#i read too much into the dumbest shit i swear
Note
How do you feel during the Sonic twitter takeover 5 when tails says “now I’ve told 4 lies” enter manic laughter
alright, let's get into it
i fully believe tails can do no wrong
he's just a little guy who saves the world, precious baby boy
however
he killed yacker in that takeover
well, he obviously didnt actually kill them but yknow what i mean
so it leaves me to wonder
what the fuck are the other lies
now, i feel like one of them are definitely something that's basic for a kid (cause, yknow, he's 8 lmao)
soemthing like how he definitely went to bed on time, or how he totally finished all his big kid food before eating any of his mints
but the other lies??
they could be literally anything
we know tails is willing to kill if needed (tails's adventure)
and there's also that big ass wanted sign (i thiiiink sonic riders??? i don't really remember, i'll look it up in a minute) (i was wrong, it's sa2)
and he's literally an enemy of the state (archie comics)
this kid is fully willing to do just about anything
though thinking about it, one of those lies could definitely tie into his whole gambling thing
he got banned from a casino for counting cards, he's probably done much worse and was just never caught
hell, one of those lies may even go back to when he was on westside. we know the villagers didn't like him, it's definitely possible he lied once or twice to keep himself safe
like, on a surface level, hearing a kid say they've only told 3-4 lies doesn't really strike a nerve or anything. it's a kid being a kid, nothing to worry about right?
yeah well, not when that kid is a literal fucking genius
the fact we will never know what those lies are somewhat scares me because they could genuinely be anything
if tails sets his mind on something, he will get it, usually no matter what it takes
and honestly, the fact he's only told 4 in total is also slightly terrifying because
the kid is honest as can be almost all the time
so how are we supposed to know when he lies?
he had everyone fooled in the takeover, who's to say he hasn't fooled all of us before
i definitely wouldn't put it past him, being the genius he is and all
wow hope you don't mind getting a lengthy reply LMAO im not sure what you were expecting, so sorry if you wanted me to keep it short i just-
i read into a lot of things that i really probably shouldn't, it's easy for me to get lost in talking about it 💀
but hey, if you have anything you want to add on please feel free to
and im sorry if i didn't answer this in the way you were hoping for, some times i read questions wrong and go in a completely different direction then what i was asked to 😭😭
#i need to stop talking help#this is getting too lengthy for an ask about a twitter takeover#i read too much into the dumbest shit i swear#miles tails prower#tails the fox#sonic the hedgehog#sth#sonic twitter takeover
62 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Max asked me to give you this." Lucas says, handing Mike an envelope.
"What is this?"
"It looks like a letter." Lucas looks at him as if Mike had asked the dumbest question in the world, which he did.
"I know it’s a letter, but why for me? She hates me." Mike says, exasperated.
"Max doesn’t hate you." Lucas frowns. "She just-" He gestures vaguely, not sure what to say. "Just read it, okay?"
Mike nods and puts the letter in his pocket. Hours later, when he is finally alone in his room, he takes the letter and opens it, confused and curious.
He and Max aren't exactly friends, and he's pretty sure Max hates him, and she wouldn't be wrong on doing so, because Mike was a complete asshole when they first met. It is not a very long letter, for after all, as he suspected, there was not much to say.
However, the end took him by surprise. Well, not really, because he knows Max cares about El as much as he does, but Mike never thought he would read those words.
Please take care of El, and for everything most sacred, make her happy or I swear to god I'll come back and haunt your ass forever.
Mike sits on the bed, staring at the letter for a while as his and Max's interactions play in his head. This feels like a goodbye.
Mike stands up quickly, slipping on his sneakers haphazardly and stuffs the letter in his pocket as he takes the steps two at a time.
He needs to talk to Max, even if she doesn't hear him. She can't die and leave Eleven. That will destroy her.
"Mike, where are you going?" Nancy calls out as she sees him pass by like a hurricane.
"Hospital." He shouts over his shoulder as he opens the front door.
"Mike, wait." Nancy is behind him now, panting. "Is everything ok? Did something happen to Max?"
"No." He shakes his head. "I just need to talk to her."
"Mike-"
"I know she's in a coma and probably won't listen, but I need to."
"What happened, Mike?" Nancy holds his arm gently. "Talk to me. We promised not to have any more secrets, remember?"
Mike stares at her, considering whether to tell her about the letter, but Nancy is right. They promised to be honest with each other when this all started.
"Max wrote a letter." He sighs and takes the letter from his pocket, handing it to Nancy.
He watches her as she reads the letter, and breathes a sigh of relief when Nancy just takes the car keys and indicates for him to get in on the passenger side.
Mike is relieved to arrive at the hospital and see that by some miracle, there is no one in Max's room. He closes the door behind him and goes to the bed.
"I don't know if you can hear me, but don't you dare die, do you hear me? El's been through too much to have to go through this. She didn’t bring you back just to see you die again." Mike is gripping the iron bar at the side of the bed so hard his knuckles are white. "I know I was a jerk to you when we first met, and I'm sorry, Max. I know I was shit later too, and there's no excuse for the way I treated you, but El loves you and she can't lose you, okay? She needs you here as much as I need Will. I don’t know what will happen to her if you never wake up again, so just- find your way back, okay?"
#mike wheeler#max mayfield#nancy wheeler#platonic madwheeler#mike stranger things#max stranger things#nancy stranger things#subtle mention of byler#implicit elmax#mike knows#stranger things#sorry I was in the mood for some light angst#mike finally apologizes to max#those letters max wrote are my roman empire
27 notes
·
View notes
Note
it's really really dumb okay- but i swear the dumbest littlest storytimes make me cringe the fucking hardest, idk why, maybe it's the autism /hj
it has to do with me, obviously. have you ever had an idea for a work you wanted to post, and had like THE IDEA itself but didn't know how to write it? to the point where you know it's going to be so fucking good but- the writing ends up looking like shit because you don't have any imagination on how to start it?
well if that's the case, thats what happened to me as well. i had an idea, really great one and i wanted to develop it. i spent an entire week (i had a deadline for myself in order not to spend too much time so no other could post the idea before me) and in the end, since the deadline passed, i forced myself to make a small drabble out of it and post it. i literally posted it and went to bed like, now its in the hands of GOD, that child is not mine.
for previous context, before i even thought of developing the idea, i made a small post on my dash saying this:
(although it's an actual characteristic, like its not a headcanon or anything, its on their canon but everyone that wrote for that specific aspect wrote it with their own characterization / own take i did not want people accusing me of plagarizing)
and a mutual of mine said that please write it etc, i do not want to say the exact words in case they see this WHICH I HOPE NOT BECAUSE ITS NOT EVEN BAD BECAUSE IM CRINGING AT MYSELF BUT STILL
and i wrote it, super fast and badly, and posted it. and you know shit is bad when you recieve a: ooo that's good, from another mutual (not the one that left the note saying that please write it etc). BECAUSE I SWEAR IT FELT LIKE THOSE MOMENTS WHERE THE TEACHER DOESNT WANT TO TELL YOU DIRECTLY THAT YOUR WORK IS SHIT AND THEY SAY: it's good :)
NOT EVEN GREAT LMFAOSAO
the mutual that left the comment tho, they ended up liking my story- which i dont blame them, if i were them i would not even rb it myself tbh.
and the cringe only escalated from here, slowly but surely went up and beyond to the point where not even myself i could read that drabble and had it deleted it.
and you wanna know what's even more funny? (it's not). another acc, weeks later, posted a fic with the same fucking idea, just written with their personal style, and it has like 44 reblogs by now LMFAOO
my conclusion here is that whenever i remember that poor mutual that asked me to write the drabble for them and i did such a bad job that just recieved a like and weeks later found out another writer actually managed to acomplish what i wanted i cringe so fucking bad my eyes tear up
I AM FUCKING SCREAMING AND IN TEARS BECAUSE I GET THR PAIN SHWIKXEJIDKEKFI 😭😭😭
Like, you get an idea that’s so good to write, maybe a certain idea that hasn’t properly been written or one never seen before — the light of creativity is shred upon you blissfully. You tease your followers and people on the fandom about it, you prepare yourself mentally, wrap yourself around it because you know this fic is the one and true good SHIT; your best piece of work.
You have no idea how to put it in words, you just have the ghost of the idea lingering in you, so you try and prepare yourself so nobody else writes it before you. The time of putting it into words come when you think you are ready. And boom, you are staring at a full ass fic with disappointment, far away from what you wished and you are just like IN FUCKING TEARS FROM THE CRINGE.
HELP ME I SWEAR TO GOD THIS HAPPENED TO ME WITH THIS ONE EYED LORD LUKE FIC. I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE THE DARKEST FIC I EVER MADE AND ITS FAR AWAY FROM HOW I IMAGINED WRITING IT AND I AM DISAPPOINTED T MYSELF AND FEEL ABSOLUTE CRINGE I CANT EVEN READ IT QJNENDKAMNFJGDKSKJF
I feel you on the mutual being like a teacher, or like that one parent that goes "this is great honey!!!" but they obviously say it out of compromise 😭 Like it happened to me many times AND I GENUINELY FEEL EMBARRASSED WHEN MY MUTUALS READ MY CRINGY ASS WORKS.
I am actually certain your work was great! The thing is that maybe when we have an idea we haven’t seen before or know it might actually be good, despite preparing ourselves around that idea to shape it as we wish, we kinda hurry into it — so nobody else does it first like you said, and I can 100% relate. Or at least, that’s something I noticed on myself! Perhaps you can relate too? 😭
ALSO THE FACT THAT ANOTHER WRITER POSTED THE SAME IDEA AND HAS 44 REBLOGS I SWEAR TO GOD I WOULD BE CRYING KICKING SCREAMING I HATE IT WHEN THAT HAPPEBS LIKE ???? DOES GOD HAVE HIS FAVOURITES OR WHAT BRUHHH ITS NOT FAIR. WE PUT S MUCH EFFORT INTO OUR WORKS 😭😭😭 and surely the other writer too ofc BUT COME OOOON 🗡🗡🗡
#^^ This would be me frfr I hate it when this happens#GOD GIVES US THE KEY TO WRITING SUCCESS WE DONT WANT TO BE YOUR STRONGEST SOLDIERS ANYMORE#kay <33#favourites funny#┆ ⤿ 💌 come chat with amira .ᐟ ୭#— [. 🫂 ] ; my mutuals <3#loving my mutuals <3#my mutuals <3#ask box#ask box messages#ask box open#✧.* amiraverse
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
More silly incorrect quotes!
King K. Rool, admiring a sleeping Liz: You’re so cute.
Liz, sleepily: I could beat your ass.
King K. Rool, lovingly: I know.
King K. Rool & Liz:*Playing video games*
General Klump: You guys woke up at 5:30 in the morning just to play games?
King K. Rool: *silence*
Liz: *silence*
General Klump, finally figuring it out: ...You two never went to sleep, did you?
King K. Rool & Liz in shame: Yeah...
General Klump: King K. Rool, I am questioning your sanity...
Liz: I never questioned it, I knew their sanity was missing from the start.
General Klump: Ooh, somebody has a crush
King K. Rool: Pfft, I don’t have a crush on Liz I just think they’re cool, it’s not like I stay up at night thinking about them.
*Later that night*
King K. Rool, very much awake: Uh oh.
Liz, watching General Klump and Krusha fight: Are you sure they should be fighting? What if they get hurt?
King K. Rool, not bothered by the chaos: It’s fine. They’re too evenly matched to hurt each other.
Liz: Then... who’s the strongest out of you three?
General Klump: King K. Rool.
Krusha: King K. Rool.
King K. Rool: Me.
King K. Rool: Bye Liz! Bye Rebecca! Bye Krusha! Bye Vivian! Bye Liz!
General Klump: You said ‘bye Liz’ twice.
King K. Rool: I like Liz.
General Klump: What’s the dumbest thing you believed as a child?
Krusha: That naptime was a punishment.
General Klump: Krusha, what are you doing?
Krusha: *shaking a cat shaped piggy bank* I’m just trying to figure out how much change I have inside.
General Klump: You could always take it out and count it.
Krusha: Where’s the fun in that?
General Klump: You're pathetic!
Krusha: You're pathetic-er!
King K. Rool: You're both losers.
General Klump: Bet you can’t eat 15 crayons!
Krusha: Bet you I can!
King K. Rool: *sips coffee, checks to make sure 911 is still on speed dial, and goes back to reading the paper*
King K. Rool: So are you gonna explain how the hell you crashed my car?
General Klump: Well we were driving and there was a deer in the road, so I said "Krusha, deer!"
King K. Rool: ...And what did Krusha do?
General Klump: ...They said "Yes, Honey?"
King K. Rool: Alright, listen up you little shits.
King K. Rool: Not you Liz. You’re an angel and we’re thrilled you’re here.
King K. Rool: Liz... you've been cuddling with me for over and hour now.
Liz: *muffled* mm hmmm :)
King K. Rool: Fuck. I should be annoyed but you're adorable.
Liz: We all have our demons.
Liz, grabbing King K. Rool: This one’s mine.
Liz: I still have no idea how I’m attracted to you...
King K. Rool: Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me, and no take backs, honey.
General Klump, grinning: Before you were what?
King K. Rool: Before I was-
General Klump: What?
King K. Rool: Before I was inter-
General Klump: Before you were interrupted?
King K. Rool: Cut me off one more time and I swear I'll-
General Klump: What?
King K. Rool: *makes frustrated sound*
Liz, nervously: Stop that. Before they hurt you.
General Klump, whispering to King K. Rool, who's on the phone with Liz: Ask them something!
King K. Rool: How are you feeling?
Liz: Fine.
General Klump: Something personal!
King K. Rool: At what age did you first get your period?
Liz: I'm so happy, I could kiss you!
King K. Rool: Um...Neat.
*later*
King K. Rool, lying face down on their bed: I said "Neat," General Klump. Who the fuck says neat these days? It's not neat to say neat but I said it anyways because I'm fucking stupid.
General Klump, reading a book: Don't beat yourself up too much, King K. Rool. Everyone gets nervous sometimes. Remember what I did when Krusha confessed their love for me?
King K. Rool: Didn't you thank them?
General Klump: *closes the book and looks at the ceiling* I fucking thanked them.
King K. Rool: You know guys, sometimes I feel like Liz doesn't take me seriously enough.
Krusha: "Sometimes"?
General Klump: "Enough"?
King K. Rool:
General Klump: Change that to 'at all' and we'll talk.
Krusha: THEY COME SEASONALLY!
Krusha: THEY COME EVERY YEAR!
King K. Rool: What- Liz, are they drunk again-
Krusha: IT DOESN’T MATTER WHERE I GO!
Krusha: WHAT DOES IT MEAN?
Liz: What does WHAT mean?
General Klump, who is the only one who knows what Krusha is talking about: I mean, when you found one in the bathroom-
King K. Rool: WHAT THE FUCK DID undefined FIND IN THE BATHROOM?
Krusha: I’M TELLING YOU LIKE- LIKE IN THE SWIMMING POOL-
Krusha: IN L.A.
Krusha: EVERYWHERE I GO, THE DUCKS COME TO ME!
King K. Rool and Liz: Oh, for fuCKS SAKE undefined-
King K. Rool: Your smile? It makes my day.
Liz: Your happiness? I live for that.
General Klump: A room? Get one.
Krusha: Hotel? Trivago.
Liz: What’s wrong? You look 10 seconds away from ripping someone’s throat out.
King K. Rool: Fucking Krusha and General Klump were trying to invoke one of the minor gods again last night. I didn't get an ounce of sleep, thanks to their bloody chanting.
General Klump: Where's King K. Rool?
Krusha: Don't worry, I'll find them.
Krusha, shouting: Liz sucks!
King K. Rool, distantly: Liz is the best person ever! Fuck you!
Krusha: Found them.
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
Could you please do prompt 69 "You do know that we're in public, right?" With Daniel Sousa for spring ficlets?
thank you for the request! i really like this one, and i hope you do too :)
words: 869
New Year's Eve
daniel sousa masterlist
You tried hard to look anywhere but at Daniel, but so far you were not successful in the slightest. The black suit he was wearing really made it hard for you to stop staring, and it was almost painful to think about the fact that you were hopelessly in love with him and he had no idea. You looked equally dressed up for the occasion, Howard Stark’s yearly New Year’s Eve get together, but in your opinion he was the best dressed one there, and you desperately wished that you could find the courage to admit how you felt about him.
You heard your name, and you turned to see Jack Thompson walking up next to you. “You could be a little less obvious about your crush you know,” he said. “If Sousa doesn’t know how you feel about him by now, then he’s actually the dumbest man on the planet.” Much to your chagrin, both Jack and Peggy had figured out your heightened affections for the chief of the LA SSR, and they were not the type to leave you alone about it. They were thankfully subtle enough that Daniel didn’t notice the teasing, and they always respected your wishes that no one tell him, but you sometimes wished you could go back to pining in complete secret.
“He would never look at me,” you said. The wistful tone your voice took was not something you intended to play up, but there was no taking it back now.
Jack snorted, a gesture that he tried to hide by taking a sip of his whiskey. “I think you’re both oblivious to what’s right in front of you.”
You raised your eyebrows at him. “What are you talking about?”
“You really haven’t noticed?”
“Noticed what?” now you were really curious. “I swear Jack, if you’re lying to me about this-”
“I’m not, I swear! All I know is that for the amount of time you spend staring at Sousa, you never seem to catch the amount of time that he stares right back.”
You rolled your eyes at his words, genuinely not believing them. You and Daniel were friends, sure, but you had never once gotten the impression that he might be interested in something more, and you were finding it quite hard to believe that he was staring at you. “You’re full of shit.”
“It’s a pity you think so little of me, I think we would have looked good together.”
Before you could get a chance to respond, a new voice cut into the conversation. “Woah woah woah, who’s looking good together?”
You were still trying to collect your thoughts, and Jack recovered first. “Nothing Danny boy, I was just talking to Y/N about how we might make a nice couple.”
“Really? I don’t think so.” You tried your hardest not to read into things too much, but your heart did a backflip when Daniel denied Jack’s little joke.
“Why not Sousa? You interested or something?”
A pink tinge crossed Daniel’s cheeks, and he stuttered out a response. “No, I mean, I just-”
You waited, wondering what he was going to say in response, but Jack spoke first. “Relax, it was just a joke,” he said, winking at you both and downing the rest of his drink, before he walked away without another word.
Daniel still looked a little confused as the two of you watched Jack walk away, and you knew what Thompson was trying to get to happen, and you weren’t happy about it. “Don’t listen to him,” you said, trying not to look too bothered or embarrassed. “I know you’re not interested, he’s just being an ass.”
But what Daniel said next was a complete and utter shock. “Who said anything about me not being interested?”
The words took a moment to register in your brain, and once they did, you still didn’t know what to say. “What?” you said, desperately hoping that you had heard him correctly. “You’re interested in me?”
Daniel’s eyes widened slightly, and he immediately spoke again. “Yeah, and Peggy told me I was being too obvious about it,” he said with a laugh. “But if you’re not okay with it, I-”
You reached down to take his hand. “I am definitely okay with it, I just didn’t think you were interested.”
“Oh I was definitely interested.” You were already in the corner of the room, so you didn’t worry too much about being the center of attention as Daniel leaned in a little, stopping when your faces were just inches apart. “Can I kiss you?”
You had just breathed out a quiet “yes” when his lips met yours, and it felt like you were on cloud nine. But your perfect moment was interrupted by the sound of whoops and cheers from your friends in the room. “Hey lovebirds!” Jack said, laughing as he held up his drink in a mock toast. “You do know that we’re in public, right?”
You just rolled your eyes in response, and Daniel laughed. “I don’t care,” he said right before he leaned in to kiss you again.
You kissed many more times after that, and midnight still a long ways away.
- the end -
94 notes
·
View notes
Text
Headcanon : From friend to boyfriend
Author note : I’ve got nothing to say I’m fucking loser just enjoy it ♡ For my page setting I got the inspire from two blogs @/tokrev-roses and @/Tokyo-fukushu (go to see them they’re incredible they make such a wonderful jobs ♡ and if you guys saw it well I didn’t mention you because I didn’t want to bother you 👉🏻👈🏻) I didn’t know if it would work but I tried.
Warning : Swearing - mention of fight - child it might be dangerous to be a thug so don’t do it I guess ?
Masterlist
Manjiro Sano - 佐野 ( さの ) 万次郎
I can see him dating his childhood friend, I mean the man actually likes them protecting them ? He would even get extra attention if he is dating you so why don’t give it a shot ?
Obviously your relationship didn’t start like this (I mean not entirely)
You were living quite close to him I mean like on his neighborhood and one day you just saw him walking around probably getting back from school. A lollipop in his mouth, his hand behind his head the little boy was walking as if he was ruling the city (he might but you haven’t known yet), as a child you were kinda curious to know him since he seemed to be around your own age.
So you walked to start a conversation with him, as expected the little boy was pretty chill about everything so it was easy to talk with. You two talks about everything and anything at the same time until the little boy’s tummy was yelling for foods, laughing at his state you decided to buy him something since he was your very first friends.
After asking him what he wanted you moved into a Konbini
That you discover that his favourite was Taiyaki and Dorayki
You two started to hang on frequently (every day to be honest, each time he saw you leaving school he either ran into you or yelled to go home with him). People sorting to think that you two were in love with each other even though you both claimed that you were friends (even part of the same crew).
You even started to go into the same martial class as Baji, knowing it was his grandfather ruling everything, so you could spend more time with your new friends and get to know him more.
He never failed to amaze you, and took great pleasure of doing so many techniques just to see you getting all impressed.
He also enjoys seeing you working hard to do the same techniques he does previously
Two buddies.
That was your label for a long time until you started to notice your own reaction around him.
It was pretty silly at first. When he was too close to you, you felt your cheeks coloured in red. When he was smiling at you you couldn’t help but smile at him too, you discovered you were weak for his pouty face. Also whenever he was touching you (brushing his hand at yours or even touching like when he is taking your wrist to look at him so he would pout to have his precious Dorayaki he was craving for).
Honestly you just thought that you were starting to be a fan or something which was a little bit embarrassing.
But nothing to be worried about
Then, You’ve started to feel that it was maybe more than just a friendship or at least you were loving him more than you should.
You realized one day that you were in love with him, when he decided to kick your bullies’ ass without telling you. Like you once told him about those teenagers who were bullied you and that you’ll work even more harder so you could kick their ass. But it wasn’t on Mikey’s taste like all he heard was « Y/N is in danger I must protect them » and so did he. He walked into your school looking for those bastards.
Once he found them it was already over for them, he quickly kicked them off and as expected they weren’t as strong as they thought they were just in groups. What he didn’t expect, was you looking at him beating the shit out of your bullies.
The way he was beating each of them, how he was easily taking them down, the way he was fighting for you to protect you. It was the last thing you needed to fall deeply in love with him.
Even if he was still a little boy, his aura was quite something from behind (though he is quite small) he looked like an adult. A true leader.
You couldn’t think more about it because he turns in head into your direction raising his brow « what are you doing ? Let’s go I’m hungry y/n » he then smiled at you.
During your walk into the closest Konbini he was acting as if he didn’t previously fight against teenagers while still being well a little boy. You two were as usual talking about everything and anything until you found the shop, then he proceed to whine about not having money to buy Taiyaki or Dorayki.
Since you couldn’t refuse anything at him when he was all pouting you proceeded to buy his favourite foods
But being the young baby you were you didn’t understand that all the feelings you were feeling, how you cheeks tend to be red around him, how nervous you were when you walked together, how worried you were sometimes when you saw him his covering with some bloods (even though you knew it wasn’t his).
It took you one year to actually understand that you fell in love with him, and that you might screw your relationship because of that.
In fact when you finally aged up to go into junior high school, you started to have other friends than Mikey (it doesn’t mean you didn’t talk to him anymore quite the contrary). And those friends were particularly interested on one thing « crush ».
You’ve never heard about crush before, I mean you were aware of the attraction between two people but as a child you weren’t interested in him especially since your close friends (Mikey for exemple) didn’t give a damn about it, so you did the same.
Talking with those new friends made you realized that you had a crush on your best friends
Things started to get weird between you two
Cause whenever Mikey was around too and a little bit too close to you, you started to freak out afraid that he might discover your secret. So you tried your best to be a little bit distant with him
Which honestly broke his little heart, he kept wondering « why Y/N isn’t walking with me anymore ? » Why aren’t we sharing foods anymore »
It didn’t help that he started to really miss you, and was craving for well, attention from you
He never realized it but he was craving for your praise or approval. Like whenever you were sipping over him being so cool, he couldn’t help but to flex his chest with a smirk looking at Draken (as if he didn’t give a shit about your praise)
Also he was starting to feel a little bit nervous ? Everytime you were riding his bike and put your hand around his chest or waist for support he couldn’t help but feel nervous and relax at the same time.
One time when you were daydreaming as Mike was driving you home after school, you nuzzled your head on the crook on his neck. Smelling his smell, and his warmth you were starting to feel sleepy. You didn’t notice it, but when you put your head on his neck he started to shiver, his ears were a little bit red too, his heart was beating like hell.
He didn’t expect you to get so comfortable around him, but was he concerned ? Absolutely not, he even enjoyed it knowing you were so good with him
But then it happens, he started to dream about you. Every night he didn’t spend on thinking about his brother and what he could do to protect him, prevent his death, his night was decimated to you.
One time you two were driving together talking about everything, on other time you two were sharing some foods on the beach his hand around your waist as you were putting your head on his shoulder.
He even once dreamt about you two kissing, like you were on a picnic date together he did some funny face to make you laugh and just feel it. He wanted to kiss you, and being the blunt guy he is he just put his hand on your cheeks and then kiss you. To his surprise you hug him as one of your hand moved to his hair so you could kiss him more.
He woke up that night his face all read, his index on his lips (as if he could still taste your lips on his).
Those dreamt kept coming again and again
So he knew something was wrong so he talked to Draken who just looked at him as is he was dumbest man of the world « Mikey you’re just in love with Y/n »
What do you mean just in love ? He was the god damn leader of a gang, he was Mikey the invicible and yet he falls in love.
How he wishes his brother was still here to help him
Because he didn’t any idea how to handle this ?
The real issue according to Draken was to know if you were interest in such relationships especially since you two know each other since you were a child. They were a probability according to him that you weren’t interested on him but according to his sister Emma they were a high probability that you were in fact into him. She couldn’t prove it though.
It took him so many days until one day he had enough, he just wanted to talk about it so he could dream peacefully. No one knows about his « weird » dream and honestly he couldn’t take the risk of Draken knowing about it he wouldn’t see the end of it
So one day he just drives into your school and was waiting for you, to be sure that you won’t avoid him pretending of not seeing him. He parks right into of the gate and was making so noise with his bike. Everything so you would notice him.
Of course you saw him, and since he looked straight into your eyes, you knew you will go home with him (not that it bothers you quite contrary but it was starting to be more and more difficult to keep a straight face around him)
So you didn’t try to escape or anything afraid he might be sad or worst angry against you, and you moved behind him on his bike so he could drive you.
Much to your surprise, he wasn’t driving you home, in fact he was driving into that forest where he kissed you in his dream (something told him he must go here to succeed so). Which was starting to confuse you like where were you going ?
Knowing when he got something in mind you couldn’t fight you just decided to wait until he would park to confront him about it.
But again you couldn’t manage to say anything, as soon as he parked his bike he was already walking into that spot the one he saw in his dream to confess. So you had no choice but to follow him knowing you couldn’t get home until he decided so
When you two reached the spot Mikey was looking for, he finally turned into your direction looking right at you.
He looked very serious, he got that face you know ? The one he got when he was ruling a Toman’s meeting. You got Mikey the invisible in front of you, and even if you were used to see him leading you still were surprised (and a little bit scared) when you were confronting the leader and not your childhood friends.
Unconsciously you gulped which Mikey noticed and couldn’t help but chuckled a little bit
« You know it’s not funny to make fun of me Mikey »
« You’re just too tensed it’s funny »
« No it’s not *sigh* you’re just so serious right now what’s happening ? »
« Are you afraid of me y/n ? »
« Uh ? What are you talking about of course not »
« Then why are you avoiding me so much ? »
« I-I’m not I just »
« Don’t lie to me Y/N »
« I’m not I swear I’m not avoiding you Mikey I just got so many things in mind I-i’m sorry if I hurt you in anyway » (of course you couldn't just straightly tell him that you weren't seeing him as much as before because your heart decided to beat like a damn drummer each time you were closed to him)
« Well that’s good then »
« Good ? »
« Yeah I couldn’t scare the person I love it wouldn’t make sense »
« (…) Wait what ? »
Your heart was beating so hard against your chest, you’re face was all read you didn’t even notice you high-pitched voice.
All you notice was Mikey holding his stomach with both of his hands, laughing so loudly tears rolling on his chest, his smile was so big.
Damn, I wish I could see him more like this was all you could think at that moment
When he finally calmed himself he just looked at you smiling and proceed to repeat himself « You hear me y/n I’m in love with you »
Before you could even realized, you ran into his chest holding him for dear life. As Mikey didn’t expect you to literally jump into his arm he couldn’t managed to catch and to keep his balance at the same time, so you just ended up laying on the floor, you on the top of him. He didn’t mind though, having you close to him relax him more than he could realize.
As you were mumbling something against his chest, he didn’t have any choice but to stand up a little bit while holding you so you two could be face to face. He then asks you to repeat yourself so he could hear you two.
« I love you too Mikey »
« *chuckle* Guess we’re dating each other now »
He didn’t kiss you that but he promised himself to do things like his dream, he wasn’t worried anymore he got you by his side.
#tokyo revengers#tokyo revengers headcanon#tokyo revengers x reader#Mikey x reader#Mikey tokyo x reader#Manjiro Sano x reader#Manjiro sano#Manjiro Mikey Sano#sano manjiro#sano manjiro x reader#sano Headcanon#Mikey headcanon#tokyo revengers Mikey#Mikey#tokyo revengers manjiro sano#Mikey tokyo revengers
528 notes
·
View notes
Note
23. Don’t you get it? You’re the only one I can be honest with.
Mickey takes being alone with Ian for granted. He really does.
It's quite sad he only realizes that when he's not alone with his ginger life companion—specifically when he's stuck in a moving car with him and fucking Phillip, feeling like a pussy for not having the guts to just open the door and jump out.
Did Ian put child's lock on his door, what the fuck?
He can't do this. It's a fifteen-minute ride to the Gallagher house and Mickey won't be able to survive it. No fucking way. Why did Ian have to say yes to picking Lip up from work? Did he know what hell he would be putting his poor husband through, huh?
If college bitch says something about his shitty delivery job one more time, he swears to God—
"And you know what the best part about this shitty delivery job is?" No. Please, God, make him stop. "Bathroom? Doesn't even fucking exist,"
If Mickey had a gun, he'd stuff it in his mouth.
From the corner of his eye, Mickey sees Ian's gripping the wheel slightly tighter, his knuckles turning white, his tongue bitten between his slightly clenched teeth. Sadly, only Mickey can see him be so frustrated from the passenger seat. He wishes Lip would lean over from the back and see how fucking annoying he really is with his constant babbling.
Maybe it's good he didn't bring a gun with him—Ian looks like he'd wanna stuff it in his mouth, too.
Does he have child's lock on?
"Anyways," Lip breathes out and Mickey focuses on the buzzing of the AC so he wouldn't have to endure the brainwashing his brother-in-law's—why him?—voice is doing.
Ian seems to be thinking the same thing, his eyes rolling discreetly to the back of his head, staying there for a moment or two.
Mickey's torn between telling him to keep his eyes on the goddamn road or just letting him crash their new car into a pole. At least then they wouldn't have to listen to the yapping that's filling every nook and cranny of the fresh interior.
Their car had never seemed so small. Since when is Mickey so claustrophobic? There used to be so much room.
Oh right, Lip's ego is taking up most of it. How could Mickey forget?
"Oh, yeah," He says suddenly, and Ian and Mickey share a look. What now? Will he ever stop? "I meant to ask you about your meds, Ian. You told me you were visiting your doctor or some shit like that."
Mickey reclines back in his seat, lips pursing as he waits for Ian to fill Lip in on the new prescription and its side effects, and whatever other shit Mickey's already got written down in the notes on his phone from when Ian told him in detail about it.
He had been pretty down when he came home from seeing his doctors, listing off all of the shit he was worried about with the new therapy and adjusting to it. He even had a couple of sleepless nights that resulted in him seeking out different pharmacies to buy sleeping pills, which ultimately led to a night of sleepless vomiting because the cocktail of pills didn't really bode well for Ian's stomach.
Mickey doesn't mind reliving it. Doesn't mind listening to his husband talk about the things important to him and things that Mickey should know about.
And, truthfully, Mickey's already come face to face with the fact that he likes knowing about all of Ian's shit—they're already living, sleeping, and working together, so the prospect of knowing that new meds give Ian diarrhea if they're taken on an empty stomach doesn't really seem like a TMI-type of thing to know.
When Ian's related, nothing and everything is pretty much TMI.
"Oh," Ian responds after a moment of silence. His eyes aren't focused when Mickey turns to look at him. It seems as if he's racking his brain around for the proper words, yet can't seem to find them. Eventually, he just lets out, "Everything's the same. Nothing new."
Mickey knows that's not true.
"Didn't you say you were being put on some new shit?" Lip's confused. Mickey is too.
Ian was put on new shit. Shit that landed him with a week of goddamn exhaustion and a fucked-up stomach.
"No. It's the same."
"Oh," Lip mutters. "Okay then."
And he continues to go into another monologue about why being a delivery boy is such a shitty job to have with a mind of his.
Mickey stares at Ian's side profile for as long as it takes him to turn around and meet his eye. It takes him long—in fact, Mickey's pretty sure Ian won't be turning around any time soon.
Why would he lie? Why would he hide the fact he did change his meds when it's really not that big of a deal?
Mickey's even more confused by it because Ian had ranted about his doctor's appointment the day of it, nearly talking Mickey's ear off. He had been annoyed, relieved, and worried, all at the same time, and the entire Tuesday was just spent with them talking about bipolar like the mundane thing it was.
So, why wouldn't Ian just want to retell that shit again? It wasn't as if he didn't still have frustrations over it. Not like he wouldn't fucking jump on the chance to talk about his biggest concerns the second the opportunity presented itself.
Why then?
Lip's still talking and Ian's still not looking at him.
Mickey places a gentle hand on his thigh, trying to get his attention. In response to Mickey's thumb running over his husband's jeans, Ian just places a hand on top of his, picking it up and raising it to his mouth until the rough skin meets the smoothness of his lips. When he finally looks at him, there's a plead in his eye. An answer to Mickey's unasked question.
Later.
"Ugh, can you guys not do that here? Since when did you become that couple?"
They both ignore the dumbass in the backseat of their car. Ian turns to look ahead, and he pushes his foot down visibly on the gas pedal, and Mickey knows that the time until they're able to drop Lip off is cutting shorter.
"You guys are really annoying with that mind-reading shit, you know that?"
Mickey breathes in deeply.
Five more minutes. Just five more minutes and they'll be alone.
Ian's hand doesn't disentangle from his, but Mickey does move them so they're laying on top of his leg, palms pressed tightly together. He squeezes at it once.
Ian squeezes back.
There's a faint mumble from the back.
"I fucking hate being the third wheel."
Mickey barely stops himself from jumping into Ian's lap, just in spite.
Instead, with his free hand, he just flips him off.
---
They're driving to their place when Mickey finally asks the question. They've been alone for a couple of minutes now, after a prolonged—much to both their dismays—goodbye to Lip in front of the Gallagher house. As soon as it was appropriate to, Ian peeled out of the driveway, putting as much distance between him and his family—his annoying-ass brother—as he possibly could in a record time.
At first, Mickey fiddled with the radio until he landed on some radio station that played pop-shit music, lowering the volume until the Taylor Swift song—he hates that he knows it—was just a hum filling the silence. Ian isn't speaking, but he doesn't seem tense.
He seems just as always, shoulders even further relaxed—slumped, actually, because he has the posture of a question mark—now that Lip is out of the car and in the hands of the others to deal with.
"So," Mickey starts casually when his weirdo of a partner starts singing lowly to Lover on the radio. It's a song they only listen to when they're feeling sappier than usual, but Ian tends to always be sappy, so none of this sweet singing shit was a surprise for Mickey. The lyrics coming out of Ian's mouth still make his chest swell pleasantly, despite him barely holding himself back from rolling his eyes. "What was that?"
"Hm?" Ian's eyes momentarily move to eye Mickey. They go back almost immediately. "What was what?"
"What was that thing with Lip?" The question isn't meant to be judgmental nor accusing. Mickey really is just curious.
It wasn't him whom Ian had lied to. But why did he lie in the first place?
Ian shrugs, lowering the volume with the switch on the wheel even further until they can barely hear the soft voice.
"I just didn't feel like telling him." Is the simple reply.
"Why?"
"Because."
"Ian."
"Mickey—"
"Come on, man, don't give me that bullshit."
"I'm not—I don't," He exhales roughly as if finally forcing himself to admit to something he doesn't want to admit to. "I don't like anybody knowing about it. It's nobody's business but my own."
Mickey makes a face, still confused as fuck. He gets the reasoning behind the words, but it's just not clicking in his brain. Maybe Lip really did brainwash it. "You say you don't like anybody knowing, but you told me."
Ian glances away from the road and sends Mickey the type of look that says he thinks what Mickey just said was the dumbest thing possible. It's incredulous.
"You're not anybody, Mick."
And that's sweet and all, but—
"Lip's not anybody either."
Ian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, dramatically exasperated. "Don't you get it, Mickey? You're the only one I can be honest with. Completely transparent."
Mickey doesn't know why he's still pushing, but fuck, there's no way. "You can be transparent with Lip. He'll hear you out, give you advice. Won't judge you." Why is he defending Lip again? "I'm not the only one who understands."
"Yeah, but you're the only one who isn't annoying about it. If I wanted Lip to know, I would've called him straight away. But instead, I talked to you. Mickey, you're a dumbass if you don't see that you're the only one I want to tell."
Well fuck.
Mickey blinks. He actually is a dumbass, but that's already been genetically proven. This is something else.
Mickey feels Ian's words deep in his chest. His heart jumps to his throat—it's one of the best things Ian could've said to him. It doesn't feel fucking real.
"Really?" He asks pathetically. It's not like Ian would lie; he's always had a knack for saying everything that's on his mind. Mickey loves that about him right now. It's just that—Mickey? He wants to tell Mickey about it and nobody else?
Ian smiles at him. "Really, babe," Mickey blushes as the nickname. "You know just how many questions to ask. When to listen and when to talk. When to give me advice and when to tell me to get out of my own head." Ian's eyebrows furrow. "Lip doesn't know how to do that. Not like you—"
No. Mickey will not cry. No. It's just eyeball sweat.
"—With you, I know that I can say whatever is on my mind and won't feel like shit about it. It's fucking liberating, having somebody like that."
Mickey breathes in deeply. Fuck Ian for using his words like this and making his heart squeeze impossibly. Why is he so fucking perfect all the fucking time?
How did Mickey get so fucking lucky?
"Yeah," He responds dumbly, out of breath—because it legit is logged up in his throat at the moment. He clears it. "I guess that's what best friends are for."
And the grin Ian sends him in response to the sheepishly-said sentence is enough to make butterflies explode inside Mickey's belly—ugh, no, he's supposed to be past that stage, for fuck's sake.
Ian's still grinning as Mickey's whole face probably turns the shade of Ian's favorite vegetable—maybe that's why Ian likes it when Mickey blushes—and he has to avert his gaze so he doesn't go even redder than Ian's hair.
"Best friends? I feel honored, Mick."
"Shut up."
"No, for real."
"Shut up."
Ian laughs and spares Mickey the embarrassment by raising the volume up on the radio, the song now booming loudly through the space.
Ian glances over at Mickey right as he starts singing it joyfully, a wide smile on his face. This is the Ian Mickey knows and loves—happy Ian.
Mickey's favorite Ian after the horny one.
Mickey's chest swells with pride. He ended up with Ian. The Ian who loves him unconditionally; who knows just the right to say and when to say it; who just told him Mickey's the only one he can be real with.
I can only be honest with you, too. He wants to tell him. I only am honest with you.
Instead of saying the words, he starts singing himself, and the screeching voices of two men stupidly in love are seeping out of the slightly opened windows, the wind whooshing them away.
I can only do this with you, Mickey thinks. I'm only this free with you.
Judging by the way Ian's smiling, Mickey guesses he's thinking the same thing, too.
"Darling, you're my, my, my, my lover."
#gallavich#ian gallagher#mickey milkovich#ian and mickey#shameless#shameless us#*ficlet#i only know about bipolar from thw show so don't hold my word for anything written in this#btw anon hope you have a wonderful day#thank you for the ask!
202 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mercy, Sabotage, and Dead Space
(gif credit to @redwyyne-archive)
Part One of The Bet series
Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 12.7K
Summary:
1. No sex.
2. No touching yourself.
3. No orgasms.
Warnings/Tags: DUBCON/NONCON elements, fuckboy Poe (OOC), Enemies to Lovers, degradation/humiliation, mentions of oral sex, SMUUUTTTTTTTT also I’m not sorry for what I did but you’re not allowed to read if you’re gonna get mad at me okay byeeee
***
This.
This shit, right here.
If the question was ever, “What’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever let Poe Dameron somehow talk you into doing?” then the answer is this stupid shit, right the fuck here. This is like. You remember that one game, Mercy? The one where you’d dig your nails in and twist arms and just needlessly inflict pain on each other as children until one of you cried uncle because someone somewhere once decided to turn torture into a matter of pride?
You always thought those games were fucking ridiculous. Who can hold their breath the longest, who can handle a lit deathstick against their flesh the longest, who can take the hardest punch—who cares? It’s child’s play. It’s self-inflicted agony for the sake of bragging rights and even as a youngling, you refused to fall for it.
But then you met… fucking Dameron.
You know those people that… they don’t just rub you the wrong way, but literally every single aspect about their personality is sandpaper against wet skin and your whole entire being feels chafed raw just by existing in their general vicinity for an extended period of time?
You’re… you’re not usually a competitive—much less aggressive person. You never have been. It’s just not part of your nature. If you ever excel at anything in life, it isn’t because of some secret, deep-seated desire to win or be better than anyone else. You just… do you. You do whatever you do, and if it’s good, it’s good. And if it’s bad, it’s good. Because at the end of the day at least it’s still you, and you’re okay with that.
But this?
This shit? Right here?
“This is fucking dumb,” you say, because you know it’s what you both must be thinking so you may as well just get it out in the open. “This is the dumbest fucking thing, Dameron. What are we doing? Why are we doing this?”
The grumpy, orange-jumpsuited figure sitting behind you just sighs heavily and slumps even further down in his bucket seat, as if it isn’t the first time you’ve tried asking this incredibly valid question (it totally is), bringing a palm down to thunk the top of the guidance controls between his legs in a quiet irritation you’re almost certain has everything to do with the very topic you’re trying to bring up.
“Because,” comes that infuriating drawl. You can only see his face from this angle by looking at his reflection in the transparisteel barrier directly in front of you, but even just imagining the way his mouth moves while he rounds out the words makes your jaw clench. “The coordinates we picked up were scrambled and this rendezvous could be going down at any one of thirty-six locat—?”
“No,” you interrupt him with a scowl, “not why I’ve been floating in dead space in this Maker-forsaken ship with you for eight fucking hours a day since… fuck, what’s today? Thursday? Friday? Nope, can’t be Friday, Friday’s our off-day. Thursday, then. …Thursday?” You shake your head. “Ugh, see? Time doesn’t exist when I’m not allowed to cum, life is like one never-ending nightmare.”
“Oh.” He takes a second to think about it in silence, the calloused tips of his fingers scratching the side of his face while he considers. It wouldn’t usually be as loud as it is right now. Maybe it’s the haunting quiet of space surrounding the ancient powered down hunk of metal you’re both stuck in, inadvertently isolating and amplifying the sound—or maybe it’s because your copilot’s jaw is currently covered in a thick, dark beard that you swear barely took his testosterone-overloaded ass a fucking week or two to grow, if that. Regardless, the dark bristles crunch loudly under his short fingernails and it takes you about a grand total of five whole uninterrupted seconds of the scraping sound to realize you’re grinding your teeth along with it. “Well,” he finally says, “that was your stupid idea.”
“Hmmmmmmmno,” you contest firmly, wiggling your elbow back to poke at his shin with your index finger once, twice, thrice, until he finally slaps your hand away in quiet irritation. To the misfortune of you both—and likely the other hundred or so pilots concurrently taking rotating shifts in these tandem x-wings in a glorified mass stakeout, the cockpit of this ship is just way too fucking small. Your arm is squeezed uncomfortably against machinery and electronics to get to him from this angle and a light slap isn’t going to stop you now that you’re here. “You—” (poke) “—have a superiority complex and decided to turn it into a competition, not—” (poke) “—me.”
“Oh, I have a superiority complex, okay,” he scowls and nods in vehement, fake agreement, finally giving up and letting you poke at will, but the appeal is lost as soon as you realize he’s over it and your arm eases back into your lap. You watch his reflection look out of the viewport and scan the empty void of space for the twentieth time in the past five minutes, clearly just as desperate to get back to base as you are. “So what is it you call saying—wait, no no, not even saying, loudly declaring—‘Of course I can go longer without sex than “wham bam thank you ma’am” Dameron, you brainless fucks, it’s a simple fact!’”
“Alright—I don’t sound like that, fuck you very much,” you return, in reference to his shrieking, high-pitched impression of you surrounded by your fellow pilots in the rec room when you’ve had a bit too much to drink. “Also, you don’t have to finger-quote literally every single syllable of my fucking sentence, Dameron. First and last word, that’s all it takes. And if it’s so superiority complex-ey of me to state simple facts, then what is it you call saying ‘betcha two weeks worth of pay you can’t, pretty baby’?”
“Uh, easy credits?” He immediately asks, side-eyeing your reflection through the transparisteel. “ Easy credits. Just begging for it. Two weeks of your slutty, sexy, easy fucking credits just begging to be taken and used— ”
“You need to get laid,” you cut in to tell him bluntly, scrunching your nose in what you hope looks like disgust. As per protocol, the power to the x-wing was cut at the beginning of your shift—what feels like a fucking eternity ago—as a preventative maneuver in case the target falls out of hyperspace unexpectedly. Avoiding the scanners of a fleet that may never actually show means it’s cold and dimly lit in here—just starlight in front of either you, but you’re hoping he can gauge the severity of your revulsion with your back to him. “You just turned my money into a sex object. It was vile. I feel violated on its behalf.”
“Sounds like you’re the one who needs to get laid,” he tosses carelessly back at you, and you roll your eyes with as much sass as you can physically muster, so tired of all the dodging. You know this hasn’t been easy for him either, he just has too much pride to admit it. “Besides, you’ve gotta be past the withdrawal stage by now. Is it really all that bad?”
“The fuck you mean, ‘Is it really all that bad’?” You snap at him, shuffling around grumpily in your seat, hating the way the bulky weapons controls sit right between your thighs and prevent you from closing them. Withdrawal stage, ha. “Of course it’s all that bad. It’s horrible. It’s the fucking worst. And more importantly, how are you not having any trouble with this? Oh, wait—that’s right,” you answer yourself before he has a chance to. “Because you cheated.”
“I did not cheat,” Dameron’s reflection immediately challenges with an accusatory finger pointed at you. “I did not. When the fuck did I cheat? I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half—all because you don’t believe in the honor system—just so you could tell me I fucking cheated?”
You scoff, feeling your annoyance spark even more. He’s always been able to get under your skin, but the neglect you’ve been forcing your body to endure is just throwing gasoline on an already roaring fire. “Okay, first of all? Rude. I am a fucking joy to have as a roomie, alright? I put up with your snoring, your 2:00 AM dinners, you blasting your radio while I’m trying to sleep, I barely complain about your body odor—”
“My snoring is adorable, I get snacky at night, only sad people with fucked up lives hate music, I smell amazing,” Dameron casually lists off on his fingers, the self-confidence so easy and unshakeable that you swear he’s almost preening at the compliments he just gave himself by the time he’s finished rebutting everything you can think to throw at him. And, while you’d never admit it, he does smell good. He smells… unbelievably fucking good. Always. Something dark and woodsy, you can never quite put your finger on. It pisses you off, so much that you’ve made a habit of pulling a face of disgust whenever the warm, rich scent noticeably reaches you, hoping it deflates his ego just a little bit. No such luck so far.
“Whatever. The point is I’m a good fucking neighbor, alright, I’m neighborly as fuck,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “And don’t make it sound like I’m putting a chastity lock on your balls every night, because you can fuck anyone you want. In fact, I strongly fucking encourage it—I just want to know about it when it happens.”
Dameron smirks and you groan, already knowing what’s coming. “You wanna hear it?”
Yep, there it is. “Second of all—”
“Feel the whole bunk rock with it?” He goes on, completely ignoring you. “Use the excuse that you’re trapped up top so you can just stay there the whole time and listen? You know you can do a lot more than just—”
“Second of all,” you project over him, “you’re seriously telling me you haven’t had any wet dreams then, hm? No snorgasms? Hmmm? No happy naps? No captain midnights? No mattress fracking? Hmmmmmm???”
His voice very quickly sounds… shocked. “How many fucking euphemisms—?”
“Wait wait, one more—” you quickly interrupt, too much momentum to stop now, “—sleepskeet.”
You watch in immense satisfaction as his expression seems to progress through all five stages of grief, before he exhales a long, unamused sigh and scratches his beard again. You want to pluck each strand of it out of his face one by one. “Anyways. Wet dreams are totally different and don’t count.”
“It’s not different!” You burst out, unable to help yourself, “it’s an orgasm, and rule number three is no orgas—”
“I know what the rules were, Gold-Ten,” he returns calmly, and it infuriates you, how he’s always able to make it seem like you’re the instigator who’s overreacting. And he knows exactly what he’s doing by calling you by your flight designation, and it pisses you off even more because calling him Black-Leader in any other situation besides active warfare just feels like an unnecessary reminder of his skills. Why he’s currently behind you manning the guidance controls and why you’re currently stuck in the front seat with the bulkier weapons systems. “The question is if you’re seriously that bad enough of a sport to automatically disqualify me because of something that happens to any human with a dick indiscriminately when we blueball ourselves.”
“But that’s the entire fucking point, Dameron!” You shrill, throwing your hands in the air in pure exasperation. “There it is! You need it more than I do, you just said it yourself! Not to mention I said I can go longer without sex than you can— sex , not orgasms, but as it turns out I win at both. Now can we please call this shit off so I can finally cum? This isn’t fun anymore.”
“Nope,” he says immediately, popping the P with a bit too much hard emphasis to be genuinely amused. He’s frustrated, too—his voice is too pleased, too fake to not be masking irritation underneath. “Sorry. But this was also your stupid idea, so.”
“You’re insufferable,” you grumble, anger flaring equal to his, just way more… verbal. And descriptive. “Wet dreams don’t count, fucking right. Tell that to the oceans of Kamino I got going on down there, huh? I move on this seat wrong and I’ll slide off it—”
A loud slam of a palm against the controls suddenly echoes throughout the small cockpit, causing you to jump slightly.
“Don’t,” Dameron snarls, “... say shit like that to me. Not right now. Not right now, fuck .”
You go quiet for a moment, not expecting that much of an outburst at something you considered to be a throwaway remark, but then… oh. Something occurs to you, something… sinister. Oh, well, now there’s an idea.
Everything inside you immediately surges up and burns at the thought—the mere whisper of a way out of all of this, quickly, without giving in and letting him hold your surrender over you for Maker knows how long. It’s so fucking simple, you don’t know why you didn’t think of it before. You don’t have to wait him out at all; instead, you just need to… entice him into giving in first.
Neither of you say anything for a while, and you don’t know what he’s thinking (nothing, probably—a dry tumbleweed bouncing across an empty desert landscape, you imagine) but you take the dip in conversation to consider a plan. You can’t go at it too outright, it’ll be too big of a turnaround and he’ll see it coming lightyears away. A halfhearted joke about your pussy tossed out without thinking is what catalyzed the most substantial reaction from him you’ve seen, so… maybe you can keep steering the conversation towards the idea.
“How many wet dreams have you had?” You suddenly ask, your heart beginning to pick up in your chest as soon as the words are out of your mouth.
“Excuse me?” Dameron grunts from behind you, and you catch his reflection raising a thick eyebrow at you.
You take a deep breath and disguise it by stretching your back out just a little bit, lifting your shoulder blades and arching the sore muscles there, before settling back down in your normal crappy posture once more. “Now many times did you cum in your sleep? Had to at least been once for you to claim they don’t count.”
“Why does it matter?” He asks, completely sidestepping the question for the second time. “It was involuntary.”
You shrug. “Just so I know how many freebies I can get tonight.”
“No,” Dameron instantly counters, his voice dead serious. “Not fucking allowed.”
“Why not?” You ask, and this time, there’s significantly less challenge than you’d typically deliver it with. Instead, your voice is soft, questioning. Not argumentative, but curious, and there’s just enough of your point left unsaid that it’ll seem like he conjured the rest of the image himself.
There’s silence while he considers his response to the perfectly executed bait. You assume you’re both picturing the same thing, because it’s what you’ve pictured almost every single night spent in this celibate hellscape. The cool darkness of your shared quarters, the standard-issue sheets that still feel crispy and rough on your skin no matter how many nights you’ve slept in them, with one of your hands pressed tight over your mouth and two of your fingers circle your clit.
“You only get to do it if I’m in the room,” he poses instead, and you swallow thickly, feeling your body tighten with an unintentional drop of pure heat through your tummy at the thought. Maker, it must be really bad if Poe fucking Dameron is getting to you like this. The bane of your existence shouldn’t make your insides twist in on themselves—at least, not in a good way.
“Not like I’d have much choice,” you eventually respond, keeping it purposefully ambiguous. “It’s your room, too. Unfortunately.”
Stars, it’s been so long since you’ve done this, since you’ve walked the fine line between flirtation and seduction, wanting to turn on the charm slowly—gradually ease it up like a hyperdrive lever under your fingertips so that you’re at maximum by the time he realizes you’re even there. You take a moment to glance at his reflection, watching Dameron look back at you curiously, a flash of interest in his eyes.
“By the way, how does that one girl feel about us doing this?” You ask out of nowhere, suddenly remembering the existence of his pretty little number. You’ve seen her under his arm around base at least a few times, which is more than you can say for the rest of them. “Red-Six. Tall brunette with the tattoos—I don’t bother learning names, they all come and go.”
“Nihla,” Dameron nods with a wistful sigh, tilting his head to rest against his shoulder. “Or, wait… Neah. No—it was… Nalal. Yeah, Nalal, I think that’s right…”
“Unbelievable,” you mutter. “One of the greatest mysteries of the universe is how many people get in line for you, I’ll never fucking understand it.”
“They just want me for my cock,” he tells you without missing a single beat, sounding like he’s not joking in the slightest. “It was starting to get obnoxious. Glad I finally have an excuse to turn them down.”
“Unbelievable,” you repeat, stunned by how truly, mind-blowingly full of himself he is. “You’re… fucking…”
You end up just staring at him and making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, at a complete loss for words, and Dameron eventually shrugs and continues on after you fail to form a coherent thought in the allotted time frame he provides.
“Now I can just tell them I’m in a long-running bet with Gold-Ten over who can sexually deprive themselves the longest and weirdly enough, they don’t seem all that interested anymore,” he remarks, tilting his chin up and rubbing at his beard again, and for some reason… the sound of it bothers you somewhat less now, the way he phrased that resonating deeper inside you than it should. Lower than it should. You blink a few times, almost shocked by your body’s unprecedented response to his admission—Poe Dameron uses you as an excuse to turn down sex with pretty girls? Happily?—and your mind goes blank for a second while he watches you through the transparisteel. “It’s alright,” he eventually goes on, tilting his head. “Sometimes a sabbatical is good. I do really miss pussy, though.”
“Well,” you finally tell him, oddly not having much else to offer at the moment. “I’m sorry? And… you’re welcome. I guess.”
Dameron shrugs once more and makes an apathetic sound without opening his mouth, and you drop your stare down to the machinery between your spread thighs after feeling like you were looking at each other for too long. The position started uncomfortable and seven hours later, it’s still fucking uncomfortable. At first the discomfort twinged at your hips and lower back, but now the sensation seems to be… centering itself a bit more, finding a spot right between your legs, especially when his words echo through your subconscious and make you naturally want to push your thighs together. I do really miss pussy, though.
You try to snap out of it a bit, try to stop hyperfixating on the way your underwear has felt sticky and wet for fucking hours now, but it’s so fucking difficult to chill yourself out when your body already went into this whole situation with a month and a half long stumbling block. He’s not really doing anything at all—he’s leant back in his chair and staring out the window into the black emptiness of space when you steal a look once more, but something about how his casual responses are affecting you makes it seem like he’s the one currently seducing you.
Maker, you have to focus. You have to control yourself. You’re starting to feel a little warm in your thick jumpsuit—a particular shade of orange that does not compliment your complexion but you normally rejoice in wearing regardless. It’s baggy and uniform and hides most of your curves and most importantly, it keeps you toasty on missions like this. Space is cold —especially this far out in the Cauper Void, and there’s no fucking reason this powered down hunk of floating metal should feel as muggy and stifling as it does in here.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you suddenly hear yourself say, spontaneously, no thought put into it whatsoever. One last try, one last attempt to avoid it, a last-ditch go at flight before he gives you no choice and you’re left with this one remaining option. “This isn’t a good idea. It’s… not healthy. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
This gets a small chuckle out of him. “I know you don’t, pretty baby.”
“Then let’s just call the whole thing off,” you propose once again, trying to lighten your tone, make it a… a friendly thing. It sounds so fake, even to your own ears—since when would you be desperate enough to let the dreaded petname slide?—but granted, you know what they say about time and measures and all that shit. “We can call it a tie, just go back to the way things were befo—”
He cuts you off and pins you with his gaze through the reflection. “You realize that you begging me to put an end to your suffering is—ridiculously hot, mostly—but also only an incentive to make me keep pushing until you finally give in?”
You groan and comb some of your hair off your forehead, not liking the way it’s getting just the slightest bit damp. “Fine, we won’t call it off, but can we at least just stop—” You immediately catch yourself, not wanting to unintentionally push this too far too quickly, but your hesitation is clear and compelling enough for him to prompt you.
“At least just stop what?” Dameron asks, and though you don’t think it’s intentional or even noticeable from his perspective, something about the way his voice sounds… husky. Low to the ground.
“Stop dragging it out,” you breathe, your heart pounding. Why is your heart pounding so fucking fast? This is a fucking sting op, a facade, so why are you getting so caught up in the lie you’ve spun for yourself? “Finish it. Sooner, rather than later. Quit being masochists about it, just fucking put it to—”
Maker, your eyes instinctively snap to his at your poor choice of wording, having almost said bed on complete accident. Genuinely, you didn’t mean to phrase it that way, but at the same time, the thought of it almost burns you alive. Fuck. Dameron, and you, in bed. It could be mean. It could be rough. A fight for dominance more than anything. He’s bigger than you and he could make it fucking hurt, especially after going without it for as long as you have, but something about how double-edged that type of relief would be isn’t really sinking in for you right now. Like a person slowly dying of thirst that’s fantasizing about drowning. Regardless, the idea of a night with him and the sudden assortment of vivid imagery it provides is enough to get you to shut up and take a deep breath, just wait with your mouth shut for whatever his response is.
Unfortunately, you don’t have to wait long at all.
“This is cute,” he suddenly tells you, and you jerk back and sputter a bunch of consonants stupidly like he smacked you.
“Fuck you?” Are the first recognizable words that can be heard. “I’m not—this isn’t fucking— cute?”
“It’s cute,” Dameron repeats, hiding a soft smile from you with a few of his fingers pressed to his lips. “You,” he says as he points at your reflection, twirling his finger around in circles, “trying to be all sneaky about it, go about your little performance. It’s like… watching a little kid just blatantly fuck up a magic trick but they’re naive enough to think it’s working. Keep going, I’m enthralled.”
You hold still for just a second as ice suddenly sinks through your tummy and clears away any trace of warmth you may have once felt from before. Of course. Stupid. Stupid, you shouldn’t have even tried something like that, you don’t know why you thought…
Horrifyingly, you go dead silent and the lack of an immediate response from you hangs awkwardly in the still air. You’re usually so quick with him, so fiery, letting the things he throws at you just glide right off you, but for some insane reason, you’re actually fucking… embarrassed? A little bit?
You should say something, but your whole body is just frustratingly blank, almost buzzing in mortification, and it gets worse and worse the longer you stay quiet. You don’t usually put yourself in a position to be compromised, and you certainly didn’t think the place he decided to jab this time had particularly thin skin.
You… you’d forgotten what it’s like to have someone laugh at you when you’re genuinely trying your best to flirt.
Well, it’s too late to say anything now, you think. Now it’s just uncomfortable in here—true discomfort, not the typical angry silences. You’re used to that, you’re used to huffing and crossing your arms and ticking your jaw through the breaks in conversation, refusing to say a word because you’re beyond pissed off. This is different. This quiet sits different in the air, this emotion hits different in your chest, somewhere vulnerable. A crack in your armor he found without even necessarily intending to, but at this point, the stupid way you can’t seem to hide the wound from him is just as much to blame.
“So, uh…” Dameron clears his throat as you shut your eyes tight against the awkwardness, but you can still feel a strange little shift in the air from behind you. There’s something about the enclosed space, the quiet darkness surrounding you both, you feel… too close to him. Sharing his air, feeling the energy when it’s cramped and you’re not able to just get up and storm away from him like normal. You don’t like it. You don’t like that you can immediately tell something has changed without being able to see him, that type of intimacy between you is pushing a boundary you can’t quite pinpoint but know exists.
You snap your eyes open and look over at Dameron’s reflection when he’s quiet for too long, and though you try to glare as fiercely as possible at him while you do it, the look on his face almost stops you dead. The pure intensity raging in his expression, the way he’s got his eyes narrowed, flicking back and forth between yours, carefully studying you, wondering if perhaps he may have gotten it all wrong. “I mean, y’know. Theoretically speaking, and all. If I broke, you’d let me fuck you?”
You… aren’t expecting that.
You don’t know why but your heart suddenly starts to race again, but it’s not the same as before. Before it was speeding up and at an angle, like a rocket trying to escape a body’s gravitational pull, to go somewhere, search for something. This time it just feels like it’s ricketing downhill, unsteady and out of control, about to break apart with every single pothole that rattles and slams through you. Shit. You didn’t expect the ultimatum would be presented to you so up front like that—you thought there’d be… some resistance, at least.
Fuck, you take way too fucking long thinking about it, and your face feels warmer and warmer the more you mentally pick apart his specific phrasing, wondering where you should even begin. You still haven’t said anything, but the damage is already done. What should've been a firm, instantaneous go fuck yourself is left suspended, unanswered, open for interpretation. You miss your window of opportunity to shut him down, you overshoot it by a longshot, and then you feel that spark of a what-if flare deep down once more.
No, fucking stop it. Stop it. Maker, your eyes do everything they can to not look at him while you concentrate and work to tap into your anger, stoking the flames of your fire to avoid feeling… temptation. How dare he? How fucking dare he do this to you, especially when there’s no chance to get out of here, to abort mission and cut your losses? You clench your jaw and isolate that fury, magnify it until it’s the only thing you can feel anymore.
“My turn now,” Dameron eventually breaks the silence to clarify, blinking at you, and by this point you’re so fucking pissed off that you don’t recognize that isn’t actually a question.
“No,” you immediately snap, strung far too thin to deal with this new, treacherous territory with him. Defaulting to normal is best, it’s easier. “No, it’s not your turn, and fuck no, you can’t fuck me, not even if it means I win this stupid bet. No to everything that has anything to fucking do with you, alright? Don’t talk to me. You’re lucky if I agree to sleep in the same fucking room as you tonight. And—and?—I think your beard looks dumb.”
Okay, so maybe the last part was just a little bit childish, but you’re in such a bad fucking mood and you want to insult something he’s clearly just trying out for right now, hasn’t yet solidified as part of his usual appearance and unshakeable confidence in it. It’s a downright lie—you think he might look more attractive with it than he ever has. Effortlessly rugged and masculine, framing his face and making his eyes all the more piercing.
You don’t think it works, but regardless, he heeds your sharp words and says nothing for a good few minutes at least. You had hoped the break in interaction would allow you the ability to reset a little bit, give yourself time to work through it, but it’s like the pressure in the air steadily increases regardless of how silent it is in here—or perhaps, because of it.
You can’t help it. You flick your eyes to the transparisteel in front of you once more and catch his reflection staring directly at you, unmoving. It jars you as much as it sparks your anger, and you glare down at your hands and give him a few seconds. A few seconds of grace, of mercy, before you try again.
Sure enough, he’s still got his dark eyes pinned to you when you go to check once more, like he’s actually fucking thinking about something right now, which is just… astounding, for obvious reasons. Mainly, the nerve of him. The fucking nerve of him to be able to look at you like that, like he’s just entitled to study your every feature, searching your eyes for things you’ve never looked deep enough to find within yourself, making incredibly loud assumptions with his mind that he has absolutely no right to be making.
“Shut up,” You snap at him defensively, feeling like you’re sweating buckets even in the freezing emptiness of dead space. You can’t figure out if it’s a cold sweat or if your body is legitimately just malfunctioning under his stare. “Shut up.”
You watch as his reflection suddenly drops his head back against the seat and rolls out the stiffness of his neck, blinking his eyes shut and raising his eyebrows like you’re completely overreacting, like he has absolutely no idea. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re not that dumb,” you challenge. “You’re… plotting. Evil plotting.”
A thick eyebrow drops so that only one is quirked up, and a grin pulls at his lips.
“You’re right,” Dameron admits casually after a moment with his eyes still closed, his voice pitched low in the cramped ship. “I was thinking about what it’s gonna take to get you to lose.”
You swallow against the dryness in your throat, starting to unintentionally bounce one of your legs up and down without even realizing it. Fuck, this ship is small, it’s too fucking small in here—you gaze wistfully out at the vast endlessness of space, wanting to grit your teeth at the irony of being surrounded by the one thing you so desperately wish you had.
“I just have to find a weakness,” he shifts forward in his seat and reveals to you, bewilderingly shameless in his honesty. Like all of a sudden you’re an accomplice to this endeavor instead of its target, as if he isn’t spoiling the secret by letting you in on it. “Something that you like, that gets you going. Something that riles you up, gets you all hot and bothered down there—”
“So you can exploit it,” you huff, slouching over a bit and trying not to sound like you’re pouting.
“—so I can exploit it,” he finishes happily, collapsing back into his seat like he’s glad you caught on so quick and he doesn’t have to explain further. “Now we can do the whole routine—the bickering, the tension, the undeniable sexual chemistry we have—or we can skip all that and you can just tell me flat out what it’s gonna take to rev that pretty little engine up, because I want it purring.”
And, it’s so fucking weird, because the specific verbiage that would normally make you cringe just hearing it spoken aloud doesn’t inspire the typical response, even though it feels like it should. It feels like you should be grossed out, it feels like a moment you should screw up your facial expression and act offended, but you’re… not. This is actually fucking working, it’s unbelievable. The undeniable fact infuriates you just as much as it stumps you.
“You do realize that everything you say is a game that two can play at, right?” You point out, not really sure where you’re going with this but feeling heated about it all the same. “What’s stopping me from exploiting something you like?”
“See now that’s a great idea,” Dameron announces, clapping his hands together happily and sending you jumping a few inches in your seat at the sudden sound, your hand automatically shooting up to rest on your thumping heart. “I can tell you what I like, and you can just listen.”
Alright, no, wait—backtrack—
“How about I tell you what I don’t like,” you snip breathlessly, tucking your hair behind your ear and feeling all the blood rush to your cheeks. Default to normal, default to normal. “Your fucking attitude. Your demeanor. The way you talk down to me. You don’t listen. You walk around like you’re such hot shit just because you’re a good pilot but none of that means anything when you don’t ever fucking listen. You’re terrible at it, doesn’t matter who’s talking—you don’t listen to me, you don’t listen to people who actually like you, you don’t listen to orders, you don’t listen to reason—”
“You think I’m a good pilot?” He suddenly asks, and you have to take a second. This cockpit isn’t designed for anything other than sitting, much less turning all the way around, but you’re sure you can find some way to throttle him from here. He chuckles as you let out the loudest sigh you’ve ever heard yourself make—which, is an incredible feat you think both of you should be congratulated for—before Dameron eventually carries on. “You could tell me that,” he admits with a shrug, a hidden smile on his face that he’s trying to bite back. “Or you could tell me the truth.”
You shouldn’t encourage him, but you just can’t fucking help it. There’s something inside you, something you can only compare to a morbid sort of curiosity. Maybe you’re just a glutton for punishment, even more so than agreeing to this bet has already confirmed. “And that would be—?”
“That you use anger as a defense mechanism because I touch a nerve you didn’t realize you had,” Dameron replies breezily. “Have since the moment we met. And that you maybe want me to touch something else, but you’re too stubborn and proud and committed to hating me to ever admit it. You can admit it, it’s okay, I can touch whatever you need me to tou—”
“How about the emergency eject button?” You hiss, finally feeling your frustration peak. “Pop the top on this bitch. Put me out of my fucking misery, right now. You’ve got such a big head that the blood flow will probably keep your tiny little brain warm enough as long as you strap yourself down beforehand, I’ll wait. And then you can go back to base, alone , and find another poor girl to emotionally torture since you probably don’t get enough of it from the ones you work your way through but can never remember the most basic things about.”
Remarkably, that actually shuts him up. You’re doubtful the jab really hurts him, but you’re not going to feel bad about it either way. He deserved that. You cross your arms over your chest and don’t even bother looking at him, huffing and flushed with the climax of your ferocity, now left feeling strangely exhausted in its wake. Eventually your breathing evens out and disappears into the silence, until nothing at all can be heard.
It’s like that for a moment—only a moment, before the loud tearing of velcro suddenly shreds through the quiet in the cockpit, completely rattling you. Automatically your eyes shoot over to his reflection, watching large hands pull the orange jumpsuit apart at his chest and then shrug it over broad shoulders. It’s not sexual. It can’t be sexual, because there’s just no fucking room to allow it—it takes him forever to pull the long sleeves down his arms, but the way he drags it out somehow just increases your anticipation for an event you should have absolutely no interest in spectating. He’s wearing a white sleeveless undershirt underneath and the jumpsuit bunches at his waist, making him look all the longer and more defined as he finally collapses back into his seat and reclines in it, the distant constellations bathing his lean torso in dim speckles of starlight.
Your gaze catches on every good part of him—it falls down the muscular lines of his neck and follows the thin gold chain wrapped around it, disappearing into the white of his scooping neckline. His toned body finds a place to rest and stretch out without looking awkward or uncomfortable, coarse hair darkening his jaw and dusting the strong lines of his forearms—but it’s his eyes that make your heart stutter. They’re endlessly deep and dark and knowing , and you can’t seem to look away from him, not even when he opens his mouth to address you.
“You’re always so fucking mean to me,” Dameron remarks, and for just a split second—just a split second, you feel a stab of regret. “I should eat you out tonight.”
Fuck, he hits the nail right on the head on his very first try, and just hearing the words come out of his mouth so effortlessly makes your pussy clench in on itself in need. Nothing about his inflection changed from one sentence to the next, nothing in his voice made it seem like he just flipped the fucking galaxy upside down with just a few words. To an onlooker who doesn’t speak Basic, they’d have absolutely no hint as to why your face is suddenly radiating heat at an industrial capacity, blazing hot enough to warm the whole cockpit. You feel like you’re literally burning up with it. You have to put a palm to your cheek to make sure it’s not actually on fucking fire. “What— what did you just say to me?”
“That’s what you need,” he drawls, unbothered by the sharpness of your tone. “What you’ve needed, ever since I can remember. Should’ve done it a long fucking time ago, now that I’m thinking about it. How long’s it been? Tell me the truth, I know it’s been awhile.”
You feel like you’re being roasted alive like one of those hairy little Kowakian monkey-lizards that you’re pretty sure have sentient designation but are the first to be skewered and cooked over the firepit regardless. Your heart is slamming against your sternum and you scramble to come up with an even slightly clever response after such an ambush.
“This is your plan?” You raise an eyebrow at him, feeling a bead of sweat drop down your temple and onto the corner of your lashes. Oh fuck, be cool, be cool. “You think this is gonna work? Ask me if I want a weak orgasm and rugburn on my thighs?”
“I can shave,” Dameron proposes quietly, lifting his chin and gently scrubbing the side of his cheek. The sound of the thick bristles against his fingers makes you swallow thickly and push back very vivid thoughts of how his face would feel between your legs. How soft and wet his mouth would feel at the center of that thick, coarse beard. “Tonight, I’ll shave it off. Make it nice and smooth for you.”
Something inside you surges up to assure him he absolutely should not shave, and you actually have to bite your tongue to keep it buried at the last second. Stars, that was a close one, what the fuck prompted that?
“I don’t give a shit what you do,” you quickly return, resisting the urge to wipe your brow. “Beard or no beard, makes no difference. Foreplay is overrated, I’m not big on wasting time.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” he immediately laments—so quick , and the worst part is that the sympathy in his voice actually sounds sincere. You’re having trouble looking him in the eyes right now, hearing the genuine pity come through in his tone. “Who… who did this to you?”
“You said you want to figure out what I like, what turns me on,” you return, tucking your hair behind your ear once more and trying not to sound self-conscious. Maker, how long until your shift is over? You need to get out of here, this shit is… way out of your league. “I’m not into it, so try again.”
“Really?” Dameron takes a moment to look at you, furrow his thick eyebrows at you in barely concealed curiosity, before his head tilts sideways and drops to his shoulder. “Normally I’d respect that, but I meant it when I said you need it.”
“We fucking hate each other, Dameron,” you hiss, a reminder to him as much as it is to yourself. Fuck, you really don’t like where this is going. “You don’t know anything about me, you don’t know what the I n—”
“I bet you think we’d fuck hard,” he murmurs, low enough that you have to take an unsteady breath and physically brace yourself for whatever is going to come from that dirty mouth next. “You think that maybe I’d throw you around a little, give it to you from behind, teach you a fucking lesson for always talking back to me. But that’s primitive shit, Gold-Ten, that’s not for you.”
Resist. Resist . You’re part of the fucking Resistance, for Maker’s sake, you’re taught to hold out until death in torture scenarios. Since when did this tin can suddenly become a new POW camp simulation you have to train for?
“I want to take you apart so slow that you can’t talk at all,” Dameron continues quietly, and you close your eyes, biting your bottom lip hard enough to sting. “We don’t even have to fuck—I mean, I want to, but mostly I just want to taste you. Go nice and slow. I want you on your back, so I can look in your eyes and see all that anger just… fade away. I want to watch you try to fight how fucking good I’ll make it. How hot it’s gonna be when you can’t glare at me anymore, when your pretty doll eyes go all soft and sweet and you finally realize that I’ve never hated you at all.”
Maker. This is a trick. It’s not a question, it shouldn’t be presented like one—this is a dirty rotten trick , and you’re not gonna fall for it. You can’t fucking fall for it. It’s a low blow, and you refuse to even acknowledge he said anything at all. He’s lying to get your guard down. He laughed at your flirting. He’s a shit person, he’s using you, this isn’t real.
Real or not, you still gulp loud enough for him to hear it.
“We could go back to our room after our shift is over,” he offers out of the blue, and you have no clue why, but when he pauses and lets it hang in the air for a second, you don’t interrupt him. You stay completely silent while he waits for you, waits for your typical snarky comeback. You have it in your head instantly, you know what you’d normally say. Your room. It’s not ‘our’ room, it’s fucking your room that you’re generous enough to let him bunk in, a privilege he’s this fucking close to losing—but you can’t find it in yourself to say it right now. Your anger is gradually losing the war to your arousal and you’re forced to watch every single small defeat inside you happen from the sidelines.
His reflection blinks at you through the transparisteel, his eyebrows raising just slightly at your prolonged silence, before he suddenly sits up a little and leans forward.
“And I could lock the door,” Dameron continues, lowering his voice, both in volume and register. “The lights in there are way too fucking bright but I don’t want to be in complete darkness, so maybe we can turn them off and open the port shade, let just enough light come through to see. I could turn on the radio, find something quiet, easy to listen to. Something you like, I’ll let you pick it out. And then… Wait, hang on, which bed?”
You clench your jaw and purposefully say nothing even as your pussy squeezes, glaring right through his reflection into the black void of space.
“Mmm. Your bed,” he eventually decides. “I want you comfortable. You shower at night. Your hair will be wet and you’ll be in those baggy pajamas that you think I can’t see your nipples through, the ones that I know you take off under your covers and then put on in the morning when you think I’m still asleep. That’s good, I want you relaxed, so that maybe… maybe you’d let me take your panties off at some point. And you could lay back and open your legs, and I could go down on you for a little while. However long you need.”
Fuck.
No, this isn’t fucking happening. Your lower muscles aren’t twisting in so hard that it actually fucking hurts, your pussy isn’t leaking through two layers of fabric under your jumpsuit, your body isn’t outright revolting against the sheer neglect you’ve put it through. Maker, it’s fucking painful. You have to clench your hands into fists and dig your fingernails into your palms before you can open your mouth.
“You want to know what I need?” You nearly wheeze, a drop of sweat sliding down the back of your neck this time. Your body feels like it’s three sizes too big for this cockpit and your skin feels like it’s three sizes too small for your body. “I need you to shut the fuck u—”
“What you need,” Dameron purrs, sliding up closer behind your seat and sighing soft against the worn material of your headrest, “is a warm mouth to cum in. Don’t be shy, pretty baby, you can tell me.”
You growl out his last name as threateningly as you possibly can before he purrs yours right back in your ear, and fuck, you’ve never heard it sound so sexual before. Last names allow pilots to maintain a respectful distance from each other. Flight designations are Resistance-wide, but last names are just… allies. Not friends, not companions, but a vast network of people brought together by a common enemy. It hurts to lose a first name. But the way yours sounds rolling off of Dameron’s tongue is just too sinful, too intimate when calling you that is meant to sever intimacy by design. He says it slow and makes it dirty, muddies it in the back of his throat as he slides up even closer to you, until his face is right next to yours as you stare at each other through the transparisteel.
“I’m really…” he pauses, before exhaling through his nose and swallowing thick enough to make his Adam’s apple drop and bounce up again, his tongue coming out to wet his plush lips as he blinks slowly at you with a heavy gaze, “… really good at it. Call me Poe and I’ll do it for you all night.”
Shit, your pussy is just a fucking mess right now. It feels like it’s melting sweet and syrupy all over your thighs, throbbing and pounding and clamping up and screaming at you to do something, at least press your hand down there to alleviate some of the aching tensi—
No— stars, no touching yourself is rule number two. You drop your hands to your thighs and squeeze them, trying to reign yourself back in.
“I think you’re—just projecting,” you try, but turns out responding in general is just an all-around bad idea. Nothing about it comes out right. The ‘just’ sounds like your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and your voice cracks on the word ‘projecting,’ but you don’t even have time to be self-conscious or embarrassed at how much you’re giving yourself away—all your energy has to go towards fighting the tightness between your open legs, how you’re so fucking turned on that you’re worried you’ll cum without even touching yourself. Oh Maker, can you imagine? How fucking proud of himself he’d be? You can’t let that happen, but fuck, holding back something so appealing is so much harder than it sounds.
Tap into that anger, tap into that anger—only, you can’t suddenly find it. Where’d it go? Fuck, doesn’t matter, conjure it. Quick, before it’s too late, get mad —don’t let him lure you into a… a false…
Dameron tilts his chin down towards the line of your shoulder and then slowly turns his head towards your neck, breathing you in gently.
A false sense of…
His soft exhale makes goosebumps break out all the way down your arms.
… What?
“Maybe you’re right,” Dameron acknowledges, talking just under your ear. You watch his eyelids dip and the dark beard brushes against your skin and you catch just a hint of that woodsy, spicy scent engulfing you. Like… teakwood, maybe? Stars, you don’t know, you think you’re starting to lose your mind. What the fuck does teakwood even smell like? “Maybe it’s just what I need. You should exploit it, chances are I’ll still cum first.”
That rockets another painful spasm down low. It hurts so fucking bad—fuck, maybe you could… rub yourself up against these weapons controls? Just a little bit? That joystick, right there, just ease yourself up against it just to nurse this wound a little bit…?
No, fucking— bad. That’s bad, you have to stop—
“This isn’t real, this isn’t—y-you just…” You flutter your eyelashes shut, digging your fingernails into your thighs like it’ll help break through the fog of his lulling voice, how fucking amazing he smells right now. “You just want to win th-the b—”
“ Fuck the bet,” he tells you quietly, his head dipped low enough now that his lips brush against your neck, and you shudder so hard at the sensation that your shoulder almost knocks into his chin with it. “You really think I’m doing all this for a fucking bet?”
Don’t trust him, don’t trust him, don’t—
Your deep breath is so stuttery and uneven that it’s technically just a series of shallow inhales all anxiously strung together, too desperate for oxygen to go about it legato. It’s painfully obvious to him by now, it has to be, but you very quickly miss the shaky breathing as soon as he takes away your ability to do it all together.
“Let me taste you,” he whispers, his voice almost breaking with how gentle it is, how it sounds like it flips in and out of his register when he speaks this low. “Right now, let’s make it real, let m—I know you have to be soaking fucking wet, baby, just let me try a little bit of it, please—I’m… holy shit, I’m so hard just thinking about it.”
“You c-can’t,” you stammer, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. At him, at the situation, at the painful throb of emptiness between your legs. “Fuck, it’s not allowed, it’s against the rules—”
“It won’t be,” he assures you, and you hiccup when you suddenly feel his hand brush against your side, strong fingers branching out to curve against your ribcage. “You don’t have to do anything, you can stay just like this. Just a few seconds and then I’ll stop, I promise.”
Oh, Maker, it’s on the very top of your tongue, so unbelievably close to telling him something—but you don’t know what it should be. You’re right at the tipping point, on a tightrope right between what you want and what you should want. And, knowing you’re this close to giving in, Dameron slowly eases his hand down your side and starts to trail it inwards, and just the lightest brush of his warm tongue against your neck shatters any composure you have left.
You whimper and instinctively try to close your legs, but you fucking can’t— your knees are forced wide apart by controls and your whole body freezes when his hand slides down and folds gently along the curve of your pussy through the thick fabric of your jumpsuit.
The feeling of being held like this by him is just too good , cradled so perfectly in his palm as he opens his mouth and flutters his tongue out to taste your skin again, giving you a little more of it this time and letting you feel the roughness of his beard with the way his lips move. Your breath catches, then he hooks his fingertips up just the slightest bit and pulls back, and you suddenly have to smack your whole hand over your face in a terrible attempt to stifle your loud gasp.
“Oh, Maker, I c-can’t,” you stammer against your fingers, not being able to trust him or your own body. You continue to protest even after he moves back up, resting his palm low on your abdomen, letting the heat bleed through the fabric and transfer directly to your floor muscles as he lifts his head up from your shoulder. “I can’t, we can’t, I…”
You can’t see him, but you know he’s looking at you. He’s staring right at you through the reflection, studying the way you’re hiding your face from him, how you’re still melting, still losing your composure just from the warm palm pressed tight your tummy.
His touch leaves you for a second. But then the deafening sound of velcro ripping at the crotch of your jumpsuit has you dragging your hand down your mouth and your eyelids dipping.
“Dameron,” you breathe into your fingers, just as his carefully slip into the small opening and begin to work at the button to your pants. “Dameron, this isn’t—you don’t want—”
“You don’t get to tell me what I don’t want,” he grunts at you, and you try not to bite yourself at the sound of him unzipping things and yanking fabric to the side. “What I really fucking want is the real thing, but I guess this’ll have to do for now.”
“I—” Your mind whirs desperately, trying to process when his fingers wedge under your panties and down. But he doesn’t give you a single fucking second. As soon as the tip of his middle finger reaches your slit, he’s dropping it and sliding it through your slick, hot, unbearably neglected cunt.
“Fuck,” he spits, and you feel like you might be about to break your own fucking jaw with how hard you’re clutching it, trying so desperately not to make a noise. The pad of his finger is rough and calloused as it drags against your clit in slow, tight circles, and you clamp your eyes shut and try to breathe normally, but it’s no use. Fuck , it’s been so long . You’ve been aching for it for a full fucking month and a half now and you know that even if he couldn’t feel it, he can hear how drenched you are right now. It’s making an obscene sound as he steadily masturbates you with one heavenly finger, giving your body what it’s desperately craved for so many weeks. “Fuck, baby’s pussy got fucking wet hearing me talk about how good I’d lick it, huh?”
That sends a bright flare launching through you and you gasp raggedly, both hands whipping out to snatch at his forearm where it disappears between your legs. “No, shit, wait, stopstopstopstop stop , I—”
His hand slips out immediately and yet you continue to tremble like his finger is still right there, like your clit is just imagining it so vividly that it’s successfully convincing itself of the illusion. The aching bit of flesh is burning, that good burn, the one that’s searing and bright that makes your muscles continue to chase the sensation long after the stimulation is gone. Fuck, he almost made you cum. He barely touched you for a few seconds and yet your fingers have to tighten into claws to slow your body down the fuck down, flexing against your thighs and trying your best to halt the impending climax.
By the time you’re able to wrangle yourself back from the edge and look at his reflection, his middle finger is already in his mouth and he’s blinking slowly at you, his pupils blown wide. You’re breathing hard at him, staring open-mouthed at the way his lips are closed below his second knuckle, how he takes forever dragging it back out again. You have to close your eyes. You have to clamp them shut and keep them that way, knowing you won’t be able to look at him through whatever he’s going to say next.
Except, oddly, he doesn’t say much.
“Shit,” he breathes, dropping his mouth to your neck once more. “Shhhit. I…”
Your eyes snap open in sudden, blind panic when he doesn’t continue, horrified at the possibility that he doesn’t like it. Dameron always has something to say, he doesn’t go speechless. “Oh—Maker, is it not—?”
“Mmmfuck, just—” he grits, panting hot air against your skin, “—fuck. Give me a second.”
You can only see the crown of his head with the way he’s angled, but you can see his shoulders a little further back. They start… moving slightly. Just the littlest bit, a smooth motion, like his whole body is slowly easing back and forth—
The nav controls are between his legs, you immediately realize. He’s grinding up against them with how close he is to you and your seat.
And suddenly, it’s like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. A ray of sunshine that breaks through the raging storm. Dameron might cum in his pants like this. Which means you’ll win, and arguably more importantly, you’ll finally be able to cum. You don’t even take a moment to consider the potential consequences—how you’re going to have to withstand the stimulation until he succumbs to it, how you’ll have to outlast—but you’re not thinking straight. You’re not really thinking at all.
“You can…” you suddenly hear yourself whisper, and your heart pounds in your throat when he instantly stops moving. “One… one more. If you want. You can put your finger inside this time, it’s where I’m the… w-wettest.”
“Fuck,” Dameron croaks into the crook of your neck, his voice scraping low and rough and sending a tremor through you. “Fuck, okay, yeah—”
His hand slides across your hip and down, but you catch him just in time.
“But don’t touch my clit.” You try to sound as firm as possible through the breathlessness, still trying to put your foot down even when you’re giving in, and Dameron’s teeth come out as he stifles a soft groan into your neck in response.
“Yes, baby,” he murmurs obediently as his hand sinks down once more, and so diligently, he avoids it altogether. His fingers slide under your panties and fall straight down to your entrance, down to where you know you’re the hottest, where your pussy is flexing and pushing wetness out with a steady, wicked throb. The pad of his middle finger presses gently against the tight muscles there, rubs just the slightest bit to feel that resistance, and then the length of it eases inside you so slowly that your knees rattle against bulky metal.
“Fucking Maker , ” he hisses as he slides it in, his body making a sudden jerk against the controls.
Your eyes roll back at the feeling of something inside you after so long, after such a torturous buildup, and you grasp at his forearm again when it curls naturally up against searing pleasure. Oh, it’s so good, it’s so good, your hands shake while he very carefully moves it in and out, the raw sparks of heat threatening to incinerate you as your muscles cling to every ridge of his finger. He gets it sopping wet, bathes it so completely in your slick that you’re almost certain it’ll come out pruny and drenched.
“Shit, okay,” you pant, squeezing desperately around his finger, “o-okay, fuck, that’s enough.”
His hand pulls out… slower this time. He slips his finger out of you quick enough, but he drags the tip of it through your folds as he retreats, just barely grazing your clit and making you jolt in your seat. Shit, you don’t know if it felt intentional enough to fault him for it—mostly it just excites you, thrills you to have him edge you like this without really needing to put any effort at all into it.
Dameron lifts his head to sink his finger deep into his mouth once more, and you tremble as you watch him enjoy it, staring at the way his shoulders seem to relax as soon as your taste is on his tongue, how his face goes soft with it and he almost slumps.
Relief. Genuine, not embellished. He still doesn’t say anything after he slowly slides it out and blinks at you, no sugar sweet drawl telling you how amazing you taste, no candied words to make you give in and let him have another go. You’re both breathing hard at each other, staring, waiting to see who will break first.
Stars, you… fucking like this. You want him to keep going, but you can’t offer it again. It’s just too exposing, too revealing to let him you’re actually really fucking enjoying this, you can’t—
“Do you w—?” Your voice automatically comes out through the silence without your permission, sounding just absolutely fucking wrecked by this point, but his palm is already slithering back down as soon as you speak, and you make the softest little submissive noise in your throat at him taking immediate initiative like that. He’s not as careful about it this time—his hand finds its target with less frill, his finger slides in quicker, sinking deep into your heat with little hesitation, lighting you on fire from the inside out, and you bite the meat of your thumb to stay quiet.
“Fuck, this is so hot,” he suddenly breathes next to your ear while your legs spasm and you gasp brokenly. “This is so—fuck, pretty baby letting me do this to her, I can’t fucking believe—”
Dameron eases a second finger inside you this time, letting you feel that delicious stretch from this angle, unable to lift your legs or shuffle around to help and subsequently resigned to simply experience it the way he gives it to you. Your teeth have probably permanently indented your bottom lip from how hard you’re clamped down, a testament to how much you’re trying to hold back the loud moan you miraculously haven’t released yet. Somehow it makes it sexier, not letting him hear you, not having your own noises to drown out the spark of urgency in his voice beginning to peek through.
Shit, it’s too much. You can only let him touch you a few seconds at a time before you feel that familiar tug towards mind-numbing bliss, and the more he does it, the more appealing that feeling then becomes. It’s teasing you, floating right in front of you and calling into question what could possibly be so bad about just reaching out to meet it? You could. You could cum right now. What’s two weeks of pay? You could cum all night long if you want, that is a thing you can do—
Quickly snapping out of your hypnotic downfall, your trembling hands snatch at his forearm once more, and Dameron, the fucker, drags his fingers slowly over your clit on the way out— so not accidental, not even close to it this time, but the sensation makes your hips stutter upwards and chase it nonetheless.
“Fuck you,” you groan at his audacity, your chest arching as you drop your head back, “I said don’t touch my—” but two wet fingers slipping past your lips and onto your tongue muffle the rest of your sentence. Your heart does half a somersault before slamming down early, the taste of your pussy filling your mouth as you automatically start sucking on them.
“None of that,” Dameron tells you softly, massaging his fingers along your tongue before pressing a sweet kiss under your ear. “Be nice. I’m being nice.”
You should bite him. Instead, you just close your eyes and mphh weakly around his fingers, your body sagging as you give into it and let him explore your mouth with them, your lower muscles cramping up in painful desperation even when he’s not anywhere near that part of your body right now. Your tongue even comes up to lick between them, swirl around them so soft compared to how hard you’re puffing through your nose.
Dameron slowly inches his fingers out, letting the tips of them rest against your bottom lip for just a brief moment, before his hand is moving again. Not down, but back and around, so he can open his mouth and taste you another way this time.
Shit, you feel like you’re dying. You need air. Your hands clench into fists and you use the back of one to wipe the sweat from the bridge of your nose while he takes his time sampling you like this. If anything, he looks just as blissed out as before, continuing to rub his crotch up against the solid metal between his legs and teasing you with it as much as he’s teasing himself.
“Maker, let me do this for real tonight, okay,” Dameron pants after dropping his fingers from his mouth, sounding like he’s fighting for his breath while you can’t find yours at all. Your eyes flick down to watch the way his hand disappears behind the chair to grab the controls and push his cock up against them even harder, how he drops his forehead to your neck like he just can’t fucking handle it anymore. “Fuck, I’ll shave, I’ll do anything you want, just let me—”
“Cum,” you gasp out before you can stop yourself, and there’s a moment after it where his hips suddenly stutter against the controls, and you both freeze.
Shit. Shitshitshit, did that actually work?
No, you very quickly realize, his body isn’t spasming like it would if he finally emptied his load after a month and a half. He’s just… holding there, his head buried in your neck, completely still.
You didn’t mean it like that. Well… fuck, you did, but you didn’t realize you’d be that reckless about it, that upfront about reissuing the challenge.
Dameron pulls back to look at you from the side this time, but it’s too cramped—he keeps his head turned facing you even as his eyes flick up to the transparisteel to take in the finer details of your features, the thin sheen of sweat on your forehead, and the slightly alarmed way you’re blinking back at him, worried you just shot your blaster at him in the midst of a mutual ceasefire and you fucking missed.
You see the understanding in his eyes instantly fall into place, and it’s not fucking good. Ohhhhhh no, it’s not good. Your chest starts rising and falling rapidly, suddenly registering the position you just put yourself in. Fuck, you didn’t think—you saw your opening, so clearly, you didn’t have time to think about the consequences.
“D-Dameron…” you try your best to placate.
“Don’t touch your clit?” He asks quietly, the raspiness of his voice ripping a hole through you while his hand suddenly shoves its way back down your body once more.
“Dameron,” you whimper, your heart stuttering in panic as you grasp weakly at his arm reaching between your spread thighs, “Dameron, this is—this is against the r-rules—”
“You keep saying that,” he comments, his fingers easily finding the opening in your jumpsuit no matter how hard you flex your thighs against bulky mechanics to try and close them. “How clearly do you remember the rules? What were the rules again?
You open your mouth to respond but his hand sliding under your panties and down just obliterates any chance you were going to attempt. No words, nothing comes out but a shaky whine as his finger sinks into your soaking heat, going right for the kill.
“Come on, baby, the rules,” Dameron reminds you when you never give him an answer. “Tell me. No fucking, no jerking off, and…?”
You suddenly struggle forwards in a last-ditch attempt at preventing the inevitable, hoping you can scoot up enough in your seat to escape his reach from behind. But fuck, your thighs have been shoved wide open for nearly eight hours—none of the muscles are working the way they should be anymore. There’s just enough room in front of you to get there and you probably would’ve been able to do it at the beginning of the shift, even with his hand between your legs like this, but you’re sluggish and your thighs pull sharp and urgent with the movement. The frantic maneuver enough to veer his fingers off course just slightly, moving one of your lips to the side at an angle, and you keep pushing against the pain no matter how useless it is.
“—No cumming,” he finishes for you, and his other hand is slithering up under your arm and groping one of your breasts through the jumpsuit before shoving you back tight up against your seat once more, totally helpless against it. “Probably have another fifteen minutes or so before our shift ends. Better hold it in, pretty baby, because this one is all you.”
“This—this isn’t fair, this is—” The second the slippery pad of his finger presses hard against your clit, you’re biting your lip to cut off a breathless whimper that slips out. “This is… is sab— sabotage— ”
“Oh, I know,” he moans next to your ear, mocking your high plea of distress with a fake, overly sympathetic whine. “Feels so fucking good though, doesn’t it?”
Fuck, it does. The build feels like an orgasm in itself, just working your way to it. You’re already so unbelievably close after just a few seconds of direct stimulation, an obvious consequence of originally agreeing to such a hardcore edging workout. You’re pouring sweat, so swollen and tight between your legs as you do everything you can to revolt against your body’s needs.
“Oh fuck, stop touching my clit—” you gasp raggedly, heart thundering in panic while your lower muscles start to immediately seize up, “oh—fuckfuckfuck— Poe, take your finger off m—”
Instead of doing it, his hand just slows down until the tip of his finger comes to a halt, maybe less than an inch over top of it. You still can’t catch your breath though, not when you feel yourself throbbing against absolutely nothing, the calloused pad holding perfectly still over the bundle of nerves. The swollen bud still arcs and flares at a steady frequency, building and building, and you choke out a wordless garble, absolutely fucking furious that this is what’s gonna make you cum.
“Don’t make me cum,” you switch up your sentence but not the terrified plead in your voice, the way it’s pitching up and out of control in the dead quiet of space. He doesn’t even acknowledge it. “Don’t make me cum, don—”
“Say it again,” he prompts instead, and lightning arcs up your spine.
“Poe,” you wheeze, the words coming from you without thought, your fingernails digging into his forearm even as your hips jerk up into his touch, “fuck, don’t make me cum, Poe—please don’t make me c—”
“But it’ll be so good,” he counters lowly, and your clit throbs in desperation at the richness of his voice when he speaks like this, saying things from deep in his chest. “It’ll be so fucking good when it happens. Stars, you’ll feel so much better, won’t you? Cum right now and I’ll give you as many as I can until we have to go home.”
“N-No,” you whine, feeling his teeth scrape at the crook of your neck. “No, I can’t—”
“Cum for me,” Dameron raises his voice, sharpening it into a direct order. “Right now. Come on— fucking make yourself lose.”
“But I—I—” you sob, starting to feel your body curl inwards, nearly about to succumb to the burning, the tightening, right on its last breath, “I-I don’t want to cum—”
“And I don’t fucking care,“ he hisses while your hands start flexing unintentionally, grasping helplessly at his immovable forearm where it disappears between your legs, the dark hair sliding under your fingertips as you claw desperately at it. “You’ll fucking cum when I tell you to cum and you’ll like it, you disrespectful, cock-deprived, bratty little—”
And then everything goes dark.
No, literally. The stars disappear.
The cockpit is suddenly shrouded in pitch blackness, and you’re almost certain it’s because you pass out, except then Dameron is all but ripping his hand out of your jumpsuit and cursing repeatedly in alarm. You crumple in on yourself, eyes clamped shut and not hearing anything, right at the peak of your ecstasy and ready to soar into the light completely unassisted, your muscles doing all the work on their own—
“—shit, they’re way too close—” you hear his voice shout, “—we have to turn the engines on—Gold-Ten, baby, turn the fucking eng—”
You’re almost there, you’re almost there, you’re gonna cum, you’re gonna fucking—
Your first name, roared out in startling, blinding panic.
You don’t often hear it. Just during roll calls mostly, but only if you’re flying with a different squadron and need a new temporary flight designation for the day. First names hurt. You can’t remember a time you’ve ever willingly told anybody yours.
Your head jerks up to look at his reflection but something else beyond the transparisteel takes immediate precedence. Your brain takes about two seconds to catch up before thundering terror slams through you and halts your previously inevitable orgasm in its fucking tracks. A runaway train about to launch off its tracks suddenly slamming directly into a megaton force-field of cold, hard fight or flight instincts.
A staggering fleet of First Order ships silently plunging out of hyperspace on all sides—your powered-down x-wing stationed right in the middle of the drop location.
***
Stay tuned for part two coming soon!!
#poe x reader#poe dameron#poe dameron x reader#SMUTTTT#reader insert#star wars#fanfic#the formatting on this one is downright horrendous but im so mad that i cant even fix it right now so thatll have to come later im sorry
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (chapter 10 - FINALE)
series masterlist
series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind. you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.
word count: 6k
warnings: implied smut, angst, fluff, romcom tropes, lots of swearing, pregnancy mention/minor breeding kink
note: click the asterisk for a hyperlink to a translation when the time comes
Six months later...
“It’s good!” she beamed, setting down the last chunk of pages and taking off her reading glasses. “Oh man, that ending hurt, but it’s really, really good!”
You leaned back into the plush chair and sighed with relief. “You think so?”
“It’s best-seller material,” she assured. “With some editing, of course. God, I can’t believe you were sitting on this for so long.”
“What are the biggest changes you want to make?” you asked.
“Well, I’m thinking we’ll cut the romantic subplot,” she mentioned in passing, like it was no big deal. “It’s distracting.
“Distracing?” you repeated. “Nia, it’s the story. It’s a romance.”
“I thought it was a thriller,” she frowned.
“A romance disguised as a thriller,” you corrected.
“Listen, I get what you mean, but I didn’t get this—” she tapped the nameplate on her desk: ‘NIA BROWN, HEAD PUBLISHER’ in shiny letters— “for nothing. I know what I’m talking about, and I know what your readers want. Violence, gore, drama!”
“It has all that!” you defended. “But it’s all there to talk about the real love he finds in her!”
“What do you mean ‘real love’?” she pressed flatly.
“I mean…” you pondered. “I mean love where you feel like a version of yourself that you actually like. Love where you feel unjudged, no precedents or caveats or back-up plans. Love that fucking hurts because you never wanted to rely on anything or anybody. Love that lives in silence because you don’t even need words.”
She furrowed her brow. “That… sounds nice, I guess, but I don’t think anybody really has that. Everybody needs a back-up plan. Everybody needs words— a writer should know that.”
“Oh my god. Oh my god,” you groaned, your face falling into your hands. “I’m so fucking stupid. Jesus Christ, I’m a moron.”
“What? What’s going on?”
“I had that! I had that, and I let it go! I’m the dumbest bitch on the fucking face of the Earth.”
“Don’t say that,” she soothed, but you were already standing up.
“No, I need to find him,” you decided as you grabbed your coat and briefcase. “I need to go back and try to fix this. I love him, I’ve never— I didn’t know I could love like that, I didn’t know I could be loved like that… oh my god, I need to find him. It isn’t over.”
“It isn’t over?” she repeated incredulously. “You said Michael signed the papers!”
“It’s not Michael,” you rolled your eyes as you stormed out of the office. “It was never Michael.”
You ran into the first telephone box you could find, slamming the door shut as you searched your purse for the business card that probably wasn't even in there.
After a moment, you gasped with delight when you pulled it from a very bottom pocket and began punching in the number as fast as possible with shivering hands, long-distance charges be damned.
“Hello?” the confused voice on the other end answered.
“Mrs. Alberti, hi— does Sebastian still work for you?” you asked hastily.
“No, dear," she sighed, apparently recognizing you by just your voice (and likely your request), "he quit recently, and moved away.”
“Moved?" you repeated with a wrinkled brow. "Where?!”
“I assume back home, sweetheart; to Bucharest.”
“Shit,” you sighed. “Shit!”
“Are you having your ‘run through the airport’ moment, sweetheart?” she realized.
“Yes, I think so— do you have his address?”
“Well, no, but I’ll see what I can find.”
You waited rather impatiently as she shuffled through papers in the background, mumbling to herself as she apparently searched for information that could help you.
“All I’ve got is the address of a previous employer… a carpenter,” she finally explained, breaking the silence. “It was his only reference when he came to work here," she explained.
"Wow, you really did just hire him for his looks," you blurted out.
"He was desperate for work, that boy had nowhere else to go,” she defended.
“Right, well, I guess if that’s my only lead then I’ve gotta go for it,” you decided. “Thank you, Mrs. Alberti.”
“I told you to call me when that book was a hit. Did it happen yet?” she piped up.
“It’s not published yet,” you explained. “It needs some more work… but I think it’s almost ready.”
“I think so, too, dear.”
Learn Romanian in 10 Weeks! A practical language guide.
Week 1, Day 1: Greetings
Hello Salut
Goodbye La revedere
Thank you Mulțumesc
You’re welcome Cu plăcere
Good morning Bună dimineata
Good afternoon Bună ziua
Good evening Bună seara
Good night Noapte bună
You brushed your hair back out of your face with a sigh, turning the page as you mumbled the phrases to yourself. Broken Hungarian and your high school education in Latin were not getting you as far with this as you had been hoping.
How are you? Ce mai faci
I love you Te iubesc
“Te iubesc, te iubesc, te iubesc,” you repeated over and over in a whisper.
Each day you had a new routine: practice Romanian for an hour, check flight prices online (or call the airline), research what you knew about Sebastian and the address Mrs. Alberti had given you, and then get back to practicing Romanian again.
Oh, and occasionally you worked on the edits Nia wanted for your manuscript. You were focusing on the minor changes— grammar errors, rearranging sentences— and putting off her big request for the removal and replacement of the romantic aspects. More than ever, they seemed like the most important thing the book had to offer.
You had a small apartment, just a place to sleep and shower really; much too small to fit everything you’d already taken from Michael’s house (you know, the one that used to be your house) along with what he’d shipped to you that you forgot before. He included a letter in the package as well. You threw it out, unopened.
Truthfully, you never really fully unpacked. As much as you realized you probably should, in order to really feel like you had a real home, you couldn’t bring yourself to empty your suitcases when you knew you’d be packing them again any day now.
You also realized how outrageous this all was. Ignoring the unlikelihood of even finding him in the first place, Sebastian probably wouldn’t want anything to do with you after you broke his heart, left, and then randomly tracked him down after over half a year. But to be totally transparent, you weren’t really doing this to get him back, necessarily. You knew that was probably never going to happen. You were doing this because you needed to try. You needed to go there, and get hurt, and come back knowing you did everything you could: you’d never be able to live with yourself if you did anything less than that.
You couldn’t start your new life until you had put everything else to bed. And if that meant being 100%, painfully certain that you and Sebastian could never be together, then that was just how it needed to be.
After two weeks of looking, there still weren’t any reasonable flights to Bucharest, so you booked another trip by train, figuring you could use the three day trip to brush up on the key Romanian phrases you were going to need as well as prepare your speech.
Yes, your plan was a speech. You didn’t have a back-up plan. You didn’t even have a return ticket back to London yet.
A passage by Yeats came to mind; But I, being poor, have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.
In all your life, you’d never understood before why someone would want to only have their dreams. But now, here you were… and yes, it felt terrifying and vulnerable and uncomfortably naked, but it felt pretty damn good, too.
With a sigh, you scribbled out the last sentence you’d written, tossing the trash paper aside. You looked up out the window at the scenery flying by in a blur, worried that if you didn’t look out from the train every once in a while you’d get motion sickness.
The sun was beginning to set already, the green of hills and trees tinted orange. You only indulged in it for a moment, though, before getting back to this god-forsaken speech you were deadset on finishing before you arrived in Bucharest tomorrow. At first, you’d figured the translating would be the most difficult part… but writing in English wasn’t exactly a piece of cake, either. You had so much to say, and suddenly so few words for any of it.
You’d probably done more editing on this than any of your novels combined; the crumpled up pages spilling out of your wastebasket were proof enough of that.
“And I’m a fucking writer!” you groaned aloud, to no one in particular. “How is anybody else supposed to be able to do this, if I can’t?”
Other people aren’t as emotionally constipated as you, the voice of your inner critic reminded you plainly, making you roll your eyes at yourself.
A rap at your door made you sit up straighter and turn around. A stewardess slid open the frosted glass slightly to give you a friendly smile. “Is everything alright, ma’am?”
Your brows furrowed at the sound of her accent. “Is that a Romanian accent?” you asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” she nodded.
“So you’re fluent in Romanian and English,” you concluded.
“And Portuguese, yes ma’am,” she agreed.
“Could you come in here for a moment and help me translate something?”
She seemed slightly confused at the request but stepped forward, sliding the door most of the way shut behind her. Leaning beside you on the desk, she picked up your handwritten letter and blinked her wide, brown eyes a few times. You felt slightly embarrassed knowing she was reading such intimate thoughts, but that was how it felt the first time someone read anything you wrote so you were pretty much used to it by now.
“I usually ask the passengers what brings them to Bucharest,” she mumbled after a moment. “This is the most interesting thing so far. Am I reading this correctly, that you intend to confess your love to someone you met—” she scanned the page quickly— “during a vacation in Hungary?”
“Yup,” you smiled awkwardly, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word.
“And he doesn’t speak English?” she assumed; you nodded. “And… you don’t speak Romanian?”
You nodded again, and she breathed in and out quickly, sitting beside you as she stared at the letter.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she explained.
“Sorry for sucking you into the entropic vortex that is my life,” you chuckled.
“I don’t mean to pry,” she sighed, setting the letter down, and you laughed a little internally at the idea that she was worried about prying when she just read the most personal piece of writing you’d ever put to the page, “but do you think this is… enough? I mean, to build a relationship on?”
You just gave her a shrug. “I have no idea. But, you know, I spent my whole life worrying about stuff like that. I dated my husband for seven years before we got married, because I wanted to be sure. I was initially interested in him because he was successful and ambitious, and it made me feel like this was a really secure relationship that I could rely on. I double majored in English and Computer Science because I wanted a more stable career to fall back on in case being a writer didn’t work out, and even though it did, I’ve spent most of my career publishing what I thought people wanted to read instead of what I wanted to write, so I’d have a better shot at a good paycheck. I grew up thinking the best thing I could ever have was security. And now I’m divorced, watching my royalties shrink every month, more insecure in every way than I’ve ever been, and I’m realizing that the choices I made didn’t give me what I wanted. I gave up so much in the name of safety, and I let the one good thing I’d ever found go, so I could go back to being the same person I always was. I’m ready to settle again, if this doesn’t work… I’m ready to accept that this is just the way life goes, and be thankful that I got a taste of the kind of stuff I thought only existed in the sort of books I’d read but never write.”
She swallowed as she looked at you, and you felt your eyes water as you stared out the window towards the dimming scenery one more time, smiling at the sight of a distant village, a church with a steeple, vineyards and farms. Someone’s whole life is in that little town, you imagined, and they’re just watching your train go by like they see every other day.
“Sebastian gave me more security than I’d ever had before, even though the whole thing was such a ridiculous little whirlwind, and nothing like I ever imagined my life could be. But he made me want to be honest and raw and write sappy letters like the one you just read. He doesn’t have any money, at least as far as I know, and I haven’t known him for seven years, and on paper it makes no sense… but you would understand if you knew him. If you felt that joy that he radiates, if you saw him live his simple little life like it’s the best thing in the world. You would understand if you knew how much I needed this. You would understand if you had been just as miserable being who I’ve been for so long, and finally had a chance to be somebody you think you were maybe meant to be the whole time. So, if I never see him again, I hope I just get to thank him.”
You waited for her to say something, but furrowed your brow at the long moment of silence, looking back from the window finally and finding her staring at you with a tear running down her cheek. When you met her gaze, she quickly wiped it away with a sniffle and looked down at your desk again. “Let’s get to translating, shall we?” she announced with a half-smile.
You noticed the way the other passengers looked at you as everyone was in line to deboard from the train car; you stuck out like a sore thumb, since everybody else was carrying heavy luggage and all you had was a backpack.
In your defense, you really had no idea how to pack for a trip where you knew neither the duration nor the true final destination. So, it was mainly filled with your essentials, a few clothes for any kind of weather, and enough leu to buy anything else you needed along the way.
The stewardess was waving goodbye to everyone as they shuffled out into the train station, occasionally stopping to shake a hand or give directions to nearby destinations. When you were just about to pass by, though, she pulled you into a tight hug.
“Good luck,” she whispered, holding you just a moment too long before pulling back and giving you an encouraging look. “If he doesn’t take you back, feel free to blame my translation… because if he knows what’s in your heart, I know he’ll say yes.”
“Yeah, that’s the hard part isn’t it?” you laughed weakly. “Thank you for your help. I guess if I come back alone for the return trip tonight, you’ll know how bad it went.”
“Then I hope I don’t see you again,” she winked.
It being a major train station and all, cabs were waiting around every corner so it was pretty easy to grab one and give them the address you already had written down for this exact purpose.
“This is pretty far,” the driver explained, “on the edge of town. Not a tourist spot.”
“Good, because I’m not a tourist,” you nodded, already only giving him half your attention as you pulled out the translated speech to practice.
“And you can afford this?” he pressed. You sighed and dug through your bag, pulling out a haphazard stack of bills and handing them through the plastic partition.
“Is this enough?” you asked, and he didn’t answer, just taking the money and starting the car as you smiled and leaned back in your seat.
As much as you had tried to convince yourself to not get your hopes up, the butterflies in your stomach felt more like whole birds at this point, demanding to break free as you practiced the words hand-written on the page over and over again, committing it all to memory.
“What are you reading?” the cab driver asked after several minutes.
“Oh, nothing,” you mumbled, “sorry if I’m bothering you, you can turn on the radio.”
“No, it’s not bothering me, but what you are saying… it’s very odd. It sounds like something from a play, or movie,” he explained.
“Um, it’s not,” you replied, a little embarrassed. “But does it sound like it’s from a good movie? Like, if you heard a character say this to another character, would you think they should get together?”
“I… don’t know,” he answered, sounding confused. “I mean, it depends on what happened, right? How they met, how well they get along…”
So, you told him the whole story, as succinctly as possible (which is not very succinct at all). By the end, he was actually giving commentary as you spoke.
“Why the hell did you leave?” he interjected, clearly irritated with you. “You loved him!”
“Yeah, well, sometimes love isn’t enough! I loved my husband too, and look how that turned out,” you defended.
“But that’s different. That was love for all the wrong reasons.”
“I promise, it felt very real at the time,” you shrugged.
“And now?” he countered. “You realize that this man— Sebastian, right?— is real.”
“I hope I’m right this time,” you offered. “But even if I am, he may not agree.”
The driver scoffed, taking a hand off the wheel to wave dismissively. “If he’s anything like you said, then he will still be completely in love with you. After all, you still feel the same way after all this time apart, don’t you?”
“If anything, I love him more every day,” you admitted, your heart beating quickly just to say it aloud.
“You know, when I met my wife, she was engaged to another man. He was rich, good-looking, and he wasn’t even a bad guy unlike this husband you describe. He was a good man, but he wasn’t right for her. They were… content together, but she wasn’t truly happy. Every night I would come to her window and beg her to marry me, because I knew that she knew we were meant for each other, but she was scared because her family wouldn’t approve and she would be a poor man’s wife.”
“How did you convince her to marry you instead?” you asked eagerly, sucked into the story already.
“I didn’t. On the day of the wedding, some people told me to go and break it up but I didn’t. I thought it would be wrong, to try to ruin her happiness and take it for myself by making a scene at the wedding. I realized she was her own woman and if she wanted to choose him, I had to let her. I had locked myself in my house, not wanting to see anyone that day, and she appeared at my door. I didn’t need to convince her because she knew the truth in her heart, and called off the wedding herself.”
“Wow,” you smiled.
“She was still in her dress!” he recalled with a hearty laugh. “She looked like an angel. We were married just a few days later. And next month will be thirty years,” he added as he lifted his left hand to show the golden band on his finger.
“Thirty years, that’s… a long time,” you sighed.
“It wasn’t always easy,” he admitted. “But it was always worth it.”
Just as you wondered what you could possibly say to that, you felt the car slow down to a stop.
“This is the address you gave me, this is it,” he explained, pointing out his passenger-side window. You leaned up against the glass and gasped in dawning fear as you saw the storefront dark and empty inside.
“No, nonono,” you whispered rapidly to yourself as you swung open the door and hopped out, pressing your face against the glass to try to get a look inside and finding what was undeniably a closed carpentry business. There was a note on the door, taped on the inside of the glass, and you knew enough Romanian to know it said something about a vacation and three months.
“Shit!” you yelped, holding your face in your hands, wondering if your journey had come to an end before it really began.
“Are you alright?” the driver asked, rolling down his window to speak to you.
“This was my only lead, I don’t have his real address,” you explained. “He used to work here, I thought maybe someone would know him…”
He sighed, giving you a sympathetic look. “Get back in, we can search nearby. You came too far to give in yet.”
But getting back in the car felt like giving in, too, which you realized as you looked back at the note taped to the carpenter's door. This was the closest you'd gotten, and it felt wasteful to leave with nothing.
Just as you were ready to hop in the passenger seat and start searching aimlessly through suburban Bucharest, or maybe look around for a Romanian yellow pages, you heard a noise from behind you, across the street; a laugh. His laugh. But it couldn’t be because it was too good to be true… and yet you found yourself whipping your head around and hoping beyond all reason that it was Sebastian.
Across the street was a restaurant, with a large patio where patrons were dining and chatting as they sat at wrought iron tables, and your eyes searched the crowd for any signs of him.
And then your gaze landed on a head of thick brunette hair, red and gold highlights so obvious now when the sunlight hit it this way. Broad shoulders wrapped in a white button-up shirt. He was facing away from you but he was looking to the side so you could see his face; he was smiling, laughing at something someone had said. And it was his smile that you recognized; it was like everything else faded away, and in that moment you thought maybe you could almost be happy with just this, just seeing him be happy even if it had nothing to do with you.
“Sebastian,” you called out to him, but he didn’t react. “Sebastian!”
His whole body turned, his eyes met yours, and you couldn't help but let the tears well in your eyes as you ran across the road to him.
He looked, understandably, stunned, and you realized he was actually waiting on a table at the moment; he said something to them, apparently excusing himself, and stepped closer to you.
But he stopped walking, not coming any closer, not exactly dragging you into his arms like you might've preferred, but with a breath to try to soothe your racing mind, you summoned your memories of the practiced letter and began. *
“Când am venit în Ungaria…” you started slowly, doing your best to remember the words and hoping your pronunciation wasn’t too awful, “nu căutam dragoste. Căutam spațiu, claritate și poate o idee de carte de un milion de dolari. În schimb, am găsit tot ce am căutat toată viața mea…”
You did your best to bite back tears, especially when his expression was nearly unreadable and you had no idea how well this was going.
“Ești tu, Sebastian, bineînțeles că ești tu,” you sighed, laughing slightly. “Ai fost acolo pentru mine când nici nu știam ce vreau de la nimeni. Ai fost prietenul meu fără să spui vreodată un cuvânt - cel puțin nu un cuvânt pe care l-am înțeles. M-ai iubit și nu știam ce să fac cu asta, pentru că uitasem cu mult timp în urmă cum se simțea să fii iubit. Și ce simțeai să iubești cu adevărat pe cineva. Dar te iubesc. Și am fost prost să te las să pleci, atât de neconceput de prost. Vreau să fim noi, Sebastian. Lasă-mă să te iubesc, mai dă-mi o șansă și îți promit că nu te voi mai lăsa să pleci niciodată.
The first thing he said was your name, and just the way he said it made you fall in love with him all over again.
“I… I dream that you would come back,” he shakily replied. “But now I cannot believe. You are my dream.”
Tears were openly flowing at this point and you wanted to run into his arms, but you tried to stay calm and hear him out. He stepped closer, almost hesitant, like you would run away if he got too close too fast.
“I love you, very much that I am sure I am insane person,” he explained with a grin, and you giggled. “We will live anywhere, do anything you would like— be my wife.”
You gasped as he pulled you into him, gripping your arms tightly as his desperation became apparent.
“Marry me?” he asked softly.
“Da,” you nodded, “yes, of course, anything—”
He kissed you suddenly, but gently, and it said more than any words in any language could.
It was a small wedding, in the Hungarian countryside by the lake. You could remember diving into that lake for lost pages of your manuscript; you could remember looking out over the water and dreaming of this moment you were living right now, thinking it was impossible.
He didn’t have much family, but they welcomed you with open arms.
Your family, well, they were too busy with planning another wedding, for your ex-husband and your ex-sister. A few of them sent cards but the rest were suspiciously quiet. You honestly didn’t even notice… you had a new family to attend to, anyhow. And it wasn’t like you didn’t have any guests, since you were able to track down and invite a stewardess named Maria, and a cab driver named Andrei and his wife, Paola.
Sebastian’s cousins weaved flowers into your hair and his grandmother tailored her dress to fit you like a glove. A picture of his parents was hung nearby in tribute; he told you they would’ve wanted to see him get married but that he felt, in some way, they were able to even if they had passed away quite some time ago.
You realized you’d never seen him in anything even mildly formal before; in fact, the suit he wore was rather casual, all things considered, but he looked so painfully cute in it. Sometimes you thought he actually looked a bit out of place wearing a shirt, though, especially one that was buttoned up all the way.
Luckily, the shirt was halfway unbuttoned about ten minutes into the reception.
Mrs. Alberti cooked a massive dinner for everyone, and even grew the flowers that you carried down the cobblestone aisle.
And wow, can Romanians drink. You had to be careful not to try to keep up with them, because if you had you would’ve been blacked out halfway into the night and the last thing you wanted was to forget even a moment of this.
As the night started to wind down to a close, you and your new husband retired to the lakehouse, running up the stairs and finding them as creaky as always.
He wrapped his arms around you in the hall and kissed you eagerly as you stumbled back into the bedroom, tripping over the doorway and falling onto the bed together.
It felt so right to have his weight on top of you, to feel his smile against your lips, to wrap your arms around his neck.
“This room,” he mumbled into the kiss. “Do you remember first time?”
“Yes,” you nodded, “da, I remember, how could I forget?”
He grinned and moved his lips down to your neck. "I thought of you every day… I love you,” he whispered.
“Te iubesc,” you whispered back.
It was almost like the first time in so many ways: passionate, yet oddly hesitant as you rediscovered each other. It was comfortable, though… you couldn’t think of any other person you felt so comfortable with, somebody who finally got you out of your own head and who made you want to experience everything life had to offer.
You were sure you’d never gone so long without worrying about something in all your life.
“My wife,” he whispered against your skin. “This is all I had wanted… from seeing you in very beginning.”
“You’re all I ever wanted,” you sighed in return, “ești tot ce mi-am dorit vreodată, Sebastian.”
Life with Sebastian was beautifully simple. You spent most of the day writing, usually, while he built furniture to sell and occasionally gardened with his spare time. You could always tell how busy you’d been with a new novel lately by how perfectly groomed the hydrangea bushes were.
You’d told him once that you’d come to Hungary looking for a million-dollar book idea. A Killer in Disguise performed alright, but not anywhere near that. The Language of Love, on the other hand, was definitely a million-dollar idea… about eleven times over. Sebastian didn’t seem to worry too much about how much money you made, though; he was just proud to say that he was the inspiration for your hit novel. You secretly suspected that he was more proud of your work reaching enough international notoriety to be translated into Romanian.
His English still needed some work, but you found it endearing. He was determined to get better and spent at least a half-hour each day practicing, but you hoped he wouldn’t get too perfect because you would miss the silly little mistakes he made. At least you could be sure he’d keep the accent forever… damn, that accent; and he knew exactly what it did to you, too.
In fact, you were crossing through the hall in your robe one evening when your husband’s voice stopped you.
“Darling wife,” you heard Sebastian call from the bedroom in a playful sing-song.
“What is it, Seba?” you asked with a smirk.
“Come in here, please…”
You opened the bedroom door to find most of the room covered in rose petals: most of all the bed, which was surrounded by candles, and topped with a shirtless (as per usual) Sebastian, laid on his side seductively with a long-stemmed rose (one you recognized from his very own garden) between his teeth.
“What are you doing?” you laughed. “Is this some sort of special occasion I’ve forgotten?”
You were already searching your mind for what it could be, but your two-year anniversary had passed a few months ago already and since it was spring it couldn’t be the anniversary of when you first met since that was late in the summer.
“Iss not quite a thpecial occathion yeth,” he answered before taking the rose from his mouth so he actually made sense. “I was considering it could be a special occasion, when we’re done…”
You smirked and climbed over the candles and into bed with him, taking the opportunity to run your hands over his chest. “And what occasion would that be?”
“A year from now, it could be the anniversary of when our child was conceived,” he answered.
Your breath caught in your throat, your voice reduced to a whisper of surprise. “Seba—”
“If you’re not ready, I will be understand,” he instantly added, stern yet soft. “Only if you want this, I just thought that maybe—”
You silenced him with a kiss, lacing your fingers into his hair and letting him roll you onto your back. He pulled back just enough to let you answer, but your noses were still bumping into each other and you smiled.
“I’m ready, Sebastian. More than ready,” you whispered.
He grinned and kissed you again, deeper and slower as he held your face with one hand and gripped your waist with the other. As his lips trailed down to your neck, you were interrupted with one pressing thought.
“Can I ask you something?”
He popped up and looked down at you with a smile. “Sure!”
“Why are you wearing ratty old jeans?” you laughed.
“Hey, these worked on you the first time,” he defended.
You gasped. “You don’t mean those are the jeans—”
“Yes,” he nodded, “the jeans that I had been wearing when I was working on Mrs. Alberti’s cottage. And, truly, when I was finding an excuse to work outside your window.”
“Wait,” you sat up, “did you actually work outside my window on purpose?”
He laughed, hanging his head quickly before looking back at you again with a sparkle in his eye. “You are very smart, my love, except for those times when you are— how do you say? Oblivious.”
You chuckled, unfortunately very aware that he was right.
“Didn’t you ever wonder why I was building a window frame, nearly a dozen metres away from the window it was for?”
You thought for a moment before dropping your face into your hands and laughing. “No, I didn’t notice that. I was too busy giving you a thorough eye-fuck,” you recalled.
“Yes, because I was not wearing a shirt and this distracted you,” he pondered, sounding suddenly like a scientist explaining a theorem or something. “See, that’s the beauty of wearing the jeans and no shirt. The body distracts you while the jeans seduce you.”
“How about you take the jeans off and put that body on me, capisce?” you pleaded; not that you didn’t love his humor or anything, but maybe his funny bone wasn’t exactly the bone you were interested in at the moment.
He grinned devilishly and suddenly pulled your legs apart, settling his body between them as he kissed your neck again, nipping at your jawline and ear. “You’re being impatient, dragă,” he purred. “You want to have my baby that badly?”
You whined involuntarily, arching your back as his hands roamed your body and finally began to untie your robe and push the silk out of the way. “Yes, Sebastian, please—”
“Let’s just say, theoretically, I wanted to have more than one? Would you have another of my children?” he asked softly as he reached up and palmed at your breasts, teasing your nipples which were already much too hard and sensitive for how little he’d touched you. The rough denim rubbing against the inside of your thighs was oddly arousing— maybe it was the sensation itself, or maybe it was just that this was almost like the first thing you imagined when you saw Sebastian all those years ago.
“Yes,” you moaned out your answer, “yes, you know I’d do anything for you.”
“What if I wanted a big family?” he pressed. “Really big? Like, Catholic big?”
“We can have our own fuckin’ Brady Bunch, Seb, I just need you right now,” you begged, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a hot and desperate kiss.
He decided to wait until afterwards to ask what a ‘Brady Bunch’ was. You decided to wait until afterwards to ask when he’d learned how to use the word ‘theoretically’.
sfarsit; the end
490 notes
·
View notes
Text
Marked You [Michael Langdon x Fem Reader]
Summary: Oh you know, just the interesting relationship between you and your best friend, the anti-christ.
Warnings: smut, implied smut, swearing, fluff, smallest amount of violence
WC: 2.0k
A/N: This was literally the first fucking thing on my mind when I woke up at 4:30AM. And reading all my mutuals works got me brainstormin’. Master list, here. Thank you for reading! -Juno
GIF by casikototmblr
Your relationship with Michael Langdon was very, clear. He was your best friend of course, the two of you, inseparable. Friends since the age of 5, you know everything about each other. While the two of you have your own friend group, everyone else knew where they stood when you and Michael got around each other. You trusted him more than anyone else in your life. And while the silly little arguments came, perks of the best friend contract, he never hurt you. He never put you down. A simple cool down period and he was in your room again, making the most ridiculous jokes.
On your worst days, Michael was the first person there. Exceptional at reading tone through text, he was at your door, movie and food ready, followed by a friendly cuddle. On his worst days, and his days were really fucking bad, you were there too. A short walk over to his house, you would allow him to vent angrily to you as you sat on his bed, watching as things flew around, feeling the temperature in the room fluctuate rapidly, but again, he made sure to never hurt you.
That's how it's always been though between you and Michael. Comfortable. And you appreciated that. Time after time, you'd sit in his lap amongst your friends, who thought nothing of it because they knew the deal. And amongst his annoying group of friends who knew better than to say anything out of pocket. You'd hold hands sometimes, walking wherever. Kisses on the cheek and forehead weren't uncommon either. And while that didn't deter every whore at school to not throw themselves at him, it did make it hard for you to find yourself a boyfriend.
To those who didn't know him well, Michael was intimidating. He stood at 5'11, dominating blue eyes, charming smile. Outside of his comfort zone, he was very reserved and closed off, which at times made it seem like he was hard to talk to, but anyone that did know him could say he was the sweetest boy around this dreadful place. A sweet boy who isn't afraid of anything or anyone.
When you finally did get your first boyfriend, he was almost your first everything, until he fucked that up. Yes, he was a douche. Yes, Michael did make him pay. And, while he could of used his powers, he decided to go the old fashion way for a change. And while you had yelled at him the same day, saying he didn't need to do that, that rather large action, brought the two of you even closer. Maybe a little too close?
Senior year, 18, and you were still a virgin. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but your hormones got the best of you at times. You didn't trust very many guys outside of Michael and your friend group and you didn't just want to give yourself to just anybody that even looked at you sexually. You'd listen to all your friends brag about who they've slept with or who they were dating. You knew Michael was sexually active too, but he never went out of his way to talk about that with you, which you appreciated. Not that it would of mattered, right? Wrong.
"This has got to be the dumbest shit I've ever seen." Michael said, referring to the movie in front of the two of you. The both of you sat on the couch in his living room, Ms. Mead asleep for the night, his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulder as you nestled into his side. He waited a few seconds for a response that usually came quick to anything he said, but when you didn't say anything, he turned his head to look at you. And look at you, just staring. "You okay, Y/N?"
You still didn't give him an answer. Instead, your eyes darted back and forth between his eyes and his lips and you swore that you could feel your face inching closer to his. And with Michael's unpredictability at times, you didn't know if it was his powers, but either way he was getting closer too. You gently put your lips on his in what started out as a gentle kiss that soon escalated. Realizing what you were doing, you quickly pulled yourself away.
"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry." you repeated. "I just.. I-, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."
"You're sorry?" Michael grinned. He was hot, temperature and looks. "I finally get the one kiss that means something to me and you're sorry?"
"Wait wh-,"
"You're gonna be real sorry if you don't kiss me again." No more questions because you were wanting it just as bad as he was, you slammed your lips back into his. And he got handsy QUICK. Tongues exploring each other's insides, he grabbed every inch of you that he could, pausing momentarily so that he could pull his shirt off, followed by yours. His hands found their way to your breasts again, squeezing them before his fingers slowly trailed down to your stomach and in the waistband of your jeans.
"Wait-..." you mumbled against his lips, grabbing his wrist. "I-, I'm, I'm not-,"
"I know." Michael said, staring deeply into your eyes. "I'll be gentle, but if you want me to stop, I will. But God, and I use that term loosely, I've wanted you forever."
"I don't want you to stop. I just thought maybe you didn't know..."
"I'm always gonna know about my Y/N." Michael grabbed both of your hands, holding them together as he gave them a kiss. "If I do anything to hurt you, please stop me." You nodded and allowed him to resume. And he took care of you, just like he said he would.
"Hey." Michael said to you the next day, startling you at your locker.
"Shit." you said, almost dropping one of your books.
"Did I scare you?"
"You always scare me." He gave a small laugh before he face became serious again. "But about last night..."
"What about it?" he questioned, raising his eyebrow.
"Thank you."
"What are you thanking me for?" he asked confused.
"For being my first. For being so gentle and so caring. And for just being my best friend. Oh and being cute, a bonus."
"It's what best friends are for right?" He leaned up against the locker next to you, eyes piercing through your body as he licked his upper lip.
"I mean, no not really." you laughed. "But I'm honestly glad it was you."
And it just didn't stop there. Sexual encounters between you and your "best friend" became regular. Countless times you found yourself being dragged into the utility closet between periods. And it was always a quicky. Either you were on your knees for him or he was on his knees for you. Thankfully this room was located at the far end of the hall because the noises that came from it were sometimes so ungodly.
Wet and sloppy noises and his moans crowded the room as you sucked Michael off relentlessly, drool dangling from your chin, hand wet as you stroked him at the pace you sucked him. As he got closer, you let him take control, hands finding their way behind him to grip his ass tightly as he released himself down your throat. Re-dressing, he sent you on your way with a sloppy kiss, a smack on the ass, and a "love you". And the next time you knew it was your turn.
If you've never squirted before, you did now. This forced Michael to bring a back up shirt for the days he knew he was going to be between your legs in that closet. He wouldn't let up either, knowing how sensitive you were and how little time the two of you had. An intense mixture of his mouth and fingers, he worked you like a pro, not caring that his face was soaked in your juices. And when you squirted, he took all of it like it was nothing. He's left you speechless and breathless so many times, taking you above and beyond. If he was fast enough, he'd stroke himself for you, leaving his mouth to do all the work, knowing the sight of him got you off quicker and if you, yes you, got lucky enough, he'd orgasm with you, all over his hand, and you'd clean it right up.
There was no doubt that he brought out your inner sexual nature. The joy of being a sinner, yes? Your favorite place to be was in his room, music playing in the background, underneath him. Some evenings it was rough and fast. He'd fuck you deep into his mattress, arms pinned above your head as he hair dangled over his face. Or hand wrapped around your throat as you held onto his wrist. Most evenings though, it was slow and passionate and that's when the both of you realized that it was maybe more than just bfs with benefits.
Michael made love to you more than anything, taking his time to fill you up. Hands carefully and gently roaming your body as you sat in his lap, legs wrapped around his waists. Soft kisses on the lips and neck. When he fucked you, he made sure to hit the spots that made you cry out, every single thrust. He always took care of you first, made sure you came, and more than once. His favorite place to have you was in your room, LED lights red just like he liked it, on top him, forcing you to ride out your orgasm until you either had another one or he reached his.
You two weren't shy of public adventures either. Hand jobs and being fingered behind any hidden surface, as long as the conditions were right and it turned you on so much how Michael could keep a straight face while you did it, but projected his loud thoughts into your mind so only you could hear. You struggled most times to keep yourself together, but obviously not reckless enough to give the both of you up. Dress rooms in the malls were a favorite too as he could pound you as hard as he wanted to, knowing that you couldn't let out a sound or risk getting caught.
And when enough was enough, it was enough. How dare another guy try to flirt with you at a party that Michael was hosting. Sure, you two weren't official, but you were official. Anyone with eyes could see that you were off limits, but not this guy who hadn't stopped talking to you despite your clear lack of interest in what he had to say.
"Clearly she doesn't want to be bothered." Michael said, suddenly appearing behind you, hands clasped behind his back.
"Oh come on, Michael." the guy said. "Can't a guy get a little action every now and then." Michael, already buzzed and now with an even shorter fuse, snapped, grabbing the guy by his throat, drawing the eyes of those in the vicinity who knew better than to object.
"If I see you talk to her again, and trust me I'll know, I'll snap your neck. Understood?"
"Michael..." you said softly, grabbing his arm. "It's okay. Really. C'mon."
"Understood?!" Michael said again, his grip tightening.
"Under... understood." the guy weakly replied and Michael let him go, shoving him back so he stumbled backwards.
"Hey!" you said, pulling him towards you. "I said it was okay."
"No one is gonna flirt with my girl and everything just be okay? Do you want to know what he was thinking about? Cause I can tell you and I promise that you will not be happy." But you had already tuned him out after hearing the words "my girl".
"What did you just say?" you asked, amused.
"Nothing. Just. Come on. Let's go have a drink or something. I've barely seen you all night."
"But all of sudden show up when a guy starts talking to me? Nuh Uh, Michael Langdon. I know you. You were watching me. Your girl, huh?"
"You were always my girl, Y/N. You were always going to be, my girl and you always will be."
Taglist: @jimmason @angelicmichael @whatcodysaid @9layerdevilfoodcake @xavierplympton @guiltyfiend @mikhalxngdon @fernfiction @theneverendinghunger
#cody fern#cody fern imagine#american horror story#ahs#ahs apocalypse#michael langdon#michael langdon imagine#michael langdon x reader#michael langdon smut#michael langdon imagine
442 notes
·
View notes
Text
Alone
Pre-timeskip!Kuroo x reader
Warnings: angst and swearing but you guys did NOT breakup plus he gives you the nickname kitten
Main masterlist
“Tetsu, you doing alright?”
You asked as you walked into his room. Nekoma lost the last practice match against Nohebi, so you were sure he needed emotional support of some sort.
“Everything’s just great, y/n. We lost to that snake bastard and I failed the last assessment. It’s just awesome, isn’t it.”
You looked at him, irritation clearly visible.
“Hey um, if you need anything, I’m here.”
“That’s cool ‘cause I would like you to fuck off.”
“Babe you know that’s not the best way to face frustrati-“
“Y/N, FOR FUCKS SAKE, LEAVE ME ALONE!”
You backed off, hurt from his words. All you wanted was to help him out of his mood, he didn’t have to yell at you to tell you not to.
“Fine”
It was all you said before you gathered your things and left his house. On your way home, you thought back to all the times when you were being affectionate with him. Was he uncomfortable? Was there any signs of disgust? You couldn’t tell. As a middle blocker, he is good at acting and you certainly can’t read him. He’s full of uncertainties, and that’s not what you’re looking for in a relationship. You finally reached your house, and soon enough you are already sprinting to your room with tears gushing along the way. Maybe you’re just a burden to him, doing nothing but pulling him down. You started sobbing even harder at the thought, eventually falling asleep as the weariness took over you.
“Kuro, did you and y/n fight?”
Kenma asked. It’s a school day and you weren’t sitting at him and your boyfriend’s table today. To word it exactly, you shunned him since the fight. Not replying to texts, calls being sent straight to voicemail, and not even a glance at school.
“I don’t know. She just ran out of my door that day…”
“Why?”
“Well,” Kuroo started playing with his hands as he took a sip of his drink, “I was upset and frustrated after the match, and I think I also upset her.”
Kenma started rubbing his temples.
“What exactly did you do.”
“You see, I uh, told her to fuck off…”
“Are you stupid? Why would you?”
“I was stressed!”
“I’ve never been in an relationship before and even i know that’s the dumbest shit to do.”
Kuroo smacked the table, catching attention from other students in the meantime.
“Kyanmaaaaaa what do I do now I fucked up so bad!”
There was a silence, before Kenma spoke up.
“Just apologize to her sincerely I guess. It’s your relationship afterall, so say the things you know she’d take as an apology.”
With that, Kuroo ran away after telling Kenma a small “thanks.” There is only one place you could be right now- your old lunch spot behind the cafeteria before you started sitting with them. He ran and ran, trying to get to you and make it up to you as soon as possible. When he got there, his heart ached at the sight. You were all alone on the bench, knees to your chest as muffled sniffles keep coming out. He sat beside you, hoping you wouldn’t run away or tell him to go away.
“I- I thought you told m-me to fuck off.”
He watched as your teary eyes looked up to him, filled with hurt.
“No baby, I was just being a jerk. I didn’t mean it.”
“Bu-but you were yelling at me a-and told me to leave yo-u alone.”
Kuroo couldn’t take it anymore. He quickly picked you up to embrace you into a hug, as you continued letting out small sniffles. With his hand combing your hair and the other soothing you on the back, your sobs slowly died out.
“I’m so sorry kitten… I was just really irritated that day. Please don’t ignore me anymore. I love you too much to watch you do so.”
Hands still on you, eyes fixed on you, hopes expecting you to turn to him, Kuroo began to panic.
“Hey y/n, please don’t leave me… I know I hurt you so bad, but please.”
Your heart also cracked at his uncharacteristically small voice, as if his words were also crying.
“Tetsu?”
You looked up, straight into his pupils.
“Yea?”
“I won’t leave you. I love you, I was only keeping distance because I thought that’s what you want.”
“Kitten, if I ever do dumb shit like that, just straight up slap my face. Please don’t leave me again. I really love being cared and appreciated by you, and don’t even mention cuddles. The last thing I want is to not have you by my side. I love you y/n.”
“…I love you too Tetsu. Can we cuddle? We have free period next.”
Kuroo planted a soft kiss on your forehead.
“Sure. Anything for you.”
Author’s notes: hi so i alr finished this a few days ago but keep forgetting to post lol and send help its currently 3 am but I’m fully awake
©m6bjo4fu0 2021 Work belongs to Shyn on Tumblr, please do NOT plagiarize or repost anywhere without permission.
#shyns cave#shyns work#haikyuu#hq#Kuroo#Kuroo Tetsuro#haikyuu fic#haikyuu angst#hq angst#kuroo angst#haikyuu x you#haikyuu x y/n#haikyuu x reader#hq x you#hq x y/n#hq x reader#kuroo x you#kuroo x y/n#kuroo x reader#haikyuu imagines#kuroo imagine#haikyuu x female reader#kuroo x female reader#kuroo fanfic#kuroo fluff#haikyuu fanfiction#hq fanfic#haikyuu fanfic#fanfic#hq fluff
169 notes
·
View notes
Text
I Think He Knows
part of the send me a song, i’ll write you a drabble series
Inspired By: I Think He Knows by Taylor Swift
Pairing: yang jeonginxreader
Genre: fluff [coffee shop!AU, barista!jeongin, hopeless romantic!y/n]
Length: 600+
“Y/N! Wait up!”
Oh My God. This is it. Growing up your mom would tell you she thought you’d end up having a rom-com kind of love story. You never believed her, figuring you’d be doomed to swiping left and right until you found someone that you tolerated enough to spend the rest of your life with.
But this is totally unexpected. This is your rom-com moment. Holy shit, she was right.
You turn to see nobody but Jeongin running down the sidewalk. He’s still wearing his deep purple apron, and there’s a black glove on his left hand. He ran out after you on impulse, your heart can’t seem to get itself in check as he finally slows down to a jog as he approaches you. He’s about to give it to you, the grand love profession. Music swelling, rose petals falling from the sky, perfectly timed words and camera angle cuts. You’re ready. You want it.
“Jeongin? What- What do you need?” You can feel warm flames creep up your neck and find their home on your cheeks as you stare at him.
He smiles at you, bright and beautiful. He takes a moment to catch his breath before he speaks, “You forgot your laptop.” He says and oh. You forgot your laptop.
You try not to frown as you notice his non-gloved hand reach into the backpack he’s wearing and pass you your computer. You’re blushing even harder now, but for much different reasons than before, the realization setting in that you were too enthralled by your favorite handsome barista that you forgot your most expensive possession in a busy coffee shop right off campus.
“Thanks, Jeongin. I-” you laugh “I can’t believe I left it behind.” You take it from his hand and, oh God do you wish your fingers would brush as he handed it to you. How you wish the sparks would fly.
“No problem.” He says, wiping his hands on the sides of his jeans awkwardly and looking at you. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something and then he closes it again. He looks sort of nervous? Like he doesn’t know what to do next, and honestly neither do you.
“Do you need anything else?” You ask, half a whisper. It’s probably the dumbest thing you could say, making it sound like you wanted him to leave and go back to work. You don’t, of course you don’t. You want your rom-com moment.
“Uh, no. Not, uh, really. Have… have a good day!” He says and turns back around quickly before you can let out a “you too.” You swear you see a shade of pink painting the back of his neck and ears as you watch him walk away, dumbfounded.
Walking home, all you can do is replay the interaction you just had over, and over, and over again in your head. The flurries of butterflies in your stomach don’t go away the entire rest of the night. You giggle like a high schooler when you picture his radiant smile whenever he crosses your mind, which is about every thirty seconds.
When you open your laptop later that evening to look up a recipe for dinner you’re met with a teal blue note folded neatly on your keyboard. It reads,
Y/N
i see the way you look at me, and i’ve been told i look at you like that too.
truth is you’re really beautiful and i really really want to take you out on a date.
so, will you go out with me? <3
Jeongin
p.s. please say yes
#ficscafe#happy birthday jeongin!#yang jeongin#yang jeongin fluff#yang jeongin imagine#i.n. fluff#i.n. imagine#stray kids i.n.#i.n.xreader#yang jeonginxreader#stray kids fluff#anon requested demo#skz fluff#skz imagines#stray kids drabble#skz drabble#beausehun#autumn writes jeongin#demo requests
52 notes
·
View notes
Text
the 7 ways he’ll tell you he loves you
(NOT MY GIF ALL CREDIT TO OWNER)
jj maybank x reader
taglist: @snarkystarkey @sunflowermotel @howdyherron @drew-starkey @maraseavey @outerbanqs @yelyahryan @obxwriterfan @avashroom @rewindlr @raekenliar @imsad05 @ceruleanjj @dolanfivsosxox @heyhargrove @lashtonandmalumsbaby @beautyandthebleh @pancahke @outrbank @johnbsflowr @corleigh @poguemacking @maybe-maybanks @katie-avery @5sos-seavey
a/n: this is unedited, so sorry about the mistakes. i saw a lot of trouble going around with plagiarism on wattpad and i did report a lot of books with stolen fics and props to you guys for getting a few actually taken down!! plagiarism and theft of intellectual property is HURTFUL, writers put SO MUCH into their work, and it’s not so you can get some votes on a wattpad page. also, boys using lovely as a nickname is ;alsdjffenve.
How long is forever supposed to be? Months? Years, decades, lifetimes? Forever was supposed to be you and JJ.
Forever feels like the 15 minutes that he’s been fighting you for.
“Y/n, I don’t get why you’re turning this into such a big deal.”
“Stop doing that. Stop acting like I don’t get to be mad. I do! I am! You know, you always do this JJ.” “I do not.” “You do. I’m sick of it. I’m- I’m sorry, JJ, but I’m done. I don’t wanna do this anymore,” you sniffle. You refuse to cry. Not in front of him. “We’re going in circles, I really think it’s time to, to just call it quits.” You shrug. JJ is silent. You wait, you yourself need to process what just came out of your mouth.
JJ is on the couch. He leans on his knees with his elbows and his head is hanging low. He nods. Slowly at first, then quicker.
“Okay,” he sighs, “You’re right. You’re right.”
You nod, relieved that he agreed with you. A bigger part of you was upset that he agreed with you. It would’ve been nice if he had put up some kind of a fight.
“So, uh, I’ll go.” “Yeah.”
You collapsed onto the couch, rubbing a hand over your face. A brightly colored magazine was open on the coffee table in front of you. Cheetah printed bold letters spelled out a headline:
The 7 Ways He’ll Tell You He Loves You.
Talk about bad timing. You flipped the cover back over it.
#1: He’ll flat out tell you.
“You know, you’re one of the dumbest boys I’ve ever met.” “Right back at you.” JJ grinned up at you. “Oh, low blow, dude.” You laughed, tackling him down onto the bed. JJ fell back with a loud oof, the breath knocked out of his stomach.
“One day, you’ll do that and I won’t get up, you know that? You’re actually going to be the death of me.” “Oh, I hope so. I’m already sick of you.” “This is literally you confessing to my murder.” He laughed, shoving you off him so he could hover over you instead. “They won’t arrest me, I’m too cute.” You gave him a cheesy smile.
“That you are,” JJ smirked, leaning down to press soft kisses into the skin between your jaw and your neck. You hummed in approval as he pulled away. You fiddled with the necklace which dangled from his neck. “I love you,” he muttered.
“ ‘Til I murder you?”
He pecked your lips. “Til you murder me.”
He couldn’t have fought for you? Put up some sort of argument? This was a stupid battle to pick with yourself. You were the one who instigated the break up.
Maybe you weren’t expecting him to actually agree with you. You weren’t expecting him to let you end things.
#2: He’ll protect you.
“Maybank, I swear to god, if you don’t get us down from here right now I will throw your ass off this cliff.” “It’s really not that high up!” “Holy shit!” You yelped and turned to bury your face in JJ’s chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around you.
“Hey, you’re okay, alright? You’re okay. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. I got you. It’s okay, I got you.” JJ assured you, laughing a little through his words at how tightly you were clutching his tank top.
The next couple of weeks hurt like hell. It’s a sad process, trying to leave behind someone you were rooted to so deeply. You’d see him at parties or even just out on the street sometimes.
His eyes always followed you. When you were dating, you were amazing at being able to tell when JJ was watching you. A shiver used to run over your spine, and you’d turn and immediately meet his eyes. He’d smirk and raise his hand to salute you.
God, how you missed that smirk.
Apparently, after you stopped dating, your body never forgot what it felt like when his eyes were on you. These days, when you turned to look at him his eyes were intense. He held your eyes for a second. One second when you could forget how you cried and how he left without kissing you goodbye.
Then he looked away.
#3: He thinks of you when you’re not with him.
“Hey, baby, look at this.” JJ threw the door to the Chateau open and marched over to you. His smile was proud, like a child trying to impress his mom. He stuck out his hand and dropped a small square magnet into yours. You flipped it over to see the front.
It was brown and painted badly to look wooden. There were two u-shaped magnets painted on as well, and it read, ‘I can’t help but be attracted to you’. You read this out loud and JJ grinned, ecstatic with his choice.
“Where did you get this?” You snorted. “It was at some cheesy gift shop. It made me think of you so I had to buy it.” “It’s perfect. I love it.” You stood to kiss his cheek and slid the magnet onto the fridge. “You’re very welcome.”
JJ has always been nearly unreadable. He’s scarily good at hiding his thoughts and feelings from everyone around him, often including his best friends. You knew John B at least had some knowledge of JJ’s emotions, but you doubted the rest of the group did.
You had at least managed to make a couple cracks in the hard walls he had built up around himself.
#4: He shows you his emotions.
You gaped in awe at the bruises littering his torso. You had no idea just how bad it was. You had no idea why he never told you.
“I can’t take him anymore, Y/n, I can’t take it- can’t do it anymore.” JJ sobbed, his arms tightening around you. You guided his head down to your shoulder.
“I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, J. C'mere.” You took a deep breath. You would not cry. Not when he needed you to be strong. “Let it out. You’re okay now.” You locked eyes with John B, terrified.
His tears soaked the skin on your shoulder and the first of many that night fell into his hair.
But since the breakup, from what you saw of him you couldn’t get anything. His face was expressionless every time you made eye contact with him.You had seen him smile at his friends once or twice, but nothing real. JJ was very good at fake smiles. They looked nearly identical to his real ones. But you loved him for long enough to know what a real one should look like.
#5: He’ll try and make you laugh.
“Why are you sad, lovely? Stop it, I hate seeing you sad.” JJ pulled you on his chest, brushing hairs out of your face. You shook your head, tucking your face into his chest.
“Ok. Fine. You leave me no other choice.” JJ sighed loudly. “What do you call Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson when he tells time?”
He waited a second for an answer that never came. “Dwayne ‘The Clock’ Johnson.”
You laughed abruptly, but it came out as a sob. You didn’t lift your head.
“Alright, you want more, fine. What do you call Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson when he won’t shut up? Dwayne ‘The Talk’ Johnson. What do you call Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson when the doorbell is broken? Dwayne ‘The Knock’ Johnson. What do you call Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson when he wears comfortable, breathable footwear? Dwayne ‘The Croc’ Johnson.”
Your whole body was shaking with uncontrollable laughter now. You were certain that JJ had been practicing those at some point.
“No more, no more, please,” You finally lifted your head and JJ wiped away a fallen tear with his thumb. You choked on a laugh. “So how long did it take you to come up with those?”
JJ frowned. “What do you mean, I came up with those like just now!” He laughed.
“Okay, sure, JJ.” “Don’t test me, I have like, 8 more.”
You think the worst part about this is being lonely. You’re surrounded by comforting friends who try and take you places and get you to have fun but at the end of the night you go home to an empty bed and you wake up in an empty bed.
And every morning without fail, you’ll wake up and reach for him. And every morning without fail, he won’t be there.
#6: He’ll make romantic gestures.
“JJ? Where are you?” You sat up, groggily. He wasn’t in bed, that’s for sure.
“G’morning, lovely,” JJ strolled into your room, carrying a tray. You propped yourself up on the headboard and took it from him.
“Aw, JJ, what is all this?” “Breakfast.” “You made breakfast?”
JJ stole a berry off your plate and popped it in his mouth, nodding. He took a seat near your legs.
JJ can’t cook for shit.
“Baby, it’s okay, it’s the thought that counts, I thought it was sweet!” “Nah, dude, that was shitty, I’m sorry. That bread tasted like a frying pan.” “The berries were good.” “That’s because all I did to them was wash them.”
You hit up another party with your friends. They were the best kind of distraction. You pulled up the green bikini strap that was falling down your shoulders. This was his favorite top.
“Y/l/n!” You heard a voice shout. “Y/n!”
You turned to see who was shouting your name and smiled at John B.
“Hey, Routledge, good to see you!” “Hey, Y/n. Look, I know you guys aren’t on talking terms- “John B, no,” You interrupted, but he kept talking over you.
“But, please, Y/n, he won’t talk to anybody and we’re all worried about him.” “I really can’t, I don’t think he- “He’s in the van. Driver’s seat. Thank you!” And then he was gone. You huffed.
You could see the van from here and you could barely make out a figure sitting in the front seat.
You stood there for a second before you forced yourself to get over it and you made your way around dancing teenagers to the van.
You pulled open the door and climbed into the passenger seat. He turned to look at you.
“Hi,” you forced out. This felt uncomfortably unfamiliar. “Hey, Y/n.”
“How are you?” He asked. He was being formal. He was never formal with you.
“Fine, I guess. What about you?”
He said nothing. “Small talk? Is that what we are now? We have to make small talk?” He laughed, exasperated.
“I know you hate small talk.”
“What happened to us?” His eyes are wet, and he doesn’t look at you, just stares straight ahead.
“I made a mistake.” You said it out loud. You hadn’t forced yourself to admit it yet. That you were wrong for putting him in this position.
“What?” He turned to look at you.
“I shouldn’t have broken up with you. I think some part of me thought you wouldn’t actually let me do it. That you would fight to make us work.” You shrugged. Your eyes watered up.
“Well, I didn’t want to break up with you.” He spoke quickly.
“What?” Now it was your turn to be confused.
“Of course I never wanted to leave you, Y/n. I love you.”
“But you said I was right. And you left.” “I thought that was what you wanted. I want you happy. If that means I have to get out of the picture, then I’m gone. I left because I thought you wanted me to go.”
You scoff. “So, all this time we’ve just been playing ourselves.”
JJ laughs, a wet one. “You know, nobody told me just how fucking useless I was going to be without you.” He finally really looks at you.
There’s a half smile on his face and his eyes are full of tears.
You leap into him, and he meets you halfway. He buries his forehead on your shoulder and his hand is holding the back of your head.
“I missed you. I missed you so much, lovely.” He cries into your hair.
#7: He’ll do anything if it means you’re happy.
#outer banks imagine#outer banks#outer banks imagines#jj maybank imagine#jj maybank#jj maybank imagines#jj maybank x reader#jj maybank x you#jj imagines#jj outer banks#jj maybank outer banks#jj maybank fluff#jj maybank angst#jj maybank fic#obx imagine#john b routledge#rudy pankow#outer banks fluff#outer banks angst
5K notes
·
View notes
Note
Okay so hc’s of Hawks, Dabi, Bakugo, and Shinsou with an outta pocket s/o plz! She just oozes crackhead energy and says the most funniest most wildest shit. (Hawks:*teasing her* S/O: Ah, so you think cuz your balls drag across the floor, you got jokes huh? ☺️) Sis could come up with the most immaculate of roasts (S/O: Mineta, you waste of sperm! I will rip your spine outta your ass and make it into fine China before sending it to your parents 😡) and do the dumbest things just cuz she wants to (Monoma’s on his bullshit and S/O just suplexes him without saying a single word). Imagine their faces when she breaks the fourth wall a couple of times, says some freaky shit with a straight face, or she’ll just go “Nope” and jump out of a window with no hesitation (she don’t care how high the drop is, she heading out). Need them to be with someone who just has “I woke up and chose violence” energy.
I POSTED IT TO THE WRONG ASK 😭😭😭 i still have the other request saved on the actual document so at least i didnt completely fuck it up
still, im gonna go cry in a corner so brb
---
i had a stroke reading this 😅
but like i read this out to my buddy @grapefantaenby and we both were like BRO I LOVE THAT, even if my writing of it is subpar at best lol
also that m*neta insult is actual perfection. might send it to my ex
Warnings: chaos, some swear words, m*neta exists 🤮
---
Hawks/Keigo Takami:
🍗 Keigo loves it
🍗 He especially loved when the two are you are partnered up, simply because of how terrified the villains are when they see you. You’re not even that scary, they just have no idea what you’re going to do
🍗 You could either decide your weapon of choice that day is a chair, or take a bag of popcorn from a nearby store and just sit there eating it while Hawks does his job (heroes don’t steal so Keigo always makes sure to go back to the store and pay for you if you forget)
🍗 He’s used to you jumping out of random windows. He was absolutely terrified the first time, and jumped straight after you to catch you, but now he just sends a bunch of his feathers to make sure you make it to the ground safely
🍗 You don’t bend over and accept everything the commission asks you to do, and it’s quite common for them to demand that Hawks keep an eye on you to ensure you don’t get into too much trouble. It’s also quite common for you to just walk out mid meeting with a middle finger to the rest of the conference room and a scream that you want food
🍗 The fourth wall breaks. Oh God the fourth wall breaks. Hawks literally just stand there like ‘what the fuck’ when you turn to an empty piece of sidewalk and mutter something about villains being too hot for their own good (legit thinks for a moment you mean temperature-wise, but is still confused anyway)
---
Dabi/Touya Todoroki:
💙🔥 Oh boy. If there’s one thing that gets on Dabi’s nerves it’s chaotic individuals. He deals with Toga and Twice on a daily basis, so you’d think he’d know how to tone out the craziness. Alas, he does not
💙🔥 Sometimes he wants to throw you against the wall and just tell you to shut up for a goddamn second, and other times he wants to praise you for showing some low level villain that the league was not to be messed with. Maybe you did it with an insult about his mother, but it still worked, and the villain left you with an apology quickly enough
💙🔥 Not that Dabi would ever actually tell anyone that he thought they did a good job, so he usually just ignores you, attempting to stay out of your way (he also doesn’t really want you to insult his mother)
💙🔥 Eventually he becomes more accustomed to your… uniqueness, and occasionally you actually manage to get a half smile from him with one of your numerous insults aimed towards Shigaraki. They can get pretty creative
💙🔥 If Dabi is ever at odds with the rest of the league for some reason (there’s not really a reason, he’s just being Dabi), they - usually mom Kurogiri - sends you in an attempt to cheer him up. If you don’t manage to cheer him up, you still manage to annoy him enough to force him back to the rest of them. Either way it works out
---
Katsuki Bakugou:
💥 ‘Wow you’re annoying’ is the first thing Bakugou thinks when he meets you (he should meet himself) so he plans to just ignore you. After all, he’s not there to make friends. He’s there to be the best hero
💥 Annoyingly, even with your naturally chaotic energy, you still manage to stay right on his toes. That’s what finally gets him to notice you (notice me senpai), and to his frustration, you’re barely even trying to beat him, and yet you manage to remain hot on his heels
💥 He’s surprised you’re not suspended from all the shit you pull, but you always manage to get yourself out of trouble one way or another. Even if that way is jumping out of a second story window and claiming they can’t kick you out when you’re injured (how that actually works he has no idea)
💥 He’s wanted to throw a chair at that stupid copycat Monoma since he first met him, so when you actually throw a chair at the guy, Bakugou laughs. Like really laughs. Kirishima thought he might’ve been possessed for a moment, but Monoma’s expression when he finally got back up was priceless
💥 It takes a while but he slowly manages to respect your skill as a hero - as much as King Explosion Murder can respect anyone. And even though your personality is… unusual, you’re not Deku, so he can deal with you
💥 Besides, anyone who can and will suplex Monoma without any warning is a worthy friend for him
---
Hitoshi Shinsou:
💜 The first time he met you, you were screaming like a banshee running through the halls of school, chasing after a small purple speck some way off in the distance. He didn’t get involved
💜 He saw you next being held apart from Bakugou with help from Aizawa’s scarf. You were screaming again, but this time at least you sounded human. He heard something about an ‘angry pomeranian’ before he decided to leave you to it
💜 You’re part of 1A, so Shinsou doesn’t pay you much mind other than the infuriating need to prove himself to everyone that ever doubted him. He’s surprised when you don’t act like the others in your class, and first gets to talk to you after you barrel into him in the hallways mid lesson (you were both skipping so he didn’t call you out on it)
💜 He asked if you were okay, and your exasperated response of ‘Bakugou’ explained enough for him. You sat together for a while. Okay, you refused to get up from the floor. He got tired of standing and decided to join you
💜 You get your first smile from him after you’re almost caught by a teacher looking for you, when you grab his hand and make a mad dash to a darkened classroom currently unused by anyone else
💜 Your first laugh comes when you flip off Denki after he tried one of his many pickup lines on you. The blond’s reaction was great, and Shinsou couldn't help but chuckle at how you managed to twist Denki’s pickup line into some distorted insult to his… nether regions
💜 Your chaos is a nice contrast to how nonchalant Shinsou usually is. You bring some much needed joy to the purple haired insomniac, and he helps to calm you down when your usual energy might be unneeded in certain situations. You know what they say; opposites attract
#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#boku no hero fic#boku no hero art#hawks x reader#keigo takami#keigo takami x reader#dabi#dabi x reader#touya todoroki#touya todoroki x reader#katsuki bakugou#katsuki bakugou x reader#hitoshi shinsou#hitoshi shinsou x reader#mha x reader
204 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dating Suna Rintarou HCS
Word Count: 1388
A/N: i’m sick of the suna slander 😔 i wanted some soft sunrin hc’s because it’s always drug lord rin this or toxic suna that :’) i’m too soft for that i need me some 17 y/o meme nerd who’s socially awkward and still asks himself how he got a s/o. if no one else will i will 👺
- He may be good at reading volleyball moves but he’s definitely a little dense when it comes to emotions.
- He doesn’t really talk much about them with you, it’s not that he doesn’t feel anything - he just struggles expressing himself properly with words, so in turn he tends to express himself with actions.
- He’ll struggle a lot at the beginning, afraid to upset you or overstep some boundaries that haven’t been explained, but with time he’ll grow comfortable telling you things as they are.
- The type to walk over to you when he sees you’re not feeling too good and wrap his arms around you, he doesn’t say much as you slowly return the hug and sob. He won’t say anything, he’d let you pour it out now and later have a talk with you.
- He’d have a few snacks you like on his bag too just in case you get hungry or whatever, he says they’re for him but you know he doesn’t like that brand of chips but you do.
- Once you’re done, he takes your hand and leads you to a more private area and encourages you to talk. He may not be able to solve the issue but sometimes talking about how you feel… makes things better, even if it’s just slightly.
- He’s the type to remember anything you tell him even in passing, mention something like your parent’s birthday or an appointment and he’ll just store the information in his brain and spit it out at random times.
- That includes things such as food orders and allergies, what you like and don’t, the things that make you uncomfortable or that make you feel icky; he could write a book on you. Just text him over for some food and he’ll know what to order you even if it’s a place you’ve never been to together.
- He really likes having pictures and videos of you on his camera roll, he'll have super cute pictures of you on a date one moment and then a video of you falling on your ass after you went to pick up a pencil.
- Once you start being more serious about your relationship, he’ll dedicate every game and point he scores to you. If you’re there he’ll look over to your seat and nod, his eyes naturally gravitate towards yours, he’ll always smile at you whenever he scores a point.
- Won’t say it at first but he loves it when you wear his jacket, seeing you in the stands cheering for him with the rest of his classmates pumps him up. After he notices he does better when you do, he’d probably get an extra one for you with his number on it (when Atsumu heard him asking Kita for it he broke lung laughing).
- He hesitated a lot before asking you out, he’s the type of guy to watch over his crush for a while. Not in the creepy way more in the “wow this person is so cool I want to approach them but I’m too embarrassed”-way.
- He loves it when you wear his clothes, especially his hoodies. He isn’t subtle about it at all either, Suna will straight up throw you the hoodie and be like “wow it’s so cute you’re so cute too imagine you wearing that how cute that’d be lmao” while his ears are blushing red.
- Finds everything you do cute, you could be walking towards him in the corridor and he’d be blushing and smiling to himself. Atsumu and Osamu tease the fuck out of him once you’re gone.
- Will send you random posts that remind him of you, they can go from cute pictures of cats snuggling to a deep fried image of a chicken nugget.
- “Heh, look… it’s you.” He showed you a picture, he was lying down on your lap - his hair messy from deep sleep - with his cheeks squished in your thighs.
- “Babe that’s Patrick star.” You look at the screen in confusion and continue playing with your boyfriend’s hair, slightly concerned for his well being.
- “Same energy though.” He mumbles after saving the post, he’d make it your contact picture later.
- He loves falling asleep on your lap, it’s annoying. You know once he lays his head on your thighs he’s not moving until the next hour or so. Kind of like a cat in that regard because Suna will find the worst time to cuddle you like that and he’d refuse to leave unless you move, which you normally don’t because when you do he looks extremely betrayed much to your dismay.
- He’s so soft for you, you wouldn’t realize it unless you heard him ramble about how cute you are in the dressing room but oh my god is he ready to move the world around for you.
- When he messes around during practice, Aran will threaten to call you and it’s so embarrassing. Rintarou was so sure he wouldn’t, like that’s so petty you’re actually going to call my S/O? And then Aran did it and he had not only Aran and Kita scolding him (and the Miya twins) but you were there too looking so disappointed in him. He rarely gets out of line afterwards, the face you gave him haunts him in his dreams sometimes.
- You’re his home screen! It’s not even a cute picture of you, it’s probably one he took of you while you slept in class - you’re drooling and your uniform is all messed up - and he’s just standing there holding a peace sign up and white-boy-smiling.
- He has you saved under “Suna [Name]” and he got made fun of, he swears it was a joke but when he goes to call you his cheeks get all pretty and pink.
- He doesn’t say much, his love language is more of a “whenever you need me I’ll be there”. If there’s someone who you can count on to listen to your problems and help you it’s probably Rin. He jokes around and all but when it comes to you he’s surprisingly serious.
- He’ll also let you play with his hair. His favorite is when you put butterfly clips on them and make two uneven ponytails on the side of his head, he said he was Shrek and you were his Lord Farquaad (you asked him if you saw the same movie afterwards).
- When he’s really bored, he’ll edit pictures of you into memes and send them to you at 4AM.
- Sometimes when you cuddle, you can hear him mumble about how much he loves you and whenever you bring it up he gets so mad and shy and says he was probably thinking about chicken wings or Dolly Parton.
- He sees you as his best friend and s/o, he really values the input you have but that doesn’t mean he won’t tease the fuck out of you. He’s soft but he will absolutely obliterate you, he loves joking around with you and saying the dumbest shit for fun and seeing you go blank as you hear him talk about fucking Mort from Madagascar being a evil universe colonizer.
- His favorite dates with you would be the ones where you go somewhere very pretty and try taking the ugliest pictures of each other, it always ends up with you two laughing loudly as you show each other what you took.
- Rin can play the piano and he sometimes will serenade you, it can either be a very emotional song or Megalovania.
- Sometimes, Atsumu and Osamu will ruin your dates by bumping into you guys and not leaving either of you alone. It’s embarrassing because they will not stop teasing the two of you for being in love and shit, you always end up blushing when they start talking about how much Rin loves you and how he talks about you during practice.
- Overall, Sunrin is surprisingly a soft, caring boyfriend who’s way too whipped for his well-being and is absolutely getting bullied by the team because of it.
#—🎀 haikyuu!#haikyuu#hq#suna rintarou#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu x you#suna rintaro x reader#suna x reader#rintarou x reader#rintaro x reader#suna fluff#rintarou fluff#suna rintaro hcs#suna rintaro fluff#suna rintarou x reader#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu hc#hq fluff#hq hc#hq x reader#—✒️ sora’s scripts
449 notes
·
View notes
Text
BnHA Chapter 292: You Say Jeans
Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi was all “well anyway here’s that Touya reveal I foreshadowed like a million years ago, viva la 2020.” Dabi was all “hello world, I’ve killed 30 people and today I’m going to explain to you all why” before he proceeded to explain ABSOLUTELY NOTHING but everyone was so distracted by his tale of child abuse and hero conspiracies that they didn’t much seem to notice. Can’t Ya See-Kun’s Shark Friend was all “IS THIS THE END OF HERO SOCIETY AS WE KNOW IT”, and Horikoshi was all “STAY TUNED”, and then Dabi set himself on fire and leaped off of Machia’s back like the chaotic evil, I-just-bleached-all-my-brain-cells weird little fire man he is, ready to burn everyone to crispy bits before they could even react properly to his whole big revenge speech. Fortunately he did not succeed on account of THE RETURN OF THE JING, THE JOAT, BEST FUCKING JEANIST, back from the dead by popular demand in what critics are calling “the best fucking comeback since Jesus himself.”
Today on BnHA: Best Jeanist snatches up Machia and the rest of the League with his fiber steel cables before you can say “more like BEAST JEANIST amirite.” Dabi gets all worked up and lights Hadou on fire which is a real JERK MOVE, and is all “THIS RIGHT HERE IS ALSO ENDEAVOR’S FAULT”, which, NOT SUPER CONVINCED ON THAT, BUT OKAY. Anyway so then he burns up all the cables holding him which is crazeballs btw, and then he and Shouto start fighting, and so basically the whole thing is a literal hot mess and we’ll see how that goes. Meanwhile Tomura wakes up and summons some Noumus, and poor Jeanist has to deal with those on top of the still-attempting-to-rampage Gigantomachia, and everyone else is all “we can’t help you on account of we’re all half dead”, and so it’s looking really bad. And then -- and I can’t stress enough how much I don’t even have the faintest idea how to segue into this next part -- the chapter ends with Mirio!?! just sort of POPPING UP OUT OF THE GROUND all, “SURPRISE, BITCH”, and it literally was so surprising that I am still just kind of speechless. WELL-PLAYED, I GUESS, lol wtf.
lol okay so the first page in the RHA scan is just the “three musketeers” movie promo image that we all already saw a few days ago. but it does confirm that (a) it is indeed a movie, and (b) that it’s set for a summer 2021 release! how exciting
okay so now back to our special Dabi edition of Making a Murderer
“ray of hope” oh hell yes. SAVE US MR. JEANIST
I guess he had a TV in his private hero jet or something?
gotta say, “dammit Dabi” does not even remotely sound like Authentic Best Jeanist Dialogue to me though. gonna need Caleb to see to this. well but what do you guys think? does Best Jeanist curse?? I personally feel like he’s one of those guys who NEVER EVER swears no matter what, except under the most hilariously trifling circumstances. like he’s eating an avocado one day and he accidentally stains the cuffs of his beloved jostume green and he’s all “FUCK”
btw how fucking rich is Best Jeanist though that he has his own fucking plane? the thought just suddenly occurred to me, you know? like even Endeavor, whose agency has its own on-site luxury apartment suites for all of his interns, still drives around in a dinky little car that Bakugou has declared to be too small. which, I guess we know why he felt that way now, seeing as the guy he previously interned with apparently gets around in Jeans Force One
anyway so back to the part where Jeanist shows up to save the day!! YEAH JEANIST WOOOOO
ILU JEANIST YOU REALLY ARE THE BEST!! HUGS AND KISSES!!!
lmao we just saw Gigantomachia take out like a hundred guys not ten chapters ago. and Best Jeanist shows up and takes him down in like two seconds. HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES LEAGUE OF VILLAINS. BET YOU’RE WISHING YOU’D TAKEN HIS QUIRK NOW, AFO. GET FUCKED YOU OLD SPUD
KACCHAN IS SO HAPPY TO SEE HIM AWW
SIDE NOTE, IIDA, YOU AND I ARE GONNA HAVE WORDS LATER ABOUT YOU ACTUALLY AGREEING TO PUT HIM BACK DOWN. YOU DO UNDERSTAND THAT THIS CHILD IS STILL DRIPPING BLOOD ALL OVER THE PLACE FROM HIS MULTIPLE STAB WOUNDS, RIGHT? WAY TO ASSERT YOUR AUTHORITY THERE. I THOUGHT YOU WERE THE CLASS PRESIDENT NOT THE CLASS CLOWN, COME ON NOW
LMAO DABI IS FRANTICALLY TRYING TO DO THE PLOT MATH
SHOULDA CHECKED MORE CLOSELY MY GOOD MARK. LOOKS LIKE YOU MISSED THE “MADE IN CHINA” STICKER ON THE BOTTOM. YOU HAVE BEEN BAMBOOZLED. OR ACTUALLY, I GUESS THE MORE ACCURATE WORD HERE IS JAMBOOZLED, AHAHAHAHA. JEANS
HOLY SHIT DABI
I legit almost thought that was Tomura for a second. you two look so alike now with the white hair and the crazy eyes
meanwhile, Shouto is still crying and it’s a lot to take, you guys. lotta feels
ffff come on Jeanist you better do something awesome again here, the mood of the chapter is starting to slip now
YES, GOOD, THAT’LL WORK
WELL YOU TELL ME, SPINNER. I GUESS THAT MEANS BEST JEANIST IS OFFICIALLY THE STRONGEST CHARACTER IN THE SERIES NOW. SORRY I DON’T MAKE THE RULES
ffff now Spinner is trying to wake Tomura back up. nah, how’s about we not do that
OH MY GOD HADOU YESSSS
MY GIRL OUT HERE WITH THE “NO THANK YOU” BOUT TO CURBSTOMP THE BIG BAD WITH HER QUIRK KSFHLKLK WHO HERE HAD “HADOU SAVES THE DAY” ON YOUR WAR ARC BINGO CARDS, YOU LOVE TO SEE IT!!
HEY!!!!
fucking son of a... fffkfkff... someone please reassure me that fire isn’t Hadou’s weakness. someone. anyone. also could someone please dial an ambulance and send them to Horikoshi’s house. but not just yet. first I’m gonna need you to wait about fifteen minutes or so while I take care of some things
well all right then, Dabi. so you wanna go on then and explain to us all how this, too, is somehow Endeavor’s fault?
oh I see, you’ve decided that since he’s responsible for “creating” you, everyone you hurt and kill is in truth really being hurt and killed by him! well now, that sure is convenient as fuck I guess
(ETA: that’s a nice effect with the panel sides getting all warped by Dabi’s quirk though, just noticed that.)
amazing how quickly you used up that sympathy card my guy. Shouto please kick his ass, I’m fucking done lol, you can all sort out the rest in therapy later
CAN SOMEONE PLEASE DIAL BACK DEKU’S EMPATHY STATS JUST A LITTLE BIT, HOLY --
“TODOROKI-KUN IS HURT THE MOST”, HE SAYS, WITH HIS ARM BONES SHATTERED INTO LITTLE TOOTHPICK-SIZED PIECES. I MEAN, HE’S PROBABLY TALKING MORE ABOUT MENTAL ANGUISH GIVEN THE CONTEXT HERE, BUT STILL. THAT’S ENOUGH HEROICS FROM YOU ALREADY FOR ONE DAY
NOOO JEANIST
LOTS OF SMOKE IN THE AIR RIGHT ABOUT NOW AND MY BOY’S STILL DOWN A LUNG. GOD DAMMIT
“if the number one suffers a total loss here, this country will fall to pieces” well okay, real talk though, I think the “country falling to pieces” part is pretty much unavoidable at this juncture. you all are just gonna have to try your best to pick up those pieces after the fact and see what you can do with them. if I were you I’d be less worried about the number one’s reputation and more concerned with the half-dozen child soldier interns who are still on the field and very much at risk of being burned to death should you suffer that “total loss.” please try to keep it together here for them
OH FOR FUCK’S
I really thought RockLockRock was gonna come into play here. USE YOUR QUIRK TO LOCK THE ROPES IN PLACE YOU DIP!! if he seriously just sits there and does nothing when his quirk could be the deciding factor I am cancelling his useless ass cute kid or no cute kid shfkjdls
(ETA: is he even there?? did he and Manual just hightail it out of there?? “well good luck, children.”)
also, we’ll put this aside for now to perhaps speculate about later, but what’s with Tomura remembering his dad’s house yet again in that far right panel?? and being itchy again?? I still have yet to fully work out the psychological mechanisms at work as far as his itchiness goes, so I’ll admit this is intriguing to me. it seemed like it was connected to his decay quirk, but then why is it acting up again now. what is this lol
yuh oh
forgot about these guys. looks like these heroes aren’t having such a fun time
oh fucksticks
excuse me ma’am but I don’t like this. you do know that my kids are all there, right. all burnt and impaled and broken-boned and the like. well except for Iida. he’s fine still. BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN I FEEL LIKE WATCHING HIM GET TORN APART BY FOUR HIGH ENDS, WTF
HORIKOSHI YOU MOTHERFUCKER I SWEAR TO GOD
god fucking... okay look. Horikoshi. you win, okay!? congratulations, you win, this is your show and we’re all just sitting here at your mercy. fine. go ahead and just kill off everyone ever, then!! what am I even gonna do about it. stop reading?? fuck
this whole thing really went from zero to fucked before I could even blink huh. I really thought this was gonna be a turning point chapter for the heroes. shows what I know I guess??
meanwhile this motherfucker is just SCREAMING
ngl, if I wasn’t currently terrified on account of things suddenly taking such a drastic turn for the worse, this would be the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Jeanist my man, I hype you up like it’s my job because you are the greatest fucking meme character in the history of time, but make no mistake, you are also highkey WORTH ALL THE HYPE AND THEN SOME
seriously, though. don’t fucking mind him you guys, he’s just standing here in the coolest pose of all time taking on Gigantomachia all alone with one fucking lung because the substance pumping through his veins is COLD-BLOODED LIQUID DENIM, and DENIM FEELS NO FEAR
Best Jeanist really needs to get his own theme song. -- oh my god I just finally thought of a title for this post. lmao and it’s the dumbest thing. omg
MEANWHILE THE TODOROKI BROS ARE OFF IN THEIR OWN DRAMATIC LITTLE FIRE WORLD
which one do you think is the Mario and which is the Luigi. well, but I mean, Dabi clearly thinks that he’s the Luigi though and that’s why he’s so mad. nobody wants to be Luigi. what a life
THAT’S IT, SHOUTO!! POINT OUT ALL OF HIS HYPOCRITICAL BULLSHIT, I WANT ANSWERS
JUST TO CLARIFY, IT’S THAT NATSU, NOT SOME OTHER NATSU!! SO WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF!!
OH, WELL IN THAT CASE
BUT OF COURSE. THAT WOULD MAKE IT ALL WORTHWHILE, holy shit. okay I’m just gonna go ahead and say it, Dabi is a piece of work. I really thought this arc would make him more sympathetic at long last, but it seems like it’s doing just the opposite?? this is like an anti-redemption arc. I don’t relish the thought of venturing into the fandom tags once I finish reading this lol
(ETA: well folks, I’ve done it. and actually it was pretty interesting because there are apparently like ten different things that people are mad about, and so it’s like. each post is a new adventure lmao.)
so Shouto is all “BRUH HAVE YOU COMPLETELY LOST IT” and Dabi is all “YES”, basically? like, he says he’s completely lost his feeling for anything. omg. but you were so sweet. how does that even happen
“finally I can kill you” okay for real what the heck is your damage bro?? can we not. I like Shouto just the way he is, un-killed
oh shit and now the Noumus are here
cue Bakugou diving in to save his mentor, STAB WOUNDS BE DAMNED!! actually it would make more sense for it to be Iida, but if Kacchan is really fixin’ to go full Shounen Dumbass here then he might as well go all out, y’know
-- unless of course, Deku decides to activate another quirk??
“last I checked, the main character of this series was still me” OH? WELL I SUPPOSE THAT IS TRUE, SO PRAY TELL, WHAT HAVE YOU GOT LEFT UP YOUR SLEEVE YOU SUICIDAL BRUSSELS SPROUT
fucking love how he’s all “HAHAHA WITH MY NEW QUIRKS I CAN STILL DO STUPID SHIT EVEN WITH MY ARMS AND LEGS GROUND TO A FINE POWDER” btw. what can I say. Deku gonna Deku
FMMFHDKUHK W H A T
HOLY SHIT. HOLY FUCKING SHIT. WHAT THE WHAT. QUE THE FUCK
(ETA: okay look, all the love in the world to the brave scanlators who take time out of their lives to translate the leaks every week just so we can read the chapter a couple of days early like the addicts we are. that said, translating Mirio’s signature “POWER!!” -- which was already written in English in the original scan -- to “POG-CHAMP” is just a whole new level of wtfuckery from them lmao. is the Lida person back at it again?? amazing.)
MIRIO!?!?! SHOWS UP TO SAVE THE DAY?!?! POGS HIMSELF UP OUT THE GROUND TO BEAT THE NOUMUS LIKE IT AIN’T NO THING. JUST LIKE WE ALL PREDICTED!? I’M SORRY, DID YOU NOT SEE THAT COMING?? YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOUR DAILY HOROSCOPE FROM ASTROLOGY DOT COM DIDN’T HAVE THAT ONE IN THE CARDS?? WAS IT NOT OBVIOUS?? TODOROKIS PLUS BEST JEANIST EQUALS MIRIO??
hot damn. Tintin really saw the writing on the wall with the impending Dabi Discourse and was all “NOT SO FAST” lmao. “HERE’S A BRAND NEW THING FOR YOU ALL TO DISCOURSE ABOUT” MIRIO YOU WILD CHILD. YOU GLORIOUS THUG
MEANWHILE LET’S NOT FORGET WHAT MIRIO HAVING HIS POWERS BACK ACTUALLY IMPLIES. HOLY SHIT. SUDDENLY WE CUT BACK TO ALL MIGHT’S OFFICE, ALL THE WAY BACK AT UA. ERI BRANDISHES HER TOKOYAMI-GIFTED BUSTER SWORD, A DETERMINED GLEAM IN HER EYE. “I HEARD YOU WERE TRYING TO HAVE A GIRL POWER ARC WITHOUT ME.” OH. MY. GOD
#bnha 292#best jeanist#todoroki touya#dabi#todoroki shouto#midoriya izuku#hadou nejire#toogata mirio#bnha#boku no hero academia#bnha spoilers#mha spoilers#bnha manga spoilers#makeste reads bnha
486 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
almarb79
Ruth
dyymi
*̩̩̥͙ -•̩̩͙-ˏˋ⋆ˊˎ-•̩̩͙- *̩̩̥͙
miriamrezz
Míriam Rez
gardenstateofmind
let's conspire to ignite
come-home-bucky
20 and still stanning all the mcu has to offer