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no-droids · 4 years

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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

4K notes · View notes

noyaism · 3 years

Text

No Manners

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: enemies/rivals to lovers, public sex, hate sex, heavy degrading, edging, choking, overstim, teasing, size kink, power dynamics, sir!Tsukki, dacryphilia, humiliation, spanking, slapping, exhibitionism, sadism, masochism, dumbification, creampie, this shit is pure filth (let me know if I missed any warnings!)

Song Inspo: No Manners - Superm

If there was anything you prided yourself on, it was being the smartest person in any given room you walked into. School had always come so easily to you, no subject too hard, no concept you wouldn't understand. That was, until you got to college. University was a beast unto its own, and it showed you that maybe the genius you had always believed you possessed could indeed be threatened.

While you found yourself at the top at almost every single class you took, your economics class was your Achilles heel. It irked you how the information just didn’t seem to mesh with you. It made you feel so inferior, and that wasn’t something you were used to. It also wasn’t something Tsukishima Kei was used to, however, thanks to you he was feeling a new sense of inferiority that was completely foreign to him. He, like you, was used to being at the top of his class, nobody coming close to him academically. Then, he got to university, and unfortunately for him you two shared a major, and took the exact same classes. It was odd enough in the first semester, and when it ended he was so glad to finally get away from you, and to regain his status.

Then the second semester came and once again, you both signed up for the exact same classes. This time was different, though, because finally, Tsukishima held something over you; you couldn’t understand economics to save your life, and it came to Tsukishima as easily as everything else did.

Understandably, the two of you had developed a bit of a rivalry. It would come around every so often that Tsukki did better than you on a test, scored higher in a lab, and it drove you insane how he would rub it in, so when you did better than him, you did the same. The two of you were starting to hate each other’s guts. However, you were on the verge of failing your economics class, and there wasn’t going to be anyone better to help you study than Tsukishima. When you asked him to help you study he straight up laughed in your face, entertained by the fact you were actually coming to him for help. It was such a stroke to his ego, he couldn’t possibly say no.

You two scheduled a study session for the following Friday evening. You met in one of the study rooms up on the third floor around five, intending to stay for a couple hours. Tsukishima had arrived a little early, as you walked in you saw him with his notebook and laptop out on the table, writing down some notes. You took a seat next to him, getting yourself ready to begin. As he attempted to explain all these concepts to you; rambling on about monopolies and price ceilings and deficits, none of it was clicking. You asked him to explain things time and time again, and he was getting visibly irritated the more you seemed to not be getting things.

“You agreed to help me study, Tsukishima. You can't go on and complain now that I don’t get it, you knew I didn't.”

“Yeah, I got that part, but I wasn’t expecting you to be this utterly dense.”

You folded your arms across your chest, letting out a small huff under your breath.

“You're such a dick.” You muttered, not thinking much of the remark. It was an unequivocal fact that anyone who ever came in contact with him had to know, which you yourself already knew quite well, but you hadn't expected him to be this bad personally. You thought since you were undoubtedly better at him in any other subject you would at least be spared of his ill mannered remarks, but it seemed to be the opposite; he'd get on you because you were so much better at him in everything else. It was the one thing he held over you, and he was going to make the absolute most of it.

“What did you call me?” He asked, snapping his head in your direction.

“I called you a dick, because you are. I get it, okay? I don’t understand the material, it’s above my intelligence level, I’m the dumbest bitch in the world. Cool, fine, awesome. If tutoring me is that much of a pain I’ll just go, alright? Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Utterly fed up, you tossed all of your things into your backpack and got up from your seat, starting to storm away. Tsukishima watched you as you went for the door, only momentarily, before getting up and following behind you. You barely got the door unlocked and open before a forceful push of a hand from above shut it, and you turned and looked up at the man, confused as to what it was he was doing.

“We aren’t done studying.”

“Yes we are. I can’t take your shit anymore, I’m done.”

“No, we’re gonna stay here and work on this until you get it,” He lowered himself down to make more direct eye contact with you.

“Got me?” He finished, once the two of you were level. You let out a chuckle, shaking your head a bit. This situation was unbelievable, and he was totally impossible. You weren’t sure how much clearer you could possibly get, but you had no problem reiterating yourself.

“No, I don’t. Makes sense that I don’t, right? ‘Cuz I’m ‘utterly dense’, as you said.”

“And incredibly mouthy, apparently.”

“Only when dealing with assholes like you.” Tsukishima let out a chuckle of his own after that line, straightening himself up and looking down on you once again. You hated when he did that, but it wasn’t like he had much choice, he towered over your much smaller frame. It personified your current situation almost too well.

“You know, someone should put little girls like you in their place.” He fairly quickly retorted.

“And someone should knock tall elitists like you down a peg.” You scoffed.

“I’d love to see you try.” Tsukishima took a couple steps back from you after speaking, as if to quite literally challenge you to do something. You weren’t a violent person to say the least, but at that moment you would’ve paid good money to punch the man before you in the face, and it seemed you were going to get the opportunity for free. How could you possibly pass that up?

You dropped your backpack onto the floor, lurching forward at Tsukishima before it even hit the floor. To your utter surprise he caught you before you got too close, his hand wrapped around your neck. It was nowhere near a tight grip, but it left you breathless, and forced you to look up at the blonde. There was this smirk on his face, like you had done exactly what he wanted you to, like he now had you in the palm of his hand. The look in his eye was so devilish, nobody had ever looked at you like that. You almost didn’t know what to make of it, almost.

“Now now, dumb little whores like you don’t get to touch me.” The pure filth that fell from his lips confirmed exactly what you rationalized from his gaze. It was all you needed.

“Fuck me, now.”

Tsukishima needed no further instruction, moving his hand off your throat and down to your thigh, pulling your leg up and prompting you to wrap yourself around him. He caught you midway through your small jump, and in an instant your lips crashed together. You couldn’t shake just how angry he made you, and he couldn’t shake how sexy you looked when you were mad. That little body of yours held so much aggression in it, and since he was more than willing to let out the beast in you, Tsukki was just as willing to tame it.

In fact, he would take great pleasure in doing so.

Tsukki walked back over to the table you two were sat at, placing you down onto the cold, manicured wood. The exchange of your lips was filled to the brim in the most carnal, lustful intent. The two of you fought for dominance with it, neither of you having even the slightest intention of backing down. Tsukishima was already more than frustrated with you, and your attempts to gain control of the situation weren't helping.

With a swift move he pulled away from the kiss and brought a hand around your neck once again, this time giving it a fairly decent grip. His face looked so calm, like this was nothing he hadn't done before, but his actions told a completely different story. How he managed to keep his expression so composed while taking full control of you made a shiver run down your spine, and the heat between your thighs grow exponentially.

“Listen; I’m the one in charge here, y/n. What makes you think a tiny, powerless slut like you could ever even attempt to control someone so much bigger, so much stronger than them, hm?”

“I-I dunno…” You stuttered out, much to Tsukishima’s liking.

“You don’t know, that's exactly what I thought. Well then, let me teach you where your place is.” While his left hand maintained its place around your throat, his right hand snaked up your thigh and under your skirt, his fingers ghosting over your clothed sex. The faint contact made you whine, you couldn't stand how badly you needed him to touch you. Your eyes pleaded for him to do something, and he basked in the glory of making you so weak so quickly. He then obliged, rubbing small, slow circles onto your clit.

“Your place is right here; being dominated by me. You will feel pleasure only when I allow you to. You will cum only when I allow you to. You will be obedient, and you’ll love every second of it. Am I understood?”

You nodded your head with what free range of motion you had, your hips bucking in the direction of his fingers, trying to gain more pleasure in the only way you currently could.

“Use your words, and address me only as sir.” He instructed, moving his fingers away from you. It was bad enough his moves were teasing at best, but denying you of any contact completely was infinitely worse.

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

Tsukishima let go of your throat, using both hands to undress you, leaving you in nothing but your panties, which were horribly stained with your eagerness. It stroked his ego immensely, looking at the girl who plagued his mind, who made him feel so inferior so many times, naked in front of him, so ready to be ravaged by him. So exposed, so pathetic, but so undeniably sexy.

He pulled up a chair, taking a seat in between your legs. His fingers danced over the skin of your inner thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You felt so needy all you could do was whine, not a single beg or plead coming from you. He hooked a finger onto the side of your panties, pulling them over to get a good look at you. Your pussy glistened under the fluorescent lights, coated in wetness you had never experienced before. It was like a work of art for Tsukki, who took a minute to admire the piece before he pulled your underwear off of you entirely.

He took his left thumb and ran it down the length of your sex, dipping between your folds before coming back up to your clit, finally starting to please you again. A moan slipped from between your lips, filling the quiet of the room. Tsukishima brought two fingers from his opposite hand up to your lips, and without needing instruction you allowed them entry. Your tongue swirled around his digits, a slight hum ringing from your throat as your oral fixation was satisfied.

His fingers left your mouth with a small pop, and they were brought down to your core. They prodded at your entrance, teasing you by the anticipation of entry. You wanted it, wanted it so bad it was much more a need, and at that point you weren’t too proud to beg for it. Just as your lips parted Tsukishima pushed them into you, a whine coming from you instead. You fell back onto the table, your back arching off the wood as his fingers worked wonders unknown on you. With an upward curl he brushed up against your g-spot, your hips bucking upward in response. The pads of his fingers massaged the rough patch of flesh momentarily, making your legs shake as helpless little curses fell from your lips.

As he began pumping his fingers again he also sped up the rate at which his thumb circled your clit, and it became quite clear to Tsukki that your orgasm was approaching, and was doing so fast. You could feel the knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter, it was almost unbearable. You heard his voice say something, but your head was spinning you could barely make it out.

“Answer me, slut. I’m not repeating myself.” Was all you could make out, but considering you didn’t know the question, it was an impossible feat. Just as your orgasm was about to arrive Tsukishima removed his fingers from you, his thumb ceased all movement, and you were left with a ruined orgasm and your hips bucking into the air.

“You’re not cumming until you can answer one of my questions correctly. That should be good enough incentive for a stupid, needy little bitch like you, right?” You propped yourself up on your arms, looking at Tsukishima in utter bewilderment. You couldn’t believe what he was saying, or that he was going to make you answer questions in order to cum, but you had to admit he wasn’t wrong. It was a pretty good incentive.

“Y-yes sir.”

With a quick smirk Tsukki sank his head down between your thighs, his tongue dipping into your pussy, savoring your delectably sweet taste. His his hands held the backs of your thighs, giving himself unrestricted access to your sex. His tongue flicked over your clit every so often before lapping up your juices again, until he finally gave the bud uninterrupted attention. His lips latched around it, starting to suck as his fingers entered you once more. Your back arched sharply, and your hands moved to tangle into his hair, tugging on the blonde strands. Before you could even process what it was you had done, Tsukishima was hovering above you, slapping your cheek before taking a rough hold of your chin.

“I told you not to touch me, did I not?” You nodded your head frantically,

“You d-did, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you will be. Off the table.”

You followed your instructions, and as soon as your feet hit the ground Tsukishima pulled you onto your knees, and held your chin in his hand once again, forcing you to look up at him.

“I don't think I need to tell you what to do here, do I?” You shook your head lightly, your eyes full of wonder as you looked at him.

“No, sir.”

“Good, then show me that you're actually good at something.”

You shimmied in between Tsukishima’s legs, frantic hands fiddling with his belt as you tried to get his pants off as quickly as possible. You didn't know what was causing you to be so eager, but something in you urged you to act as quickly as possible. As you pulled his pants and boxers down his erection sprang free, the pure size of him catching you off guard. You were no inexperienced woman, this wasn't your first time seeing a penis, but you had yet to deal with anyone of his size. It was a bit intimidating, if you were to be completely honest.

As you were told, you weren't allowed to actually touch him. You presumed if you used your hands at all it wasn't going to end well for you, but to that you could fairly easily oldige. You licked a long stripe from the base of his length up to his tip, your tongue pressing along a vein that ran that same course. You circled his tip before sucking on it, letting out a satisfied moan around him as his precum leaked out onto your tastebuds.

You started to take him further into your mouth, each bob of your head adding another inch until you had all of him. Your eyes watered as you felt him in the back of your throat, and you gasped as you came up for air. Tsukishima looked down at you, smirking as he saw a tear run down your cheek.

“You should do more of that.”

“More of what?” You asked, tilting your head in confusion.

“Crying for me.”

Tsukki took hold of your hair, forcing his cock into your mouth and once again making you take the entirety of him. He held you there, letting out a groan as you choked around him. He brought you up for air and marveled at the tears running down your face, and the desperate look in your eyes. It was art for him and him alone to scrutinize, and he was most certainly a fan of the piece. Before you could fully focus your attention he was in your mouth again, his hips pushing up off the chair as he fucked your face. You gagged around his length, the sounds remarkably gratifying for Tsukishima to hear.

He brought you back up for air one final time, holding your head up so the two of you made eye contact. He chuckled at you, admiring your current state. Spit dribbled from the sides of your mouth, tears spilled out of your eyes, and you were perilously trying to catch your breath.

“Messy little girl. You're looking more and more like the stupid little slut I've always known you are. Cmon, say it for me, tell me you're a stupid little slut.”

As if his words weren't degrading enough, this request was surely the icing on the cake, the cherry on top of the sundae. He had you exactly where he wanted you, powerless and obedient. Just a small little toy for him to play with how he pleased. He wasn't satisfied with your lack of obedience, and slapped your cheek once again, roughly grabbing your face after.

“I wasn't giving you an option. Say it.” He demanded.

“I-I’m a stupid little slut.” You complied, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I can't fucking hear you.”

“I’m a stupid little slut!” You repeated, much louder this time. Tsukishima let out a satisfied chuckle, nodding his head.

“That's right, and who's stupid little slut are you?”

“Y-your stupid little slut, sir.”

“That’s right.”

Tsukishima pulled you up off the floor, laying you out on the table. He pulled his shirt off, your eyes combing over every little detail of him. You knew on top of being a student he played volleyball, so he had to be fairly muscular, but you weren't expecting what you got. He had a body even Odysseus would be jealous of, making you the ever loyal Penelope.

Tsukki lubed himself up with your wetness, as you were far from falling short of it. No man was ever this rough with you, ever this dominant. It turned you on more than you would like to admit, but there was no need to with Tsukishima. He could tell from the look in your eyes, the tone of your voice, the way your hips slightly bucked as you sucked him off.

Without warning his tip began to prod at your entrance before starting to slip in. It was no easy feat, though. You were incredibly tight, and even then you hadn't taken anything even close to Tsukishima’s size. He took things slow, watching as every inch of him stretched you further. You whimpered at the sensation, it was intoxicating beyond what your words could even describe. A groan slipped between his lips as he bottomed out, light curses following it. The way you tightened around him made it so hard for him to control himself, but he knew you needed a moment, and he wasn't trying to hurt you.

Not at the moment, at least.

You nodded your head lightly as you felt adjusted, giving him free reign over your body once again. Tsukki grabbed your hands, pinning them above your head before he began to move. He slowly started to pull out, and with a sudden snap you were once again taking all of him, a soft scream coming from you. He did this a couple times, watching how your body jolted. Feeling how your thighs tensed up next to him. Each of these thrusts hit your cervix, sending you reeling each time.

He picked up the pace, starting to pound into you at a relentless pace. You wrapped your legs around his waist, keeping him close and forcing him to go as deep in you as possible. Tsukishima brought one of his hands down to wrap around your neck, the other still holding your wrists in place. He gave the sides of your neck a squeeze, the lack of circulation rushing toward you just as he hit you with a particularly hard thrust. A light scream fell from your lips, the pleasure in that moment so crazily overwhelming. This routine continued; harder thrusts while he actively choked you, very slightly less hard ones as he gave you a moment to breathe correctly, all the while denying you of your high.

“You better not cum, slut.” He warned as he felt you once again starting to get just a bit too tight around him.

“W-wanna cum....so bad.” You weakly replied, tears welling in your eyes as you spoke. Once again, just as you were on the precipice of release, Tsukishima denied you again, pulling out and leaving you empty. Tears fell from your eyes as you uselessly whimpered and protested, all of it only earning you another slap to your cheek.

“Really thought I’d let you, huh? Dumb little bitch.” He said as he turned you over onto your stomach. He filled you up again, but before he moved any further he began raining spank after spank onto your ass. You could only assume it was punishment, but it felt far from it. The pain was nothing but masochistic pleasure for you, and sadistic pleasure for him. Each stung more than the last, and thus each felt even better than the last.

Your senses were so overloaded as he started to thrust into you again that your brain had turned to utter mush. Coherent thought was so far behind you it was like it was never something you could’ve done in the first place. The only thing you could process was pleasure, and to enhance it you lifted one of your legs back up onto the table, the other continuing to stay hanging over to keep yourself up. This new angle let Tsukishima hit sinfully deep in you once again, adding to the utter brainrot you were experiencing. Words no longer were an option for you, only whines and whimpers, a stray profanity at the very best.

Tsukishima grabbed a fistful of your hair, picking your head up off the table. He made you look in the direction of the door, bending down to speak into your ear.

“Look, you left the door unlocked. Someone could come in at any moment and watch you getting fucked like the little whore you are. But I’m sure you'd like it if someone saw us, wouldn't you?”

You couldn't bring yourself to form any sort of coherent response, and Tsukki very well knew that. He chuckled at your attempt to reply, which was just a rhythmic whine as if you were trying to get some words out.

“You're not very quiet, either. Stupid sluts like you like having everyone know how good they feel, don't they? I’m sure someone's come by to spy in, hearing how utterly pathetic you sound.”

His words only made you whine and whimper more, your head in an absolute daze from the sheer amount of pleasure you felt. Tsukki let go of your hair and your head fell down, and you got a good look at yourself in the mirrored wood table. Your mouth was hanging open, your hair a tangled mess and drool slipping from the corner of your parted lips. He had fucked you so past dumb you didn't even know you could be this far gone, and all the while you still had no clue if you would be allowed to cum.

Your hips pushed back against his, meeting every one of his thrusts and forcing him deeper. Each time he re-entered his tip made quick contact with your cervix, the repeated feeling driving you absolutely crazy. Your eyes rolled back as you let yourself fall onto the wood once again. You took everything he gave you, all the while holding your orgasm back. Each time he felt you were a little too close he pulled out, you couldn't even count how many times you'd been denied release, you were sure the number was shameful. You could tell this was getting harder on Tsukishima as well, the twitching and pulsating of his cock inside you letting you know he was having trouble holding back as well.

You saw no use in begging at this point, and you couldn't have mustered the words for it even if you wanted to. You simply whined and whimpered with every thrust, your body jolting forward each time. Tsukki held on tight to your hips, keeping you in place as he pounded mercilessly into you. In your daze all your senses had dulled, but you could hear just enough for Tsukishima's next four words to be heard, almost as clear as day.

“Cum. Do it now.”

In an instant you finally let yourself topple over the edge. Your voice was so hoarse you couldn't scream, rather you let out something between an incredibly loud moan and a whimper, your back arching and your legs shaking vigorously. Tears spilled from your eyes as your body was overrun by an orgasm unlike any other you had experienced. The feeling was only intensified by Tsukishima cumming inside you, depositing a sizable load inside of you. Your vision was blurry and a little white around the edges, and your chest heaved as you let out shallow breaths. Soreness set into your body as you took time to regain yourself, almost ten minutes passing before either of you even thought to move.

Tsukki pulled out of you slowly, admiring how fucked out you looked, your small body sprawled out on the table. He figured moving would be hard for you, so he gently let your leg down and peeled you off the table, sitting down in the chair behind him and sitting you on his lap. Your head fell on his shoulder, your eyes still a little glazed over, but for the most part it seemed you had come to.

“Are you feeling okay?” You nodded your head lightly, your breath finally leveling out. Your throat was pretty scratchy, and you knew your voice would be raspy, so you just didn't bother speaking yet.

“What have you learned today, then?”

“A good couple things.” You croaked out, wiping a stray tear from your cheek.

“Oh really? Enlighten me.”

“Well, I learned that economics is just something I'm never really going to understand. I also learned that you are a complete and utter asshole, even worse than I thought. Finally, I learned that you are a way more experienced man than I thought you were, and maybe I don't hate you as much as I was letting on.”

Tsukishima laughed out lightly, giving you a bit of an approving nod.

“Good, I’m glad I at least taught you something. Maybe not what I originally intended, but learning is learning. I think with a couple more study sessions you’ll start to understand the econ material, though.”

You didn't say this out loud, but the thought of getting to spend some more alone time with Tsukishima actually wasn't the most terrible thought in the world. It seemed clear enough to you that the resentment between you two was clearly something much, much different than that, and so you were open to the thought of exploring what it actually was. Maybe not in as much of an erotic way as you just had next time. Not that you would've minded if it escalated to that point.

Although, you thought, if Tsukki was going to fuck you like that every time, brainrot from class material was going to be the least of your worries.

The both of you made yourselves presentable again, packing up all your belongings and leaving the room clean before walking out, which you did fairly slowly due to how sore your legs were. You both walked through the library, which was overwhelmingly empty besides a few staff members working hard at hardly working. It was to be expected; it was a Friday night and you were the only two in the world who'd pick studying over any other activity. You stopped just outside the entrance, turning to your side and giving Tsukishima a wave.

“I guess I’ll catch you later then, Tsukishima.”

“Oh, so no thank you for helping you study? I guess the one thing I didn't teach you was manners, huh y/n?” You chuckled at his comment, shaking your head a bit.

“Guess you didn’t. It’ll have to wait until next time.” You turned on your heel and started in the direction of the train. Before you could get far Tsukki grabbed your arm and pulled you back over to him, holding your chin so softly with his other hand, the action so outrageously condescending.

“Oh no, I’ll gladly teach you right now.”

#tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima x you #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyu x reader #tsukishima smut #tsukishima #hq x you #hq tsukishima #tsukishima kei #tsukishima oneshot #haikyuu!!

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getyouasenju · 3 years

Text

Dragging It In.

Part 3/3 to the “Dragging” series

Part 1 “Dragging Along”

Part 2 “Dragging Away”

Warnings: some small spoilers, curse words, some suggestive themes, angst, (maybe some spelling errors I’m sorry!).

Word Count: 3.7k

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹

“(Y/N)”

I could hear my name being called from my slumber. I felt sore all over, my head was throbbing and my throat was entirely too dry to function. Being a shinobi I was no stranger to the scratchy unbelievably tightly tucked sheets and the sterile smell. I was in a hospital for what ever reason. I hear my name being softly called again. Forcing my sore eyes open I see my pink haired friend peering over my bed. Scrunching my eyes in reaction the sudden change of lighting caused a searing pain in my head. Crossing her arms and glaring at me, Sakura spoke sarcastically, “It hurts doesn’t it? That’s what happens when you leave a head injury untreated after a mission”. My eyes widen and I stared at her cheekily. She smiled sweetly back at me... too sweet for the friend I know. I didn’t even get a chance to brace myself before she struck me.

“CHA!”

I hiss and grab my now stinging shoulder. “God damn it Sakura, I’m in a hospital bed for fucks sake! Do you strike all your patients?” She crossed her arms and smiled at me, “Only the ones I’m best friends with that promise to see me in the morning to get checked out and then never show up! I mean come on (Y/N), how hard of a hit did you take on that mission to have to put you out of commission like this?” I thought back to the rainy mission and sighed, rubbing my shoulder I looked at my friend “Not that hard... only hard enough to lose consciousness..” grinning I laughed nervously as she started balling her fist again.

“Hey! you can’t hit me again, I have a head injury Sakura- god!” I cried out bracing myself this time. “That shoulder looks pretty fine to me!” Sakura replies brushing some of her hair out of her face. “Not-uh it’s pretty bruised now if you ask me.” I whined back, praying she doesn’t strike again. Can I get a new nurse that isn’t my worried friend? “That’s why you have two shoulders!” I paled as my eyes widened. “Sakura, please!” She quickly put one hand on her hip, the other pointing at me “Don’t Sakura me! You could’ve done some real damage (Y/N)! and don’t think I don’t see that your ring is missing!” So all of our friends are just gonna get dragged into this mess huh? .... Maybe I should just simply pass out again.

Between our bickering the door croaked open and in walks the shadow man. Sakura whips around placing her hands on her hips. “Excuse me Shikamaru, It’s not visitors hours yet, you just can’t waltz in here anytime you like, fiancé’s included!” I scoffed laying back and tugging the blankets further up my body. Didn’t just mention she noticed the missing ring? I already told him I didn’t want to speak with him... and he still smelled like cigarettes! This was a hospital, he’s gonna give someone an asthma attack. I turned my head to fully examine the Nara. He looked as bad as I felt, dark circles an unbuttoned vest and a loosened ponytail. As he should!

Sighing deeply while still holding the door handle, Shikamaru looks at Sakura pleading with his eyes. Taking her hands off her hips, Sakura looks at me then back at Shikamaru, I could see the gears turning in her head. Crossing her arms and sighing, “Just this once Nara! I’ll be back later (Y/N), I’ll bring an ice pack for that shoulder!” She laughs while giving my hand a friendly squeeze. Giving me her signature smile, she departs waving at Shikamaru on the way out.

As he watches her close the door, he turns to the right and grabs the chair in the corner. The sound of the dragging was highly irritating and I rolled my eyes as I fought the urge to pull the blankets over my head and just ignore the man. He pulls the chair to my bedside and sits down trying to make eye contact with me andI was refusing to give it to him. Sighing again he leaned back in the chair.

“You had some head injuries, you should be fine but you should’ve went to the hospital immediately after that mission, and that fall made it worse.” He sounded strained. I just nodded at him, thinking back to the mission and how outnumbered my team was. “You know, I was terrified when you went down like that.” He let out a shaky sigh putting his hands together in his lap. “Why didn’t you go in (Y/N)- god” He drags his hands down his face, “Are you doing this to spite me? Not going to be seen, then going and asking for a dangerous mission. Are you trying to get yourself killed?” I sat up straight in my bed and finally made the eye contact that he was searching for.

“I went home first because I missed you, I hadn’t seen you in over a fucking month!” letting out a humorless laugh I continued, “I didn’t avoid being seen to spite you, I went home first instead of being seen because you’re my first priority- but apparently I wasn’t yours.” Asking for that mission though was just a tad bit spiteful though, but I’m in no position to admit to that! By the end of my rant I wanted him out, I was tempted to hit the call button. I could feel the anger in the air from both of us. He broke the silence first. “You should trust me, you know nothing would ever happen between Temari and I, I’m with you, I’ve been with you for the last four fucking years!” I was livid, trust him? I do fucking trust him!

“I trust you Shikamaru, you don’t trust me because if you trusted me, you would’ve told me why you went to see her and you wouldn’t of left without making things right with me first.” He reaches for my hand, but I snatched it away shoving it under the blankets, he looked so crestfallen. He opens and closes his mouth several times before scooting his chair closer to my bed.

“Please give me your hand, (Y/N). Please don’t make me beg.”

I was hesitant, I didn’t know if I wanted to be touched by him at the moment but, he looked determined and I was nervous. I pulled my hand from under the blanket and he quickly reached for it. Grabbing my smaller hand in his larger calloused one, he let out a content sigh slowly rubbing circles on the back of my hand, moving almost impossibly slower when grazing over the bare left ring finger. “What do I have to do to get this ring back where it belongs.”

“Shikamaru I question your IQ everyday, don’t play stupid with me.”

I slowly start to retract my hand but his grip on me tightens ever so slightly. “I already have a head injury, can you stop making my brain hurt more? Either tell me why you ran to her side or let me and my hand go. Now.” I groaned out, I was getting annoyed, and fast. When was Sakura coming back with that ice pack again? The pain in my shoulder was dull now, but boy can that girl pack a punch and Shikamaru might as well be punching me in my brain right now.

When he suddenly let go of my hand, my heart started to race. Was he going to leave again? If he left me again then I knew for sure that we just weren’t meant to be. I laid back, I just wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. More so, I want him to stop dragging this out. I opened my mouth to dismiss him when he suddenly spoke “Rasa”.

...Rasa, the fourth Kazekage. Also the father of the sand siblings, but what about him. I was just outright confused now. “Shikamaru, can you elaborate?” He straightened up looking for that eye contact again, this time I granted it to him. “It was the anniversary of Rasa’s death” grabbing for my hand again he continued. “Temari is here on the account of business between the leaf and the sand. This is the first time she wasn’t with Gaara and Kankuro during this time.” he sighed deeply.

“He wasn’t always the best father but he was all they had, not being with her siblings for this affected her deeply. She’s the eldest and her siblings mean everything to her, they always have, she wants them to be able to depend on her. I’m the person she’s closest to in the leaf, so she called me.” he finished. Now I was even more confused. Why didn’t he just say that? “So you left me without explanation for what? You couldn’t just say this to me?”.

“I didn’t think you would understand.” I was baffled. He thought of all people that I wouldn’t understand. “You didn’t think I would understand, or is it that you didn’t want me to understand, Shikamaru.” I snatch my hand back again, this time for good. “I watched you mourn for your father after the war. You held it together on the field but I saw what it did to you after!” I rushed the words out so fast I felt like I was running out of breath but I went on, “I held Yoshino as she cried, I saw what it did to her, how it drained her, how it almost ruined her!” My head was throbbing again but I wasn’t done yet. “Tell me Shikamaru, did you run into my parents on the way here? how about someone from my clan, some siblings of mine? Please tell me they came to see me in my time of need Shikamaru!” I let out a pitiful laugh, “It’d be a miracle if you did, considering they’re all six feet under.” I let my shoulders drop as I leaned back staring straight ahead of me. There had to be more to it than this.

In a small voice I whispered to him, “You don’t think I have it in my heart to let someone who has experienced a loss have some comfort?”. I wanted to cry, more importantly I wanted him gone, at least my head did. He said nothing, but he doesn’t get to sit at my bedside in silence after this. I spoke again, still looking straight ahead, “Get out Shikamaru. You have my permission to leave this time, I won’t be mad. You’re giving me a migraine,” He still doesn’t move, so I whip my head around, I was tired. “Why are you pretending to fight so hard for us? Just admit you’re not as in love with me as you think you are”. I could hear my own heartbeat as I looked at Shikamaru. “It’s okay If you’re in love with Temari, I’ll be fine Shika. You can let me go.” If I had to let him go for his happiness, I was okay with that. He finally snaps his eyes me.

“I’m not in love with Temari, (Y/N).” How can he sit here and be so fucking vague with me? I felt not only emotionally exposed but physically as well with the tiny hospital gown. I wrap my arms around myself since I was the only comfort I’ve had these past few days. “There’s something there , I just wish you would be honest with me. If you’re not happy with me, then just let me go.” I was speaking as softly as I could, trying best to keep my voice from shaking. What kind of person did he think I was if he thought I lacked that much sympathy? I was a shinobi, but I wasn’t heartless. I at the very least expected him to know that.

“Temari will always have a spot in my heart,”

There it was, I didn’t want to hear anymore of it. when I said let me go, I didn’t mean give me a speech to verbally break my heart, he could easily just leave the room. Did he think I was going to listen to his confessions? wrong! I reach my hand out for the call button, if Sakura wasn’t coming back anytime soon, then someone else needed to come and rescue me, immediately. I felt his warm hand gently grab mine. “no more running, no more arguing, no more beating around the bush. Just you and I.” he sighed as he looked right into my eyes. He stands up and nudges me, signaling for me to scoot over giving him a spot on the bed. I felt conflicted, I really did love this man. We’ve shared our love and our lives for four years, but even before that I loved him. He could sense my hesitation and smoothes my hair down gently with his hand while gently nudging me over again. I give into the raven haired man and slowly slid to the right side of the bed making sure my IV’s were out of his way, the motion causing the back of my gown to open a bit to which I quickly pulled closed.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before” He smirked at me. I felt the heat rise to my cheeks as I ball the blanket in my hands. This isn’t the time for cheeky jokes! I was flustered and honestly feeling pretty vulnerable. His chuckle wasn’t helping the situation too much either. How dare he joke with me at a time like this! My shoulder was still throbbing but that didn’t stop me from attempting to smack the man. I winced as my hand hit something hard and glared at Shikamaru. Looking at me warily, he pulled out the pack of cigarettes and rubbed the back of his neck “You know I smoke when I’m stressed.” I remember when he picked up the nasty habit, and then I remembered why he did. I felt immediately guilty for contributing to that... but still the smell of cigarettes was just so gross.

He leans back, slowly starting to snake his arm around my waist while watching my facial expressions for a reaction. When he saw me make no attempt to remove him, he sighed and pulled my body into his. “I missed you.” he quietly tells me... funny how he misses me, but me missing him is what got us into this entire situation. I decide to keep my thoughts to myself and train my eyes on the corner of the blanket I was currently picking at. I could feel him staring at me.

“I remember when Asuma died.” My breath caught in my throat and I immediately dropped the blanket I was picking at. I didn’t know where this was going, but I knew it was going to be a painful ride. I felt him tilt his head as he continued, “I held it in for a long time. It took my father to pull it out of me.” I knew the story, I wasn’t too close with Shikamaru at the time, but a bond between a student and their sensei is strong. I didn’t have to know them, to know that. “Point of the story is I didn’t feel comfort in anyone... so I held it in, I felt like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. I didn’t want anyone to coddle me, not even Temari and at that point in time, I was in love with her. I think I’ve only ever cried twice in my life in front of an audience.” He let out a sigh. By now I was fully looking up at him with curious eyes.

“When my father died in the war, I wanted to do the same. I held that pain in for my comrades, I didn’t want my fathers, nor Ino’s, deaths to be in vain.” He takes his other hand and grips my chin continuing on. “When the war was over I didn’t want to face it, but I had you. If it weren’t for you and Naruto, I don’t know how my mother would’ve made it another day.” He starts to smile a bit at me, “and suddenly I wanted to be coddled. I wanted you to hold me, to talk to me, to force me to eat when I didn’t want to, to be there when I slept and when I woke. I found comfort in you, and I still do.” He was stroking my cheek by now. “You made me realize that sometimes, It’s okay to coddle those in need. That sometimes even the strongest shinobi need a hug, need to shed some tears or just simply need some comfort. So, yes I went to comfort Temari but that was it, I finally understood how to give what you give me everyday.”

He moved me almost impossibly closer to him “I was a fool to think the most comforting woman in the world wouldn’t understand grief when she has had a handful of it herself.” By the end of his speech my head injury was long forgotten, I had an aching heart. “I can’t believe I let the most important person in my life down. The person who gives me the most security asked for just a bit of it and I refused it to give it to her like an idiot.”

“Please hear me when I say this, there was a time in my life where I thought Temari and I were meant to be, but I know there is a lifetime where you and I belong together. You are it for me, nothing happened.” He tilted my head, searching my face for a reaction when the first tear ran down my face. Shikamaru was taken back and seemed a little panicky at the sight of me crying. I’d have to be heartless to not shed a tear for that confession, this man was everything I’ve ever wanted and I’d be lost- I’d been lost without him.

I reach arms up and around his neck as he brushes the tears from my eyes. “Shikamaru please don’t scare me like that ever again, I won’t make it to the wedding day if I die of a heart attack.” Burying my face into his shoulder, I ignore the smell of cigarettes. I could feel him release a breath of air at my proclamation, squeezing me tighter in return. Suddenly he’s pushing me off and scrambling off the bed, but I didn’t understand. I thought we were making up and there he goes running off again! “Shika, didn’t I just tell you not to scare me again? Hey! get back over here!” I told him slightly out of breath from the change in position and pouting.

I had put myself in an upright position watching as he frantically searched through his pockets with his back to me. Sighing in relief as he finally found what he was looking for, he quickly turned back to me and dropped to his knee. My ring! “(Y/N), please don’t ever make me take this ring back again, I don’t know if my heart could take it. Will you please be my fiancée again?” He was proposing to me again! I quickly nod my head shoving my bare ring finger in the cloud gazing man’s face as he returned it back to its rightful spot and we sealed it with a kiss. A knock at the door separated us.

Sakura came in pushing a cart, “Just coming by to change (Y/N)’s IV dressing!” Shikamaru takes a step back, taking a seat in the chair by my bedside as Sakura moves in close. Gently grabbing my hand, she started changing the IV dressing, of course it was the left one. I could feel her smirking at my hand. “That’s a nice ring there (Y/N), is it new!?” the medical genius teased me snickering. She knew we would make up. I couldn’t help but laugh with her. “Yeah, Shikamaru just gave it to me, isn’t it cute?” I joked back. letting out a complete and full laugh now, the pink haired woman agreed while Shikamaru face palmed. “Who knew you’d be able to get two proposals out of this lazy one!” Shikamaru was full on groaning at this point.

Another knock on the door lead to a huge bouquet with some legs poking out from under it! Ino! “I didn’t know which arrangement you’d like best so I decided to bring you all of them!” Ino was the sweetest girl and I was grateful that Shikamaru had brought us together. “Here Shikamaru, hold these!” Ino drops the bouquet into the Nara’s lap and moved to hug Sakura and then me. Another loud groan was released from the shadow man. “Was all of this really necessary Ino? (Y/N) is getting discharged tomorrow.” Shikamaru complains holding onto the heavy arrangements.

“Get used to looking at arrangements Shika! You’ll get your fair share when we’re planning our wedding.” I smirk and wink at my fiancé dearest as the two women shriek and join hands. “You’re starting the wedding planning?!” Sakura says dreamily as I nod, “Yep, want to start my lifetime with that one soon”. I reply smirking at my soon to be husband. “About time! I’m on flower duty!” Ino proclaims. I just nod my head in agreement, stuck in a staring contest with Shikamaru.

“How troublesome... you two are going to turn my girlfriend into a bridezilla.” He smirks and lets out his typical sigh.

“Not-uh, I’m not your girlfriend Shikamaru, I’m your fiancée, remember?” Using his own line on him I giggled. We smiled so hard at each other that I swore my cheeks were going to cave in.

“How about a spring wedding?!” Sakura shrieks, “With roses!” Ino excitedly adds.

I was so grateful for everyone in that room, and I couldn’t wait to drag Shikamaru back into our home where we belonged, together.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹

The Final part of the “Dragging” series guys! I’m still new and learning so Imma just apologize If you hated it lolll. Not sure if I’ll do anything else with this series, I might do a different series! feel free to message me!

Until Next Time! xxo (▰∀◕)ﾉ

#naruto imagine #naruto imagines #shikamara nara #shika #shikamaru #angst #shikamaru angst #shikamaru nara angst #shikamaru angst imagines #shikamaru nara imagine #shikamaru nara imagines #shikamaru Imagine #naruto angst #anime #anime imagine #shikamaru x reader #shikamaru nara x reader #shikamaru x y/n

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kuroos-moon · 3 years

Text

「vi. Deal pt. 2」

warning/s: angst (just a lil bit)

a/note: for this smau, like my previous one, there will be numerous chapters wherein they aren’t text chains or necessarily smaus just like this chapter and the prologue. If that’s not to ur liking, or for any reason at all, pls feel free to tell me u wanna be removed from the taglist 🖤

He skeptically looks out through his window, and just like you had texted him a minute ago, there were no more reporters outside. Finally, he thought, not really expecting you to be telling the truth. Honestly, why do you mess with him so much?

Also, he’s been wondering ever since your reunion if you deliberately went to the gym for him or if that was pure coincidence and you’re spontaneously messing up his life right now. The moment he opens his door, he’s adamant on avoiding you because he just knew the person you were now is adamant on driving him insane by doing things like popping out of nowhere to pester him.

Speaking of which, what the hell are you doing in front of his doorstep? “Sakusa Kiyoomi!” You brightly smile, eyes lighting up at the very sight of him. “Nope.” He pulls the door close but you put a hand to stop him. He tugs on it, making you chuckle, but you stubbornly refuse to let him shut you out.

“Get out.” He snaps. “I’m not even inside, Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

Seriously? Saying his full name like that only ticks him off. “Don’t call me that.” He tugs harsher on his doorknob but you successfully grip the door with both hands now.

“Shall I call you love then?” You tease despite finding it extremely hard to keep the door open. It may now have dawned on to him that this was pointless as he lets go, though he’ll never admit that he’s actually afraid of accidentally shutting the door on your fingers—he knows he easily could.

“What do you want?” He sighs. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” How you left me? How you had the audacity to walk back in my life like you didn’t trample all over me before?

“Our relationship,” you grin. He chokes. “Our what now?” Laughter erupts from your throat, and it was bittersweet. You’re so carefree and mesmerizing—your eyes angelic and genuinely alight. But more than that, you’re ruthless and despicable, he knows that all too well.

“Won’t you invite me in? It’s cold y’know,” you place your hands inside your pockets. “Then freeze,” he narrows his eyes. He absolutely hates you, here he was slightly worrying he’ll go soft and easy on you because one could never control the heart yet you so easily reminded him of why you were the bane to his existence.

“Yup, figured walking in your home wasn’t gonna happen,” you mutter to yourself with a small smile. He hates it. Don’t act like you know him, because at some point you did, but you don’t deserve to have him etched in your memory.

“Tell me what you want so we could get this over with.”

“Right. Yes sir. Yes love,” you chuckle, not even minding that he remains unamused. “My manager has already arranged a live interview this afternoon.”

“You should’ve started with that. So, you’re here to ask me what you should say?” He asks, unintentionally looking down on your hands you’ve rubbed together for friction. It was indeed cold, you brought this upon yourself though.

“No, I’m here to make a deal with you. My statement for my interview later on depends on your response.”

He rolls his eyes, leaning his shoulder on the doorframe because talking to you definitely tired him out; sucked his soul out of him. “And by this lovely deal, what exactly are you proposing? Not that you have a leverage over me now or anything.”

You smile, stepping closer to him but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Instead, his feet remained planted to the ground, self-aware of how much his heart was racing right now and the only thing—albeit pathetic—he could do was glare at you.

“Befriend me for a month, that’s it.” That didn’t sound half as bad compared to how devilish you’ve been these past few days. “Go on,” he mutters, stepping back and away from you. “You can’t block my number and you have to reply to my texts.”

“Aren’t you ashamed of how pathetic and selfish you are right now?” He lowly says. You look up at him in surprise, there was faint hurt and vulnerability in his voice that wasn’t there before and you can’t help but feel guilty for it.

“I like you, I don’t know why, I just do.” Pain visits him like an old friend. Casual, embracing, and mind-numbingly heartbreaking. You look up at his eyes and could tell right away the discomfort in them, but it wasn’t just discomfort, there was agony too—perhaps. You could never be too sure, you think, looking down on both your shoes.

“I don’t know why you’re so hellbent on avoiding me, it felt like you hated me the first day we met, and I didn’t like the way you hated me for no apparent reason, much so because I happen to like you.” You’re rarely ever serious or this openly truthful with anyone other than your friends, it was only normal that it embarrassed you. But this didn’t feel exactly foreign either. It felt like he understood you somehow—your words and the thoughts you haven’t exactly expressed.

“I hated you the first time we met?” He repeats and you look at him, surprised at the surreal softness in his voice. “When… was the first time we met, y/n?”

That’s the first time he’s said your name. It made your cheeks flush warm and your eyes widen a fraction. This moment was temporary and fleeting, it was easy to see, because he certainly doesn’t call your name like that so naturally and so right—he certainly doesn’t look at you with the absence of resentment as he normally would.

“Three days ago, outside your gym,” you respond unsurely. As if you’ve reminded him of something utterly annoying, he had closed off himself once more, his eyes unreadable and brooding as they stared back at you.

“And this is why I hate you,” he chuckles humorlessly. You’re still pretending you didn’t know him, as if those years together were something you could so easily erase. “I don’t care what you say in that damned interview. Saying yes to that excessively self-centered deal of yours would lose me my self-respect, you know that.”

He finally steps out the door, closing it behind him as he walks past you and all the way to his car. He hopes this would be the last time he sees you; he desperately hopes so. The last thing he needs is a repeat of the emotional wreck he’s been when he was at the lowest point of his life after you so selfishly left him behind.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi!” You call off, and he stops in his tracks, clenching his teeth. You’re clearly overestimating his patience. “I don’t know how befriending me would lose you your self-respect. Hell, I am so irritated at you right now, hard-to-understand-breathtaking-stupid volleyball player!” You grit your teeth, he scoffs, finding your impudence unbelievably out of this world.

He wanted to bring up your past, to shove it right in your face that you had no right to be angry with his hostility considering everything you’ve done. But he can’t, it’s foolish to bring up history you insist you’ve forgotten. “You better watch my interview later on.”

“Oh?” He mockingly says, turning to look at you, “just what are you going to say?” He admits it is out of character for him to banter off with you like this, if you were someone else, he’s long gone inside his car. Maybe this was his way of saying goodbye to you for good, allowing himself to talk to you like this before moving forward with his life that’s anti-you.

“I’m telling them we’re the bestest of friends but we might marry!” You stick your tongue out at him before running off, you don’t even notice him freeze up. His heart fell to his stomach, he unconsciously held in a breath. No, he didn’t just hold in a breath, it’s getting harder and harder for him to breathe.

There it is again, his old, life-long friend. Crippling pain, anxiety, and resentment bundling up and turning into one heavy-ass anchor, pulling him deeper down than he’s been before. The stability he’s built and worked on by religiously avoiding you for years all went down the drain with those silly words of yours.

Just what kind of ridicule or twisted teasing are you pulling off?

“Wow, I’m surprised you guys put up with Oomi.” He hears your voice, lips tugging upward a little before he realizes what you had just said. Finally entering the gym, he sees you sitting in a circle along with his teammates.

He narrows his eyes at the back of your head. You should be in your winter uniform by now, he bets you forgot. One thing he hated about being a year older than you is that he goes to a different school now that he’s in highschool while you’re still on your last year of middle school, you just can’t seem to take care of yourself enough.

“Yup, Oomi’s really great, he’s the best, I guess that’s why you accept how cold he is sometimes huh,” you snicker, your enjoyment short-lived when you’re engulfed in a jacket and Sakusa’s scent. “Stop giving me backhanded compliments just because you think I’m not around,” he bitterly tells you though there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Oomi!” You rise up to your feet immediately and flung yourself at him. He catches you with no hesitation of course, guessing that you’re here again because you missed him. The rest of his teammates except Komori are surprised.

“Sakusa-kun, didn’t know you had a middle school girlfriend.”

“Ew, she’s not my girlfriend.” He bites back a smile though when you punch his shoulder. “What’s with the ew? Not that I like Oomi that much—he’s an ass,” you send him a pointed look, “but we’re the bestest of friends,” you grin.

“And we might marry someday, right Oomi?”

His face falls. “Can you not make me cringe like for a week or two, thanks.”

You scowl, “oh, so what, you don’t wanna marry me?” At this point, he blushes, you’re always so blunt and shameless, you could at least tweak it down a bit. He only scoffs, walking past you to pick up a ball from the ground, “didn’t say anything like that.”

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Smau Masterlist

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tu-mint · 3 years

Text

Amendment

A/N: Sooo I’ve been meaning to share my Mortal Kombat stuff on here for a while, I wanted to wait for the movie to come out first 😅🤣

TW: mentions of torture & sexual assault

In which Shang Tsung and the Black Dragon are officially put down and Earthrealm's defenders are able to return home, but Raelynn is stuck in her thoughts, but one of the young Kombatants is able to help her reconsider the negativity in her mind. (Based around MK11 & Aftermath but w/ a twist?)

Raelynn knew this all too well. With her entity as a half god, a change in time would do nothing to erase the horrifying memory in her mind back in the Black Dragon's dungeon -- at least, that's what it felt like. Hours upon hours of nothing but brutal beatings, each kick, punch, and swing as harsh as the last. While it wouldn't have hurt too much being that she was stronger than the average mortal, the bindings fused with the dark power of Shinnok's amulet extracted much of her godlike strength and left her as a helpless bait to be shredded and mauled at by the jaws of vicious and starved predators, desperate to take a leap at the prey before them. It still seemed unbelievable how she was alive even after all the bruises and cuts and blood...but she managed. After all, those shallow wounds were all but nothing comapred to--

The demigoddess shivered involuntarily and inhaled sharply. Thankfully, everyone aboard was too immersed in their own activities to notice her sudden actions, but she knew she wasn't stable enough with where her thoughts were treading. Her eyes searched for her son who was currently speaking in a group of the younger Kombatants. A yellow strip of cloth with an intricate design she couldn't make out was fastened around his bicep, and she wondered where it had come from until her eyes peered at the young male he stood beside. Takeda, son to Kenshi and pupil under Grandmaster Hasashi, was missing the usual yellow band that adorned his head as a reminder to those that he was a member of the Shirai Ryu clan. His short onyx locks blew freely but he didn't seem to mind all that much, instead grinning down at Haru who wore the cloth proudly. Cassie and Jacqui mirrored the telepath's reaction, the blonde pulling out her phone and snapping a picture. The sight warmed her heart and she was thankful the young fighters didn't look upon her son with irritation, but rather genuine care and happiness. When Haru had told her of the adventures and stories spent with them, a pang of guilt struck her for the early misjudgement on her part, believing they were just frivolous juveniles that only gained their high positions due to the status of their families.

Wishing not to allow her brooding to draw unwanted attention, Raelynn slipped silently to the back of the ship. Her efforts did not go unnoticed by Raiden who stood near the hull of the ship, but he decided against speaking with her in that moment.

He recalled the time he had found her, bound like a dog and covered in welts and lacerations big and small. She was curled into a ball, shaking and burying her face into her knees. It was then Raiden became aware of the state of her clothing, torn and barely covering her form as if someone intentionally ripped and pulled at it to expose more of her. Immediately he slipped out of his own robe and pulled it across her trembling form, respectfully averting his eyes. As he helped Raelynn stand to her feet, his eyes widened as countless more bruises and marks made themselves visible, tiny splotches of smooth brown skin barely surviving. These people had clearly put her through a very long, thorough beating, and it was evident that they were in no means hoping to show mercy. No, they wanted her dead. Raiden had teleported into the SF ship and rushed her to the infirmary room. People cleared the way immediately and knew better than to question his sudden appearance as he brushed past them while carrying the barely conscious woman to a bed near the back. He knew the Kombatants would be able to handle themselves well, so he stayed and began the healing process.

It was during this time he realized that Raelynn was no mere mortal, but a half god created by the hands of Cetrion. While it was difficult at first for him to fully trust her said intentions due to her creator's betrayal upon the Elder Gods, he had seen her heart's purity during the mission. The thunder god knew that she was making the best of efforts to redeem herself of past mistakes, and Liu Kang recognized this as well. A twinge of concern fell upon him just then as he knew that she still had much she needed to recover from. Whether she would eventually open up to him or not didn't matter, he would be patient and assist her as best as he could.

Raelynn took a seat upon the thick wooden rail and swung her legs over to face the bloody depths of Netherrealm's ocean. She wasn't afraid of falling nor coming across any odd sea creatures knowing that she had flying abilities, but of course she also wasn't dumb enough to try and test her strength or reflexes. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she looked on at the overlapping waves, allowing her mind to space out and roam. Her fingers tapped on the rail in a rhythmic pattern, and she suddenly was reminded of something. Her hands came together and moved in a circular motion, stretching further until the form of her solar powers had become a guitar. She clutched the neck and hugged the body of the instrument under her other arm smiling to herself.

Upon visiting the islands of the Pacific in the past, she had learned about the aspect of music through vocals and tools that produced a pleasant audio. The demigoddess found that these brought her a sense of peace and tranquility, and immediately she wanted to learn the ways of this fascinating revelation. What came as an interest to her in the beauty of music was the endless techniques for a new sound, new sensations, new reactions, and day by day, there was always the creation or discovery of another. She allowed her fingers to delicately pluck and strum a mix of chords, a tingle settling in her chest at the euphoria beginning to wash over her. Her hands moved on their own accord, finding a steady tempo and following a pattern with an occasional switch. The nerves that built up in the pit of her stomach had eventually disappeared into wisps of nothingness. Her eyes began to slowly close and she hummed quietly wanting no attention to be drawn to the back of the ship. It seemed to work decently, until-

"Wow, you're part god and a singer? Gotta say I'm definitely jealous."

The woman’s fingers froze in place already in position to strum a new chord. She craned her neck just enough to glance over her shoulder at the intruder, already knowing it who it was. “My life is nothing to be envious of, Specialist Briggs.”

Raelynn heard footsteps tread closer and tapped on her guitar. The younger woman climbed onto the rail and threw a leg over the other. They sat for a moment in silence, staring off at the deep scarlet waters swishing and rolling about. “I owe you an apology, Specialist.”

Jacqui’s eyebrow quirked and her eyes fell upon the half god. Raelynn took her silence as a sign to continue. “I apologize for my behavior towards you and your friends throughout most of the mission. Even after I had caused harm upon your lives and nearly killed your fiancé, you still ensured trust in me. That I could never understand, but-"

"It wasn't easy." The half goddess shifted her attention to the soldier. Her face was impassive as she watched the waves. Raelynn couldn't tell if her expression was a good or bad thing, but she decided against trying to get her hopes up. A great deal (if not all) of her acts under Cetrion were cruel and groundless, and she held no anguish up until the time she had to come face to face with the truth of her doings. It tore her day and night, and meeting Hajoon had her convinced that she would be able to leave the life of corruption far behind and start fresh. Of course, the facts couldn't be hidden forever, and the half goddess found herself back in the deep hole of falsehood, surrounded with nothing but fabricated offers to a better life. She scoffed mentally. That opportunity was officially closed off to her. It seemed as though disaster was always a few steps away, eager to ruin her chances at something sound, and risking it a third time was nowhere near appealing.

"There were many instances where I questioned why the Chosen One defended you to such an extent, especially after it was SF that provided for your recovery." Jacqui's voice had brought her out of her thoughts. "Trust me, I was beyond ready to blast a hole or two through your head a hell lot of times." She paused. "But spending time with Haru and hearing your whole deal...I understood you." Raelynn's brows raised slightly, not expecting such a considerate response.

"I couldn't imagine a life finding out that the one who was supposed to be my caretaker, my protector, my safe haven, was actually the one who robbed me of all that. My mother..." Her words trailed off and she peered down into her lap. She tightened her jaw and bit her lip to keep from releasing the tears awaiting just behind her eyes. Raelynn almost reached her hand out in an effort of comfort but stopped, not wanting to ruin the intimacy in the moment. Jacqui lifted her head and continued. "Man, it would kill me if she'd ever done something like that...growing up believing that everything was all good and sweet, and everyone just hated her for doing what I thought was the right thing, thinkin' it was my own folks who were the crooks trynna steal me away and take my power from me..." She scoffed. "Seein' my dad as a revenant then manipulated by Kronika was betrayal enough, and it hurt like hell. Point is, I realized that you truly had no malice in you. You were just takin' orders and tryin' to keep your mother—uh, Cetrion, happy."

And it was true. Raelynn trusted completely in the virtue goddess as any child would their guardian. She worked vigorously in carrying out the Elder Goddess' wishes, longing to eventually gain any sort of praise or affection, but it was rare that those occurrences came to past. Most of her upbringing revolved around unanswered questions and the constant urge to do better, trying at all costs to win approval. But like a fool, she allowed her heart to get the best of her, put her through the worst of hells just to seek out a foolish desire that would never be anything close to genuine. That's what messed her up in the first place, and she couldn't—no, would not dare to do something as stupid as that again. It was only her and Haru. Nobody else.

"I am...appreciative of your understanding, Ms. Briggs," Raelynn spoke after a long moment of silence. "You and your comrades are owed a huge debt on my behalf."

Jacqui chuckled and shook her head, then turned to look at the demigoddess. "You're damn right we are!" The two women shared a laugh on the rail. "Actually, I believe there is a way to pay back this debt."

"How so?"

"Well, Takeda and I's wedding was put on pause due to this whole mission, and it cost a lot to find decent live music. Cassie offered, but we're trying to have a simple proper wedding, not a drunk karaoke session. And you have the voice of an angel—well, a god in your case. If you can strum a few chords and sing a few notes for a few hours, I'll consider you free of deficit."

Raelynn cocked her head and raised a brow. "That's...that's all?" She figured the woman would request of something more extravagant, like a prolonged lifespan or giving her supernatural abilities. Jaqui nodded and crossed her arms awaiting an answer.

"I...very well, Ms. Br-"

"Jacqui. That formality stuff is weird if it's not comin' from General Blade." The demigoddess was taken by surprise again. She gave a single nod and looked on at the waves which now fell into to a more mellow and calm pattern.

Perhaps it wasn't just Haru and her against the world. Every person aboard had their story, their differences, their fall outs, but they were able to cast it all aside at an effort for peace upon a world that did almost nothing for them in return. Some aspects of the Earthrealm were odd, she thought. It was going to take a lot of time to get used to these people, but maybe, just maybe...

There was a sense of hope.

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alolowrites · 4 years

Text

Gold Coins and a Gold Heart

Summary: Bakugou is forced to help give out candy at your factory’s annual Halloween trick-or-treating event—costume included.

Author’s Note: Hello everyone! I’m back with another story and this time it’s for Bakugou (yay!!). It is a sequel to Everyone’s Got a Sweet Tooth! I had fun writing this, so hopefully you all enjoy it too :D

Word Count: 1.6K+

Bakugou collapsed on the chair.

His afternoon patrol was crazier than usual today, which meant only one thing—it was Halloween. The early dumbasses roamed the streets like brainless hooligans disturbing the peace. As always, Bakugou reined them in with a simple blast to the face. It was fun at first, but Bakugou’s patience was wearing thin after dealing with the twentieth fool that day.

He ripped the mask off and closed his eyes. All he wanted was some peace and quiet—

“Knock, knock!”

He spoke too soon.

Bakugou’s irritated eyes watched as you gleefully skipped toward his desk with a large garment bag. Your beaming smile never wavered despite feeling the hero’s heated glare; you were practically immune to it. An exasperated sigh left his lips. Bakugou knew better not to ignore you whenever you visited him. You were persistent, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with your childish pestering afterward.

“What do you want?”

“I don’t even get a ‘hello’? My heart, babe,” you pouted, gripping the bag in your hands. Bakugou mumbled a half-assed greeting in return. A shit-eating grin stretched across your face; he was so whipped. “Thank you. So, are you excited for tonight?”

“What’s tonight?” Bakugou rested his chin above his hand, barely paying attention to you.

“The annual trick-or-treating festivities at my factory!”

“And?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot,” you huffed, slamming the garment bag on his desk. Bakugou jumped, mouth ready to bark. You wagged a finger at him like a parent scolding a child. “Ah, ah, ah! You promised me you were going to help give out candy tonight for Halloween.”

“Since when!?”

“Glad you asked!” you clasped your hands together, standing up straight. Bakugou wouldn’t be surprised if you whipped out a detailed PowerPoint to support your case. “On September 18th at exactly 10:48pm, you agreed to help me out. As a matter of fact, your exact words were ‘Yeah, I’ll do the damn thing’ in between our passionate make-out session—”

“Oh, for fucksakes!”

“You still promised!” Seconds later, you added: “Besides, you can’t back out of this. Kioshi officially added it to your schedule, and your PR team approved it, so you’re going!”

“I’m gonna kill Small Head.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, you’re not. Stop being such a drama-hoe.”

“Fine, I’ll do this stupid event,” Bakugou’s finger lifted the bag before letting it fall again. “What’s this?”

“Your costume, silly!”

“I’m not wearing a fucking costume!”

“Oh, don’t be such a sour puss,” you chastised him, walking around his desk and planting yourself on his lap. Bakugou made no move to push you off, but he also refused to look at you. Your soft, lovable kisses peppering along his cheek proved otherwise. “I know wearing a costume sounds stupid for you, but it’s Halloween, Katsuki.”

“Can’t I just go as Ground Zero?”

“You’re Ground Zero every day! Halloween means dressing up as someone you’re not.”

“This is stupid…”

“No, it’s not,” you slapped his chest lightly. As Bakugou continued to brood, you lifted his chin and bopped his warm nose. “C’mon—your fans will love it, the kids will love, and, most importantly, I will love it. Won’t you do it for me?”

Bakugou’s throat tightened at the sound of your melodic voice; it was like pure honey. On the surface, it sounded innocent, but Bakugou knew this voice well. You only played this card when you wanted something from him. At first, the hero refused to succumb to your wicked spell. Except it was hard when your delicate fingers danced across his hero costume. A shudder ran down his spine, and he squirmed slightly—you drove him over the edge.

You shot Bakugou a smug smile when he gripped your waist. His intimidating glare proved useless against you. Especially since you both knew who won this battle. Bakugou banged his head on the leather chair, grumbling a curt ‘fine’ shortly after. You squealed and delivered a quick peck on his lips.

“I knew you would understand,” you perked up, ruffling his soft mane before checking your watch. “Well, I gotta skedaddle. There are still some last-minute preparations to get done before the kids come. Ooh, this is so exciting!”

You hopped off Bakugou’s lap much to his displeasure; he wanted you back. Your steps fall in tune with a Halloween song you heard this morning. His eyes silently follow you toward the door, and you called over your shoulder, “See you later, babe! And don’t be late!”

Bakugou gruffed just as the door closed. He slumped back against the chair while pinching his nose. Why does he always get dragged into your ridiculous shenanigans? Damn your infuriating but cute personality. Red eyes narrowed at the garment bag sitting patiently on his desk. He unzipped it halfway to take a peek at the costume…

…and exploded.

“Fuck!”

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Bakugou gritted his teeth.

“I can’t believe I’m wearing this shit.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” you chimed behind him, smoothing out the costume’s wrinkles. Bakugou huffed and grudgingly turned around. Your Cheshire cat-like smile grew as you stepped back to admire the final outcome. “You look so handsome!”

“Shut up.”

“My handsome pirate—”

“I told you to shut up!”

Your giddy laughs bounced off the walls; Bakugou snapped his head away with a growl. However, he was betrayed when a slight blush dusted his cheeks. He felt absolutely ridiculous in this outfit that belonged in the dumpster. Except for the jacket—Bakugou secretly liked how it emphasized his broad shoulders.

“Was this why you attacked me with that damn measuring tape last time?”

“Honestly, it was more fun than just asking Kioshi for your measurements.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Sorry, not sorry,” you shrugged, smirking as Bakugou’s eyes raked up and down your own pirate costume. It was seductive yet tasteful for tonight. Only your bare shoulders were exposed and Bakugou’s clenched his mouth—they were his weakness. “Behave tonight, and I’ll make sure to reward you well, captain.”

“Tch, damn tease.”

“I know,” you winked, tugging his hand as you both walked out the door. It was almost time to start tonight’s event. Bakugou grumbled as he followed your lead. “But seriously, behave. That means not making any child cry tonight.”

“Let me blast any idiot who tries to pull some shit on you, and we got ourselves a deal.”

”Fine, but not the kids.”

“Deal.”

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Tonight was harder than Bakugou thought.

No one flirted with you, much to his relief. However, the hoard of kids screaming at the gates drained his energy and tested his limited—or nonexistent—patience. Security guards safely managed the crowds while staff members let in a few groups of kids at a time.

You hopped on your tippy-toes every time a new batch approached the steps. Bakugou, on the other hand, showed disdain and tried—unsuccessfully—to keep his distance from them; the kids stupidly disagreed. Bakugou scowled, but it wasn’t enough to scare away the waves of mini vampires or superheroes. Instead, they rushed up to him with goofy smiles.

“Trick-or-treat!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, here’s your candy.”

Bakugou reached inside the large treasure chest for the black pirate pouches. A friendly-looking skull graced the front and contained delicious goodies inside—chocolate gold coins and colorful sugar jewels. You spent weeks designing the Halloween candy so they fit with the pirate theme this year. It was a lot of trial and error, but you never settled for anything less.

That was something Bakugou noticed and silently admired.

A small tug pulled his attention away from you. Crimson eyes peered down at a little girl wearing a butterfly costume. Fuzzy red antennas bounced in the air as her innocent eyes glanced up at the pro hero.

“Are you really a pirate?”

Bakugou froze and blinked at the question. You softly laughed while handing out the pouches to the other kids. Before Bakugou could answer, a young boy blurted out: “Of course he’s not a pirate! That’s Ground Zero, dummy!”

“I’m not a dummy!”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not!”

The young girl was on the verge of tears. You were about to step in to defuse the situation, but Bakugou quickly beat you to the punch.

“Hey!” Everyone stood at attention after Bakugou’s rugged bark. All eyes were on him as he pointed a stern finger at the robot boy clutching his candy bag. “Does Ground Zero wear a pirate hat and carry a plastic sword?”

“N-no.”

“Then I’m not Ground Zero today, I’m a pirate,” he raised his head up high while adding, “and a captain pirate, too. Do you understand, kid?”

“Yes-s, sir.”

“Good, now apologize to the butterfly for calling her dumb.”

Mr. Robot did, and surprisingly, Bakugou dropped a pirate pouch into his bag. Muttering a curt ‘Go,’ he watched the young boy waddle away. Faint sniffles interrupted the silence shortly afterward. Bakugou averted his gaze to the little girl again.

“Hey,” he called out with a gruff but soft voice and crouched down. Round, puffy eyes stared in disbelief when Bakugou dumped two candy pouches inside her Halloween basket. “Don’t let anyone call you dumb, got it?”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

“Thank you, Mr. Pirate!”

The girl happily skipped away. Bakugou stood up and bristled at the sight of your shit-eating grin. He forgot you were still here, which meant you saw everything. You sauntered toward him with amused eyes and teased, “You’re such a softie!”

“Eh?! Quit spewing bullshit,” he barked weakly, folding his arms over his chest. “You said no kid should cry, right? I did just that, so slap that stupid grin off your face.”

“Technically, I said you shouldn’t make any kid cry.”

“Whatever.”

“Softie,” you whispered before pecking Bakugou’s cheek; he grumbled an insult to save face. You poked his forehead while laughing, “Frown all you want, but you can’t hide that gold heart of yours. At least not around me.”

Bakugou’s lips twitched into a genuine smile reserved only for you.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

A pirate who managed to steal his gold heart? Yeah, it all made sense now.

Thanks for reading!!

Spooky Season 2020 Masterlist

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #bakugou katsuki #bnha halloween #spooky-season-2020

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written-on-the-trees · 3 years

Text

Silver Linings In Winter Clouds - Machine Gun Kelly Fan Fiction

Prompt: Nativity Play (very, very loosely)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2100 words (I know, okay, it got away from me)

Summary: High-school AU. Colson is almost one-hundred per-cent sure that there was no punishment worse than having to join the drama club for their Christmas play, even one of the other members is possibly the cutest girl he's ever seen...

Colson had thought he had experienced the worst of his school’s punishments for bad behavior, having been in detention almost every week since he could remember, but he had been wrong.

So, so wrong.

He stared in horror at the carnage unfolding in front of him, and wondered if the punishment for bailing on this punishment could really be any worse than what he was currently facing.

Sure, he might get suspended or something…but he wasn’t really sure that was any worse than being forced to take part on the drama club’s Christmas play. His dad would absolutely flip his shit, but he’d be able to pick up some extra shifts at work, and he’d get out of the fucking nightmare that was this drama club bullshit.

Colson was more than ready to take his chances, when Mr. Greene, the drama teacher, saw him frozen in the doorway to the practice room, and cheerfully called out to him:

“Mr. Baker! So glad you could make it.”

Too late to escape now.

Unwilling to lose face by running (or even walking) away now everyone was looking at him, Colson curled his lip in disdain and stepped further into the room.

He wasn’t a coward.

Disgusted by all this theatre shit, but not a coward.

It was exactly the kind of attitude they were expecting from him, so it wasn’t long before they were all going back to focusing on that they had been doing before Mr. Greene had drawn everyone’s attention to him. Knowing Greene, it was probably a deliberate way of irritating Colson - the guy was just like that - but unfortunately that didn’t mean Colson could avoid him. Greene was the only one who could sign off on Colson’s report that documented him actually being here…and he was also the only one who could give Colson a job to do, because Colson sure as hell wasn’t taking any initiative with this shit.

The less effort he could put in, the better. It was bad enough that people were going to think he was one of the drama nerds (albeit unwillingly), he refused to give anyone even an inkling that he was enjoying or being proactive about being part of this.

As it was, Greene sent him over to work with the group of kids working on the scenery, muttering something about putting his height to good use. Colson had never been so grateful to be a lanky motherfucker as he was right then, walking over to where four girls and two guys were leant over various bits of paper, arguing between themselves.

“Hey…apparently I’m meant to be helping out over here.” Colson announced to get their attention, watching as all six of them looked up from the paper and had six different reactions.

Brendan, always the drama queen, threw his hands up and stormed away while muttering about not wanting to deal with ‘the white trash kid in detention’. His twin sister, Ellie, smiled apologetically and went after him to calm him down. Willow looked a little nervous, which was understandable since the last time she’d seen him he had been kicking the shit out of her older brother. Cameron beamed friendlily and welcomed him to the team. Darren just smiled.

And then there was Belle.

Colson had to stop himself from staring as she smiled at him, the soft, somehow glowing expression one he’d never had directed at him before.

She looked so gorgeous, standing there in her black denim dungarees and white t-shirt with the small splotch of pink paint on the shoulder and with the paint and ink stains on her hands, Colson felt like he almost swallowed his own tongue. She just looked so…soft, so sweet, like some kind of paint-stained Christmas angel.

He was instantly in love with her.

I’m so screwed…

Being in regular contact with Belle was doing nothing to stop Colson feeling like he was doomed – because if their first meeting had been difficult, with Colson feeling like he was tripping over his words every time he spoke to her (although thankfully she seemed not to have notices his sudden incompetence when it came to speech), then the second was basically excruciating.

The thing was, Belle was nice.

Genuinely, altruistically, nice.

Unlike Brendan, who sneered at Colson every time he spoke, or Willow and Darren who were still a bit jumpy around him, Belle always took time to not just say hello when he showed up, but actually ask how his day had been and then listen when he responded - however flippant his responses were.

She laughed at his jokes, and shut Darren up when Colson saw a bit of scenery design so blatantly stupid he had to suggest it be changed - because even if he was going to be part of this fiasco, he wasn’t going to have his name associated with anything so dumb as the fake graffiti Brendan had drawn on the plans.

Modern take on the Christmas Nativity scene or not, there was no need for that bullshit.

Colson hadn’t really expected anyone to take his side, even when he explained why he didn’t like it, but then Belle had nodded and said: “That’s a fair point - what would you suggest we do instead?”

“Like, speak to someone who maybe knows how to do that graffiti shit?” Colson asked.

“I’m sure you have a whole list of degenerate friends to recommend - ” Brendan sneered, but Belle cut him off:

“Great idea, Colson. I know exactly who to ask.”

On the day of their third meeting, Belle walked into the room five minutes later than Colson, with a familiar face trailing after her.

Dom was a kind-of friend of Colson’s in the same way he was a kind-of friend with everyone in this school; he just had one of those personalities. He went to the same parties as Colson and his friends, wrote stories that had him in good standing with the English Lit kids, and apparently spent a lot of his art classes working next to Belle.

He also was well known for creating various pieces of artwork all over any walls he got get to without being seen. His fingers were constantly stained with spray paint.

Colson was a little bit surprised to see him, but still happy to chat while the others were distracted: “Hey man, I didn’t know you got involved with this shit.”

“I don’t, normally. Mr. Greene hates me.” Dom laughed loudly - and drawing a furious expression out of Greene: “But Belle’s sound, and she asked me to ‘consult’, so here I am.”

Colson shouldn’t be surprised that other people thought Belle was a good person - or ‘sound’ as Dom put it - and, when he thought about it, he wasn’t.

He just surprised at how in love he was with her after just two meetings.

I’m so unbelievably screwed…

After a week of planning sessions, Belle took Colson to the art cupboard to help her gather supplies for painting the scenery Willow and Cameron were currently drawing out back on the stage of the school theatre.

He wasn’t much use; standing outside with a big cardboard box in his arms while Belle actually found everything they had been sent out to go and get, but Belle didn’t seem to mind all that much…

“I’m just so glad I don’t have to lug it all back by myself, or with Darren.” she confided in him while putting some pots of brightly coloured paint in the box he was holding: “Don’t tell him I said it, but you’ve got a lot more muscles than he does.”

Colson knew she was only being friendly…but that didn’t stop him from winking at her: “Thanks, I worked hard for them.”

“And they’re very nice, too.” Belle laughed, clearly taking his response as a joke…but Colson didn’t mind her missing him flirting with her.

He’d seen her looking at his arms.

She hadn’t just been teasing.

Colson wasn’t the only one

On opening night, Colson was hanging out backstage, leaning against a wall and waiting for his cue to help move the scenery about on stage. They had to keep it down, as to not be heard over ‘Marine’ and ‘Joey’ dramatically bemoaning that there was no room at the inn – in rhyming couplets (Colson was seriously glad he hadn’t been put with the kids writing the script for this punishment, he might have actually punched someone), but it was still…alright.

Brendan was still a dick, obviously, but Willow had warmed up enough to offer him some sour patch kids from the bag she, Ellie, Belle, and Cameron were sharing (which was more than she’d offered Brendan - which Colson was taking as a major win), and Belle was leaning against the wall next to him, dressed in a pair of black slacks and a black button-down shirt like the rest of them, with her chocolate-coloured hair smoothed into a sleek twist, and her skin free of paint.

Honestly, Colson kind of missed the paint stains…but he had to admit he wasn’t ungrateful to be seeing the smokey eyeshadow and deep red lipstick she’d put on for when they went out on stage to take their bow after the play was over.

After a month of spending anywhere between one and three hours a day with her, Colson could safely say he’d never wanted anyone more than he wanted Belle.

She was…indescribable. Literally; he didn’t have all the words to describe her properly, and Colson prided himself on being eloquent. He adored everything about her: from the fact she was constantly sketching in a notebook just as he always had scraps of paper to write down anything he thought might sound good in a song, the way she was quick to laugh and even quicker to smile, and the fact that she was always willing to give someone a chance, no matter how disdainful they were when she met them.

Yeah, he was talking about himself.

Belle had been nice to him, even when he didn’t deserve it. Even when, to make sure everyone knew he was no coward, he’d acted like a dick.

Well, Colson still wasn’t a coward…so tonight, after they’d all taken their bow and shit, he was going to ask Belle if she wanted to go out with him at some point over the Christmas break. Just the thought was terrifying, but if she noticed anything, she was kind enough not to mention it as they waited around backstage, or as they moved scenery as required, or when they went out and took their bow with the script writers, the kid who’d done the lighting and sound effects, the kids who’d make the costumes.

She just…carried on making normal conversation, and didn’t seem to mind when Colson’s responses were a little halting and disjointed. She didn’t even say anything when they were heading out of the back of the auditorium after most of the audience had left, and Colson was trailing after her, feeling a little like a lost puppy…

He felt like an idiot, so when she paused just before she was about to say goodbye, Colson blurted out:

“Hey, Belle, I know we probably won’t be seeing each other much now my detention in theatre club is over, since if I stick around I might get kicked out for finally punching Brendan like he deserves, but I was wondering if…maybe you wanted to go out over winter break? Like, on a date?”

Belle looked surprised for a few seconds, and Colson’s heart dropped…but then she grinned, fishing a pen out of her pocket and scrawling her number on the back of his hand, before leaning up to press her lips against his cheek: “I’d love to. Text me to work something out?”

“I’d love to…” Colson echoed, feeling a little dazed from the kiss…but still overjoyed.

Belle laughed gently, before ducking out when someone called for her.

Colson waited a few seconds in the room, probably smiling like an idiot, before heading out too.

Slim and Rook were waiting for him just outside the doors, the grins on the faces confirming that they had heard everything Colson and Belle had said, with Slim greeting Colson with a congratulatory grin: “So, bro, how do we sign up next year? I’m thinking I need a way to find me a hot girl…”

#The Trees' Christmas 2020 Writing Collection #The Trees Writes #Machine Gun Kelly imagine #Machine Gun Kelly fanfic #Machine Gun Kelly fan fic #Machine Gun Kelly fan fiction #MGK imagine #MGK fanfic #MGK fan fic #MGK fan fiction #Colson Baker imagine #Colson Baker fanfic #colson baker fan fic #Colson Baker fan fiction

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jasonrae117 · 4 years

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Night at the Wayne Casino

Got hit with some inspiration and time to write, so ask and ye shall receive @dcgzilla another part right away! Enjoy!

Part 5

Pale thighs...smooth and supple curves...the desperate cries for attention...the begging…

It all seemed too real, the dream was so vivid and he could easily recall every detail. It was so unlike the previous ones the nights before. He would forget small moments, words would be lost, her voice wouldn’t sound quite right either. But last night...last night’s dream was unforgettable. His body ached as if they had actually gone through the multiple rounds as he had imagined. He rolled onto his side facing toward the middle of the bed, he winced at the stinging from his back. Wait...in his dream she had raked her nails down his shoulder blades when he had made her reach her peak for the second time.

Damian shot up out of bed and looked around trying to assess the situation he prayed he didn’t get himself into. Sure enough he was alone in his bed, he was missing his clothes but if he had as much to drink as he remembered then he probably didn’t want to waste the time changing into pajamas that late. He sighed in relief but it had turned into a groan when he gained sense of his morning wood. That dream sure was something. Luckily he had the night shift so he was able to sleep in, although it wasn’t a common practice, he obviously had needed it if the clock was correct and he had woken up at ten o’clock.

He pulled himself out of bed and stretched, recoiling from the persistent stinging on his back. What the hell was going on? He rubbed his eyes as he made his way to the bathroom door where a full length mirror hung hoping to see if there truly was any damage to his person. Damian tried to piece together what may have happened, he didn’t think he had been drunk, he would never let himself. So he began replaying the night.

The party had been irritating to say the least and he had upset at least two people before he finally laid eyes on his target. Raven had the tempting green dress that he had dreamed of ripping off of her, and he had caught her at the bar. Everything checks out, I didn’t get into any physical altercations, I just invited Raven to my room….Shit!

As Damian stood in front of his closed bathroom door he could now hear the faint sound of the shower running and an occasional echo of a bottle being shuffled. That wasn’t a dream, I fucked Raven...the enemy, my number one suspect. He would never hear the end of it from Drake or any of the others. If they found out. He only had to keep it secret until she left on Tuesday. She’d be leaving in a day and a half.

Why did that upset him?

Damian was frozen to the spot in front of the door, he could feel the warm air flowing from under the door but he couldn’t process what to do. Red splotches marred his tan skin mapping the trail Raven’s lips had traveled along his body. He twisted to see his back and sure enough a few thin red lines stretched down the muscle. This wasn’t protocol, in fact this was quite literally the opposite of protocol. Technically Drake said she wasn’t a suspect anymore, thus giving free reign. No, that’s some bullshit Jason or Dick would use to reason their bad decisions, not him. He was better than the others, the leader, the heir. His father would be ashamed of him.

Damian had been too lost in his thoughts and didn’t hear the water stop or the shuffle of the person inside as they made their way out of the bathroom. The door opened before him and steam escaped out and billowed around the smaller figure in front of him. His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open as he just stood there and stared at Raven.

She abruptly stopped, preventing herself from crashing into him. She raised her eyebrow and looked him up and down before chuckling and sliding past him. “Must be very proud.”

“Huh?” His brain was still trying to process what had occurred last night and what ramifications it held and he was not capable of forming words properly.

“You know you could have joined me.” He turned to her and saw her shyly bite her lower lip as she fiddled with the towel around her. She moved to his side of the bed and picked up the shirt he had worn to the party and dropped her towel. Whatever bit of cognition he had left flew out as he admired the sight before him.

Her skin glistened from the water droplets that remained on her skin and reflected the late morning light. It reminded him of the day he watched her by the pool and how stunning she was, this was ten times better because she was in his room and his view was unobstructed. Her skin was also just a tinge pink from the hot water. He simply couldn’t get enough of seeing her body, it was alluring and he wanted to worship every inch, he certainly tried last night, but it would never be enough. Raven slipped her arms into his shirt and began buttoning it up as she spun to face him again, she left the top few buttons open so her cleavage could still be seen.

It was almost unbelievable, Raven was in front of him in nothing but his shirt that hung loosely on her and falling to just below her mid thigh, she had rolled the sleeves up to her elbow and her damp hair was pulled over one shoulder. It was perfect and he finally snapped himself out of the daze he had been in since he had awoken this morning. It was at that moment that he realized that he had been standing completely naked in front of the bathroom this whole time with a very painful erection.

Damian glared at the floor and blushed from embarrassment as he ran his hand harshly over his face. He heard soft footsteps approach him and he saw small pale feet come into view. His eyes followed the trail of creamy skin up her legs, past her plump thighs, and finally snapping to her face. Raven was definitely smaller than she appeared without the help of the heels she wore, it was cute. She smirked at him and took his hand in hers, tracing random patterns on it. “I don’t have any plans until later...I could stay for a bit and return some of those favors from last night.” She stepped into his space and rested her unoccupied hand on his shoulder while she placed a delicate kiss to his chest. A shiver ran through his body and he wanted nothing more than to take her up on her offer.

Reluctantly Damian pulled her away from him and held her at arms length for a moment before taking a deep breath and letting it go as he released her. “Look, Raven. I didn’t think I’d be the man to do this but I don’t want you to get the wrong idea…”

Shook flashed across her face and following it was something close to frustration and anger. She huffed and rubbed at her temple, “Get the wrong idea? Which is what? Being followed around at a party and who knows where else, to be invited back to your suite, followed by a night of very intimate activities instigated by you. Is that not supposed to make me think you’re interested in me? Or does what you’re saying mean that this was just some well thought out one night stand?”

“No Raven I-”

“Is this about Tim?”

“Not entirely.”

“Were you trying to punish Tim in some sick way?” She began pacing around the suite. “He told me that you lectured him and were going to report it to the CEO, your father. He broke off whatever it was we were creating because I was just a visiting guest and you are his coworker, so although he didn’t want to, he’d rather upset me than piss you off because you’d make his life hell.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Of course not.” She scoffed and glanced around not making eye contact. “So are we done here?... Is that where this is going, because I rather not waste my time pussyfooting around.” She stomped past him back into the bathroom and shuffled around before coming out wearing her dress from last night, or rather a version of it since it had been torn here and there.

“I had no ill intention at all. I also wasn’t thinking. I’m supposed to lead by example and I let feelings get in the way of my job.”

“What job? You said you weren’t on duty.”

“I wasn’t, but technically we aren’t supposed to have personal relations with guests.”

“Technically you’re probably not supposed to give random guests access to exclusive parties like your friend Jon did, or give employee discounts to random guests like Tim did and the girls at the spa.”

“You’re right, and I have condemned them for those actions. I follow protocol and every code.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this, nor did I expect anything from anyone. It just seems that I’m the lucky gal that crossed paths with everyone and somehow I wound up in this mess. I just wanted to take a break from life for a minute and I thought I was doing that. But every time something good happens for me, something bad follows. I can have my luck at the table but apparently not with life and new relationships.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but this was a misstep.”

“Ah, yes. A misstep.” Raven laughed venomously. “ Would you call having the security cameras feed to your personal computer a misstep too?” She glared at him with her arms crossed, belt dangling around her wrist.

“You hacked into my computer?” He raised his voice and he clenched his fists.

“I didn’t hack into anything, it was unlocked and my phone died, I needed to check my email to see when I had to check in for work. It seems that you were too careless to close the program before you left. Trust me, I had no ill intentions at all.” She rolled her eyes and proceeded out the door, not caring about it slamming behind her.

Damian was pissed off, he had betrayed himself by sleeping with Raven, playing right into her hand instead of the other way around. If she was as smart as he thought she was, it was probably her plan all along to get into his room to access his computer. But nobody knew he had a continuous feed of the security cameras sent to his computer.

How had everything gone so wrong? He groaned and walked to his door to lock it and remembered for the second time that he had no clothes on. He just wanted to punch something to get his frustration with the world out. He was mortified to think of how ridiculous he must have looked trying to be serious while being completely naked and a bit hard through at least half of their argument.

Part of him felt like shit for being so passive of what happened. She wasn’t wrong, he was the one to track her down and instigate the kissing. He had a code to uphold though, his job came first, it always did. And if she turned out to be the con he suspected her to be then his actions were justified and he wouldn’t feel too bad about it. But what if he was wrong...then he had been a complete asshole this whole time to everyone, especially Raven, for no reason. He didn’t know how to feel about that possibility, so he blocked that train of thought from his mind. It’s best that he doesn’t dwell on his errors.

Unfortunately, he was back at square one and had to think of a new tactic to prove that he wasn’t unnecessarily being an asshole to Raven. Funny, his motive changed, but he decided not to acknowledge it because that would mean he actually cared about her.

#raven #raven roth #Damian Wayne #damirae #raven x damian #night at the wayne casino #casino au #getting spicy #what did he do?

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sserpente · 5 years

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A/N: Requests from two anons. Now this one doesn’t have any smut but I loved writing it. And oh, there is so much more to come. ;-)

Words: 1939 Warnings: implied smut, fluff

Tony Stark was known for his strange party ideas; so this year was no different. Halloween was just around the corner and Stark had established a costume rule for his most epic party of the year. Dress up as another Avenger and the best costume would win a secret but amazing prize.

And by the looks of it, everybody either planned to do Thor or Cap, for it was the easiest option—their costumes could be bought in stores, after all. Hence, with that or Nat’s rather boring black suit, you wouldn’t exactly stand out.

You were deep in thought when you passed Loki in the hallway carrying a few books. He courtly nodded at you—signalising you were by far the most tolerable mortal around here. Your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met. It was then the idea struck you and you started grinning like an idiot as you returned to your room.

Technically, Loki was an Avenger too now. So why not dress up as you crush?

The days went by and you spent hours crafting your costume late at night, sewing and gluing and stitching until your fingers were bleeding. You had copied Loki’s leather armour from scratch which was probably because you had spent a remarkable amount of time just secretly staring at him—you knew his appearance by heart.

You had even bought blue contacts to match his eye colour. Now all that’s still missing was… his helmet. You had tried to do it yourself but nothing you came up with would do justice to the original. So… you’d simply have to acquire the original.

It was easier than you had initially assumed. Loki didn’t exactly guard his room, nor did he lock it. Surely, he saw no need for that. Apart from a few books and a selection of Midgardian clothes, he didn’t exactly have any personal belongings which he couldn’t keep in his magic pockets.

When you sneaked inside while he was in the library on the day of Halloween, only a few hours before the Halloween party, his helmet was flaunting on his desk, golden and shiny. Quickly, you grabbed it and fled, giggling in the process.

Loki’s helmet was, quite literally, the crown of your outfit. It took you hours to get ready but you had to admit, the result was dazzling. You really had outdone yourself. Hopefully, Loki would be at the party as well. You thought he could do with some recognition after all the hard work at the compound.

It took you another ten minutes to be brave enough to leave your room. Downstairs, you could already hear loud music and people laughing and chatting. You were looking forward to their reactions. Would they be repulsed? Amused? Impressed?

You took a deep breath—then, you stepped right into the crowd. Paparazzi lights as lightnings almost blinded you, spider webs decorated the corners, on the tables pumpkins with spooky faces glowed in the dimly lit living room. There was a giant buffet and a vast selection of alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks and there was a skeleton hanging from the ceiling. Tony had even bought a fog machine.

Half of the room went silent upon seeing you, the present Avengers all turning to face you. Thor even blinked, unsure whether he was seeing you, an illusion or his brother.

Oh, the helmet really was an eye catcher. But most importantly… Loki was there too—and his jaw dropped, literally, his blue eyes slowly widening and wandering up and down your body in an unbelieving manner. Thor patted his back, making him flinch.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Tony was dressed up as Thor. The long and blonde wig looked absolutely ridiculous on him. Mjölnir in his hand wasn’t real, of course. He had made it in his lab, out of metal and wood and the God of Thunder loved it.

“I dressed up for Halloween.” You explained unfazed, eyes fixed on Loki who was slowly approaching you, his scrutinising and somewhat… greedy gaze never leaving yours.

“You’re disqualified,” Tony said when he reached you both.

“What? Why?”

“The rule was it to dress up as another Avenger. Reindeer Games here is not an Avenger.” Gods. He really still loathed Loki for what happened in the past.

“He helps you fight the bad guys. He’s an Avenger to me.” Loki raised his eyebrows at you, seemingly confused about this whole situation and yet… flattered you were defending him. You’d be the first one to do so in at least a century.

“You’re disqualified, (Y/N).”

“Oh, fine, grow a pear, Tony.” Rolling your eyes, you turned away from him. You scanned the other Avengers’ outfits—Thor as Captain America, Captain America as the Hulk, Bruce as Tony, Natasha as Hawkeye and Hawkeye as Natasha—but then, your attention immediately returned to Loki who was still staring daggers at you. Dangerous and seductive daggers, that was.

“The helmet… it looks well-made.” He choked out, almost as if he was unsure of what to say. Loki cleared his throat. He was… irritated. Much likely he was at loss of words. Surely no one had ever dressed up as him before not to mock him but to honour his skills and presence.

“It better be, it’s yours.” You replied with a smirk, winking at him mischievously. Your costume, of course, was more of a female version, complimenting your curves and the leather clinging to your skin.

“I beg your pardon?”

You chuckled, blushing at the very same time. His full attention on you made you swoon—like a little school girl! You would have punched yourself if it weren’t for Loki standing right in front of you.

“I took it from your room. I tried to copy it but I couldn’t do it. Please don’t be mad.”

“I am not.” He responded, still a little taken aback. Then, he took a deep breath, looking you so deep in the eye your heart skipped yet another beat.

“So tell me… why did you decide to dress up as me?” He asked. There was true curiosity in his voice, yet at the same time… suspicion.

You shrugged. There was no way you were going to admit to him that you had taken quite a liking into him… that you imagined him kissing you on the lips both in your face and between your legs regularly.

“Tony said to dress up as an Avenger and—“

“Yes, I know what Stark said,” he interrupted you sharply. “You could have picked anyone. Why me?”

“Why not? I just… like you. And I love your colours.” That wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t a lie, after all. You did adore the elegance in his outfits—and Loki seemed downright surprised about the genuine compliment. Only did it seem like he only now saw you properly, as someone who would in fact, reciprocate his growing feelings for your witty persona, which, quite obviously, you had no idea about.

“I didn’t think you’d join the party.” You said.

Loki rolled his eyes. “Thor persuaded me. I am leaving as soon as he is drunk. He is barely bearable when he is sober… and quite frankly,” he added, “I am markedly undesired here. The feeling is mutual.”

“I was hoping you’d come.” You admitted. “So? What do you think?” You turned around in front of him, your green cape flowing behind you like a river made entirely of fabric.

Loki gave you a smirk. With a start, that greedy and seductive glistening returned to his stunning blue eyes, making you gasp when you came to a stop.

“You look ravishing.”

“So will you kneel if I ask you to?”

His expression darkened, a playful smirk tugging on his thin lips. “Don’t take it too far, little minx.”

Little minx. You swallowed thickly. Gods, were you flirting?! It was clear now Loki indeed liked your costume—a circumstance that made your heart flutter excitedly. In fact, he seemed unable to take his eyes off of you.

And he had to admit, you looked exceptionally adorable. His helmet was a little too big on you, yet it matched your outfit perfectly. The amount of detail you had put into your costume was truly remarkable. Every thread resembled his own armour entirely. It must have taken you ages to craft it to represent… him.

Growing inside of him, clandestine and sneakily, the urge grew to hug you. It was in itch beneath his skin, a foreign feeling he had to fight off. By the Norns, you were precious. A little mortal, dressed up as him, worshipping him! You had been disqualified from Stark’s stupid contest and still defended him, you had stolen his helmet to make the costume authentic… he shook his head slowly, a movement not visible to you.

But there was something else. Not only did he want to press you close to his body and bury his face in your neck, bathing in the affection and recognition you would surely shower him with… oh no, he also wanted to fuck you.

He had neglected his most carnal needs for way too long. You were human, so what? He could be gentle. Loki wanted you. And seeing you in this sexy costume that was representing him of all people drove him crazy with want and lust.

He was many things but most of all, he was perceptive. Granted, he had been rather surprised about the unexpected turn of events, for he had never considered you more than a… a friend in this damned compound, for his disturbing feelings to turn into… this. Now, however, he did not miss the subtle glances, the way your breathing quickened and your cheeks blushed, the way you bit your teeth as he stepped closer. How nervous and flustered you became now that his eyes rested on you…

It was Halloween. He should treat himself. The God of Mischief gnashed his teeth. He did like you, after all, a lot. For a mortal, you were peculiarly clever.

“My bedroom. Now,” he growled demandingly, his lascivious expression sending pleasant shivers up and down your spine. Your eyes widened. Had he just… what?! You hesitated. “I will not repeat myself, little minx.”

You swallowed again. You were shaking from lechery when you followed him back upstairs, not quite believing this was really happening. Surely, if you hadn’t known each other for a while, Loki wouldn’t have as much as glanced at you despite your costume and instead dismissed it as pure mockery.

“L-Loki…” You started when the others were out of reach, “Are you sure about this?”

You longed to have him in your bed; or alternatively, rolling around under the sheets in his bed. It was just… untypical for him, he always seemed so… restrained. Could it be? That Loki did indeed feel the same kind of attraction you did? The kind of attraction that made you want to rip each other’s clothes off of your body and lick every inch of each other’s skin?

“Dead sure,” His voice was dark, heavy with desire.

Huh. If you had known it was that easy to seduce the God of Mischief, you would have dressed up as him way earlier. Your heart was beating in joyful anticipation when he led you into his bedroom, heat and arousal already pooling between your legs.

His smirk was downright mischievous, malicious even, when he closed his bedroom door to drown you both in utter darkness, using his seidr to lock it. Next thing you knew, his lips came crashing down on yours.

A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

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m6p2s5gziax8 · 4 years

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Deconstructing Season 3 Jim Hopper

Note1 - I wrote this before the 2020.02.14 "Stranger Things 4 | From Russia with love" teaser. I'm glad they didn't try to drag out the "is Hopper really dead" question - he's 100% back! Note2 - Ok, now that so many of us are inside and ST4 is delayed, I'm going to finally post this and hope some folks find it interesting. Note3 - 6+ months later, I'm finally posting this for real, enjoy! :)

Please Read * !!! MASSIVE S3 SPOILERS !!! * I am a huge fan of Stranger Things and Jim Hopper. * This is a critical analysis of season 3 Jim Hopper, aka s3-Hop. * I would never want to sour anyone's enjoyment of the show or s3-Hop. * Please skip this essay if you enjoy s3-Hop! * If you viewed season 3 and thought "Hopper sure was different" or "Hopper wasn't enjoyable like in s1 and s2" then please read on!

uber-TL;DR * s3-Hopper was unbelievably and (for me) unenjoyably different from s1/s2 * for s4, my hope is this extreme character shift is acknowledged by Hopper to Mike, Eleven, and Joyce

longer-TL;DR There were many changes in Stranger Things with season 3: the mall, the bright color pallet, the love-quadrangle pitting El/Max vs Mike/Lucas, Dustin splitting off from the boys to join the Scoops Troop, and the campy, Scooby-Doo-esque Russian base plot. I can accept these changes and enjoy many of their elements.

But s3 brought one massive change that was not a new character, location, nemesis, or team combo: I felt Jim Hopper's character change was simply unbelievable and unenjoyable.

Sadly, I may be in a tiny minority that does not speak up or that critical comments about a beloved show get "black holed" by show boosters on social media. Many ST fans were sad and angry that Hopper appears to have died and the letter reading at the end of s3 was very dramatic and moving. So analysis, and especially criticism, of s3-Hop is frequently down-voted or not liked and thus not socialized.

This is an attempt to collect the thoughts of one very unhappy s1/s2-Hopper fan about s3-Hop. I hope readers will enjoy the long detailed analysis (sorry it is so long!) and I look forward to any comments and feedback.

FWIW, I'm a big Stranger Things fan and David Harbour is a great actor (even in s3) and a Good person IRL. I loved s1/s2 Jim Hopper and how he was written in the official book Darkness on the Edge of Town.

Here are some collected and reformatted writings I've done on Hopper and his s3 change. My fave ST character is Eleven so s3-Hop becoming so different and unenjoyable is particularly jarring for me.

s3-Hop was so different from s1/s2-Hop as to make it seem like he is a new character. Not only that, but I did not enjoy this new character who acts: * anxious * whiny * selfish * sarcastic * self-entitled * super-violent

Recall Hopper's pre-s3 history from s1, s2, and the official book Darkness on the Edge of Town: * volunteered for the military at 18 (not drafted) * 3 years combat in Vietnam, awarded Bronze Star * 2 years as a Hawkins policemen, marries, has a daughter * 6 years in New York City as a homicide detective * after his daughter dies, hits the bottle/pills, gets divorced * back in Hawkins as Chief of Police and dating women * goes into the Upside Down and literally brings Will back to life with Joyce * takes Eleven in, she runs away, they each apologize * Hop protects Eleven while she unloads at maximum to fend off the Mind Flayer and close the Gate * El goes to the Snow Ball dance and Mike comes over for 6 months to be with her (and smooch!)

Now look at s3-Hop - a very brief s3 timeline: * he's anxious, has no gravitas or authority - he gets advice from Joyce on El/Mike * the evening of s3e1, s3-Hop writes about "emotions" and how he's upset about change * Then s3-Hop continues writing wise words about life that are all read in s3e8 * AFTER writing why he's upset and these wise words, s3-Hop proceeds to act like a mega-jerk * he is gleeful when Eleven is upset that Mike is not coming over * s3-Hop bizarrely thinks whining to Joyce will make her like him * WORST OF ALL, s3-Hop does not say "daughter", "kid", "Eleven", or "El" from s3e2-s3e7

Hopper went from a mega-over-protective dad in s2 who was able to legally adopt Eleven right before the Snow Ball to a jarringly different character in s3. I can see s3-Hop making bad judgments and behaving badly but just not in this anxious/silly/immature way. Why not have him be brooding and angry? That would be consistent with s1/s2. I fear the writers wanted a whacky/silly/goofy characterization for s3-Hop so that's what we got instead.

I can not stress this point enough: Hopper went from being El's loving, protective parent to forgetting about her once he broke her and Mike apart.

At the start of s3e2, Hopper watching El being upset and storming into her room because she missed Mike, his smiling while eating cereal, and then gleefully singing while going to work is when I was broke and I thought: This is not my Hopper.

s3 Hopper and Eleven then Hopper forgets Eleven - an episodic timeline:

e1 - Hopper is anxious and unnerved by Mike visiting Eleven daily since it reduces s3-Hop's time with El e1 - Hopper lies to Mike about his Grandma being sick and then frightens him into not coming over

e2 - When Eleven is upset the next day about Mike not appearing, Hopper is joyful e2 - Note, the song played while s3-Hop is gleeful at Eleven's separation from Mike is the same one that was used when s2-Hop took El into his cabin and started cleaning it up. What a terrible ruination of a wonderful, charming moment from s2. When I hear "You Don't Mess Around with Jim" now I just think of how unhappy El was and how uncaring s3-Hop was of her feelings after he chased Mike away.

e3 - Hopper drives home drunk and enters the cabin yelling angrily only to burst in on El and Max with no Mike; s3-Hop is very happy e3 - Note, s3-Hop wrote in his letter the night before that he missed spending time with El so his accepting Max with El at the cabin is inconsistent with what he wrote.

e4 - Hop adventures with Joyce (no mention of Eleven)

e5 - Hop, Joyce, and now Alexei road trip on the way to Illinois e5 - Hop does not mention El but at the gas station Joyce is worried and calls Karen: JOY - Oh, hey, Karen, it's Joyce. Yeah, I... I'm just checking on Will. At the movies?

e6 - Alexei describes how the Russians are re-opening the Gate and Joyce quickly gets up: HOP - Where are you going? JOY - To call our children. e6 - Note, Joyce said "our children" so she is also worried for El while an indifferent Hop drinks vodka with Murray e6 - Hop calls the feds and afterwards sits down and lights a cigarette, then: JOY - So, now what? HOP - Now, we, uh... we wait. JOY - How long do we wait? HOP - As long as it takes. JOY - How can you just sit there being calm? HOP - I am not calm! JOY - Our kids are in danger! HOP - You said they were at the festival! JOY - Which is, like, ten minutes from the gate! HOP - What are you doing? Joyce? HOP - What are you doing? JOY - [she calls the feds again pressing them to hurry] e6 - Note, s3-Hop talks here (and in most of s3) with various combinations of sarcasm, exasperation, indifference, and irritation. Just hearing his tone is so unpleasant and jarringly different from s1/s2-Hop.

e7 - in the car ride home, Hopper sarcastically ridicules Joyce about her being concerned about the kids: HOP - Oh! Wait, that's right! We're on our way to rescue our children from the big, bad Fourth of July celebration! JOY - You know what, if you can't handle this, then just turn around and drop me off first. HOP - What are you gonna do? You gonna walk back to Hawkins? JOY - I will do anything if it gets me away from you!

e8 - FINALLY Hopper arrives at the Mall and holds Eleven while she drinks a soda and rests her wounded leg e8 - Inexplicably, Joyce agrees to go on a date with Hop before the climax when he disappears

Why did the Stranger Things writers change Jim Hopper so much and so negatively in s3?

I think the writers want us to enjoy (or experience in my case) a new, goofy, ha-ha, funny version of Hopper who: * can't parent a teenage girl dating a boy, * is chasing Joyce for a date and then a relationship while she is still grieving the loss of Bob, and * despite acting like a jerk "sacrifices" himself in the end.

Then, to cap the season off, we get gut punched emotionally by Eleven reading s3-Hop's letter.

The writers likely thought the viewers would fall into two groups: * s3-Hop likers who enjoy this new s3-Hop would be upset at his "death" and moved to tears by the letter * s3-Hop dislikers who were annoyed by s3-Hop would flip to likers because of his "sacrifice" and feel guilty so they are also moved to tears by the letter

But remember: the timing of s3-Hop writing the letter about emotions with sagely advice. He wrote it the end of s3e1, after getting advice from Joyce at the store and just before lying to and threatening Mike to break him up with El. I don't think the writers thought viewers would catch this since the letter is so dramatically read (awesome performances by David and Millie) way at the end of the season in s3e8 after s3-Hop disappeared.

Why did s3-Hop act so different from s1/s2 and so badly if he can write so openly and wisely in s3e1 about emotions in the letter?

Why does this dramatic character transition occur? * s1/s2-Hop - bad temper, apathetic, lackadaisical with a good heart and over-protective of Eleven * s3-Hop - anxious, whiny, sarcastic, immature, self-entitled, selfish and mocking of Joyce for worrying about the kids including El

The breaker with s3-Hop for me was his complete turn around regarding Eleven. For s3e1 his only interest was stopping Mike from coming over and taking up El's time which he wanted for himself. Once the breakup was achieved he was very happy despite El's obvious upset.

Note, after breaking up El/Mike we never see s3-Hop make Eggo extravaganzas or watch a western with Eleven like he said he yearned for in the letter. Nor does he mention it to Joyce after breaking El and Mike apart. He read El's note on the fridge and proceeded to adventure with Joyce, all the while whiny to her about wanting a relationship.

Joyce on three occasions showed concerned and called someone about "Will", "our children", and "Our kids" and finally she said to Hop "I will do anything if it gets me away from you" because of his mocking her concern. (That was my favorite line in s3! - Joyce is so awesome)

After breaking up Mike and Eleven, from e4 to e7 Hopper did not show concern or caring about his adopted daughter. It was not until s3e8 in the Mall when Hop is seen holding El while she sips a soda and later he talks to her and is loving and supportive.

Is this Jim Hopper from s2 who was an over-protective, super-loving father to Eleven? Does Mike coming over and using most of El's time turn this decorated Vietnam combat veteran, who was a 6 year NYC homicide detective and current Chief of Police into an anxious, shrill father who can't think straight?

Why not have Hopper react to wanting more time with Eleven and wanting to date Joyce like the normal s1/s2-Hop we know and love?

I blame the writers from wanting s3-Hop to have an arc from nervous/unhinged to "sacrificing himself" and then the letter being read.

I think the s3-Hop character change was done so we'd be gut punched when he "died" and then the letter was read. And there's the additional goal of getting Hopper to fit in with the "summer of love" theme of s3 with him breaking up a love pairing with El/Mike and pursuing his own love with Joyce.

But the timing of when Hop wrote the letter just doesn't make any sense because of how he acted later. Additionally, if s3-Hop can not follow the life advice he wrote down, why does he act badly in such a different way then when he acted badly in s1/s2?

Because of this extreme character change I sadly can not watch s3-Hop anymore without being upset. It's just so unbelievable and unenjoyable.

Did Sarah's death or Mike's dating Eleven or PTSD from Vietnan explain or justify Hopper's s3 change?

These items have been mentioned as possible explanations for s3-Hop being so different from s1/s2. I initially tried to use Mike dating El as an excuse for Hopper's changes but after three s3 viewings I gave up because of everything else I've written in this essay. Here are some reasons while these explanations do not work for me.

1) Sarah's death was wrapped up when Hopper and Joyce saved Will in the upside down. Hopper literally brought Will back to life, something he could not do with Sarah. This was in incredibly moving scene and the end of a powerful arc for Hopper. But the point is it was the end of the arc: Sarah's death still impacts Hopper in s2 dealing with Eleven but Sarah dying isn't a driving force for s3-Hop and how he acts. That arc wrapped up and though it guides s2-Hop, he still acts in a consistent manor. In season 3 there's no mention of Sarah making s3-Hop stressed out so that arc is not in play.

2) Mike dating Eleven and their disrespecting Hopper are certainly stresses for s3-Hop but his reaction to breaking them up is out of character. El and Mike giggle and whisper with each other. Then s3-Hop - an adult, parent, and police chief - cruelly lies to Mike that his grandma is sick and then holds him in the car and threatens him after Mike angrily used profanity. Many commenters call Mike a "little sh|t" and side with tough guy s3-Hop and his approach. It would be consistent and believable for s3-Hop to act like this at night and then the next morning to have shown some remorse or some kind of caring to Eleven. s3-Hop could have said "too bad Mike isn't coming, let's have Eggos tonight and watch a Western." But he did not say anything to El. Instead, he smiled and then happily sang in the car on the way to work.

3) PTSD does not explain s3-Hop's behavior since we never see any evidence in the show that he is having flashbacks or any issues related to Vietnam. Also, writers just can't use PTSD as a do-anything-whenever-you-want-with-a-character excuse. Not only is there no Vietnam PTSD evidence in the episodes, there are many quotes from the official book with Hopper that he does not have PTSD.

3a) In s1, s2, and s3 the words "Vietnam" and "veteran" are never spoken. The only indication of Vietnam is a box under under Hop's cabin floor that Eleven sees when she discovers the trap door. Hopper never speaks of dreams or flashbacks and there is no other indication he has PTSD from Vietnam. His divorce, drinking, and pill abuse are all from Sarah dying based on what we see in the episodes.

3b) From the official book Stranger Things: Darkness on the Edge of Town (published May 28 2019):

1984 DECEMBER 26 - 11 days after the Snow Ball Dance with Jim and El in the cabin: The truth was, Hopper realized, that he didn’t want to talk about Vietnam, not because it was a trauma or a personal demon, but because it was ancient history—but more than that, it felt like part of some other person’s life. Although he hadn’t really stopped to consider it properly, he was aware of how he had compartmentalized his past in his own mind. So, yes, Vietnam had been difficult, and he had come back changed—as most people did, of course—but it just wasn’t relevant, not anymore. That wasn’t him, not now. Because he had come to accept that there were really only two parts to his life. Before Sara. After Sara. And nothing else really mattered. Vietnam included. He just wasn’t quite sure how he was going to explain that to El. “Because,” said Hopper with a smile, “Vietnam was a long time ago. I mean, a really long time ago. And I’m not that person now.” He leaned forward on the table, resting on his elbows. “Look, I’m sorry, really. I can understand that you are curious. And I understand you want to know more about me. I’m your—” He paused. El raised an eyebrow, cocked her chin again, waiting for the response. Hopper sighed, happily. “I’m your dad, now. And yes, there is a lot you don’t know about me. Vietnam included. One day I’ll tell you about it, when you’re older.”

1977 JULY 13 - Homicide Detective Hopper in New York City: This was a support group for veterans of the Vietnam War. Hopper knew such groups existed. He knew full well that such groups were needed. That he’d come out of the war unscathed and with his marbles all where they should be was a blessing. Okay, it had changed him, and he wasn’t going to pretend that it hadn’t been difficult at times. But what the war had done to some people... He’d never felt the need to attend a meeting like this himself, but he was glad they were there for those who did feel that need.

How can Jim Hopper's portrayal recover in season 4?

First off, there is no doubt that David Harbour is returning to play Jim Hopper in season 4 (and s5 if there is one). This is David's big, career making role that is getting him award nominations/wins (the most for any adult ST actor), and he just got a huge raise (80k to 350k per episode). And, most importantly, he loves doing the show and the people in it (especially Millie).

Since what's done is done with s3-Hop, what can happen with Hopper in s4 to bring him back into a believable and enjoyable form for huge ST fans who miss s1/s2 Jim Hopper?

I am very much hoping that Hopper will dial back or eliminate his new s3 qualities, like being whiny, selfish, complaining constantly, etc. Please bring back some of his old s1/s2 strength and empathy under a grumpy exterior.

And I hope Hopper does a reset with three people:

1) Mike - Hopper needs to do more to make up to Mike than just saying "Mike, Be careful" like he did in s3e8 at the Mall. Hop should clearly say that he accepts Mike as El's boyfriend and that he knows he'll do everything possible to keep her safe. Which is actually what Mike did for all of s3 while s3-Hop was adventuring with Joyce.

2) Eleven - While the Letter explains why Hop was feeling upset (change, less time with El, etc), it does not justify how s3-Hop acted afterward when he lied and threatened Mike breaking them up. Hop needs to clearly apologize to Eleven for being selfish, immature, and inconsiderate.

3) Joyce - I hope that Hopper admits to Joyce that he acted like a jerk towards her and that he promises to be a better person in general and especially better with her. That's the only way I can make any sense out of Joyce and Hopper being any kind of couple: Hop has to own up to his terrible behavior towards Joyce and promise to be better.

The End! Sort of... :)

Well, you've read or skimmed or skipped all the way to the almost end and I thank you for taking time to look at my thoughts about Jim Hopper's portrayal in season 3. I still love Hop and think David does an incredible acting job with him in each season. I've been 100% sure he's coming back since the Duffers have bluntly said: no body = no death. So while I'm a little scared at how Hopper will be characterized in season 4, I'm also very excited to see it! Word is that season 4 will have more episodes (10, 11, 12?) than normal. Plus, the Duffers just signed a big deal with Netflix so I'm wondering if season 4 will be a semi-finale for the series and give the Duffers and the stars a break to do other stuff and then come back for a movie or a season after more ideas have percolated in the Duffers' creative minds.

So, here's looking forward to season 4 when we can see Jim Hopper evolve along with all the other great Stranger Things characters.

#stranger things #jim hopper #david harbour #millie bobby brown #winona ryder #finn wolfhard

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fraink5-writes · 3 years

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From Darkness Into the Lantern Light - Chapter 3

Hi, whoever is reading this! If you've been following this fic so far, thank you! Due to a change of circumstances, I'm going to have to alter the publication of this story; however, my number one priority still remains giving you the whole story, so, as a result, I will be releasing chapters at a greatly increased rate. Nevertheless, I hope you can still enjoy them!

As usual, I’d like to thank @leio13 for editing and all her moral support!

Summary: Once upon a time, there was a cold-hearted queen. Although the Tsaritsa, as she was called, possessed her own divinity, she coveted the powers of the other Archons. Aiming to steal the Geo Archon’s gnosis, she sent her strongest warriors to Liyue Harbor. But just when Rex Lapis was almost defeated, he escaped to another vessel, that of a powerless baby, and was swept away to a hidden tower for his protection.

Many years after the great fight, the young and ambitious Harbinger, Childe, arrives in Liyue to grant the Tsaritsa’s desire, but, on his search for the Geo Archon’s gnosis, he ends up tangled in a mysterious man’s dreams to see Liyue Harbor’s Lantern Rite.

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

The incessant, distant ruffling of leaves and chirping of birds could not penetrate the dense silence that sank in the valley. Childe could not think of any small talk to make with a man who had spent his entire life up until present in a tower, and Zhongli refused to converse at all; he just trailed slightly behind. Of course, Childe couldn’t fault Zhongli for distrusting him, and he was flattered by the attention (even if it was overwhelmingly negative), but the silence was irritating. At this rate, no sort of trust would ever result.

“Childe.” Despite his previous complaints, even Childe was surprised by how delightful he found the sudden voice to be. “Look at this.” Zhongli pointed to the right.

Lying on a nearby stone was a mutilated skeleton. The holey remains of his cuirass and tall spear suggested that he was once a millelith. His arms were cracked in several places, and there was a notable dent in his skull. His hollow eye sockets reflected nothing. How did they look before the end? Was there fear? Pride? It was too late to identify him, but Childe honored his remains nonetheless; he had died honorably in combat.

“Don’t worry. This man died a long time ago; whatever killed him shouldn’t be around here anymore.” Childe didn’t know why he was reassuring Zhongli—it went directly against his goal of scaring him back to the tower. But, for some reason, he couldn’t stand to see Zhongli’s eyes searching frantically under furrowed eyebrows.

“You’re right.” Zhongli’s eyes were calm when they met Childe’s. “I was overthinking it.” He turned mournfully from the body. Then, his head shot up again, his hand reaching for the base of his ponytail. “Agh—!”

Childe peered over Zhongli’s shoulder. A pair of hilichurls were tugging at Zhongli’s unbelievably long hair. Already? His short-lived sigh broke into a grin. “Don’t move, Zhongli. I’ll take care of them.” He pulled out his two daggers. This would be over in no time and cement Childe as a good guy in Zhongli’s mind.

Hilichurls were rather simple creatures, so the fight would not be too exciting. But any kill—any victory—would help lift Childe’s spirits from the recent series of misfortunes. Noticing his murderous approach, one of the hilichurls, armed with a club, charged at him. With one hand, Childe knocked the weapon from its hand; with the other, he rammed a dagger through its chest. Its arms fell limply, and when Childe pulled out the dagger, it collapsed on the earthy ground. One down.

Childe peeked back at Zhongli, who, while holding his frying pan defensively, was coiling up his long hair.

Then, Childe turned back to the other hilichurl with a grin. Unarmed and next to its dead comrade, it began to flee. Not so fast. Childe threw his second dagger into its lower back. If it hadn’t died, it certainly could never walk again. Nevertheless, Childe was thorough and strided over to finish the job.

Up the road, Childe spotted a mitachurl: a slightly more entertaining opponent. He quickly stamped the fallen hilichurl’s skull to ensure its death--two down, he counted as he prepared for the mitachurls charge. And sure enough, the beast flew at him in a swirl of its axe. Childe ducked under and swung at its leg. Then springing up, he slashed at its throat. Finally, he stabbed through one of its arms to stop the swing of its weapon and slammed the other dagger through its jaw. Three. All clear.

Childe strutted back to where Zhongli was—or was supposed to be. He had disappeared. “Zhongli?” Childe called out. Theoretically, if Zhongli disappeared, that would free Childe from his obligations, but he had made a deal with Zhongli, and he intended on carrying it out—at least until Zhongli changed his mind.

Childe didn’t have time to look for Zhongli, however, because something more outrageous caught his eye: a mechanical giant. What was a ruin guard doing near Mingyun Village? Before Childe could contemplate that question or Zhongli’s safety, a series of missiles flew in his direction. He dropped and rolled away as the missile cratered the ground meters away. By then, the ruin guard was already looming over him. It lifted its foot to crush him. Childe just barely managed to get away in a quick scramble to his feet.

In theory, with Zhongli gone, Childe’s fighting would be less inhibited. But in reality, concern for him plagued Childe’s thoughts and slowed his reactions. He had to quickly end the battle and find Zhongli, but it would be difficult to hit the ruin guard’s weak spot on his face with two short blades. The polearm! Childe glanced over to the skeleton, but the spear was nowhere to be seen. Not now! I swear it was right by him earlier—

The robot’s large fist slammed into Childe’s cheek, knocking him to the ground a couple of meters away. He blinked in and out of consciousness several times as he watched the ruin guard spin closer in a blur. It pulled back its fist for the final blow.

But it was impeded by a swoosh of black hair. No, rather it was stopped by Zhongli shielding Childe with the dead millelith’s spear. “Are you all right, Childe?” He asked, pushing the ruin guard back.

Still working his way out of a daze, Childe easily accepted Zhongli as his spear-wielding savior. But that couldn’t possibly last. “Zhongli, let me help you. Give me that.” Childe gestured towards the spear.

Zhongli shook his head. “I can’t do that right now,” he said, still parrying the guard’s punches.

Fine. Childe groaned and charged at the machine with his daggers. If he could divert the ruin guard’s attention from Zhongli for a moment, he could borrow the spear. As expected, the ruin guard turned its fists towards Childe. “I need the spear to hit its weak spot on its head.”

Instead of passing the polearm to Childe, Zhongli stepped back several meters—Great—and lobbed it straight at the ruin guard. In that split second, Childe had accepted his damnation: the polearm was lost. But then, the ruin guard faltered and fell.

Zhongli confidently approached and yanked the spear from the ruin guard’s head. He smiled faintly. “That wasn’t so bad.”

Perhaps from the earlier daze or sheer disbelief, an earnest laugh bubbled up in Childe. “Maybe you should hang onto that.”

***

Zhongli strode briskly along the path, the fear having been lifted from his shoulders. Frankly, even he couldn’t explain the fight earlier. Logically, he should have given the polearm to Childe, who seemingly had experience fighting such robots (which Zhongli believed to be ‘ruin guards’), but his body acted on a different accord, as though he were possessed by some divine spirit. The movement of the throw had felt entirely natural, and Zhongli was curious as to whether or not the feat was replicable. Of course, Childe was his guide, and Zhongli didn’t want to cause him any more trouble. Childe had already taken quite a blow from the ‘ruin guard.’

Zhongli actually wondered if Childe was okay following that incident. After the ruin guard was defeated, he had laughed and urged them to recommence the journey, but since then, he had an air of sullenness. Before the fight he had strolled confidently in the lead, wearing a plastered-on smile, but now he was trailing a meter behind Zhongli with a distant look on his face. Perhaps even this vulnerability was another act, but it allowed Zhongli to pinpoint something undeniably real that had been obscured by his grin: there was no light in his eyes. But there was no evil in them either. They reflected only apathy. When Childe had been acting amiable, they had thrown Zhongli off-guard, but now he understood them, and Childe by extension. In an odd way, their indifference made Zhongli feel safer. Such was the character of their transient relationship.

Zhongli felt another tug on his hair. He whipped around and pointed his spear.

Childe threw up his arms, dropping the hair he had balled up, and jumped back. “WOAH.”

Oh, it’s just you. “What are you doing?” Zhongli demanded.

“I just thought you shouldn’t let your hair trail like that. You know—well, maybe you don’t—most people don’t grow out their hair like this. Have you ever considered cutting it?”

Cutting it? Zhongli wouldn’t entertain such a foolish proposal, but the one suggesting it did spark his interest. If Childe were after his hair, then he must know better than to cut it. It was possible he wasn’t aiming for the hair after all. Zhongli, deciding to wait and see how the rest of the conversation played out, said nothing.

Childe took another step back. “I won’t ask anymore questions, and I’m sorry for touching your hair. But…”

Zhongli tensed up again.

“If you want my opinion, those hilichurls found us because of your long hair, and leaving it as is is an invitation for more creatures to come out and play. Besides, it would be a shame for it to get dirty, no?”

Childe was right. Zhongli had never worried about it because he had spent his time indoors, but by now, his hair had been dragged through many substances. Washing it would be an awful pain later. It would be a good plan to try minimizing the damage. Moreover, Childe seemed to have no personal interest in Zhongli’s hair; in fact, he was rather clueless about it, which Zhongli hoped would continue indefinitely. For now, at least, he probably could be trusted. “Thank you. If you wouldn’t mind helping me…”

“Not at all.” Childe laughed. “Anything to keep the hilichurls away!”

“You seemed to enjoy that skirmish earlier.”

Childe choked. “Wh-what? You know I could say the same about you, Zhongli. What’s with those spear moves? Have you been training up in that tower?”

“I do exercise every day.”

“With what? A javelin?”

“A javelin? No.”

“Aww come on.” Childe pouted. “You can’t tell me you’re that good on the first try!”

Zhongli shrugged. He didn’t have an adequate explanation either.

“At least humor me!”

Oh, was he making a joke?

“Alright, miracle spearman, let’s keep going.” Childe scooped up Zhongli’s hair from the ground. “We’re almost at our destination.”

#Genshin Impact #Chili #Childe #Zhongli

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staycatcher · 4 years

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Cursed 001

Member: Kim Seungmin x Femme Reader (she/her) (Jisung is also in this, we love wingpeople)

Au: (Dorky/Pure) Frat Boy! Seungmin x Baddie! Reader + Unexpected Soulmate AU [in the same universe as Anguish, no need to read it though!]

Genre: Crack, Angst, Fluff? (she’s all over the place, partner🤠)

Rated 14? for too much swearing, kind-of-stranger danger, getting into mentioned kind-of-stranger’s car (don’t do what y/n did!!), suggestive themes & jokes, hangover & leftover tipsiness, cringe, promiscuous bisexual reader, nothing explicit though!! Also, Jisung is too much I’m sorry

Word Count: 4.1k

Notes: special thanks to @staytion-nine for being a bro and reading & critiquing my full shitty drafts and @strayneoculturekids & @hyunjinssmile for thinking my crack parts were good & somewhat funny way back when I wrote them ilyssssm🤗💞💛

ps, I hope you readers liked/found my easter eggs!!🥴

“Your heart began to sing, sing triumphantly as if you broke some sort of curse- Curse? Wait, hold up. Hold the fuck up. I think he’s my soulmate?! But I can’t possibly have one-”

Cursed series 1/?- ~001~ 😈🤓😳~

Growing up, not a single day passed without your single mother reminding you that meeting your soulmate wasn't going to happen for you. The odds were not at all in your favor, not her’s, not your grandmother’s and not even your great grandmother’s mom; being the youngest girl of the youngest in the family made you carry such a burden. The streak that your family had going on for generations was too strong to break at this point. It’d be a miracle and a half if you ever heard of your soulmate for a fraction of a second. You started to accept by the time you learned how to read, that a life with a soulmate was frankly not in the cards for you.

To say you were completely and utterly blind-sighted when you met your soulmate, would be the understatement of the century. You lived your whole life with no fear or any expectations of long lasting relationships whether it’s with a soulmate or not. You lived the life you knew many people with soulmates or obsessions with commitment couldn’t live. You lived a life of freedom, focused on yourself.

Now, it's been three months at this university; three months, and you already have a reputation that precedes you. Contrary to popular belief, you don't like the attention. Yet somehow the spotlight seems to follow you. Though, you would argue you weren’t as charismatic as you were careless. Your carelessness seemed to be your charm and charming you seemed to be.

A groan tore out from your throat when as stretched over to snatch your boots. Jelly legs hobbling all over the place as you scrambled to tug them on, stubbornly not zipping down the zipper which only made it harder for you in the long run. Once on, you trudge on forward, not giving a shit if things were inside out or not, all that mattered to you was going back to sleep in your own bed. You have to remain careful though. You don’t want to go too fast and have stomach acid erupt out of you in aggravation, ruining the Sorority’s carpet and your morning. So, you watched each and every wobbly step as you did your best to navigate your way out of the crowded, trashed halls of the post-party filth. Fortunately, it seemed you’ve risen before anyone else, no conscious creatures for you to deal with.

The clock struck six o’clock as you strut down Greek row, your steps more firm now, waking you up more with each step. However, waking up meant more hangover symptoms, though you weren’t exactly sober. You made it about four more clumsy steps down the sidewalk before a car slows down next to you. This has happened to you more times than you can count, but never when the birds were fucking chirping. You huff out in irritation, walking faster, thus, less firm as you tried to remain calm.

Who the hell pulls up to you when it’s fucking sunrise?! Unbelievable.

You only make it two more steps before the right next to you. Even though you tell yourself not to, your head swivels to look at the driver on instinct. He looks vaguely familiar, you’ve seen those cheeks somewhere but his name is lost on you. You acknowledge him with a questioning look as he rolls down the window.

“Want a ride?” He offers like you’ve known him for ten years and your pets were best friends. You were expecting a catcall but his voice was full of awkward sincerity and a bit of reluctance that couldn’t be faked.

“I thought chivalry was de-ad.” You choked, giving a nudge with your words to test his sincerity.

“I thought you liked girls more and don’t believe in it anyway.” He dished back. Okay, fair. This guy’s a real one.

“Touché... Ohhh what the helll-” You huffed, “I’ll take it.” You vaguely recognize him and he seems to know you too so what can hurt; that’s at least how you look at it in the buzzed moment.

His unimpressive car comes to a smooth stop, you hear the doors unlock and you sluggishly yanked the door open and groan as you slide in, kindly ignoring the mess because you’re not much better.

“Did you not party last ni’?” You blurted, looking over at him with a dry smile. As you do, you can really take him in. His dark, messy hair and his cute over-expressive face, topped with a pair of doughy cheeks. Despite the cuteness, there’s not a doubt in your mind this is some frat boy on the college team, though you’re not even sure what team is in season right now. One thing was for sure though, his guns were proudly out of a cut out muscle-t like a living, breathing fuckboy starter pack. Infuriatingly, he pulled it off, he looked too attractive for this time, on the weekend especially. With all that being said, he seriously looks like the kind of guy that should be as fucked up as you are right now. And yet, here he is, behind the wheel looking as sober as a slice of bread.

“Nah,” He starts, getting his foot off the brake and turning back into the road, “me and my soulmate stayed in ‘cuz coach is making practice earlier than usual.”

Well, that train left the station. “Ahh, that-that's too bad.” You heard yourself pettily trail off.

“Nah, ‘zall good. I think coach is taking it out on us ‘cuz his wife found out he’s doin’ drugs and gambling again-“

“Do ya have any friends like you?” You blurted out again.

“Huh??”

“Do ya got any friends that do things like this?” You grumbled, resisting the urge to facepalm at yourself. Fucking hell, Y/n.

“That go to practice this early? Yehh. The whole fucking basketball te-“

“No!” You hiss, head pulsing, his voice is too goddamn loud. “Gentlemen!” clarifying and sulkily leaned your head against the cool window.

“Ohhh!!~” Then he belts out laughing like a blaring fire alarm, making your entire brain rattle.

“Shhhh!” As you turn to glare at him, you realize your turn was coming up. “Wait!! Turn here!!”

He hissed and stepped harshly on the breaks. “This one?”

“Yeah!!-“ it was already too late when you unnecessarily clarified, so he had to turn around and go turn in again. Thank god the streets were dead at this date and time. You’re sure he broke at least four traffic laws.

“Shit, man!! You can’t say that and then expect me to make the turn, I got too excited!!” He was beaming, far too excited for your dumb question and not at all concerned about his chaotic driving.

“What the fuuck?!?! You’ got a soulmate-“

“No, dumbass!!” He whines like you just missed the best play in the whole game, too bad there aren’t instant replies for day to day conversations. “I have a bro who we’ve been trying to get laid.~” And now he makes the turn, good job buddy.

“Okay, two stops from now you’re gonna turn left.” It is then that you realize the last part of what he just said. “Huh? Li-like frat bro?”

“Yeah, dude. He’s so pissy I don’t think his hand is doin’ it for him anymore.” The dude laughed at his own joke, elbowing you in the side. Normally you would have joined in and punched him but for some reason, your little fucked up heart started to warm up hearing about this cute frat boy.

“Ahhhh.” And then you laughed a little too late, his wingmanning ass didn’t notice.

“Yeah! And he says books are better than pussy so that’s how we know he’s becoming a lost cause. We’re placing our bets that he won’t get it on until he finds his soulmate.”

“What a swee-eetheart.~” You hiccupped with dazed eyes and chapped smile. You had to admit, you were endeared. You never heard about a dorky, innocent fraternity boy before, and you never would have thought that it would appeal to you.

“Is it this one or the next one?”

“This one. So whoo’z this friend of yours-“ Unfortunately you were caught off by a ringtone blasting at the fullest volume making your brain wail in pain, for the second fucking time this morning.

He just snickers. “Sorry, gotta answer this… Yuh~?” You just huffed and closed your eyes, deflating a little bit.

“Seungmin?!?”

For some unknown reason, that name made you jolt back up into your seat. ‘Seungmin’, why does that sound so familiar?!

“Well, speak of the devil!!~” He got too excited and looked at you, and gives you an over-enthused wink. You’re assuming this is the frat bro. “Your car won’t start??~~” This dude, you still don’t quite remember the name of, was really playing this up. For possibly the same unknown reason, him talking to this dude has your full attention. Normally you’d eavesdrop half-heartedly but this time your whole heart started to beat a way it never has before, begging you to soak up as much of this half conversation as possible.

“Of course I’ll drive my wittle brother!!~... -fuck off a few days totally does count!!- Whatever!! Anyway, fair warning, I became a fucking uber this morning, I’m driving this girl too so prepare yourself!!... Shhh, it’s not a joke! And she’s really hot; make sure your heart and dick are ready.”

You were about to beat this dude before you vaguely heard the muffled voice on the other line chew him out for you. You couldn’t hold in your smile before you realized; even though you were abnormally giddy, now is not the goddamn time to meet this kid. You looked like you were run over by three different military-grade vehicles and you’re more than sure you had lipstick marks from last night smeared in various places all over you. But most importantly, you were in a limbo of drunk and hungover. You needed way more rest and sustenance before you should interact with anyone of importance. You opened your mouth to scream at him but you were cut off yet again.

“...Yeah, yeah. Anyways, I’ll turn around now, just for you.~ I’m pretty sure we’re close to her dorm but who cares how late I’m gonna be for practice! I’m making shit happen! See ya in a sec, muah!” If you weren’t high key starting to panic, you would’ve laughed at this dude’s unending ridiculousness. There is no way in hell you’re gonna meet this familiar stranger‘s friend that he’s setting you up with at six fucking a.m. in a frankly disgusting state.

“Do not turn around or I swear to fucking Rupaul-“

“No can do, bro. Besides, you seemed interested in him so why not!?! Be grateful! I’m gonna have to run double the fuckin laps cuz a’ this.”

‘“Why not’?!! I just got outta’ a stranger’s bed and I’m still drunk and somehow hungover too and my dorm is just around the corner-“

“Listen; bros before hoes. Frat legacy.” And with that, he chuckled as he turned the car around for the second time today. You take back the gentleman comment you gave him earlier, he’s a pile shit.

“I’m gonna fucking jump out of the car-“ you groaned with a bluff, tugging at your smeared face and he smugly locked the doors before you could finish. “Cmonnn!~ It’s too fucking early for this shit, man! Why didn’t I just keep walking or just stayed-“

“I'm doing you a favor!~”

“Dropping me off when and where I asked you to is doing me a favor! That’s literally why I’m in your messy ass car that smells like rancid fuckin’ cheesecake in the first place!!”

“Hey, now you’re just being mean!”

You groaned and glared out the window, opting to ignore him now. This argument had you sobering up. This just really wasn’t it. You resisted the urge to pull down the mirror and see how bad you really looked but, you would rather not know how bad it is. Knowing your past morning afters, you’ve looked a hell of a lot cuter every other time.

It seems like you’re just gonna have to grin and bear it and let this one go. There’s plenty of bitches in the sea. Bitches that never made you heart skipped like this before- and without you even meeting them-

All you could think about how embarrassing and fucked up this whole thing he’s pulling is as you glare at the passing sidewalks and cars parked at the side of the roads. You wish the passing textured and crumbly neighborhood sidewalks could swallow you up. It’s not often that you felt so burdened at an awaiting social encounter these days. You hated this.

“And we’re here!!” He stops and proudly puts the car into park. “Okay, Siri, call ‘Noodle Bitchass’.”

The fuck-

-“I’m sorry. I didn’t get that. Would you like me to search the web for ‘Nude space app’?”-

“Ughhhhh. Fuck you!! I said, ‘Call~ Nooo-DiLL BiiiiTCh AAAssss’~~!!!”

-“Okay. Calling Noodle Bitchass nerd emoji, middle finger emoji in medium tan’.”- You were about to cry in shocked laughter but the guy answered too soon so you had to snort into your hand and curl in on yourself.

“Yah!! Han Jisung!!” Holy mother almighty, his voice is pure sunshine and honey. Your body slowly uncurled back up on its own. Fuck, okay it’s on speaker. Shit, I can’t even breathe, can’t make a sound.

“We’re here, man.”

“Hhhhh… she’s not still with you is she?” Is it possible to be attracted to a voice? I think I’m attracted to a voice.

“Hell yeah, she is! Suck it up, bro. You’re already making me late and she’s fine~!!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Jisung-“ Oh, good lord. Him swearing really just--

“Get in or I’ll leave you here and set her up with Innie instead.” You just heard the guy sigh and the sound of a facepalm, you’re guessing, before the line went dead. And finally. You could finally howl with laughter, or perhaps it was more like manic screaming in infatuation.

You have never, in all your years of living felt like this because of a person. Is this what it feels like to be whipped? Fuck, fuck, fuck- It’s like I’m at a concert- but not really and-

You were still in the thick of it when a door ripped open. When you reflexively looked over, all the air that was left in your lungs pathetically wheezed out of you like a sad balloon.

Then the sensations all hit you.

Wow, okay the drunkenness and hangover is gone? I feel good? I feel alive, I feel the cool late autumn air? I feel feelings; feelings I’ve never felt before? You were light as a mother fuckin’ feather and astounded as all burning hell. You were openly experiencing so many intense emotions, something that hasn’t happened in so many years.

At that moment your mouth and his gawk right open at the exact same time, not that the two of you noticed. Without any volition, your eyes immediately drown in the other. Okay, he’s actual artwork? He was dressed so cute like he was ready to take some cute aesthetic photos for a dumb little blog. Oh god, he smells like a cup of tea in the forest after it rained?! That’s so specific- but. He smells so lovely.

His hair was pure angelic fluff and his skin was a light, silky caramel. You watched before your tired, dry eyes, the caramel in his cheeks rise into the purest shade of pink and his eyes widening into adorable little saucers. When they met yours, they were sparklier than any ring on any finger; you swear to god herself, you felt electricity crackle in your veins like wood to the fire. Your eyes couldn’t pull away, you felt like a giddy little kid again. Whirling with excitement and curiosity as you looked at him all bundled up for the late fall weather. Your heart began to sing, sing triumphantly as if you broke some sort of curse-

Curse?

Wait, hold up.

Hold the fuck up.

I think he’s my soulmate?! But I can’t possibly have one-

That’s when your entire body began to heat up in question. None of this made sense to you.

How is this possible? How is this fucking possible?! The only thing your brain seems to produce in reaction is unending, spiraling questions. For each and every one of them, whether rhetorical or not, you didn’t have a sensical explanation or possible answer. This didn’t make any sense, it went against everything you ever knew to be true.

You couldn’t have a soulmate, your maternal lineage fucked that up for you, it was what you were born into without a choice. A perpetual heartbreak, something that started out as merely coincidental to grow into a family burden that carried on precariously. How can it be that for generations, the youngest daughter in the family never got to meet their soulmate until now, until you? You were on the brink of a fucking existential crisis.

Seungmin seemed shocked as well, though leagues and leagues below the ballgame you’re dealing with right now. He looked shocked; appearing delightfully surprised. Shocked as if he wasn’t expecting to be surprised with a present on a random and unimportant Wednesday, not shocked as if he just broke a generations-long family streak.

Before you can continue these heavy ass thoughts, Jisung blasts out an interruption yet again.

“I CAN’T FUCKIN’ BELIEVE THIS!! I THOUGHT I WAS JUST HOOKING UP MY BOY AT ASS CRACK IN THE MORNING!! BUT NO!! I FUCKIN’ FOUND HIM HIS SOULMATE!! AND IT’S Y/N OUTTA ALL PEOPLE!! Y/N?!? SEUNGMIN?!? THE UNIVERSE REALLY PAIRED THESE PEOPLE TOGETHER?!? OUT OF-”

“Jisung, shut the fuck up.” To your surprise, it was Seungmin who interrupts ‘Jisung’ and not you, as he gets the rest of the way into the messy car. His put-together ass looks completely out of place in this shitty car, it made you try to hold in a smile as closes the door with barely restrained enthusiasm.

Before he turns back, you force yourself to face forward and try to calm the hell down and calmly reassess the situation.

Alright... You met your not plausible-soulmate, out of all places in time and space, in the car of a kinda-stranger who offered you a ride home in the early-ass morning after getting laid at a sorority party.

Okay. Great. This is great.

You cleared your throat and tried to remain cool. “O-okay, awesome. Where ar-are we heading to first?” Okay, that wasn’t entirely cool but maybe you can blame it on literally everything else wrong with you in this situation.

“I don’t know, man. I deadass wanna just skip practice altogether and-” Jisung was interrupted by the sound of a camera’s shutter. You instinctively whip your head around towards the sound, only to be met with Seungmin camera-handed. He has the fucking nerve to take two more in the time it took for you to whip around.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?” Your voice ripped out of you, croaking out like an enraged toad. He then takes the final picture as you’re screeching at him. This just kept getting richer and richer. First, Jisung’s bullshit, then life-altering realizations that you broke some sort of generations long streak of not having a soulmate, and now your seemingly miraculous soulmate taking unexpected, embarrassing photographs of you in the worst state you’ve ever been in?

“Taking your picture.” He grinned with a shrug, no guilt or shame to be seen nor heard. You could not hold in squawks of disbelief. His pride and excitement seemed to only grow at your bewilderment, he had the nerve to do a precious ‘hehehe’, the kind that little kids do after they steal a cookie from the jar.

“Give me that!” You sneer as you go to savagely rip it right out of his perfect hands. However, the two of you seemed to be matched in more ways than one; neither of you would budge, equally as strong as the other.

“No way! You’ll delete them!!”

“Yeah, exactly!! ‘No way in hell will I let you keep pictures of me like this!”

“‘No fuckin’ way will I let you delete them!”

You gritted your teeth. “Then let me take pictures of you!!!” And then you can sneakily delete-

“Yeah and then you’ll delete yours.” How the fuck did he know-

“Seungmin, just give her the goddamn camera so I can drive and drop your hormonal asses off before coach murders me.”

There was a raging fire in Seungmin’s eyes as he slowly and painfully let go of his forsaken camera so you could tentatively take it. Upon retrieving the camera your fingers accidentally grab unto Seungmin’s. Resulting in a little static shock zap, startling you and heating up your cheeks immediately with a jerk and a hiss. Seungmin reacted similarly, blinking like pink dust blew into his eyes to land on his cheeks. Your hand yanks it back towards you before you even realize it. Jisung was far too excited to watch this drama unfold right before his wide eyes.

If this was a normal day for you you’d jump to delete those humiliating pictures of yourself immediately, looking nothing short of the cheshire cat. But this was evidently not a normal day in any sense of the word, so, what you did was unlike you. You huffed out a breath to encourage yourself before slowly raising the camera to your dominant eye and focused the lense as best you could.

At least I can photograph how irritatingly handsome he looks at this hour.

You took the first picture, zooming in on his now grouchy, but still stupidly handsome face. Then you zoom out as far as possible, hoping to take in this entire scene in front of you, his angry posture in an adorably preppy outfit, this messy, disgusting car and how out of place he looks in it.

“Only two more.” Seungmin huffs with an eyeroll and by some divine power (perhaps the same divine power that made this odd miracle happen in the first place), you clicked fast enough to get some of that petty behavior visually documented. You pressed down twice, sadly that was your limit you agreed upon.

You didn’t even look at the pictures you took nor the ones Seungmin took so that you wouldn’t be tempted to delete them. It felt like you were committing a saintly act; as if simply taking his picture like you said you would, without deleting anything made you pure and free of sin. Perhaps this twisted reality of somehow defeating the ancestral odds had you feeling undeservingly self-righteous.

“You better not delete yours either.” You sneered once more, before jabbing the camera back into his sweatered chest. This time you were determined not to turn around again, you couldn’t risk him taking any more pictures. You also aren’t entirely sure you could handle seeing his stupid perfect face once more. This was an outrage and this was your way of protest. Also, an unspoken miracle, but enough of that.

You swiveled your head away from Jisung and Seungmin, fully leaning into the cool window and began to count the street lights and stop signs. As the grueling seconds ticked by the more concentrated you tried to be. Soon enough the concentration turned sleepy and before you knew it, you were knocked out. All your adrenaline fueled energy depleted.

All through your protest-turned-snooze, Seungmin couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of you. He couldn’t help but find it endearing how you could be an absolute riot only to pass out three minutes later. It hurt how cute he found you, no matter how scandalous you seem to be. You seemed so genuinely shocked, it made him want to cry. And he’s also fairly certain that this isn’t new to you, you not only partied all night and regularly. And judging from the markings on your skin, you might’ve done a little bit more than party last night. In fact, it might’ve even enticed him, might’ve gotten him a little hot under the collar. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that he already whipped and he hasn’t even caught your name.

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