#‘also she pushed a little girl into a volcano once’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bellysoupset · 7 months ago

Note

Okay so this is what I thought of while reading the interactions with the kids.

I just remembered that Vince is lactose intolerant, right? So how would you feel about lactose intolerant Vince with (reluctant) caretaker Max for a change?

I mean I can imagine maybe a class party or something with a kid wanting to make sure that Mr. Monacelli (or Mr. Mo because that is freaking cute) is having fun too, so they keep bringing him snacks.

I can totally see Vin accepting anything and everything from a kid with doe eyes and not having any way to refuse because the kid is watching him and wants to see Vin eat it. (Let's be honest, Vince would never even speak up because he wouldn't want to hurt their feelings).

After that Vin is feeling gradually sicker and sicker until Max can't keep ignoring him anymore, so Vin has to spill the tea.

Then Max is like "why did you even accept?" While Vin, slightly offended, is like "did you really expect me to say no to that kid?"

I know it's really detailed, feel free to ignore it, I just couldn't get this little scenario out of my head.

- 💜

💜! I hope you like this one, I slightly twisted it and it's a little different from my usual... So let me know what you think!

--------------------

Max frowned, leaning on the doorway of the kindergarten. His hands were full with a large tupperware with baking soda, food coloring and vinegar, the usual science fair volcano mix.

What caused him to pause, though, was the sight inside the classroom. Mr. Monacelli, or Mr. Mo to the little ones, was standing, with a kid on his hip, a little girl… Livia, judging by how comfortable he seemed to be as he held her.

Liv’s dark wavy hair was up pigtails and she had face paint on, the tip of her nose painted black and whiskers on her cheek, a matching look that was mirrored on the other children. Cats, the Musical, kindergarten version? Max thought with a snort.

Vince also had face paint on and he was chewing something Livia had just pushed inside his mouth, out of a box. Across the room Max noticed a tall chocolate cake, with a glittery candle that said 7 on top.

That explained it.

Birthday parties were always the bane of his existence, so he was incredibly glad he barely taught kindergarten and the older kids would rather die than celebrate in class. As far as he could remember it, he had bad experiences under his belt. From his mom trying to throw him a fully vegan party that had been a flop with him and his friends, to his father getting drunk and forgetting about his birthday altogether, to the fact once he turned eighteen his birthday all but disappeared as celebratory day.

“Mr. Mo,” a kid ran across the room, with glitter face paint all the way to his scalp. Max snorted at the sight, the parents surely would be over the moon about that, “tell Jess she can’t play with my toy.”

Vince frowned, crouching down to look at the little boy and Max frowned, staring at the scene. He couldn’t figure out this dude. Monacelli gave off military vibes. Football star, with his little homophobic fit the other day, driving that ridiculous motorcycle everywhere… And there he was, covered in glittery paint, scolding a boy for not sharing his toys and being fed cake pops by his little sister and her group of friends.

It just didn’t make any sense.

“Daniels, do you need anything?”

Max’s cheeks burned as he realized he had been caught staring and he shook his head, as five little heads looked at him, as well as Vince.

“No, just passing by.”

“Alright,” Vince waved him off, taking the boy’s hand and dragging him across the room to apologize.

It was a couple hours later when they met again. Max was smelling like bleach, after finishing up a biology class with the 10th graders, and ready to head home as he entered the staff’s lounge to retrieve his bag. He raised his eyebrows as he found Monacelli sitting on one of the couches, in the furthest corner, with his arms crossed to his chest and his head tipped back, as if he was asleep.

“Hey,” Max kicked Vince’s foot to wake him in case he was asleep, “day’s over.”

Vince wasn’t asleep — or maybe he was a really quiet sleeper? — because he sat up straight with a groan, moving his arms to wrap around his stomach, “what do you want?”

Max frowned at the lackluster response, so unlike the man who always seemed to have his energy up, “school’s over, are you planning on crashing here? Maurice is gonna be locking this room soon.”

Vince let out a sigh, using the couch to push himself up and the other man realized he was a horrible shade of white… Damn near green.

“You look horrible,” Max said, taking a step back as he noticed Vince swaying slightly on his feet. Instead of denying, Vince simply nodded, bringing up a shaky hand to wipe the sweat off his brow.

“Yeah, I know-” he interrupted himself with a soft, sickly burp. He didn’t bother finishing his sentence, ceasing every movement as he gulped down, only to let out another little burp and a groan.

“What’s wrong with you?” Max eyed him suspiciously. There was no way this man had caught another stomach bug after measly five weeks of having one, right?

Vince pressed his forehead to the metal locker in the teacher’s lounge, seemingly devoid of any energy to put in his combination and retrieve his bag. Most teachers didn’t even put in a combination, everyone used the standard 0000.

“Monacelli,” he stepped closer, despite wanting nothing to do with illness or this guy. It was just unnerving.

“I’m fine,” Vince breathed out, but it would have been a lot more convincing if he wasn’t swallowing in convulsively and clutching his stomach. Stomach, which by the way, was pressing against his work polo. The guy wasn’t small by any means and Max could’ve told he had a tummy to begin with, but now it was nearly poking out.

“Yeah, you look terrific,” Max rolled his eyes, walking to retrieve his own bag and deciding he was done with the whole scene, “feel better-”

He never quite finished his sentence, before Vince let out a little strangled noise and then rushed across the room, to the teacher’s bathroom. He slammed the door behind him and Max cringed in sympathy as he heard a muffled groan.

Now he couldn’t just leave the idiot, right? Not after he had driven him home?

Max carefully walked closer, tapping his knuckles against the door, “Monacelli, do you need anything? Meds? The nurse? Your mom?”

He expected to hear Vince telling him to go fuck himself, but instead there was a noise of liquid hitting liquid, followed by retching and more liquid.

Shit. Perhaps, even, literally.

Max chewed on his lip, looking around the room helplessly as if an older adult would appear and take over the situation, but he sadly was the only adult. He looked at his watch. 3:40 PM. Office hours were over, the janitor and the security would soon be finishing their rounds and closing up the school.

“Dude,” he sighed, knocking again, “you kinda need to leave, they’re gonna lock us here.”

“Go away…” Vince groaned, his voice raspy and choked up.

Max scoffed, “are you crying?” really? “Mona-”

“I said, go away,” Vince repeated, much harsher now and Max’s mouth snapped shut, his cheeks heating up as his temper got the best of him.

“Fine,” he said bitterly,loudly walking away, “drown there, see if I care.”

Sadly, much to Max’s displeasure, he had a guilty conscience and couldn’t make it even to the parking lot. He let out a sigh and glared at the now empty parking lot. Only four vehicles left, one of them being Vince’s stupid motorcycle.

There was no way the man could go home in a fucking bike.

“Moron,” Max groaned, walking back inside. He fully expected to find Vince back in the teacher’s lounge, so it was much to his surprise when they ran into each other in the hallway. Or rather, he ran, because Vince was frozen in place, an arm wrapped tightly around his belly and breathing through the nausea carefully.

“Oh there you are-”

“Thought I told you to leave,” Vince groaned, not looking up from the spot in the linoleum he was staring at, trying to keep his stomach in check, “careful, or I’ll believe you give a shit.”

“Fever must be through the roof, you’re delusional,” Max snarked, curiosity getting the best of him as he stepped closer and raised a hand to touch Vince’s forehead.

Monacelli was much taller, and bigger, so when he pushed Max’s hand away with an impatient huff, the other teacher stumbled on his feet.

“I don’t have a fever,” Vince scoffed, straightening up. He looked worse, more green and more drenched in sweat, “I’m lactose intolerant and I ate- I ate half a chocolate cake…” his gut let out an upset, whiny gurgle that was loud enough for Max to hear.

The blonde stared at him for a second, before cackling “are you fucking with me!?”

When he didn’t get an answer, except for Vince’s cheek ballooning with yet another burp that he muffled with a fist, Max’s laughter lessened down to a chuckle, his shoulders shaking, “oh… You’re serious? You’re in this shape because of some chocolate?”

He really was the one to judge, Max thought with a snort, remembering he’d be hurling much sooner if he ate half a chocolate cake. But then again, he wouldn’t be stumbling around cradling his tummy and whining.

“What do you want, Daniels?” Vince groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, “I don’t fucking get you. I helped you, not once, not twice, but three times by now, and you’re still a dick.”

Max’s chuckle died immediately, his cheeks burning, “sorry, should I’ve been bowing and kissing your feet? What do you want, cuddles and kisses because your tummy hurts?”

Vince raised an unimpressed eyebrow, “I’m really sorry you weren’t hugged enough as a child,” he said coldly, “but yeah, actually, I do have people who take care of me when I feel ill, because I’m not a fucking jackass.”

“Says you,” Max snorted, rolling his eyes and gesturing to the empty hallway, “where’s the queue to cuddle you? I don’t see it.”

“I know what your problem with me is,” Vince scoffed, pressing his back to the wall behind him and huffing. He was shaking, which was not a good sign and Max bit down the urge to ask if the guy was okay.

“Enlighten me,” he said instead and Vince folded in half, planting his hands on his knees and breathing through a cramp.

“You’re jealous,” he said through his teeth and Max glared daggers at him, his stomach dropping to his feet.

He wasn’t jealous, he was… He just didn’t think Vince was anything special. Surely he was allowed this opinion?

For example, if Vince was so great, why was he about to hurl all over the floor that Maurice had probably already cleaned? That was asshole behavior.

Max mentally patted himself on the back, before saying loudly, “here, Mr. Moron, don’t hurl all over the floor,” and pushing a garbage bin in front of the guy. He didn’t expect Vince to make immediate use of it, falling to his knees and grabbing the metal bin with his hands, hugging it to his chest as a huge gush of projectile vomit fell inside of it.

He jumped back, startled, then tip-toed closer, feeling a new shade of shitty as he heard Vince let out a whimper and bury his head in, burping wetly once more and continuing to convulse and cough.

“If you’re such hot shit, why didn’t you not eat the thing you’re aware makes you super ill?” Max asked, mostly to himself, hesitantly moving closer to plant a hand in the middle of the guy’s back. Even down on his knees, Vince was still pretty freaking tall.

Max patted his back in a hesitant manner, then cringed as he heard footsteps down the hallway. Curse both their lucks, Vince’s because he was about to be caught hurling his brains out, and Max’s because now he’d have to look out for the prick.

He braced for Fernanda, the principal, or Maurice, the janitor, but raised his brows as the person who rounded the corner was no one he knew. The man was well into his mid fifties or early sixties, with wavy light brown hair and blue eyes… And he was really tall.

Max cringed as suddenly he realized he knew Mr. Monacelli from parent-teacher meetings and that the old guy would be expecting him to act like a lovable guy, the same lovable teacher he was when talking about Sophia or Livia. Fuck.

“Mr. Mona-”

“Dad,” Vince croaked, lifting his head for a slight second, “fuck- Fuck, it hurts.”

Mr. Monacelli all but ignored Max as he crouched down next to his son, planting a wrinkly hand on his back and rubbing in wide circles, “I got you, I got you. Get it up and then I’m taking you home.”

Max bit the inside of his cheek so as not to chuckle at that, “Uh- Hi…?”

“Mr. Daniels,” Giuseppe zeroed him, opening a small smile, “thank you for keeping him company.”

Sure. That was what he was doing.

“Yeah, uhm- Of course,” Max scratched at his beard, as Vince let out another sickly belch, bringing up a bit more watery vomit, and then leaned back, his head hitting the lockers, chest heaving, drenched in sweat.

“Babbo, I’m dying.”

“You should be,” Giuseppe glared at him, “what a stupida idea was that?” he softly thumped on his son’s forehead, “I couldn’t believe my ears when Livia told me. Cazzo, you’re an adult, Vincenzo!”

Vince frowned, looking pathetically close to tears, “babbo,” he breathed out, wiping at his mouth and clutching his bloated belly, “later?”

“Idiota,” his father scoffed, grabbing his arm and helping him get up, “Non pensi?”

“Dad,” Vince said a little harsher and his father stopped scolding him continuously, glaring at his son.

“Let’s go home- Thank you for helping him, Mr. Daniels,” Giuseppe said, still oblivious to the role, or lack of one, Max had played.

“Of course,” Max said cheekily, following them out, “any time, Vince. I hope your tummy feels better.”

“Go fuck yourself, Danie- Babbo!” Vince cried out, as his father slapped the back of his hand, dragging him out of the school and towards his car.

“Don’t swear at the boy, he helped you,” Mr. Monacelli glared at Vince, “get in the car.”

“What am I, five?” Vince groaned, stumbling to the car and bracing against it, breathing deeply through the nausea.

Max bit down a smirk, “Bye Mr. Monacelli,” he said happily, “bye Vinny.”

Behind his father’s back, Vince raised a middle finger at him.

#sickfic #mywriting #vince monacelli #lactose intolerance #emeto #emetophilia #nausea #stomach ache #loads of bantering in this one

52 notes · View notes

gulnarsultan · 1 year ago

Note

I have been thinking and I got sad. When Visenya was born Valaena and Aerion wanted Immortal Reader to hold their daughter, but Y/N didn’t want to because she would scare Visenya with her scars.

Back in Valyria, before it was doomed: when Immortal Modern Reader was released from Volcano mines, she was bearing horrible scars and burns on her body and her face. When a little boy and a girl were playing and running, they accidentally got hit by a stranger in a cloak. Once the stranger helped them to get up, the children looked closer to stranger’s face. The children cried and screamed for their parents, once their parents arrived, their father pushed off the stranger “WHAT DID YOU DO TO THEM?! STAY AWAY FROM THEM!” The stranger replied “I just wanted to help them. I didn’t mean to frighten them-“ before the stranger could finish, the father punched them in the face, which causes the stranger to fall on the ground and their hood is fallen, meaning their face could be seen. “By the gods! You’re a girl, what has happened to you?” “Don’t even ask her, wife. And you get out of here, you monster.” The stranger in the cloak was Immortal Modern Reader, who got punched by the father of the children who got scared of her. And of course those two powerful Valyrians (bastards) were calling her a monstrosity. Valyrians didn’t want to look at Reader, the children were scared of her. Basically Immortal Modern Reader was an outcast, the only ones who treated her well were dragons and of course Velaryons with Celtigars.

Back to Dragonstone: Valaena Velaryon and Aerion Targaryen still insisted Reader to hold baby Visenya. Immortal Reader did that, she expected Visenya to cry when she looks at her face. Baby Visenya didn’t cry instead she was quiet and showed a smile and started to laugh. “See? She loves you and she’s not afraid of you, Y/N.”☺️- Lady Valaena said. Immortal Reader was crying, because for once the child was not crying because of her look. And soon Aegon and Rhaenys were born.

Scenario: Yandere romantic Conquerors and Immortal Modern Reader were in bedchambers.

Yandere Aegon: Our parents said that you were crying, when you held us when we were little.

Immortal Modern Reader: Yes, I was. I was crying with happy tears 😌

Yandere Rhaenys: Can you tell us why? My love.

Immortal Modern Reader with tears in her eyes: Because… you didn’t see me as a monster.🥹

I leave my heart to this scenario.❤

There were three Houses that accepted the reader: Targaryens / Celtigars / Velaryons.

In addition, dragons also loved and protected the reader.

Scars or other skin imperfections do not make a person ugly.

#house targaryen #house of targaryen #aegon the conqueror x oc #aegon the conqueror x reader #aegon the conqueror #visenya the conqueror #visenya targaryen #rhaenys targaryen #rhaenys the conqueror

84 notes · View notes

revalentine2 · 4 months ago

Text

Mauville Mob! - Team Objective plays Pokemon Emerald

Today, the team grows, in more ways than one!

(Also, as an addition, I've decided to put a team recap into the bottom of every part going forward)

Wally is here...and he's blocking my way into the electric gym??? Does he still only have that ralts?

He still only has that ralts.

Next time, pick up a Magnemite or something, Wally. It'll do wonders for you.

I'd head inside the gym now, but I feel like we still need a bit of prep. let's check out the town.

Oh hey, Rock Smash! Roxanne (She gave me her number btw <3) told me a tip once I could use this HM...we'll need another badge first, though.

Oh, hello, my interview's on! What did I say about Bulwark again-

That is true!

...It was a lot at once, okay? I was under pressure!

There's a game corner here! We have one of those back home. ...Sadly, their doll selection is limited to starters. Shame.

Time to take on the gym! Ah...that electric tang in the air. I hope my team feels this presence one day.

Face me, Wattson!

I see, you are a man of culture! However, I doubt StepStone will have much trouble with her fellow detonator here.

One and done! And it missed its attack, to boot!

And your little dog, too!

A MAGNETON!?...I LOVE Magneton! It's quite lower level than normal. Where can I get one of those?

The confusion is a problem...push through, StepStone...

Oog...We're pretty beaten down, but we've snapped out! Show this man our dedication! Magnitude!

YES! VICTORY!

Oh and you have a bigger dog too. Okay, whatever.

Ok, VICTORY! Ignore that I spoke too soon!

And StepStone has evolved, fully coming into her power! Wonderful job, girl!

I will not be using Golem because one, I'm not sure If I have the means to trade, and two, that is not a rock that is a lizard thing with cobblestone glued to its body.

With our new hidden machine, it is time to head north. I can see the cliffs rising around me already...this bodes well.

A desert! ...That I can not progress into, currently. Weh. There looks to be interesting structures within...

Another cave! And this one appears volcanic. Perhaps I shall discover firey, earthen objects inside?

...No, but instead, I found Koffing! I understand you are a ball of gas, friend, but what are you doing in a volcano? Should you not be in an urban environment? Oh, no matter, welcome to the team, "Skybomb!"

Grimer, too? You have even less of a reason for being here. Are you alright? Do you need someone?

Wait, I'm someone! Join us, "Goo Goo!"

Side note-you can also find Slugma here, and while I would consider it-while resembling a slug, it is made entirely of molten rock-I do want to retain some aesthetics. Also, people would likely not stop making lame jokes.

Now, we need to backtrack to Dewford for a minute...

Back in the darkness of Granite cave, let's see if Roxanne's tip proves fruitful!

It was!

I'll call her Patricia.

Goo Goo is Gentle, Skybomb is Rash, and Patricia is Lonely...decent natures across the board! Glad to fill out our numbers, perhaps soon we'll be able to get a proper sixth.

I will take my leave for now and get these gals trained up. Until next time! Team Objective-because Object Pokemon are Objectively the best!

Team:

StepStone the Graveler (F)

Bulwark the Aron (M)

Skybomb the Koffing (F)

Goo Goo the Grimer (F)

Patricia the Nosepass (F)

#pokemon trainers #object pokemon #team objective #hoenn #pokemon #pokemon emerald #pokemon playthrough #rse #gym leader wattson #graveler #grimer #koffing #nosepass

9 notes · View notes

miekasa · 2 years ago

Note

earth bender todo is a no brainer he’s built like a rock lol. curious about your views on the other elements for the rest of the cast?

Airbenders: Satoru, Yuuta

Gojo is everybody’s problem. Just hovers (literally) around people’s conversations, makes wind to mess up your hair, “Why would I walk over there when I could float over there?,” already tall enough to hold something over someone else’s head and the added advantage of air bending would not help. Absolutely the fucking worst. Besides, can’t you see him having an Appa… pray for the greater good of the world.

Poor, poor Yuuta quite literally only has Satoru as his mentor because where are the other airbenders? Who knows, but not here. He’s a little clumsy for an airbender at first, but eventually finds his footing. He’s also too timid at first, not wanting to use bending to attack because what if he accidentally takes the air out or someone’s lungs? What if he uses air bending and pushes someone too far and they get seriously hurt? What if he makes someone choke or suffocate? He would hate himself :(

It takes sometime, but he gets comfortable. Definitely no wise air nomad, but pretty strong with Satoru’s help. He still trips and falls, but at least now he knows how to make one of those little air balls to cushion his fall. Never learns to use a glider for everyone’s safety.

Waterbenders: Inumaki, Megumi, Nanami?

Toge just makes sense here. Give him a backstory similar to Amon in tlok, minus the whole villain arc; his family basically forced him to train and use his water bending/blood bending to their advantage. Makes him hesitant to use to later to seriously harm someone, even if it would save him. He’s not above using his bending for pranks like splashing Maki’s tea in her face, tho.

Don’t know if Megumi ever quite gets the bloodbending thing down, but he does learn to heal pretty proficiently. Still holds a grudge against Satoru for sending him half way across the world to hone his healing abilities, but he admits it made him better in the end. Despite the fact that waterbenders hail from the polar ends of the Earth, Megumi does not like the cold and he will let it be known.

Nanami is a toss up bc I feel like he fits both the water bending and fire bending roles :// he’s just that good :// the waterbender version of him is definitely a healer like Megumi, but the firebending version of him 100% has Azula’s blue flames. Doesn’t consider himself a true “master” regardless, even though anyone who has ever met him would beg to differ.

Earthbenders: Todo, Yuuji?

Todo is a no brainer. Doesn’t have the refined taste for metal bending, but lavabending? Yeah. Complains about getting called to do all the manual labor, but loves knowing that he’s literally strong enough to move the Earth underneath him and that even a volcano doesn’t stand a chance against him. Fantastic, 10/10

The Bolin to Yuuji pipeline is real and it will be studied. Yuuji would accidentally discover he can metalbend and then can never bring himself to do it when he needs to 😭😭 he’s trying his best. Nobara frequently says he’s dumb as a rock and laughs because she thinks it’s clever.

Firebenders: Nobara, Nanami?, Shoko, hear me out when I say Yuuji too but at this point I think avatar Yuuji is the supreme concept

Only other path for Nobara is an earth bender akin to Toph, but something about her being Azula’s less evil reincarnate sits so right with me, but also with Ty Lee’s… whatever that acrobatic shit she had going on was. She’s just that good, she’s just that girl. Refuses to make Yuuji’s drink hot again just because he forgot about it and it got cold—unless he promises to make her a bracelet out of a good gemstone she finds.

Once again, torn for Nanami. You already know the Iroh comparison is there, too. He’s not as flashy of a bender as someone like Nobara, but that doesn’t mean he’s not talented. He knows that he has to be precise in his firebending lest he destroy something or burn someone he cares about. Uses other bending forms to enhance his use and understanding of firebending.

It seems easy to make Shoko a waterbender and healer, but something about her smoking leads me down the firebender with combustion path. Maybe not… from her forehead like the ones we’ve seen in atla and tlok, but somehow it’s still there. Plus this way she doesn’t need to rely on anyone to light her cigarette to begin with, winwin, girlboss on the move.

Back again with Yuuji, but like I said, I think we just need to accept that avatar Yuuji is the only route that will truly suffice. Maybe we just start by saying he was born a firebender, and Nanami starts out at his first and primary tutor. He’s the one who introduces Yuuji to Satoru—and even though Kento threatens Satoru when he finds out he’s had Yuuji working on an air ball instead of any technical air bending for the past month—it all works out in the end. Yuuji’s a playful airbender, but hones in on the spiritual importance in the end, too. Megumi protests for months against being his waterbending master, until he finally breaks down. Todo through a rock at Yuuji the first time they were introduced, but Yuuji managed to throw it back without any knowledge of earthbending at that point and it was smooth sailing from there.

Non-benders: Maki, Mai

If Nobara is our un-evil Azula, then Maki and Mai are her Mai and Ty Lee, respectively. Maki never misses her targets and Mai has too much fun reducing benders to non-bending puddles with just a few punches.

#anonymous #here u go u didn’t ask for this much detail but i have many thoughts when it comes to avatar teehee #nobara my most beloved <333 #kinda want megumi to solo and have both bloodbending and healing but i think one is enough for him he’s tired. he’s tired.#i don’t like geto but if i had to put him somewhere he’s either a non bender who keeps trying to kidnap other benders #or he’s firelord ozai’s less successful cousin in law #jjk x reader

78 notes · View notes

fullgrownpalace · 9 months ago

Note

Hi! I just wanted to say I adore the way you draw Ma'am! She's really pretty in your style ^^

Question wise though, do you have any headcanons or anything like that for her or any of the other characters?

I wish I hadn’t accidentally privately responded to a previous question about my headcanons for her, because it was a LONG LIST, but I’ll try and list a few!

This’ll be long so it’s all shoved under the cut, minus some more private HC’s-

Full Grown/Ma’am

• She’s a huge sweets fan, and once Big Deal gets better at cooking and baking, she has a habit of stealing away muffins or cookies, much to the exasperation and chitterings of him.

• I give her battle scars beneath her suit!

• She has some sort of connection to Reggie which royally pisses her off for A WHILE, especially as Endless tries to push for their friendship. In comes my mentor!AU where a greater looming evil forces them to call a truce and they eventually become like family.

• She’s the original leader/Queen of Endless before Bad Things happened and shunted her into the volcanic stasis until Reggie revives her.

• She’s the original creation of Endless. She was made by a very, very lonely little girl who desperately needed a friend and was scared of growing up, who got whisked away to Endless at its most baby state. Full Grown bloomed into life just about the same age as the girl who created her, and she ages alongside her until the girl grows away from Endless and finally stops coming to Endless. Ma’am stops aging from there.

• She likes wrestling, obviously, but she also likes hockey. She likes the fighting lol

• Big Deal’s affections scare her and make her anxious, she’s scared of niceness and affection in *general*, so she acts up, acts out, lashing out and thrashing and acting petulant in her denial to try and create distance. It doesn’t work.

• She can play a few musical instruments! Namely the piano and guitar, but a few others too.

• She can speak a few different languages, mostly because one of my favorite Matt Berry songs has French in it and I said she can.

• Her music tastes are very wide and varying but she favors acid jazz, psychedelic rock, and hypno-pop.

• Ma’am is OLD, lmao. She clearly is themed around astro-retro futurism of the 50s and 60s, between her house, her theme song, her aesthetic, so I like to put the height of her leadership around those eras.

• She /likes/ entertaining guests. Beneath all her bristle and coldness and axe-crazy mania, when she’s not putting out her icy, angry exterior, she *likes* having guests and being able to entertain. We see her even say that she likes having guests when Brown Roger comes around (poor Brown Roger lol)

• She likes roller skating

• She’s got a closet full of unique clothes, but after Bad Things and her stasis in the volcano, she sticks to wearing her Endless suit because her clothes feel too personal and vulnerable for a long time.

• She’s a hopeless romantic at heart, though terribly scorned, so she hides it beneath briars and thorns and chaos. She loves chick flicks and romance novels and she values loyalty and respect.

• Her and modern technology are Not Friends. Her range in technology goes up until the late 80s/early 90s, and I KNOW the show is technically supposed to take place in that era but that completely bypassed me back in 2019 when I started making my AUs, which take place 2015 and above, so modern technology makes her curse and sneer and growl in frustration.

• She just really likes food. Big Deal has to learn fast how to cook and bake properly for her because she gets very cranky when she’s hungry and she eats A Lot.

• She’s like a giant lizard cat. She’s very bendy and flexible, likes climbing trees and crawling around searching for shiny things, and she likes basking under the sun, even if she complains about being around others the whole time (she’ll also grab Big Deal and curl around him because he’s a little furnace, much to his flustered-ness)

• She’s genderfluid and queer. She doesn’t care about earth terms, she’s a shapeshifting alien queen in a different dimension, human customs and opinions don’t really matter when it comes to who *she* is.

• She and Big Deal manage to cross over onto earth at some point and she creates earth human forms for them.

• I technically have a full name for her but thatsss a bit private and will only be revealed if I talk to you for a while hdhfjd

I have a lot more but for the sake of saving time, I just have those for now for her.

Reggie

• CHAOS GIRL- she maintains her chaotic, bright, colorful nature even into adulthood. I really like focusing on her and her friends growing up into young adults because like.. self projection and also because this show is *about* growing up, and it’s SO interesting exploring that facet and seeing how their personalities, ESPECIALLY Reggie’s, grow and flux, yet how they still stay true to themselves.

• She /can/ sing a lil bit but it’s one of the few things she’s very shy about, between bullying and befriending people like Todd and Esther, and eventually Gwen, who are all so musically oriented, so she kinda just.. hides that she can kinda sing by being so overly dramatic about *badly* singing.

• She grows a steady mentorship/apprentice dynamic with Full Grown (though it depends on AU for how old she is when that mentorship starts, for my main one, she’s almost 13, for a few of my others, she’s older teens) who eventually becomes a like a very dear family member to her

• She’s a sporty girl when she hits her teens. She’s got a LOT of energy and frustration to expel and she winds up enrolling in volleyball, hockey, and rollerderby throughout her teen years to help her adrenaline junkie life and it helps with the frustrations of Having To Grow Up.

• She keeps her tooth gap, she never gets it corrected, and she’s got a very crooked and mischievous smile that lasts her whole life.

• She’s COVERED in freckles.

• She’s very shy around Conelly for a WHILE, they don’t even start dating til Reggie’s like 16.

• She’s actually very good with science, it just takes Ma’am’s mentorship to help her realize that ‘hey she actually sometimes likes learning’ and she likes astronomy, astro-physics, physics, and chemistry (she finds interest when she’s being taught magic and finds out there’s a lot of science behind potions and magic)

• She’s forever a foodie, always munching and eating SOMETHING. She’s a frequent food thief and steals snacks from Mack and Beefhouse, from Full Grown and Big Deal, and from her friends.

• She’s the championed Knight of Endless, in all essential aspects. She undergoes weapons training from Full Grown when she hits adulthood due to other threats on Endless.

• She LIKES dressing up, she LIKES dresses sometimes, she just doesn’t like dressing up the way Judy wants her to, and she doesn’t like feeling clumsy and doesn’t like feeling like she’s just playing dress up to be someone she’s not (unless it’s cosplay, she gets her friends into cosplaying with her).

• Most of her wardrobe I draw her in comes directly from my closet or from my style.

• She gets rebellious with her friends when they’re 16/17 and Todd’s older brother takes them to get ear piercings together, so she’s got two lobe piercings and industrial piercings on both ears. When she’s older, she also has a tongue piercing, because she thought it was Cool™️ and she likes to stim with it.

• In my main mentor!AU, she chops all her hair off to her shoulders directly after her 18th birthday in a fit of frustration and rage and panic. Mood.

• She also puts colored streaks in her choppy hair when she’s older, regardless of shortness or longness, she’s got green, pink, and blue streaks randomly smattered through her hair.

• She’s got severe ADHD and is possibly autistic

• She ALSO likes wrestling, so her and Full Grown cheer and snicker and snort over wrestling.

• She maintains her artistry as she grows and is quite successful with her art on the occasion. She’s the designer for Dustin’s podcast’s merch, Space Draculas. His podcast focuses on mythological legends, paranormal encounters, and supernatural beings with Todd’s older brother a few friends. Any pics of Reggie I draw wearing an alien with fangs is for this podcast of his.

• She and Judy mend their bonds over the years, and Judy is definitely the Team Mom for all her friends.

• Reggie’s first car is a Volkswagen Beetle that’s got a yellow body, but the hood, front two doors, and trunk are all different colors. The car is littered with car stickers and it has pins all in the roof from the inside, and she’s got worm on the strings tied to the rear view mirror.

• She ends up being a very good babysitter, it’s her job as a teenager, so she winds up being very good with kids.

• She curbs her dirty, messy habits as she grows older, but sometimessss she still gets down and dirty on Endless, she’s got no problems with getting muddy and dirty, covered in paint, sticky with sweat and sand, and she has to be reminded that showers are REQUIRED /more/ than twice a week.

• Full Grown regularly chews her out because she tries to enter the witch’s home with her sandy boots on. That’s like.. a YEARS long habit.

• She winds up being a rather well skilled magic user

Big Deal

• Learns much of his cooking skills from infomercials after Ma’am falls asleep, alongside with tentatively befriending Mack and Beefhouse and learning from them. They reach out to him first, with much grace and forgiveness, one day when he’s searching for recipe ingredients and they end up being well friends to him, and eventually, Ma’am as well. (She’s much more resilient and hesitant to befriend the others after everything and many of them are just as hesitant of her but Reggie growing under her mentorship helps)

• He whacks Reggie in exasperation when she tries to steal food.

• He was made by Endless to protect his Ma’am and be a tiny little plush dragon to her.

• He purrs when he’s comfortable and happy, and so does Full Grown (though she represses it for a very long time). He also trills and chitters and chirps in feral little noises to her and she’ll make noises back.

• he looks smooth and round but he’s made up of really smooth feathers and he’ll puff up and flair out in high emotions or shock.

• He’s SO little and she’s SO big. My Ma’am is around 7’0” and he’s like.. thigh/butt level to her.

• He’s the first being to see her cry after her revival from the volcano, regardless of my AU and how long it takes for her to finally cry, he’s always the first one to see her cry.

• He’s a very enthusiastic learner and absorbs knowledge like a sponge, and he loves listening to his Ma’am talk so he’s willing to sit and listen and learn until he’s falling asleep.

• He does NOT like horror movies. He does not care for wrestling, or hockey, it all makes him cringe and fret so much, but he LOVES fantasy, adventure, romance, and music, so Full Grown introduces him to musicals and romcoms.

• he LOVES entwining his tail with his Ma’am’s tail, which, for a long time, is a very rare thing, but it grows more constant as time passes.

• he’s got little padded pawed hands! Tiny hands with little heart shaped paw pads!

______________

Okay these are all I can think of tonight but I WILL update this as I think of more, or feel free to message again with individual characters!

#twelve forever #12 forever

6 notes · View notes

jasminebelle096 · 1 year ago

Text

Alright everyone, TPOT 8 is out! Here's what I thought of this episode

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!!

This episode was so exciting to watch, I'm telling you. First of all, Yellow Face stealing limbs is just funny to me, and it ended up being helpful for his team.

Then, it was nice that they brought up back the fact that Barf Bag gets more energetic (and strong) when she is filled with water.

Also poor Donut without his arms, it just looks so weird lmao. Speaking of which, are we going to point out that Four was there when everyone cheered for Donut to eat the gum? I just-I just thought it was funny

Then we have the eliminations

Goodbye Cake, my sweet boy, you'll be missed

And also Rocky who got mad and flapped his little wringly legs to be in the air, about to commit destruction with his vomit until Two stopped him in time, I don't know it was funny too (but I'm sure it'll get less funny once we get to see what is going to happen in the volcano, it's a feeling I KNOW something is going to happen with this volcano from the moment it cracked a bit when Rocky got thrown in)

Yeah Two learned how to act quickly after what happened with Lightning

Also can someone free the debuters please?

Now when Tree wasn't appearing, I got worried, but then it turns out that, since Teardrop used Tree's body in the last challenge to bring the water back in the sea, Tree literally turned into a big ass tree rising from the sea like an ancient wise god or something

And yay Death Pact is not up for elimination thanks to Marker :D

Also Golfball and Puffball teaming up is something I never thought it would keep going, but it did

Tennisball when Golfball goes with Puffball: :(

Eraser, Pen and TV: Don't worry we got you bro

Tennisball: :)

(It was so cute aaaaaaaahhhhh)

But are we going to talk about how Basketball is so worried for Robot Flower and no one gives a fuck, and her face when Bell told her that it was Basketball's fault in the first place (Bell I like you but you don't know the whole story)

Pillow to Robot Flower: You're incredibly violent I like your style :)

And when Winner told Two that they should stop trying to reconcile Winner and Clock, Two looked so hurt It made me so sad 🥺

Then goes the little moment between Two and Gaty (they are besties confirmed you honor), Gaty talking about Book and telling Two that they should give time to Clock and Winner (wink wink time pun)

But then it's ruined by Basketball being set on fire by Robot Flower, and everyone is screaming while Gaty was like "nope I'm out" lmao

It happened so suddenly it made me laugh

Now for my biggest favorite parts of the episode:

WE GOT TO SEE LEAFY AND FIREY AGAIN IN ONE SHORT SCENE

I'M SO FUCKING HAPPY I LITERALLY SCREAMED OUT OF JOY WHEN I SAW THEM, ESPECIALLY LEAFY !!!!!

LEAFY MY GIRL I MISSED YOU SO MUCH 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

YOU AND FIREY FOUND YOUR ISLAND I WISH YOU THE BEST FOR YOU TWO YOU GUYS ARE NOW HAPPY TOGETHER

AND I JUST LOVED SEEING SNOWBALL AND GRASSY INTERACTING

SNOWBALL IS TEACHING THE CHILD HOW TO KILL

BASKETBALL IS NOT GOING TO BE HAPPY ABOUT THIS

HE'S PUTTING SO MUCH TRUST IN GRASSY BRO

AND SNOWBALL BEING CONCERNED FOR TEARDROP WAS JUST SO ADORABLE 💕💕

"Yeah she's vulnerable now, but she's sick I don't think that would be nice"

SNOWBALL YOU JUST OWNED MY RESPECT FOR YOU, YOU WERE MY FAVORITE FROM THE START AND THIS SCENE MADE ME LOVE YOU EVEN MORE

AND THEN NEEDLE WHO IS LITERALLY DESTROYING HALF OF THE MEMBERS OF "JUST NOT" GIRL IS FUCKING SAVAGE

AND OF COURSE LET'S NOT FORGET TEARDROP TRICKING ERASER

When Eraser was getting a bit of sympathy for Teardrop I IMMEDIATELY knew that Teardrop is going to use this moment at her advantage, I was like "oh oh, Teardrop is totally going to trick Eraser and pushing him in the water"

AND SHE DID THIS ABSOLUTE MAD GIRL

And at the very end, Tree and Black Hole interaction is just

It's just-

THEY SOUNDED SO SAD

Yeah after what happened in TPOT 7 these two needed to talk 😭

However, I would like to point out something interesting that I noticed.

When Robot Flower said "Out of my way I need my space"

She sounded...hesitant, or maybe lost of words

Do you think Robot Flower is slowly realizing about what she is doing but cannot stop herself as she has been programmed to act this way now?

That her original self is gradually, unconsciously, coming back?

I don't know, it's just something I thought and I hope that everything will be solved for Robot Flower

Anyway that's all I have to said, this episode was very exciting and I can't wait to see what is going to happen next

If I could vote (cause I can't lol) I would vote for Gaty because I think her friendship with Two is important, and I would vote for Tennisball cause he improved :)

#object shows #tpot #the power of two

7 notes · View notes

roththeprimordial · 2 years ago

Text

Sokka: So... You're the smartest member of your group?

Edd: Indeed. Perhaps the smartest kid in all of Peach Creek. Yet, unfortunately, I am also very physically weak. And I get looked down on.

Sokka: Don't get me started, in my group, everyone is a bender of some kind. They can control one of the four elements, except for me. I'm just the idea, meat, and sarcasm guy!

Edd: I know, I love to use sarcasm when Eddy is acting foolish or manic. Isn't sarcasm wonderful?

Sokka: Tell me about it!

Edd: Anyway, that is indeed an unfortunate set of circumstances. However, intelligence can be it's own strength. I myself make inventions and have brilliant ideas of my own! Yet, I am also bossed around by the proclaimed 'leader' of my group, and it's usually my job to look over them so they don't go to far in whatever they're doing.

Sokka: Yeah, that reminds me of my sister; Katara. She always nags us and tells us what to do. But, in a way, I'm also kind of the leader of our group. When it comes to tactics and fighting that is.

Edd: Intriguing... So, tell me more about this 'bending' your friends possess.

Sokka: Well, there's Katara who I just told you about. She can control water. Toph can control Earth. Zuko can control fire. And Aang can control air, but he can also control the other three elements, he's the only one who can do it and he's the Avatar.

Edd:... I would be lying if I said I believed in everything you said, however, my friends can perform some odd feats too. Eddy is a schemer, he's rude, greedy, and loud enough to rattle the timbers of every house in a four block vicinity. And there's also Ed, who is my opposite. Very strong and is able to life a house, yet not very smart... He also manages to break the laws of physics constantly, which gives me a massive headache... I sometimes feel like I'm the only logical person in my group.

Sokka: Tell me about it! Me and my friends once went to a village with a fortune teller, where Aang and Katara believed in every word she said! The whole village believed her, she said the volcano they lived by wouldn't explode. And it EXPLODED! If it wasn't for me and my friends, that town would've been DESTROYED!

Edd: Magic and superstition is preposterous! One of the kids in our neighborhood was scared of a telephone his family had, so Eddy took it and he was convinced it was cursed! IT WASN'T CURSED! IT WAS PLASTIC!

Sokka: Plus me and my friends had to run away from three crazy girls who tried to hunt down me and my friends...

Edd: Me and my friends face the same thing! The Kanker Sisters are always trying to chase down me and my friends! And one of them is infatuated with me!

Sokka: ME TOO! One of the three girls chasing me and my friends had a crush on me too!

Edd: Come to think about it... There are several girls who were interested in me over the years, May, Nazz, Sarah, Marie...

Sokka: That's so weird! The same thing happened to me too! There was Princess Yue, Suki, Ty Lee, and even Toph...

Edd: And one of my friends has an aggressive bratty little sister who always pushes him around...

Sokka: Mine too! Except, she's a little less bratty and a LOT MORE psychotic...

Edd: Also... My parents aren't around very much, they leave written notes for chores for me to do around the house.

Sokka: I know what you mean, the Fire Nation took my mother away and my father and the other men of my village had to leave to fight in the war. Leaving me and my sister to look after our small village.

Edd: I'm sorry to hear that. I guess we have a lot in common then...

Sokka: Yeah, looks like it... Hey, I got a few silver pieces, you wanna go out and get some lunch or something?

Edd: I say that sounds like a wonderful idea.

#ed edd n eddy #atla #avatar the last airbender #Sokka #Edd #Double D #eene #crossover #shitpost

8 notes · View notes

returntosaturn271995 · 1 year ago

Text

Wednesday, September 27th, 2023: Long Roads

"So that’s how you grow mental toughness. One task at time, believing that you can change and evolve, taking failures and notes to growth and not to heart.

The person I’m most proud of as I lay here in bed, not bullying myself, but helping myself inch forward: is who I was as my lowest. Debating suicide, hiding under much rougher covers. That girl, so sensitive and hurt, knew enough to get help and keep trying with a map she hadn’t created yet and with no light to walk towards. She pulled herself up with no promises that things would get easier.

That takes fucking grit. And I can practice on it more. I can get better at it. I put my hand on my heart and feel it beating: it’s never stopped since day one. Neither have I. I have gotten myself here."

One year ago today, my life was going to get a little worse and then much better. This was my first floor. I like to think I'm on the third floor right now. New job, higher salary, new housemate, new friends, new running habit, new yoga habit, new home decor and deep cleaning, new medicine, and new wardrobe. I had just started meditating and literally never cooked.

These are all huge upgrades that happened the way everything does: slowly and then all at once. I had to lose things to replace them with better things. They were lessons I was lucky to learn and a sign that sometimes the universe really is working in your favor even on your shittiest days. You just have to be friends with yourself first.

I thought of a year ago as a low, but even then I was striving and starting to improve: after all, I had been lower. I can't remember the last time I had suicidal thoughts and they used to play in my mind like a soundtrack at a party I was desperate to leave.

Now I have a map to reference and light to see. Things did get easier and then easier still.

In comparison to before, today was downright cheerful. Makenna and I went shopping for a card and bag at Pangea Outpost for Hannah's birthday present. We (well, I), picked a David from Schitt's Creek-themed card where he talks about crying a little and popping a pill. The bag is an obnoxious bright pink and covered in stars. I also got an orchid and sea salt candle for myself because we all deserve a little treat. My room has been smelling amazing because I switched out the Pura pods to Capri by Volcano and some mango-esque scent.

It's the little things. Like dusting my shutters and drinking from a fat coffee mug, that makes me feel like my corner of the universe is more airy and bright than it's ever been.

Afterward, we stopped by Sprouts and picked up some Ollipop Colas because Hannah is obsessed with them. Then I finished up work for the day, accidentally showing up to a meeting while wearing my "Gay for Soccer" ballcap for a good 15 seconds before whipping it off.

I redownloaded Daily Yoga and am dedicating 20 minutes tonight to stretching my calves before attempting another 5 K tomorrow. No shin splints this time. Also carbo-loading with homemade smoked gouda cheeseburgers with caramelized onion and roasted delicata squash.

I showered deeply and stood in the steam, breathing into my stomach and praying to no one in particular that some of the rough plaster I've been covering myself with to say safe is cracking off and away. Strong and vulnerable instead of brittle and shielded.

Is there something worthy, strange, and ethereal underneath my skin that makes all of this worth it? Unerasible and deeper than addiction and bad self-esteem. When I'm serene, and the tasks of the day have been crossed off their lists, there's a golden flutter of something like purpose.

An intuition that good things are coming, the best things yet to arrive. It's what got me through in the pit and it's what is pushing me forward still.

0 notes

cbncb0280 · 2 years ago

Text

Lost (Ben Solo X Reader) - Chapter 40

A/N: Warning: Mature Content included. Does get quite smutty in some ways... ...and this is no dream in the story, whatsoever... 😛🤪😘🤫😂😀

Under 13s, please keep off this unless you feel absolutely ready to read something like dis... besides, this is ideally a 15+ story after all...

Alex, Ben & Y/N's Pov

After Alex had turned on his beautiful yellow lightsaber along with Ben's blue lightsaber and his envious, malicious face like a volcano ready to erupt.

Suddenly, both bursted out clashing each other's lightsabers against one another's. You just watched, not able to say a word. Why was Ben so mad even though you two had broken up over a year ago?

"It's too late for you Ben, she's all mine now. I can sense it through the Force, and that's only the truth" Alex began.

"BIG LIAR!" Ben screeched like Lara, "HOW DARE YOU TOUCH SOMETHING THAT'S MINE! YOU'VE JUST COMMITTED TOXIC THIEVERY!"

"Welp, I'm not afraid of you Ben. And I personally feel as though you want to turn to Lara's side even though she's dead."

"SHUT UP! I HATE THAT BITCH OF ALL BITCHES GIRL! I'VE ALWAYS HATED SUCH A BULLY, LIAR AND UGLY, UNWORTHY PIECE OF F***ING TRASH! GIVE ME BACK WHAT I OWE RIGHT NOW OR I'LL KILL YOU!"

Out of pure anger of hearing Ben's words, you turned on your green lightsaber you had in your pocket and felt ready to fight. And you knew exactly who you wanted to fight against...

"Welp, she's all mine. And you'll never get her back cus all you did was abandon her and you literally stole her from me in the first place, Ben Solo-Wolo!"

"HOW DARE YOU CALL ME THAT!" Ben screamed while attacking Alex and almost zapping him through his neck, "YOU'RE BECOMING LIKE THAT STUPID BRATTY FATTY BITCHY LARA GIRL AND YOU'VE TURNED Y/N INTO ONE TOO ALONG WITH QUEENIE AND EVERYONE ELSE! YOU STOLE HER!"

Your lightsaber crashed onto Ben's in such raging, powerful infuriation.

"Leave us alone, Ben. Now!" You snapped angrily at him loudly, "we don't want you here so just leave us both alone, you fricking idiot!"

In atrocious shock, Ben couldn't believe what he'd just heard from that once, quiet, sweet, naive, unique, unbitchy, empathetic, understanding, supportive, shy, beautiful girl he had over a year ago. Yes, it was his fault to why they split up, but his overpossissiveness was making him want to force her to come back to him. His dark side had taken over him and he felt as though he wanted to unfairly punish her and make up with her. And the way he would do that is by clinging her to the walls in such a threatening way, ripping all her clothes off, biting her neck, then thrusting himself inside of her. And he so badly wanted to do that now that he was fifteen years old. He was to turn sixteen in a few more months anyway so yeah, he was a good enough age.

"THAT'S THAT!" Ben yelled at Alex after attacking him and nearly beheading him. He wanted to kill him so badly. Oh yes, he did! He wanted to give him a very very very violent death just like Macbeth gave to MacDonwald... !

You faught Ben back but then he pushed you away through the Force, making sure you couldn't move...

Your lightsaber went off too and you were suffering...

But then, Alex's amazing talent pushed Ben out the open window and then he dropped and fell to the ground. You were thankfully alright after all that pain you felt. Alex also had Ben's lightsaber too after making his hand let go of it too!

Alex closed and locked both the door and all windows, then he started snogging you again. Really hardly and passionately. Which unfortunately eventually lead to something during that entire night...

No, it wasn't smut, definitely not, but you and Alex were sure the hell thinking about it. But what really happened was that after a lot of rolls and snogging along with a lot of neck and forehead kiss, hair and back massages and even Alex sucking your nipples a little (A/N: I am desperately sorry if this makes you cringe... it's my first time ever writing stuff like this online so please don't judge me for it), you slept together while cuddling. Dreaming of you both making out, feeling the best sensual and sexual feelings you two have ever felt in your entire lives. Ben never found out thankfully in those dreams you two shared.

Like ever since you got to know each other better over a year ago, he began to help you become a lot more self-confident and energetic. You both shared a lot in common through your smart Jedi skills and your love for learning as well as being a brave, supportive friend. You also had family members who were once among the Dark Side too...

So both of you secretly, although it was obvious too, began to fall deeply but slowly in love with each other. And now the time eventually arrived for them both. Could they make out the next day?

Alex definitely hoped it would happen soon as long as Y/N's period didn't come along soon. Thankfully, it had ended a couple of days ago so hopefully she'd be alright. Ben would certainly have a huge temper tantrum though that he may destroy the entire place...

When you two women up, you two both kissed passionately good morning then felt highly tempted to do more...

However, after being thrown out the window, you two had no idea that Ben managed to save himself so he could sense everything that would happen through his smart Jedi skills of the Force. He was very Force-Sensitive after all and had just recently found out that his ancestor was this horrible Darth Vader...

"Alex," you moaned while the handsome blonde kissed and licked your neck, "may we, erm..."

Ben began to rush up the stairs to lightsaber the door off. Yes, he had stolen his uncle's lightsaber.

Fortunately for you but unknown to Ben, Alex agreed to what you so badly wanted to do. And that's what happened. (A/N: I won't go into a lot of detail on this as I cannot write stuff like that in such a mature contented way. I'm under 20 years of age anyway. I'm also sooo sorry if this upsets you... under 15s in particular, please keep away from this if you really seriously cannot put up with it...)

You just lost your virginity with Alex while making out for a short time. It was the best feeling you two had both ever had. Hopefully, it was highly unlikely that you'd get pregnant but all you did while smutting was kissing, rocking and thrusting.

However, you never knew about him smutting with Lara while pretending to be her fake boyfriend, Tom Riddle!

After it had finished, you both got dressed then down to breakfast to meet Queenie and Clara. You spoke while walking and holding hands.

"Alex," you began to ask him, "if you don't mind me asking, but what exactly did your mother do after her parents split up?"

"Well, she was seventeen back then and carried on with her Jedi Training. Yes, of course she was heartbroken but she carried on. When they were just friends, my father cheered her up then when they were both twenty-three, they ended up getting married. Then at aged twenty-six, they had me and three years later, my brother."

It was quick for Alex to sob at the mention of his brother as he was now dead. All cus of that sh***y girl Lara and her big ass gang of dark people! You patted his back then gave his cheek a kiss and reminded him of the morning while whispering it in his ear.

"Ben shouldn't know if he just so happens to still be alive, besides, I really don't like him anymore and I've changed dramatically since we split up anyway. Probably just as well we did then."

"You're absolutely... stunning, Y/N. Beautiful. Attractive. You finally look like a woman now. You're body is just... fab. Delicious," he whispered to you.

"I'd say the same about yours too," you whispered back to him while he suddenly grabbed himself around you and kissed you hardly on the lips. He then pinned you to the wall nearby and you both enjoyed a passionate snog until Queenie squealed and screamed with delight tha you two were know together. Hugging you both immediately after you both finished kissing.

"Congratulations you two! Just what I dreamed of! Clara is here too. Hey, guess what Clara? Alex and Y/N are together now! Finally! After all this time!" Queenie squealed excitedly and joyfully. She had never felt this happy in her whole life due to her history.

"Oh! Well done you two! Horray! Let's celebrate and set up a perfect date for you two!" Clara squealed with the same tone and expression as Queenie.

Unfortunately, while all of you were celebrating and Alex lifted you up in his arms, someone came over unexpectedly and looked so ready to destroy the Jedi Temple with a double, evil, malevolent look. As a highly Force-Sensitive boy, he knew immediately that Alex and Y/N had lost each others' virginity with one another. This was the worst of what he expected.

Now his love for Y/N really was non-existent that he wanted to rape her then maybe even kill her... sooooo badly...

His lightsaber went on and he ran super fast to the group while screaming until you pushed him away with the Force and laughed with Alex at that. The Force had told you that he survived as he fell in a lake, coincidentally! Uh oh... he had never ever been this unhappy before despite everything he had been through...

The Force he felt himself allowed him to stop you from controlling him through it. He was very successful over everyone else, including the new version of yourself, bold and bright Alex as well as smart and sneaky Queenie. So what would it be? A fight between new you, brave Alex, clever Queenie, caring Clara versus miserable Ben Solo who was actually the smartest and most skilled person put of all of you. He was also terrific at sports too.

So what was it to be? Another fight? Or what else? Could it be something far worse than this? Ben's emotions were undescribable even for the author of 'Lost' to talk about. That was that. It was time for Ben to punish Y/N and rape her then maybe kill her in the end... time for Ben to turn to the Dark Side... time for him to destroy the Jedi Temple and everyone there... and no one could even sense through the Force his dark and deepest plans due to his pure, raging, petrifying anger......

You and all your friends turned on your lightsabers too and Alex kissed you hardly in front of Ben... and that was that.

"That's that Ben. She's mine." Alex calmly stated, but that just pushed the salt into the wound...

A/N: Arghhhhh, idk whether to regret writing all dis mature content and it's my first time too. But just to warn you that the next chapter will be a long detailed fight scene along with a bit of mature content too. So be prepared for a surprise but btw, I only wrote a smut between Y/N and Alex as it creates plot in the story to make Ben angry. I'm deeply sorry if I've upset you in any way. But thanks for reading dis though.

P.S. Yayyyy! Role 4 is now completed!

#ben solo #ben solo x y/n #star wars #kylo ren #kylo ren x you

1 note · View note

nnightskiess · 3 years ago

Text

𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞: 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 (𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ₊° -𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐝𝐥𝐞, 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐮𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤.

series masterlist

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

It's crazy, right? How quickly a person is able to adjust when they really need to? How fear keeps us going, keeps us alert. How nerves keep us concentrated, how the feeling of excitement and anxiety both make your stomach flutter. But too much of it for too long and something will block.

Sometimes it's your mind, sometimes it's your body, sometimes it's both, and sometimes it's everything you can imagine all at once. Some people can keep feelings, thoughts, struggles, pain and emotional baggage trapped and repressed for years, others explode after even a day of attempting to hold it all in.

But when all of those things collide together in a messy mash, making you feel unsafe, feel trapped, feel in danger, how long can one person really hold on? What will cause them to break? Can they even afford to let the reigns loose? To turn their heads? To ignore their problems like some naive little girl? As if there is no problem at all?

Do they seek help? Are they afraid to speak up? Will speaking up have consequences? And what will happen to the people left behind when they eventually accept the help offered?

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Wiping the sleep out of your eyes, you rolled over onto your back, but you couldn't, not entirely. Something was wrapped around you and restricted your movement. You could only let out a tired sigh when you noticed that it was Fatin's jacket. She hadn't taken no for an answer and hadn't given up.

It was still warm from your body heat, and you caught yourself burying yourself underneath it for another five minutes, seeing as no one seemed awake yet. But when you started getting cold again and turned your head to the fire, you realised the flames were close to going out.

Grabbing a few dry pieces of bark and other stuff you had found in the woods, you quietly went to work. Two of the bigger pieces of wood were placed on either side so that the fire had something to burn away in case the girls wouldn't be awake for another few hours. There was no telling how late or how early it was, but depending on your inner alarm clock, it must have been somewhere around 5am if you had woken up, seeing as that was the time your usual days would need to start in order for you to get everything taken care of each day.

With your swagbag around your shoulders and one of the cokes assigned to you in your hand, you left the cave.

A solid two hours later, your back ached, your body dripped with sweat, your arms felt like spaghetti strings and you were pretty sure your legs had doubled their size in muscle after having to push through the thick volcano sand with each step. The worst thing was that you still had two letters to go. The sun was already blaring down on you, but you knew the longer you took, the harsher it would get.

You found yourself playing with the beads of your bracelet on your walk to the water. It helped you calm down. It helped ground you, but it also crushed your heart again and again with each bead you grazed.

Wading waist-deep in the ocean, your hands splashed cold water over your face and arms. Your eyes focused on the horizon, on the endless open ocean ahead of you. If only you could just know what way home was. Were you facing your back to it now? Or were you staring right at it with only the distance keeping you apart?

Nonetheless, you muttered out a quick 'I'm sorry' to the distance that was ahead of you, your eyes going to the name spelt in your bracelet.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

The sound of someone hurling made everyone's eyes shoot open. Dot sat on her hands and knees, spitting something out of her mouth. She took a huge gulp of her coke, making her eyes water and it resulted in a coughing fit.

"Dottie, what's- are you alright?!" Shelby being Shelby, she had jumped to her feet as soon as she had woken up. She stroked the girl's back, who let out an exhausted small laugh.

"Woke up with a little present in my mouth."

"What's going on?" Nora's voice cracked as she sat up with an adorable tired frown on her face.

"Ew! What is that?" Martha shot back once she opened her eyes and saw the present a small distance away from where she had been sleeping.

"Going by the roomies we had last night, I'm assuming it's bat shit."

"You're joking!" Toni looked around, towards the ceiling, but the bats had apparently found another place to hide.

"And you're batshit crazy for being so chill about it." Fatin made a repulsed face and frantically checked herself if she had been pooped on during the night, "I swear to God I will scream my fucking lungs out if they- Where's Y/N?"

The girls looked around the circle and noticed the empty space where you had been curled up during the night.

"Of-fucking-course," Fatin muttered under her breath, annoyed, and grabbed the jacket you had left behind. She shook off the dust and threw it back in her suitcase.

Shelby immediately walked out of the cave, to see if there was something she could find that signalled where you had gone off to, but stopped as soon as her eyes flashed across the beach down below. She let out a breathy chuckle,

"You guys!"

The girls followed and all took in the sight.

"Won't you look at that..." Dot whispered out, quite impressed.

Made from the rocks and pebbles you had been able to find, the word HELP had been spelt out in huge letters onto the sand, on full display for any passing plane flying over. If this didn't get someone's attention in the case of a plane flying over the island, you would all be lost for sure.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

"Why?"

You tilted your head at Faber's question, and so he continued,

"Didn't you think rescue was already on its way? Your action came kind of out of nowhere, no?"

"It was better to not take any chances and I didn't know how long it would take for them to arrive. I mean, the others were all very hopeful it would only take a few days."

"And you weren't?"

"If you set low expectations, you can never be disappointed or hurt."

"That must be a pretty despondent way of life."

"I like being realistic."

Faber nodded to himself and rose his eyebrows as he glanced over your papers. You hadn't lived in a candy world, where everything had been all rainbows and unicorns. You had lived your life without the rose coloured glasses on and you had taken that mindset with you to the island.

"Did that bother you? That the others seemed to believe help would arrive soon?"

"Sometimes, when that kept them from helping. Not at the beginning, when I still had some high hopes, deep down. Later on, it was harder to keep lying to myself, to keep believing."

"What made you stop believing?" Young asked.

"When I realised the black box wasn't broken, yet we never saw a boat on the horizon... or heard a nearing plane."

"Was that before or after you spelt the word 'HELP'?"

"After. Maybe a week and a half.... two weeks in?" You stopped and watched Young scribble your answer down quickly. He noticed, smiled an encouraging smile and so you continued, "But... even when I still believed... we needed to show someone that we had survived the crash. That we were out there, on the island, waiting for them. We had messed up with the mirror so we hadn't left our mark on our island yet. I needed to do something."

"Your island?" Faber emphasised.

"I mean, yeah. It became ours. It was, like, the annoying nephew everyone hated, but we had to include him anyway. We couldn't escape from the island, so we had to make due and make it our own."

Faber and Young exchanged a look before the latter opened his mouth, "And did you? Make due? Make it your own?"

"We learned by trial and error-"

Memories flitted through your mind, from the mussels to the shark attack, the tree that had almost killed one of you girls, the countless times the fire had gone out, the cold nights that followed, the rainstorms, the insect bites, the floods, the poisonous plants, the- You stopped, realising you would spend the next ten minutes thinking of everything that had gone wrong. Then other images flitted across your eyes, the laughter and the songs being sung around the campfire, the friendships that had bloomed, the fun you'd had after the gummybears, the sunny afternoon at the waterfall, the games of truth or dare, all the hugs and all the tears that had been shared and the love you had learned to accept and reciprocate.

"-but it brought us closer."

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

"Alright, guys, I say, since she worked her ass off contributing to our rescue, that Y/N here-" Dot squeezed your shoulders and gave you a playful rattle, "-gets to sit and rest her ass for the remainder of the day."

You looked around— at least every girl, however wide or small, gave you a smile. It was then you realised that they looked at you differently than all the boys and girls at school. They had never really seen you, but when they had... Oh boy.

These girls seemed to like you. Genuinely. That was entirely new to you, but instead of the unknown feeling making you squeamish, you relished in it. The feeling of being liked, accepted and included was a nice change. That in and of itself was an odd feeling. Nobody usually liked you, at least not back home, where you had been written off by so many people, especially after what had happened. You knew what they thought when they saw you walk the isles in the grocery store or fill up the gas of your grandpa's old car— failure, vermin, bad harvest, dyke, just like her mother, a bad example to her sister, high school dropout, the shame of the town and a shame to your grandparents, at least that was what they thought. Your grandparents couldn't have loved you more, even if your grandpa had forgotten all about it.

No one had ever expected much from you outside of your family, but as soon as you had slipped up, all hell had broken loose and even people who barely knew your name had shunned you. Your family, though, depended heavenly on you. They knew the true story— that you were a hard-working, determined and caring young lady who held great responsibility for her family and who would walk through fire for them.

If they only knew that was exactly what you had done. Maybe they would take all of their words back. But knowing how things go in this century and this society? It would never be forgotten. Not only because you were a girl and mistakes couldn't be afforded, but also because people loved to gossip, loved to hold grudges, and loved to cause drama, judge and point fingers.

The encouraging words sent your way brought you back to the moment. You couldn't help it, but you beamed from ear to ear at their attention. Rachel high fived you, Toni gave you a fist bump and the others pulled you into quick side hugs.

"My Lord, that must have taken you hours!" Shelby was the last one to speak up. She smiled wide but kept her distance.

You shrugged, not knowing how to take the compliment, "Uh- I was up early."

A pinch in your upper arm made you pull your arm to your chest, "Ouch!"

"You didn't work hard enough. You still feel scrawny."

You playfully pushed Fatin aside and cracked a smile at seeing her own enormous toothy grin.

"Sleep well?" She gave you a knowing smirk.

"Um, yeah. Thank you... for the jacket, I mean."

"It's yours to keep if you want it."

"It's fine." You forced a smile.

Dot gently sat you down in the sand and pushed a visor over your head.

"What will you be doing?" You looked up at her, thankful she was blocking the sun from shining right at you.

"I dunno-" She took a quick look around, "Maybe see if things washed up again, take a stroll through the woods to find water... food or anything else that could be useful.."

"I'll come with-" You had already made a move to stand up but Dot stopped you,

"I'm pretty sure you should rest now. It's fine, we'll manage."

Fatin approached, wearing ridiculously large sunnies and a green bikini. She struggled to walk through the sand, each step making her sink further, but when she dropped down next to you, she let out a relieved breath.

"What... are you wearing?!" Dot dropped her arms to her sides.

Fatin looked over her sunglasses, "Jesus, I thought this island was void of narrow-minded Karen's and male high school teachers?"

"The pillars of survival are shelter, water, fire, food, mindset and creating rescue signals. Our priorities should be those, not working on a fucking tan!"

"Loosen up, Dorothy! We have food, we have drinks, we have a cave, we have a huge ass sign on the beach-" She counted on her fingers, "-and besides, rescue is coming anyway, the only thing we don't have is a tan. And relaxing in the sun will gravely improve my mindset. We should make the best of our circumstances." She waved her off playfully and Dot left with a huff.

Your eyes gazed over the beach where each girl seemed to be doing her own thing. Leah read her book while occasionally staring out towards the horizon, Nora passed the time scribbling in her notebook, Martha sat with Toni further up ahead, throwing pebbles in the waves and Rachel was doing sit-ups. Shelby mindlessly walked the shoreline, to her ankles in the water. Why Fatin had decided to sit with you out of all people was unknown to you, but the thought that maybe, just maybe, it was because she liked your company, made your chest fill with an unknown warmth.

Although, the two of you sat in a nice silence, and you didn't want to interrupt her peace, the quietness made your thoughts wander. It made you think of home. That was the least you wanted right now. So, you opened your mouth,

"I feel like a fish in a tiny bowl that's put behind a window on a hot summer day. How can you be so fine being in the sun?"

"Because not all the fish in the sea are the same." She shrugged absentmindedly.

The air was warm and humid, but the sound of the waves was soothing. While it had been incredibly annoying the first two nights, you had missed it last night, when it had been too quiet for your liking in the isolation of the cave. Apparently, Fatin hadn't mind the disrupting of her peace, and instead shot a question of her own your way,

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

You cocked your head to the side as if she had just asked you the most ridiculous question ever. She remained unbothered and didn't move a muscle, her eyes still shielded by the sunnies as she looked up towards the sky.

"Well?"

"Uh, no, I don't. I used to, sort of?"

"Sort of?" She turned on her side so she could look at you, "Was it, like, a timeshare thing? A...you get her in the weekends and I get her throughout the weekdays, kind of deal?" She snickered slightly.

You hugged your legs to your chest and scraped the sand off your ankles that had dried up, "We were close to dating... at least, I think so? It felt like that for me. And then, we weren't."

"Why are you always so cryptic?" She propped her head up and leaned on her elbow, "Doesn't matter. I love the mystery. I'll figure you out." She winked, but you couldn't see through her sunglasses, "So what happened?"

"She left me on read. Blocked me, eventually."

Fatin noticed you crumble as you rested your chin on your knees. You grew incredibly small and vulnerable. She didn't like it one bit.

"What?! What the hell was wrong with her?"

You allowed a tiny smile. The sincerity in her voice was clear.

"Can't say I've never done the same, but I usually had a reason. But leave you on read? I wouldn't. Besides- you don't own a pet tarantula and let it sleep in bed with you, you don't have a toilet that rings the A-team's tune whenever you flush and I'm sure you never sniffed someone's clothing while dancing in a club and asked what detergent they used."

"I'm scared to ask if it's rhetorical or if you actually knew those guys."

Fatin ignored you and continued, "You seem like a great girl, and that's saying something since I don't do the whole girl friendships thing." She sat up further so that she could playfully slap your leg, "Hey- it's her loss. Hope you're not, like... still all down in the dumps about it?"

Your eyes flashed towards Shelby who sat on a rock staring at the ocean, her face full of misery. Fatin followed your line of sight. Right at that moment, Shelby turned around, caught red-handed by already staring back at you.

"Uh, um... I-" There was no clear answer you could give her. Not a yes or no. Feelings were a complicated concept, after all.

"Oh... oh no-" Fatin removed her sunglasses, "You're still head over fucking heels about her, aren't you?"

You swallowed, hard, and turned your gaze away from Shelby. Fatin had seen right through you and that scared you. No one ever really had, nor wanted to, not besides Shelby, and it felt like a slap to your face.

"I'm not?!" You scowled, "Life's just put on pause after arriving here and I can't help but fill the hours thinking about everything that went wrong before all of this."

Fatin's face fell. The feeling was awfully familiar to her.

You jumped to your feet and threw the visor off.

"Wait- where are you going? I never meant to-"

"It's fine, don't worry." You reassured her, but the frown on your face made her feel like it wasn't fine, "I only have one coke left and I'm thirsty. We need water."

"And you're gonna have it magically appear in front of you... how?"

"Make fun of me all you want, but the next rainstorm that passes, we'll have fresh water."

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you tried to dig into your memory of how you had learned to collect water all those years ago, during Scout camp. Sure, you could just put your empty soda cans on the ground during a rainstorm, but that would still not leave you with a reliable water source that you could fall back on whenever necessary.

You clicked your fingers when the idea sprung to mind, and with a determined pep in your step, you walked off.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

"You were on a roll that day, weren't you? First the help sign, then the idea of the water instalment. Are you certain you weren't planning on staying there?" Agent Young's joke didn't quite reach you the way he had intended to.

"Water is always important. I wanted to get it done and up and running before we would run out of the soda cans. Just to be sure. I didn't want us to come to any surprises later on. For all I knew, the authorities might not have known our location yet. Our rescue could have happened within a day, a week, weeks.... months." You mumbled out the last word.

"That's pretty tactical thinking. Wise and responsible, too."

"Yeah, well, it's been ingrained in me to think that way. There's no space to fool around in a situation like that, in no situation, actually."

"So you never... let go? Pulled some mischief? Ignored the rules?"

"Alright, cut the bullshit. I know you've read my file which basically contains every dirty detail about my life. You were bound to find out anyway but just-"

"Hey, hey-" Faber smiled and lifted his hands, "No reason to panic. That's not our department and not what we're here for so those files stay out of our reach. We're not here to talk about your life before the island. Unless it involves whatever happened on the island."

"Does it...?" Young spoke softly, carefully gaging your reaction,

"Have to do with your behaviour on the island?"

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Shelby sauntered over, her curiosity getting the best of her, "Where is Y/N off to?"

Fatin had already gone back to tanning so she lifted her sunnies only slightly, and sighed when she saw it was Shelby, "Why don't you ask her yourself? She doesn't bite."

"It was just a question. A simple yes or no would've sufficed." Shelby rolled her eyes at the slight annoyance in Fatin's voice, "Shouldn't she be resting?"

"She should. But I don't think she likes to be told what to do."

"Right." Shelby nodded and played with her hands, contemplating her next move, "Um, what did you two talk about?"

"Nothing important, just some jibber-jabber."

Shelby invited herself to sit down on the sand, making Fatin quirk an eyebrow.

"Y/N she... she's a good egg, isn't she? I mean, she seemed a little closed off at first... she still has her moments, I guess, but she... she really made an effort with that help sign. Which was, like, so impressive."

Fatin let out a dry laugh and eased herself up on her elbows. She was curious as to where this was going, "Mhm. Sure."

"She seems to take a liking to you. And um, you... to her."

"Oh...no, sweetie-" Fatin gave Shelby a look, "-please don't be doing what I think you're doing right now."

"Which is?" Shelby looked quizzical.

Fatin removed her sunnies, "Just because she likes girls and because you found out through a silly game that I've slept with girls doesn't give you the permission to try and play matchmaker here."

The look on Shelby's face was priceless. She gaped like a fish and her eyebrows almost reached up to her hairline.

"No! I don't- I never-"

"Newsflash for you- girls can be friends with guys without hopping onto their dicks and so can girls who like girls."

"You clearly misunderstood me." Shelby pursed her lips, annoyed now.

"Then what was the whole point of you bringing her up? I'd almost think that you like her." Fatin played it off as a joke, huffed and stood up to find a more peaceful place.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

"Where's the axe?"

"Y/N took it." Rachel pointed behind her, towards the woods, where the sound of hacking could be heard.

Dot shook her head in disbelief, "The hell, I told her to preserve energy."

"Well, she's making us some water-thing. I've honestly got no clue." Toni mindlessly flicked another pebble into the water. Martha watched the clouds in the sky to see which forms they would take on. Leah was, still, nose deep into her book.

"And you're not helping her, because...?"

"'Cause she told us not to." Rachel shrugged, "And because it's pretty pointless to be wasting energy on something that will become useless once we get picked off the island soon."

"Having fresh water is never useless. It's literally step one of survival." Dot sighed before making her way into the woods.

Her steps crunched the dried up leaves underneath her feet, but you were so focused on the task at hand that that sound got lost on your ears.

"Whatcha doing there?"

Her voice startled you and you turned around in an instant. You swung the axe around and Dot jumped back,

"Woah there⁠— careful with that," She eyed the four logs by your feet, "Need some help?"

You wiped the sweat off your forehead with your arm, "I don't mind having help carrying everything back towards the beach." Your breath heaved and if you hadn't been feeling lightheaded, you would've walked a hundred times back and forth if you needed to, on your own, with no help. Help came with consequences. You'd always owe a favour to the one who'd helped you and you could never be certain what they would ask of you. But this time, you said yes. Although it had only been a couple of days, your gut feeling said Dot was one to be trusted. She had gone out of her way to take care of the group multiple times already. And you doing this, right now, was a way to repay that favour. To show her your thanks and to provide for the group so you wouldn't have to worry about having a disadvantage when it came to the whole helping out part. You had already done so with the help sign, but it hadn't felt enough for the success of your survival.

By the time you two got to the beach, you dropped into the sand next to the pile of thick logs. Nora approached slowly,

"I think this is what you meant, right?"

She showed you a page of her notebook where she had drawn what you had vaguely explained to her.

You perked up, "Yes! That's it! Thanks!" After inspecting the page for a few seconds, you went to work. You grabbed a stick and gouged the sand, digging deeper and deeper until you were sure that the depth would keep the logs stable enough. Four logs were placed in a square. Now the real challenge would start.

"Wait- hold on," Dot stopped you, "Are you going to use the whole emergency slide?"

"Yeah, I was planning to. Why?"

"Well, we might need some of it for other uses. Carry stuff, block out the wind, and keep us dry in a rainstorm... Hey, but don't you think it'll be too heavy on the logs with the added weight of the water? It won't work, I'm afraid."

Nora opened and closed her mouth, contemplating whether to keep her comment to herself or not. Dot was right, it would get too heavy, the plane's emergency slide was already way too heavy on itself, but you had worked yourself to exhaustion and she didn't have it in her to ruin your mood. Besides, your outburst on day one, right after your arrival, had still somewhat left her feeling intimidated by you. She knew you had it in you to catch fire, quickly, and she hated how she didn't know what would set you off.

"It will work, you'll see." You sounded hopeful, too hopeful, as if you needed to convince yourself. You had promised the group something, but what if it wouldn't work, just like Dot had said? What would that make you? A failure? A disappointment? Would you not be liked by them anymore? Would you make true to your reputation? Failure, vermin, bad harvest, not worth it...

It would work. It had to. You had made a promise and you never liked breaking those.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Flocks of young children swarmed out of the doors like ants running back to their colony, only in their case, they all ran back into their parent's arms after a day at school. You impatiently bit your nail as you scanned their faces, hoping Riley wouldn't stay back too long so that you wouldn't be even later for your new job.

Eventually, the familiar purple of the jacket you had thrift shopped, caught your attention. Her tiny ponytail bounced as she skidded over to you, immediately burying her face in your stomach when she was close.

"I missed you!"

"I missed you too!" You let her jump on your back. She played with the strands of your hair and you felt her feet dangle beside you. Her heels kicked your side every so slightly with each step.

"Did you have a fun day, Riles?"

"Yeah, we're making presents for Mother's Day!"

"Oh!" You tried to sound enthusiastic but felt your heart ache at the realisation she would be one of the few kids to not be able to give it to their moms.

She didn't seem to mind and squirmed on your back, "Get up!"

You laughed, realising she had probably meant to say 'giddy up', and picked up your pace as you galloped back to the car.

Her tiny face contorted in confusion when you passed the park on your drive back, and she softly tugged at the hem of your shirt from the backseat,

"No park and ice creams?"

"Not today, Riles, I have to work."

"But it's Friday." You quickly glanced back and saw the disappointed look on her face, she was close to crying.

"I know, I'm so sorry, but I really have to do this so that we can get a million ice creams another time! Promise?" Your mouth tasted foul when you spoke the word.

"But I missed you," She let out a dry sob.

"Riley," You cleared your throat, hating that you had to use your authoritative voice, but knowing it was needed, "I'm going to drop you off at Aunty Simone's and I'll give her some money so that you can get an ice cream together, okay?"

Aunty Simone was the name you used for one of the ladies in your street. She wasn't related, not by blood. She was a widow and had never been able to get children and therefore loved each child in the street. You didn't know any better than to have called her Aunty, and perhaps to you she really was. She was younger than your grandparents and always willing to help out, especially with Riley, whenever needed.

But Riley hated to be pushed aside. Although her tiny brain couldn't comprehend what was happening back at home yet, she was right about what she felt sometimes. She felt shepherded away whenever she had to go to Simone again. It made her feel ignored and that would frustrate her to no end. It had caused her to throw tantrums more than once.

"But I want to go with you!"

"I have to work. I'll be back to kiss you goodnight."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Letting out a grunt by the third time one of the corners of the slide slipped off the top of the log sticking out of the sand, Dot couldn't help but ignore your previous request to not help you out. She grabbed an end of the slide and started to try and pull it over.

"You should've probably stuck with just selling Scout cookies, eh? Since this seems a lot of trouble." She tried to lighten the mood but you silenced her with a glare.

"For fuck's sake-" You muttered under your breath, leaning backwards to pull your part of the slide over the log with all your might, "I can't believe I always complained about changing the sheets, this is way worse."

"I love your thinking, the idea is great-" Dot grunted but smiled when she managed to pull it over, "-but how about we also dig a crater in the middle? So that in the case it does collapse, we'll have our own kind of well?"

Your face dripped of sweat when you looked at her. She had a point, you had to give her that. A curt nod was sent her way before you climbed underneath the tarp of the slide and started to dig, with your hands. It was bloody hot under the fabric, but if you wouldn't be done before dawn when the rain would return, you'd have to wait another day.

"Guys? A little help, please?"

The girls trudged over, some more begrudgingly than others. Martha dropped down in the sand next to Fatin, her ankle still keeping her from putting weight on it.

Dot's eyes flashed over Fatin, who propped herself up on her elbows and watched you all start to dig,

"Martha and I will supervise and cheer you on."

"Sure, you do that." Dot rolled her eyes.

But Shelby wasn't having it, "Um, why aren't you helping?"

Fatin opened her eyes when someone threw a shade over her. Shelby stood above her, her hands on her hips.

"Because I'm exhausted and not in for building some sandcastles."

"Aren't we all?" Shelby shot back.

"Well- my nails-"

Shelby wiggled her own perfectly manicured nails around and gave her a sarcastic, tight-lipped smile. It was clear that that could not be used as an excuse.

"I'm just saying- instead of playing around, you could also consider helping? You know, it would be good to contribute to the group. And, we're getting something for it in return⁠— drinkable water and who knows, you might make some new friends. What do you say?"

"Yeah, no- I'm good on both." Fatin raised her can of La Croix, took a quick sip and let out a content sigh.

With a tired huff, Shelby turned on her heel to help the rest.

A hole about knee-deep stared back at them half an hour later. At last, you stood back and wiped the sweat from your forehead.

"This better work," Leah muttered, exhausted from the digging.

"It will!" You reassured her.

"I mean, it's not how it's usually done, but we definitely gave it our own spin, with the things we had at hand." Nora smiled.

"I'm going back in time... playing soccer in the blaring Texas heat." Dot wiped at her face.

Shelby nodded, "Minus the orange slices and juice boxes afterwards."

"Let's see what our supervisors think of it- Hey! Fatin, Martha-" You turned to them, "Whaddya say?"

Martha clapped and pretended to throw a paddle up in the air, "10!"

"Miss Jadmani?"

Fatin made an act of removing her sunglasses and walked over, taking her time to inspect the thing. She feigned a prissy and posh voice, "Hm, interesting, questionable choice but..." She cracked a smile, "I'm kidding, looks great to me."

"Next time you're helping." You shot her a playful grin.

"Yeah, I like you, but don't push your luck now."

"Well, I say we go back to the cave, cool off, hydrate and get some food into our system." Dot addressed the group, and led the way back.

You stayed back, making sure Fatin wasn't completely alone since she seemed to have trouble keeping up in the sand. But Shelby did the same, for you, and soon she was walking beside you.

"Hey, so, I might not have shown my gratitude before, but I'm thankful you took the initiative and came up with the idea," She dared to put a hand on your shoulder.

You looked at it, and for a split second she thought you would shrug it off, but you didn't. Not wanting to push her luck or cross any boundaries again, she decided to retract her hand after a few seconds.

"Are you all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Um, because you worked yourself to exhaustion today. First the help sign, now this? I barely did anything and I'm already feeling it. Do you have enough to drink because I don't mind sharing mine?" She offered you her diet coke, and although you felt your throat ache and scream to take it from her hands, you knew it wasn't yours to take. You should've rationed better, or paid better attention to preserving energy so that you wouldn't have sweat so much.

"It's no problem." She pressed when she saw the conflict in your eyes, "Here- take it. I don't mind sharing with you."

"Shelby, it's yours. I don't want to take something that-"

"The Lord taught us to share. You helped us out big time today so take it."

"I really don't-"

"Take it! Damn it! I can see you want it!" She pushed the soda can against your chest, some coke splashing over the lid and onto your shirt and her hands.

"You just spilt a morning's sip."

Shelby couldn't help it, but the way you said it made her laugh.

"What?!"

"Sorry. You just- never mind. Sorry-" She apologised again and dabbed at your shirt, at the little spot that was starting to form.

You blinked owlishly and watched her dab at your stomach, then gently pushed her hand away, "No worries. It's already filled with mud and sand."

"And there's a whole suitcase of clothing to pick from should you want a new shirt!" Fatin yelled from somewhere behind you, her voice indicating that she was struggling to climb up the path. And... that she had listened.

Shelby scratched her neck and bit her lip when Fatin joined the conversation. It was hard to keep trying to open herself up around you, to have you open up to her, when there was always someone else hovering close. A look that lasted too long could already be her downfall. And someone walking by too close could already cause you to close yourself off again.

"Don't mind me!" Fatin spoke, out of breath, immediately catching on to Shelby's uneasiness.

Only Shelby did. She did mind Fatin. At least, she was really starting to.

The three of you walked in silence for a beat until Shelby dared to open her mouth again,

"I... um- I like your bracelet," Shelby whispered out and pointed at your hand, where all kinds of colourful beads decorated your wrist in a random pattern. But it was the name spelt on the beads that made her smile.

Your fingers started playing with the beads again, absentmindedly, "Thanks." You whispered out just as quietly, sharing Shelby's decision of not wanting anyone on the island to find out about the two of you and the fact you knew each other. You didn't even know where the two of you stood as of right now so why should they even know?

"I still have the picture of the drawing she made me."

"Really?" You fell silent and stopped walking, not realising it had meant that much to her.

She nodded bashfully and stopped beside you.

"Okay, now I feel left out." Was heard from behind you again, when Fatin could no longer eavesdrop.

Shelby and you exchanged a playful look when Fatin pulled herself up as gracefully as she could with one of the branches, to higher ground.

"Vama-fucking-nos-" She breathed out and passed the two of you, her hairline damp from sweat.

"Don't you love how this group activity is making us bond?" Shelby laughed, wanting to take the piss with her. And she knew she had done just that when Fatin flipped her off.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

"Once upon a time.... nine girls washed up onto a shore... completely unaware of what was waiting for them on the island..." Leah started, putting on a creepy voice, "But what they didn't know.... was that they weren't alone."

"Dun dun dun." Dot added.

They all laughed, scooching closer to the campfire to keep warm.

"Wait- I'm fine with a horror story as long as you don't make it too realistic." Martha seemed to feel bad about potentially ruining the fun, but Nora soon piped up,

"Yeah... I'm not so sure I like where this is going either."

"Martha, dear, us being here is far from realistic. Yet here we are. Sit back and enjoy the ride." Fatin tried.

Toni shook her head and pulled Martha closer, "If Marty says she doesn't like it then she doesn't like it."

"All right, all right, I'll make it more unrealistic." Leah spoke and cleared her throat, "They weren't alone. They were being watched!"

"By a dangerous animal?" Martha quipped, growing uneasy.

"Far worse!"

"What?"

Everyone leaned in when Leah stalled an answer.

"By an all-knowing speaking parrot."

The girls groaned.

Fatin threw her hands up, "Okay, now you've ruined it."

Nora smiled in relief that the story had taken another turn. Her eyes flashed across Rachel, who was still doing workouts on the other side of the circle.

You had kept quiet so far, and had enjoyed seeing everyone relax a bit. But what you enjoyed more, how ridiculous as it sounded, was to finally sit with other girls your age. To laugh, to joke, to chat. You didn't care what about. But it felt good, to be a part of something, to feel accepted, to feel like a normal teenage girl. If you squinted your eyes, you could almost imagine that you weren't sitting on the cold and hard ground of the cave, but perhaps on a bed during a sleepover.

You looked up, your eyes following Shelby's move as she went to sit down next to you. She left plenty of space between the two of you, unsure if you even wanted her near.

"Here." She handed you a quarter of a salty pretzel, still from the plane.

"O-Oh, thank you."

She leaned in to whisper in your ear, playfully, "You also never took that sip."

"My shirt did."

She rolled her eyes to try and play it off, but secretly she was screaming on the inside now that she sat so close to you. Now that you let her. It almost felt like the time she had imagined you to sit next to her during that sunset. But the sun had already gone down long ago.

"Who wants to cuddle with Marcus now?" Martha asked, adjusting his visor.

Fatin's hand shot up, "Oh! Me! Me!" She turned to you, a smirk on her face, "Unless you're willing to keep me close tonight?"

Immediately, the blush on Shelby's cheeks was gone, for Fatin had once again ruined a moment.

"Find another volunteer." You laughed and shook your head.

"Oh, but put him on his right or he tends to snore real loud." Martha joked as the mannequin was given around the circle until it landed with Fatin.

"On a second thought- Leah!" Fatin placed Marcus in between the two of them, "You should have him tonight! Spoiler— he won't seduce teenage girls during his midlife crisis." She whispered the last part, but it was loud enough for the rest to hear.

"Fuck off!" Leah jumped to her feet and stormed out of the cave.

"Hey? The hell? I wanted to hear the rest of the story." Dot complained.

Rachel shook her head in annoyance, finally done with her workouts.

"You all act like children sometimes."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I'm afraid of growing up." Martha's voice was small.

"Me too."

"Yeah, it's happening so fast all of a sudden."

"It's not fun, but sometimes it's necessary." You quickly pushed a piece of pretzel into your mouth.

"I'll drink to that." Dot nodded.

The circle fell quiet.

Then Martha spoke up again, worried, this time, "What if someone really is on the island with us?"

"It better be someone with food." Toni threw her empty granola wrapper aside.

"What if it's someone who wants to turn us into food?" You made a face, relieved that it got Martha to laugh. You didn't notice, but Shelby's eyes were fixated on the side of your face, and she smiled. Brightly.

"You've all watched too much TV." Rachel shook her head and eased up.

"Actually, there are lots of books of deserted island stories. There's this one... it's called Lord of the Flies. It's about a group of young boys getting stranded." Nora played with the edges of her notebook.

"Who was watching them?"

"Well, no one..."

"Is the story similar to ours?"

Nora let out a breathy chuckle, "I sure hope not."

"Hey, but if Leah's not interested in Marcus, then he's yours tonight." The mannequin was shoved in front of you.

"What? Why? I don't want him?"

"I know he's maybe not your usual type, but it might help you get over that asshole of a girlfriend of yours." Fatin shrugged.

Shelby's smile faltered and she turned to nervously play with her necklace again. You snuck a quick glance her way to gauge her reaction. Now you just hoped she'd know that you wouldn't tell Fatin any other details besides you getting your heart broken.

"Um... Martha! Let's pass it back to you. He's your date, anyway. And if you get scared tonight he'll be there!" You scurried to her and placed Marcus next to Martha again.

"What? He creeps me out." You shrugged innocently.

"Are it his abs? Yeah, they make me uncomfortable, too." Toni spoke.

"Oh, how the tables would turn if Marcus was a Maya."

"Maya? What about Maisie?"

And so the chatter commenced, eventually dying down when each girl started to get too tired to keep the conversation going.

You were curled up on your side, your back facing the fire, feeling too exposed if people could watch you sleep. A blanket was thrown over you, you figured it was one of the Dawn of Eve's ones that had washed up, and you figured it was Fatin again. A tired but content smile was glued to your face while your eyes fell shut.

Shelby sat beside you, hugging her knees close to her chest. She shivered slightly but felt more at ease knowing she had at least done her best to keep you warm tonight.

Bats flew in and out, their sounds already having become white noise in the background, along with the distant lapping of the waves. She looked at you once more. This was different from the times she had watched you fall asleep on her screen, that much was clear. Apparently, you didn't feel that comfortable around her anymore, seeing as your back was faced to her.

She felt her heart flutter and sink at the same time, if that was even possible. She'd dreamed of having you close, in real life, face to face. But now that she had that, she didn't have you. Finally, she laid down as well, forcing herself to fall asleep.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Small hands touched your face and pried the duvet off you. Someone tried her best to keep her giggles to herself, but she failed miserably.

"Good morning!"

You opened one eye, then the other immediately after when Riley's face was up-close. She was wearing a Santa hat that she kept pushing up each time it fell over her eyes.

"Why are you wearing that? It's June." You wiped your eyes and chuckled tiredly.

"I love Christmas." She shrugged.

Your eyes shifted to the alarm clock, which read 3.45am.

"Riley, it's the middle of the night." You opened the covers, an invitation for her to crawl against you. She accepted.

"But you're going away today and I don't want to miss you."

Your heart ached at the realisation she was basically stalling time and wanted to spend every last hour with you before your departure to Hawaii.

"Good thing I'll be back next week, so you don't have to miss me that long!"

"Really? When?"

You told her again, realising the first time she had probably been too busy having tea time with her stuffed animals to pay attention to your boring grown-up announcement.

She started to play with your fingers. With your arm tightly wrapped around her tiny body, you started to lull her to sleep.

"There'll be beaches... endless open ocean, tropical birds...it's gonna be very sunny and warm! Oh! And many shells on the shore!"

"Will there be mermaids?"

"Maybe, who knows."

"They're really pretty but you have to watch out because some of them might be mean and drown you."

"Who told you that?"

"Pirates of the Carebears." She merely shrugged and snuggled into your chest, not realising she had botched up the name.

"Who let you watch that?"

"Grandpops."

A soft sigh left your lips, realising you couldn't blame the man.

"Will you get me a present?"

"Of course, I'll get you a present." You reassured and laughed and squeezed her tighter, making her squeal. You eased your grip and felt yourself start to doze off again. Right before you did, her tiny hand squeezed yours and clawed at your shirt.

"Back next week?"

You hummed, too tired to speak. But when she squeezed again, you knew that wouldn't suffice as an answer.

"Promise?"

"Promise. I'll be back before you know it."

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

One shake. Another one, softer, this time. As if the person shaking you was unsure if she wanted you to wake. But when another followed, along with your name in a hushed whisper, you opened your eyes.

"It's raining!" Someone whispered into your ear, barely able to contain her excitement.

The sound of rain had woken Shelby from her slumber. Although, she hadn't been in a deep sleep to begin with. Falling asleep had been anything but easy, with you so close, but with so much distance between you. She had rubbed the sleep from her eyes and remembered fragments of a dream in which you had wrapped your arms around her. She had felt safe, on the bed next to you, while the two of you gazed into each other's eyes and no word was spoken. She had trapped a falling lock of hair behind your ear. Then you had snuck in a kiss on her wrist. She had smiled. Oh, she had smiled. Then she had woken up.

As soon as the pitter-patter of the drizzle had started, she had walked to the entrance of the cave and turned to the early morning sky, a prayer leaving her mouth.

You perked up immediately and ran out to go see it for yourself. The rain had turned to a soft drizzle again so you ran back and grabbed the empty soda cans.

"What are you doing?"

"Going out there!"

"Wait- Y/N, it's too-" Shelby cursed under her breath, knowing you weren't to be stopped and followed you all the way down to the beach. The trek down had been slippery and her reasoning had fallen on deaf ears, you had stuck to your guns. But once at the beach, you knew you had made the right call.

An ecstatic laugh left your lips and you turned around, the widest grin ever plastered on your face.

"It worked, Shelby! It worked!"

You immediately started to fill some cans with the water that was now resting on the tarp of the slide.

Although wet from the soft rain and tired because of the lack of sleep, Shelby couldn't help but smile just as bright at seeing the child-like glee on your face.

"I knew it would!" You turned to the sky and opened your mouth, letting droplets of water fall and dance onto your tongue. Pulling her towards you, you gestured for her to jump around with you, like some silly made-up water-summoning dance.

Shelby laughed like she hadn't in a long time, her hand intertwined with yours as the two of you completely forgot about everything that had happened, on the island, between the two of you, and back home. You forgot about anything else but the water. It hadn't been long ago when you had all cursed the skies for opening up, but now you celebrated.

A big crack sounded from behind you, and you turned around, seeing one log had collapsed. Another one started to drift away in the sand and soon, the whole emergency slide, including the water it had saved, fell into the pit you had all dug. The water sloshed around and fell beside the tarp, now mixing together with the sand, causing the well to collapse and be filled with muddy sand.

"No..." You muttered, "No, I-"

Shelby made a move to pull you back, but you dove forward to save whatever could be saved.

"Y/N, it's broken. It's all mixed with sand. Let's try again another time."

She pulled again, "I'm getting cold. This is not worth getting sick over." She tried to reason with you.

"No! I promised!" A sob left your mouth.

"I promised!" You groaned out while putting all your weight into pulling one of the slide ends back over a log, "I fucking promised!"

That's when Shelby realised there was more to this than just the failure of the water installation.

"Y/N/N-" You swatted the hand away that landed on your shoulder. The sand was cold when your knees fell into it. Your hands idle beside you as you watched the sand around the well fall into the pit. It bubbled.

You turned around, your eyes red. "They'll wake up and expect fresh water and there won't be anything! Because of me! Because I had the great fucking idea that I should have known wouldn't work!"

Shelby knelt down beside you, at a loss for words. This island brought out a side of you she never knew you had, or perhaps she never got to know. But maybe this despair in your eyes had developed after she had left.

"Oh God, Riley-" You buried your face in your hands. Your body shook with sobs. Shelby felt her own throat tighten. She grabbed your arms and pulled your back into her, trying to console you.

"I promised I'd be back soon. I told her I'd come back. I left her. I left her and she has no clue that I'm here. She thinks... she might think I left her too and-" You sniffled as a tear rolled down your cheek and plopped into the sand. You wiped your eyes so quickly, it was like it didn't happen.

"-She'll understand. This isn't your fault." Her cheek pressed against your head, "We'll get through this together." The familiar mantra made you feel even worse.

"You don't get it!" You stood up, within a split second, "This is exactly my fault! I put myself here! With my stupid actions! I broke my fucking promise. It's my own fucking fault I'm on this island right now!"

"Y/N, let's not-"

Your hands were shaking, from adrenaline and the cold, as you fumbled with the zipper of your pocket. You felt it coming. It was long overdue. How could you have fooled yourself after days on this island? Your skin itched again and you weren't so sure the sand was at fault for this one. Your face felt hot, the cold rain certainly wasn't to blame for that one. Not to talk about your breathing, which was all over the place. All the telltale signs were there.

"Hey, hey, hey- what are you doing?" Shelby watched as you fumbled with the strip of pills, "What are those? How did you get- Does Dottie know you took those?!"

She made a move to snatch the unknown medication out of your hands. She didn't trust you when you were like this. Good, she shouldn't. You weren't yourself, not your best version anyway.

"Did you- Did you steal those from the medication bag, Y/N?"

"Finders keepers." Was all the explanation she received.

She slapped your hand away, along with the pill when you were about to put it into your mouth.

"Don't!"

"What the fuck, Shelby?" You stood panting. Your nose ran and you wiped it on your arm. That was one pill perfectly capable of calming you down which she had just thrown away, somewhere into the wet sand where it was no doubt already getting washed away.

"Exactly! You need to put those pills back. You don't need them, whatever they're even for." She pointed a finger at you.

"How the fuck could you even know if I need-"

"What's going on?"

The two of you turned around instantly, like two deer caught in headlights. Leah emerged from the shadows of the dense forest, and that's when you, embarrassingly so, realised you had almost forgotten she had left the cave.

Shelby flailed her arm around, in a foolish attempt to not look too caught, "I'm afraid we won't have any water."

"I see." Leah's eyes shifted between you two, then to the hands behind your back, where you had a death grip on the strip of pills so that you wouldn't lose another one.

"Are you all right?" Shelby smiled a beauty pageant worthy smile, doing her best to shift the attention away from the situation.

"Um, yeah, just- your screaming got my attention." Leah tilted her head, playing along.

"Were you sleeping? Out here? Alone? Whew, that is some badass....ness.... right there!" Shelby tried her best, but even you had to admit that she was really making things worse now.

"Not really... I was more, like, brooding. Wait- why were you out here so early anyway?" Leah pressed.

"To get things done before the sun comes out. And to check on this thing here to see if it had worked. But, unfortunately... you see..." Shelby continued, the words flowed easily as if she'd had weeks to prepare for this speech. But her voice wavered and betrayed her.

Leah eyed the two of you, knowing there was more to the story, but decided to let it go for now.

"So... I suppose Fatin told you all about my flighty romance by now?" Within a split second, Leah lost the upper hand of the conversation when her curiosity got the best of her. She bit her lip, a nervous habit.

"We didn't talk about you after you left, like, at all." Shelby winced at how harsh her own words had sounded. She still felt too overwhelmed with everything that had just happened to be truly present in the moment.

"Gee, thanks. Okay."

Shelby immediately waved her hands around, "Not that we weren't worried about you, we just-"

"-Fatin didn't blab. Don't worry."

"Got it." Leah nodded.

You followed Leah as she walked off the beach, most likely back to the cave to where the others were probably waking up. You didn't miss the look Shelby gave you, or how she watched you hide the pills back in your pocket. There was no denying that you had once again, majorly, slipped up. Had let her console you, let her see you during your weakest moment. And there was no denying that she would soon bring up what had just happened as soon as she found the right moment.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

#shelby goodkind one shot #shelby goodkind imagine #shelby goodkind x reader #the wilds one shot #the wilds imagines #the wilds imagine #the wilds x reader

89 notes · View notes

buckybarnesdiaries · 4 years ago

Text

white wolf: “the show must go on”

first part — second part

third part — fourth part (soon)

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Sam helps Bucky to ask you out for a date and it’s a disaster, but he gets it.

word count: 1'9k.

warnings/tags: none. bucky being so innocent gives me life. + he being so damn cute as always.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

“Have plans with your girl tonight?”

Bucky clicked his tongue, putting down the weight to the holder, not turning to Sam still doing squats and an awkward noise out of breath. His partner couldn't help but raise an eyebrow and giggle while shaking his head, fast enough to steal the soldier's clean towel before he reached it.

“She's not my girl”.

“Not yet, you mean, uh?” He joked then, using the clothing like a whip to hit the metal arm. “But, you have plans or not?”

“Yeah, we have plans”. Bucky admitted eventually, glancing at Sam also stealing his bottle of water. “She invited me to watch a movie”.

It was the innocent and unworried tone of voice from him that made Sam choke, cough, and laugh at once.

“What?”

“Oh, man… Can't believe you're sinful enough to do what we do but too innocent to not see what that means”.

“It means we're gonna watch a movie”.

Bucky was confused at the laughter, trying to understand what he was referring to as he rested his back against the wall and crossed both arms over his chest. Expecting anything else from his wise friend.

“This is the twenty-first century, you ancient. We don't watch movies”.

“What d— What do you mean? You have Netflix, HBO, Prime Video… What's the point?”

Sam was deadpanned, staring in silence at the soldier, not believing what his ears were hearing. “We, guys, don't watch movies with girls, even less when they are the ones inviting us”.

Bucky squinted at him, tilting his head like a lost poppy would do, not being able to read between lines. His partner gasped exasperated, running a hand up and down his face.

“You know, man? Sometimes I feel alone, not having anyone to laugh with about that forties' manners of yours. Should I call Sarah, maybe?”

“Cut the show”. He hissed standing up and passing him away.

“Oh, no, no, no… the show has just started, man, and I have my popcorn ready”.

Bucky had been beating around the bush the whole day, trying to let it out of his mind. Of course, it was something that would happen sooner or later, and —more than of course— he wanted it to happen. The mere fact of thinking about you and him, flesh against flesh, hearing you moaning his name and making you feel good caused him goosebumps and an awkward sensation beneath his black jeans. Suddenly, swallowing saliva turned impossible, biting his lower lip while ringing the intercom of your apartment. Your response didn't last more than a couple of seconds, opening the door downstairs and waiting for him at the entrance of your apartment.

The butterflies fluttered within your bellies when Bucky stepped out of the lift, showing you that charming smile that could make you kill anyone who dared to erase it from his face.

“Trying to get me drunk?” You joked as he raised the bottle of red wine in his left hand.

“Maybe?”

“Missed you today”. You whispered at the soft kiss on your lips and his arm getting wrapped around your lower waist.

“So did I”. He sighed, sounding a little tired, caressing your nose with his.

Yesterday he talked to you about a routine medical check-up the government used to do every six months until he earned his pardon. Four hours of intense exercise to make sure the supersoldier serum was still doing its effect, as he started to feel somewhat tired since he stayed in Wakanda. For Bucky, it was really easy to open up himself with you and talk about his past and some of the things he did. And he didn't complain when you helped him to take off his leather jacket, watching him rubbing his left shoulder.

“I, uh… also was this morning with Sam. Training”. He told you, following you to your kitchen to find a couple of glasses. Turning at him, you couldn't help but raise an incredulous eyebrow. “Don't look at me like that… I know to perfection what you're thinking”.

“You're a telepath now?”

“God, no. I have enough with the voices inside my head, to hear someone's else”. He chuckled resting against the fridge. “But you're very expressive and I was trained to read body language”.

“So, what am' thinking?” You asked driven by curiosity, entertained on opening the bottle of wine.

“Look at this guy… He looks hotter than a barbecue”.

You broke into a loud laugh, shaking your head as you grabbed the drink and the glasses. “Not even close, Sergeant”.

“Liar”. He blurted into your face, passing him away to the living room where the Thai takeaway was waiting for the two of you.

“I'm not lying! You're a lousy body reader”.

“So… you can do it better, uh?”

“Didn't say so, but… yeah”. You replied, placing the wine and the glasses on the coffee table next to the big green sofa.

“Okay, go ahead. What am 'thinking, genius?”

Standing in front of him, some inches away, you squinted at his eyes in advance of touring his posture from top to bottom with your orbs.

“Look at that girl… she's hotter than a volcano”.

“Not even closer, soldier”. Bucky repeated your words, kissing his teeth and causing you to laugh again.

“Liar”.

The night went on, enjoying your dinner and watching the first part of Scary Movie. Since Bucky told you that he loved the horror genre, you thought that it'd be a good start. As you finished the Thai dishes, you two cuddled on your sofa, and it felt nice to be embraced by his muscly arms and had your head rested on his shoulder. He had never been that happier before, imagining for a moment —staring at you by the corner of his eyes— that he wasn't a retired lethal assassin controlled by a bunch of psychos, just a guy watching a movie with his girl.

For some reason that increased his pulse, having to clear his throat as the thought dried it. You couldn't let it go, wrinkling your nose with curiosity, raising your face slightly at Bucky trying to focus on the movie, and pretending everything was going okay.

“What?” He murmured about to laugh nervously, putting his head back a couple of inches to look better at you.

“Seems like you're gonna have a heart attack, what's the matter?”

The soldier breathed heavily through his nostril, expelling all the air in a sight through his parted lips. A lower giggle escaped them as your eyes widened a little more interested in his response to your question.

“Sam… Sam said something this morning”.

There it was. Your grimace turned skeptical, sitting up to borrow the control remote and pause the movie. Turning to face him and placing an arm on the headrest, you puckered your lips in a funny gesture watching him click his tongue.

“Things are different nowadays and… y'know, we used to watch movies”.

“And that's what we're doing”.

“Yeah, but… it's like… now there are some kinds of non-speak social rules”.

You knew exactly what he was referring to and seeing him somewhat troubled and tense just made your heart melt. It wasn't that he was scared, but it almost felt like.

“Is it your first time since the forties?” You dared to ask, clearly with no intentions of making fun of him.

“I've never really… y'know, I was in my twenties when I left Brooklyn. I me— mean, 'm not stupid, okay? I've done things but not… sex like… to the whole point”. Bucky didn't have his eyes on you when he made that confession, rubbing the bridge of his nose by inertia as his nervousness increased. “And now everything… is pretty different”.

“It doesn't have to”. You just replied, stretching a hand to his right one to intertwine your fingers. “Listen, Buck… We don't have to, okay? We don't have to do anything if you're not ready. We can watch the movie and then… you can go, or you can stay to sleep with me”.

“I'd like that”.

“Leave?”

“Yeah, totally, if you excuse me, ma'am… I gotta leave” He clearly joked, about to stand up until you pushed him down to the sofa bursting in laughter. “Nah, I, uh… I mean, I'd like to sleep with you tonight”.

“I'd like too, and to wake up tomorrow morning with you”.

“Yeah, would be very awkward if you go to sleep with me and wake up with another guy in your bed”.

Bucky smirked at you, biting his upper lip before leaning to press both on yours. He couldn't believe you were being so comprehensive with him, not making any other uncomfortable questions, nor kicking his ass out of your house. At that moment, he realized he was madly in love with you, bringing you closer to himself so he could embrace you tenderly between his arms. And you let him, not wanting anything else than to be with him.

At the moment the movie finished, you both stretched your hands to the ceiling with a yawn opening your mouths. You palmed his thigh to beckoning at him, urging the soldier to follow you as you rubbed your eyes using your knuckles, a little sleepy. Turning off the lights on your way to your room, you changed your clothes for a baggy Iron Maiden's t-shirt, as he stripped himself leaving his clothes on the chair in front of your bed, only wearing a pair of black boxers at the end.

You were about to ask him which side he preferred when the words died on your tongue, glancing at him with his flesh hand over his dark grey shoulder. It was the first time you saw the vibranium arm in all its glory and Bucky gave you the impression of being embarrassed. He'd never stop surprising you with plenty of emotions for things that for you didn't have any importance actually —like the fact of not having two real arms.

“Come here”. You murmured, kneeling on the mattress and palming the other lateral, observing every one of his actions till lying next to him, in the middle of the gloom of your room.

Covering both of you with the sheets and turning on your sides to face each other, Bucky took the initiative of wrapping you close to his chest, as he placed his head on your pillow. He couldn't help but take a soft breath from your heavenly smell impregnated in, provoking a smile to grow on your lips. Surrounding his neck with your arms, you sunk your fingers in his short hair, gently caressing his scalp while you started to spread tender short kisses all around his face.

“This feels good”. He purred with such a pleased tone of voice, closing his eyes as he adventured his warm hand under your shirt to draw invisible patterns on your back.

“So good”. You affirmed, peppering his cheek with a bunch of noisy smooches.

Bucky squeezed you between his grip, hiding his face into the gap of your shoulder and neck, causing you goosebumps because of his exhalation against your skin. He was comfortable being that close, with no distance separating your chests and your legs intertwined in a bundle. You saw how relaxed he was when he pulled his head back to the pillow, noses touching and his eyelids closed.

“Good night, Buck”. You whispered, still feeling his caresses on your back, leaning to kiss him one last time.

“Good night, doll”.

a / n: i hope you have enjoyed the fluffiness of these three chapters because the fourth is gonna be... chaotic.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it.

and support writers with a REBLOG!!! 🤍

tag list: @whatrambles @phoenixhalliwell @homesicam @marvel-diaries @amelia-song-pond @heartbeats-wildly @met4no1a @weenersoldierr @petlaufeyson @sillygamingartghost @wildflowergubler @isnt-it-loverly @zealouspursecowboydeputy @rvgrsbrns @artisancowbells @plagooey @tinylumpiaa @hemsbucky @bxmaaa @quxxnxfhxll @soldierstucky @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul @hateinthemorning @asemistablehundredyearoldman @purpleelfwizard @twinerd14 @nikkixostan @stolenxkissess @wintersfilm @whoreforsamwilson @thatcrackheadsadbitchtm @baconmuffins1216 @28cnn @hxlyhoax @lieswithoutfairytales @angrybirdxx @clownerlyluv @kait-is-always-late @marvel-ousnesss @natashadeservedbetter @ebxny27 @fanofalltheficsx @spider-man-lover @masterlists101 @lewd-alien @warm-sensations @stealapizzamyheart @talk-on-the-street @theresnoplatypus

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan fluff

663 notes · View notes

mandoinevarro · 4 years ago

Text

WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1

Words: 8.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?

a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun.

……………

Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose. Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.

Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”

“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”

“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”

“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.

“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.

“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”

Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”

“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.

“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.

“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”

“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.

“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.

Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.

It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.

“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.

“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.

Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”

“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.

You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.

You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.

Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”

Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”

“The cards,” Greef urges.

“You’ll be rich.”

You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”

“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”

Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”

“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”

The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”

Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…

Maker’s fucking mercy.

You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.

You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.

The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.

And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.

You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.

You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”

“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”

Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.

She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”

You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.

Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”

“On the ship. I need to get back.”

“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”

“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”

Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”

“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”

The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga. “Who’s they?”

“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”

Silence.

You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…

“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.

≈

The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.

“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”

He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.

“Business.”

You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?

“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.

“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”

“He told I did that?”

“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”

“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”

“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.

You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”

“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”

That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.

“I was, actually.”

He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”

“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”

You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.

“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”

Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”

“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”

“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.

Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you. You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.

“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”

“Then why?”

You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”

He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”

You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”

And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.

“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…

“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.

With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.

But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.

Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”

You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.

“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.

“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames your knees with his legs “—armchair.” Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.

A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.

“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.

Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.

The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.

“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”

Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.

“That’s cheating,” you gasp.

He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.

“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—

The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He’s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.

Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”

Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.

“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.

“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.

You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.

“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”

Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.

Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.

The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”

The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.

“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.

Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.

Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.

The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—

A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.

“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”

“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”

No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.

Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.

“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.

He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—

The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.

Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.

But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.

You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”

“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.

He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.

“Mmmando,” you sob.

Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.

“Mando, I…”

“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.

Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.

“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”

There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you? Fuck.

You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—

Zium!

It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando smut #mando x reader #mando x you #star wars smut

2K notes · View notes

titan-fodder · 4 years ago

Text

Prima Vista Part IV

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.6k

Warning: a big helping of abandonment/daddy issues, lots of feelings, explicit sexual content A/N: y’all are gonna be so soft and then so mad lmao.

The plan was to go to Mike's house then back to campus. You said you didn't have anything to do at your mom's, that a long phone call would suffice, which is why Mike is confused when you ask him if you can stop by before going back. It's an hour out of the way, but it's not like he has anything better to do, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about your humble beginnings.

The house is in a decent-looking neighborhood, small, nearly identical one-story homes surrounded by cracked sidewalks. He has to be careful not to trip as you make your way to the front porch, pots of dead or dying plants along the edges of it. You shove your key into the lock, twist and open, then motion for Mike to follow.

The den is dimly lit, ceiling fan above with only one working bulb. A crime show is playing on the TV but there's no one watching. There is, however, another light pouring from a back room, and as soon as you drop your bag on the couch, a head pokes out from the doorway.

"Baby girl!" A shrill voice cries, and Mike sees you grimace. "I thought you weren't coming by!"

A woman walks into the den wearing long, cotton shorts and an old tie-dye shirt then pulls you into a hug so tight that it makes you cough.

"Mom," you take a deep breath as if to refill your lungs with all the air that was pushed from them. "This is Mike."

He holds out a hand and smiles, but all your mother does is stare with round eyes and blurt, "Oh, he's a big boy."

"My fucking god." You don't yell or whine, just pinch the bridge of your nose and mumble, "Just shake his hand please."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, just was not expecting… You didn't tell me how tall he was."

"'Cause it doesn't matter. Why would I—nevermind," you cut yourself off, face falling flat just like your voice.

Mike isn't sure if he should be flattered or offended or embarrassed, so he just ignores the comment entirely and says, "Nice to meet you."

You make your escape to the back, dragging Mike with you before shutting your bedroom door and leaning against it.

"Mom is a little weird, but you'll always know where you stand with her," you tell him. "Also, sorry about the house. She’s a teacher, so she’s usually pretty beat at the end of the day. Not enough energy to do a lotta cleaning."

"Didn't even notice," he reassures you.

Mike unpacks his bag next to you, and you gather the dirty clothes from both yours and his, balling them up and taking them with you out to the garage to throw into the washing machine. Mike should have done it at his parents', but as you were packing up that morning, his mother got all teary eyed and his dad just kept shaking your tiny hands and telling you to come back, so it just didn’t happen.

Back in the living room, your mom is sitting in an old rocking chair, and Mike thinks you'll take a seat on the adjacent couch, but instead you ask, "You need help with anything? Dishes or vacuuming or somethin'?"

She looks up at you, fly-away hairs sticking out around her temples and forehead and responds, "It'd be nice if you could do the dishes. I just haven't gotten around to it."

"Can do," you nod and walk into the kitchen, opening the dishwasher and making a displeased noise at the dirty plates and bowls inside. There's room for a few more, but once it's full and running, you just clean what's left in the sink by hand. Mike finds a towel, stands next to you, and holds his hand out for every scrubbed dish, drying it and placing it in the rack to hopefully be put up later.

"You hungry?" You ask when you're done and drying your hands. "It's almost one."

"Uh, yeah. I could eat."

Truthfully, he's starving having only had a small breakfast at his parents'. He doesn't want to say that, though, doesn't want you making a big meal for him or apologizing for anything.

"Sandwiches okay?"

Something in your tone has him on edge. Your voice is too quiet, deflecting downward as if you're forcing each word from your mouth.

"Yeah," he nods. "If you get the stuff, I can make 'em." Mostly so that you can relax but also because there's no way he's gonna let you make him a fucking sandwich.

You shrug your shoulders, grab bread, lunchmeat, cheese, and condiments, then say, "You can make ours. I'll make mom's."

He knows he's missing something, but he doesn't know what, and right now he's too afraid to ask.

He eats next to you on the couch, you and your mom watching TV as Mike tries to subtly glance around. Mounted shelves are decorated with dusty, mismatched figurines, cracks opening at the corners where the walls meet the roof. The brick fireplace is stacked high with plastic tubs and books, probably from your mother’s classroom, and the carpet has seen better days.

Mike isn't judging—not in the least—but he has a feeling he knows why being here puts you in a sour mood. The house feels lived in, cluttered and cozy and worn around the edges, but it's still empty somehow.

After the three of you are finished eating, you take the paper plates and dispose of them, then tell your mom that you'll be in your room. She gives you a soft smile that you struggle to return.

It's a little more you in the bedroom, blue walls covered in old posters and collages, a quilt similar to the one in your dorm folded at the bottom of your bed. Your pillow cases are faded and covered in an old flower design that matches your sheets, and there's a small nightstand next to the headboard that's bare on top with wrinkled papers poking out of the bottom drawer.

"It's not much, but if you wanna snoop around like I always do, feel free."

Mike doesn't really want to, especially since you already seem so uncomfortable in what should be a safe space for you. The only thing he feels okay investigating is the old bookshelf next to your closet—mostly YA novels, some poetry books, an old set of The Lord of the Rings series, a textbook over rocks and minerals and another over volcanoes. Tucked away in the bottom shelf is a tiny booklet that looks like a photo album, and Mike has to fight the urge to pull it from its place and flip through the plastic pages. Anything to get to know you better.

You lay in bed, eyes locked on the ceiling, and Mike doesn't know what to do. There's a very small TV sitting on your dresser, an old DVD player next to it, so he figures he'll save both you and himself from talking by picking out a movie.

He fingers through them, not that there's a lot, just skims the spines until he pulls out a copy of Space Jam. You only glance at the screen when the intro starts, and Mike immediately zeroes in on the way your jaw sets and your brows furrow.

"I can pick something else," he tells you quietly.

You take a deep breath and shake your head. Slowly but surely your features begin to soften.

"'S'fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. My, uh…" You swallow loud enough from Mike to hear, neck bobbing with the motion. "My dad and I used to watch it all the time."

He doesn't know what to make of it or how to respond. In the months he's known you, Mike has never heard you mention your father a single time, and he's never asked in fear of what your response might be.

He moves your quilt to sit on the very edge of the bed, a little too tense as he heavily contemplates ignoring what you'd said and still switching movies.

"You can lay down, you know," you mumble. "I'm not gonna bite you."

"You have before," he tries to act casual, but it comes out too stiffly.

You laugh through your nose— "Suit yourself—" then get more comfortable on the mattress.

Michael Jordan gets pulled into a golf hole and the Loony Toons journey to retrieve his shoes from the real world. Mike is barely paying attention, more focused on the way your breathing evens out until it becomes slow and deep.

That's good. You could use a nap.

He watches you for a while, the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks and your lips part. You're all curled up on yourself, hands tucked under your chin, knees to your stomach, and Mike wants to slip behind you so badly, to pull you to his chest and lay with you until his heartbeat syncs with yours.

But first.

As carefully as he can, Mike stands from the bed and glides to the bookcase. He lowers himself in front of it, quickly finding what he's looking for and pulls it from the shelf.

It's a small little album, full of polaroids and old pictures cut in half. The first page sets the tone for the rest of the booklet, a photo of a very small you outside eating a popsicle next to a man that is most definitely your dad. You've got a similar facial structure as well as his coloring. Not to mention the expression he's wearing is one Mike has seen you make many times before.

The next picture is the two of you dressed up for an event. He's in a striped Polo and slacks while you're in a little checkered dress, a rose corsage on your tiny wrist. Some kind of father-daughter dance, Mike guesses.

Sitting on his lap at a fair, a chubby little boy a few years older than you standing close with a stuffed snake around his neck. A party where you're posed with an honestly frightening costume character. You in a bright, mesh jersey standing back to back with your dad, arms crossed, looking at the camera with your chins tilted upward.

They all look like good memories. The little boy in the fair picture appears several more times, and as he loses his baby fat, Mike sees the resemblance he shares with you and your father. It's too close to be a cousin—your eyes and mouths shaped the same—so he must be your brother.

Mike doesn't know how to feel about that because again, you've never uttered a word. As far as he knew, you were an only child, so why…

He gets lost in the pages, watching you grow and pose mostly next to your dad. Smiles and laughs and silly faces with your tongues sticking out. Your mom is in some, brother in others, and then, you're in a cap and gown, grinning widely next to your dad who's beginning to gray at the temples. His own smile is barely there now, a ghost of what was seen in the previous photos. It's forced, it's sad, and it's the last picture in the book.

Mike's chest hurts. He wonders what happened, when exactly you'd lost him. Was it a quick goodbye, or had it been drawn out and painful? Had he been sick for a long time? He'd looked perfectly healthy in all the shots. Maybe a car accident that took both him and your brother…

He flips to check for one last photo on the back of the page, but it's empty. However, tucked in a tiny, paper pocket is a folded up note that Mike stares at for a few solid minutes, debating the pros and cons of reading it. He knows he's already violated your privacy by looking through the album, and fuck, he's only been in your house for a couple hours at most—how has he already managed to tumble down such a humongous rabbit hole?

Your tiny snores reach his ears, and Mike gently pulls the note out, biting his lip as he unfolds it as quietly as possible. It's soft, like it's been read too many times, and the letters scribbled in all caps are beginning to fade, but the words are still legible.

It starts with your name, and then it's all apologies—sorry I can't stay, I have to leave, you don't understand how much this hurts me and so on.

Mike's eyebrows pull together the further he reads, blood pounding against the walls of his arteries, pulse picking up because he understands now.

Your father wasn't in any sort of accident; he just left.

The letter ends with a gut-wrenching, You'll always be my little girl, and Mike nearly crumples the paper up to throw away. He resists somehow, simply folds it with shaky hands and slips it back into the pocket at the back of the album.

He's never been so mad at a stranger in his life. This must be it. This must be why you are—

"Should've known you'd go straight for the photo album."

Your voice makes Mike's body jolt, his face heating as he turns to look at you with wide eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

You wave him off and prop yourself up on an elbow. "It's whatever."

But, it's not. It's this huge part of you that still affects you to this day. Mike is no psychologist, but he has a pretty good feeling this is the main reason you hold everyone at arm's length.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"What's there to tell?"

Sitting up fully, your gaze moves to the screen just in time to see Michael Jordan step off of the spaceship and onto the baseball field. I Believe I Can Fly is playing, and you're gritting your teeth.

"It's not anything that comes up in normal conversation anyway. I wasn't just gonna hit you with it outta nowhere. Also," you look back to Mike, eyes still sleepy, lips pulling downward in a frown. "I'm not the only one who hid stuff about my family."

Mike sighs and quietly tells you, "That's different," as he closes the album and slides it back into the row of books.

"Is it, though? Is it really?"

"I..."

Mike shuts his mouth and actually thinks on it. He wasn't trying to lie to you about his home life or his heritage. He's only half Greek on his mom's side, after all, and he's only been to the country to visit family a couple of times—once when he was a child and once right before college. The culture is a little different over there, but it all seems so natural to him, especially after being raised to speak the language.

Honestly, he didn't ever tell you because he didn't think to, but Mike can understand the shock of walking into his childhood home and getting thrown through that loop. It must have been jarring for you.

It's a positive aspect of his life, though. It's not something that's damaged him or made him cold toward others. And, he hates describing you in such a way, but it's true.

At least it makes sense now.

"I guess not," he shrugs. He's not about to fight you on it.

You stare at him for a while, waking up a bit more as you rub your eyes and stretch.

Then, you flop back down on your pillows.

"So. Any questions, Zacharias?"

He's surprised that you're asking, and though he doesn't want to twist the metaphorical knife in your gut, he still replies honestly: "Too many."

A long exhale through your nose, and then you're patting the mattress next to you and grumbling, "Fine, I'll do my best, but you gotta come up here."

"Why? You gonna need to cuddle afterward?" He can't help but tease.

"Fuckin' maybe, dude! We're about to get into my god damn trauma so—"

Mike is up on his feet and flying toward the bed. He isn't about to sabotage the one fucking moment you're opening yourself up.

"Alright, what first?" You ask, trying to look bored, but Mike can clearly see that you're nervous.

"He left."

"Yeah."

And then he gets the full story.

Your dad was pretty perfect during your younger years—a bit of a workaholic but still good. He took you to dances like the one you'd both dressed for in the photograph. You'd spend days at amusement parks where he'd carry you on his shoulders. He coached the basketball team you'd played on as a child.

"Not saying he played favorites, but I was definitely closer to him than my brother was."

The brother who developed a drug problem at fourteen, who was always either out with his little addict friends or at home where he would just scream at you and your mom.

"He went to rehab a couple times, but it didn't stick."

He left home at seventeen and hasn't gotten in touch with you or your parents since.

"I keep thinking one day we'll get a call from the police saying they found his wallet on a fucking corpse, but who knows. Maybe he got clean. Maybe he started a family somewhere else. He'd be twenty-five now."

"Were you ever close with him?"

You shrug. "We spent a lot of time together when we were really little, but even back then he was kinda a mean kid."

It very quickly circles back to your father. Mike still doesn't feel like he has all the answers, so he asks through the skin of his lip, "Why'd he leave?"

At this point, you've got your head in his lap as he sits against the wall. He smooths your hair back from your face every once in a while, something his mom used to do to him when he was very young that always soothed him.

He hopes it's having the same effect on you, thinks it might be considering you've had your eyes closed for a while now, humming now and then as you talk.

"Honestly, I don't really know. I don't think he and my mom were ever in love. Like, they just kinda settled for each other," you sigh. "They didn't have a lot in common. They had different upbringings. But, they didn't fight or anything—not in front of us. They were good at hiding the hard times from me and my brother. They just didn't… click."

Mike bites his tongue, wonders if that was hard to watch or if you'd been too naive to notice.

Then, there's his second train of thought that's really just the voice in his head screaming, we click, though! You and I work! But he keeps it to himself. This isn't about you and him.

"I think maybe dad had, like, a 'stay together for the kids' mentality 'cause as soon as I graduated, he was fuckin' gone. And, I mean gone. We went to a graduation party the next weekend that lasted a few hours—just me and mom—and when we got back his truck wasn't in the driveway and his drawers were empty. He left that note you read on my desk."

Mike breathes. Just breathes. He tries to make sense of it, how someone could just do that without a real reason. There hadn't been any explanation in the letter, only apologies.

"Have you seen him since?"

You open your eyes and reply, "Nope," popping the 'p'. "I don't know where he is, and he hasn't reached out. Mom made the drive to my grandma's—his mom—but she said she didn't know where he was either. Pretty sure she was covering for him, though. She was always kind of a bitch. You know, save for the whole paying for my college and all."

Mike snorts at this, not that there's anything funny about the situation. It's just his first reaction.

You ignore it, moving on with an, "Anyway."

"Anyway," he mimics.

"I don't know if you've noticed in the short time you've been here, but my mom is a little… off. Not super good at taking care of herself."

"Is this why?"

"Clever boy," you show a bitter smile. "I didn't really understand since they weren't, like, in love or whatever, but… I think it was the betrayal more than anything. Like, it came outta nowhere, a big ol' slap in the face."

"Plus, he left you behind," Mike adds, as if you don't already know.

Looking up at him, you raise your eyebrows and smirk. "And, now you know about my abandonment issues." The last part comes out in high-pitched, melodic syllables, a little song that would be funny if Mike didn't know it was a coping mechanism. It most definitely is, though. He can tell that you're the type to mask every issue with humor and sarcasm. It's how you've been dealing with him for the last several months.

"So, that's my story," you conclude on an exhale. "Now you know all my dirty secrets."

"For some reason I don't think that's all of them," Mike pets your hair again. "But, probably the important ones."

"Mm. I guess."

The rest of the day is really just spent killing time. You cook an easy dinner that you refuse to let Mike help with, then sit in the den with your mom just like you did at lunch. A medical show is playing. Then a reality show. Then a game show. None of you say much of anything, and it's painfully awkward for Mike now that he knows what happened, but he can power through a few days of this if it makes you feel better.

Hours pass until you can retreat, and moonlight shines through your bedroom window, not that Mike needs it. He's memorized your body at this point, knows where to touch without even seeing. He makes sure to be gentle, to suckle and blow on your pebbled nipples as you card fingers through his hair and breathe faster and faster.

Leaving love bites down your chest and stomach, he sucks on your skin, gently grazing his teeth over every bruise. Mike wants you to see them all the next day—not a staked claim, just something you can't ignore when you look in the mirror, evidence of his feelings in every mark.

When you're finally nice and relaxed, he spreads your legs and licks into you, trying not to be too rough with his beard, but a few swipes of it over your clit leave you shaking in his grasp. You whisper his name, the common one that everyone knows him by, but then, rolling off your tongue like a prayer, you call him, "Miche," and he can't help the rumble that rises in his chest.

It should be strange. That's the name only his family uses, the one he was born with. He only simplified it so that kids in school wouldn't ask questions or make fun of him, and after that, it just sort of stuck. But, here and now, falling from your lips, it's so soft. So intimate.

You whimper when he sucks on your folds, making them swell, making them sensitive. And then, he's pushing his tongue inside of you and humming happily at the taste. His nose is bumping against your clit, and Christ, you even smell good to him—that ripe, tangy aroma that has Mike going a little crazy. He has to make sure he doesn't get too carried away. You can't make very much noise even with the rattling of the air conditioner, but as he slowly slides a finger into your pussy, he hears you moan around the fist you're holding to your mouth.

He stretches you just enough to get you ready, then he holds himself over you and pushes into your wet cunt. Your eyes are open, locked with Mike's as your brow raises and your jaw drops. It's erotic, something you've never done with him before. You typically either gaze somewhere other than his face or keep your eyes squeezed shut.

Tonight, though, you've been vulnerable and apparently want to stay that way for a little while longer.

He bends to catch you in a kiss, lips and tongues moving just as slowly as his hips, and when you reach to tug at Mike's hair, he pants into your mouth.

Those words are there again, stuck in his throat but slowly crawling upward until they're just there, pouring from his tongue, "I lo—"

Until you cut him off with a sharp, "Don't."

He makes a noise of frustration, wants to protest because he's so deep inside of you, and you're holding onto him like you want him—truly want him, but you mutter once more against his lips, "Don't say it, Miche."

So, he doesn't. He bottles the confession up and keeps it locked away, hoping like hell that one day you'll let him tell you.

After you climax and coat his cock in slick and cream, he gives a few more thrusts and comes inside of you, filling you with himself and wondering why you're so willing to accept him in that way but not in any other.

He's hurting again, like he did at his parents' as you walked around like you belonged there. Except it's worse now.

If you don't want him to say it, that means you don't want to say it back.

He stays with you for a few more minutes before pulling out. You leave to clean up, and while you're gone, Mike sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he tries to get it all out of his system, whispering it out loud to himself:

I love you. I love you, I love you.

You still let him hold you as you fall asleep, gripping his hand until you can't anymore, and as Mike drifts off behind you, he has one last thought—Just let me.

* There’s only three weeks left of the semester when you head back to campus, and you intend to make the most of every passing day.

You pay better attention in class. You study harder in the library to prepare for final exams. You go to a few more Pi Alpha Kappa parties, making sure not to burn yourself out. And, you let Mike fuck your brains out every few days. Sometimes it’s late at night after those parties. Sometimes you're too tired after the nights of drinking and end up just going to bed only to wake up in the morning and have slow, sleepy sex. Sometimes it’s in the middle of the afternoon when you both have breaks between classes.

Neither of you bring up anything that happened over the break—meeting families, details about your childhoods, how much you learned about one another in general.

Most importantly, neither of you address that first night at your mom’s, the way Mike had basically worshiped your body, how he’d come so close to uttering the three words you least want to hear.

Thinking about it still makes your chest tighten, your heart beat faster. Sometimes when you’re sharing his bed with him, back pressed to his chest, large arm slung over your waist, you think about why it is you’re so vehemently against it. The two of you already act like a couple most of the time. You walk with each other to class when you can. You stick to each other’s sides at parties. You fuck like rabbits and don’t care who knows about it.

And, though you’re hesitant to admit it even to yourself, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him. Mike is your best friend at this point. He’s insanely hot. He’s goofy. He’s kind. Yeah, the frat boy persona he puts on around his friends is annoying, but you understand it a little better now. Plus, he always takes off the mask when he’s alone with you, giving both you and himself a break from it.

You know your time with him is quickly coming to an end—for about two months, at least—and whenever you think too hard about it, it makes you pout and huff. You’re not looking forward to your summer classes without him, but he promises on several occasions that you can call him while he’s at his parents’ if you ever need help with the material.

It’s impressive, the way he’s able to act like nothing happened. You know it must be troubling him, but it’s not like you can do anything to soothe him. If he was really upset with you, he would have stopped spending time with you, but he hasn’t. He just bottles it up, keeps smiling at you all crookedly, and keeps satisfying you in the bedroom (more than satisfying honestly. There’s really not a word to describe what he does).

He’s back to getting along with everyone in the Pike house, everyone being Erwin. It’s a relief just because you don’t have to put up with the tension between them, but it’s also awkward. And, a little frightening.

The brothers have Smash Brothers tournaments and movie nights, a few date parties here and there, and it never fails that at some point during the evenings, you find your neck prickling as it always does when you feel someone staring at you. You always hope it’s Mike. Fuck, you wish it was him. But, when you glance up and around, it’s Erwin. Every time. His deep blue eyes are trained on you, the corner of his mouth twitching upward on one side. It doesn’t matter if he’s alone or if he’s got Maddie or some other girl sitting in his lap. He's fucking shameless, and it makes your stomach hurt.

You keep your mouth shut for the sake of the friendship but also for the sake of Erwin’s pretty face. If he and Mike ever got into an actual fight, Erwin would probably be able to get a good few punches in, but you’re nearly positive Mike would end up destroying him in the long run. That could get him kicked out of school. That could get him thrown in jail.

Finals roll around, and you manage to pass all of them without issue, even getting grades above the class average. You feel fantastic, like your long term goals might actually be attainable. You have a long road ahead of you, but your GPA at the end of the year is more than enough to raise your confidence.

Mike asks you to come back to his house for the couple weeks between the end of the semester and the start of your summer courses, but you turn him down, too scared of what might happen while you’re there. Acting like a couple in front of his parents will only exacerbate his feelings as well as yours, and you’d like to avoid that as best you can.

Even now as you’re standing outside by the Jeep, he tries to persuade you one last time, almost pleading, “Are you sure you don’t wanna come?”

“Miche, I’m sure,” you tell him, trying to stay stern, but it’s hard when his sea glass eyes light up at the sound of his real name. It’s a habit you’ve gotten into, a bad one considering how much he likes it. How much you like it. “I already told you I wanna spend the free time I have at mom’s. I need to check up on her and… Probably clean, honestly.”

He lets out a little grunt of disappointment, then nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

“You saw what she’s like,” you remind him. “Someone needs to drop in every once in a while to make sure she isn’t, like, wasting away or something.”

“Makes sense. I’ll be bummed, though.”

“Be bummed all you want,” you smile. “I’ll probably still bother you over break. A lot.”

He sounds terribly sincere when he mumbles, “You never bother me.” It makes your stomach flip in the way you do not enjoy.

Mike sighs, taking in one of those deep breaths that makes his broad chest rise then fall, calling attention to it and making you bite your bottom lip.

“Alright, I should get going,” he concedes, bending down to kiss you too deeply for simple friends with benefits. It doesn’t stop you from humming into his mouth and smiling against him. You hold him by the back of his neck as he pulls your body close to his, his voice muffled when he tells you mischievously, “Don’t forget to send pictures.”

It makes you laugh, and you lean back to swipe your tongue over his lips so that he groans and chases after you.

“I promise I will. Perv.” The beating sun is nothing in comparison to the way your body heats at the thought. You’ve sent him nudes before, but the idea of him looking at them from hours away, fisting his cock as he admires your body through his phone… It makes seeing him off even harder.

After a couple more softer kisses, Mike swings into the Wrangler and pulls out of the lot. You stand in his parking space and watch him until he’s out of sight, then walk back to your dorm, dragging your feet the whole way.

You only stay at your mom’s house for a week, and just like you predicted, you spend most of it cleaning. She thanks you the whole time but makes excuses in between. You just reassure her that you don’t mind even though you do. She really should see a therapist and sort out the depression she’s been stuck in for a few years now, but telling someone they need professional help is easier said than done.

Sleeping in your old bed is much harder this time around. You're all too aware of the weight that isn't behind you, and most nights you lay awake for at least a couple of hours trying to imagine it.

Like you’d promised, you send him a few pictures, some of them just lewd selfies with your tits pouring out of the cups of your bra, but others are of your naked body in the bathtub, sometimes a shot of you with your hand between your legs. It feels wrong to touch yourself in your childhood home, but it’s necessary, especially when Mike sends you a few pictures of his own—one with his torso on display, defined abs absolutely mouthwatering and the V of his hips suggestively leading into mesh shorts. Another is of him in the gray joggers he wears all the time, the ones that always show off his cock.

He’s so fucking hot it atually hurts, makes your pussy throb as you crave his touch. It’s an awful feeling honestly, but even worse than that is the way you miss him. You aren’t supposed to miss him. You’re just supposed to be friends who have sex. Nothing more than that.

It's why you’re glad to go back to school. Your classes will distract you, keep you from thinking about him too much. The semester is shorter during the summer, so you have to work even harder than you do during fall and spring. You don’t really think it’ll be a problem since you’re trying to cram your brain full of anything other than Mike which is great motivation for studying.

Nothing is gonna get you off track, you tell yourself. Nothing will interfere with your studies. That’s the plan.

Then, you meet Zeke Jaeger.

* You're studying in the library. It seems like you spend most of your time here, nice and quiet and empty. The campus isn't nearly as busy in the summer as it is during the rest of the school year. No parties, no sporting events, just you alone with your books.

It's nice. Most of the time. A little boring but mostly nice.

Your eyes are getting tired, and when you check your phone, you realize why. It's almost eleven PM, meaning you've been studying for about six hours. You've had longer nights, usually spent on the phone getting quizzed on the information you're learning with a few breaks in between, but that wasn't the case tonight as Mike had to spend the day with family from out of town.

It's okay. You're supposed to be distancing yourself anyway.

Taking a deep breath, you pack up your books and slide your laptop into your bag, then stand and swing it over your shoulder.

The strap is too long. The bag swings too hard, and your heart sinks when you hear a little grunt followed by a, "Agh, hot!"

Turning with wide eyes, you immediately start apologizing, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, fuck, I'm so sorry!"

A head of light blond hair looks up from the brown stain on his white t-shirt, icy blue eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed glasses, but when he sees the mortification on your face, his own expression softens, and he chuckles.

"It's fine. You can calm down."

You're still breathing heavily, guilt making your hands shake, but he really doesn't look angry. In fact, he's grinning now, eyebrows raised like he's amused.

The longer you stare at him, the more familiar he looks. You're pretty sure you've seen him before. Many times before, actually, and then it clicks that this guy is on the front page of the school website. You see him every fucking time you log in, looking much more stern than he does now. Baseball hat and jersey, mitt on one hand as he hides his other in it, and yeah, you know him.

"You're Zeke Jaeger."

He makes a face, scrunching his nose up and squinting. "Yeeeeah, I guess I am."

Best pitcher in the college league despite being a sophomore like you. He's beaten the records of some major league players.

You don't give a fuck about baseball, have never even been to any of the school's games, but you've been hearing about Zeke since the last season. You've learned to tune it out because, again, no shits given (and also you're much more partial to lacrosse now), but he's hard to ignore when he's staring you right in the face.

"Well, uh," you try to act casual. It's something you're pretty good at these days. "Cool."

He snorts, picking his shirt off his chest to air it out like it'll help, then says, "I don't know your name, though."

You run your tongue over your teeth, wondering why he cares, then introduce yourself.

"Oh, you're Zacharias' little girlfriend, aren't you?"

Your stomach flips at the mention of him.

"We're not dating."

Zeke cocks his head to the side. "No?"

"No. Just friends."

He hums but doesn't say anything, and your eyes are once again drawn to his chest as he fans over the stain.

"Okay, let me get you a new shirt or something," you try.

He laughs again. "I highly doubt you've got a men's shirt tucked in that bag of yours, sweetheart."

"I—" you pout for a second, mumble, "Okay, yeah, fair point."

"Another coffee, though," he muses out loud. "Wouldn't be the worst thing."

You shoot him a finger gun and smack your lips. "On it. Where do you get coffee at eleven o'clock?"

"I'll walk with you," he states more than offers.

Then, you're both leaving the library, leaving campus, and going to a little 24 hour cafe where you blow on lattes and cover the basics about each other—philosophy major, valedictorian of his high school class, playing baseball since age seven, etc. You should sleep. You should get ready for another long day of studying.

But it's hard to make good decisions when Zeke Jaeger is smirking at you from across the table like you're the most interesting thing he's ever seen.

* Zeke gets your number that night. You're not exactly sure how, but he does.

Then he doesn’t text you for three days. It doesn’t bother you that much. You figure he has other things to focus on. He’s on campus to take a couple courses and practice for the upcoming season, so he’s probably just busy. If that night had just been a one-off, it’s fine with you. It was cool to talk to him, but your heart isn’t broken.

These are all the thoughts and justifications running through your head when you’re in class on Tuesday and your phone lights up during the PowerPoint lecture. You glance down, expecting Mike or Hitch, but it’s an unknown number instead. Eyes flicking from the projection screen to your much tinier one, you slide to open the message and chew on your lip.

Hey, it’s Zeke. You have classes this afternoon?

You do not. And, you are too quick to tell him that.

He takes you to a little Mom and Pop restaurant, too far to walk so you end up riding in the black Bronco he drives, trying to convince yourself that it definitely does not make him any more attractive to you. Because you aren’t attracted to him in the first place. Right?

You sit at a table for two eating paninis and fruit. Zeke asks how classes are going, you ask about practice, and as you talk, he gets that look in his eyes again, like you amuse him or interest him or something.

It confuses you, and for a moment, you’re taken back to last fall at that first Pi Kappa Alpha party, the one you met Mike at when he tried to get you to shotgun a beer. God, he had been so obnoxious back then, always following you around and flirting and—

“You listening, sweetheart?”

Your eyes refocus on the man in front of you, his raised eyebrows and little smirk. “Looks like you’re a million miles away. Sorry if I’m boring you.”

“No, no,” you try to defend. “I just zoned out for a second. Realized I, uh, got an answer wrong on the quiz I took today.”

“That sucks,” he hums. “Anyway, I can stop talking about baseball.”

“It’s okay. Just go over the last, like, ten seconds,” you say with a laugh, hoping your cheeks will stop burning sooner rather than later.

Zeke chuckles and does just that, doesn’t seem irritated or put out. He tells you about how he has a new trainer this year to warm him up and make sure his throwing arm is in top shape. “I hope he’s as good as my last. Colt was always on it, knew exactly how hot to make the warm compresses and how cold to make the ice packs. Stuff like that. He learned my needs.”

You both laugh, and if it was anyone else, you’d have an innuendo sliding off your tongue, but for some reason, you don’t think Zeke would want to hear it, like he’d be unimpressed with your vulgar humor.

Back at the college, he drives you to your dorm, explaining that he lives in the apartments on the other side of campus and wouldn’t want to make you walk that far. Then, as you slide out of the Bronco, he stops you with a smooth, “Hey,” that makes you look over your shoulder at him. “Make sure you save my number in your phone, okay? I’ll text you soon.”

The way your stomach flips is worrisome, a feeling you’re only used to when you’re with…

“Yeah, okay.”

He grins widely and nods, then waits for you to get a good distance away from the car before driving off.

No distractions, you’d said. It’ll be good for your focus, you’d said.

What a fucking joke.

Mike has to help you with some homework that weekend. You can hear his smile through the phone, snort when he makes his little nerd jokes, then sigh when he gets to the actual subject and explains it to you without a problem. His brain is incredible, and when you think about it too hard, it makes you warm inside.

“You’re so fucking smart. Why don’t you let people know?”

“Maybe I just want you to know,” he chuckles. “You think I wanna spend my days tutoring every idiot who needs help?”

“Miche, did you just call me an idiot?”

You hear another breathy laugh followed by a sigh. “I have many, many names for you, but ‘idiot’ isn’t one of them.”

“Oh yeah?” You play. “And, what might those other names be?”

He lists a few, all of them making your face flush and your body tingle, and before you know it, you’ve got your pants off and your fingers between your legs. You can hear Mike’s heavy breathing on the other end, the wet sound of his hand stroking his lubricated cock, and when you reach your climax, you moan out your usual, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Miche.”

He tumbles down right behind you, panting and telling you in a voice of disbelief, “Jesus, it just keeps coming.” It makes the pulses of your orgasm even stronger, remembrance of all the times he’s painted you in white, and God, you are so ready for him to get back to the school.

Then, there’s the voice in the back of your head that makes you think maybe it’s better that he’s gone for now, that he might not be too pleased that you’re spending time with another guy. But, it’s not like things with Zeke are going anywhere. You wouldn’t even call him a friend. You text on and off, have brunch or lunch or coffee depending on the time of day.

And, yeah, he calls you pet names, tells you that you look nice even when you’re just in leggings and a t-shirt, talks about his family and…

Okay, it could potentially lead to something more, but it’s only been a week, and considering his golden boy status, he could have anyone he wants, so why would he even be interested in you in any way, shape, or form?

Naturally, your thoughts circle back to Mike and the way he could have any girl on his arm, but he still chooses to spend time with you. To fuck you. To nearly confess his feelings to you. You have to wonder if you’re emitting some kind of scent or beacon, if there’s a sign hanging above your head with an arrow pointing down. Sports gods, come get a piece.

If only you’d never gone to that party. If you had just kept your head down like you had freshman year. Your life would be so much easier now.

But now you’re in Zeke’s apartment listening to him rant about some philosopher you’ve never even heard of. He’s gesturing with his hands, flipping curling, blond bangs from his face, and whenever he pauses to think, he scratches his beard. He’s very fond of the white t-shirts and jeans get-up, sometimes switches it up and wears a button down under a sweater vest. Both looks are becoming of him no matter how much you try to deny it, but when he drops down onto the couch next to you and peers into your god damn soul with those piercing, blue eyes, you have to choke back a dreamy sigh.

What is happening to you?

“So, what do you think about it?” He asks, looking hopeful that you might have some insight on this matter.

But, you simply laugh and shake your head. “Zeke,” you start. “I’m gonna be real honest with you here. I didn’t understand a fucking thing you just said.”

You assume he’ll be disappointed, maybe tire of you since you can’t be as intellectually stimulating as he’d like you to, but Zeke exhales in a lighthearted sort of way, shows one of those amused smiles, and tells you, “You’re cute.”

Anyone else and you would have snapped back, something along the lines of, don’t fucking patronize me, but with Zeke, all you can do is stare at him and let your lips part, silently asking for something you won’t speak out loud.

His gaze moves to your mouth for a split second. That soft smile turns into one of his famous smirks. Then, he’s back on his feet and asking, “You wanna go to dinner?”

You are more than relieved at the shift in atmosphere, but your heart is still beating too hard as you follow him downstairs and to his car.

* Summer is passing quickly. Too quickly. The eleven week classes are kicking your ass, or are close to kicking your ass. Lucky for you, you have your own private tutor just a call or text away. Mike helps you, and you laugh and goof around, shoot off innuendo after innuendo, but the phone sex slows to a halt eventually. You tell him that you’re tired, and you are. It isn’t a lie. But, it also isn’t the full truth.

Between classes when you could be resting, you’re eating out with Zeke. Or, watching him and the rest of the baseball team practice for the upcoming season. Or, sitting in his apartment, watching movies and chatting about all manner of things. Nothing important, of course—there’s no diving deep into your life story like you had done with Mike over Spring Break, but Zeke still learns the little things about you. Why you’re majoring in geosciences and how you became good friends with some of the Pike guys. You don’t give him the full details on that one—that you got blackout drunk and fucked Mike and just couldn’t stop. You don’t think Zeke would be interested in hearing about it anyway.

You learn a bit about his dad and stepmom, the latter of whom he isn’t very fond of. He also has a little brother who’ll be attending the college starting this fall, and he’s interested in the Greek life. Naturally, you build PKA up. Even if there are some… Problematic people in the house, there are also a lot of really good guys.

“I’ll make sure to pass it along to him,” Zeke tells you one evening as you’re both sprawled on the couch, backs against the armrests as you face each other. It’s how he seems to prefer to sit when the TV isn’t on. When you asked him why, he had told you, “Just like looking at you,” and you didn’t know how to respond. You still don’t know how to respond.

“Eren thinkin’ about joining any sports?” You ask now. “Does baseball run in the family or anything?”

Zeke snorts. “Kid couldn’t hit a baseball even if it was on one of the t-ball stands.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

“I would say he’s more academically inclined, but,” Zeke sighs. “That would be a lie.”

You can never tell if he actually likes his brother. Most of the time he complains about him, but every once in a while he’ll bring up something cute Eren did as a little boy, and you see a fond glimmer in his light eyes.

“Anyway,” Zeke waves off the subject and transitions to a new one—one that makes your stomach drop. “Are you gonna tell Zacharias about us?”

You choke on your own spit, leaning forward to cough a couple times, then challenge him with a nervous laugh, “I wasn’t aware there was anything to tell him.”

Zeke tilts his head, mouth pulling up as he raises his eyebrows. “Come on,” he chuckles.

“Come on, what?” You frown. If you were with Mike, you both would have died at that. Come on my face, you can hear him say, and you have to fight a smile because there’s absolutely no way you could explain that to the man in front of you.

“You don’t have to play coy, sweetheart. We both know there’s something going on between us.” He says it with such confidence that even if he wasn’t right you wouldn’t be able to argue with him. The assumption should annoy you, should make you scoff and leave, but instead you sit there staring, caught up in his gaze and cocky grin.

“I—”

“It’s okay, you know. Not like you’re alone in this.”

Those questions swim through your mind again, all the insecurities that you’ve been sorting through with Mike, but now that voice is louder because that sense of trust hasn’t formed yet. You’ve only connected with Zeke over meals and movies. It sounds domestic, but despite your apparently obvious attraction to him, you still don’t feel like you really know him.

But, he draws you in, like a moth to a flame. You can’t help it. There’s just something about him that makes you want him to like you, like you want to impress him, like you want to be good for him. You’ve been trying to ignore those thoughts, but they’re much harder to fight now that you’re sitting in front of him, taking in his wavy hair and pale blue eyes, that ever present smirk on his face, the curve of his neck that disappears into his shirt.

He could just want sex. He could just want a fling. Wait for everyone to get back on campus and drop you for another girl. You tell yourself you wouldn’t care; you’re good at keeping things casual.

Wouldn’t it be fun to be his arm candy for a while, though? Let people look at you and whisper louder than they did when they’d see you and Mike together? You don’t care about status, about being in the spotlight. It’s more for the experience, dating someone who could teach you things.

Mike teaches you things, that voice pops up again. He’s been helping you with your work for almost a year now. You can’t just overlook that.

“What, are you weighing the pros and cons over there or something?”

You snort. “Maybe. We still don’t really know each other all that well, Zeke.”

“Might I remind you that we’ve been hanging out all summer? Did you honestly think it wouldn’t lead to anything more?”

“Honestly,” you mimic, “I never thought you’d be interested.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His brow furrows like he’s genuinely confused. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re cute.”

God, you can’t even count how many times he’s called you ‘cute’, how many times it’s made you blush over the last several weeks, just like it does now.

Then, he pushes, “Do you not find me at—”

“Of course I do,” you cut him off. “I don’t know who doesn’t, which is exactly why I don’t know where this is coming from.”

Zeke sighs like he’s annoyed, then turns the hand on his thigh palm up and beckons you with two fingers. “Come here.”

“What?”

“Come here.”

Your blood pressure spikes, breaths coming in little puffs that have no way of getting to your brain. It’s probably why you obey, rolling to your knees and clumsily crawling over to him. You stop short, right between his bent knees, but Zeke sits up, straightens his legs, and pulls you into his lap.

More of that precious air leaves your lungs as you exhale too sharply, staring at him with huge eyes. You don’t know what’s happening, can’t believe it’s happening. It doesn’t feel real even as you rest your hands on his shoulders, even when he holds your hips and pulls you so that your full weight is on him, but fuck, you can’t say anything. You can’t make a sound. All you can do is wait for him to make his next move.

“Why do you look scared?” His voice is just above a whisper, but at this proximity you can hear him without a problem.

“I don’t have a lot of experience sitting in men’s laps,” you manage, trying to keep your usual careless tone, but you doubt it works.

“For some reason I don’t believe that.”

You rear back, actually offended. “Excuse m—”

That ire, however, melts away as quickly as it arose. Zeke slides fingers up your waist, all the way to the back of your neck to bring your face to his—your lips to his.

He feels different, not at all what you’re used to. His kiss is more demanding, hungry, and God, you still can’t breathe, can’t think straight because his tongue is moving past your lips, and you’re letting it, letting him taste you as your fingertips dig into the flesh of his shoulders. You lift yourself from him just a little only for Zeke to pull you back down with the hand still gripping your hip. He makes sure you feel him when he grinds up into you, the zipper of his jeans rubbing you through your little shorts so that you gasp into his mouth.

You both stay like that for what feels like a fucking eternity, biting and sucking on lips, stroking over each others’ tongues until you absolutely have to break apart. You’re panting now, body still tense on top of his, and Zeke stares at you with half-lidded eyes and shows the ghost of a smile.

“Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

The statement sets you on fire, so much so that all you can do is whimper quietly and lean in for more.

And, as you get lost in Zeke Jaeger, you decide for yourself.

I need to tell Mike

[ next ]

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #aot fanfiction #mels prima vista

214 notes · View notes