five guys twice your size all at once and you didn’t even bat an eye. You’re far from helpless.” He took a deep breath and his voice lowered considerably. “You’re not useless either. You make me better – you make us all better. You literally picked us up and brought us back together, doll. After everything with the Accords, after Tony found out what the soldier did to his parents…I didn’t think any of us would speak again. Of course, Natasha and Clint didn’t let it get in between them, but the rest of us? We didn’t speak for weeks. I killed Tony’s mom and dad. He never wanted to see me again. But you dragged me back out of cryo. You got us all together in one room. You fixed us all up again.”
“You and Sam still hate each other.”
“Baby steps, doll, baby steps.” You couldn’t see it, but he visibly relaxed when he heard you chuckle quietly. “You’ve been there for me through so much recently. Let me be there for you. Please.” He felt defeated when you didn’t reply to him for a few minutes, and moved away from the door to sit back on the floor, determined to wait for you. He was just about to start counting the tiles on the ceiling when your door opened quietly. You looked and felt so vulnerable at that moment. Your face was a mess with dried and wet tears and your eyes were rimmed red and puffy from all of your crying. “Oh, (Y/N).”
He stood back up quickly and wrapped you in my arms tightly. Settling you back down in bed, he left you for two seconds to bring a tray into the room before he asked Friday to lock the door once more. It broke his heart to see you feel so downtrodden and weak, but he simply held onto you and let you get all of your pent up emotions out with the occasional kiss on the head. He didn’t let go once you had literally cried yourself to sleep, and made sure to keep one arm around you at all times. You woke up a little while later, mouth dry and head pounding as you blinked at the soft light coming from our bedside table.
“Buck?” your voice was hoarse and you tilted your head up to see he was reading a book while running his hands through your hair.
“Hey there, doll. How you feeling?” he put the book down and gave you an apprehensive smile.
“Tired,” you yawned to prove you point. “My head hurts.”
“Here, I’ve got just the thing for that.” He sat you up carefully and handed you a bottle of water with a couple of painkillers. Gratefully, you took the pills and down the water before handing him back the empty bottle. “Are you hungry? I got you some pizza earlier, it’s probably cold by now but I know you prefer cold pizza.” You couldn’t help but smile as he pushed the plate towards you and picked the book back up. He started to read to you, his voice soothing as you took small bites of the food he had grabbed you. Eventually, your stomach was full, your headache was subsiding and you were curled up in his arms, just listening to him read out loud from your worn out copy of The Hobbit.
“Hey, Buck?”
“Yeah?” he looked down at you, a small smile playing on his face.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime, doll. Anytime.”
#winter soldier angst#winter soldier fanfiction#winter soldier x reader#winter soldier#winter soldier fluff#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#marvel fanfiction#clint barton#wanda maximoff#awkwardauthormasterlist#awkwardauthorwrites#awkwardauthor
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Fulfil Your Oath pt. 4
Summary: Diana and you clash, but there's something underneath that Chief can see.
Pairings: Diana x Handmaiden!Reader, Steve x Diana, Reader x Wonder Men (yes, they are actually called that, it's dope).
Warnings: Nudity (Diana ;)), morning after (DxS), fighting (verbal and physical), hurtful words (Diana -> R), Ludendorff being pervy. Pls lmk if there's more!
A/N: This one hurt a bit to write.
Series Masterlist
*not my gif*
The morning sunrise was a stark contrast to the horrific nightmare you had.
Your mind was plagued with the man and woman again, this time with them in an underground bunker with a group of vague figures. They were cackling with laughter whilst your dream form shifted through the wooden door they’d locked, orange gas consuming the room with choking sounds coming from the shadows.
When you greeted the sunrise with nobody but Chief, you smiled as he began to pack his things up once more. “I have a question I need to ask you, Chief.” You said as you picked up his hatchet.
“Fire away.” He spoke after taking the hatchet and sat beside you on the edge of the fountain.
You looked at the small spurts of water as they bounced off of the ceramic surfaces, making their way down to the pool beneath. “You said I was connected to the earth. I have no clue of what you mean.”
He took your hand and quietly led you to the edge of the village, where the river met the sandbank. You sat down at his request and he pressed your hand against the earth. “Close your eyes and tell me what you feel.”
You gave him a frown of confusion before doing as asked. You tried, you really did, but you felt nothing, telling him so. He frowned this time, leading you to a barn where horse and cattle roamed.
“What do you feel?” He asked as he placed your hand against the horse’s hide.
You felt nothing.
“Chief, what are you expecting?” You took your hand back from him ever so gently.
“I thought… never mind it.” He shook his head.
You watched him walk back before you went back to your room to gather your sack, knocking on another door once finished. “Diana, we are leaving soon.” You spoke through the door.
A grumble came as your response, making you open the door easily and sigh. “My Princess, I know we are not on Themyscira but your sleep schedule needs to improve-”
You stopped talking as you spotted Diana and Steve in bed together. A gasp came from him and he quickly shuffled to cover himself, whilst Diana’s head lolled upwards as her squinted eyes looked at you.
Only to widen. “Y/N.”
You looked down as your heart crept back into its cage, a practised expression masking its desire. “I did not know you were accompanied. My apologies, my Princess.”
“Leave us.” She looked at Steve, who hastily put his clothes back on and packed up his sack, moving outside to have breakfast with the others.
Diana shuffled on the bed, the sheets covering her body as she made her way to its end. Her legs fell out from the sheets, bending with the crease of the mattress, before she took your wrist in her hand.
You wrenched it out of her grip.
“Get dressed. Have breakfast. Then we leave.” You stated monotonously.
You were about to open the door but Diana spun you around and pushed you against it, her hands against your hips. “No.” She growled.
You pushed her naked form off of you by her shoulders, causing her to tumble onto the bed. “No?” You chuckled sarcastically.
“Indeed. You are my handmaiden and you are to help me get dressed.” She smirked, holding out her hands as she looked towards her armour pieces on the floor.
“I think you forget, Diana - we’re not on Themyscira anymore.” You glared, storming out of the room.
You made your way back to the men downstairs, just as Steve finished his breakfast and another dish came out that was supposedly for Diana. However, you asked for them to make some more since you had forgotten your own, to which they happily obliged and began another plate.
You sat down, coat over your shoulders and armour against your skin as your thoughts raced within your mind. You were joined soon, however, by none other than the princess herself.
“I see you started before me.” She murmured.
You paid her no mind… initially.
“Just because we are not on Themyscira anymore, it does not mean you are no longer my handmaiden.” She grumbled, biting into the toast.
You shrugged. “Why not? I am no longer attached to you by law - I have no need to be in your presence. And I evidently have no place in your mind.” You mumbled through a mouthful.
The two of you locked eyes for a moment, neither of you registering Chief as he asked the bar for water. He looked at Diana first, wondering why she was not eating.
But when he looked at you, the thoughts in his mind clicked.
“What was that, handmaiden?” She questioned, placing her boots on top of yours.
You quickly pulled them out from underneath. “Nothing, princess.”
She scoffed at your behaviour as you took your plate to the kitchen staff, of whom you thanked for the delicious meal. You walked back past Diana and grabbed your weapons, attaching them to your armour.
“I’ll be outside when you’re done.” You murmured, leaving without even looking at her.
You painted a smile on your face as you were led by the bar owner to a horse, a base white coat with black spots surrounding her spine and hide. You gasped at her beautiful raven mane and dark eyes, letting her sniff your hand before leaning into it.
Your hand smoothed over the reins and the name Pepper stamped into the leather. “Pepper, huh? You certainly look like it.” You chuckled.
“Do you enjoy the company of horses?” Sameer’s voice made you turn to see him.
“I do. I left my own to come here, a beautiful mare at that.” You replied, kissing the cheek of the animal.
“What was her name?”
“Calliope.”
Sameer hummed. “If she is anything like the beauty of you, I have no doubt she is graceful.”
You chuckled at his antics before Steve walked towards you both, with Charlie and Chief whilst Diana stood at his side.
“I know I said this job was two days, and a deal’s a deal.” He stated gravely.
The men shared a silent glance before Chief spoke up. “You’d get lost without us.”
“Yeah. We all know Diana and Y/N are capable of taking care of themselves - I worry that it is you that won’t make it.” Sameer added.
“But there’s no more money.” Steve reminded them.
“We’ve been paid enough.” The linguist shrugged.
Charlie sighed. “Maybe you’re better off without me, yeah?” He looked away, not wanting to reveal the pricking tears.
“No, Charlie. Who will sing for us?” Diana cooed.
“Y/N would! She has the voice of an angel, one that you could never ignore.” He excused, but you chuckled whilst shaking your head.
“Charlie, my voice has no such power. Your spirit in your songs is what drives us all.” You smiled at him.
He nervously looked at you. “Would you let me? As an apology for…?” He made a gesture of a slap and you nodded with a bright smile.
“It is in the past, my friend. I recall no such thing.” You smirked, making the men laugh.
You climbed onto Pepper’s saddle and waited patiently for the men to lead, but Diana called her and she followed with a jerking pace. You huffed as Pepper strode half a length behind Diana so that she could feed her small apple pieces, all whilst Charlie sang at the back with the men.
——————————\//\//——————————
The misty forest matched the vague aura of the mission. The men happily chatted as the horses crunched over brush, crumbling brown or lively green did not matter, but Diana and you had made enough distance between the group to have your own conversation.
“Why are you frustrated with me?” She asked you, the reins in her hands loose.
“I never said I was.” You rebutted, observing the forest with incredible interest.
“Respice ad me. ...Sodes. (Look at me. ...Please.)”
You turned back to her, scanning her face. Her skin was crinkled nowhere, giving simple perfection in the smoothness. Her eyes were trained on you, their chocolate irises so focused they were unmoving.
“Why did you lay with Steve?” You asked, turning your head away from her again.
She sighed, looking forward. “I wanted to ask him what it felt like to dance with another. What it is supposed to feel like.”
“And what did he reply with? Some fable of heterosexual love?” You scoffed.
“No.”
You turned back to her, confused. “Then what?”
“We made love.” She shrugged.
You threw your head back in forced laughter. “You cannot seriously believe that, Diana!”
“I can because it happened!” She barked back.
You shook your head whilst chuckling sarcastically. “Clio would reprimand you, you know.”
“No she wouldn’t.”
“Really? The writer of the 12 volumes that we’ve both read, would not reprimand you for lying with a man outside of procreation?”
Diana rolled her eyes at you. “She would probably reprimand you, of all people.”
“I highly doubt it.” You chuckled.
“She would, because how have you not laid with a woman yet? Or even a man, because this world seems to be filled with them.” She threw her hands in the air.
“Honestly, it’s unnatural for you to be this age and have no experience.”
You stopped dead in your tracks with a gentle pull on Pepper’s reins. Since Diana carried on, she sighed in annoyance and turned back around. “Why did you… stop?” She trailed off as she saw tears pricking your eyes.
“I can’t believe you.” You murmured.
“What?”
“I said I can’t believe you!” You yelled, not caring that she jumped slightly at your volume.
“Oh come on, Y/N. Just hurry up so we can complete our mission.” She walked back to you and gently tugged on Pepper’s reins, but you kicked her hand away.
“Ow!” She cupped it with her other one.
“Do you really want to know why I haven’t lain with anyone?” You hissed.
“Please, enlighten me-”
“Because I am too busy with my stupid duties of looking after you! Every day since I was fourteen, I have been picking up after you. I bring you to and from training, I put you to sleep, I cook, I clean up even after your sexual escapades, I wait on you hand and foot and I am sick of it! You are the most selfish person I could have ever had the disgusting pleasure of meeting, and this putrid world has finally lifted the blind veil of desire from my eyes! I resign as your handmaiden!”
Your heaving chest held all of your anger in it, dispeling it with every puffing breath whilst Diana’s expression became neutral. “Fine. Go back to Veld, live the life of the poor and the weak. You wouldn’t last a day without me.”
You shook your head in dismay. “Arrogance will lead you nowhere, Diana.”
With the sound of a motor vehicle horn, the men trotted up to them. “What’s the hold-up?” Steve asked, confused as he looked between you two.
“Y/N has decided to not join us after all.” Diana huffed.
The men looked at you carefully, with Chief coming to your side. “What do you feel?”
You sniffled, rubbing your eyes. You looked down at your armour, armour made to match Diana. Everything you did was for her, to match with her, to say to the world that you were her property.
“I feel disgusting.” You seethed, looking at the turned princess.
“I feel used. I feel like a toy that’s been cast aside, never to be played with again. I feel like a cow that’s too grown for value but too old for meat. I feel… empty.”
Diana silently urged her horse into a gallop, your eyes following her form until the mist took her. Steve, Charlie and Sameer galloped after her, but Chief stayed with you.
He gently took your horse’s reins and led you forward. “If you feel you have no purpose with her, then why do you stay?”
“I have lived the entirety of my life by her side. My heart has become hers, my body too if she’d ever decided she wanted it. But she hasn’t. And yet, I stay. What is this stupid feeling?” You opened your hand into a claw and placed it over your chest.
“Sometimes I don’t want my heart. It yearns too greatly, loves too hard. It is a bad heart.”
“It seems like it works to me.” Chief shrugged, looking ahead before he sighed.
“If you do not find value in being Diana’s companion anymore, find value in other things. Help us save lives in this war, help the lives of those in need. Protect those who cannot protect themselves.”
You took a deep breath in and calmed yourself. “Okay. I can do that.”
Chief hopped off of his horse and tied the two of them to a log, watching you climb off of Pepper. You both snuck into the field full of cars before he found one and turned it to start, urging you to come quickly from a storage car.
You snatched a dress from the cart in the back and raced into the backseat, speedily dressing it beneath your coat before you sat down and let Steve sit next to you in his General uniform.
“Now, be quiet and follow my lead.” He murmured, nodding to the others.
You sat patiently next to Steve and hid your chuckles at Sameer’s successful attempt at getting you in, but the sight of chairs being placed on the lawn didn’t go unnoticed by you. You came to the front where Sameer dropped you off and you took Steve’s hand in your own, the two of you closer than you’d ever willingly want to be.
“I will find Maru, you will find Ludendorff.” He whispered in your ear as he pretended to kiss your cheek.
You found the man very easily, his General patch hard to miss. He gave you a domineering look and made his way over to you, but the look in his eyes was… odd.
“You look ravishing, my dear. Do you have a name that fits your beauty?” He smirked, offering his hand as the band in the corner swelled into their next song.
“Well what do you think it is?” You asked, a German accent melding into your speech.
“Hmm… It must be along the lines of beauty. Adona? Callista? Venus, perhaps?”
You smirked. “First try. My, you are good.”
He grinned. “It is a part of my General enlistment.”
You danced with him for a moment before a dress of royal blue wrapped around a Themysciran princess caught your eye. You instantly looked down at yourself, chuckling to avoid awkwardness. “May I fetch you a drink, General?”
He smiled. “I think that would be best, considering I need something to toast with soon.”
You left him for a moment before a hand fell to your waist, which you immediately slapped away. You glared at Diana and her perfect updo, her gracious cheekbones enough to have no need for makeup.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” She asked, a raised eyebrow.
“I am distracting Ludendorff so Steve can talk to Maru.” You mumbled, downing a glass of champagne.
Her eyes widened. “You danced with Ares?”
Your eyebrows furrowed. “No?”
She sighed, shaking her head before her eyes locked with yours, glistening slightly.
*Ludendorff is Ares!* She yelled in your mind, making you wince.
*Not so loud, Diana!*
“Sorry, sorry.” She apologised, tucking your hair back behind your ears before her thumb came to rest on your cheek.
“What are you wearing?” She remarked as she saw the powder on her thumb.
“I stole it from a purse - apparently it makes women beautiful.” You shrugged, but Diana didn’t let you go.
Instead, she grabbed a napkin and dunked it into Ludendorff’s glass of champagne you poured, wiping it across your face until it was gone. The shade was completely not your skin tone and you had done too much blush, making you look beet red.
“You don’t need that stuff, ancilla (handmaiden).” She scoffed, making sure it was all gone with another napkin.
You slapped her thumb away when she went for your lips, not needing any more embarrassment. “I didn’t put any stuff on my lips!”
“Oh. They’re very red then.” She murmured. “And plump.”
You blushed softly and she went in for your cheeks. “Put down the freaking napkin, Diana.” You hissed, ripping it out of her grip before dunking it in Ludendorff’s drink.
“Ugh, this is turning out to be a failed plan.” You huffed, standing as you waited for another glass to be poured.
“How so?” She asked, standing with you.
“What do you mean, ‘how so’? First, Ludendorff thinks I’m beautiful with all of this stupid makeup that he’s infatuated, then the chairs out the front and the men at the top of the tower, and now you are here, obsessing over my appearance!” You grumbled.
She chuckled softly. “You are so funny when you’re mad.”
You mimicked her rudely but she just laughed, which made your lips break out into a smile. However, the eyes of a General fell onto you - you could feel his gaze like oil covering water - and looked over at him.
“I will go and dance with him. You, my handmaiden…” She gripped your chin and tilted your head ever so slightly to look up at her.
“Will stand here and look beautiful for me. I need something wonderful to counteract the ugly.”
You rolled your eyes whilst you handed her the drinks, watching her walk over to the General. Your eyes widened as you recognised the handle of Godkiller woven into the back of her dress, aligned with her spine as if it were a marking.
But your eyes were taken off of her as a pain spiked your head, making you wince. It didn’t stop, and the flashing images of orange gas and choking people didn’t help either.
*It’s too late…* A voice muttered, soft and feminine but with a certainty behind the words.
*What?* You asked it.
It didn’t respond.
You watched as people filed outdoors towards the chairs, some even already seated before a test fire shot off into the sky. You watched the small projectile fire high up before exploding, diminishing the orange gas above the forest.
You bolted out of the ballroom, not seeing Diana and Steve argue. You ripped off the dress and pressed your crown to your forehead, checking your whip and bow before you sped after the next projectile.
Your face drained of colour at the realisation of its target.
You ran straight into the centre of the village, many surprised by your reappearance before your begging words alerted them. They began rounding themselves up, their families and children all gathering supplies, but it was no use.
You were knocked back by the explosive’s concussive power, releasing the gas. You heard the children beg for their mamas, the loved ones unable to help their burning eyes and choking throats.
*It’s too late.* The voice’s words echoed in your mind.
*I was too late.*
You fell to your knees as the villagers died around you, their pleading words turning into a cacophony of torture as screams were cut short and blood seeped out of their skin, pooling beneath their corpses.
You felt a hand come to your shoulder.
It was no larger than your palm.
“Vous auriez pu nous sauver. (You could have saved us.)” The child foamed at the mouth before he collapsed into your arms, the light fading from his eyes.
You scuffled away from his corpse, tears painting your cheeks with salt before thick arms wrapped under yours and pulled you towards the edge of the village.
“I could have saved them, I could have saved them!” You babbled endlessly before Diana’s palms fell to your cheeks.
“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N… I need you to breathe for me.” She murmured, pressing her forehead against yours.
“Breathe the cleaner air, feel the earth beneath you, listen to my voice. Calm yourself, like we were trained to do.”
You desperately grabbed her waist and pulled her into a tight embrace, your head tucked against her neck as you sobbed.
She sighed, moving her fingers through your hair as you rocked back and forth. “Habeo te. (I’ve got you.)” She whispered in your ear, comforting you effortlessly.
“Habeo te, Y/N.”
.
.
.
Taglist: @frog-bread , @blackcatlogy , @mutlifandomloverblog :)
#smalls words#diana prince fluff#diana prince angst#diana prince x fem!reader#diana prince#diana prince x reader#wonder woman angst#wonder woman fluff#wonder woman x fem!reader#wonder woman x reader
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All My Fault
Serizawa has a new nightmare about the Loop Curse, Reigen is there to comfort him.
Archive of Our Own Link: All My Fault
Takes place after the end of If At First You Don't Succeed, Find a Loophole by @sleepdepravity
________________________________________
Serizawa grumbled and opened his eyes. After rubbing his eyes, his first instinct was to check his bedside clock. 6AM, first day of the month.
"Looks like I failed again..." he sighed, placing his hands on his legs, as he sat at the end of his bed.
He got up with a sigh. He had to get away from Reigen. All he did was cause the trigger for that mavolent spirit to use everything in her power to Reigen. He just had to get away, he only made things worse.
Serizawa hastily made some toast for breakfast and got on his bicycle, deciding to eat on the go. Reigen would be here any minute, he had to go somewhere, anywhere, as long as Reigen wasn't there. He opted to go north, cycling through narrow country lanes to throw Reigen off.
After what felt like hours, Serizawa stopped for a rest.
Reigen surely couldn't arrive during a short, one minute break, could he?
A taxi pulled up and someone got out, the last person Serizawa needed to see. He mentally groaned as he saw Reigen gesturing to the driver. Reigen was in for a world of pain from forces beyond his control and he was none the wiser.
He made his way over to Serizawa once the taxi had driven off.
"Serizawa, why were you cycling down here?" he questioned, tapping his foot impatiently, "I checked by yours to see if you were okay because you hadn't come in, and I saw you cycling away!"
His gaze then softened and he placed his hand on Serizawa’s shoulder.
"Sorry, that came if all wrong,." he apologised, "What I meant to say was, are you okay? Something has to be wrong for you to start cycling away with toast dangling out of your mouth."
Serizawa cringed. He saw that?
"I'm serious Serizawa, you can tell me." Reigen reassured, "I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to."
That was what made Serizawa to break down.
"I've said it so many times already!" he cried, putting up a barrier between them to block a tree branch that was sent hurtling towards Reigen.
"You're cursed badly Reigen, and md initiating any contact with you, whether over the phone or physical, triggers that spirit to try and kill you with everything she's got!"
For a second, Serizawa’s barrier faltered, and a large rock flew into Reigen’s head, killing him instantly.
_________________________________________
Serizawa woke with a start, hyperventilating.
"I... failed again... it's all my fault..." he managed to choke out. To the left of him, someone stirred, but didn't notice, his mind was still focused on what had just happened.
"Serizawa?" the voice said groggily.
Serizawa did not hear this either, he was beginning to panic even more.
"It's all my fault all my fault all my fault, all my fault!" he cried out, clenching his eyes shut and curling in on himself.
The books and assorted plushes began to float around him. He couldn't shake the thought that it was his fault.
The owner of the voice shuffled quietly over to sitting front of Serizawa. The noise caused Serizawa to open his eyes. It took a few minutes for Serizawa to realise that Reigen was sat in front of him, alive and breathing.
"Hey, can you hear me?" Reigen asked softly.
Serizawa could only muster up a nod.
"Good, good." Reigen reassured, "Now, when you're ready, we are going to breathe in and out for five seconds, you got that?"
"I'm not ready!" Serizawa hyperventilated,
"It's okay Serizawa, I'm giving you all the time you need."
After a few minutes, Serizawa had calmed down enough to give Reigen a weak thumbs up.
"Breathe in..." Reigen said, counting to five on his fingers, "And out."
"In... and out."
Serizawa followed suit.
After a few minutes, he had calmed down enough that the book and plushies weren't floating anymore.
"There we go." Reigen smiled, "Are you able to tell me what happened?"
Serizawa sheepishly nodded.
"I had a nightmare about the loop again." he said, fumbling with his hands.
"Ah, that dreaded loop." Reigen said, "Do you need any physical comfort so you know I'm here? You can always say no if you're not comfortable with that."
Yes please..." Serizawa asked, "Is holding hands ok?
Reigen smiled softly. "Of course it it is."
Reigen gently took Serizawa’s calloused hands in his, and began to gently rub them with his thumbs.
"As you were saying?" he said.
Serizawa paused for a moment to think.
"The loop started off like many other loops did, I got up, got dressed, and left to get away from you so I wouldn't hurt you."
Reigen nodded, listening carefully to his boyfriend. He continued to rub circles into Serizawa’s hands.
"I tried to cycle as far away as possible, but you found me." Serizawa continued, "You asked what was going on so I explained it to you as I blocked projectiles with my barrier, but I faltered for a second, and a large rock flew into your head, killing you."
"It wasn't your fault, Serizawa." Reigen reassured, "You didn't know it would happen."
"But it is my fault!" Serizawa retorted, "No matter what happens, I can't save anyone, even in my dreams!"
The plushes and books began to float around them again.
All I do I hurt people..."
"Serizawa, please look at me." Reigen spoke, putting one hand on Serizawa’s shoulder, causing Serizawa to look up.
"You don't have to look in my eyes but please listen to me. What happened was not your fault."
"B-but!" Serizawa tried to interject."You didn't command those objects to fly at me, it was all that witch." Reigen said, "You did your best to protect me."
"But doing my best is never enough, I should've been able to stop it, no, I should've been able to outrun you!" Serizawa sobbed.
"You are more than good enough, Serizawa." Reigen stated, "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here right now."
"Your nightmares and OCD are trying to scare you into you didn’t do enough and that you only hurt others."
Serizawa sniffled, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.
"You are kind, Serizawa, kinder than most people I've ever met. You have grown leaps and bounds since both the curse and Claw."
"Really?" Serizawa asked, the plushes and books around him spinning very weakly.
"Of course!" Reigen grinned, "Someone who didn't care about others wouldn't turn themselves around and save mine and others lives."
The plushes and books dropped to the floor.
"I suppose you're right." Serizawa chuckled, "I need to get better at telling myself that."
"You're doing amazing, I believe you can do it." Reigen encouraged.
"Thank you so much, Reigen." Serizawa smiled, wrapping his arms gently around Reigen.
"You're welcome." Reigen said, hugging Serizawa in return.
#serirei#serizawa katsuya#reigen arakata#mp100#mob pyscho 100#if at first you don't succeed find a loophole#tw death#autistic serizawa#serizawa has ocd
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34, 25 (nicholas needs treats and to not be shamed about his body agenda)
HAHA YES
25: sharing snacks - mr benedict & rhonda (ao3.)
Rhonda slid into the chair next to him smoothly, also putting down what looked to be an elaborately arranged plate of various crackers, meats, and cheeses, as well as what looked to be a few dips of some sort.
“Oh,” he said, almost absently, “Well done; the artistry is very impressive.”
It was. The crackers spiraled in elaborate circles one would almost hate to break for a snack. Rhonda stole one, breaking the illusion with a quick crunch.
“You need to eat more, Mr. Benedict,” she said.
Nicholas chuckled a little, quiet and not entirely with any real humor. “I think you’d be the first to say so,” he said.
She gave him a Look™. “None of that now, eh?” she said. “You’ve been so focused on your work you’ve barely eaten at all.”
As if to make her point, his stomach grumbled. Not loudly enough for to hear, but certainly enough for him to feel it.
He sighed softly, and took a cracker.
…Oh. He was hungry. He couldn’t stop himself from taking another.
The slightly tense silence—Nicholas feeling, rather against his will, scrutinized and judged, and Rhonda attempting to gently cajole him into eating—melted into a comfortable quiet.
It was just the shuffling of papers and quiet crunching of crackers. Rhonda had conjured a book from somewhere and was reading quietly, leaned in her chair towards him—not close enough to touch, but almost.
(And she didn’t say anything or even give him a sideways look when he added extra meat to his cracker, because it offset the texture better, thank you, nor did she seem bothered when he ended up eating more than half the plate.)
(In fact, although he wasn’t aware of this, she was pleased. And resolving to maybe talk to the others about making comments, however genuinely well-intended.)
Nicholas relaxed little by little, until he wasn’t even thinking about it anymore.
(Particularly when Rhonda stacked a truly ridiculously tall “sandwich” of meat and cheese between some crackers (as well as a few crackers) and told him she bet him she could eat it in one bite. In her attempt to do so, it ended up sort of exploding, crumpling violently outwards with crackers and crumbs going everywhere, both of them freezing and staring with enormous eyes at the mess.
This is how Number Two found them, and upon seeing her expression, they couldn’t help but bursting into laughter together, loud and unrestrained. Rhonda managed to get forwards in time to stop him from thunking his head on the table.
Number Two was a little irritated at the mess, but couldn’t bring herself to care upon hearing Mr. Benedict’s unrestrained laugh.)
37: hot cocoa (+sharing) - rhonda & mr benedict & milligan, ft. nicholas/milligan (ao3.)
Nightmares were, unfortunately, not an uncommon thing in the Benedict household, for any of its inhabitants.
They all had their fair share of troubled nights, and so it wasn’t uncommon to slip out of bed when it was late, and creep out into the halls under the cover of moonlight, only to inadvertently bump into someone anyway.
Rhonda, however, was new to the house. She rather liked it—from the strange characters who lived here to the house itself, cozy and homey—and when she’d been offered a room (completely freely, guilelessly!) she’d accepted with little hesitation. It was certainly better than her studio apartment in the city.
She knew her friends from college would be screaming at her about statistics saying she was probably going to get murdered, but—well. Maybe it was insane, but she trusted them. From kindly Mr. Benedict to calm, stately Milligan, and even clever, offbeat Number Two, who seemed determined to glare her out a window.
(She was just worried, Rhonda could tell. She was fiercely protective of whatever little family they’d developed here, and was only worried that Rhonda might harm it. So she’d just have to show her she wouldn’t, and that would be that.)
She hadn’t been here long, but she enjoyed it. The work—and what strange, wonderous work it was—was interesting, and the people she worked alongside even moreso.
Still. She couldn’t evade her nightmares forever, no matter how bright her new life and her new home was.
So waking, breathless and inexplicably terrified (although, as she had gotten so skilled at being during nightmares, outwardly relatively calm, and very quiet) was… not a surprise, exactly.
What was a surprise was creeping down the stairs without making a sound and slipping into the kitchen—only to nearly bump directly into someone and barely bite back a rather undignified yelp of startled fright.
Milligan was a solemn tower of a man, completely unmoved by her nearly crashing into him.
“Ah,” he intoned. “Are you looking for Mr. Benedict?”
She blinked. “What?”
He stepped back, allowing her passage into the kitchen. “He’s in there,” he said. “I will return shortly.”
And then he was vanishing off behind her, into the dark.
She looked back at the gloom, and then into the lit kitchen. The warm light spilled over the dark threshold, and she stepped inside.
She blinked, adjusting her eyes for a moment, and—where. where was he?
“Oh!” came his soft voice, and she started. “Down here.”
Ah. He was sitting across the room, cross legged on the floor in front of the fridge. There was a steaming mug cupped between his palms, resting on the floor in front of him.
“…what,” he said, although he was smiling and didn’t seem upset, only perhaps a touch concerned, “are you doing up so late, my dear?”
Rhonda looked down at him for a moment, trying to figure out if she should sit at the counter—on one of the stools—or join him on the floor.
“I suppose you could ask me the same thing,” he said lightly when she said nothing, and then, almost absently, “Oh, sit wherever you like—whatever’s most comfortable for you. I sit on the floor—easier if I fall, you see, when I, ah. Well. Hm. Anyway.”
Rhonda slowly sank to the floor, crossing her legs, too, and pulling her robe around her a little tighter. It was long and there was hardly any risk of exposure, but still. Truthfully, a stool would probably be, if only slightly, more comfortable than the floor, but sitting eye-level was far more comfortable than towering above, so she’d deal with it.
“Why are you up so late?” she said, a little curiously.
He hummed a little. “Hm,” he said. “Well, I’ve made hot cocoa.”
The gleam in his eyes told her he knew this wasn’t an answer.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“Do you want some?” he said. “I find it helps with nightmares.”
She started slightly, then eyed him. How did he know she had a nightmare? She hadn’t screamed, had she? No. She never screamed.
He tipped his head to the side and gave her a sad smile. “I’m afraid I’m rather familiar,” he said, then raised the mug a little. “Hence. Hot cocoa.”
…oh.
He took a sip, and then continued, almost conversationally, “Nothing to be ashamed of. It’s quite common, unfortunately, for all of us. The hot cocoa has become somewhat of a tradition.”
Rhonda wondered if that was why Milligan was up, too.
“…I’ll have some, I guess,” said Rhonda.
The kitchen door swung open, hinges squeaking slightly, and Milligan strode in clutching a large bag of mini marshmallows.
“As expected,” he said, “I have acquired the missing ingredients from Number Two’s stash.”
“Ah,” said Mr. Benedict, looking up at him. “How?”
“Carefully,” responded Milligan seriously. He quietly, and with great control, sank to the floor next to Mr. Benedict, neatly folding himself up. He seemed perfectly poised, despite sitting on the kitchen floor. The space between the counter and the oven and various other appliances wasn’t exactly huge, either, but he seemed to make do.
He had his own mug—she wasn’t sure where he’d produced it from—and took a sip.
Mr. Benedict nodded. “I expect so,” he said. Milligan handed him the bag and he unclipped it, then delicately poured a few into the cocoa on the floor in front of him, watching as several plopped in.
Then, he gently pushed it over towards her.
“That’s yours,” she said.
“Haven’t touched it yet,” he said. “I’ll make my own. Go on, drink up.”
He leaned forward a little, eyes sparkling. “Milligan made that one,” he said, almost slyly, as if Milligan wasn’t right there. “Truth be told, he’s better at it than I.”
“…I could make you another,” said Milligan.
“Oh, it’s alright,” Mr. Benedict said, waving him off, but as he made to get up, Milligan caught his arm.
“Your hands are still shaking,” he said, very quietly, glancing at Rhonda. “You may burn yourself.”
(They were. Shaking, that is. She hadn’t noticed, but they were actually shaking quite badly. His voice had been so calm and almost cheerful she hadn’t noticed.)
Mr. Benedict hesitated. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” he said, and Rhonda felt like she was almost witnessing something private. She took a sip of her (?) hot cocoa.
Wow. It was really good.
(Warm, comforting. Homey in that sort of way that wasn’t personal—wasn’t her home, as she hadn’t one in quite some time, and this house hadn’t quite reached that status yet—but homey regardless, like how a home should feel.)
Milligan seemed to read something on Mr. Benedict that Rhonda couldn’t, because he sighed. “We’ll share,” he said, and then he reached over and grabbed the bag of marshmallows and poured several into his mug.
Mr. Benedict blinked at him with huge eyes, then something hesitant but very warm bloomed over his face, like a shy sunrise.
…huh.
Milligan handed him the cup, and he slowly took a sip. His hands were still shaky, but lips came away smiling.
“Thank you, Milligan,” he said, quietly but with great sincerity.
There was a beat of silence—very comfortable between the two of them, less so for Rhonda, as fascinated as she was—and then Rhonda said, “Does cocoa always help with nightmares?”
Mr. Benedict started a little, like he’d almost forgotten she was there, while Milligan went extremely still, which she was pretty sure was his version of starting a little.
“Yes, yes,” he said lightly, and he was laughing a little. “But cocoa shared with others is best, I’ve found.”
Unexpectedly, Milligan spoke up, voice low and calm as ever. “A most soothing cure for an aching soul,” he said. “We’ve shared many.”
Mr. Benedict gave him a small, private smile—he’d be beaming if it weren’t so hidden.
“Number Two, too?” Rhonda asked before she could stop herself.
Mr. Benedict hummed. “Number Two as well,” he said, “But that’s hers to tell. But anyone is welcome—although it’s hardly ever planned.”
“And we just… sit here and drink cocoa?” she said. “On the kitchen floor?”
“Sometimes elsewhere,” Mr. Benedict shrugged. “Normally we either talk about our nightmares, or talk about anything else. Do you have a preference?”
She took a sip of her cocoa. “…I don’t want to talk about it,” she said finally. “But you can, if you like. About your nightmare, I mean.”
His eyes flickered down to the mug on the floor between him and Milligan. “Ah, nothing special tonight,” he said. “An old friend. But I’m afraid a nasty bout of sleep paralysis afterwards left me rather—shaken. My condition has many less obvious side effects.”
Rhonda wasn’t sure what to say to that. All that came to mind was a lame that sucks.
“Drowning,” said Milligan quietly, saving her from the trouble. “Searching for something I could not find.”
Rhonda stared down into her cocoa for a moment, then took a breath and said, “Abandonment.”
When she looked up, Mr. Benedict looked like she’d slapped him. He recovered quickly, but she’d seen the brief expression like a lightning strike. She wondered what could have caused it.
“But like I said,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
There was a beat.
“…dolphins,” announced Milligan.
Another moment of total silence.
“What.” said Mr. Benedict.
“A change of topic,” said Milligan. “Dolphins. We. Went to an aquarium a month ago. There were dolphins.”
“…interesting,” managed Rhonda, trying not to laugh.
Mr. Benedict lost the battle. He started laughing, leaning against Milligan seemingly without realizing as he was rocked with it.
The tension in the room snapped. She hadn’t realized it had built until it was gone, and Mr. Benedict was laughing breathlessly into Milligan’s shoulder, almost wheezing, and then—
Out like a light, snoring lightly. Milligan wrapped an arm around him to keep him steady, gently nudging the mug out of reach with his other hand. He patted Mr. Benedict gently on the shoulder twice, as if to say job complete! then looked over at Rhonda, looking slightly lost.
“…are dolphins funny?”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “No,” she said, “no, my friend. You simply have excellent comedic timing, eh?”
“So I have been told,” he said, and the glimmer in his eye—
“Hang on,” she said. “You did that on purpose!”
Mr. Benedict sat up abruptly. “I’mawake!” he said in one breath. Then, blinking blearily, “oh. Oh, dear, how long—?”
“Less than a minute,” Milligan said. His arm was still wrapped around his shoulders tightly, as if he’d forgotten to remove it.
“Ah, good,” said Mr. Benedict. And. he did not move away. He didn’t exactly snuggle into Milligan’s side, but when he wasn’t pushed away and Milligan’s arm wasn’t removed—only relaxed a little, so he wasn’t squeezing or actively holding Mr. Benedict up—he just let himself lean against him.
“So,” he said. “Dolphins. Any fun aquatic facts?”
“They are capable of evil,” said Milligan, matter-of-factly, and Rhonda nearly burst into laughter again.
Mr. Benedict, too, was smiling, eyes sparkling with good humor. “Ah,” he said wisely. “As are most intelligent animals.”
“Most?” Milligan said.
Mr. Benedict made a noise as if to say fair, but I’m not going to admit it.
“Dogs,” said Rhonda, decisively. “Incapable of evil.”
“But intelligent?” said Milligan. “I think not.”
“Some are!” said Rhonda.
“Yes,” said Milligan. “The ones that are capable of evil.”
“What is evil, anyway?” said Mr. Benedict, in the tone of a drunk philosophy major at 3 am that is about to make this everyone else’s problem.
This immediately caused a hullaballoo, and the ensuing debate would nearly end in a thrown mug, a few well-aimed marshmallows being thrown with pin-point accuracy at several eyes, and, in a surprisingly unrelated incident, tragically spilt cocoa.
It was hours later when Rhonda was slipping back into her room that she realized she hadn’t thought about her nightmare in quite a while.
It had been so happy and lively, and the hot cocoa had been good and left her feeling warm and cozy, and Mr. Benedict, it turned out, gave excellent hugs.
(She had a feeling he needed one, too, so she hugged back extra tightly and was rewarded with him relaxing a fraction, then seeming to right himself, as if he’d nearly fallen asleep.)
She resolved to attempt to do this with Number Two one day, as well. Not that she could plan nightmares for either of them, but still. She had to see it. It wouldn’t do to leave her out.
(She slept easily, soon after, and had no more nightmares that night.)
#my writing#mbs disney#the mysterious benedict society#rhonda kazembe#nicholas benedict#mr. benedict#number two#milligan wetherall#mbs#tmbs#mysterious benedict society#askbox#snippet
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bakugou is an absolute asshole of a roommate who scowls at you when you come to him at night saying you had a nightmare, he tells you to go the fuck back to bed and deal with it. “i ain't your freakin' mommy,” he growls, “it's two a.m and you're full fuckin' grown, now go the hell back to your room.”
when you sniffle and shuffle away sadly, he throws his covers back over his body and begins to fall asleep again, but something stops him. a twang of guilt in his chest keeps him awake and he curls his upper lip when he hears your bedroom door slowly creak shut. for a second he tries to get comfortable again, before he groans and begrudgingly throws himself out of bed and stalks toward the door.
you jump when your bedroom door is kicked open to reveal a grumbly bakugou with his hands shoved in his pockets, who slumps his way toward you, slams your laptop shut, and forcefully makes himself comfortable in your bed with this arms wrapped around your waist and his nose pressed against the back of your neck.
“bakugou—” “shut your damn mouth.” he mumbles, pulling you in closer, “tell me about your stupid nightmare so i can go the fuck back to sleep.”
you sigh softly as you melt into his embrace and you raise a hand to fiddle with the ones intertwined at your waist. your eyes are still watery, and there's a hint of anxiety in your body that if you even close your eyes you'll be catapulted back into your nightmare, but you breathe in and calm yourself. if anything happened, you'd wake up and be safe. you had bakugou there with you, after all.
“it's..” you start, rubbing your nose, “it's nothing. just watched too many horror movies.. again.”
you can feel his scoff against your neck and the way he shakes his head, as his hair grazes against it. his head is pressed straight against the pillow, and you can't help but wonder how he wakes up with his pile of spikes intact. no matter what position he sleeps in, he always manages to have them look perfectly messy, just the way he likes it. you'd have nightmares about how roguishly handsome it makes him look if you didn't know any better.
“fuckin' crybaby,” his lips drag on your neck as he speaks and you almost jump, “ 'the hell did you watch that it left ya' sobbin' like a two year old?”
you pout. “well now i'm not telling you.”
he snorts, “ 'm not wrong.”
he's not, you think, as the room falls into a comfortable silence. one of his thumbs absentmindedly rubs up and down on your midsection, and the mix of the warmth of his presence and his halfhearted attempts at comforting you begin to slowly lull you back to sleep.
whatever your nightmare was, you can't even remember. and you don't care to.
#bakugou katsuki#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader fluff#i love roommate aus#they're so adorable
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better
pairing: regulus black x evans!reader
word count: 3.3k
warnings: swearing, angst, make out scene
request by: @upchurch-funk
summary: being a muggleborn dating Regulus meant you had to keep it a secret. When your older sister finds out she raises fear of heartbreak in both of you
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You and your sisters had been born jealous. Petunia turned to envy first as the attention that had been solely given to her was split between two other daughters. She had always been bitter towards you and Lily, never forgiving you for interpreting her perfect young life. She had taken your things, broken your toys and ripped your clothes trying to punish you for being born and turning her from an only child to the eldest.
Lily was next when she realised she wasn't the only one who could sprout fire from her fingertips. She had accused you of faking your magic for years, doing everything she could to best you even if she never fully understood her powers herself. Luckily she outgrew this jealous fit and by the time you shared a cabin on your way to Hogwarts she was beaming ear to ear.
It was you who was last to realise what the burn in your chest really meant. The feeling came heavy like thick rain drops as you watched your sister fall so effortlessly in love. Each time she gave James a quick hug or leaned onto his shoulder your eyes narrowed, fury irrationally rising in your throat.
This wasn’t because you wished James was yours instead. In fact you had considered him an idiot since you met him and would have rather drown yourself than date the loud mouth fool. You were instead jealous of the simplicity of their relationship. Envious of how they could be carefree, how they could dream of picket fences and happy futures. You hated that they could still be stupid kids. How they were given the freedom to make out in hallways and sneak into eachothers dorms with their worst consequence being a slap on the wrist and week of detention. Nothing hurt more than watching your sister live a simple life you knew you never could.
You stared across the room locking eyes with Regulus for only a brief moment before his darted away. Charms was dreadfully boring, the lecture practically putting you to sleep, you knew you should have been paying attention, but watching the younger Black perform the spell with ease was far more interesting. The flick of his wrist was an addicting, dull look in his eyes far more attractive than it should have been. He had woken up late that morning, his hair messier than usual. You thought it looked adorable, the way a few strands drooped in front of his lashes. He only got cuter as he blew them from his face with a pout.
“You have a staring problem.” Levi muttered from beside you.
You rolled your eyes, “Do you ever mind your own business?”
“Please, you make your thing for Black everyone's business.” He muttered and you kicked him under the desk.
Cussing at you he glared, leaning down to massage his bruising shin.
You wondered briefly how he would have reacted to the reveal of your relationship with your “hopeless crush” as he liked to call it. The surprise on his face would have been sweet as honey.
Regulus was watching you now as you continued to talk to your desk mate, he had never liked the boy, call it jealousy or anger, something bitter always rose in his throat when he saw you with him. Maybe it was because he knew your life would be so much easier if you had loved him instead.
“I don’t get what you see in him anyway.” Levi said, looking across at Regulus whose eyes had quickly retreated back to his parchment.
You grew brittle at the statement.
“I mean I know he's attractive but if it's really about looks why not go for his brother?” He grumbled.
You scoffed, “Please, Sirius is a piece of work.”
“And he isn't? I’m surprised he hasn’t called you a slur yet.”
Rage bubbled in your stomach, your chest feeling hot, “Shut up.”
Levi was either oblivious to the anger set in your tone or unbothered by it “I mean really y/n, you have a crush on a purist? It's sickening.”
You screwed your eyes shut in an attempt to stop the hot tears building behind them. You wanted to scream at him, slap him across the face and shout how Regulus would never do such a thing. You wanted to tell him how wrong he was, make him regret ever speaking such cold words. But instead you looked away, wiping your tears as they came while your boyfriend sat across the room pretending you didn't exist.
You were used to it, you knew as a muggleborn dating a pureblood from a family like his would never be easy but the words still stung. That night you sobbed into Regulus’s chest as he held you in your usual hidden courtyard.
As your tears soaked through his sweater he felt nothing but the cold grip of guilt. He had never meant to fall in love. He had known it was a mistake the second it had happened. Even now he knew he had been wrong and stupid and naive to let himself feel so deeply for someone he could never truly be with. He would never forgive himself for forcing you into the hellish life he lived with a simple confession. He hated himself every day for it, he didn't deserve to indulge in his emotions knowing it would cause you nothing but pain. He didn't deserve you and he had known that from the start.
Yet every night you met, kissing under the pale moon until your lips grew numb. Everynight he found himself falling deeper and deeper into you until you filled his dreams and nightmares alike. So he forced you closer to him, knowing he would cause nothing but hurt. And you were so childishly in love you let him.
Later as you lay asleep on his chest, legs tangled beneath a blanket he let his own tears go, silent apologies dripping down his cheek as he tightened his grip on your waist.
Lily watched you from where she sat at her table, green eyes narrowed as she tried to read your mind across the dining hall.
“Something is definitely off.” She mumbled turning to James who stared at her with a dopey grin. “You haven’t been listening to a word I said have you?”
“How can I when you’re so beautiful?” He murmured back and she scoffed, face darkening.
Sirius gagged, “You guys are disgusting.”
“Christ Black, how old are you?” Lily spoke with the roll of her eyes.
He scrunched his nose and pretended to mock her silently only earning a sigh from Remus who sat beside him.
“Something is wrong with y/n, I can just feel it.” Lily continued content on ignoring Sirius.
“Maybe she's dating that Callahan kid.” James offered. “There’s been tons of rumors.”
Lily scoffed, “Please, she has told me multiple times she has absolutely no interest in him.”
“A few months ago you were telling her you had absolutely no interest in James.” Remus offered not to look up from his book.
Lily sputtered blushing heavily again, “That is completely different.”
“Sure it is.” Remus drawled, eyes peering over the cover at her.
Lily furrowed her brow, “But why wouldn’t she tell me? I mean I thought we've always been close.”
“Maybe it's not that serious.” Sirius shrugged, “Maybe they’re just fuck buddies or something.”
Lily pulled back in disgust, “Don’t talk about my little sister like that!” she hissed as Remus kicked him under the table.
“What? She’s almost 17! It's not like she's 12 or something, Godric.” Sirius complained and James threw a spoon at him.
“You know if you’re really that curious we could always just check the map.” James said looking over at Lily who was trying to set Sirius on fire with her glare.
She considered it for a moment, “Isn’t that kind of..” she paused “intrusive?”
He shrugged, “She's your little sister.”
The sky was dark that night as you met with Regulus. The moon was new leaving only the blinking stars to light the ground beneath you.
You grinned when you saw Regulus leaning against the small statue in the middle of the courtyard. You quickened your pace pulling him into a brief kiss as you met.
“Hi.” You whispered against his lips and you felt him smile.
“Hi.” He responded, hands on your waist pulling you closer once again.
You tasted sweet like the nectar of the gods, soft and tender in his arms. Your hair smelt of pomegranate, your flowery perfume engulfing him. There was nothing more addicting on this world than your lips.
You both pulled away breathless and grinning stupidly, “Your hair looks so cute like this.” You mumbled running your hands through it and tugging lightly on a curly lock that had fallen down his forehead.
Regulus practically purred, melting into your touch. He dipped his head low to hide his blush, lips skimming the skin of your neck.
You giggled as he mumbled a bashful thank you before nipping slightly below your ear. He was always careful to never leave marks that could be seen the following day. You wished he wasn’t.
You felt his hands on the back of your thighs lifting you off the ground. You wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your nose in his hair as he walked until your back hit the wall of the castle. You scratched your nails lightly against his scalp and Regulus groaned. You gasped at the feeling of his tongue on your jaw as he pressed you further into the stone. Your legs now wrapped around his waist as he left sloppy kisses on your collar bone.
It was then you heard the shuffle of footsteps.
“Regulus.” You whispered and he broke away to look up at you, his lips red and glossy , “I heard someone.”
He slowly lowered you to your feet, “You sure?”
You nodded and you both stood silently, ears craning for another sign of life among you. After a minute you sighed, “Sorry, I must have been hearing things.”
Regulus just shook his head grinning lightly, “ ‘s fine babe.” words slurring, intoxicated by your taste.
Your lips reconnected, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as you began to work on the buttons of his shirt, tugging on his tie to loosen its knot. But there it was again the soft sound of feet, closer this time.
You both paused Regulus pulling away leaving your skin feeling cold in his absence.
“Who’s there?” He demanded into the darkness, wand lit.
There was no response and you grabbed his hand to pull him back to you. Regulus stood his ground so you leaned into him, lips ghosting against his ear.
“It's probably just a mouse or somethin’.” You murmured hands coming back to undo the remaining buttons of his shirt.
Regulus glanced around once more before looking down at you, “You’re probably right.” he said before he began to untuck your blouse, hands sliding slowly under it.
It was that which finally broke Lily, her vision going red. She stepped from beneath the invisibility cloak ignoring James' protests.
You let out a small yelp as your sister appeared from thin air, Regulus who had his back turned to her immediately drew his wand pushing you lightly behind him. His eyes went wide as he found himself inches from your older sister. It was your turn to pull Regulus behind you.
“Lily, What in bloody hell are you doing here?”
When James sheepishly appeared as well you gasped, “What is wrong with you both, are you stalking me?”
Lily looked stern, her arms crossed, “Why are you with him?” she seethed.
Your eyes narrowed, “None of your fucking buissnes. Now take your dog and leave.”
Regulus almost didn't believe it was you that was talking. He wasn’t accustomed to the harsh tone you used, your anger hardly ever directed at him.
“This is most certainly my business!” She spoke shrilly.
“It is most certainly not. Now get out.” You shouted.
“How can you expect me to leave when you're getting all touchy feely with a purist?” She hissed, grabbing at your wrist to pull you away from the boy behind you. You slapped her away so hard the sound echoed off the walls, “Call him that again around me and you’ll fucking regret it.” You growled.
Lily stepped back surprised by your sudden aggression but not backing down, “Please y/n, I’m just calling it as it. The sooner you realise that the better.”
Regulus felt his throat tighten as he listened, teeth biting into his lip as he had nowhere to look but his feet.
You stepped closer to your sister inches from her face, “Leave.” your voice struck heavy.
Lily responded just as harshly, “No.”
James shifted behind his girlfriend feeling like he was intruding on the fight which was taking place. Sensing his awkwardness you looked back at him with a searing gaze.
“Get out Potter, you have no place here.” You spat.
He was planning on shuffling away when Lily turned back to him angrily, “No James stay.”
You scoffed as he did as he was told, “Fucking pet.”
“Don’t speak to him like that.” Lily scolded.
“You're the one who's calling my boyfriend a purist.” You growled your mouth bitter at the taste of hypocrisy.
“Because he is one!” She bit back. “You really think he actually loves you after being raised how he was? With a mother like his?”
Regulus felt like he had been slapped, his cheek stinging as the older girl spoke.
“Don’t you dare bring up his mother.” You were shaking with rage by now, your face streaked with angry tears, “And how dare you speak ill of Regulus simply because of his upbringing as if his brother isn't one of your closest friends. How do you think Sirius would feel hearing what you just said?”
This took Lily back a step, her rage cooling a bit as she realised her mistake, “It’s different,” She tried to recover, “He isn't with his family anymore. Sirius has already broken away from them. He made the choice any good person would.”
Regulus felt her eyes on him as she spoke. She was no longer interested in her sister and instead focused on him. He felt like he was choking under the pressure of her stare. When he glanced up to meet her gaze he inhaled sharply. He hadn’t seen such hatred in a long time.
Your lashes were thick with tears by now, disgust and fury morphing your face, “Go fuck yourself Lily.” You spat.
She ignored you, gaze locked on Regulus, she had no intention of speaking to you anymore, “You stay away from her.” she demanded, “If you truly love her you stay away from her.”
You shouted lunging forwards and shoving your sister backwards. She stumbled back catching herself.
It was you who fell, your feet tangling, forcing you to the ground. You hit hard, hands and knees scraping against stones and moss which made up the floor. You couldn’t find it in you to stand up simply letting exhaustion and misery take you where you lay. You shook with sobs, voice cracked and raw. Lily immediately dropped beside you, hands circling your neck as she drew you into a hug. You fought her as you always did but she held on, letting you beat her chest with your fists until you stilled.
Regulus took a step forward but was stopped by your sister whose glare told him everything he needed to know. Tears pricking his own eyes he stumbled past the two of you and disappeared into the darkness of the dungeons. He didn't hear James shout for him over the sound of the ring in his ears. He wasn’t sure where he ended up, somewhere deep in the depths of the sprawling castle, dust coated the staircase he collapsed onto. Only there did he let himself cry, choking sobs rubbing his throat raw as he looked for someone to blame. His mother for forcing him into the terrifying world of dark magic? His brother for abandoning him in his abusive home? Or your sister for pointing out the truth he prayed you would never see? Regulus wished he could pass the blame off to anyone but he wasn’t stupid, he knew he had no one to hate but himself.
Regulus disappeared entirely for three days. Three days you spent desperately avoiding your sister who seemed just as adamant to talk to you again. You skipped meals opting for hunger instead risking meeting her in the hall. She would show up outside your classes forcing you to scramble out the back way or sprint away like a child running from punishment.
On the fourth day of your boyfriend's absence you felt yourself beginning to panic. Fear of him never returning, filling your head with irrational thoughts. It wasn’t like you could ask around for him, your relationship needed to remain secret despite the difficulties you were facing. It was then Lily cornered you.
You stared at the redhead as she blocked your only exit. “Lily, move.” You sighed exhausted by the past few days, sleepless nights not improving your condition.
She didn't listen, “Y/n we need to talk.”
"About what?" You scoffed, "I have nothing to say to you.”
“I just want you to understand why I,” She paused, “Why I said what I did.”
“I don't care why you said it Lily.” You said, “I don’t care if you think you were protecting me or saving me from some hopeless relationship. I honestly don’t care.”
Her eyes swelled, “How can you say that? How can you not care? I love you y/n I just want you to be safe.”
You stared at her, “I just don’t understand why you couldn’t just let me be happy.”
“He’s dangerous.”
You shook your head, “No, his family is dangerous. His situation is dangerous. He’s not.”
“Y/n please.” She begged, for what you did not know.
“Just stay out of my shit Lily.” you mumbled pushing past her and back into the hallway.
You spent the night where you always had, the small courtyard hidden between two towers of the castle, a statue of a woman draped in vines and flowers at its center. The moon was a small sliver, a dusting of clouds blocking the stars from your view. The shuffle of footsteps brought your eyes from the ground.
There stood Regulus, his face shining in the pale light. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, nose pointed at the floor as he refused to meet your gaze.
You stood quickly throwing your hands around his neck. He leaned into your touch burying his head into your shoulder as his hands found your waist.
You smelled delightful as always, your lips soft against his cheek and hands in his hair. Regulus hadn’t realized he was crying until you began to comfort him. Sweet words whispered into his ear as you only held him tighter.
“She’s right, you know.” He croaked, lifting his head to look at you. “You shouldn’t be around me.”
You shook your head feverishly, “You’re wrong Reggy.”
“I don’t deserve you y/n, I don’t deserve to be with you.” He sobbed, “I could never deserve you.”
“You’re right, love.” You mumbled, smiling through the tears that coated your cheeks, “You deserve so much better.”
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taglist:@accio-rogers @roslea @k3nz-doodl3 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1 @coldlilheart @suseptiable-bur-siriusexual @the-natureofme @trickylittlewitch @layaa-layaaa @rosieweasleyy @dracosgoodgirl @inglourious-imagines @princess-jules47 @daedreamss @d22malfoys
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#harry potter#harry potter imagines#harry potter au#harry potter imagine#harry potter x reader#marauders imagines#regulus black ships#regulus black imagine#regulus black imagines#regulus black#regulus black x reader#regulus x y/n#regulus x reader#harry potter marauders#marauders era#hp marauders#marauders#young marauders#marauders x reader#marauders x y/n#marauders x you#marauders imagine#sirius black x reader#sirius black imagine#sirius black imagines#james potter imagines#lily evens#lily x james#jily fic#jily fanfiction
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Deserving of Affection
Word count: 4100
Warnings: Just a bunch of fluff
Another one for my Bucky-loving followers! ❤️ I combined two prompts in this one, one by an anon requesting Bucky with ticklish abs and one where reader sneaks up on Bucky throughout the day to tickle him, hoping to make him laugh and show him affection.
I didn't really have much else in the way of plot to add here, so it's a semi-plotless fluff bomb 😅 but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!
There’s something so serene about waking up to the sunlight streaming through the window with absolutely no reason to leave your bed. The calming stillness of the morning. The peaceful silence filling the room. The cozy softness of the blankets warmed by your own body heat while you slept. The only movement was the slow, gentle shifting of the blankets with every breath taken by the man lying next to you in your bed.
Careful not to wake him, you rolled from your back onto your side to gaze at the sleeping form of the super soldier you loved. Bucky looked so peaceful in his sleep. His features were so relaxed, his brows no longer furrowed as they often were during his waking hours. Sleep didn’t come easily for him, often riddled with the nightmares of his past. So, when he did manage to fall into a restful slumber, you were cautious not to drag him out of it until he was ready to wake on his own.
He wasn’t a very deep sleeper. You suspected he must have felt the weight of your gaze on him, as he slowly stirred and cracked one eye open. His blue iris was glazed over from sleep, but the corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile nonetheless as he slipped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side.
“I didn’t want you to wake up,” you whispered. He let out a slow, heavy breath.
“S’not your fault,” he mumbled, closing his eyes once again. “Have to pee.”
You snorted quietly. “Then go pee, you dork!”
“It’s over there.”
“Yes, you have to get up to go pee. I’m so sorry to tell you that.”
Grumbling, Bucky pushed the blankets off himself onto you and rolled out of bed, stumbling groggily to the bathroom. You shook your head, still chuckling at his misplaced grumpiness as you heard the door click shut behind him.
It was only a minute before he re-emerged from the bathroom. You admired him as he slowly shuffled back to the bed, still wearing only a pair of loose-fitted black sweats on his bottom half that rested just below the curve of his waist where his hipbone began. Bucky noticed your staring, grinning slyly at you in a way that made your cheeks feel warm. He slid into his side of the bed, purposely pulling the blankets up only over his legs to leave his bare torso visible.
“You’re not very subtle, doll,” Bucky snickered, an edge of sleepiness leaving his voice raspy.
“Hey – I’m allowed to look at my boyfriend’s abs,” you retorted, rolling onto your side so you could drape your arm around his bare waist.
The two of you fell into a comfortable, calm silence. Though Bucky’s eyes were closed, you knew he wasn’t sleeping – only enjoying your company. Absently, you lifted your arm from his waist, running your hand reverently along the rippling muscles of his abdomen. He sniffed out a laugh, his eyes sliding open to glance at you curiously.
“Still enjoying the view?” he asked teasingly.
“Yup,” you confirmed shamelessly, lifting your palm from his skin so only the pads of your fingers touched his belly. Curiously, you slid your fingertips along the contours of his abdominal muscles, tracing along the center line running from his ribcage to his navel. His abdomen tensed beneath your fingers as you slid them along the horizontal line where you had stopped above his navel. “Showing off, now, are you?”
“Mmhmm.”
Something about his voice sounded strained rather than cocky as you’d have anticipated. You glanced up at Bucky’s face, noticing his lips were pursed shut and his eyes were wide open.
Curious.
You allowed your fingertips to trail back up along the contours of the outer edge of his abdominal muscles, dragging them more slowly than before. As you did so, you glanced up intermittently at his face, taking note that the corner of his mouth twitched upward every so often, accompanied by a scrunching of his eyes.
“You ok, Buck?” you asked, tracing back down along that same line on the side of his stomach but following it down to his waistline.
“Y-yup,” he replied shortly, unable to hold in a slight breathy laugh when your fingertips grazed just above the waist of his pants. You grinned mischievously as he confirmed your suspicions.
“Really? Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this is tickling you.” You fluttered your fingertips along his waist, purposely trying to tickle him now. He broke into breathy giggles, his hand closing around yours.
“Ahalright, you got me,” he breathed, grinning sheepishly. You squealed in delight.
“You are ticklish! I knew it!” You sat up and reached over with your free hand to scribble at his belly, relishing in the sudden bark of a laugh you elicited from him. It was a bright sound, one you didn’t hear often from the tormented super soldier. You expertly evaded his metal hand as he grabbed for your tickling fingers, slipping down to his side to pinch at the skin above his hipbone. Bucky rolled onto that side to block your fingers, forcing you to quickly dart your hand over to his bare ribs on the other side.
“Oh-ho-kahahay! Yehes, I’m ticklish!” he admitted, finally managing to catch hold of your other hand and remove it from his ribcage. His grin turned impish, and he looked you in the eye. “What about you, doll?”
“What?” Your voice pitched up an octave in nervousness, wrenching your hands out of his to prepare to flee. Bucky’s eyes flashed, seeing your change in demeanor.
“I think I already know the answer.”
You shrieked as he sat up a bit and reached toward you, swiftly rolling to jump out of bed. Your lower half was still wrapped up in the blankets, however, so you awkwardly began slipping head-first over the edge of the bed. Bucky’s hands landed on your waist, tugging you backward by your hips just enough to shift enough of your weight back up onto the mattress to keep you from tumbling over the edge and onto your face.
“B-Bucky…” you urged warningly. “Don’t you dare.”
“But I can’t pass up such a perfect opportunity to get you back,” he countered, slipping his fingers up under the hem of your sleep shirt and clawing into your bare belly. You shrieked and dissolved into giggles, reaching down to grab at his hands but finding it impossible to get ahold of them with his hands wedged between your torso and the mattress where you lay prone.
"Buhuhucky!! Get yohour hands OHOUT!!"
"What's the matter? You ticklish?" he hummed tauntingly, wriggling his fingertips into the fronts of your hips. With a screech, you pounded your feet against the mattress in ticklish agony. "Wohohow, I guess you are!"
"BUHUCK NOHO!!" You rolled onto your back, pushing frantically at his hands. His sly grin made your face flush, only amplified when he latched his fingers onto your ribs and skittered his hands up and down both sides, pinching and scratching along the way.
“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re laughing like this!” His hands caught your wrists as you tried to fight him off, gathering them both in his metal hand and pinning them to your chest. “Let’s see your abs then, hmm?”
“I dohon’t HAVE abs!!”
“Sure you do! Everyone does!” He tugged the hem of your shirt up to your rib, cool air meeting the skin of your belly. “See? They’re right here!” He traced his fingers along the side of your belly as you’d done earlier, grinning when you arched your back and snorted out a whiny laugh.
“BUCK!! Thahat TICKLES!!”
“Yeah, I know! That’s sorta the point.” He gently grazed his fingertips around your navel, then up the center of your belly to your ribs, scratching teasingly at the spot just below your sternum that made you gasp and jolt.
“I-hi CAHAN’T Buhuhuck!!”
“Ohh, alright, alright…” He relented, pulling your shirt back down before releasing your wrists. Before you could start swatting at him, he wrapped his arms around you and laid his weight on top of your body, pinning you in a hug.
“Mmph! Buck your crushing me!”
"I just want to cuddle with you!"
"You can - oof - do that without - hrmmph - flattening me!" You shoved at his shoulders, surprisingly managing to push him back onto his own side of the bed (although you suspected he let you). "And anyway, now I have to pee, thanks to you."
"Oh really?" He cheekily reached over and tickled your side, earning a yelp.
"Noho! You'll make it WOHORSE!" you scolded, rolling out of bed successfully this time and turning to stick out your tongue at the metal-armed soldier. He laughed at your silliness, returning your rude gesture as you backed into the bathroom and shut the door.
You couldn't get that wonderful, vibrant laugh of his out of your head. In the relatively short amount of time you'd been dating, you barely ever heard him laugh like that. Sure, he chuckled at your antics or your jokes from time to time, but something about that bright, unrestrained laughter just made your heart swell.
Bucky didn't speak much about his past. The two of you had met long after he'd recovered from HYDRA's experimenting, and he mostly preferred to just forget about that part of his life. He struggled enough with talking about it in therapy, you knew. On days he had a therapy session, he always returned home sullen and brooding, often changing into workout clothes and going for a jog to get his mind off things before sitting down to spend time with you. You understood. You knew enough about what they'd done to him - how they'd toyed with his mind and turned him into a monster he never wanted to be - to recognize why he would rather not talk about it with you. And as long as he kept unloading his feelings in therapy, you were alright with him keeping the subject out of your conversations.
It made your heart ache for him, knowing how long he'd lived a life filled with pain, rage, and torture. You tried your best to show him affection, frequently kissing him or cuddling up to him on the sofa with your arms wrapped around his waist and your head on his chest. On his worst days, he shied away even from you. He'd once told you he didn't deserve to have your affection, that he'd done too many horrific things in his life to be worthy of such caring, loving touch. You made sure to hug him extra that day.
The fact that he was ticklish had never come up in your time together. You honestly hadn't thought to even try - he was a super soldier, after all, and he didn't exactly give off a vibe that suggested he might be ticklish. Not to mention, it would be very easy for him to turn the tables on you with his enhanced strength, and he hadn't known you were ticklish either. Not that you minded, now that he did. And now that you knew he was, you quickly added it to your list of ways you showed Bucky your love. It was your new favorite, in fact, given the way it got him laughing so freely.
After the two of you had gotten out of bed for the day, Bucky made his way to the kitchen to prepare himself some coffee. He always made an extra mug for you while you showered and got ready in the morning, one of the ways he had begun to show you his affection. You were running a little earlier than usual, given your sudden need to jump out of bed this morning to escape the playful soldier's attack, and so you found him standing at the coffee pot when you padded into the kitchen.
Keeping your breaths shallow and silent, you crept slowly up behind Bucky while he poured water into the coffee maker. The moment he'd started the machine, you grabbed hold of his ribs from behind and dug your fingers into the spaces. That laugh you adored burst from his mouth the moment you touched him, and he arched away from your tickling fingers and stumbled away from the kitchen counter. You followed him, trying your best to worm your fingers up under his arms before he inevitably overpowered you. He beat you to the punch, catching hold of your hands in his and turning around to face you, his face still adorned with a brilliant, ticklish grin.
"Oh-ho-ho! That's how you wanna play, hmm?"
With a squeak, you wrenched your hands from his and turned to run, your forward momentum halted as his metal arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you back against his chest. He wriggled his fingers into your ribs just as you had, chuckling when you, too, exploded with laughter.
"Is this what you wanted? Hmm? You had to know I'd get you back," he teased, fingers dancing up your ribs toward your underarm. You shook your head and offered incoherent pleas, which dissipated the moment he succeeded in slotting his fingers up under your arm and scratched at your uppermost ribs.
"B-AHAH-BUCK NOHOHO!" you cried, knees buckling beneath you. He halted his attack, holding you steady until your feet were planted more solidly underneath you before releasing you from his grasp.
"Sneaky little rascal," he growled playfully, returning to the coffee maker to finish preparing you both a hot cup of the bitter liquid to wake yourselves up for the day.
Today was grocery shopping day, which always made both of you a little more cranky than usual. It wasn't your favorite thing to do, wandering around the supermarket and trying to gather your groceries while the people around you stopped at random in the dead center of the aisle, or parked their cart in front of the shelf you needed while looking at a totally different section. But it had to be done, despite how much you both dreaded it.
You walked by Bucky's side as he pushed the cart, grabbing items and tossing them in as you passed through the shelves. The first time you headed down an empty aisle, you swiftly reached out and pinched Bucky's side, retracting your hand immediately and trying to look innocent. He flinched at your touch, head darting around to look at you with his eyes narrowed playfully.
"Don't start something you can't finish," he warned under his breath.
"What? I don't know what you're talking about," you replied aloofly, grabbing a jar of peanut butter to add to the cart. He shook his head in mock exasperation, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a grin.
He stopped the cart in front of the meats section to look through the packages of chicken. With his back turned, you glanced both ways to see if anyone was watching before sneaking up behind him and tweaking his lower ribs.
"HA-hey!" Bucky whipped around to glare teasingly at you. You merely shrugged, looking at him quizzically.
"What?"
"You know very well what. Do it again and see what happens."
Your face felt warm at his threat, a nervous giggle slipping from your mouth. He added a wink and a sly smirk to fluster you further before taking hold of the cart to continue on down the next aisle. You were thoroughly enjoying this playful side of your normally gloomy super soldier boyfriend, although you weren't keen on provoking him to tickle you senseless in the middle of the dairy aisle. So, you waited through the rest of your shopping trip, biding your time until you could launch a renewed attack in the car.
The moment Bucky slid into the driver's seat beside you and shut the door, you reached over and dug both hands into his belly. Unprepared for the sudden assault, he burst into startled laughter and reached for your wrists.
"Yohou are SOHO getting it whehen I get ahold of yohou," he growled through his laughter, folding in on himself a little when you discovered a particularly sensitive spot just below his ribs. You were too intrigued not to target the spot, allowing him to catch hold of your wrists with a dangerous look in those mesmerizing blue eyes.
"Aheh... I just had to, Bucky! It's so much fun tickling you."
"Oh, you think so, huh?"
You braced yourself for his counterattack, but it never came. Instead, he passed both your wrists into one hand, turning the key in the ignition to start the car. With a warning look, made less threatening by the smirk on his face, he released your wrists and threw the car into drive, pulling out of the parking lot.
"Y-you're letting me go?" you asked nervously. He shook his head, that smirk broadening across his face.
"Just building suspense," he responded slyly. You released a giggly whine, wrapping your arms around your ribs protectively, though you knew he wouldn't tickle you while he was driving.
When you arrived back home, you quickly scooted out of the car to retrieve some of the groceries. As you reached into the trunk for a bag, Bucky's hand landed on your shoulder, spinning you around to face him before swiftly lifting you off the ground and tossing you over his shoulder.
"Wahait!! Bucky! Puhut me down!!"
"Uh-uh. I need to get my payback first," he refused.
"Buhut the groceries!"
"They'll be fine for a couple minutes, I promise." He carried you inside and into the living room, tossing you onto the sofa and immediately clawing his fingers into your belly. With a screech, you curled up into a ball and rolled onto your side to protect your vulnerable spots. He moved to target your exposed side and ribs instead, scratching at the spot where your ribs met your back. "Regret it yet?"
"Noho!" you insisted cheekily. With a sigh, he took hold of your wrist in his metal hand, dragging it up over your head. "Wait, WAIT! BUCKY-YAHAH NOHO!"
"Now do you regret it?" he teased as his fingers scurried along the hypersensitive skin under your arm through the fabric of your shirt. You nodded frantically, yanking at your wrist involuntarily until he finally released you and relented in his attack. He straightened up, grinning down at you as you gasped to catch your breath. "Come on, doll - we have to put away the groceries."
"Yohou asshole!" you griped jokingly, sitting up and straightening your shirt before following him out to the car to retrieve the food he'd forced you to leave in the trunk.
That evening, when you'd finished cleaning up after dinner, the two of you sat down in the living room to watch a movie together. Bucky took his usual seat on the sofa, opening his arms to invite you to sit with him. You grinned, plunking yourself down beside him and melted into his side, stretching your legs out in front of you to rest your feet on the ottoman. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into him so you could rest your head on his shoulder. It was incredibly comfortable.
About halfway through the movie, you started to feel a little restless. Shifting yourself to sit up a bit more against Bucky's side, you sneakily moved your hand across your body toward his ribs, realizing this was probably the only opportunity you'd have to get at his underarm without him fighting you off first. Drawing your bottom lip up between your teeth, you shoved your fingers between your own shoulder and his underarm and dug into the soft skin.
He jumped halfway off the couch in surprise, dissolving immediately into loud belly laughter as he tried sliding his arm out from behind you. You snatched hold of his hand and held it tight to your side, laughing with him as you wriggled your fingers deeper into the very center of his underarm.
"WHAHAT DID I DOHO??" he demanded through hysterics, finally succeeding in pulling his hand from your grasp and clamping his arm to his side, grabbing for your tickling fingers.
"I had toho! I knew you'd never let me get you here otherwise," you insisted, groaning in disappointment when he managed to get ahold of your hand and remove it from underneath his arm. He held it tight to his chest to keep you from trying anything, gazing at you with an air of amusement.
"Whahat's gotten into you today? Are you just trying to get me to tickle you?"
Your face flushed. He wasn't totally wrong, but that wasn't the real reason behind your persistent playfulness. "No...! I just... well I never hear you laugh, like really laugh, and... I just feel like you deserve to have that love and playfulness in your life, you know? I love making you laugh."
Bucky's expression softened, a warm smile playing on his lips. He suddenly wrapped his arms around you tighter, dragging you into his lap to hug you close.
"If you don't want me to tickle you I won't, if it bothers you," you promised timidly. He chuckled, kissing your cheek.
"You are so cute, doll. No, it doesn't bother me. I love that it's so important to you to make me feel loved."
Sighing with relief, you leaned your head against his chest and wrapped your arms around his waist. "After everything you've gone through, you deserve a kind and caring touch."
"Thank you, doll."
He rested his chin atop your head, simply holding you against his chest for a moment and enjoying the feeling of having you in his arms. You'd missed ten minutes of the movie already, but you didn't care. You'd allow him to hold you like this for eternity if it would make him feel cared for and loved.
"You know..." he sang, suddenly sounding mischievous. "... I still can't just let you get away with tickling me without getting you back."
You squeaked, making to roll off his lap, but there was no way you were escaping the way his arms held you tight. Before you could begin to protest, his fingers found your torso, pinching and clawing into every inch of ticklish skin he could find through your thin T-shirt.
"NOHOHO! This is SOHO UNFAIR!!"
"Hey, you're the one that keeps messing with a super soldier," he retorted, scratching at your ribs with the hand looped around your back. "Where else are you ticklish?"
"UH-UH! I'm nohot telling you THAHAT!"
"How about here?" He shifted his metal hand down to scratch at the delicate underside of your knee. You yelped and bent your knees to pull them closer to your chest, only to kick them back out again when his hand darted to squeeze at the muscle above your kneecap.
"BUHUCKY!! This is WAHAY worse thahan I tickled yo-HOU!" you whined, voice pitching up when he slid his human hand down to dig into your hip.
"Should've thought of that when you started this fight."
"Oho, a fi-HIGHT??" You reached over and squeezed at his knee, eliciting a surprised bark of a laugh.
"You ahare SO asking fohor it!" Taking advantage of the newly formed space between your arm and side, he shot his hand up under your arm and scratched rapidly at your uppermost ribs. Your entire body tensed up as shrieky laughter burst from your chest.
"OHOKAHAHAY!! YOU WIHIN!! BUCK-AHAH-BUCKY!! MEHERCY!!" you pleaded, unable to take much more of his targeted attack. Laughing at your desperation, he ceased his attack, briefly scribbling into your belly for a moment before stopping altogether and letting you catch your breath.
"You must love being tickled to keep messing with me," he teased, snickering at your flushing face. You buried your forehead in his chest in flustered embarrassment. "It's alright, doll. I... don't mind it either. But only because it's you."
You leaned your head back to grin sheepishly up at your boyfriend, and he caught your smile with his lips. He kissed you with a fierce passion, lacing his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck and grinning at the little shiver it drew from you. When he pulled away, his eyes shimmered with gratitude as he gazed at you in his arms. You weren't sure exactly what made you say it, but you looked him in the eyes and whispered:
"You deserve to be loved."
And by the way his mouth turned up into a vibrant smile, you thought that, just maybe, he was starting to believe it.
#ticklish!reader#tickle fluff#tickle fic#marvel tickle#bucky tickle#bucky x reader#bucky x you#ticklish!bucky
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just a dream (jack grealish x reader)
word count: 1612
warnings: bit angsty.
sorry for any mistakes, I finished this along with a bottle of wine :)
*
He was sitting opposite you in the living-room, nervously fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt. It was an absolutely odd thing for him to do, and it worried you.
“I need to tell you something,” he began, not being able to look you in the eye. You needed him to say it, as soon as possible, so the emotion that was nearly choking you to unconsciousness could finally break free from your throat.
“What is it, Jack?” You demanded to know, your voice thick with impatience and fear. It was nearly unbearable.
“I slept with someone else.”
There it was. What had been hovering above your relationship for quite a few weeks now was out. It sat there, comfortably, between you and your long term boyfriend of five years, staring at you with a dead serious, almost threatening stare.
“So you don’t love me anymore.” You stated a fact. It wasn’t a question, nor an assumption, just a simple fucking fact.
Jack’s face lost all its colour. His open mouth closed and opened again, you could see him swallow hardly, his Adams apple bobbing up and down.
“Of course I love you, baby. That hasn’t changed, I-“ he tried to continue but you cut him off.
“No, Jack. You don’t. You don’t do something like this to someone you love.” You rose from your seat, noticing how weird your body felt, how much every fibre of your soul was hurting. Almost, your knees gave in, gave up carrying your body’s weight, the weight of your pain. Jack stood up with you, reaching out for your hands, but you were quick to withdraw them.
You walked a few steps back to the living-room door which led to the hall. With trembling hands you got a hold of the baseball bat which you always kept hidden behind the curtain, in case of a burglary when Jack was away. Jack watched with wide, incredulous eyes when you lunged out, aiming for the way too big and expensive TV he always spent too much time in front of anyway.
Shooting Jack one last glance,
you woke up.
Lying on your back, your pyjama and the bed sheets were clinging to your sweaty skin. You could literally see your heartbeat hammering through your chest so furiously it nearly hurt.
You were hurt. Hurt by the man sleeping soundly next to you with his warm hand resting on your belly. His mouth hung slightly open and his eyelashes fluttered delicately with the subtle movements of his eyes beneath closed lids.
6:32 am.
You gulped painfully. Your mouth was dry.
Carefully not to wake your boyfriend, you sneaked out of bed and grabbed a cardigan from the chair next to your dresser, tiptoeing out of the room. You knew Jack’s alarm clock would go off at eight, that gave you 90 minutes to pull yourself together. Of course you didn’t want to let a stupid dream ruin your day.
Upon going downstairs, you couldn’t ignore the urge to check the living-room in order to see if the TV was okay. It was fine. Everything was fine. You kept repeating the sentence inside your head like a mantra before brewing yourself a cup of tea.
Jack opened his eyes just two minutes before his alarm would wake him up. He grumbled something before discovering your empty, cold half of the bed. He sat up and frowned- you were usually up before him but most of the time, especially on a Saturday, he would wake up to you reading a book or checking your phone.
His gruff morning voice called out your name but no response came. Jack sighed and shuffled into the bathroom to get ready, hoping to find you downstairs when he was finished.
He did. You were in the middle of making breakfast, the heavenly smell of eggs wafted through the hall when he entered the kitchen, smiling.
“G’mornin’ love.”
“Good morning,” you half smiled, letting him pull you into his side.
“You’re up early,” he pointed out as he gratefully accepted a cup of tea from you, adding, “didn’t sleep well?”
He really knew you like the back of his hand. There wasn’t a chance you could hide something from him.
“Just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep.” You couldn’t look at him any more, afraid to give away too many of your thoughts. Worrying him about something like a stupid nightmare wasn’t something you were keen on doing right before an important training session of his.
You noticed he wasn’t satisfied with your answer, so you quickly handed him a plate with eggs on toast before he could ask any further questions.
“Thanks, you’re the best,” he smiled before his soft lips brushed your cheek.
During breakfast you had the strange feeling he was eyeing you very carefully. You hardly looked up from your plate to avoid any awkward moments or questions. For the first time in years, you just wanted him to leave for training so you could manage sorting your thoughts and emotions. You weren’t able to do that when he was staring at you from across the dining table, probably wondering what the fuck was wrong with you.
He knew something was definitely wrong. He wasn’t stupid. Maybe he was lacking intelligence as in cognition and logic, conversely his emotional intelligence was impressively high. So when it was time for him to go, your pulse quickened inevitably once again.
“You sure you’re okay?” Jack searched your face for any kind of hint, a blink of an eye, a frown, a wrinkle. But you kept it under control, nodding and just swallowing everything instead of spitting it out. You were sure it would all go away eventually before he came home in the afternoon.
“Alright. See you later. Miss you already.” He pecked your lips, mouth lingering a little too long for such an innocent kiss, and briefly tapped your nose with his index finger.
“Yeah, enjoy training.” Your reply was half-hearted and both of you were aware. Jack smiled awkwardly and approached the door, unsure weather to assure himself once more that, apparently, nothing was wrong. He decided against it, waving one last time, before shutting the door behind him.
Training was tough. Jack checked the time unusually often along with his phone for a message from you. A life sign, any sign to soothe his nerves. But- nothing. It was just agonizing- being absolutely sure that something wasn’t quite right but being absolutely clueless about what it could be.
He couldn’t run as fast as he wanted, couldn’t kick the ball as hard as he wanted, couldn’t mess around with his team mates.
All he wanted was get home to you, engulf you in his arms for the entire night and stroke your hair.
Finally it was time to go home. Jack was annoyed that he had to run some errands before eventually getting home, time that separated him from you furthermore. Stupid errands like stopping for gas and picking up his suit from the dry cleaners.
His pulse was racing unusually fast at parking the car in the driveway. Because he didn’t know what to expect, a feeling of insecurity was spreading in his chest.
Jack opened the front door and found the house practically silent, and for a split second he wondered if you were even there. After having closed the door he was able to make out a sound from the kitchen that could’ve been music from the distance. In search of the source, he strode through the rooms until he reached the back garden. He spotted you huddled up in a blanket with a glass of wine in hand, staring into the distance.
“Hey.”
Your head turned towards him with a weak smile.
“Hey.”
“Can I join you?”
You simply nodded, making some space for him on the lounger. For a moment, you just sat there in silence.
“I’m sorry,” you suddenly said, nearly whispered.
Jack looked at you, his eyes full of worry.
“I’m sorry for being so distant today. It wasn’t fair on you. I’ve had a nightmare last night. You told me that you’d slept with someone else.”
Your words were lingering in the air like puffed out cigarette smoke. Jack didn’t know what to do, all the things he wanted to say weren’t coming together into a proper sentence. So instead, he wrapped both his arms tightly around you and pulled you into him.
It was the best reaction to your “confession” you could’ve wished for. Sometimes, silence indeed spoke louder than words.
“You know I’d never do that to you. Don’t you?” Jack whispered after a while.
A single tear rolled down your cheek, landing on his hand, “I know.”
You were still looking straight ahead, feeling his burning gaze on your face, not yet able to face him fully.
“Nightmares suck,” Jack muttered against your temple, his thumb stroking circles on the back of your hand, “everything’s alright, love. I’m here for you.”
In that moment, you were so thankful for him, so so thankful. You broke free from his grasp slightly to look into his hopeful eyes. There was a sparkle in them, along with one particular emotion, so visible it was impossible to miss.
Love.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you this morning. I felt stupid.”
Jack’s big, strong hands framed your face as he knocked his forehead against yours.
“It’s fine.” As soon as the words had left his lips, he kissed you tenderly, gently sucking your bottom lip. Without hesitation you kissed him back, sighing deeply in happiness.
You really were so lucky to have him.
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Damn Right
With; Stiles Stilinski
A/n: Cannot stop having dreams about teen wolf, so the writings keep on coming. I also wrote this in one sitting which I never do anymore. Give it a reblog if you like it, and I hope you enjoy!
Warnings: Just some sappy stuff and some fluff like usual.
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When you shoot up in bed, chills running down your spine and neck sweaty from the nightmares, you immediately notice the empty space beside you. The comforter had been hastily strewn over the side of the bed as if it’s keeper awoke erratically, just as you had. A flash of lightning illuminates the room for a split second and you squeeze your eyes shut in anticipation of the booming thunder. Silently counting the amount of seconds it takes between the flash of light and the grumbling sound that follows. 5 seconds, you remember Melissa telling ten year old you and Scott that the amount of seconds the thunder sounds after the lightning was how many miles away the storm was. You figure Scott, the ever fearless and altruistic alpha, no longer feared storms as you did. You were over the phobia for a while, enjoying the patter of rain against your window as you watched the trees shake in the wind.
Only recently had the fear returned, after the ghost riders had almost stripped Beacon Hills of all it’s citizens. Perhaps way back then, huddled together with your two best friends under your pillow fort as you waited out the rain, did your child-like intuition somehow know about the monsters who rode the storm. Waiting to take any poor soul who was cursed enough to see them, forever forgotten by family and friends. You shudder when the wind whistles outside the house, a lengthy branch tauntingly tapping against the foggy bedroom window.
You remember the nightmare so vividly, it takes all your might to shake away the images. Seeing Stiles ripped from the driver side of the jeep and into the grasp of a ghost rider. Lightning flashing as your boyfriend was gone in the blink of an eye. And just as you had in real life, each syllable of his name had slipped your mind with every second he was gone. He’s gone.
It’s only then you come completely aware of your surroundings. You’re in his bed, lacrosse jersey strewn about on the chair in front of the evidence board so intricately decorated. Panic shoots through your chest, although you know the pack defeated the ghost riders, it’s the irrational anxiety that strips away all logic when he’ no longer next to you. Thunder crashes again, only four seconds after the lightning this time. You cringe at the sound, peering through the crack in the bedroom door whilst debating your next move.
For one, you could lie back down and shoot the boy a text, hoping he’d come back to the room with a fresh glass of water and tired eyes before going back to sleep. But it was Stiles, an insomniac even before he was taken from the seat of his own car and practically forgotten by the entire town. Your only other option was to get out of bed and look for him, which meant venturing from the safety of the warm sheets and into the ominous hallway.
The decision is made for you when the branch smacks particularly hard against the window, having you scrambling from the mattress and tugging on a stray pair of sweats before wrapping the flannel comforter around yourself and venturing out into the hallway.
Stiles can hear the steady patter of feet descending the stairs from his position on the living room recliner. Knowing the footsteps are too light, too calculated to be his father’s. A soft smile pulls at his lips when you come into sight, his sweats drowning your feet in the excess fabric you’re not tall enough for as they shuffle across the cold wood floor. He’s got his trusty bat in hand, the one he plans to gift to Mason before he leaves for college so him and Liam can be protected on their own supernatural adventures. The storm scared him too, and he hasn’t been able to get a blink of sleep since the rain started.
“Couldn’t sleep?” His tired voice rasps out, vocal cords scratchy from having been silent for so long. You shake your head softly as you reach him, carefully climbing into his lap and resting a heavy head on his shoulder.
“I was asleep, but when I woke up you were gone...Had a nightmare too.” You add through a shiver when a particularly loud roll of thunder erupts, shuffling impossibly closer into the brunette under you.
“Sorry I left, just couldn’t lay in bed any longer.” He wills away the anxiety from the storm, arms wrapping around you to secure you to him. Brown eyes darting across the room to all the windows, only coming back to you when you run careful fingers through his hair.
“They’re gone now, you know that.” You mutter reassuringly over the pouring rain, taking the hand with the iron grip on the handle of his bat and bringing it into your lap.
“I get the feeling you don’t totally believe that either.” He quips instantly, long fingers intertwining with yours as you both force a breath of air through your nose in amusement. You pull the thick blanket over the both of you when you adjust yourself to get more comfortable, appreciating the faint scent of cologne against his neck and the warmth only he could give you. Trying to commit the suddenly tranquil feeling to memory.
“You know, when you were gone, I felt this empty feeling inside me. It was kinda like being hungry, but I never really wanted to eat.” Your throat tightens as you remember the three brutal months he was stuck in the ghost rider’s hunt, takin his silence as a note to continue. “There was always a voice in the back of my head, telling me something, someone was missing from my life. When we finally got to talk to you on the jeep’s radio, and I got to hear your voice again, it’s like it all came back to me. After that, I would sit on the roof where your bedroom used to be. Your dad almost caught me one time.” A tear falls down your face when he chuckles at the mention of his father. “I would sit there, right where I knew that window was. And I would just close my eyes, wishing with all my heart I’d hear you open it and call me inside. Asking why my crazy ass was catching a cold out there...But you never did. I missed you so much Sti, you have no idea.” You can only whisper out the last words as your voice cracks, calming down when his strong hand tightens it’s hold in yours.
“I missed you too, you know. I had to wait for you to remember me for two whole months. Imagine being stuck in a fake train station with Peter Hale, not my finest moment.” You both let out a laugh with tear stained cheeks, pushing away the sadness in order to enjoy his presence after all this time.
“I guess you did have it worse, I would have missed me to death if I were you.”
“Damn right.” He accentuates the point with a kiss to your temple, wiping away any leftover trails of tears off of your face and shuffling deeper into the large chair with a deep sigh.
“What’s wrong?” You lift you head from it’s position on his shoulder, meeting his gaze with worried eyes, but he only looks ahead with an unreadable expression.
“Nothing, nothings wrong. That’s what I’m confused about.” You quirk your head to the side just slightly, him taking it as a signal to elaborate.
“Ever since this all started, since Scott got bit in those woods ‘til I was taken by the hunt...I’ve had this terrible, crushing feeling that something terrible might happen next...And right now, I don’t feel it.” Your heart warms at his words, and you’re both suddenly unbothered by the raging storm outside as you settle under the warm covers. The fear might come back, might bring a new battle with it too. But you don’t have to worry, not now, not tonight.
Masterlist
#imagines#fiction#fanfic#teen wolf cast#teen wolf stiles#teen wolf imagine#teen wolf crack#teen wolf smut#stiles stilinksi imagine#stilesedit#stiles x malia#stydia#sterek#derek teen wolf#derek hale#scott mccall x reader#scottstiles#scott mccall#theo raeken#thiam fanfic#liam dunbar#dylan obrien imagine#dylan o'brien#the maze runner imagine
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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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Hey I saw this tik tok i’m out in season three how Rafe should get a gf and they fall in love really fast and when she comes to visit him he’s dragging a body in his room and she’s like hyperventilating but then when he tells her she should leave after sweet talking her she asks how she can help and they realize how deeply in love they are and I just Think that’s such a great storyline and maybe you could do something with it Idk.
I love you for thinking of me. Thank you so much. I hope this does the idea justice.. Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! xoxo
Author's Notes: Rafe found himself a girl, but how far will she go for him? Please read the warnings and proceed with caution :)
Warnings: All of them? MURDER, Mentions of violence, Swearing, Sexual references - sexual innuendos, not fanon Rafe (it hurt, but was fun), - Obx 2 spoilers (like the tiniest one? maybe?)
Requested? YES. Requests for OBX are OPEN!
*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo
They had not been together for very long, but the time they had been together had been particularly intense. Rafe Cameron wasn't someone who loved with half of his heart. He was someone who loved with all of it, his entire being was put forth when he loved someone. It was do or die when it came to her, and he expected the same of his lover.
It was quiet throughout the halls of Tannyhill that night. Even the incessant ping of Wheezie's phone notifications had seemed to have stopped. She laid in Rafe's bed, curled up in the blankets that smelled like him no matter how many times he had her rolling in them.
She sat up in his bed, alarmed when he wasn't beside her. He was always beside her. He had kissed the back of her neck, told her he loved her more than anything and fallen asleep within almost moments.
"Rafe?" She called out into the darkness of his bedroom, her hand pressed to his cold pillow.
She turned her body and lowered her feet to the almost icy hardwood floor, her toes curling before she placed her feet firmly on the ground. She grabbed his sweater from the edge of the bed and pulled it over her body as she shuffled through his room and out the door, squinting against the unwanted light of the hallway.
"Baby?" She called softly down the hall, her feet light on the floor as she followed the sounds of grunts and a voice.
She followed the noises out to the front foyer, gently opening the french doors, and walking out into the crisp Autumn night to see Rafe pacing the length of his car with his hands in his hair.
"Rafe, what are you doing out here? It's freezing." She asked as she pulled his sweater around her body tightly, her knees pressed together to keep her warmth.
"Princess, hey. Go inside, alright? I'll be right there." Rafe replied, pinching the bridge of his nose quickly before he reached out to grab her hips in an attempt to turn her towards the house.
"Rafe, what's going on? Your hands are like ice. Stop!" She yelled as she pushed his hands off of her to turn back around and face him. His eyes were wide, and wild as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"Listen, it's nothing you need to worry about right now. Just go inside, go back to sleep. I'll be in soon." Rafe breathed out, heavy, from the bottom of his lungs as he ran his fingers under his nose.
"Baby, come with me. I'm cold without you in that big bed, and it's freezing out here. You only have a t-shirt on." She shivered, her arms wrapped around her body as she looked him up and down while he paced the driveway still.
Rafe turned on his heel, taking a large step towards her so he stood directly in front of her. He pulled her sweater from around her body, so it laid unzipped on her shoulders. He placed his hands on her bare hips and pulled her close against him so she wasn't completely exposed to the neighbours.
"I got...I got some shit I gotta handle before I can come back to bed, princess. Just got get warm, okay? Stay like this for me?" Rafe asked as he curled his fingers into her backside, his eyes averted to her bare chest pressed against him.
Rafe pressed a soft kiss to her temple, letting out a heavy breath through his nostrils as his fingertips held onto her lower back to keep her close against him for another few seconds.
"Can I help?" The question was soft, as she rested her chin on his strong chest and looked up at him.
"No. I can't get your hands dirty with this." Rafe replied firmly, shaking his head as he began to chew on his thumbnail.
"Baby, I want to help you. I love you." She stated softly, and her words were a shot to his system.
"Go open the gate to the yard and start the boat - the power boat. Don't look in the bed of the truck, and I mean it. Once you've started the boat go back inside and wait for me." Rafe ordered as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small ring that held the keys to the boats on the Cameron's docks. He pressed the keys into the palm of her hand and gave her a stern look. He wasn't playing around.
"Okay, baby." She nodded as she held the keys tightly in her fist and made her way through the wet grass towards the gate, bare footed.
As she pressed up on her toes to unlock the gate to the backyard, leading towards the dock, she dared to look back and saw as Rafe struggled with a long, rolled up blanket in the back of his truck. Her breath stuck in her chest, but she continued to do what he asked and unlatched the gate and left it wide open for him, scurrying as fast as her numb legs would take her towards the dock where the power-boat sat.
Her cold, aching fingers fumbled with the key ring as she tried to find the correct one to turned on the power boat. She had never needed it before because Rafe had always started the boat for her, or already had it running. She squinted in the darkness at the keys, running her fingers over their teeth hoping to jog her memory. She huffed with frustration, she couldn't find it, and stomped her way off the dock back towards Rafe.
"Rafe, I don't know what one it is. Can you show me?" She sighed as she walked up behind him, startling him.
"Shit!" Rafe yelled his hands holding the rolled up blanket in the bed of the truck, sliding it halfway out, only to drop it with a nasty, heavy thud on the asphalt driveway.
"I told you to start the fucking boat." Rafe growled as he crouched down in front of the blanket, his hands pulling at his hair.
"You didn't show me what key it was." She whispered, taking a few cautious steps towards him. She knelt on the pavement beside him, a hand on his back. His back was sweaty, but he was shivering.
"Don't! Don't!" Rafe yelled as he reached for her hand, her fingertips softly pulling back the top of the blanket at his feet.
He wasn't quick enough. Despite his grip on her wrist, she pulled the blanket back to reveal a bludgeoned face she did not recognize. She gasped, her breath stuck in her throat so harshly she choked. She fell onto her backside as she looked from the face in the blanket to Rafe.
"I told you not to look in the truck." Rafe grumbled as he pulled at his hair, then began to chew on his thumbnail again.
"Baby, who the fuck is that?" She whispered as the tears cascaded down her face. This had to be a nightmare. An extremely lucid nightmare.
"Doesn't matter who he is. Dad needed my help, and I took care of it." Rafe replied, his eyes heavy as he looked from the man in the blanket to his petrified girlfriend.
"Rafe, did you - "
"Yes. I killed him, and now you're gonna leave me I guess. Call the cops. Your friends were right, hm? Rafe Cameron's a murderer. Rafe Cameron's fucking crazy. A psycho." Rafe rambled his middle and index finger jabbing at his temples, his eyes narrowed at her.
There was a silence between them, only Rafe's heavy breathing to be heard as he waited for her answer. It wasn't a rhetorical question. He wanted to know if she was going to leave him. He stared his girl down with intensity as she sat on the pavement still, her eyes full of tears as she looked from him to the body half out of the truck.
She switched her position, sitting up on her knees and crawled over to him slowly. Rafe watched her every move, his eyes on her chest as she moved towards him. He reached for her and put his hand in her hair, pulling her face close to his.
"Are you going to leave me now?" Rafe asked once more, his fingers tangled in her hair as he sat on his own knees to be closer to her height.
"Why didn't you just tell me? I would have helped you." She replied as she pressed her hands to his strong chest, her nose rubbing against his.
"Dispose of a body?" Rafe grinned as he licked his lips.
"I would do anything for you, Rafe. I love you." She breathed out as she surged forward and pressed her lips to his.
Rafe groaned into her mouth, his hands gripping at her hips to pull her against him. His heart raced in his chest when he realized she still had nothing but his sweater on.
"I love you, too. So much." Rafe panted as he reluctantly pulled his lips from hers, wrapping an arm around her waist and settling a hand on her backside to keep her close.
He reached to the ground where she had dropped the key ring, picked it up by the correct key and held it up. Their fingertips brushed together as he passed her the key to the power- boat.
"Start the boat. Do only that, please. Then go inside and get warm in the shower. I won't be long, I promise." Rafe breathed out between quick pecks on the lips.
"Okay. Come back to me, Rafe. I'll take care of you." She whispered her hands on his face as she gave him one last firm kiss on the lips, then took off running through the back gate towards the dock.
Rafe touched his lips, a soft smile playing at their corners before he stood up once more. He looked down at the body in the blanket and realized he would have to start over again from another angle. He cursed under his breath, turned on the spot and wondered why he didn't just feed this fucker to the gators.
Why didn't he just..
"Princess. Cut the engine. We're going for a ride." Rafe called as he stood at the open gate to the yard.
Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! Thank you so much! xoxo
Requests for OBX are OPEN!!!
#rafe cameron#obx fics#rafe cameron request#rafe cameron fic#obx request#obx fanfiction#obx imagine#outer banks requests#outer banks imagines
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Leaden Dreams
Characters: Albedo, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Xiao, gn!reader
Word Count: 1,908
Warnings: Vague depictions of sleep paralysis
Premise: In which the reader experiences sleep paralysis
Author’s Note: First time writing Kazuha! I just finished his story quest today, so I hope that I have an okay grasp on him. Still working on his talking style a bit but I adore his personality.
Also though I experience the part of sleep paralysis where you’re awake but can’t move (can’t recommend the experience) it’s usually during the day so I don’t really experience dreams. As of such if this is inaccurate in any ways I’m very sorry.
Albedo
Albedo knew about sleep paralysis on a theoretically level, knew that it was a phenomenon that caused one’s brain to awaken when the body was still fast asleep. He’d never given the concept much thought, not any more than he might any other bit of science that remained shelved in his mind.
Now that was certainly not the case.
Albedo knew the telltale signs, the small spasms that revealed the battle between your mind and your body. Knowing that you were fighting to move your limbs, open your eyes, relax your jaw, he would always speak first, knowing that you might not immediately respond.
“It’s alright my dear, I’m here. I know it’s frightening, but I promise you’ll be able to move soon. Just focus on one thing, alright? Maybe your eyes this time, since last time you tried moving your tongue. That’s it, just one thing first. It’s always better to start small.”
He wouldn’t move from his sleeping position until you regained control of your body, afraid that a sudden touch might cause you even more distress. Keeping himself carefully pressed into the mattress he didn’t fare lift his head, for fear his face might melt into something frightening. Since he knew he was helpless, his goal became to stop things from getting worse.
The moment you began to move however the alchemist would jump into action. Turning lights on he would pick up the glass of water from his nightstand before gathering you up into his arms, positioning himself so you could listen to his heartbeat as you drank. The first time it had happened he had left the room to get the glass to soon, and the memory of you curled up desperately into the covers still tugged at him.
Albedo would then go through what you had half-dreamed with you, thoroughly debunking all the distortions of your normal life. That shadowed human outside the window was a combination of the balcony and the half opened curtains. The voices were partially his own, partially your brain trying to process your own breathing. The figure hiding behind the door of the hallway was because of the boxed piled along the other side of the wall. The people dancing on the ceiling could be fixed with a repaint. Over and over he would remind you of the fact that you were safe, that your amygdala was simply going into overdrive. Over and over he would thoroughly debunk your nightmares until once more things settled into place, piles of clothing becoming one more fabric, dressers no longer dancing as if possessed.
He would tell you to wake him up if he began falling back to sleep, determined that he should be watching over you to make sure an episode didn’t happen as you were falling back asleep.
In reality though you didn’t mind if he drifted off a little before you. His breathing was a soothing melody, his slow, steady heartbeat a rhythm with which you could anchor yourself. He was staid and sure, and that was something you grasped onto desperately, something you would never stop appreciating.
Soon enough his reasons would soothe your mind, and you’d fall once more asleep.
Kazuha
The first thing Kazuha always did was pull the blankets over you. If the outside world was threatening you, then he’d simply block it out.
Making a cocoon around the two of you he would begin to tell stories. Fairy tales, things that had happened to him during his travels, anything that you brain might latch onto. The stories were always very short and self-contained, easy to understand, and through your panic addled brain you always seemed to find them.
Sometimes when things were particularly bad he’d softly cradled your hands, careful not to move to quickly or too suddenly in case the sensation caused you to panic even more.
“Our hands fit together so well, don’t you think? I could write a poem about them, or maybe about yours. Maybe you’ll help me with it after this is over? It will be soon dearest, I know it will.”
Sometimes he would sing little songs that he’d picked up. Usually sea shanties, their rhythm helped you, less complex than poetry, more lyrical than the jagged fear that screamed at you.
Kazuha wouldn’t ask you to share immediately. When you finally moved he would first squeeze your hands gently, kissing them before your forehead, asking if it was too hot beneath the blankets, then making sure a light was on if you needed a little fresh air.
He never acknowledged what had happened before you did, but he wouldn’t pretend like it didn’t happen either. Instead he would ask if you wanted to listen to a story or tell one. Whichever you chose he would keep holding your hands, making sure that even when he gave you space there was still something that grounded you.
Sometimes when you cried he would tell a very specific story.
“There once was a warrior, brave of heart. So brave were they that shadows tried to chase them. Someone this noble cannot exist! They cried out. The warrior must be false. We will find their weakness. However no matter how hard they tried this weakness was never found. For the warrior was truly brave in heart and soul.”
Normally you might consider such a story overdone, but in those liminal moments between fear and sleep the story format helped. This was simply a harrowing part of a story, but there would surely be a better end.
Scaramouche
Scaramouche never thought that he’d ever sleep next to you.
Humans were loud and irritating, and that only became more true when the Harbinger was trying to get a few precious hours of sleep.
However after a particularly bad week he decided that the only solution to your terrible lack of attention was to deal with the matter himself.
He wasn’t necessarily nice about it, grumbling about your poor sleeping habits, saying that this was an awful waste of time. However the moment that panic consumed you, the moment that things started to twist around you, you felt a sudden hand on your arm.
“These idiotic phantoms are nothing. Come on, I know you’re strong enough. How could you ever let something so puny win against you.”
Though you certainly didn’t agree with him about that you had to admit it helped somewhat. Though your initial panic never disappeared, it became easier to climb out of your dreams, to see a light at the end of the endless tunnel of fear.
Every time you jerked once more awake Scaramouche let himself admit some sort of relieved satisfaction.
“You’ve done it again. As you always have. I don’t know why I bother sleeping here when you’re competent enough on your own.”
Nevertheless Scaramouche would always let you embrace him, not commenting on the tears that often accompanied you. Loosely resting his arms on your back he let out exaggerated breaths.
“Will you sleep now?”
It didn’t matter if you said no. Scaramouche would simply mutter something about bad sleep habits, but he would nevertheless stay awake.
He would always fall asleep last, even when his eyes burned slightly and his body called out for rest.
If he was going through all this trouble after all, he might as well see it through to the end.
Xiao
Xiao saw dreams as extensions of human karma, of human wants and needs and wishes.
If a human dreamt a good wish, it was a revelation of their hearts desire. If they tossed and turned with nightmares it was their fears and shames manifesting. A dream was never just a dream, a shuffle of random events and names and faces. Dreams were alive; dreams had their own wills, all connected to the will of the human they were attached too.
Xiao loathed to see you haunted by your dreams. How could someone so wonderful as your be chased by something so awful? The little that you told your partner caused a distant sort of dread. He could never understand your fear of falling asleep, but he surely felt the dread of whether or not you might be allowed peace.
The threads that surrounded you, that surrounded all humans, always tensed when you were entering an episode. Careful not to leave your side too much Xiao would light a few candles, not too much to be jarring to your eyes, not too little to add to your nightmares. If you could only open your eyes then Xiao would pay even more attention, making sure that the dim lighting didn’t add to your distress, shifting the candles or blowing them out if need be.
Xiao didn’t talk much normally, but he would keep up a steady stream of questions in these moments, even if you couldn’t answer them. Whether you were aware of his presence, whether the window being open was a problem or not, whether you needed more light or less. He would keep these questions in the back of his mind for you to answer once you could again, not only so he could do better next time, but in case the nightmares we too close to be spoken about.
Usually Xiao would ask about them again in the morning, and sometimes you would discuss it then. Though the yaksha knew that nightmares were often the fears that humans accumulated, the curses that attached themselves to unsuspecting victims, he never talked about that aspect with you, indeed when he talked about it at all. Most of the time he would just listen, tracing soft circles along your back and down your arms.
Right after an episode Xiao would make his way over to you. Most of the time he would stay in one place while the episode was happening, near the candles or by the window, making sure he didn’t startle you anymore. Now though he might move every once in a while, or turn your head softly towards him if your eyes became fixated on one spot in the room. Always he’d go to open the window, and the familiarity of the routine became something that lulled you back into a sense of piece.
Not sleeping himself Xiao never told you that you need more rest, that you should go back to sleep. If you needed to stay up the rest of the night so be it, he would be there with you. If you were too tired and found yourself drifting off to sleep he would promise to protect you, to fight off any demons that might be lurking.
Sometimes Xiao feared that his burden of curses exacerbated your sleep paralysis. Those evenings he would wait for you to sleep before slipping away. Always he would leave his sleeve and his mask, making sure that if you woke up you would still have something of his presence to comfort or protect yourself with. Those nights he would stare out into Liyue and think about all the things that he carried with him, all the things that you did too.
Regardless of those nights he would be there in the morning.
“Did you sleep well afterwards?” He would always ask. Regardless of your answer, which he would surely pay attention to after his second question, he would stare into your eyes.
“Do you think things would be easier without my presence?”
Always you said no.
#idk why but I enjoyed writing xiao especially for this#not that I did love all of these this is such a good prompt#genshin impact fanfiction#albedo x reader#kazuha x reader#xiao x reader#scaramouche x reader#genshin albedo#kaedahara kazuha#genshin scaramouche#genshin xiao#genshin impact#scenarios#headcanons#very short scenarios lol#requested#my writing
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ʌ ≈ ¿℧
ʌ: comfort after a nightmare
≈: medicine
¿: thermometer
℧: a damp towel against flushed, feverish skin
(four prompts in one? challenge accepted)
A climbs into the cold sheets and curls into a tight ball. Their flu-ridden body is so exhausted that it hardly has the energy to warm the sheets around them. B had told them to take a sick day, but A insisted they just couldn’t miss work - so they’d spent 8 hours alternating between sweating through their shirt and shivering miserably in their cubicle, desperately trying to get warm enough to focus. Now their spent body is paying the price for refusing to rest.
A huddles tighter, knees to their chest, arms folded tightly and hands tucked into their armpits in a pitiful attempt to warm up. Their chest burns every time they try to breathe. Despite the extra sweater and the feverish heat, the bed refuses to warm them, leaching the heat from their bone-weary body. Another shiver courses through them, and they squeeze their eyes shut.
“Please,” they plead to no one in particular. “Please let me fall asleep.”
Below them, the bed shatters into a million pieces, and A falls, colors twisting into darkness and sleep and dreams....
B gets home at 6 pm, and A was nowhere to be seen. In bed already? They're not surprised - A had looked like death this morning, but was rambling on about some presentation they had to get prepared for their boss. A was like that - pushing themselves to the edge, always going a step farther than anyone asked and paying the price later. Perhaps some chicken noodle soup would help after what was likely a long, terrible day.
A loud cry stops B in their tracks, and they drop all they were gathering to make dinner, taking the stairs two at a time. When they get to the room, a feverish A is thrashing in their bed, screaming unintelligibly. B rushes to their side, dodging a sudden kick from A.
“A, wake up!” A’s screams turn to sobs, as they swing wildly, out of their mind, fighting some invisible force that’s tormenting them in their head. B gently shakes their shoulders, and A’s eyes snap to them. For a moment, they freeze, recognition flooding their eyes as they gasp for air. Their face crumples into weeping, and B gathers them up in their arms, letting A bury their face in the crook of their neck as they rub their back.
"It was awful," A sobs. "Something was chasing me, and...and there was this thing that got me, and I couldn't stop it, and I couldn't fight it–" A coughing fit cuts A off, and B shushes them gently, encouraging to breath deeply. After a few minutes, A pulls back. They cross their arms and hunch over, and B can see them shaking, despite their layers.
B winces as they press a hand to A’s forehead “You’re burning up, honey.” They stand to go and get the thermometer, but A grabs their arm with surprising strength.
"Don't leave," they whisper, mind not quite cleared from the nightmare.
A’s grip is weak, but B doesn’t want to further traumatize them by yanking their arm away. “A, I’ve got to get some stuff to help you feel better. You've got to let me go.” Still A clings to them, shaking their head vigorously.
So they settle on half-carrying, half-dragging their bundled friend to the bathroom, plopping them on the toilet before rummaging through their medicine cabinet. They emerge triumphant with the thermometer.
"Open up," B prods gently, and A relents, flinching at the feel of the cold metal. In a few moments, it beeps, and B shakes their head at the reading. "103.1. Remind me what was so important you had to do at work today?" A shrugs limply. B dives back into the cabinet, and pulls out a dark bottle of cold medicine.
"Better late than never, right?" A wrinkles their nose and frowns, but a cough only proves B's point further. After a dose (and a gag or two), A's head is nodding. B helps them stand and shuffle back to bed. Once they get there, A nearly collapses on the bed.
B ruffles A's damp hair before tugging at their sweater.
"C'mon. You've got to get this off. You're too hot."
"You're too hot," A grumbles. B fights back a grin, and helps A shed the extra layer. The sudden loss of heat sets A shivering again, so B tucks them back under a single blanket. Before A can say anything, B darts out of the room. A can barely keep their eyes open, and the next sensation they feel is a cool cloth over their eyebrows, bringing sweet relief to their burning forehead.
A's exhausted eyes blink shut once, twice, but B can tell that they're fighting it, scared to slip back into the dreams that wait for them. So they slide their body onto the bed next to them, and slip their hand into A's.
"I'll be right here. Just squeeze if you're not ready to fall asleep, and I'll squeeze back." A looks up with grateful, tired eyes, and squeezes. They continue that rhythm until A falls into an easy, peaceful sleep, finally getting the rest they've needed all day.
#four prompts means this is long af#and kinda all over the place#but hey we love a challenge#fever whump#whump prompt#sickfic whump#sickfic#my writing
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