#Enough that he can resist if he wants but often joins in fights anyways because he finds it amusing

[kizzer55555]

I just had a Thought that smacked me upside the head and insulted my mother (o.o )

You know how in DC, much like in most media, all Forces have an opposing Force? Fire to Water, Yin to Yang, Order to Chaos, etc etc. Well.....

If you ADD in DP's The Zone?

That right there? Is a Realm. An Element Of Creation. Yes, the glue, the very lining, of the Multiverse. Buuuuuuuut? What is it CONNECTING? The FABRIC? The SHELL and FORM?

What, in a word, is it's Reverse Element? Just as the Speed Force has the Slow Force. As Chaos has Order. What does the Realm of Death have?

I hear you suggest "the living world?" But! Rightfully, you sound uncertain! Because! Death is INHERENT to the so called "living world". Everything is! Order, chaos. Ying, Yang. Fire and water and earth and air! All of it! It's the mid-ground. Shared and thus balanced.

So what sits on the other side of the coin?

I? Propose? Those fffffuckin IMPS! The 5th dimensional imps, known to haunt our beloved DC Heros. Immortal. Eternal. Life unending.

Driven to cruelty and boredom by it.

They are a brilliant, distorted, reflection of the Ghosts we know! Are they not? Not every Imp so powerful as the ones we've seen. But? If, say, Overgrowth or Clockwork? Wanted to just pop in to harrass their favorite Blorbo?

What's a little veil between Realms?

Only thing STOPPING them, is themselves. The Rules. You know... the ones THEY made. Because Goverment. Kinda like the Observants. Walker. Danny and his throne.

I bet they HAAAAAATE each other.

Both have Obsessions, but gods help you if you compare them. Because Ghosts Obsess with the steadiness of the Dead. The unchanging, unrelenting, persistence. While IMPS? Obsessions like firecrackers! Shifting, changing, sticking on this or that! Maybe for a nano-second! Maybe for eons! Who knows?! Not them!

They both think the other side are FREAKS.

The single most OBNOXIOUS, Irritating, Grating, Petty, PATHETIC group of LOSERS you will ever be unfortunate enough to meet.

You think Danny hates the Joker? Is On Sight with HIM? You know NOTHING of his hatred for those big headed little balls of nasally BASTARD energy. It's like weasels and snakes.

Clark loves it. Danny keeps getting free pie. Because EVERY time that Imp comes to harrass him? *unholy staticy yowl screech* *flying tackle out of the air into a cartoonish dust cloud fist fight* here comes the normally cheerful and polite Phantom, looking POSSESSED. To claw Mxyzptlk's throat out.

Of course, the Imps refuse to give up. They were stalking their targets first. PHANTOM should leave.

Phantom shouts something that makes them gasp, deeply offended, and the nearby magic users choke on their own spit.

Yep. Clark LOVES the newest addition to the team. Best decision they ever made, Bruce. He's DELIGHTFUL :D

@the-witchhunter @nerdpoe @ailithnight @hypewinter @hdgnj

[rey-jake-therapist]

I often see reproaches or interrogations regarding Sauron's lack of reaction after Galadriel let herself fall backwards : he could have probably stopped her fall using a bit of sorcery? He could have turned into a bat or any other animal and joined Galadriel, be it to check on her or finish what he started? Why didn't he do anything? And actually, did he do really... nothing?

I think to answer that it's important to know, or at least have a theory on what was happening before Galadriel made the big leap, because only then can we understand what Sauron really wanted, imho.

It's still not very clear in my head, but, what I get from all these observations is this :

Sauron forced the bond on her, but he still wanted her to say that she belonged to him now, if that makes sense. If she had said yes in season 1 or even before he stabbed her, there would have been a blood oath anyway, the noticeable difference being that... she would have been on board with it, yeah. It was his purpose since the end of season 1, and he was apparently delulu enough to believe he could still convince her to be his queen afterwards, but during the fight he has no choice to admit that simply "asking her" won't be enough : she has other plans; his immediate death, among other things.

There are great metas out there analyzing Sauron's mindset during season 1 and what expectations he had regarding Galadriel. @apoloadonisandnarcissus wrote a couple of these metas if I'm not wrong. Sauron being before all a follower, and not a leader, it's very likely that he wanted Galadriel to become what Morgoth was for him. Whatever it is you believe regarding Sauron's intentions, I think it's safe to say that it all boils down to his relationship with Morgoth.

Morgoth and he made a blood oath, and that's what he wanted to reproduce with Galadriel. As he tells Celebrimbor, Morgoth only wanted to destroy, while he wanted to perfect : in that, Galadriel would have been the perfect partner for him because she would have fully supported this idea. He knows that alone, being mostly darkness, fire and "reeking of death" because of Morgoth's corruption, he may end up doing exactly the very thing he pledged he wouldn't do : become a Morgoth 2.0, destroy everything instead of healing and perfecting. That's why Celebrimbor's words "shadow of Morgoth" hit him so hard; he wants to dissociate himself from Morgoth badly, but because of the bond that unites them, he knows he cant.... Unless he binds himself to a person who will be a greater influence on him than Morgoth, Galadriel. He still believes she can be his salvation.

And since she won't accept to bind herself to him, he forced the bond on her by stabbing her with the Crown, believing he could influence her enough to make her admit that he only has good intentions (heal all Middle-Earth), and therefore that she should stop resisting him, and join him. I think the reason why he talked in the past of the queen he would have made her, is that in his mind, since he had to force the bond, he's the Morgoth of this relationship, now. He can't possibly worship her anymore, now that he submitted her to him.

It would have been easy for him to drag her by the hair and tortured her until she'd pledge him allegeance out of fear, but that's not Sauron's way, and that's probably not how a blood oath works anyway. He joined Melkor/Morgoth "willingly" (his consent was probably very dubious, Morgoth being Morgoth), he also seduced Adar into joining him even though Adar was a prisoner and an experiment (he invited him to drink red wine/his blood, promised him children), and he still wants Galadriel to do the same, even though her consent couldn't be anything else than dubious at this point.

To make a comparison with how the Devil proceeds according to Christian religion : the Devil never forces people to do anything. He misleads, lies, shapes their thoughts in a way that they become prone to temptation, etc. but at the end, they always have the choice to resist the temptation.

Sauron ultimately forced Celebrimbor to finish the Nine and tortured him to get him to say their location, but he hated doing that, hence why he shifted the blame on Celebrimbor : "YOU made it happen when you refused me, YOU chose your fate by resisting." He pinned Galadriel with Morgoth's Crown having exactly the same mindset ; for Sauron, she's the one who forced him to do that.

By stabbing Galadriel, he just increased the level of temptation she was already subjected to, and gave himself a free and permanent access to her mind. So of course, he didn't want her to die. That's why he visibly freaked out when she jumped off the cliff and why he tried to catch her hand. But then if he wanted her to live, why didn't he stop her fall? Couldn't have he saved her any other way, using sorcery for example? I'm not sure, but I think there are several ideas to consider :

He may have saved her, actually. It's quite extraordinary that Galadriel survived this fall. It CAN'T be because of Nenya : she wasn't wearing it, Nenya heals only if it's on someone's finger. Bottom line, Nenya didn't do anything. Maybe it was an intervention of the Valar (though wouldn't have they done like they did with Gandalf and Glorfindel?), maybe it was plot armor. Anyway, there's nothing that tells us that Sauron didn't soften her fall with one of his famous hand waves.

He was truly, genuinely shocked. He didn't think one second that she would do that. The scene was filmed in slow-motion so we get the impression that it all happens very slowly, and that Sauron had plenty of times to react. But in reality, it probably all went extremely fast, meaning he might have had no time to react at all, between the moment he truly realized and the moment Galadriel hit the ground. Like, his first instinct was to try and catch her hand (and not Nenya, which he stopped caring about at this very moment, mind you), like a very normal person would have, actually... It's possible he was just too dumbfounded to think of anything else smarter to do in the seconds that followed her fall.

He may have thought that since she resisted him once again, despite their bond, it was not worth saving her? I mean, we can't exclude that. Strategically, Galadriel is a serious threat to him, now more than ever. Charlie pretty much confirmed that Sauron gave up on his idea to make her join him after she jumped. Thanks to their bond, he will access to her mind but she will have access to his as well. He may have had these kinds of thoughts while Galadriel was falling. Not to mention that he was probably pretty upset that she rejected him once again. Even someone with as little self-awarness as Sauron can understand that if his girlfriend prefers to kill herself than marrying him, it means she really can't bear to be anywhere near him, something he wouldn't take well.

[subarublue]

DMC Headcanons 5

What would Dante and Vergil be like as a brother-in-law?

Dante

He’s a definitely a great bro-in-law because he’s just happy Vergil finally found someone who could rein him in.

After all, you must be something special to have caught his brother’s eye.

Expect a LOT of teasing, though. Some is directed at you, but mostly it’ll be at Vergil’s expense.

“Geez, what the hell do you see in his ugly old ass, anyway?”  “We’re twins, Dante.”  “And???”

This usually ends with him being stabbed.

Speaking of, that was quite a shock the first time, but it happens so often now you’re just used to it.

The only problem is the mess it leaves. Dante insists you don’t have to clean it up, but you know by now that if you don’t, no one else will. Especially Dante.

You dock points for that one.

Always, always tries hitting you up for free food, spare cash, or other things ‘cause he knows he can’t get it from Vergil. Says he’ll pay you back, but…really? You know better.

More points docked.

Which is why Vergil emphasizes you should always, always tell him, “No.”

His kicked puppy look is really hard to resist sometimes, though. Maybe you’ve given in once or twice. Vergil just rolls his eyes.

Dante definitely does NOT give good relationship advice (especially in regards to Vergil) so don’t bother asking.

At this point, maybe he just doesn’t have any points left.

Vergil himself is not the best at relationships either, so fights between you two are bound to happen. If one does though, you can definitely count on Dante to cheer you up.

And maybe, just maybe...he’ll take a stab wound one for the team and piss Vergil off on purpose just so he’ll forget why you two fought in the first place.

Okay, maybe all the points can get added back for that one.

After all, if you make Vergil happy, Dante wants you to stick around and keep him that way…‘cause Vergil’s gone through so much shit already...indefinitely.

Vergil

Hands down the best bro-in-law. Ever.

Dante may be great, but Vergil takes it to a whole ‘nother level.

It’ll be hard to see at first, because he’ll try and hide how much he cares.

But honestly? He’s just happy there’s someone to get his annoying brother off his back every now and then.

Or often. Often is good.

So of course he’s gonna look out for you whether you want him to or not. He wants you to be here for a long, looong while.

You likely don’t annoy him half as much as Dante does, anyway.

He really doesn’t understand how you tolerate Dante yourself. You must have an incredible amount of patience to love his idiot brother.

He’ll also join in any opportunity you present him with to annoy Dante.

Wanna tease your husband a bit? Completely expect backup in the form of Vergil.

Vergil is extremely good at getting under Dante’s skin and you two play off each other effortlessly when you tease him.

“Dante, if you don’t clean up this mess I’m running off with your brother.”  “If he won’t sign the divorce papers, I’ll just kill him.”

Like his brother, Vergil might not be the best go-to for relationship advice, but he is a good listener.

He won’t mind if you need a shoulder to cry on when Dante isn’t around or if Dante is the cause. Just expect him to pretend to be grumpy about it.

But don’t worry. Secretly, he’s content that you trust him enough to come to him for this sort of thing. He knows all too well how hard it is to open up to others.

Oh? You and Dante had a fight? Perfect reason for him to stab smack his brother around a bit.

And if that convinces Dante to go crawling back to you asking for forgiveness, all the better (‘cause let’s face it, the fight probably happened because Dante was being an idiot anyway).

[raventao]

So I had a very nice ZukAang dream last night about Zuko and Aang (aged up) having a daughter together and it was just super cute. I woke up at 2:30am, half asleep still needing a shower, which, gave me ample time to dwell more on said dream. Why can't I go back to sleep and finish it? I want more. The best I could do is write down what I remembered after the shower in my notes app though.

ANYWAY! If you're interested, the dream went roughly like so;

If you fudge the timeline around a little bit:

Aang gets frozen with Gyatso after a tactical retreat from the attack on the southern air temple. Sozin was looking for him specifically since he's already been announced as the Avatar to most of the world, so the air nomads haven't been outright slaughtered, but their numbers are not what they once were since Sozin still kills a lot of them looking for Aang after he gets frozen, assuming they're hiding him - he's probably about 20 and already been taught Water bending, was in the process of learning Earth bending but it wasn't going well.

He still meets Katara and Sokka (also aged up, so 22 and 23) when he wakes up, they still help him and they both continue their water bending studying as they travel. Gyatso helps them by being team dad.

Zuko still gets booted from the fire nation for the same reason, probably at the same age too, but by the time he finds the GAang, it's just him and a core group of guys + Iroh that have all pretty much come to the same conclusion - the fire nation is in the wrong and want to help. Zuko is also aged up to 23. He's seen some shit, he is not keeping the title fire nation prince, if someone asks, he makes sure they know he's the ex prince. He meets the GAang after they find Toph. (who does not need to sneak away because she’s a grown ass woman of 20 and made her own choices. Her parents still don't know about her bending prowess and coddle her, but ultimately, they can't actually stop her from leaving.)

Gyatso and Iroh are instant BFFs and co dad the GAang once Zuko joins - which is significantly easier since Ex prince Zuko is pretty publicly anti Fire Nation. But he does usually still go by the Blue Spirit to make things easier. Zuko/Iroh and Toph are teaching Aang Earth and Fire bending, and as a result, are getting closer. The comet isn't super immanent, they have time. (5 years or so? They're preparing, (both sides) but the time frame isn't quite as crunch time.) Zuko and Aang end up getting married quietly and having a kid (and nothing I've read/seen in AtLA canon says men can't get pregnant, and it's fantasy so ... ya' know.)

He dissappears from the public eye for about a year and resurfaces with a daughter. Her other father is not made public knowledge just to keep her safe from Zuko's family. (No name yet, leaning towards Rain?) She turns out to be an Air bender so no one actually can hazard a guess as to who her 2nd dad is. Even if being the child of the Avatar does technically mean she had the same chances to be any other type of bender.

She is about 3 when, while Toph and Zuko are away dealing with a covert operation for the resistance, her, Aang, Katara, and Sokka are attacked (where are Iroh and Gyatso? Dunno, maybe a White Lotus meeting???) by Zhao and his fleet. The fight is intense and being older and wiser, Aang doesn't use the Avatar state as often, but they're still kicking ass and taking names until Rain gets taken hostage and Aang gets seriously hurt, when he notices and gets distracted. Zhao uses her to escape and Aang is heartbroken that his baby is taken. Katara and Sokka are just as upset, not having been strong enough to get to her before she was taken aboard the ship. (Rain had wanted to help, saw her daddy, and aunt and uncle fighting, and said "I'll fight too!" And in typical 3yo fashion, did not listen when Sokka and Katara told her no, and slipped into the brawl of Fire Nation soldiers and proceeded to be a little more than a nuacience to them before she's captured.

Cue Zuko hearing about what happened after he gets back maybe a day or two later and sees his husband very injured (they at least took out the ship's worth of men who had stayed back to slow them from getting to Zhao and rescuing Rain themselves. T'was not an easy fight and some got in decent attacks while they were emotionally compromised.) And hears about Rain's abduction. He and Toph give chase while Katara takes care of Aang. He promises he doesn't blame them, he knows how dirty and underhanded Zhao is, that using a child to gain an advantage is absolutely something he would do. The Blue Spirit pays them a visit and when Zhao asks why the blue spirit is after him someone smartly answers; "well, it might have to do with you kidnapping the avatar's kid."

Which is where I woke up, but I'd like to think Rain was just throwing a tantrum amd flinging tornadoes around shouting for her dads when Zhao tells her she can't go home.

When Zuko and Toph get there to rescue her she probably blows Zhao off the side of the ship while they're escaping just to be petty. Toph would absolutely high five her for it too.

[no-droids]

Rumors, Freebies, and a Race for Last Place

Part Two of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 22.5K DONT say shit alright just don’t

Warnings: Okay. There is degradation in this, some name calling and heated interactions. There is a LOT of smut, dirty talk and rough sex. If these things offend you, please do not continue reading.

***

It’s recommended to read part one first.

***

Getting into the x-wings is always fun.

It actually might be your favorite part.  Granted, alarm bells ringing and thousands of jumpsuits scrambling in all directions is never typically a good thing, but there’s also an inherent rush about it, a thrill in launching up the metal paneling as quick as you can and suiting up to provide aid.  It’s a side-effect of camaraderie, of being surrounded by like-minded individuals willing to do everything they can to help.  You never feel like you’re going to your death, even though that’s often the grim reality for at least one of you on a good day.  There’s always a roaring in your ears while you do it, adrenaline sharpening your senses and preparing yourself for conflict, not thinking anything beyond gogogogogo—

But getting out of the x-wing is… not great.  At least for you.  It’s sluggish.  Your body is always completely drained and you never come out of it feeling the same way you went in.  Even in times of victory, there’s a somberness inside you after battle.  As much as you tell yourself you’re fighting for good, for prosperity against an evil machine hellbent on enslaving the galaxy, there’s only so many explosions lighting up in front of your eyes and screams cutting out through your comms you can take before winning just doesn’t really feel like winning anymore.  Most pilots are able to handle it better than you are, but since you joined the Resistance, you’ve never truly felt the desire to celebrate.  Not even when you serve a massive, glaring defeat to the other side.  There’ll always be at least one missing x-wing, one empty seat at the table, one person not here to celebrate with you.

You came back in one piece this time.  Barely.

The whole mission went sideways—literally.  You’d purposefully stationed the tandem just outside the coordinates you were meant to be surveilling so that you’d be hidden from sight and dead to the scanners should the fleet arrive, but something must’ve happened.  You must’ve powered down a few seconds too early after he turned the thrusters off, because apparently the ship drifted in dead space for close to eight hours without either of you noticing, having no working computers to actively read your location and correct it.  You were sitting ducks right in the hyperspace drop zone by the time the First Order showed up, and by that point you had no choice but to engage.

“Gold-Ten,” a voice murmurs from behind you, and you blink, suddenly seeing the base landing platform stretching out long in front of you, hundreds of docking ships and boisterous pilots scrambling out of them to hug their comrades and congratulate them even as medics rush past with white coats and gurneys.  They’re never for the pilots, but they dispatch healers anyways whenever a convoy returns in case a straggler gets picked up.  There’s an unspoken understanding in space battle—pilots never get injured.  They either come back unharmed, or they don’t come back at all.

Dameron.

You turn around and watch him slowly approach you with an unreadable expression, his jumpsuit still bunched halfway down his torso.  The once bright white sleeveless undershirt is now greasy and damp with sweat,  his dark curls sticking to his forehead.  He winces with every bow-legged step—you know the feeling—before he’s standing directly in front of you and something is carefully being pulled out of your hands.  You didn’t even realize you were holding onto anything.

Your helmet.  You forgot to leave it in the x-wing, and you’ve been carrying it around under your arm aimlessly while mentally checking off the squadrons as they return, counting the numbers you lost today while everybody else hugs and whoops and claps each other on the back.

It’s not as bad as you were expecting it was going to be, not as bad as it seemed just an hour earlier when you were listening to Dameron bellow out evasive flight maneuvers a millisecond before he enacted them and you adjusted your firing at the TIEs accordingly.  You used to think you were quick with how rapidly you could suit up and fly out, drop in to assist and engage, but on the other side, it felt like your reinforcements lollygagged for ages before arriving.  You were left to defend against an entire fleet in one stupid ship, more lines of TIEs sinking like flies from launch decks every second.

“Gold-Ten,” you hear again, and you blink a few times, needing to focus your vision before you can find his gaze.

Dameron’s palm, previously hovering a few inches above your shoulder, suddenly drops to spread along the curve of it and you take a deep breath, almost wanting to shudder at the feeling of something touching you.  You channel all your focus into it, feel his fingers branch out strong along the tight muscles in your neck, giving you an anchor you automatically lean into.

You and him are no strangers to touching.  Before today it was mostly reserved to poking and prodding and flicking and light slapping in an effort to piss each other off, but now… you can’t even think about it right now, your body will just fucking glitch out on you.  After everything that just happened, you cannot think about where else that hand has been recently, not right now.

“You did… you did really fucking good today,” he tells you quietly, slowly trailing his hand down the length of your entire arm until he catches your wrist and a few of your fingers in his loose grip.  “Seriously.  That was… we were…”

His touch is so present, so reassuring.  Grounding, when all your mind wants is to just float away.  You glance down at where his fingers are gently tangled with yours and you feel your hand tighten just slightly, the smallest squeeze while he blinks down at you.

“We almost died, like… every single second,” you barely manage to croak, not really having the words to express it right now.  You always need at least an hour or two after missions like this to just sit in one place and regroup.  Usually you find yourself wandering back to your room to lay on the bed and stare up at the ceiling while you consider your own mortality, but Dameron interrupted you this time before you could process it by yourself.  “We…”  Your voice sounds absolutely shredded.  “W-We shouldn’t even be alive right now.”

“I know,” he nods in soft agreement, taking a small step closer to you.  “But we are alive.  Hey.”  He dips his head as soon as your gaze starts to drift, catching your eyes once more and drawing your attention back to the present with a squeeze of your hand.  “We’re alive, right?  Be alive with me.”

You take a big breath in and close your eyes, feeling the oxygen fill your lungs once more, but this time, it’s… restorative.  A wonderful, beautiful reminder of your existence.  You’re alive.  Usually the word just feels like a synonym for persevering.  Pushing onwards despite trials and tribulations, not looking back.  But the way he says it, especially with his hand in yours and a quiet invitation to tag along, it sounds… breathtaking.  Full of light, and hope.  It suddenly leaves the dim shadows and slides into a completely different category of feelings, feelings you’d never imagine being able to conjure so quickly after such a close brush with death.  Alive—it slots right in next to words like colorful, radiant, sunshine, and butterflies.  Enchanting words, ones you’d like to hear again and again.

Your eyes slowly open and there he is, the man you were sure was going to accompany you to the afterlife.  You were stuck with Poe Dameron in one of the closest calls you can remember, and strangely, his presence was nothing if not… a comfort.  For the first time in your life, you were grateful he was there.

You open your mouth, suddenly feeling the needy, unfounded urge to tell him that.  “I’m gla—”

“Dameron!”  You hear a series of voices call from somewhere to your left, and he immediately drops your hand to whip his body around and place himself directly between you and the approaching onlookers, using his large frame to hide you from their sight.

“What’s up, Briggs?”  Dameron projects to one pilot in particular that seems to be leading the group, his back oddly close to you in this position.  Your fingers still feel tingly from where he was holding onto them.

A chorus of congratulatory, “Nice flying, Captain!” and the like can be heard floating through the air from beyond his shoulders, before the leader speaks loudly over them.  “Hey—me, Seven, Six, and Twelve were gonna grab some drinks in the mess hall with a few of the Blue girls,” he tells Dameron, slowing to a stop as soon as he sees you standing awkwardly behind him.  “Oh hey, Goldie.”

You lift a hand and clear the remainder of the dissociation from your throat, not knowing him well enough beyond the squadron he and his group fly with.  “Greenies.”

“Anyways, I guess they wanted to know if you’d come too.  These idiots are convinced they’re never gonna give us the time of day unless you—”

“Uh—fine, whatever, just give me a few minutes alright?”  Dameron quickly assures him with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “I’ll meet up with you guys later.”

A few of them take turns giving him heavy claps on the shoulder and acclamatory words before the group eventually disperses, and he waits a few more seconds for their attention to fully scatter in another direction before turning back to you.

Shit, he’s standing really close.  Why is he so close to you?  You take a step back and blink up at him, the noises of the landing deck gradually amplifying back up to normal volume as you retreat back into your own space.  Since when did he have that effect on you?  You suddenly feel wide awake, and the chorus of happy chaos surrounding you is something you’re finally able to take in.  You knew it was happening before, but it was like it just existed outside of the creeping numbness.  Now, the knot of internal turmoil has untied itself a bit and you feel your surroundings start to fight for your direct attention.

Dameron continues to look at you the same exact way, though.  Like you’re still the only one here.

You look down at his half-suited figure and blink at the helmet loosely held in one of his hands.  Hey.  Hey, that’s yours—

“Give me that,” you hiss, suddenly snatching it from his fingertips.  “You have people waiting.”

The cutting words serve to snap him out of whatever spell he’s under.  Dameron quickly lifts his head and looks around a few times with sharp eyes, before hooking your elbow and twisting you into a complete 180 until your back faces most of the excitement.  You resist, immediately trying to push him off you and worried he’s going to confront you about… things, but he’s determined.

He doesn’t say anything to you at all, though.  His fingers quickly grasp the baggy fabric of your jumpsuit even as you sputter and start to ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, and you glance down just in time to see him yanking the gaping velcro closed at your crotch.

Your cheeks instantly start burning as he tugs and smooths the fabric down until it’s seamless once more, especially when his eyes flick up to yours without moving his head.  Fuck, you’re instantly hot with some wicked emotion, a mixture of embarrassment and outrage and… something else.  Maker, you almost wish you were numb and disoriented again, if only so you could avoid feeling whatever the fuck this is.

You quite suddenly shove your helmet back into his stomach with an infuriated sound even as he doubles over with a shocked whoosh of air, changing your mind about returning it to the ship yourself before storming off without another word.

*** 

Okay, so you’ve done some thinking, and.  Well.  Fuck him, that’s what you’ve decided.

No—not… fuck him.  But like, fuck him.  You know.  In the negative sense of the word.  The bad fuck.

There’s a full tray of food sitting in front of you but you’ve so far been unable to touch it.  Mostly you’re just wondering why the fuck you’re even here.  Well, you know why you’re here—you should eat, it’s dinnertime and this is the mess hall.  You’ve been known to skip out on meals after heavy missions, secluding yourself away and just wallowing for a bit, but you… strangely didn’t feel like doing that today.  You don’t want to self-isolate when you feel okay enough to avoid it, not again.  So you’re here, because the clock says your tummy should want food, but you can’t bring yourself to even look at it.

No, you’re looking at him.  Glaring, actually.

Across the mess hall and beyond the transparisteel divider that separates the cafeteria from the bar area, Dameron is all eyebrows and smiles and side nudges and winks right now.  You can’t hear him—the sound won’t travel this far, but you can see him situated in the middle of a rowdy group of pilots.  He laughs in that disgustingly charming way of his, where his stupidly cute nose scrunches up all cute and stupid and you want to just ask the Maker why he’s doing this shit to you.  What have you done to deserve this torture?  Sure, you may have willingly agreed to it, even… conceived and propositioned the idea, and sure, absolutely nothing is stopping you from forfeiting and walking away at this exact second, but does that make it okay?  No, you’ve decided.  It’s not okay.  He’s not allowed to… to make you feel like this, so fuck him.  In the bad way.

“Just fuck him already,” a voice suddenly grumbles as someone plops down into the seat to your right, plastic trays of food clattering loudly on the table and snapping you out of your reverie.  Gold-Sixteen blocks your view as he silently drops into the seat in front of you and wraps his green lekku around his neck a few times before immediately beginning to shovel food into his mouth, while Gold-Three opens her box of blue milk next to you and continues.  “The Blues never fucking shut up about it, it’s getting annoying.”

“Don’t listen to her, Dime,” Gold-Eleven tells you, quickly occupying the seat on your left and biting into a crunchy piece of fruit, talking loudly over the chatter even as he chomps.  “Rossi just knows her pool is up tomorrow, she doesn’t want to lose any of her precious credits.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Gold-Three immediately snaps, leaning forward and around you to point the prongs of her fork at Eleven threateningly.  “Zhang’s pool starts on Sunday.”

“Oh fuck off, you guys are betting on this now?”  You groan, shoving your plate away with a flick of your fingers now that you’re certain you’ve completely lost your appetite.  Sixteen immediately snatches up one of your bread rolls while Zhang swipes your juice and Rossi goes for a packet of glockaw sauce.

“You’re the one who announced it in front of everybody, we’re just being active spectators,” Rossi returns, ripping the packet and pouring the sauce on her vegetables with a shrug.  “How the fuck do you bet against fucking each other though, that’s my question?  It’s a paradox, wouldn’t you both just lose at the same time?”

“Dameron and I aren’t going to fuck,” you tell her very slowly and clearly, starting to get a headache.  Why is it impossible to avoid this conversation topic, even with an entire Resistance base to roam around in?  “Ever.  The bet never had anything to do with fucking each other, it’s about not fucking other people.”

“Literally what is the difference?”  You hear Rossi ask with her mouth full, but Zhang speaks over her.

“Somebody should probably tell Nine that, she’s the bookie,” he tosses out carelessly, dropping the core of his piece of fruit to his tray before wiping his hands on his jumpsuit.  You bury your face in your hands and let out a loud, exhausted sound into your palms, not knowing which response serves to aggravate your already emotionally overloaded ass even more.  Nine is the bookie, of fucking course she is.  “But hey, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think any of it actually goes outside of Gold, so.”

“I’ve heard the Blues talking about it, but that’s it,” Rossi chimes in while chewing some of her veggies.  “Maybe some Reds.  Point is everybody else thinks it’s already happening, honestly.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper, using your knuckles to rub at the backs of your eyes until bright spots appear.  Where are stress headaches localized?  Are those the ones right under your brow bone?  Because stars, you feel it.  “Fucking… why?  Why do people think that me and Dameron are…?”

Nobody at the table immediately responds, and you drop your hands after a moment to look at each of their astounded faces in turn.

“You fucking serious, bitch?”  Rossi blurts first, her voice completely deadpan, and you growl in vexation.

“Have I not been vocal enough about my severe dislik—”

“And yet you kicked Nine out of your room to let him bunk with you,” Zhang immediately suggests.

“You request mission assignments together,” Rossi adds.

“Spend your off-days together,” Zhang continues.

“You’re both really weird about how long it takes the other person to shower,” Rossi tacks onto the list Zhang is now making on his fingers and you shake your head frantically.

“No—no, that’s so that we know neither one of us is cheating,” you try to explain, and you already know it sounds unconvincing without needing the two quick, lofty and sarcastic nods on either side of you.  “Showers and off-days are prime masturb—no, you know what?  No.  I’m tired of the assumptions, I don’t owe anyone shit.  This is super fucking uncool of you guys, you know that?  It’s insane that this is what counts as gossip in the Resistance nowada—”

“There’s only so much bad news people can take, Ten,” Gold-Sixteen grunts down at his almost finished plate, and all three of you snap your gazes across the table at him.  The forest-tinted twi’lek doesn’t speak much, it’s uncommon to hear his voice without distortion over the comms, but you blink as his sharp teeth continue to form words without looking at you.  “Quit being so sensitive.  Rather bet on this shit than which system is getting demolished next.”

And with that, Sixteen excuses himself with a silent nod, having gobbled down his full plate while you, Three, and Eleven were bickering.  You feel your cheeks flare with anger and shame—you didn’t deserve that, you immediately reassure yourself, but the hidden self-doubt the comment sows just further contributes to your upset.  You want to call out to his back that just because the First Order exists doesn’t mean you have to put up with your own fucking squadron turning you and your mortal enemy into glorified race fathiers, but he’s already leaving the mess hall while Rossi and Zhang have moved on to other topics, both of them continuing to grab more food from your tray as they talk.

You have a tough shell.  But today was… a lot.  You bite your lip down at the table against the sudden wave of emotion, blinking quickly to clear the weakness watering your vision.

See, this—this right here is why you use last names.  These people aren’t your friends.  Betting on who you fuck for laughs, using you as a source of entertainment without your consent just because they’re in the middle of a war, and then guilting you into feeling like you’re the one acting like a stuck up bitch about it?  You’re fighting in the same fucking war—you’re on the front lines just like everybody else and nobody gets to lecture you on the devastation of battle.  You almost died today.  You fought tooth and fucking nail to stay alive and by all accounts, you shouldn’t even be sitting here right now, much less dealing with this childish shit.  This is your squadron.  These people are supposed to be the ones closest to you out of everyone, the ones you’ve been flying into chaos in formation with for years, and yet not a single damn person has even mentioned your performance to you today, all anyone can ever seem to talk about is—ugh.

Unfortunately, your unobstructed view also allows you to look at the source of your bad mood once more, immediately noticing the way more people have crowded around him now, and the headache continues to throb painfully behind your eyeballs.  You were in the same ship, does nobody realize that?  You were gunning, he was flying—you were offense, he was defense—that’s the only fucking difference, and yet, it’s like that side of the mess hall is just completely lit up with hearty laughter and music playing from someone’s holopad and congratulatory drinks being passed around, while yours is… well.

You continue to fume inwardly, struggling somewhere between bitter and hurt, and you can see your reflection through the transparisteel giving him a death glare, wondering how many of the people surrounding him have made bets with Nine.  How many of his little entourage have their money wagered on Dameron getting in your pants by a specific dat—

You stop short while staring at his handsome face, an infuriating, horrifying thought suddenly striking you.  No… no, he wouldn’t…

“Does he know?”  You immediately interrupt the chitchat between Three and Eleven to ask with a deadly edge in your voice, tipping your forehead at pretty boy.  Ooh, you can already feel it burning.  It would be so fucking typical.  Oooooh, Maker, if he’s heard even a fucking whisper about this outside wagering going on amongst the pilots, you will fucking smother his ass in his sleep tonight.  How could he not know?  With as many friends as he has?  If you’re just being made aware of it, then it’s a given that somebody has to have told him by now, which just means that it’s all the more possible—shit, even more likely—that he’s… participating, too.  You do your best to keep your voice even, but you can hear the quiet fury shaking in it.  “The bet about when me and him are gonna fuck, does he know about it?”

“Who—Dameron?”  Zhang turns his head.  “No, I don’t think s—”

“Yeah,” Rossi says at the exact same time, and your blood instantly turns ice cold as Zhang leans around you to blink at her stupidly.

“No.  Yeah?  What?”  He says, sounding genuinely confused.

“Yeah, remember?”  Rossi confirms with a shrug.  “Nine was mad as all shit, came at me in the rec room a few weeks ag—fucking Maker, Eleven, you were there.”

“Oh,” Zhang suddenly exhales, “yeah, that’s right.  Oh, yeah, Dime, he knows.”

You’re—fuck, you’re about to rampage.  You’re burning a fucking hole through Dameron while he converses animatedly with his numerous buddies, waving an open hand and shaking his head at someone with a smile and then gesturing broadly to this side of the transparisteel.  His pool is probably up soon, you figure.  That’s why he came onto you so strong earlier today.  He was going to get two weeks of your pay, plus whatever he must’ve offered up to Nine that says he’d get it to happen within a certain amount of time.  Perfect, your old roomie and the arch nemesis you stupidly agreed to trade her for, two asshole peas in an asshole pod.

“—she thought I was the one who told him—”  You know Rossi is still talking but you’re not actually hearing any of it.  Nobody has any fucking idea.  Nobody has any idea what he did to you today, how unbelievably close you were to… to actually…  “—was all just for fun, but then he had a few choice words for her and told his squad that if any of them had made a—”  You don’t know why you’re so surprised honestly, you should’ve expected…

Wait.

“Wait,” you suddenly blurt, and while she shuts up immediately, your mind starts whirling even faster.  Dameron had some… what?  “Wait.  Explain.  You’re saying he didn’t…”  You slowly shake your head, furrowing your eyebrows and trying to piece it together.  “He didn’t… place a bet with her, or anything?”

“What?  No,” Rossi shakes her head a lot more forcefully than you, getting frustrated.  “No, fucking—didn’t you hear anything I just said, Ten?  He got all high and mighty for some stupid reason, totally reamed her ass out for it.”

“But…”  You blink, stunned.  “But… why?  Why would he…?”

Rossi shrugs.  “Fuck if I know.  All she said was that he ordered Black not to throw in, made her lose a fuckton of money from it.  Had no idea Dameron would be so touchy about his sex life, honestly.”

He… he isn’t.  He isn’t touchy about his sex life—you feel like he never shuts up about it.

Rossi continues talking, but you’re not listening again.  You stare stupidly at yourself in the clear transparisteel as Dameron’s voice comes back to you, repeating something you specifically remember him saying earlier today.  Something you thought was just a careless jab at the time, aimed blindly at one of your comrades with nothing more than the intent to piss you off.

…I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half… 

You blink beyond your own reflection to focus on him once more, still lost in his own little world, not paying a single lick of attention to you while you’re essentially having a fucking crisis over here.  You didn’t think the insult had any real substance to it at all.  You just naturally assumed that was the result of him wanting to lash out at anything or anyone remotely close to you, if only to get a reaction, so you never gave him one or paid it any mind.  

This is why he said that about Nine?  Because he knew she had organized this fucked up betting pool behind your back?

Stars, you need to get out of here, all these rumors are fucking with your head.  Your assumptions and the hairpin turnarounds are giving you worse whiplash than Dameron’s… well, admittedly spectacular flying today.  You were wrong about wanting to avoid isolating—in fact, that suddenly sounds like a phenomenal idea.

So, you just get up and leave right in the middle of Rossi’s sentence, needing some time alone.  Neither of them call out to you as you quickly walk around the table and through the barrier towards the exit, thank the Maker, and you’re just about to retreat with no interruptions until suddenly two Greenies step in front of you and block your path.

You halt immediately, looking up at them with a furrowed brow.  “What now?”  You grunt, not having the patience to even wait for a response before attempting to squeeze around them.

“Hey, so you really saved our asses out there today, Goldie,” the one on the left quickly sidesteps in front of you and rushes to say, and you settle your weight back on your heels with a huff.

“What are you talking about?”  You glance back and forth between them, not recalling a time you’ve ever spoken to either one, before jerking your head to gesture over your shoulder.  “Go congratulate trophy boy over there, he was the one flying.”

“We did,” the one on the right tips sideways to look at Dameron behind your shoulder, likely still laughing and joking with someone about something, something super fucking dumb probably.  “Well, uh.  We tried.”

“What?”  You let out a heavy sigh and rub your temples.  “The fuck is that supposed to mean?  I don’t have the time.”

“He won’t take any credit, just keeps saying that all he did was steer you around,” the other one shrugs as his companion straightens and looks down at you once more.  “Wouldn’t accept any drinks we offer him, nothing.  So we thought we’d buy you one instead.  Unless you’re… leaving?”

It takes you a few seconds to process that, even as he allows the open invitation to hang in the air.  You can’t stop the way your torso automatically twists around to study your copilot from across the mess hall in baffled silence, suddenly realizing that they’re… they’re right.  Dameron has no congratulatory drinks sitting in front of him even though more and more people have made their way into the bar.  He’s just sitting there grinning and nodding along to something someone else is saying, completely and blissfully unaware of the extent to which he’s fucked with you in the past twenty minutes.  The past… whole day.  Month and a half.  Or… fuck, how long have you known him?  Two years?

But then Dameron’s gaze gradually drifts this way, before suddenly locking with yours.  His eyes flick behind you to look at the two Greenies blocking your exit, and then back to the way you’re staring at him, wide-eyed and startled.

He suddenly stands up and starts to take a few steps towards you, and the sheer abruptness of the movement causes you to react immediately.  You stumble your way backwards through the two pilots, feeling a few hands reach out to steady you through the awkward fumbling, but you slap them away and announce loud enough for Dameron to hear beyond them that you’re taking a shower, and you don’t give a fuck how long it’s gonna be this time.

***

The knob squeaks as you turn the water on.  Usually you’d step back and wait the grueling five minutes or longer it takes for it to heat up with your arms crossed over your naked chest, but this time you move directly under the freezing spray, hoping to use the ice cold to shock your system.

You're finally alone.

Technically solitude doesn’t really exist within this base.  You’ve heard of others that are a little nicer, having a little more room for the ranks, but not here.  Housing assignments, showers and restrooms, mess and recreation halls—they’re all communal.  Everyone is given rotating shifts, so while that means there’s never any true quiet to be found, it also means that showers are spread out well throughout the day and night.

But, at least for this moment, there’s nobody else around.  At least in here, in the tiled chamber with multiple shower heads stationed around you—you’re sure there are a few girls lingering in the locker room and the entry area beyond it, but for right now, you’re blissfully by yourself.

And yet, you can’t seem to enjoy it.

You know you should be basking in the isolation.  You should be thrilled at the rarity of only hearing your own flipflops slap against the floor as you turn around and drench your hair with the icy spray, but the lack of an immediate distraction for your focus allows it to wander to things you don’t want it to.

Explosions, mostly.  Lighting up like fireworks in front of your eyes even as they flutter closed and let water drip down them.  Constant, never-ending.  Some of them small—TIEs you shot down, allies drawing fire away from you and then subsequently getting overwhelmed, zipping through dense debris from deadly collisions so quick that you had trouble distinguishing friend from foe.  Some of them were massive—star destroyers splitting apart, warp drives overloading, enormous casualty counts.  You don’t know how many lives you took today, not directly.

The beginning was the worst—when you were still slightly disoriented, when you were panicked and screaming into the comms for assistance.  Then the closest stationed tandem showed up first—Red-Two and Eight, you think it was.  Doesn’t matter now.  They took some heat off you before the cavalry arrived, but you remember Dameron barking out your name the second their left thruster got nicked and they started spiraling, a ferociously deep, “With me!” cutting through the white noise.  It was enough to snap you back, forcing you to instantly flick your eyes away and focus dead ahead without witnessing their demise.

It wouldn’t have normally been necessary.  You’ve been flying with the Resistance for years, you’ve seen way too much bloodshed by now.  But you’ve never been the catalyst of it—you’ve always been able to confront threats accompanied by your squadron, right between Nine and Eleven, the flight controls rumbling steady under your palms.  You’ve never faced down an entire fleet in one single ship.  You’ve never had to rely so directly on the skills of another pilot in order to stay alive.

The water slowly heats to a lukewarm while you reach for the shampoo.

Surprisingly, for as much as the two of you clash in normal interactions, it was like everything eventually became… synchronized.  Spectacularly so.  Dameron started off the enemy confrontation by calling out his flight patterns to give you a chance to adjust your firing in real time, but then at some point, it just stopped being necessary.  There was a moment where you both were able to suddenly… get it.  Get each other.  He didn’t have to say anything after that—you could predict each other without second guessing, react instantaneously, and work your way through the littered battlefield accordingly.  You never thought it would be possible to collaborate so well with someone you’ve spent ages despising.  Sure, you’d both die if you didn’t—shit, you’d probably still both die regardless—but this kind of teamwork extended beyond the need to survive.  It doesn’t matter how much you want to stay alive when reading someone else’s mind is physically impossible, but for some reason…  You have no idea why, but it apparently came naturally between you.  It fell to pure instinct, pure reaction, and remarkably, his would somehow match yours perfectly, every single time.

You lather the shampoo in your hair, remembering how his voice changed over the course of the mission.  How it gradually shifted from panicked roars and barked orders into ecstatic cheers and genuine praise after landing a difficult shot, how he just couldn’t seem to stop whooping.  

You smile softly as the tepid water rinses away the dirt and sweat from your body, until the temperature is brought up to a gentle, comfortable warmth raining down you and echoing in the empty shower room.

And, your first name.  Dameron kept calling you that, the whole time.  The one you’re now absolutely certain you’ve never personally given to him.  The one he would’ve had to have listened for specifically.  Remembered, or at least asked the right person about.  But why?  It’s not… it makes no sense, he doesn’t give a shit.  He’s notorious for not giving a shit.  He can’t even be bothered to remember the names of the girls he’s actually with—so why did he go to the trouble to figure out yours?  You’ve been nothing but a thorn in his side the same way he is to you, right?

Right?

Your mind starts recollecting more recent events, trying to work through and process it by yourself.  He was… singing your praises today.  He was openly giving you credit for the win while you pouted in the corner and assumed the absolute worst of him.  As much as you’re frustrated that nobody else seemed to give voice to your contributions, you’re even more surprised that he was the one who did.

And then even earlier.  Gold-Nine, holding wagers with members of your squad (and others, apparently) about when you’re going to fuck him.  Dameron, tearing her a new one for it, forbidding Black Squadron from throwing in and not attempting to hide his disdain for her from you.  He… he defended you.  Stood up for you when your own squad was being a bunch of dicks behind your back.  And nobody ever fucking mentioned it to you.  What did Rossi say—a few weeks ago?  He’s known all this time and only today, only after you… openly showed more interest in him than you ever have, after you worked up enough nerve to try in your own little way to flirt back this time instead of responding to his casual comments with contempt and disgust, only today is when he decided to make a real move on you.

…Your mind is completely blank and yet you still feel yourself start to heat up just a bit at even alluding to the events that took place earlier.  The way his fingers felt—

Steam begins to fill the open concept chamber while you shake your head against the train of thought and reach for the soap, beginning to circle the bar along your arms and shoulders with a sigh.  This is already the longest shower you’ve taken in almost two months, and your body slowly relaxes under the mist and heat as you take forever cleaning yourself, slowly and hypnotically rubbing the soap along your skin.

The second you let your eyelids dip shut at the feeling, you immediately shiver at a flash of Dameron dragging his finger out of his mouth and blinking dark eyes at you through the transparisteel.

Fuck.  The soap slips from your hand and you quickly catch it against your body before it falls to the ground completely, suddenly feeling the need to breathe in the misty air a bit harder.  Shower, you’re in the shower.  Come on.

The dirt and grime is scrubbed from your face and you tilt your head to move the bar of soap across your neck.  As it lathers, you can’t help but remember the way his lips felt against the skin right there, the scratch of his beard.  You keep working the soap against that same spot for a while, not knowing if you’re trying to wash away the sensation or simulate it, until you gradually slow and make it lighter, softer—yes, that’s closer to how it felt, that’s—

Soon the water is boiling hot and you’re trying not to boil along with it, remembering everything he said against this spot, the filth he whispered to you here.  Your pussy starts to throb between your legs as the memories play out in your mind, how close he got you to shattering bliss without even really working for it.  If you put it all together collectively, you don’t think he actually touched you for more than a minute or two total today.  Mostly he just talked to you, but stars, he hit buttons you didn’t even think you had, had you a split second away from cumming harder than Maker knows while his finger rested just above your clit and provided no stimulation whatsoever.

Fuck, you enjoyed it.  You did, you’ll admit it when there’s no one else here but you.  You enjoyed the fuck out of it.  You wish he’d do it again.  Force you to lose, force you to cum so you can at least blame him for it, remove your responsibility from the equation and allow you to put just one more thing on his shoulders, to taste ecstacy instead of expecting you to bear the weight of pretending you don’t need it any longer.  He was doing you a favor, you realize that now.  Your body is staging a fucking coup and you wish you could’ve called mercy before it got to this agonizing point.  He turns you on, you fucking admit it.  He inspires violent emotions in you—jealousy, arousal, anger, temptation—thoughts you don’t want to have and consolidating it all into various forms of hatred makes the finer details easier to ignore.  Your perception of him has always been skewed by your iron will, but he all but took a fucking sledgehammer to it today, dented it beyond all recognition.  You want him, you want to him to take it all away, you want him to fuck you—in the… fuck, in the good way.

You don’t have a thought beyond that.  Your hand quickly falls down the length of your body to wash your private parts, biting your lip as your hips slowly start to rock into it.  You’re getting clean, you’re getting clean, this is how you clean yourself, this is… yes, as long as you keep the bar of soap pressed between your palm and the top of your curls like this, you’re cleaning yourself and you can just… ease your finger down just a little bit and—

Flipflops suddenly echo from the twisting hallway leading to the tiled freshers, and you immediately snatch your hand back up again, not needing to turn around to know another girl is walking into the room.  A knob somewhere to your right eventually makes a dull squeak as you quickly finish washing up and turn your showerhead off, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around yourself.

Maker, you feel like your pussy is plotting your demise.  Fuck, you can’t believe you almost cheated in the fucking showers just now where literally anyone could walk in, you thought you would’ve had more self-control than that.  You make your way into the changing rooms and grab your pajamas, starting to tug them on without fully drying your body and having only one thought in mind.  

Dameron will probably be celebrating late tonight.  You can tuck in early, scurry back to your room and cheat there.

Well, no, not cheating, because you clearly remember making a very compelling argument about wet dreams earlier today.  Maker, a freebie, the word has never sounded so enticing.  What you’d say amounts to a… bye-week orgasm basically, since you know he’s already lost at least one match against his own body and you’re meant to be competing on the same level.  It’s only fair to let you persevere through the toughest part of the challenge if he was allowed to throw a game early on and still stay in the competition.  Maybe he threw multiple games, you never got a straight answer concerning that, so it’s still under review.  He could’ve thrown… three games, even.  Or four.

You dress as quickly as possible and then nearly bolt through the entrance area to the restrooms with all the sinks and stalls.  The balled up dirty clothes and wet towel in your arms allow you to hide the way your nipples are stiff and tender against your thin pajamas, and you can’t wait to climb into your bunk and take everything off under the covers.  You’ll be able to cum, at least once.  It’ll relieve so much stress, get rid of this nightmare headache, rip through your body like lightning and paralyze it until you can start over from square one and think like yourself again.

And, you’re just about to power walk your ass back to your quarters when a body nearly slams into yours as soon as you step foot outside the door, your shoulder jerking back just in time to avoid a collision.

A mechanic, you think.  You’re not exactly sure, you don’t hang out with too many of them—he’s Chiss and his glowing red eyes don’t even land on you as you gasp and sidestep him at the last second, but it’s not him that catches the majority of your attention.  He just exited the men’s room at the same time you left the women’s, and the door takes a moment to swing shut behind him.

You freeze.  It can’t be more than a few seconds—but it feels like everything slows down and it lasts a fucking eternity.

Dameron is standing at a sink in the far corner of the room, naked except for a towel identical to the one in your arms wrapped loosely around his waist.  He cradles the base of his own throat with one hand and gently drags a razor down the smooth contour of it with the other, his chin tilted up high and regal while his eyelids dip low to concentrate on his movements.  He glances down and holds the foamy blade under the running faucet, tapping it twice against porcelain before the door slides him out of frame.

I can shave, a low, silky murmur slowly fills your ears, heat swelling low and hot in your tummy.  Tonight, I’ll shave it off.  Make it nice and smooth for you.

You feel like your body is just a collection of rigid knots all tied together, and the one between your legs is the tightest it’s ever been.  Stars, on another day you’d say it feels like a bad cramp, even though you know your injection makes your period rare and like clockwork.  Regardless, the split second image makes you shudder and clamp up painfully, and you just stand there and stare at the closed door for a second, trying not to shake.

Fuck, this is so fucking… presumptuous of him.

Realistically, you know it could have absolutely nothing to do with you.  It’s his face—you’re not self-centered enough to have completely lost your concept of autonomy.  He can do whatever he wants to his body, and that includes facial hair, full stop.  You also know that he’s not being… obvious about it, no matter how much it feels that way to you.  He’s using the sink and mirror at the very end of the room, not any of the ones nearest to the door—but even if he was, it’s not like he could’ve planned for you to walk out at the exact moment the metal hinge was angled wide open.  He couldn’t possibly have intended for this, for you to see him doing this.  He wasn’t making a show, didn’t even notice you standing there.  You blame literally everything on him, or at least you always try your absolute best to—but this one…

It sends a hard shudder down your spine and you clutch the fabric in your arms tighter, trying not to drop it.  Fuck.  This is torture.  Fuck him.  Good and bad—both ways, all the ways he can be fucked, fuck him.  Your head is spinning, you’re sweating fresh out of the shower, you need to cum.  Maybe if you hurry, you can get that precious orgasm before he’s finished, because if Dameron is able to intercept you before you can tend to this, you’re… you’re not sure how you’re going to say no to him.

You don’t even think you want to anymore.  

You feel like you’re just… holding onto it on principle now.  Too stubborn and hardheaded to want change.  Too stuck in your own ways to recognize how much everything already has changed.

Somehow, you end up making your way back to your room, but the whole thing is a blur.  Your flipflops plap against your heels as you navigate through hallways as quick as you can, emptier than you’ve seen them in months.  You know most of the pilots are probably out celebrating in either the mess hall or rec room, but the thought doesn’t really presently register.  Almost nothing registers besides your continuous forward motion and the way you feel yourself throb with every step, aching for something you are going to get tonight.  Fuck, you are so attached to this orgasm now, it’s not going anywhere and neither are you.  You deserve this, you deserve some relief.  Come hell or highwater, it’s happening tonight.

As soon as you step into your room and slap your hand blindly against the wall panel to close the door behind you, you’re carelessly dropping the bundle of fabric to the floor and then shrugging out of your pajamas in the cool pitch darkness, having exactly one mission in mind.  You don’t bother with lights, with brushing your hair, with literally anything besides clamoring up the ladder to your top bunk and wiggling under the thin bedsheet, making sure to pull it up to your chin before your legs butterfly open.  The tip of your finger wets itself on your tongue and then you’re dropping it down and sliding it against your poor clit, the pleasure arcing and flaring so sharp and sensitive even from your touch that you have to give it just a second.

…No, no you don’t.  You don’t have to give it fucking anything.  You keep moving your finger hard and quick even as your hips naturally want to jerk away from it, shoving yourself through the sensitivity with gritted teeth and a ferocious will.

Fuck, how long do you think you have?  Was Dameron shaving pre or post-shower?  You can’t remember, all you know is he had a towel around his waist.  And that thin gold chain hanging down his neck.  Was his hair wet?  Fuck, why can’t you remember?  His chin and jaw were smooth as silk, you know that much.  Post-shower, then.  Probably.  Probably?

His chin and jaw were smooth as silk.  You keep getting stuck on that no matter how chaotically your thoughts whirl; they fling out in different directions at different velocities but all somehow manage to go in a perfect circle and end up at the same place you started.  His chin, his jaw, his mouth, his neck, his chin, his mouth, his jaw, his mouth, his mouth, his mouth—

You feel yourself start to clamp down and you speed up, chasing it.  The pleasure starts burning deep inside you, the fire slowly licking down your thighs and rising up into your abdomen, and then—

And then a series of quiet beeps from the hallway practically blare like alarm bells to your frantic mind.

You immediately stop moving your finger, snapping your legs tight together and flat to the mattress as soon as the door to your room shifts open and fluorescent light spills inside, and you feel like you could actually fucking cry right now.

All this edging is just a form of self-flagellation at this point.  You lay there and try not to make a sound, try not to tremble hard enough to shake the whole bunk with it, but even your breathing feels like it’s going to give you away.  Dameron, shirtless with his towel draped over his shoulder, slowly steps into the room and then pauses almost immediately, making your heart stutter for a second at what so blatantly caught his attention.

One quick glance down towards his feet confirms the simultaneous hope and fear—you left everything on the floor.  The towel, the dirty clothes, and your pajamas are strewn about haphazardly right where he needs to walk.

You know what it must look like to him.  A trail of clothes leading directly to an occupied bed isn’t exactly subtle, even though you didn’t necessarily intend it that way.  Still, what can you say?  Your hand is shoved in between your legs right now and you’re in your birthday suit under this thin sheet, what the fuck can you say to him?  Sorry Dameron, got too caught up with how stupid wet you get me that I left those there on accident on my way to cheat, but totally not because I lowkey want your help doing it.  Convincing, that’ll go over great.

Dameron slowly lifts his head to look at you.  Or, at least you think he does—the light from the open door behind him casts his body in a dark silhouette, but you know your face is perfectly illuminated for him right now.  Blinking down at him from the top bunk with your brows pulled up in the middle, wide-eyed and desperate and caught red-handed.  Fuck, you don’t know if he can see the way your knees are clamped tight together and your hand rests perfectly still against your pussy like this from the angle he’s at, but you know it has to be super fucking obvious either way.  You’re breaking the rules, you’re touching yourself, and you both know it.  You can’t lie, you can’t even sit up without confirming his very valid suspicion.  He can call the game at any point, but…

You watch his head fall back down to study the mess you left for him once more.  Fuck, are you positive that was an accident?  Normally you wouldn’t second guess anything about your own understanding of the interactions that occur between you and him, but—you’ve never done that before.  You’ve lived with roommates on this base for years, you don’t just… get naked before getting into bed, that’s bad form.  How are you going to get up in the morning without having your pajamas shoved near your feet while you sleep?  Wrap this thin bedsheet around yourself and scamper down the ladder until you can snatch them up from the floor, and then what?  Climb all the way back up just to wiggle the clothes on underneath the blanket before going back down again?  Maker, you fucked up, your pussy is plotting your fucking demise.

But then everything inside you pulls taut as Dameron suddenly decides to move.  Slowly, he leans down to catch your orange jumpsuit closest to his feet with a few fingers, before he stands upright and carefully begins folding the fabric without saying a single word to you.  Electricity buzzes through you as he very obviously takes his time with it, using nearly his whole armspan to lengthen and fold the sleeves while his chest and chin meet for support.  When he’s eventually satisfied with it, he takes a few steps toward the empty desk on your side of the room and then sets the neat rectangle of fabric atop it where you usually keep it.

You bite your lip and you can’t help it—you start to move your finger as he goes back to sort the pajamas you wore for barely two seconds from your dirty clothes, folding and putting away whatever is clean and then tossing the rest into the shared laundry basket that gets collected every week.  Somehow it makes you feel even more naked, seeing all your clothes be returned to their proper places, realizing that this is your base state now, this is what you’re going to wear tonight.  Nothing.  You left everything on the floor and trapped yourself up here, he’s simply shifting a pawn forward two spaces in kind now that you’ve made your first move.

You can feel yourself pulse threateningly against your own fingertip while he collects your wet towel and drapes it over your closet door to dry, and your breath comes louder through your nose while you bite back the noises you want to make, the way your movements so desperately want to speed up.  Your hand working the way you want it to under the white sheets would be too much, too revealing, but you don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to care.

But then of course, the asshole has to go and put away his towel and clothes, and you endure through the whole thing while pressing back and forth against your clit so hard and slow that your toes curl and pull the sheet tucked under your chin taut.  After that’s done, he makes his way over to the portshade above his desk and slowly slides it open a few inches, the light of three moons outside gradually filling the room.  However, when Dameron goes back to press a button on the wall panel and close the door to the hallway, you immediately see how much softer it is in here, how the artificial fluorescents have thankfully disappeared and the room illuminates more than it blinds, glows more than it beams.  He presses one more button as the lock inside the paneling slides into place.

You bite your bottom lip and try your best to hide the pleasure you’re building for yourself while he makes his way back to his desk, quietly swiping the radio off it and lowering the volume knob completely before he flips it on.  The noise slowly amplifies until you’re able to catch two distinct voices conversing in Huttese—it’s the only lingua franca that still broadcasts on this old technology in this part of the galaxy, but he’s already flipping through the stations in search of something specific.

If you were thinking straight, you may have actually recognized this for what it is, but you’re having trouble even processing the details of your general surroundings right now, your mind is lagging and too slow at reading between the lines.  Dameron’s doing exactly what he said he would do.  He laid it all out earlier for you in the x-wing, telling you exactly what he wanted plain as day, and now he’s checking the whole list off one by one.  The shade is open and the room is lit just enough to make him out, the door is locked, and he’s finding something to listen to.  Something quiet, and easy.

If you were thinking straight, you’d realize that there’s a much more obvious reason why he shaved his beard—you never told him the truth about how much you liked it.  You never tell him the truth.  You allow—even encourage him to think the sharp things you say to him are exactly how you feel.  He did it because he believed you.

Oh, but you’re not thinking straight.  Your thoughts are scattered and the only thing they can agree upon is how good this feels, even as your breathing starts to grow heavier, grow louder underneath the sound of the radio.  The thought stays right beneath your consciousness, tugging at your preoccupied mind.  You work your finger with just a little more verve now that he’s flipping through the stations, knowing he’s distracted by spinning the dial through intermittent white noise while different voices and songs fill the room for just a second at a time.

Your bed, his voice suddenly echoes through your thoughts, originating from your subconscious but almost sounding like it’s coming from the radio in your delirious mind.  I want you comfortable.

Fuck, the understanding finally clicks the second he flips to a slower song and you start to burn at the thought of what’s next.  The silent promise that his actions allude to.  You have the realization way too late but at least it still comes at all with the state you’re in.  Your hand slows down immediately, not even needing to consciously consider the choice between achieving orgasm through your finger or his mouth.  Still, it’s hard to stop touching yourself completely when it feels so fucking good to your deprived body.

Fuck, it’s barely been a few seconds since your realization and yet you immediately bristle in distress at how fucking long he’s taking.

So you open your mouth.  You’re desperate and needy and on the verge of something, and it comes out without thought.  You don’t think it’s loud enough for him to hear, but his head immediately lifts and looks unseeingly at the wall in front of him for a second, as if he’s questioning if he imagined it.  A soft melody plays on a bluesy guitar while you hiccup and wait, but he doesn’t move.

And then you say it again, higher and tighter in your throat, pitched up to an impatient, girlish whine.  “Poe…”

The radio is tossed onto the bottom bunk as soon as he spins around and walks towards the ladder, but it’s like your finger has a mind of its own the moment he disappears underneath your line of sight.  Your legs spasm against the mattress and you bite your lip, not caring about the frantic way your hand begins moving under the sheet as his muted footsteps climb up the rungs.

Your eyes snap to his as soon as you can see him beyond the railing at your feet, heaving himself up until everything above his waist is above you, too.  His pauses there and his lashes quickly dip to the shameless movements between your legs as you work yourself towards that approaching bliss, and then flick back to the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him so torn, wanting so badly to wait for it but not being able to right now.

Slowly, he begins to move forward, crawling his way up the mattress and over your body, noticeably careful with where he places his limbs.  You’re not hard to dodge, though—you’re like a rigid stick of desperation under him, knees and ankles still clamped tight together and your arms streamlined as close to your body as possible with tension as you keep rubbing your clit.  Not to mention the sheet is thin and shows your figure almost perfectly with how tight you’ve hooked it under your chin, only leaving the finest details to the imagination.

But then there starts to be a little strain against the fabric, an unspoken question he’s still bothering to ask even though you could’ve told him to fuck off ages ago.  Poe could yank the sheet down and flip your shit over and destroy you right now if he wanted—fuck, like you want him to do—but his face slowly appears in front of yours instead and his dark eyes search your features for answers.  The length of his chain dangles from his muscular neck and glows against his golden skin, his whole upper body stretched long and bare over you.

From the gradually increasing tightness pulling on the fabric, you expect the sheet to rip down your body as soon as you lift your chin and let that resistance go, but instead… stars, it’s slow.  Why is he going so fucking slow??  The bedsheet barely flutters down to your collarbone before he’s able to stop tugging on it so hard, and then he just gently inches the hem down from that point on.

Fuck—your eyes drop to his lips as he eventually reveals your shoulders and sternum to the room, and then lower to your cleavage while you let out a hushed whimper, praying he understands the extent of how vulnerable you’re allowing yourself to be.  You don’t do this often—and you definitely don’t do it with someone like him.  He’s the one who said you needed this, isn't he?  So why the fuck is he dragging out the anticipation?  Pretending like he doesn’t see the way you’re begging for help in the middle of another warzone that’s breaking out for the second time today?

Poe’s head drops down to give the contour of your neck a long drag of his tongue, slow and hot and wet, the sheet eventually dropping beneath your nipples and exposing them to the cool air.  You bite your lip and keep working yourself under the fabric even as it’s led down the length of your tummy, and you just get wetter and wetter feeling him mouth at your skin as the radio continues to play soft from the bottom bunk.  He follows the skin as it’s revealed, licking down from your collarbone and working with the increasing rate of your breathing.  His lips never feel like they vary in pressure, even as your chest heaves up and down and your lungs work hard for air.

His open mouth slowly drags down the curve of your breast and it makes your blood burn fire through your veins.  You nearly choke when your nipple is enveloped in soft heat, his tongue quickly fluttering up under the stiff peak and giving it to you so gently, contrasting so light and vernal with how brilliant and neon bright the need between your legs is.  Your hand starts to work quicker, and fuck—you can hear it now, your desperate movements audible over the shallow breaths and the sound of one song gradually fading into another below you.  You’re just too fucking wet and your pussy is smushed with how tight your legs are pressed together—the noise is unavoidable, and Poe’s knees are planted too close to either side of your thighs to spread them really at all.

Fuck, you knock against the resistance regardless to let him know what you want, but he doesn’t budge and it makes you just about lose your damn mind.  Does he have to make everything so fucking difficult?  You couldn’t close your legs earlier and now you can’t open them, and it’s like he’s able to take perfect advantage of each opposing position to prolong your torture.

But then his tongue leaves you even as his jaw opens just slightly, and that’s the only warning you get before his teeth graze your nipple with a sudden arc of sensation and you flare up all at once.

It’s a miracle and a curse that you’re able to stop at the very last second, your hand jerking away from your pussy and flexing into a fucking death claw on your thigh at how close you were, and you don’t know why.  Why did the fuck did you stop?  There’s nothing standing in your way right now, you’ve consciously given yourself express permission to cum, but still.  It must just be learned instinct at this point—hammered into your muscle memory for weeks on end to not allow the pleasure no matter what, especially when you’re this fucking close to it.

Nonetheless you garble out nonsense and cinch inwards on yourself to fight it off now that you’ve apparently decided against it.  There’s nothing worse than a half-assed orgasm, and you have to quickly summon the conviction behind your split second reaction before it’s too late and your body takes the pleasure any way it can get it.

Poe’s mouth releases your nipple at the way your whole spine suddenly hunches in and he drops his forehead to your chest, breathing heavy down the slope of your breast as you tremble and grapple for your sanity.

“Did you just cum?”  Is the first thing he says to you, his voice is so ragged and stony it’s practically gravel crunching as he speaks.

“N-n-no,” you quickly stammer at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe correctly.  Inhale, exhale—fuck, which one is inhale again, which one comes first?  Maker, does he need to call a fucking medic?  “Huhhhhalmost?”

Poe takes a deep breath and slowly releases it with a bassy and warm mmmm rumbling against your skin, so coarse but pleased enough to sound like melted chocolate dripping down your body.  The noise sends a violent shudder through you and it’s almost enough to knock you back to that edge again, even without your fingers assisting it.  

His head dips and the sheet pulls down even more, just below your belly button now, and you let out a quiet gasp in anticipation, nearly on the verge of begging him to keep moving downwards.  But when Poe’s eyes close and his mouth suddenly moves back up to open over your other nipple instead, your patience snaps.  

Fuck him, bad way.  This is your orgasm, you’re done waiting.

“I’m gonna cum,” you snarl furiously down at him, shoving your hand between your legs even as Poe’s lips quirk against your skin.  It’s not a warning, it’s a threat.  If he’s gonna be like this, he doesn’t get to share it with you.  It’s your orgasm, you’ll give it to yourself if he doesn’t give a shit about it.  “Thought you wanted it, guess not.”

You immediately feel his teeth again in response to your admittedly slightly bitchy comment and this time he lets your nipple roll just a bit between them, making you jerk at the sensation and quickly find your clit again.  Oh, you’re soaking fucking wet, you’re wet everywhere.  Slick and swollen and burning, and it’s not going to take much at all.  The sheet sticks to your overheated body and you can’t tell the difference between your sweat, his saliva, or wetness from between your legs—it all just feels damp and slippery as you gradually lose your bearings under his mouth.

“Fuck this, I’m gonna cum,” you breathe once more, possibly nothing more than a mindless reiteration but most likely just one last veiled plea for him to give you what you both want.  As if he can tell, Poe quickly lifts his mouth and suddenly the sheet is ripped the rest of the way down your naked body completely, sharp and frustrated, and then his lips brush against your elbow as it twitches, nipping the sensitive skin there.

��Brat,” he growls quietly against your forearm as he keeps dragging his lips down further, following the path it makes along your tummy.  “Just likes making shit difficult.”

“You’re the one—” you hiccup, trying to sound angry but just melting into a puddle at the tip of his tongue slowly trailing down your frantically moving wrist, “—you’re the… the o-one who… who…?”

But you’re already sprinting towards that edge, feeling him drop even lower and his hot breath fan against your fingers, and at this point you’re too far gone.  Poe gently kisses at your closed thighs, in perfect position and ready for you, but you can’t stop yourself anymore unless he makes you stop, and the longer he waits down there without grabbing your hand to replace it with something better the more you don’t give a shit about whether or not it’s going to happen.  You can feel the orgasm rising, you can feel your toes flex and everything start to lock down for the approaching tsunami.  You’re going to get it this time, you’re going to cum, you’re going to—

“This is—” you rasp, “—this is a f-free, a fffff-ffreeeeb—”

His tongue softly grazes your knuckle as it works.

And then there’s a moment.  A suspended moment that seems to go on forever, where you’re launched directly over that cliff and yet you still seem to be gaining altitude.  Where’s the drop?  You’re already cumming—you can feel it, there’s absolutely no fucking going back now, but it’s like your sheer desperation has so much momentum that your body tricks itself into believing there’s nothing to land on, no gravity to immediately rip you straight down to your demise.

You choke out his name and your back arches with it and that must be the signal, because Poe finally pulls your hand away and lets his chin dip, and then his jaw falls open and allows you just enough time to catch the glimmer of his pink tongue before it slides wet and slow through your swollen folds.

Heat.  It sears through your whole body with a wracked shudder, the slick glide over your clit as his eyes flutter closed, and within the very first second of feeling his mouth on you, you’re instantly cumming inside it.

There.  There’s the drop.

The burning erupts into molten chaos, crumpling your whole body on impact like an accordion, but he sinks all his weight down on your legs and forces you to endure it with everything below your waist pinned to the mattress.  It’s fucking mayhem.  You feel like your voice actually rips itself in half with the ragged cry of blinding relief, so enormous and soul wrenching in power that you couldn’t even hope to muffle it.  You can’t move your hips through it, you can’t stutter up to ride it out—you have to experience the whole thing with your lower body completely still while his tongue takes slow, gentle licks at your throbbing clit, only able to sit your shoulders up and slam them back down and grab his head as you endure.

You cum hard.  Fucking hard.  It’s daunting and explosive and utterly devastating in the havoc it wreaks, and just when you think you’ve seen the worst of it, it’s just so slow.  Creeping along and obliterating everything in its path, taking an eternity to pass because of how fucking big it is.

When you’re finally able to float back down into your own body again, the first thing you notice is how tight his hold is.  Poe’s arms are wrapped around your thighs to keep them pressed tight together and you can feel the wetness all the way down to your fucking knees as they tremble against each other.  Stars, what did he do to you?  You feel like you actually wet yourself, there’s way too much dampness on the mattress underneath you to feel anywhere close to normal for you.

His mouth eventually leaves you but his head doesn’t move, nothing else moves.  Even his hot breath feels like rough stimulation to your throbbing pussy.

And then Poe shifts and adjusts his body just enough, catching the backs of your knees and slowly spreading your legs up and apart like you wanted to do ages ago.  They feel like jelly, wobbly and unsteady even as his thumbs hook right under your knees and easily support most of their weight.  Your pussy is soon exposed completely, and his shoulders move down just before his head drops to lick the collection of wetness right from your entrance.  Fuck, he couldn’t get it from the previous angle your legs were at, just your clit at the very top—but this is deep and personal and you know he’s probably getting mouthfuls of how hard he just made you cum, using the tip of his tongue to scoop your arousal up and swallowing it quietly before going back for more.

“Poe,” you whisper, and he rumbles low in his throat in response without stopping.  This isn’t for you, this isn’t for your benefit right now.  Your pleasure receptors aren’t concentrated right here, just the physical evidence of them being overloaded just a few moments ago, but he stays for longer than necessary.  He keeps his mouth here far longer than you need to push past the throbbing sensitivity and start to crave the sensation again, forcing you to bite your lip to stop yourself from telling him to move back up just a couple inches.

So you seek it out instead, the lower part of your body clearly not listening to a damn thing your mind tells it right now.  Your hips drop and his velvet tongue catches your clit at the apex of its repetitive motion, and you gasp and rock upwards again as Poe groans and immediately rises with you to chase it.  He attaches to the swollen flesh and sucks at it gently for you, following your lead, letting your wet fingers comb his hair back from his face and clutch a good fistful of it as you plant your feet and slowly grind up into his mouth.

Fuck.  He was right.  You needed this.  Everything about it is heaven—endorphins pour off you in waves as you roll your hips against his face, and he lets you do it.  He’s not just pliant, he’s willing.  His tongue works diligently, his eyes close and he moans into your pussy, allowing you to tug his hair and fit to his mouth exactly how you want.

Oh, everything burns.  Everything smolders and sparks, because he’s always been so withholding and now he’s just going for it.  He’s reading your mind better than he did during the battle today, not necessarily submissive in his approach but… servicing.  Accommodating.  Finally giving in and putting real effort into helping you chase after another shot of ecstasy without being so stingy about it like before.

As soon as you feel another familiar swell of something deep down, your mouth is suddenly dropping open.

“How many—” your ragged voice comes out without thinking, and it takes so fucking long to actually attach the train of thought to its conduit of translation.  You swallow thickly and flex your fingers in his hair, tugging at him to ground yourself, trying to anchor yourself to the very thing that’s about to fling you into oblivion again.  “—fuck, how many times did you… how many fr-freebies do I—do I…”

Poe eases his chin back just enough to respond, and the slick sound his tongue makes leaving your clit makes you shudder and miss the wretched words at first.  “Mm.  Just the one.”

And then his tongue is already sliding back through your pussy by the time your eyes pop open in immediate panic, and your clit is in his mouth again as soon as yours drops to frantically contest.

But the words aren’t coming, it feels too fucking amazing.  Your jaw goes slack and your fingers tighten in his hair.  Maker almighty, the orgasm swells up so sharp and quick that you have to fucking kick him at the very last second to get away from it.  Thankfully Poe’s mouth abruptly leaves you with his oof of shock at your audacity, lifting his head as you snap your legs together and grit your teeth through your miserable retreat from ecstasy.  You don’t even notice the way your knee almost knocks into his jaw with it—you just focus on shamefully easing your way back down again from the platform overlooking bliss like you’re too afraid of the high-dive.  After a second, you actually have to turn on your side and rock yourself like a child as Poe slowly sits up with a grimace, lifting his arm to rub at his ribcage where your heel slammed into him.

You peek an eye open to watch him do it and oh no, it’s not a good plan.  He’s so… fucking hot.  Fuck.  He’s unbelievably good-looking—his hair curls and frames such handsome features, his body is lovely and warm and seeing his chest bare and up close like this makes you want to reach out and slowly drag your hand down the smooth curve of his side.  But then your gaze catches on the dark sweatpants tented shamelessly between his legs and how he’s glistening with perspiration, too, and how he tugs at the fabric covering his crotch and sighs softly, blinking down at you slow and intoxicated with lust.

You have to close your eyes and bury your face into the pillow because your body is latching onto anything to keep you within inches of that edge.  The mere sight of him is enough to make you worry for yourself.  You take deep breaths and do your best to tune his existence out entirely.  Just you, just you in your bed, trying desperately not to cum without even touching yourself.  You’re naked and curled up and there's no one here to look down at you with deep brown eyes, no one else breathing and especially not equally as loud as you are.  Just you, just you.

And, just when you think you might finally get to the point where you’re not teetering anymore, where you’re at least mostly certain that moving around and looking at things and just existing in general isn’t going to make you completely unravel hands-free at any moment, he has to fucking… go and be himself.

You peek up to see him staring down at you, dark and intimate and devouring, before his hand gently brushes down the curve of your hip.  “Maker, you are so fucking hot right now.  Was that a close one, pretty baby?”

Your hand snaps out to grab his wrist with a whimper and you don’t know if your intent is to stop him or just hang on for dear life, but your grip is weak and you shake and Poe takes the opportunity to grab a handful of your ass while you do absolutely fuck all to stop him.

“Mmmm.  Open your legs,” he murmurs, releasing your flesh just to give it a soft smack.  “You’re only making it worse like this.”

“What?  W-What do you—” you stammer, but Poe drags his hand down your thigh to catch one of your knees and pull it up without waiting for your babbled reply.  Both knees go with him, your pelvis wound too tight and frozen to do anything but rotate your whole entire body on your tailbone.

“You’re just adding more pressure by keeping them closed,” he explains, wiggling his fingers in between your knees to try and get enough of a grip to pry them apart.  “C’mon—open your legs, let yourself breathe.”

“Nnnnnnstop talking,” you groan, trying to slap at him, but he’s strong enough to force the movement regardless, levering your knees apart and then pushing them tight to the mattress.  And, though he would normally be right about it, you’re fighting your mind to get away from the orgasm just as much as you are your body.  The sudden exposure and the positioning and the way he automatically drops his gaze down at your needy pussy with his cock still hidden in his pants like that only serves to displace the cause instead of eliminating the effect.  Closing the door and opening a window, shifting the stimulation somewhere else but allowing it to throb steady and aching regardless.

“Much better,” he sighs lowly, digging his fingers into the sore muscles inside your thighs and you just keep your hands loosely attached to his wrists as he works.  “Fuck me, baby’s got such a pretty pussy doesn’t she?”

“Poe,” you wheeze up at him, hearing him rumble at the sight of your cunt contracting around nothing, probably shining and glistening with your desperation for him.  By this point, you’re worrying again.  You have no doubt whatsoever that he could talk you into cumming just like this, with your hands trembling and clutching at his wrists.  If he keeps murmuring filth while holding your legs open and staring at your pussy like this, you have no doubt you’ll find a way to get there somehow.

Thankfully, he seems to understand.  He goes quiet and just keeps massaging your sore muscles while you try not to writhe underneath him.  Stars, it’s like he’s genuinely doing what he can to take it easy on you and you’re still all kinds of fucked up about it, still frantic and desperate while all he’s doing is just squeezing your legs.

“Calm down,” he gruffs, but you can’t.  “You’re working yourself up, don’t—”

“Stop talki—” your ragged growl is cut off by your own hiccup as you quickly find the strength to shove at his hands, knowing they’re at least mostly to blame for your prolonged tightrope walk.  You can’t fucking think when he’s touching you, you become too hyper-aware of your own body, it feels too good in a way that’s hard to describe and impossible to explain.  Poe’s palms immediately listen and raise in front of him in surrender, his back lifting to give you space while you hide your face from him with shaky hands and gasp.  It’s pathetic and your legs are still held wide open and your fingers tremble hard enough to resemble a malfunction.

You just.  You need a hard reset.  You need that thirty seconds of complete idle, of figuring shit out on your own without an electric current running through you before you can start working properly again.  It can’t be rushed, it’s necessary when most people just want to power down and then right back up again.  The wires connecting your parts are all criss-crossed and tangled and sparks are lighting up at the slightest stimulus, you just need to experience absolutely nothing for thir—

“I’m sorry,” Poe murmurs, still staying in his own space but the gravelly voice shooting a bolt of lightning down your spine.  Thirty seconds, of course he couldn’t give you thirty fucking seconds.  “Fuck, you’re so hot, I’m sorry—”

“Please stop talking,” you beg him, your fingers curling against your face, “Maker, I—I don’t want to cum—”

“Fuck, I know, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucki—”

You go to kick him again and even though it collides wrong and does nothing more than get your message across, the jostle is enough to knock you back from the approaching oblivion just slightly.  It serves to wake you up way more than it remotely hurts him, the equivalent of someone just smacking a piece of machinery and fixing the problem temporarily.

You heave an enormous breath and blink your eyes open behind your fingers, immediately locking with his.  Poe’s teeth are digging into his bottom lip but he’s mercifully silent, even when you drop your shaky hands down to your spread thighs and stay equally silent another full minute while you make the effort to right yourself.  After awhile though, you realize he must be taking cues from you, waiting for you to speak.

Only, you suddenly don’t know what to say.  You’re at a complete loss, looking up at him through your eyelashes in uncertainty now.  Something you’ve never been around him, even as your pussy is wide open for him to look at.  He hasn’t recently, though, you don’t think.  He’s just keeping his eyes on your face, watching you bite your lip and blink up at him while your mind whirls, the only sound that can be heard is the radio continuing to lull from the bottom bunk.

You wish he’d say something.  How come he’s choosing right now to listen to what you tell him to do?  You don’t… you don’t know what to say to him.  Why can’t you figure out something?  You fidget but then suddenly feel your expression lose all its struggle and just look… innocent.  Needing his help.

“Do you want me to leave?”  Poe eventually asks after another moment, tentative of breaking the silence, and you frantically shake your head before he’s even finished speaking.  Fuck, something drops in your stomach at how desperate you’re probably coming off right now, but you’re so lost and you know that’s at least one question you know the immediate answer to.

Poe tilts his head thoughtfully, slowly reaching a hand towards your thigh without removing his eyes from yours.  “Want me to make you cum again?”

You shake your head again, wide-eyed and worried.  He immediately pulls his hand back and blinks slowly at you.

“You want to be edged more?”  He asks lowly, and you shake your head vehemently for the third time.  Poe sighs and sits back, planting his palms to his thighs and pulling at the fabric of his pants in budding frustration, clearly tired of playing twenty questions.  “Well what do you want, baby?  You wanna just hang out?  That’s fine, I don’t care, but you gotta tell me.”

Fuck, he’s right, what do you want?  The only thing that’s standing in your way of feeling better, you soon realize.

“Want you to cum first,” you mumble, cheeks warming at how childish you sound.

“Not a fucking chance,” Poe immediately scoffs, crossing his arms over his bare chest.  “And pouting at me isn’t gonna help.”

“Why not?”  You breathe, dipping your gaze down his body.  “I can use my mouth.”

“I don’t—” he stops short, suddenly registering what you said and switching gears.  “You can—?”  Poe narrows his eyebrows and looks suspicious.  “You’ll let me… cum in it?”

“Okay,” you whisper in breathless agreement, sitting up and reaching for him, but Poe groans and pushes you back down on the mattress with a flattened palm against your shoulder like you just aced a test he was hoping you’d fail.

“Fuck whoever’s idea this was,” he grits darkly to himself while you arch up against his hold, wanting him to grab your tits but knowing it’s not a good idea right now.  “Maker, I’m so fucking hard—fuck whoever’s idea this was, making me turn that down—”

“You said,” you pant, licking your dry lips and blinking up at the ceiling, trying to control yourself, “before, you said that you’re… you’re not doing this for a bet, right?  So why not?”  Your voice goes softer when you flutter your gaze back at him, even though the accusation feels like it should be sharper if anything, since it comes from a very real place of distrust.  “Were you just… lying to me about that?”

“Fuck, come on,” Poe groans, his voice starting to waver as he shakes his head and squints one eye at you, exasperated.  “You don’t get it.  You can’t think of a single fucking reason I don’t wanna blow my load just yet?  Really?”

The sentence coupled with his rock solid hold on you skitters a thrill through your body and you automatically reach up to run your hand along his forearm.  He looks down at the caress and then back to your face and fuck, even you feel like you’re sending mixed signals right now.

“You could… fuck me,” you whisper, and Poe’s dark eyebrows pull up as his gaze falls down your naked body, nodding and digging his teeth into his bottom lip.  An agreement backed by so much unspoken desire that it looks like it almost hurts him just to hear you say it out loud.  “And we can just… see who cums first.”

“Yeah?”  He croaks, his eyes pinned between your open legs.  “Just say fuck it all and race for last place?  Okay.”

Your heart pounds, having just enough wherewithal to preemptively establish a safety net for yourself.  “And—and we can’t finish at the same time or we both lose.”

“Fuck,” Poe groans, reaching down to catch the hem of his sweatpants with his thumb and lifting his hips until his cock is exposed to the dim room.  “We can’t stop once we start, then, we’ll have to see it through.”

Except you don’t catch any of the last part because, uh.  Well, to sum up.  May the Maker have mercy on you all.

Just like that, the only thought in your mind is… you get it.  Okay, you get it.  He told you before that girls were only interested in him for his cock, and it actually… stars, it makes so much fucking sense now, you totally get it.  You thought maybe he was just boasting as a form of overcompensation at first—or, to put it another way you’ve probably used in conversation with him before, talking big talk but walking small walk.  Only now, you’re… humbled.  By a fucking dick, you’re humbled.

You haven’t seen more than a few of them in this context, so you know you’re not necessarily qualified to give an informed opinion, but heavens it’s a sight.  It’s thick and swollen and just a shade darker than his complexion and everything inside you rockets to attention as soon as he wraps his hand around it.  It’s big.  It fills his whole palm without much room to spare.  Far larger than what you’re used to, and you know that no matter how he fucks you with it, you’re gonna feel it tomorrow.  Next weekend, probably.

Your eyes must betray you, because Poe suddenly loosens his grip and breathes your name softly, causing you to flick your eyes back up to his.  You didn’t realize you were staring so openly.

“I’ll go slow,” he reassures you quietly, voice gentle and knowing.  The complete lack of sarcasm or aggression in his tone is enough to snap you back to yourself, knowing that can’t possibly be right.  He’s talking to you like he did when you stumbled your ass out of the x-wing today, when you were barely responsive and lost in dumb shock.  He doesn’t have to… be nice to you right now, like you’re still only moments away from losing it.  It’s offensive.

“I can handle it,” you harumph, widening your legs while Poe immediately suppresses a grin.

“'Course you can,” he sighs with the slightest note of fondness creeping into his voice, dropping his hips as he lines up at your entrance.  “And I’ll go slow anyways.”

You open your mouth to respond but at the first push of his head inside, you inhale sharply and your palm immediately shoots out to press against his chest on complete instinct.  The stab of pain is impossible to mask from your features and Poe instantly stops with a shaky breath, watching how your jaw drops at the intrusion and your face contorts.

“Ahh.  Shit…” he whispers as his head tips down, dark eyes clamping shut and his hold on you tightening.  “What—shit, what the fuck…”

“Keep going,” you growl out, even though you know you’re just making it more difficult on yourself.  You can take Poe’s cock, you can take it, he has absolutely nothing to brag about, it’s completely normal-sized—

His hips inch forwards and you gasp at the excruciating arc of sensation, slapping at him harder.

“Keep going,” you babble while locking your elbows and shoving him back, “fuck, keep going, keep going—”

“Baby,” Poe groans, wrenching one of your hands from his chest and bringing your wrist up to his mouth to kiss and breathe hot air on it, “baby, you gotta let me—”

He moves a little more and you cry out, jerking your hand back from his lips and knocking it hard against his chest before you even realize it.  Oh shit, you can’t handle it, you haven’t been fucked in so long—

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, trying to be nicer by flattening your palm but then immediately digging your nails in, “fuck, I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s been awhile since I—”

“Shit, I can tell,” he pants brokenly, his fingers dropping back down to flex hard on your hip.  “Hoooolyfuck, I can te—ah, fuck, it’s alright, it’s alright, just—nnnnnnshit, okay, just relax, don’t tense up too muuuh… much—”

His cock pushes deeper even as he keeps rambling through it and you feel yourself being rearranged to make room for the slow movement, giving way to a rich pleasure even as the discomfort increases.

Poe stops once more when your hands shove up against him, somehow simultaneously shakier and firmer than all the other times put together and a little more than half of him inside you at this point.  You’re so slick and hot between your legs that there’s no resistance besides the stretch, nothing to stop him from slamming home besides your weak hands trembling at his collarbone, but everything about the way he stays completely frozen for ages says he’s controlled and patient.

Everything except his face, you soon realize.

When your body is finally able to come to terms with the sensation and you blink up at him, Poe isn’t looking at you anymore.  He’s staring directly over your head at the wall, tangible regret manifesting itself in seething frustration marring his expression.  His eyebrows furrow and he scowls but all of it is silent and directed at himself, as if he’s asking why the fuck he actually agreed to do this.  You know then that it must be really fucking wet.  You know then that you must be just blazing hot and tighter than sin and as if in rhythmic agreement, his cock jumps inside you with each pounding rush of blood through it.  You can see the sweat beading at his hairline as he continues to ignore you for the moment, choosing instead to silently lament at the wall like it did something to mortally betray him.

You could… make this a sprint, something devious suddenly whispers to you.  He’s struggling through the pleasure and you can outlast.  From the severity of that look alone, you can put an end to it before it even starts.

Admittedly, you don’t even let the devil finish his damn sentence before you decide to take your own initiative.  You clamp down around him as hard as you can and Poe whips his attention down to you and punches out a curse that sounds like you wrenched the word from his throat before he was anywhere near ready for it.  It comes from somewhere high and defenseless in register and then quickly falls down into a growly pit as his hips automatically lurch forwards the rest of the way inside, hard, smacking into yours as you squeeze wickedly around him.

You keep squeezing through the sudden upward shove of bliss, you keep tightening up even though you’re making agonizing noises and your eyes clamp shut and it hurts.  But stars, it feels good, why does it feel so good when it hurts so bad?  It makes your throat scrape and your face twist up, but you can hear his cursing getting louder and more desperate so you still don’t relax your viselike hold around him.

“Stop it—” he snarls down at you rabidly, “—oh fuck, stop or you’ll make us both cu—”

Shit, he’s right.  You know he’s never been more right about anything as soon as his hips stutter and kick up to a full blown gallop in the middle of his furious scolding, and the sudden build of ecstasy is so fast and intense that you sob his name, not being able to loosen your muscles anymore as soon as it overtakes you.  But it’s like a closed circuit, you’re both recycling the same pleasure without knowing how to shut it off.  The harder you bear down on him, the faster his hips work, the vicious cycle compounding and circling and manifesting in the perfect typhoon within just a few tumultuous seconds.

But then suddenly he rips himself out of you with a gasp and it’s not a moment too soon, because both of you have to scramble and grab onto things to brace yourselves through the worst of it.  You choose the mattress and he chooses the railing, and through the searing discomfort and settling of the chaos that’s becoming more and more familiar to you as this exhausting day passes, you know you fucked up.  You underestimate his self control, time and time again.  But, exactly like earlier today, you feel a thrill skitter up your spine at how he’s going to respond to your brazen treachery in the face of a newly established truce.

“Fuck,” he jerks his head to spit the obscenity at you, sounding more pissed off than you’ve ever heard him, the shredded anger in his voice starting to burn through you.  “Fuckfuckfuuuuck—you make me so mad.  You make me so mad.  I wish I could fuck you right now, on Maker, I’d ruin you.  I’d wreck your shit until you learn and you’d deserve every single fucking second of it, you—”

He stops short and growls jagged sharp in frustration, but you can’t help yourself.

“Say it,” you whimper on a dare, feeling your heart pound.  The words quiver with an inexplicable sort of excitement as you dig your fingers into the mattress, wanting to hear his voice snarl the mysterious profanity.  “Say it.  ‘You…’—what?  Say it.”

Shock suddenly paints his previously tense expression blank, even though his pupils blow out and his chest heaves.  Your voice is too breathless, it’s too needy to sound nearly as antagonistic as you want.  

And then Maker, it’s as if the sheer control he’s clinging to serves to spark his vexation even more.  Mad that you would ask for something so enticing at a moment like this.  Your heart thunders as Poe nearly flashes up close to you and points a threatening finger at you.

“You’re not going to get what you want from me,” he snaps, quiet and furious.  “Not tonight.  I don’t give a shit, I told you I’d slow fuck you and now I’m gonna do it until you act right.”

“You’re an asshole—” you move to lift up onto your elbows, but his hand suddenly plants against your clavicle and shoves you back down flat on the mattress.

“Not even ten minutes after I make you cum and you’ve already got a fucking attitude problem again,” he shoots back, positioning his cock at your entrance with his other hand once more, and Maker you’re drowning between your legs.  His sharp rebuttal and the firm hold on the upper part of your chest makes it that much wetter, knowing you can’t do much more than lift your legs the way you need when he eases his way back inside.  

“P-Poe—” you gasp breathlessly, but it's like he doesn’t hear you.

His expression tenses and he shudders out a low growl.  “Fuck.  Tight little baby.  Rude little baby, just wants everything her way but doesn’t know how to behave herself.”

You have to bite your lip hard to hold back a whine when he’s completely sheathed and his hips connect to yours, and… shit.  You already feel it.  You already feel that simmering starting to take hold deep down once more, that monstrous second orgasm you’ve been fighting now digging its claws into you and licking the base of your spine with fire.  And, as if he can tell, his demeanor instantly changes.

“Uh, oh,” Poe murmurs quietly, equal parts lilting and baiting, slowly dragging his cock out and then starting up the laziest pace you’ve ever experienced with his hand still planted high on your sternum right below your collarbone.  “Can you feel it coming?  Fuck, I can,” he shudders.  “Already.  Fuck, you’re so wet, you’re so wet—wish you had let me eat you out mor—”

“You can’t c—umm,” you hiccup, grasping his wrist and writhing through the building ecstasy, and you don’t know who you’re talking to at this point.  Your other palm slaps at his shoulder with increasing urgency—fuck, he’s been fucking you for barely ten seconds and you’re already struggling to hold everything back.  Only, his hand quickly grabs yours and pins it to the mattress, his face dropping closer as he rolls his hips achingly slow.  You feel his back working with the steady pace, you see his neck flex as his cock drags so thick inside you, and then your gaze starts to lose focus a bit.  It slides up his throat as lazily as he’s augmenting your pleasure, following the contour of his smooth skin until it reaches his face.

And mercy, Poe’s tongue comes out to wet his lips and a dark curl hangs down his forehead, concentrating hard on fucking you steadily without giving into the same creeping euphoria you’re feeling, and you have to turn away and bite back a whimper at the metal railing when the image starts to burn you alive.

“No,” Poe gruffs and his hand slides up a few inches to frame your jaw, twisting until you face him directly once more.  “Right here, you stay right here with me.”

Your eyebrows pull up weakly and your eyes flick across his stunning features, the way he’s so present, so focused and determined while you’re starting to drift.  His skin is so smooth, so golden when his jawline used to be dark, and—

“I—” you choke, starting to lose it, “—I-I…”

“What is it, baby?”  Poe growls, staring down at you with unwavering, intense concentration.  “Tell me.  You gonna cum?”

“I…” you whimper, blinking at him slowly, “I… liked your… b-beard…”

Poe’s eyes, previously hardened and steadfast, suddenly go a bit dumb, a bit dazed.  After a second, his eyebrows lose all strain, his gaze turns warmer and he rolls his hips deeper—

But the swell begins to become the only thing you can comprehend—that and the fact that you should be fighting it.  You should be revolting against it, but now he’s looking so softly down at you and you can’t remember what could possibly be so bad about letting him take away all this ache and desperation again.  Let him continue to take it away, over and over and over until it’s nowhere to be found at all.

And then Poe leans down and kisses you.  And it’s… nothing like you’d expect.

It’s gentle.  It’s tender.  It goes on forever while he rocks into your soaking wet cunt, easing his throbbing cock in and out of you with such a smooth, repetitive motion that sends sparks of ecstasy down your spine at the apex of each thrust.  

You handle it silently.  At first.  You don’t audibly react to any of it, you force your voice to at least keep quiet if you can’t hide the pleasure from your face or body, but then true to fucking form, he has to go and ruin it all.  Poe uses his knees to scoot up just the slightest bit, and then his moan breaks through the absence of the desperate sounds you’ve been holding back as his tongue slowly slides into your mouth.

Your pussy flares, contracting painfully around his cock as it hits a spot that makes your legs shake against his sides.  Your eyes roll back as his soft tongue dips into your mouth and everything just gets tighter, and tighter.  Poe moans again and his hips push a little bit harder into yours on the next thrust, and it’s almost like a domino effect, except that doesn’t do it justice.  It doesn’t topple one by one, it doesn’t take any time at all for the beginning to reach the finish—it’s a house of cards, the whole thing collapses and crashes down in on itself all at once.

You cum.

You lose.  Fair and square.

You make a long, anguished whine into his mouth as you just start spasming, clutching hard at his shoulders and drenching his cock with it, your eyes squeezing shut as you cum so slow and fucking helpless around him.  Oh Maker, it’s fucking devastating, it feels even more destructive and powerful than the first one.  You pull and shove and claw at him equally, mouth slack as Poe tightens his hold and keeps tasting your whimpering cries, fitting his hips snug to yours as he slowly pushes you down through the debilitating ecstasy.  You sob in euphoric defeat and a low, bone-shattering groan of satisfaction rumbles through his chest in response, grinding his cock into you and holding it deep as your pussy convulses.

All those weeks of holding out, just to lose.  You had a freebie, he gave you an orgasm already and it was like a massive dose of spice to your deprived system—all it did was make your body want it more.  Even worse, your orgasm doesn’t immediately inspire one in Poe like a part of you hoped it would, if only so you could reasonably contest the validity of the outcome.  He’s able to ride out every twitch and flex as you shudder your way through it, continuing to lazily slide his tongue into your mouth while it’s held open and slack.  He tastes like you.  He tastes hot and slick and everything about your body feels the same way, damp and unbearably warm from your nape to your elbows to your cunt to the backs of your knees.

You lay there for what feels like a lifetime afterwards, powerless to the way your thighs tremble violently against his hips and letting the tip of his tongue slowly trace the bottom edge of your teeth while he firmly keeps his cock buried inside you.  It pulses thickly and you know he wants to cum, you can feel the tension pulling at his shoulders as he keeps perfectly still.  But then Poe shuffles his arms up until they’re braced around your head, using himself to box you in completely without moving his lips from yours.  His teeth close on your bottom lip as he inches his hard cock out long and aching from your sensitive channel, and then groans and goes back to the same exact dragging pace from before.

Your expression furrows, even as he keeps kissing you and the movement lights up your oversensitive nerves.  Fuck, you want him to speed up, it’s all the more shattering and viseral when he takes his time.  What is he doing?  What is he waiting for?

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, demanding a quicker pace.  You don’t know why he isn’t just letting loose on you now, giving into his body’s need to cum.  He’s aching for it, still rock hard inside of you.  “Come on, I already l-lost, just fuck m—”

“Told you before,” Poe whispers back, refusing to speed up.  He keeps his pace dragging and steadfast, no matter how much you work to entice him.  “Never… fuck.  Never gave a fuck about that stupid bet.  Suffer though.”

The complete lack of harshness in his tone sears through your nerve endings even though what he said wasn’t exactly nice.  You never thought hearing him tell you to suck it up could be delivered in a way that inspires so much arousal in you, but then his tongue is in your mouth again as his hips work slow and easy, and your eyes roll back at how… overwhelming it feels.  So intimate.  You’re completely surrounded by him, his forearms propped next to your head and his mouth on yours, and… Maker, there it is again.  Your body is so deprived that it’s already gearing up to go again.  He’s being lazy and you can’t fucking stand how it’s breaking you down.  Gradually, with incredible stamina and a patience you never expected from him.  When you first feel that pull, part of you still wants to pick up the other end and start a tug-of-war with the sensation.  You’ve been fighting for so long that your body almost doesn’t know any different, its automatic reaction is to resist.

A distraction, that’s what you need.  That’s what guys do to stop themselves from cumming too soon, right?  Fuck, think of something, think of…

—Poe, you can't think of anything but Poe.  Fuck.  His cock sinking deep, the way he tastes, how his fingers thread into the damp hair at your crown so you can feel him that much more, how you can hook his biceps with both hands and swirl your tongue around his while he fucks you open.  Your hips roll up with the pace and almost immediately stutter back down again, not sure if you can handle the wicked shot of oversensitivity—but then Poe groans and shifts up until his thighs are under your ass and he can curl you in more, lift your feet a bit more and make you feel smaller.  And—stars, the next thrust in is enough to nearly make you bite him on complete accident, an unexpected sound ripped from your throat as he keeps that specific angle.

Poe keeps going.  He keeps kissing you, keeps rocking into you.  He lets you claw at him, lets you grapple helplessly while his cock shreds molten hot euphoria deep inside you, and then everything tightens up again.

“Ah, fuck,” Poe breaks away and curses a whole few seconds before you descend into mindless chaos once more, garbling out broken syllables with the absense of his mouth keeping yours occupied.  Your voice crescendos and breaks at the same time you do, the pleasure arcing through you over and over and wringing you out repeatedly around his throbbing cock.  Poe’s lips quickly move forward and give your whole cheek an open kiss while your expression crumples with it.  Teeth drag down your skin as he moans hot air across your skin, his hips slowing to a complete stop with an obscenely slick sound.

You throb and clench around him and his lips are suddenly on yours again, his tongue sinking deep and dominating.  Your mouth is slack and all you can do is squeeze him through the bliss, scrape your fingernails down his back and hope it leaves a mark.

Eventually the tremors pass and you’re dead in the aftermath, you don’t have energy.  Your body is starting to acclimate to the slow orgasms and just let them steamroll you flat, fully accepting now that you can cum but still putting everything you have into it like every single one might be your last for a while.  You come back to yourself enough to feel Poe’s cock solid and achingly hard inside you, and your bottom lip is being tugged between his teeth.

And then he eases out and goes back to fucking you.  Same speed, same control.  

Your eyes nearly fucking cross.  “P-Poe—”

He immediately makes a noise of disapproval with his mouth closed, a nuh-uh but kept tight in his throat.  He doesn’t want to hear it, he’s not even letting you finish your thought.

You can’t take it, though, you didn’t think he was capable of this.  This is torturous in an entirely different way, overstimulating and shattering you with every thrust.

So, you think back to the one thing that got him to nearly snap earlier, the one time you really got to see that fire you love playing with.  Only now, you need that fire, you need him to take everything out on you.  Your floor muscles clamp down without warning and squeeze him as tight as possible, squeeze squeeze squeeze until you feel his hips stutter to a halt once more.  Your breath catches—fuck, is this gonna work?—but then Poe breaks away from your lips to drop his head and sink his teeth into your neck.

You nearly squeal at how careless he is about it—an animal that bites you lazily even though it sends sharp agony rocketing through you.  Again, your attempt at sabotage backfires spectacularly as a subsequent flare of pleasure swells up, and oh, that’s what you want, you want him to be mean—

“Please,” you whimper, hooking your ankles behind his back and locking down hard enough to make your toes curl.  Poe groans as you grab a fistful of his hair and tug at the way your skin pinches between his teeth—you know you’re gonna have a bite mark for a few days and it thrills you.  “Fuck, please, Poe—please just fuck me, please, I want you to fuck me until it hurts, fuck me the way we both nee—”

“You and me almost died today,” Poe grits into your neck, cutting off your desperate whimpers with a short growl.  “Maker, it was so close, I don’t think anybody has any f-fucking…”  His hips pull out and then spear deep and you choke, tightening and tightening.  “But—shit, we didn’t, we lived and now—oh fuck, now baby’s finally letting me fuck her and I’m not cutting it short, no matter how pretty she sounds asking.”

His words sound slurred against your neck and you can’t tell if it’s his delivery or your perception that’s lagging.  But when you feel Poe inch his cock out and start to slowly fuck you through the tightness, you let out a weak little whine and feel yourself drifting… somewhere else.  

Things subtly lose their clarity, your eyelashes dip and you stop talking because words won’t come.  You can’t tell if you’re staring at the ceiling or your eyelids or the back of your head, but Poe’s voice abruptly breaking through the silence makes you realize you don’t have a concept for time anymore.  You couldn’t tell him how long you’ve been floating, but you almost don’t understand what he’s saying at all and it takes you a remarkable delay to fully comprehend.  But judging from what he says, it sounds like it hasn’t been long.

“Shit, are you cumming again?”  He suddenly gasps into the crook of your neck and grinds his hips achingly hard into yours,  “O-Oh—fuck yeah, you are—baby’s cumming again—”

“P-Poe?”  You stutter and smack your hand against something, him maybe, not knowing literally anything else.  Not knowing what he’s talking about, not knowing where you are, not knowing your own name, “Poe—oh m-my… God—”

“Whhh—W-What—?”  You hear him breathe a split second before everything compresses down tight, and then it all shoves forward at once.  All of the buildup makes itself known the very moment it becomes too much to control, like a flash flood but the downpour happened miles away.  You think you might actually squeak this time, helplessly cry out like it hurts because stars, it does.  It hurts so fucking good, it spiders pure plasma through your entire body with rhythmic jolts and wipes your mind completely vacant.  Your shoulders shoot you up and knock your chin into something and you think you might be crying?  You don’t know anymore.  Your spine comes back down to the mattress like the damp fitted sheet covering it is made of pure ice—your body is overheated and you keep tensing and jerking back up until Poe forcefully pins you tight against it, growling filth under his breath as he slow fucks you through it.

You feel his hand dropping down between your bodies and you sob pitifully at the ceiling when the tip of his calloused finger brushes your clit.

***

You lose count.

It’s just… constant, there isn’t a point in keeping track anymore even if there happened to be the ability—which, nope.  Not even close.

He ruins you slowly.  Meticulously, with nothing more than steady, unwavering determination.  Every structure you built, he takes apart by hand instead of bulldozing it the way you beg him to when you find the words.  You’re certain you find them—you must find them at some point, but they’re interspaced between babbled gibberish and breathy whispers of his name.

Even though it’s slow—Maker, it’s so slow—you’ve never been so fucking exhausted.  He makes you give him everything and then he drains the reserves, the hidden ones you weren’t even aware existed.  He never goes fast enough; in fact, you think he’s actually slowed down over the unknown amount of time it’s been since you first called out his name and asked for this.  If you were in a frame of mind to notice, you’d probably realize he’s trying harder and harder to not cum, but in your wild headspace, it just feels like a prolonged punishment for you.  It still feels like he’s depriving you for his own pleasure, even though he’s actually depriving himself for yours.  But you always do manage to find some way to read things wrong with him.

Eventually, he begins to waver.  He stops talking so much, stops chastising you when you plead with him.  He hasn’t looked at you since he first kissed you—he’s either hidden his face in your neck or closed his eyes as his soft tongue slides across your bottom lip before dipping inside.

But then there comes a point where even you realize he’s struggling not to let go now, and in your faded traces of sanity, you hear your broken voice cut through the sounds of the soft radio.

“Y-Y-You—” you gasp, trembling under him, “—youneedtocum.  You need to—”

“No,” Poe grits against your chin, sounding shaky and weak no matter how sharp he makes his consonants.  “Fuck, not yet, I—I-I don’t want to yet.”

“Oh no,” you wheeze out, feeling the swell begin again, the familiar flicker of warning you get as his cock slowly rocks into you.  Maker, the pleasure is getting raw and painful even as your pussy is drowning his cock with it, allowing him to glide slow and deep into your sensitive channel and letting the sheer tightness of it be the only resistance your body puts up.  You can feel the wetness on your cheeks though, the tears of frustration gathering as your body prepares itself for yet another wave of attack.  “Oh no, ohhhhhnononononono—”

“I don’t want—” Poe gasps, his hips stuttering just a bit and one of his hands coming down to smack the pillow next to your head as he chokes, “—don’t want this to… e-end yet, I—”

Your next orgasm suddenly slams through you and Poe immediately rips himself out of you before it’s too late.  He shushes you frantically while you sob in distress and writhe side to side through the contractions solo this time, having nothing to clamp down on, not even able to grind up into him because he keeps his leaking cock elevated far beyond your reach.

Oh, that’s it.  That is it.

“Fuck me!”  You wail up at him, water blurring your vision and tears streaming down your cheeks, “Stop fucking around and just fuck me, you asshole!  Fuck me and fuck me hard Dameron or I swear to every fucking star in the sk—”

You don’t get too far.  He’s immediately scrambling over top of you and a strong hand is clamping down tight over your mouth, muffling your high-pitched cries against his palm.  Your legs are shoved apart and one is caught under his arm and wedged back as far as it can go.  His head drops to your neck, and then he snarls a ragged, “Brat—“ under your ear before ramming his cock back inside you.

Stars.  Stars light up, it’s so much—the angle, the force, the speed, the sound his hips make as they start ruthlessly colliding with yours.  Your eyes screw shut and you dig your nails into the meat of his back, but he doesn’t slow down—he speeds up—

“Fuck, you still think that throwing your little fucking fits works on me?”  He hisses, drilling into your g-spot with such blinding hard precision that you can’t do anything more than just claw at his chest, gasping for air that just won’t come into your lungs.  “Huh?  Think you can just be a little bitch to me about it and it’s gonna change anything?  You still don’t have any fucking idea, do you?  Look at me—” he snarls, grabbing your face and shaking it to get you to respond, “—look at what you fucking do to me—”

But you can’t.  You already came countless times and he’s lurching you up the bed with every single rabid thrust into your blindingly sensitive cunt, fucking you into the railing and then the wall behind it.  You still feel his fingers grasping at your jaw, forcing you to address him, to look at him, and you can’t seem to focus your vision on his blurry features even when your eyes flutter open.  You’re too dumb with grinding pleasure to see anything besides blurs and stars, to say literally anything back to him.  But that’s not what he cares about.

“Oh fuck yes, there it is,” his voice whines, pitching up something vulnerable as his hips ram you into the corner hard and unyielding, “fuck, there’s those pretty eyes, that’s what I wanted, baby, that’s all I wanted—th-that’s—fuck, that’s—”

They must cross, or roll back, or something, because suddenly you can’t see him at all anymore.  You don’t know what happens—but you know it’s wet.  You know it bursts forth something fierce and you shriek his name with a hoarse and shredded voice like he steals the last part of your whole fucking soul with it.  Fuck, you’re not even there for most of it, you might actually black out.  

In your conscious moments, you can feel his whole body flexing over and over again on top of you.  He empties his load deep inside you and takes a fucking eternity doing it, so many breathless praises leaving his mouth so quickly that they slur together and you can’t understand any of it even if you could hear him.  All you can do is feel your cunt tighten and convulse in tandem with the throbbing of his cock, rhythmically working the cum out of him until Poe stops stuttering his hips, until he finally trails off into nothing but labored gasps and slumps down on top of you in exhaustion.

You both lay there for a while, dead weight breathing.

You want to hold him, your cum-struck mind quietly provides in the comedown.  You want to feel his body now that you can finally think straight and take a moment to enjoy this blissful relief.  He fucked you so good and you want to touch him, you want to run your fingers through his hair and massage the tight muscles at the base of his neck.

But then you just start giggling.

It’s stupid.  It’s so fucking stupid.  You smack your hand over your mouth but the garbled noise easily floats beyond it, completely elated and having absolutely no explanation at all.

Poe quickly pulls his head back to look at you and you try to twist sideways under him to hide it, but you can’t stop—like a complete loon, you snort and start to laugh harder at the ridiculous sound.  Oh, you don’t just float, you’re the air itself, so light with endorphins that you close your eyes and get lost in the fit until water wets the outside corners.

After a moment, a hand gently grasps your wrist and slowly pulls it down until he can see the way your mouth opens as you giggle, hear it unobstructed and let the sound bubble up at him and fill the room.  And you blink your eyes open just in time to see him slowly break into the most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen him bestow a person.

And… you’ve seen him grin a million times.  He’s almost always smiling, as long as you’re not right in front of him.  He smiles at his squadmates, he smiles at girls, he smiles at complete strangers, and you always thought it was pretty.  Always knew that he could light up a room with it, you always knew he could get anything he wanted with it, but this… this isn’t that kind of smile.  That one is practiced and alluring.  It wasn’t fake, necessarily, but that smile’s purpose always had more to do with making anyone who happens to witness it feel a certain way than it did about signifying his own emotional state.

This one is… goofy.  Amazed, and uncoordinated.  Thunderstruck in a way, except the clouds all part at the same time and let you see a rainbow.  It makes you feel… alive.  Colorful.  Radiant.  Sunshine.  Butterflies.

Poe quickly drops his lips to catch yours and you moan happily, sliding your tongue into his mouth this time.  You both adjust, you arch into him as he pushes your damp hair back and makes a deep noise of satisfaction, letting you explore while he wraps his arms around you and finds a way to make this atrocious position comfortable.  Every part of you is smushed up against him and there’s absolutely no space to be found, and you’ve never been happier.

“We made a mess,” he groans against your lips, rocking his hips into you with a disgustingly slick sound as if to illustrate, and his cock is soft but it’s still so thick that it stays buried inside your sloppy entrance.  “Shit, I—I think I might be bleeding.”

“What?”  You ask breathily, and he heaves himself up with his elbows just enough to reveal his chest.  You both tuck your chins unattractively to look and you don’t immediately see any blood, but your claw marks are clearly red and visible scraping down his pectorals.  “Oh.  Pfft.  You’re fine.”

He drops back down with a huff and your head is tilted at the perfect angle catch on the tiny droplets of blood decorating the marks criss-crossing his shoulder blades.  Oops.

But he’s already kissing up your neck and over the curve of your jaw and making out with you again like he can’t get enough of it, and you forget.  You forget everything.  You forget every disagreement, every gripe with him you’ve ever had.  It’s all wiped away and replaced with giddy, childish adoration.  Resetting completely and starting off on the rightest foot imaginable.

“Let’s go to my bed,” he murmurs, and you make a tight noise of disapproval.  No.  This is good, this is how you want to stay.  The railing is digging into your lower back and he’s heavy but you’re perfect like this, this is perfect.  “Baby,” Poe pants against your lips in exasperation when you quickly clutch the back of his neck and keep him glued to you, “mmph—you got everything all wet—”

This time you make a low hum of agreement and drag your hand down the bare curve of his spine to his ass to give it a squeeze.  A testament to how hard and raw he fucked you.  Poe shudders hard enough for you to feel his body tremble but you just kiss him harder, pulling him down onto you more.

“You’re gonna have to give me, just like—I don’t know, at least an hour or two,” he chuckles, grabbing your hands to make it easier to peel himself from your body and groaning when his cock finally slips out.  “Come on, let’s hang out in my bed.”

You’re so boneless when he pulls you to sit upright, you roll a little bit and Poe has to catch you, and you laugh again.  Maker, you’re a complete mess and absolutely delighted about it.  Your attempts at grumbling and complaining don’t hold any sway when you’re still trying not to giggle, and Poe is able to pull you to the top of the ladder and make his way down first.

As soon as he’s out of sight and calling up to you, you weakly slide into position with a groan and feel yourself leaking at the movement.  “Gah—look what you did.  I’m all… gooey.”

“I know, s’the hottest fucking thing,” he says under his breath from the floor, before beckoning you by tapping on the closest rung a few times.  “Come on, be careful.”

You do as he says, easing your naked body down one step at a time with wobbly legs.  It’s clumsy and you whine the whole way through, wordlessly grousing and mumbling.

“Oh, I just know it,” he comments on the sound, “nice clean sheets, I’ll get the violin.”

Normally, you probably would’ve snarked something back down at him, but you’re still so loopy and shaky-legged that you just start laughing again.  The fact that he’s absolutely right and you’re being ridiculous about something like moving beds suddenly strikes you as incredibly fucking funny for some reason.  You don’t realize his hands are hovering inches away from your hips until your legs buckle and Poe quickly supports your weight.

“Maker,” Poe chuckles before giving you a firm yank, and then catching you before you can tumble down the ladder in your naked, teary-eyed mania, “let’s go, giggles.”

He carries you a few steps to the mattress and plops you down on top of the comforter, letting you take up the whole bed while he sits on the end and puts your feet on his lap.  Poe grimaces for a second and then shuffles until the radio is pulled out from under him, and you can hear the soft sound of it playing once again.  You bury your face into his pillow, inhaling the warm scent lingering there while he tosses it carelessly to the side and rubs your shins for a little bit, watching you stretch out naked on his mattress.  

“I’m not giving you two weeks of pay,” you suddenly grunt, and he just grins down at you, not arguing.  Not saying anything.  Sitting in comfortable silence with you when you’re expecting him to bicker.  So you stay like that for a long time, breathing deep and relaxing, until Poe’s hands leave you for a second…

… to pull a bag of chips out.

Maker, at the first squeaky sound of the wrapping assaulting your eardrums, you want to roll your eyes.  You want to tease him about how fucking typical it is.  Like clockwork, you could probably set your watch to his middle of the night cravings.  You don’t know why you thought fucking him would change any of that.

You want to give him shit for it.  You even open your mouth, the snark on the very tip of your tongue.  But then your stomach growls as soon as he rips the thin plastic apart.

Poe’s eyes shoot to yours and neither one of you move, but apparently your tummy doesn’t get the memo.  It takes forever to trail off into silence again, and he blinks.  Fuck, you know you should’ve forced yourself to eat at least something earlier.  Warmth floods your cheeks and you scramble for something to say, but there’s no way to play it off.

“Would you like some chips?”  Poe suddenly asks with a boyish grin, raising his eyebrows and tipping the open bag freely in your direction.

The corners of your mouth pull downwards even as the inside of it waters.  You wouldn’t call it stubbornness necessarily as much as it is a… a desire to stick to consistency.  After the unbelievably hard time you always give him about midnight snacking, you’re hesitant to partake.

Though, the chips rustle against each other and sound absolutely fucking delicious as Poe shakes the bag and bounces his eyebrows, and you know what?  Fuck it.

You snatch it without thinking, cradling the precious food to your chest as you dig your whole hand in and shove a bunch into your mouth at once.  You catch him smiling again, but he doesn’t comment.

You both take turns, and by take turns you obviously mean you take turns stealing the bag from each other instead of just setting it equidistant between you and openly agreeing to share it, but it works for you.  It seems appropriate.  And then it’s quiet again, just munching and crinkling, except for the radio continuing to play from its place in his lap.  You have to work to listen over the loud crunching vibrating through your skull, but when you finally manage to stop chewing and catch a few bars, you suddenly find yourself trying not to smile again.  Fuck, it’s been years since you’ve heard this song, you love this s—

“Fuck, I love this song,” Poe promptly exclaims with his mouth full, licking the tips of his fingers before scrambling to pick the radio up and twist the volume knob without using his wet fingertips.  He starts humming over the melody, loud enough to almost drown it out completely, because of course he does.  The one damn time you actually want to listen to his radio and he still finds some way to mildly irritate you.

But this irritation is almost… fun.  You want to laugh just as much as you want to yell at him.

“Hey, who sings this song?”  You immediately ask over the sound of him clearly not knowing the lyrics, already ready with it.  Oh, the round is in the chamber, your finger is on the trigger, you are ready, and Poe’s eyes sparkle as he seems to stop and think about it.

“Mm, not sure,” he eventually shrugs, just before you rush, “Let’s keep it that—”

And then he’s slapping a hand on your leg and belting out the chorus while you scoff, giggling.  He ruined the punchline on purpose and is now getting chip dust all over you, but you know any complaint you make will be drowned out by his suspended notes and backing track, so you just roll your eyes and swipe the bag of chips from him while he continues to serenade you.

“My ears are bleeding,” you mutter under your breath.

He has a nice voice, you think.

[besanii]

Aaaaaaaggh! The Paper Thin verse is so compelling exactly because no one did anything wrong and yet the knives are there anyway. I love it. I adore the glimpse of LXC having more feeling than he’d started with, I wonder if WWX would ever get there, or how LWJ would feel after seeing them be more than a little comfortable with each other.

[ part one (LWJ) | two (LXC) | three (WWX) | four (LWJ) | five (NQY) | six (WWX) ]

As a prince growing up in the confines of the Inner Palace, Lan Wangji did not have many he could call friends. He had his brother, of course, and the siblings born to the consorts and concubines were there in the schoolroom beside him for their daily lessons—but they were not friends. 

His brother may be family, and Lan Wangji may both love and respect him above all others, but as heir to the throne, there had always been an invisible gap between the two of them their whole lives. Lan Xichen had been training his whole life to shoulder the weight of the throne; likewise, Lan Wangji has spent his whole life training to support him. They are—have always been, and will always be—first and foremost a lord and his vassal, and brothers second. And as the Emperor's vassal, it is his duty to honour and obey him above all others.

Never in his wildest dreams did he think his loyalty would be tested like this. In this way.

"Wei--Wei-xuanyi." The title burns on his tongue. He forces himself to push past the lump in his throat to continue. "Paying respects to Wei-xuanyi."

Wei Wuxian. Wei Ying. His closest friend and confidante. The one, selfish desire he had ever held close to his heart. The one thing he had wanted for himself in this life of duty and service.

His brother's consort.

On the other side of the room, draped in layers upon layers of the finest Gusu silks in blue and purple, flanked on either side by four servants, Wei Wuxian drops the inkstone in his hand. It clatters back onto the well and splatters droplets of black ink over the desk; for a moment he is visibly torn between cleaning up the mess and the obligation to greet Lan Wangji, his fingers hovering in mid-air. Eventually obligation wins out and he ducks his head and bends his knee.

“Hanguang-wang.” He quickly straightens, eyes averted. “My apologies. I did not realise you were there.”

“The fault is mine,” Lan Wangji assures him. “Wei-xuanyi was merely focused on his task, and I was the one who caused a disruption.”

Wei Wuxian hisses sharply under his breath, as if suddenly reminded of his work, and hurries to inspect the damage. He holds out a hand and one of the maids standing behind him places a cloth into the outstretched palm without hesitation, ever attentive to her master’s needs. As they do their best to clean up the mess before it stains—the damage is thankfully not extensive—Lan Wangji cannot resist moving closer to catch a glimpse of what has Wei Wuxian so concerned. What he sees is not what he had expected.

“Dongying warships?” he asks before he can stop himself. “Are those...blueprints?”

Wei Wuxian freezes in mid-motion, his fingers tightening around the cloth until his knuckles turn white. 

“I’d quite forgotten Hanguang-wang would be most familiar with Dongying warships,” he says finally, voice clipped. He does, however, allow Lan Wangji to move closer so they are standing shoulder-to-shoulder, careful to keep at least half a desk’s worth of space between them. “Huangshang knew of my interest in them and so allowed me the opportunity to study their construction plans, in hopes of perhaps improving on them for use in Gusu’s navy.”

Lan Wangji swallows past the lump that has appeared in his throat.

“Wei-xuanyi has always been at the forefront of innovation.” he says. “Your studies and inventions are renowned throughout the Empire. It is only expected fpr Huangxiong to call upon your expertise on this matter.”

It is meant as a compliment, but it does not ease the tension in Wei Wuxian’s answering chuckle in the slightest.

“Huangshang is magnanimous,” he says. “The Inner Palace is not usually permitted to view such documents.”

The tone in which the last part holds the air of something repeated often and frequently and Lan Wangji’s heart aches to hear it. 

“It would be foolish indeed if they kept you from it,” he retorts, and is rewarded with a dusting of pink across Wei Wuxian’s cheeks and a look of wide-eyed surprise at his vehemence. “There is no one better suited to this work than Wei Ying.”

Their sleeves brush against each other as they turn, and Lan Wangji’s breath catches in his throat. They were close enough to touch—he only needed to shift his hand just so and he would be able to brush his fingers over the ink smudges over Wei Wuxian’s knuckles; already now he can feel the warmth of his skin in the air between them. 

Want seizes him then, fierce and hungry; the urge to reach out and grab him by the hand and take him far, far away from this gilded cage and into the vast world beyond its vermilion walls burns in the pit of his stomach. He could. He would. He would fight the Imperial army single-handedly down to the last man if it meant Wei Wuxian could be his once more. He would lay his life on the line to give Wei Wuxian anything and everything he desired—happiness, love, freedom. He would do it, if Wei Wuxian asked it of him.

But he doesn’t.

He pulls away instead, and leaves a wide, yawning chasm where the want had been only a moment before. Cold. Empty. He curls his hand into a fist, digs his nails into the palm of his hand, and pulls away.

“Huangshang has arrived!”

The announcement from the doorway startles them both. Wei Wuxian nearly jumps away with how fast he moves from Lan Wangji’s side, moving around the edge of the desk just as Lan Xichen steps through the door to the library. 

“Wuxian,” Lan Xichen says as soon as he spots Wei Wuxian, already stepping towards him with an arm outstretched.

“Your concubine greets Huangshang,” Wei Wuxian murmurs, sinking to his knees in greeting, only for Lan Xichen to catch his elbow before he can complete the gesture. “Huangshang has come at an opportune time. We were just discussing the blueprints from Dongying.”

“Oh?” Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow curiously. “We?”

The smile in his face flickers in surprise when he notices Lan Wangji’s presence; his eyes dart immediately to the flush high on Wei Wuxian’s cheeks and back to the tense set of Lan Wangji’s jaw, to the heads of the servants, bowed low to the ground. Surprise gives way to realisation, before it settles into a calm acceptance, the warmth in his eyes dimmed.

“Wangji, this is a surprise,” he says. “I was not expecting to see you here.”

Lan Wangji bows his head.

“Your subject greets Huangshang,” he says. “Your subject had come in search of Moling’s harvest records from the past decade as per your instruction. Wei-xuanyi was here when I arrived.”

“I see,” Lan Xichen says levelly. His tone is odd, stilted. Lan Wangji recognises it from countless court sessions against pandering courtiers. 

Wei Wuxian must recognise it too, because he steps in with a ready smile, one hand resting lightly on Lan Xichen’s arm.

“Huangshang, come see the modifications your concubine has made to the design of the ship,” he tells him. “I think you will be very pleased with the improvements.”

Lan Wangji sees the way his brother’s attention is immediately drawn to Wei Wuxian like a moth to flame, his eyes never leaving Wei Wuxian’s face as he allows himself to be led to the desk. His own gaze is drawn to their joined hands, to the familiar way in which their fingers intertwine, and the easy way in which Lan Xichen’s hand rests on the small of Wei Wuxian’s back as they pore over the blueprints together. 

Wei-xuanyi is most beloved. Most favoured.

Wei Wuxian catches his gaze in the middle of his explanation; there is gentleness there, a soft sadness in the corners of his eyes as he speaks. 

And then he turns back to Lan Xichen and the sadness fades a little, his eyes grow warmer, lighter. It pierces through Lan Wangji’s heart and sinks into the pit of stomach, heavy as lead.

He would never ask it of me.

He looks to Lan Xichen, to his brother, and knows in his heart—

I could never ask it of him.

--

buy me a ko-fi!

more paper-thin fic | verse

--

What? I managed to pull myself away from Stardew Valley long enough to write this??? :OOOO Amazing.

[bubbleteaimagines]

AMERICA’S GOLDEN TOY

summary || steve makes good use of you after kidnapping you from a hydra base

pairings || dark!steve rogers x reader

warnings || this post contains dark content (noncon) smut, swearing, dracaphilia kink, loss of virginity, non-consensual filming

notes || continuation of this imagine

MINORS DNI // 18+

you heard the sirens before anything else. they blared all over the facility, distracting you from your work and causing you to drop your graduated cylinder.

“shit!” you cursed in german and quickly began to gather yourself.

you knew what the sirens meant — your father had forced you to participate in every emergency briefing there was. he was a high level member of hydra and quite proud that you, his daughter, were following in his footsteps.

at only twenty years old, you were already a renowned scientist. often, you created remedies and such for hydra to use on their victims. you helped caused terror and chaos, but of course, you didn’t see it that way.

you quickly began to gather all of your important files as the sirens got louder. your whole lab was flashing red, causing your vision to be skewed.

you stumbled around in the red light, your heels not making it any better. you grabbed hard drives and anything else you could think of before quickly bursting out of the door, joining the chaos in the hallways.

all around you, hydra personnel was being scattered about, some running and others fleeing towards the fight. you didn’t even know what the threat was, but if it was enough to activate the emergency sirens then it had to be deadly.

“y/n!” in the midst of your running, someone called your name and pulled you to them. you yelped, but quickly calmed down once you saw that it was your father.

“papa,” you looked at him, shocked. “what’s going on? where is all this chaos coming from?”

“the avengers,” the answer made your blood run cold, “they are here. they have found us. we must get out, quickly!”

he wasted no time in pulling you towards the safety exit, one that only the most important memebers knew about. you stumbled as you struggled to keep up, your hands tightly clutching your precious research.

somewhere along the way though, you had accidentally dropped one of your drives. you let go of your father’s hand for one second to retrieve it, but that turned out to be the biggest mistake of your life.

a flash of blue in the red light could be seen as you bent over to grab it quickly. but you weren’t fast enough, and by the time you had come back up and started running again, it was too late.

steve rogers caught you easily as your father yelled behind him for you. his armor cladded suit pressed against your frame and you struggled against the muscular man.

“y/n!” your father panicked, wondering if he should run or help you.

“papa! go, please! it is too late for me,” you cried as you struggled in steve’s arms. “go!”

your father looked hesitant, but a nod from you urged him to keep running. that left you, helpless as the avenger glared at you fiercely.

“tony, nat, i’ve captured a prisoner. her father managed to escape but i think you can still catch him,” he spoke into a device.

“roger that, cap,” the voice of an unknown man came back.

you glared at him as you thrashed in his arms.

“there are no prisoners with hydra!” you yelled out, releasing the poison hidden behind your teeth and preparing to swallow it.

however, before you could steve already had an antidote shoved down your throat, knowing that this was common with those captured.

“you’re not dying today,” he snapped at you, as the concoction also knocked you out cold. “not before we make some use of you.”

-

when you woke up, you were in a moderately decorative room.

it was furnished with a dresser, a nightstand with a lamp, a tv, and a king sized bed that you were currently laying on.

as soon as you came to, you tried to hop off the bed and escape. but you were wildly unsuccessful, seeing as your hands and feet were tied and you were gagged.

“help!” you still tried to call out for someone, through your sounds were muffled. “somebody please, help me!”

there was shuffling out in the hallway and you paused, foolishly thinking it was your father or another hydra member coming to save you.

but quickly, you realized that wasn’t the case when the same man that kidnapped you walked in.

“well well, i see you’re awake,” his deep voice filled the room as he sauntered in.

you glared at him.

“let me go!” you yelled through the gag, trashing even though your movements were limited.

“what was that? sorry i can’t hear you,” he smirked. your hatred for him increased even more as he mocked you.

“asshole!” you cursed in german. “let me go, now! before i kill you!”

steve seemed to get tired of your muffled screaming so he finally removed the gag. when he did, the first thing you did was spit on him.

“filthy scum! how dare you tie me up like an animal!” you yelled.

you were met with a harsh glare and slap so hard that it knocked the breath out of you. steve fumed as he wiped the spit away, rasing his hand threateningly.

“do it again and i swear to god...” he trailed off.

“what do you want from me!” you resisted the urge to cry as your face stung from the violent blow.

“information,” steve said almost immediately, as if it were obvious. “we decided not to throw in you in a cell because you could be useful to us. tony figured you’d open up more in a more...comfortable setting.”

“go to hell,” you immediately spit, causing steve to raise an eyebrow. “i’ll never tell you anything. i’d rather die!”

“well then it’s a good thing you were already carrying these,” steve said coolly, holding up an object.

you gasped when you noticed it was your drives. the very ones you risked capture for.

“give those back!” you cried, struggling even harder. “those belong to hydra! those belong to me!”

“not any more,” steve said. “everything in that base now belongs to the avengers. including you.”

you didn’t like the way his eyes sized you up. it made you uncomfortable, scared even but you weren’t about to show it.

“you can keep me here until i starve. i won’t give you any more information,” you said.

“oh we know. we’ve been known that everyone in hydra has tight lips,” steve chuckled. “but you see, we started to figure out why. and do you wanna know what we came up with?”

you said nothing.

steve continued anyways. “see we figured it was because hydra never had anything to lose. their files are encrypted. everyone is willing to die for that scum organization. we the avengers have never had a way to gain leverage over them. but after we took you...we realized that now we do.”

“what do you mean?” you asked dumbly, though you feared the answer.

steve answered by stalking towards you. slowly, you began to try and back away as his face came down to yours, his voice dark and dangerously low.

“it means, it wasn’t an accident i took you over you father. i could have captured you both. but i let him go free, just so he and the rest of the scum can witness this. you, tied up in captain america’s bedroom, helpless,” he smirked.

“no!” you exclaimed, horror seeping through your veins.

“say hi to daddy and his colleagues,” steve chuckled, pointing towards the tv.

you didn’t know how you missed it, but on the dresser stood a camera, and on the tv itself showed live footage.

of you, handcuffed on steve’s bed.

“oh, i can’t say i won’t enjoy finishing this mission,” he shook his head. “it’s the first damn time i’m getting something in return.”

“get away from me!” you screamed at him as he undid your cuffs, yanking you closer to him.

the delightment of being free was replaced by utter panic at the pending situation. you tried your best to get up, springing off the bed but steve only pushed you down, laughing.

“did you forget who you were dealing with?” steve asked. “everything is this room will prevent you from escaping. the doors won’t open without a code. there’s no windows. and of course, you’d have to get passed me. but i’m not letting you leave until i get what i want.”

“you monster!” you punched his chest as he gripped you harshly, dragging you to the edge of the bed.

but your assault seemed to do nothing against the super soldier, merely egging him on as he reached for your clothing.

“nothing but a skirt and a blouse. not even pantyhose,” he tsked. “you must have been prepared for me, then.”

tears of humiliation began to form as he grabbed your skirt and shirt and tore them off. the black bra and lacy red panties that you were wearing were durely exposed to the camera, where your father and all your coworkers were watching.

“can you feel it now?” steve asked, dodging your blows and pinning you down with his arms. “the sheer panic creeping in your veins? the knowledge that there’s only one way out of this, and that’s by me taking control of that little pussy of yours?”

your eyes widened as he voiced his plans out loud, the reality of situation finally sinking in.

“no please!” all your life you had been taught not to beg. you had been taught to never give into the enemy, to always choose silence and death over the weakness of pleading. but this was steve rogers you were talking about. you thought he was one of the good guys. you thought he was america’s golden boy. “don’t!”

“what’s this, a little hydra slut begging for her life?” you cried out as steve ripped the bra off, too, leaving you completely exposed. “that’s definitely new. but i gotta say, begging wont get you anywhere now. it’s too late, i’m gonna make use of america’s golden toy now.”

“i thought you were a good guy! the avengers are supposed to be the good ones! you’re not supposed to do this!” you said while steve began to shed his clothes.

“good?” he chuckled as he stood over you. “that’s funny. i guess it just depends on the perspective.”

you stared at each other as he began to free his cock. it was impressive really, how he managed to get both of you naked all while holding you down.

you had never felt more powerless in your life. you were a scientist after all. you were smart and brilliant and on top of the world at hydra. but here though...

here you felt like nothing more than a simple speck of dust.

“open up, slut,” steve suddenly shoved his cock in your face as you jumped back, startled. “let’s show daddy how well your mouth works.”

“no!” you refused to open your mouth for him, you refused to even look at him, turning your head to face the wall.

but steve was quick to a solution; he grabbed your jaw and forced your lips open, backhanding you to get you to comply.

“i’m not gonna ask you again,” he said lowly while you sobbed. “open up.”

shakily, you obeyed. you opened your lips and slowly steve began to push his cock in, moaning at the feeling of your tight lips wrapped around him.

“ah, fuck,” he grabbed a hand full of hair to steady himself while you stood still. “go on, don’t be afraid. suck my cock like the little whore you are.”

you would have rather chosen death than blow steve rogers but that wasn’t an option. what was though, was moving your head back and forth, trying to take his impossibly thick length in your mouth.

“there’s a good girl,” he cooed as your head bobbed. “take me. take all of it!”

you resisted the urge to gag as he shoved himself in the back of your throat. gripping his hips, you sobbed on his dick, tears falling down your face as he throat fucked you.

“that’s it...nice and deep,” steve moaned. “god, i can’t wait to see what your pussy feels like.”

he was cumming in no time, the combination of you sucking and playing with his balls sending him over the edge.

he panted as he pulled out, his hot seed trickling down your throat. you gagged immediately as he released you, feeling absolutely and utterly disgusted with yourself.

“you see that, dad?” steve smirked at the camera. “your little girl just drained my balls dry. and she’s about to do it again. watch.”

you cried out as steve roughly pulled you up and flipped you on the bed. you tried one last time to escape, crawling on your knees away from him but it was all too easy for him to pull you back down.

“a fair warning to all hydra personnel, this is what happens if you mess with shield,” he growled.

you were a blubbering mess as he forced your legs open, pleading and begging for your release. you didn’t wanna be taken, not like this. you didn’t wanna lose your virginity to this man.

“you can’t save her now,” steve looked directly into camera, “but maybe when i’m through with her you’ll learn your lesson.”

he positioned his thick cock, lubricated with your spit, at your entrance. and then, before you could even comprehend what was happening, he slammed into you.

a scream bubbled up in your throat and ripped out as your pussy was violently desecrated.

steve filled you nearly to the brink, moaning and whimper at the tight fit.

pain exploded all over your body. your pussy felt like it was on fire. you tried to claw your way away but steve held you tightly in his arms, disabling you to move.

you were trapped, tears falling down wildly as steve began to fuck you balls deep.

“so tight,” he moaned while you let out a gutteted sob. “so fucking good to me. you’re squeezing me baby. you’ve must have never taken a cock a before, have you?”

“no!” you screamed out as steve pounded into you at a jarring pace. “p-please! please!”

“virgin,” steve realized, knowing why you were so scared. “god that’s so hot.”

“please...please! captain stop!” you begged, not being able to take it anymore. you couldn’t take him. your pussy wouldn’t even let him get all the way in. you were straining so much, but yet he fought. he fought so hard to make sure all but his balls were inside of you.

“well, since you asked so nicely,” steve smirked.

he flipped you over again but before you could cherish the release he was slamming into your pussy again, this time forcing on you top of him with your back laid against his chest.

steve cooed in your ear as you took his merciless pounding, reminding you of what a filthy whore you were.

you wanted this, he told you. this was your fault. you wanted his cock deep inside of you. wanted people to watch. you wanted people to know how much of a slut you were.

“tell them!” steve shouted, his balls slapping your pussy. you sobbed for his mercy. “tell them how much of a whore you are! tell your daddy how much you love captain america! tell him!”

“papa,” you blubbered towards the screen. you saw yourself, looking pathetic while you sat on captain america’s cock. he filled you to the brink, your stomach pretruding out to show just how deep he was. “i love him! i love captain america!”

“atta girl,” steve kissed your neck, his beard scraping your shoulder as he buried his face in your neck. he held you tight, the sound of him battering your little pussy echoing throughout the room.

finally, he turned your head towards him and kissed you. one last humiliating act before he finally came, shuttering to a stop as he drained his balls directly into your womb.

“how’s that for a mission accomplished,” steve laughed while you slumped against him, clinging to him for dear life. your pussy was battered, filled to the brink his cum. your mind was gone.

you could hardly think. you searched for a sense of safety. for a sense of warmth. you cuddled yourself closely to him, taking shelter in the arms of your abuser.

“please...please...” you sobbed against him.

steve held you tight in his arms, kissing your temple. he knew he had broken you. he knew that you were beyond recovering now.

“it’s okay,” he whispered, still buried deep inside of you. “you’re with the earth’s mightiest heroes now. you’re safe. nothing’s ever gonna hurt you again.”

[eisukevint]

Always You

Eisuke Ichinomiya

This one’s for you @leoamber66 - i should be ashamed of myself for taking this long but here we are! your graduation and your birthday gift. and a massive thank you to @cupidocherie for major help bec idek where i would be without her😭😭 anyways enjoyyy, i love you <3

»»»»

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

“You mean when you tripped and almost fell in front of everyone on your first day in elementary school?”

“No! oh my god, I told you to forget that!”

“Pftt, how can anyone ever forget that? I’m sure soryu and luke remember too”

“I hope they don’t haha, but really, we’ve come so far” Yuki commented, reminiscing about one certain day.

Eisuke’s POV

“So children, today a new student will be joining us. This is Yuki Freya. I hope all of you will be nice to her and welcome her warmly!” The teacher, Miss Hale as she introduced herself, addressed the class.

“Yuki, you’re going to sit with Eisuke. Please raise your hand so she can know where you are, Eisuke!” Miss Hale announced.

The clumsy girl, Yuki, made her way over to me earning several stares from both girls and boys present in the classroom.

“Hi, i’m Yuki!” She enthusiastically said extending her hand towards me.

I shook her hand, “Eisuke”

“Nice to meet you!” She said and then turned towards the teacher as she started her lesson, not giving me a chance to reply.

At least her smile is cute.

»»»»

Yuki didn’t follow me around like the other girls in my class did. Instead, she became friends with Luke and Soryu who happened to be my best friends. They seemed to like her a lot. Now that was rare.

It was P.E. and the teacher partnered me with Yuki despite the other girls begging him to partner them up with me. I didn’t complain considering she wasn’t annoying like the others.

“Are you ready?” She asked me tying up her left leg with my right one, preparing for the three legged race. Why is this even a thing? Couldn’t we just race like normal people?

“Of course I am” Eisuke Ichinomiya is always ready.

It didn’t take long for me to come off my high horse when Yuki couldn’t keep up with my fast pace and fell down, twisting her ankle.

Yuki groaned in pain and tried to get up but failed. The P.E. teacher came forth and asked me to carry her on my back to the infirmary as a punishment which was just across the field.

“But it’s not my fault that she fell!” I retorted back despite knowing it was partly my fault she fell since I was moving too fast for her.

“She was your partner Ichinomiya, it’s your responsibility.”

“Fine” I said when I realised there was no getting out if it. With that, i asked her to get on my back and carried her to the infirmary.

As the nurse tended to her injury, she turned towards me with that same cute smile “Thank you, Eisuke”

I instantly felt a stab of guilt.

“Hmph, I didn’t do it for you” I didn’t notice the blush that crept on my cheeks but I did notice the way my heart flipped. Just as she was about to say something, Soryu and Luke came looking for her.

“Are you alright?” Luke asked to which she replied with a grin and swinging her leg back and forth.

“Never better!”

Seriously how can someone be so cute.

»»»»

high school

The murderous intent was evident in my eyes as I gazed at Yuki laughing at something the principal’s cockroach son said.

In the beginning, Frank tried to befriend me but I felt something was off and eventually it became very clear to me that he only wanted me to be a handy tool in his pocket ready for emergencies, so I shook him off pretty quickly. Somehow, Frank’s always lingering around me. He’s always loved to single me out whenever I express disinterest in something, in hopes that others would join in. Instead, the girls that fawn over me often tell him to shut up and then they’re confronted by his fangirls and in the end, it’s just a massive cat fight.

He’s nothing but trouble. As the principal’s son, he’s quite popular, almost as popular as me, and he can pretty much get away with anything. Luckily for him, he’s very sly. Hiding behind his minions, he’s never once flat out done anything. Good with underhanded remarks, letting other people take all of the blame, coercing them into doing what he wants. His little groupies pay no heed to any of this, all because he’s handsome. But there’s a large group of people who don’t like him, but nobody has ever said anything straight to his face, thanks to his feared status.

There were rumours earlier this year that on Valentine’s Day, Frank asked Yuki out but she told him that she wanted to focus on school. I’m surprised Frank didn’t get angry at her and punch a wall or something. That sounds like something he would usually do. While I’m proud of Yuki for turning him down, part of me hopes that what she said was just a lie she made up so she could just get away from him. But now, Frank and Yuki are partners on this project, I’m convinced this teacher is trying to set those two up. Soryu, who was partnered with this over-zealous girl looked as if he would smash either his own head or the girl’s if she didn’t stop with her chattering. I’ve been paired up with Luke, unfortunately I’ve been neglecting our work because keeping an eye on Yuki has become too much of a priority. I hate how he gets too close to her, the way he continues to flirt with her and the smug look that’s plastered on his face when he realises that I’m watching. All Luke can do is sigh and shake his head at me.

“I’d gladly switch with Yuki if I didn’t have to put up with him, Eisuke...”

“Hey watch out, you’ll hurt yourself!” Yuki yells, pushing him away before she yelps in pain, drawing her hand back.

For a split second, it’s like I can only see red. I march right up to their desk, in close proximity to the two only to see a red mark across Yuki’s hand. It looks painful. If Frank hadn’t been so careless then Yuki wouldn’t have gotten hurt. What were you thinking!? Why do you need to care so much about everyone else!?

“Oops, I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

“No, I’ll take her.”, I sternly tell Frank. Yuki insists it’s not too big of a deal and that she’s fine.

“Hmph, alright. I’ll make it up to you another way then, Yuki.”

“You don’t need to. Stay away from my girl.” I felt Yuki tense up beside me the moment those words left my mouth. Thinking nothing of it, I took her dainty uninjured hand in my right one and pulled her along with me towards the infirmary. Yuki, being the obedient and polite girl she was followed without a hint of refusal.

Upon our arrival to the medical department of the school, the nurse immediately treated Yuki’s injury. As I gazed at the familiar scene before my eyes, a certain memory played in my head.

“What’s with you and infirmaries?” Were the words that came out of my mouth the very second the school nurse disappeared, probably went back to her office.

She whipped her head towards me, a tiny smile adorning her graceful features. Adorable giggles escaped from her mouth indicating that Yuki too was reminiscing about that particular day.

“You’re too amiable for your own good.” I chuckled, moving to sit into the chair where the nurse was not long ago and grabbing her hand with the nasty burn on it.

“How dare he ruin your precious soft skin like this” Placing a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, I held onto it as I stared deep into her gorgeous blue eyes.

“Is it true you rejected him?” She stared back, cocking her head a little bit to her left at the question, confusion etched on her face.

“On Valentine’s Day, I heard he confessed to you but you turned him down, saying you wanted to focus on your studies. Is that true?” Her face lit up upon remembrance but an almost gloomy expression took over right after.

“Ah...yes, now that you mention it” I squeezed her hand a little tighter but not tight to enough to hurt her as I waited for her to continue.

“That’s only half true though..”

What?

“I also told him I like someone else.”

Oh.

I immediately loosened my grip on her hand.

So that’s why. Heh, what were you even thinking Ichinomiya?

Yuki glanced over to me, fidgeting in her seat with nervousness.

“Won’t you ask who it is?” This time, she grabbed my hand and lightly tug on it preventing me from standing up, causing her to hiss in pain.

“Does it even matter?” I sighed, patting her hand lightly with that flicker of hope in my heart slowly diminishing. As I was about to get on my feet a second time, she said those words which haltered my every movement, completely catching me off guard. Words i’ve wanted to hear for the longest time now from a certain girl I adored more than anything.

“It’s you, Eisuke.”

Good Lord.

“It’s always been you.”

Will I survive if my heart continues to beat this fast every time i’m around her? I’ll have to ask Luke later.

“Eisuke?” Yuki peered at my astounded face snapping me out of my daze. When I look back at her, I thought I could resist just pulling her into my arms and claiming her as mine but boy, was I wrong. I immediately grabbed her chin and captured her silky lips in a somewhat soft and gentle kiss. Laying every emotion bare into our first kiss, Yuki loosely wrapped her arms around my shoulders as she kissed me back with equal passion. We parted and just sat there basking in the pleasure of being in each other’s arms until I decided to break the comfortable silence since a significant amount of time had passed and we needed to go back to the lab.

“You’re mine and I won’t allow you to leave me.” She hummed in response and with a little peck on her lips, I pulled her up with me and exited the infirmary.

Our fingers intertwined perfectly as we walked back to the class feeling oddly at peace - mind, body and soul.

»»»»

“And Soryu teased us so much when we went back to class! But no one was surprised, I mean we were kind of inseparable...” Yuki said bashfully, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. The diamond of her engagement ring caught the light of the setting sun.

“It’s because they knew you were mine.” Professing my undying love for her, I place a fierce kiss on her lips imagining a bright future with my one and only,

“Always have been and always will be.”

•••

[littlemessyjessi]

“Not My Bias”: Park Jimin Imagine: Plus Size Reader

Park Jimin Imagine Summary: Jimin is upset because he is not the chosen bias of his girlfriend but instead it's actually Namjoon.   A/N: Also, this is just an imagine, a oneshot if you will.  However, if you want to see more of the story, just let me know.   Extra: Plus Size.  Also, woman is older than the man by a few years. Pre-established relationship, Jimin is dating an Army, ft Platonic moments with Yoongi.   Warning: Fluff, Angst, mentions of suicide and issues with mental health, arguing, jealously... teeeeennnnnnsssssiiiooonn.   Anyway, yeah. ----

Flared nostrils and a deep breath.

'He's just having a day.  Let it go.  He's just in a mood.'

The thought swirled around in that head like smoke.

"Babe, you were all over him.  I don't know how you can think that's ok? If I had done that to someone you would've flipped out!" Jimin's voice sounded.

Regardless of the fact that Jimin was continuously all over people because he was very affectionate and naturally flirty.  

Also, regardless of the fact that he literally had millions of people ready to volunteer like Katniss for the Hunger Games at the drop of a hat.

Regardless of the fact that it was very much clear as to how much he was loved and adored by his partner.

Still.

'Don't snap.  Don't lash out.  Just let it go.'

The thought swirled less like smoke and more like the unstable circle of terror that was the beginnings of a hurricane.

"I mean, fuck, you might as well just be with him.  You were practically eye fucking him right in front of me."

Stone cold.

Every thought brewing in that mind was screaming to let it go, to talk to him calmly, to just fix it.

But that's not what happened.

Because even though Jimin was clearly feeling insecure and it had turned into jealously... you had feelings too.

You slowly turned to look at him.

Jimin's gaze was hard as he looked back.

He had that about him where one second he could be cute and adorable and the next he could be very intimidating.

However, his duality was no match for yours in that moment.

"Jimin, you've got about three seconds to apologize." you said evenly.

"Apologize?" He scoffed.  "For what? Apologize for calling the bullshit when I see my girlfriend trying to fuck one of my best friends right in front of me?"

That was it.

You had a long fuse on a big bomb and right now... you weren't just a stick of dynamite.

You were a nuclear bomb.

You ran your tongue over your teeth trying in vain to calm down.

"First of all, fuck you." you snapped and his brows lifted on his forehead.  "Yeah I said it.  Don't you ever insinuate that I am anything less to faithful to you.  God dammit, Jimin.  I didn't want to have a fucking fight with you but since you seem so hell bent on it, let's go.  It's time for war, mother fucker."

His gaze intensified at your response, "Don't you talk to me like -"

"Me?!" you snapped. "You want to talk about me? You're the one who stood right there, basically called me a whore and accused me of fucking your friend! Who by the way, you owe a god damn apology to! He didn't do anything to you and you've been a dick the whole day!"

It was the wrong thing to say and you knew it.

Bringing up Namjoon during a fight, especially considering the context was the worse thing you could've done.

It further ignited his anger and his jealously all but consumed him.

But you didn't care.

He may have started the fire but you brought the gasoline.

"That's just great, Y/N.  Wonderful.   Exactly the way to convince your boyfriend that you're not fucking someone else.  Defending them in the middle of an argument."

Your screaming had clearly drawn attention and the door opened to reveal Jin's concerned face.

He said something but the two of you were too far gone in trying to outscream each other to hear him.

"That you started!" you snapped at Jimin.

"I was trying to talk to you!"

"You were accusing me!"

"Because it was obvious!"

You were shaking when Yoongi's head popped in beside Jin's but you paid them no mind even when Hobi appeared in the doorway.

"Guys, come on." Hobi said trying to calm you both down.  "Don't do this."

"Come on. Let's go get some food and chill out." Jin offered, knowing very well how Jimin's temper could be and also how he could say some horrible things when he really didn't mean them.

He had a sinking feeling that they'd already been said though and there wasn't much that could be done.

"What was so obvious to you, Jimin? Hm? I am a fan.  You know this? I was an Army before I ever met you.  This was abundantly clear to you from the beginning.  Did you really think that there would never be moments when I wouldn't be starstruck occasionally?" you seethed. "Because I'm sorry I'm not perfect Park fucking Jimin! I'm human!"

His jaw tightened and he narrowed his eyes at you.

"That's not what this is about." he said.

"Yeah, the fuck, it is." you snapped.  "Listen, I'm about to make myself abundantly clear about something.  You don't fucking know me as well as you seem to think you do."

"Clearly." he responded and you had to fight the urge not to strangle him.

Yoongi almost rolled his eyes at Jimin and his fucking mouth.

The rest of the members had joined the chaos at this point and you... you just no longer cared.

You were ready to go to war.

Fuck it all.

You drew a deep breath in through your nose, staring at the carpet before lifting your eyes up to Jimin's again.

"You seem to think that you have me completely figured out and you know everything about me.  But you don't know shit, Jimin.  Just because we've been dating for three months does not mean that you suddenly know every thought in my head.  But you're about to find some shit out about me right now."

"You're right. I don't know wh-"

"Shut the fuck up." you said coldly.  "You want to know so god damn badly why Namjoon is my bias?  Fine, I'll tell you and you can either deal with it or you can continue to be a spoiled, selfish little brat.  I don't really care anymore."

He would've fought you for calling him that but internally something stopped him.

"I was never into this type of music.  It wasn't my thing.  I listened to metal and classic rock.  That was what I liked.   So BTS was never really in my statosphere.  But a few years ago, I was at my lowest. My husband had cheated on me leading me to file for an immediate divorce.  I had just lost our baby and I was wrecked.   I didn't want to do it anymore.  So let me paint you a picture here, Jimin.  I was standing in my childhood bedroom because I couldn't bare to be in that house where he fucked his secretary.   I'm standing there in front of my little vanity from when I was a kid and I had my grandpa's pistol loaded, the barrel in my mouth.  My finger was on the trigger and I started to press down."

Jimin, all with everyone else, had gone completely pale.

"And then suddenly my cousin's stereo starts thudding from the other side of the wall.  And it's "Voice" from Joon's first mixtape and I stopped.  Because for the first time in a long time, I felt like someone understood what I was going through.   I put the gun down and I saw there on the floor with my ear pressed against the wall listening to that song.  I cried until I couldn't breathe because no one had ever put my feelings into words like that before.  That song.  Those lyrics.  They saved me.   I put the gun away as if it had burned me,  I cried because I had been so close to ending it all over someone else who wasn't worth it.  I went home that night, researched the lyrics and figured out who wrote them and then I began listening to anything and everything that Namjoon had a hand in creating.  Because it was those words that kicked me back off the ledge."

Jimin was completely still at this point.

No movement.

No sound.

No nothing.

You were staring straight into his soul in that moment.

"So you'll have to excuse me if ever so often I get a little starstruck with the person who literally wrote the wrong that kept me from killing myself." you said lowly.

You finally looked around to see the rest of the members there, skin heating with embarassment that they'd just watched you and Jimin verbally rip each other's throats out and then hear your suicide attempt story.

You looked at Jimin once more before you shook your head and pushed your way through the members.

Several tried to comfort you but you didn't want to hear it.  

You just wanted out.

And that was exactly what you did, shoving through the door and disappearing from sight.

Immediately, upon the slam of the door, Jimin erupted into tears, crashing to the ground.

He hadn't known any of that.

Taehyung rushed to his side, pulling him into his arms and trying to calm him down enough to function.

Yoongi pursed his lips before going after you.

He knew what it was like to pick at old scars like that and how fresh those old wounds could still be.

He caught up to you rather easily, insisting that you let him take you out to eat.

You fought him on it but he did something that he rarely ever did.

He pulled out his super power on you and used his cuteness.

And you couldn't resist the lil meow meow so you caved... just like he knew you would.

You didn't mind it as much as you thought you would.

Yoongi didn't push you and instead the two of just enjoyed a meal together.

You fought him over the check but he already slipped the waitress his card before you could even get a word in edgewise.

Then he took you to a local dog park, watching puppies chase their own tails because he knew it was impossible to watch dogs smack into each other and not smile.

He didn't force you to talk or to address what had just happened.

But what he did do was stay with you, offer you kindness, made sure you ate and did something that made you smile.

He reached out to place his hand on yours and gave it a squeeze.

"I won't pretend that I know what you've been through.  I'm not that arrogant and I'm not you.  But I do understand what it's like to get to a point where you don't want to do it anymore." he said as the two of you focused on a pomeranian with an attitude problem who reminded you both of Yeontan.

"You can talk to me.  Anytime." he said.  "I know I don't usually say alot but I'll listen. I promise."

"Thanks, Yoongi.  I'm fine.  I promise.  I'm alot better now.  I'm not the person I used to be.   Things are different.  Jimin just really hit a nerve with what he was saying and I snapped." you explained.

He nodded with a sigh.

"Jimin is someone who is full of emotion.  He's passionate.  That sometimes means that he loses his temper when he's scared.  He loves you and he's more insecure about losing you than he lets on.   He didn't express that in the right way at all.  I won't defend him on that.  I'm just saying, don't give up just because you two had a fight.  A hell of one, mind you.  Do you realize that you're terrifying when you're angry?"

You finally broke into a laugh at his words.

"I thought Jimin was the scary one." you commented, knowing very well that every single one of them collectively thought Jimin was terrifying when he was really angry.

"Shit, he's a punk compared to you." Yoongi chuckled. "You looked like an absolute demon.  If I hadn't seen it for myself, I'd have never believed sweet Y/N looked like she was forged in the fires of hell."

You nearly snorted at his response before finally looking over at him.

"Thanks, Yoongi.  Really.  You made me feel a lot better." you admitted. "I'm glad you came after me.  This was much better than how I likely would've handled it."

"How would you have handled it?" he questioned.

"Probably something self sabotaging and toxic as hell." you shrugged. "Or maybe I just would've cried when I cooled off.  Or took off.  I've been known to jump in the car and just keep driving when I'm angry.  It's literally me running from my problems but for the lazy because fuck that.  I'm not running from anybody.  Zombies can just eat this ass."

He shook with laughter.

It was one of the reasons he liked you a lot and he thought you were perfect for Jimin.

You were naturally funny and had a great wit about you... and you were tough.  

You needed to be tough if you were going to date someone who worked in the business they did.

You don't fall in love with the idol, you fall for the person.... but that person still has a job and to be their partner is really hard.

It wasn't for the weak of heart.

The two of you sat there for a while.

You'd turned your phone off almost instantly as soon as you cleared the building, not even entertaining the thought of dealing with any questions.

You assumed that Yoongi had likely told someone he was with you since he'd been with you for hours and no one was calling him.

You took in his profile as he watched a squirrel run up a tree.

You could practically see him thinking.

"Just spit it out." you sighed and his lips quirked just a little before looking at you.

"What makes you think I have something to say?" he questioned.

"Because, unfortunately, we are too much alike in some ways." you said.  

He chuckled, "All I'm going to say is, cut Jimin some slack.   He's crazy about you.   Anyone can see that.   And also, give him a chance to digest everything you just told him today.  That was a lot.   You know that better than anyone."

"I didn't mean to tell him like that." you shrugged. "I didn't mean to tell him that at all."

"Why not?" Yoongi asked, very seriously.  "You love Jimin right?"

"Yeah, of course." you said.

"And you trust him?" he said.

"Yeaaahhh." you said.

"Then how come you haven't talked to him about that before?" he asked.

"Because we've only been together for three months, Yoongi and we haven't spent a ton of time with one another in those three months. You don't just blurt your past suicide attempts out to people like that." you all but snapped.

You were getting defensive and he knew it.

But Yoongi also knew that you were only being like that because he'd hit a nerve.

He knew because he was like that at times.

"You were friends before you got together." he pointed out. "I know you're an Army. I get it.  But you and Jimin clicked at that fan event that day.  Don't get me wrongs.  He's a hopeless flirt but Jimin has never willingly forked over his phone number like that.   He didn't even know your name and he was hooked."

You ground your teeth because you knew he was right.

"All I'm saying is, give him a chance.  He's jealous of Joon.  He can't help it.  A part of him wants to be your bias because he's your boyfriend.  I can get that." Yoongi shrugged.

"It's not like Joon is my bias is a romantic way, Yoongi." you sighed.  "I literally just -"

"I know." Yoongi cut you off.  "I know.  I get it.  Trust me.  We are all painfully aware of that situation now."

You chewed on your lip, vulnerable at having your business out there like that.

"Hey." he said reaching for your hand.  "I didn't meant that to come off the way it did.  I'm glad we know.  I wish you hadn't felt like you were so backed into the corner that you had to come out with it like that.  But still, it's good to know that about you.   I think it'll bring us closer as a group."

You just nodded.

He sighed, "Listen, I'm gonna tell you something that I think we'll help.   Men are rather simple in a lot of ways.  Some not so much but others- incredibly so."

You lifted a brow at him.

"Ok?"

"Explain that Joon's work inspires you and it helped you through a lot." he said.

"I literally just-"

"No, stop and listen to me." he cut you off.  "Explain that you admire Namjoon and his work. You love his writing.   This is also true for me or Hobi right?  You and I have talked for hours about some of my stuff and I know you and Hobi sat there and dissected Hope World for like three days.   You admire the work, the lyrics, the content, right?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"I know that it's a little different with Joon because his song was the first one you'd heard and it was a rather traumatic time.  So there's somewhat of an emotional attachment there.  And honestly, I think that's what Jimin is so scared of." he said.

"Scared of what?  It's music and yeah, I love the way Joon writes and yeah it was a crazy time but I'm in love with Jimin." you argued.

"Jimin is scared that Namjoon could take you away from him." Yoongi said directly.  

"What?" you gasped. "But I love Jimin."

"I know that." Yoongi said.  "Everyone knows that. But he also knows how much you obsess over anything Joon writes."

"It's good music." you said.

Yoongi nodded, "Yeah, it is.  But Jimin has likely got it in his head that you could easily just run off with Joon and have this philosophical conversations about poetry and lyrics.  I'd be willing to be money on it that he's insecure because you didn't start out loving BTS, you started out loving RM.   And that scares him."

"It was never about loving RM or BTS." you countered. "I needed those lyrics.  I liked RM as a musician.  I liked BTS as a group.  But I fell in love with Jimin.  And I'll tell you another god damn thing, I never fucking meant to either! I didn't want to love anyone after that shit happened!"

Your temper was flaring, which truthfully was dangerous, as Yoongi could match you in it.

But he also realized you were just very sensitive right now and not actually angry so he just watched you calmly.

"I didn't want to fall in love with anyone.  Ever again, Yoongi.  I was terrified.  I'm still terrified.  But I met Jimin and he fucking smiled at me and I crumbled.  It wasn't really about me falling in love with him.  I jumped head first into the darkness because even though it scared me shitless, I didn't care.  He's worth it.  No matter what."

You didn't realize that you'd gotten to your feet until Yoongi was smiling at you and he gently nodded over your shoulder.

You turned around and there he was.  

Of course.

Jimin.

With his expressive dark eyes and his dreamy lips.

As cliche as it is, it was almost as if time stopped.

There was nothing else but Jimin and you.

It became a race to get to one another and as soon as you got within arms reach of each other, your kisses were feverent.

"I'm sorry's" and "No I'm sorry" and "You didn't do anything wrong"  "I was just jealous" "No, no, no"

They all clanged together in a jumbled mess of mutterings slurred with kisses.

"Joon is not my bias, Jimin." you breathed.

"Baby, it's fine.  It's not a big deal.  I just got a little -"

"No, listen." you breathed.  "He's not.  I admire him.  I admire his work.  But he's not my bias.  I don't have a bias."

Jimin pulled back to look at you, "What?"

"I don't have a bias." you clarified.  "I don't pick favorites."

"Uh..." he said.

"I don't have a bias." you repeated. "But I do have something else.  Something super special."

"What's that?" he asked, brows furrowed.

"A keeper." you said.

"A keeper?" he asked.

"Yep, the keeper of my heart.  Only one person can be that and that's you."

It was cheesy.

Ridiculously so.

But Jimin melted for you and he squeezed your soft body to his so tightly that you could barely breathe.

And all the while, Min Yoongi sat on that park bench, watching the scene from the corner of his eye, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Smug grin ever permanent on his impish features.

"Lil Meow Meow strikes again..." he whispered to himself.

------

—-

Hey loves!

I hope you enjoyed and I’d love to hear your thoughts!

If you’re interested in any of my other BTS works you can find the masterlist HERE

Love,

Mama Kennysaurus

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dreadwolfxoxo   pottahishotasf

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——- Also, just a reminder that I am open for commissions! Additionally, the only tag list I have is my permanent tag list but if you ever want to be added all you have to do is just go to the ask box and request to be added! It’s that simple and you’re in! I love you all!

[rey-jake-therapist]

I don’t believe any leaks at this point, but it’s fun to speculate with the clues we got from the show and the trailers. My two cents on what might happen:

(1) Galadriel decides to go face Sauron by herself in the finale (her being willing to sacrifice herself and make right her wrongs seems to be a theme in S2, and she already expressed the desire to face Sauron alone to Gil-galad at the start of the season). From the trailers, it seems she might bait him using the Iron crown (that she steals from Adar) or even Nenya (he wants the Elven Rings);

(2) Sauron and Galadriel fight like we saw on the trailer and on the Behind-the-Scenes footage;

(3) Don’t have a clue on whom might get the upper hand on this fight (logically it should be Sauron, because he’s a Maia, and Gal’s only an Elf, and she’s not in the prime of her powers yet). Anyway, after the fight, Sauron pitches the “Will you be my queen?” to Gal;

(4) To persuade Galadriel into becoming his queen, Sauron shows her vision(s): the “Last Temptation”. Now, he’ll bring out the big guns this time around. In S1 finale, he tempted her with promises of endless power (a queen fair as the sea and the sun, and stronger than the foundations of the earth), and it didn’t work. Will he try this route again or a different one? Based on the Polish review, and some of Gal’s Nenya visions these season, I think Sauron might actually go with the “you’ve felt it too” route, tempting her with love and family (probably showing her a vision similar to the one Arwen had in “Return of the King”). He might even use Nenya in some way.

(5) I think Galadriel will succumb to Sauron’s temptation, until Elrond intervenes.

Allow me to explain: it’s been teased Galadriel is afraid she won’t be able to resist Sauron, and other characters have shown similar fear (both Elrond and Gil-galad). This temptation has to be strong enough to wow her and haunt her for years to come (in the future, Galadriel will remain in Lothlorien, fighting Sauron and his servants from afar and not directly). Probably it’s also the reason why she’ll try so hard to “close the door” on Sauron’s access to her mind, and succeed, only “passing the test” (finally resisting Sauron) when Frodo offers her the One Ring in the Third Age. But Sauron never stops trying to get to her, until the bitter end (meaning, he needs to have some degree of hope, she’ll come around and join him - this only makes sense if he was almost successful once). It would also make her brother’s words come full circle: “How am I to know which lights to follow?”/“Sometimes we cannot know until we have touched the darkness.”

How does Elrond fit in here? In Ep.4, Galadriel makes Elrond promise that, come a day, where he needs to choose between saving her life or stop Sauron, he must chose the second. This might be a red herring, but it does sound a lot like foreshadowing, along with the theme of Galadriel being willing to sacrifice herself. Well, Elrond will be in the Battle of Eregion, and he might be forced to make this choice (we know none of these characters will actually die, but still).

Any thoughts?

That's pretty much how I envision it too !

You know, I've often read that there were two paths that the show could take : a corruption arc for Galadriel where she temporarily succumbs to temptation and leaves with Sauron, or a lazy copy of the ending of season 1, where she tells him 'no' again and chooses the light for good.

Personally, I think that the first option is unlikely, and that it's way too early for the 2nd option to happen. I believe in a third path : Sauron manages to get under Galadriel's skin and almost convinces her that she belongs with him. She finds the strength to resist the call, but Sauron may be able to escape because she can't kill him while she had the chance... Wishful thinking, I know 😅

During season 3 she will be nonetheless haunted by the "what if" and will realize that she's not the one who can defeat Sauron. They may be even more connected than they were so far, Sauron being able to speak directly to her without standing next to her, until she finds a way to block him.

I like very much the way you think regarding Galadriel's reluctance to face Sauron in the future ! We know she never stopped fighting him from afar, but The Hobbit is the only instance where we see her actually stand to him - a scene that's not in the book, btw - and I always wondered why. If she didn't trust herself, it could explain this.

I'm sure that Galadriel telling Elrond to not choose her over defeating Sauron is a foreshadowing. Earlier in the post I suggested that Galadriel may spare Sauron, but another scenario could be played out : Elrond being unable to hold on his promise.

It's all so exciting... I can't wait to see how wrong we were about all this 🤣

[maythewidowtakeusall]

The Ghost

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word count: 1469

Summary: Nat tells Tony about her own Winter Soldier she’s trying to find

Warnings: alcohol, murder

Nat watches intently, lips pursed, brows furrowed, shoulders tense. The screen reflects in her green eyes, two blinking lights in the otherwise dark living area. Her knuckles are white from holding onto the edge of the counter too tight.

Too many bad memories. Too many sharp feelings, like shrapnels buried beneath her skin, cutting into her every time she moves.

Steve isn’t the only one with ghosts. Ghosts that used to walk and breathe and talk and kill.

James Buchanan Barnes is MIA. Sam keeps looking for him while she and the rest of the Avengers clean out the last Hydra holdouts in search of Loki’s sceptre. The Winter Soldier is once more a spectre, but she can still feel the pain in all of the scars he left behind. Whenever she looks into the mirror, she knows she’s met him. She knows he was real.

She can’t say the same about you.

Natasha will never forget the first time she saw you during her KGB years. Like a block of marble, you seemed to her. Perfectly cold. Perfectly indestructible, even by time. She didn’t know then what she knows now, that the super soldier serum they pumped into you actually made you resist the very decay of the passing of time. She sometimes wishes that, on sleepless nights such as this. It would be easier to think you were dead. Easier to think that the person who trained with her, the person who made sure she survived all her missions, who started filling her head with doubt slowly but surely, and who, in the very end, helped her escape the shackles of her old life, was no more. Because whenever she is reminded of the fact that you’re out there somewhere, she wishes she could drop everything and dash out into the world to find you.

And yet she hasn’t seen you since. Her last hazy memory of you is your fraying conditioning, the way you look at her, straight at her, as a person, not as the weapon Hydra made you to be. Your face is tortured, as if you were fighting something on the inside. And you’re telling her to run.

She never stopped running.

She flew straight into the arms of SHIELD. And when that fell apart, the Avengers. Even now, she feels like running, though she doesn’t know where to. Where are you? Who are you? And why did you let her slip through your fingers when you were sent to kill her before she could switch sides?

The old security footage is grainy, but it’s clear enough to see you, precise like a surgeon, as you eliminate your target. In a way, it is almost beautiful how you kill. Like a ballerina dancing The Dying Swan impeccably. Never missing a step. Never faltering. Gliding through the hardest moves with graceful ease. Natasha was an assassin for a long time, and despite having changed, she still values skill. But in your case, she values the person underneath all that training and brainwashing more. Not that she knows you really. She doesn’t know where you come from. What your real name is. All she knows is that you saved her. And she would save you too, if she knew how to begin.

“Do you always look at videos of assassinations before bed or is tonight a special occasion?”

“I thought you and Banner were busy playing with your sceptre,” Natasha fires back defensively, dropping her phone on the counter as she locks the screen.

“We are,” Tony acquiesces with a small frown as he joins her by the bar. “However, it is currently 3.36am, and Banner is being a little – am I allowed to say bitch? I don’t even know anymore.”

“Steve’s already gone to bed,” Nat smirks, pouring Stark a drink too.

“Thank god for that. Anyways, you’re dodging my question. Who was that in the video?”

“I’m not dodging your question because you didn’t ask before.” Her lips wrap around the edge of her glass, and the whiskey slides down her throat like poison as she tilts her head back a little. It burns, just like speaking about you always does. “I used to work with her before.”

“Before?”

“Before SHIELD.”

Tony’s lips form a silent “o” before he drinks too. He looks tired, Nat thinks silently. Then again, don't they all? Banner is tearing himself apart constantly, and when he isn’t, it’s because he’s tearing the world apart. Thor is worried about cleaning up the mess Loki has left behind. Steve and Sam, like partners in crime, keep searching for the Winter Soldier in vain, stretching themselves too thin. Clint is, well, he is still Clint, thank god for that. He is still blabbering about which room he will renovate in his house next, and that’s a constant reassurance Nat’s grown to rely on.

“So… What’s the deal with Evelyn Salt? Is there a chance we’re going to bump into her?”

Natasha shakes her head as she squares her shoulders, the muscles in her back flexing as she sits up properly. No sleep tonight then. “She was sent to kill me when I defected. But… for some reason, she decided to let me go. As for running into her, I highly doubt that. Hydra’s files mark her as MIA. She hasn’t been seen since 1997. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was dead and swept under the rug. If I had a brainwashed super soldier agent go AWOL, I would want to tie up the loose ends too.”

“Did you just say super soldier? As if I didn’t have my hands full with old man Rogers already…” Tony grimaces.

“To be fair, she’s more on the Winter Soldier side. In fact, she didn’t have another name either. She was the Winter Soldier too when they needed her to be.”

“Sounds reassuring. No wonder you can’t sleep at night, knowing she could be out there.”

Natasha can’t help but smirk at the irony of that. “True, but the real reason behind that couldn’t be further from what you’re thinking. I’m not afraid of her. I want to find her. Help her, if I can.”

“I always knew there was a reason why you didn’t date, but this wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.”

Natasha’s elbow between his ribs isn’t something he’s foreseen either, but the hiss that slips past his lips is a thin satisfaction. “It’s not like that… Well, it could never be like that in the first place anyways.”

“Yeah. Brainwashed and personality don’t exactly go hand in hand. Got you,” Tony sighs, slumping on his forearms as he glances out at the city lights. For a while, they simply sit together, both deep in thought. Missing person, missing breakthrough, and yet they feel the same frustration that can only stem from an unhealthy amount of helplessness. Tony is struggling to save the whole world; Natasha wishes she could save only a single person in it. And yet their silence couldn’t feel more similar. Their quiet moment in the small hours of the morning couldn’t be more comforting.

“Well,” Tony clears his throat eventually as he glances at his watch. He knocks back his drink before stretching. “That sceptre won’t decipher its secrets on its own, alas.”

“Have you tried asking it nicely?”

“Maybe I will,” the man sighs as he reaches behind the bar to pull the entire bottle of whiskey out as he stands. “But I’m not that desperate. Well, not yet anyways.”

“The night is still young.”

“Plenty of time for more of your bedtime stories,” Tony points to Natasha’s abandoned phone before walking away. He does pause after a few steps though. He is really an asshole sometimes, Pepper is unfortunately right, as she always is. How often has Nat opened up to him so easily? Is he really going to discourage her by being an ass?

“Why don’t you send me those videos later, huh?” he comes to halt, pretending to play it cool as if he didn’t know how much his offer truly means to the both of them. “I’ll have Jarvis run a facial recognition scan. If she’s alive and out there somewhere, we’ll find her.”

“Why? So you can bring her in?”

“So you could help her,” he corrects her. His face is dominated by the meaningful look emanating from his tired brown eyes. There’s a strange sort of understanding there, even if it lacks the depth she feels in Steve when they talk about you and Bucky.

“It’s nice to have friends,” Natasha smiles up at Tony. Tired, defences worn down. Worried. The promise of an impending explanation set for a later conversation sitting in the green of her eyes. “And I would like her to know what it feels like too.”

[peggyrose19]

What We’ve Taken

the vibe for this fic, if anyone was wondering

If you read my previous fic (that i posted at 1am because i’m a mess), you will notice the middle of this is eerily identical. That’s because it is! I basically took that idea and added onto both the beginning and ending. Don’t worry if you didn’t read that, it’s all in here!

characters belong to @lumosinlove, and title credit goes to @wonder-womans-ex (thank you darling)

Saint had thought nothing could truly make Luke mad.

It was easy to irritate him, sure. Steal something, tease him or call him ‘Tweedle’, those things annoyed him. But he would snark back and they’d move on with their lives. And his dad, but that didn’t make him mad. That made him sad. It made him frustrated, lonely. Hurt. He only pretended to be mad to mask that pain. That Saint had learned early on in their… whatever their ‘thing’ was. 

But making Luke mad… Saint had never truly seen him mad. Until that night.

He’d taken the necklace as a joke. Because it was valuable, because it was gold and Saint looked good in gold. (Even Luke had admitted it one night, as they lay drunk on the beach staring up at the stars. They didn’t talk about that night though.) But mostly Saint had taken it because he could. Because it had sat there on Luke’s desk, unattended and alone. 

That night Saint entered Luke’s room, through the window as always, and was met with a punch to the face. He had not been expecting that.

“What the fuck,” he finally managed and stared at Luke, glaring furiously back at him. His jaw ached.

“Where is it,” Luke demanded. He didn’t need to say what ‘it’ was, Saint already knew. But Saint being the cocky arrogant bastard he liked to pretend to be asked anyway. 

“I’m sure I have no clue what you’re talking about,” he said as sweetly as he could manage.

The necklace was simple, a thin gold chain, a small metal compass. It wasn’t a true compass, but rather a charm, always pointing north. It meant nothing to Saint, other than it was Luke’s and it was gold. Yet it still seemed to pull him in, had seemed to beckon to him before he’d ever touched it. 

Saint didn’t know what he was expecting from Luke, but he suddenly found himself being pushed backwards until his back hit the wall, and that certainly had not been it. 

With Luke’s hands on his wrists, pinning him to the wall, Saint wasn’t entirely sure what to think. Hazel eyes stared at him, blazing with fury. Something else lay behind the anger though, something Saint couldn’t quite identify. He smirked.

“Well Tweedle, if I’d have known that was all it took to get a rise out of you, I would have stolen it ages ago,” he drawled, fighting the shaking in his voice. He prayed Luke didn’t notice. Goddammit, why did he find this so attractive?

“Don’t you ever touch that again,” Luke snarled in his face, leaning even closer. Saint could feel Luke’s warm breath on his face. He was surprised to find he liked it.

Luke was truly angry, he realized in that moment. He’d noticed before, had certainly noticed when he was pushed against the wall and held there. But Luke’s voice broke at the end and that small crack in his walls sent Saint’s own tumbling down.

“Okay,” he replied simply, and Luke blinked.

“What?”

“Okay,” Saint repeated, smiling faintly. “I won’t touch it.”

“You- you won’t?”

Saint fought another smirk. Oh, it was fun to rile him up.

“Nope. But-” 

Luke groaned. “I should’ve known.”

“Aw don’t be such a downer Tweedle! You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“I can guess.”

Saint leaned closer to Luke, their noses nearly touching. He stared into Luke’s face, noting the catch in his breath and the widening of his pupils. Interesting.

“Bet you can’t,” he murmured.

Luke swallowed hard. “You going to tell me then? Or just leave me in suspense.”

“Hmm. I won’t touch it, on one condition.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that.”

For a long moment, Saint could do no more than stare at Luke, watching the warring emotions pass over his face. He knew what he wanted, knew it suddenly and with such clarity, had known for a while and had pushed it down, refusing to acknowledge it. Refusing to give into the tug in his gut. He couldn’t hold out forever.

Saint had never been one to hold back. He’d always taken what he wanted and he usually got away with it. People didn’t see what they didn’t want to, was a lesson he’d learned long ago. And people never saw him, an orphaned runaway, a nobody. His parents never bothered to give a shit about him, why should anyone else? He’d gotten good at hiding the pain, the want, the emotions. Luke had always seemed to be the one person to see through that, even more so than Sirius. And Saint wanted.

“I won’t touch it. So long as you keep touching me,” Saint replied finally, barely above a whisper.

Luke stared at him. Saint fought the urge to look away or close his eyes, crack some stupid joke to ease the tension. He knew it would do no good.

But before the silence could become unbearable, before Saint cracked and said something stupid, Luke did something Saint never expected him to do. He kissed him.

Luke’s lips were chapped, Saint thought deliriously. It was the only thought seeming to pierce his consciousness, along with the realization that Luke’s hair was soft, comforting under his fingers. Saint didn’t know how they’d gotten there but he wasn’t complaining. He just kissed Luke harder, tasting salt on his lips, and the whiskey they’d stolen earlier from the kitchen.

With a gasp, Luke pulled Saint closer, releasing his grip on his wrists. Saint wrapped his free hand around his waist, holding him tight. Luke’s body was familiar to him, as familiar as the back of his hand, but there was an unknown to him, a part yet to be discovered. Saint craved it the way a sailor craved the sea.

“Saint,” Luke breathed into his mouth, not pulling away but pausing his movement.

“Yes Tweedle?” he asked breathlessly, refusing to move even an inch. But Luke pulled away, just enough to look into Saint’s eyes. And Saint, ever helpless to resist Luke Deveaux for long, let him.

But Luke didn’t say anything like Saint expected him to. He just looked at him, studying his face. One hand cradled Saint’s cheek, calloused hands rough against smooth skin. Saint just leaned into him.

When Luke leaned in again, Saint let himself be pushed back against the wall. He let Luke part his lips and lick into his mouth, kissing him sweetly. With a soft care that Saint had never known, didn’t know he craved until that very moment. He let Luke do what he wanted, gave into him wholeheartedly. 

“Hey, Luke,” he whispered some time later, when they had exhausted of kissing, instead lying side by side on Luke’s bed, smoking cigarettes and staring at the ceiling. If Luke noticed Saint had used his real name for once, he didn’t say it. 

“Yeah?” came the reply a moment later, Luke’s voice now heavy with exhaustion.

“Thank you.”

~

Saint didn’t ask about the necklace until days later.

In the days since, he had taken to hanging out in Luke’s room more often, lounging on his bed and borrowing his books, kissing him in the summer heat. Luke would join him sometimes, sweaty from work or hair still wet from the ocean. Saint liked those days best, when he tasted like salt and the outdoors. He liked being there, liked the safety Luke brought.

Saint had given the necklace back that night, slipping the delicate chain from his pocket and fastening it around Luke’s neck with a gentleness that surprised even himself. Luke had kissed him softly in thanks and pulled him onto the bed

They were in a similar position when Saint finally asked the question. He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth.

Luke was quiet for a long time, expression guarded. But he didn’t pull away, instead stayed encircled in Saint’s arms, and that eased the nerves from his heart.

“It was a gift,” he whispered finally. “From my father.”

Understanding dawned on Saint. Of course. His father. The only thing that ever managed to rile Luke up, push him to anger. Pain. 

“It reminds me of him. When he gave it to me, he promised it would always point me towards home. It seems kinda silly now. I mean, it’s not even a working compass. But it reminds me of being a kid, when he was actually my father. Not just a stranger in a prison cell.” 

“That’s why you freaked,” Saint said after a pause. It wasn’t a question, but Luke nodded all the same. “I’m sorry.”

At that Luke looked shocked. Saint frowned.

“What?”

Luke laughed. “You’re sorry? You, Saint, the bastard of Gryffindor, who wouldn’t know manners if they smacked him in the face, are sorry? Are you feeling okay?”

Saint had to laugh at that, although it didn’t stop him from pushing Luke nearly off the bed. He caught him before he could fall completely and rolled them back to the middle of the bed. 

“Yes, you fucker, I’m sorry.” Saint’s voice fell serious again. “I’m sorry. If I had known how much it means to you I wouldn’t have taken it.”

Luke smiled faintly. “Yes you would have. You’ve done it before.”

But Saint shook his head. “No. Not to you.” He meant it, meant it more than he realized until the words had left his mouth. It scared him, just how much he wanted it to be true, how far he found himself willing to go for Luke. 

With a soft exhale, Luke stared up at him. “You amaze me sometimes,” he murmured. Gentle hands found their way into Saint’s hair, and he relished in the comfort it brought. 

“Likewise, Tweedle.” Luke shook his head but he was smiling. The nickname was growing. 

“Hey, Luke?” 

“This feels familiar.”

Saint rolled his eyes. “Just shut up and kiss me, you asshole.”

“I mean, if you insist.” 

Saint leaned down and their lips connected, effectively shutting the both of them up. With a soft sigh, Saint let most of his weight fall onto Luke, pushing them both into the mattress. Their bodies seemed to mold together as they kissed, quiet gasps escaping with each push and pull. It was them, in every sense of the word, and Saint wanted to get lost in it forever. But one thing poked at the back of his mind.

“For what it’s worth,” Saint murmured without pulling away. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

[palmett-hoes]

i said in this post that i have original characters and backstories for neil's extended family. it took me,, a really long time to write it all down. it's been a full month since the original post, and this is still just a run through of things, not full prose, which i might be interested in doing one day but not anytime soon

now, some things to note about what i'm writing, why, and how. methodology, basically. this might not have come through yet in my posts, because i just don't post about my half-finished ideas, but i research a LOT. i like to base what i write about on real life, even if it's just headcanons and fanfic

also, i love helping people with research, so if anyone wants help with research for a fic or just their personal headcanons or anything hit me up!!

as a white person who wants to write characters from different ethnic backgrounds, i feel i have a responsibility to really do my due diligence and research as much as possible to consider things from every angle. and part of that for me is making sure that every character of color has a backstory. they don't just appear somewhere, i have to give them a reason for being there and a story for how they got there, even if that's not what i write their STORY about. people, come from places, basically. i follow a lot of demographic census information and population averages, as well as a lot of history, from as general as transatlantic trade in the last 500 years to as specific as the changes in a single city in a certain year

talking to other writers in the fandom i know i'm a little overzealous, but this is what gives me peace of mind to feel like i am putting the effort in to get things right

so anyway, as for what that means here:

i like writing neil as mixed black/jewish. it works well thematically for his character, as well as just what FEELS right for how i visualize him in my head

only, that can't simply come from nowhere. we know who his parents are. they need to also be poc for neil to be one, and they're a complicated pair to handle in that lens

one choice i made about that, for multiple reasons, is that everything about neil's parents' backgrounds should mirror each other. it can't simply be that one if them is black and one is jewish, or even that mary is both and nathan is white, because that says something i don't want to say any way you slice it. additionally, i want both facets of his ethnicity to be important to neil, and i feel as though he would want to ignore the half of himself from his father.

so: they both have to be mixed, giving them a sort of,, ideological equal footing, as it were. that way, i can also write three different experiences, rather than accidentally implying that This is what being black is, or This is what being jewish is, or This is what being mixed is. and that's also important to me, even if it's just in my head or not even directly addressed. it's still a big consideration of mine anytime i write about any of them

now, finally, onto mary and nathan! i'll put it below a cut because this is already long enough, the under-the-cut is much longer, and i don't want to wear out your thumbs if you don't care

mary hatford

canon timeline, neil was born in 1988. as a tentative number let's say mary was around 30 when he was born, meaning she would be born in the 50s. say her parents were roughly the same age, so they were born around the 20s

like i said, what's happening where in history is very important to me for building these backstories, and major historical events tend to have a lot of influence on population shifts. and well,, jews and europeans in the early-to-mid 20th century? there's no getting around involving world war II. nothing explicit, but it is mentioned and part of the story

mary’s paternal family are the hatfords. they're from the british west indies, largely jamaica, but they've been involved with shipping and trade all over the trans-atlantic region for generations.

they have a complicated relationship with the british empire, having both worked for them and against them at various points, sometimes both at once. similarly, they've tried multiple times through the generations to relocate the family to england permanently, but have been turned away or pressured out

they associate england and the british empire with power, and they both disagree with and desire that power in degrees which vary person to person. they do have a general idea between them though that living in england is a sign of status and authenticity, and while they don't want to leave jamaica permanently they do want their center of power to be in england, and there is a deep resentment against the anglos for not allowing them to stay permanently despite their wealth and influence, the fact that their work will always be looked down on and seen as lesser

i did come into building the hatfords with the primary idea of them being black british, and looking into the organized crime connection second. them being jamaican/west indies is a reference to the jamaican posse, who have a large presence in the london crime scene, although that's really the only connection. the hatfords aren't really yardies in any sense

the hatfords' status as organized crime is a little iffy. mostly they skirt the line between legal and illegal, owning legal trading companies and doing plenty of legal shipping. their main business in the criminal underworld is being middlemen moving supplies for other groups. they have a lot of contacts, and they serve an invaluable role in international smuggling, but they rarely get their own hands dirty. they move things from one place to the other and don't question too much what it is, though they don't deal in people

mary's father is named samuel hatford (first name in reference to samuel bellamy, the gentleman pirate king of the early 18th century). he was born in England, raised largely in Jamaica, then moved back to England as a teenager/young man. he's light-hearted and a bit idealistic for someone from a crime family, seeing the best in people even when they're cold and often believing in principle over profit, which at times put him in conflict with what's best for business

he almost enlisted in world war II, but instead convinced the family to work as weapons and supplies runners supporting the Allies and guerilla resistance groups

mary's mother is named cima ben nahman (ladino/judeo-spanish/sephardic names, doesn't really reference anything or anyone in particular). She's is an algerian jew. Born in algeria (city undecided, though algiers had the largest jewish community at the time), she moved to france for a few years as a young woman, probably for education. she joined anti-fascist organizations which became resistance groups once germany invaded

she's stoic, and has a ruthless mind for strategy. like most algerian jews, she's caught between her home country and its colonizer. the french empire played the algerian muslim majority against the jewish minority as a way to create infighting and distract the algerians from uniting and turning against them, but the algerian jews also then became reliant on the french for protection. (it's a really, really complicated situation)

cima sort of hates them both, both algeria and france. her only allegiance is to being jewish

(contrast this to samuel, who feels that he is BOTH british and caribbean, even when those two identities may be in conflict)

cima and samuel met when samuel provided weapons and supplies to cima's militia group. he took particular interest in them and went out of his way to help, above and beyond the other groups the hatfords were supplying

in the waning period of the war, cima was seriously injured, i'm currently thinking a land mine accident. she survived, but her recovery was slow. she lost an arm and had burns across half her torso, neck, and face. samuel brought her to england supported her through her recovery. in the hospital, they spoke a lot about why they each chose to fight, and the ways they did because neither were formal soldiers fighting for a country. samuel was in many ways fighting for an ideal, while cima was fighting for her people. cima also talked to him a lot about judaism and religion during this time, which samuel took an interest in. eventually, cima decided to stay

they got married. samuel converted, which was somewhat controversial with his family. however, cima agreed to join the family business, where she became an integral but sometimes ruthless member. after algerian independence, she brought some of her trusted family and community into the fold as well, some moving to england and others to france

both cima and samuel believed very heavily in responsibility, though what it meant for each of them was different. cima believed in preparedness and follow-through, samuel believed in family and protection, doing what's right outside of the bounds of the law. this contributed a lot to how they raised their children

when they were born, mary and stuart were raised in england (and i like to think they have an oldest brother). the hatfords were a big family, and influential, although careful about balancing the legal and less-legal sides of their business. the ben nahmans were smaller, and most of them were in france so mary and her brothers saw them less often. they were raised very religiously and culturally jewish, though close with the caribbean side of their family too, as well as being the first generation who were born and raised in england. this put them at a cross-section of three very different cultures, and was where mary first learned about changing and blending in with different groups

mary was the youngest and a little bit spoiled by her father, aunties, and uncles. her mother however was much less tolerant of her. clearly very affected by her time in the war, cima became extremely distrustful and suspicious, and tried to instill in her children a similar sentiment of secrecy and self-sufficiency, avoiding attention and casual relationships. she could be harsh on them, especially mary, who was the most resistant to this

growing up, mary was irresponsible and fun-loving, goading her brothers and cousins, getting in trouble, and starting fights. she didn't understand the tenuous balance of being organized crime, and at times put the whole family at risk by overestimating their sway. her mistakes affected the whole family but it was usually her mother who confronted her about them first and most harshly

she resented her mother's control, and didn't understand the reasons behind it. she also couldn't differentiate between the boundaries her mother sets as a result of her own trauma, and the necessary boundaries she set for the safety of the family, viewing them as one and the same, and leading her to hate any kind of control exerted over her

really, a lot of cima's character is just who mary ends up becoming after being married to nathan and being on the run. i like the story of a child becoming the parent they once hated. rather than learn from her mother, both her failures and her successes, mary becomes her, doomed to make the same mistakes. this is also why cima is wounded by a landmine, because mary dies in fire

---

nathan wesninski

nathan was HARD to come up with a story for, mostly because,,, WHY THE FUCK DOES THIS GUY WORK FOR THE JAPANESE YAKUZA

wesninski is a VERY polish name. the japanese-polish connection is,, not super strong

so anyway, working off the idea of the wesninski family being a polish jewish one, WHERE is he going to meet a japanese crimelord to get into a multi-generation debt/business arrangement with?

turns out, the answer is brazil

brazil actually has a large jewish population (roughly 10th largest in the world). it began with its colonization by the portuguese, but the 19th century to modern population largely comes from central and eastern europe. brazil ALSO has the largest japanese population outside of japan

also this story ended up being WAY more detailed and prosaic than samuel&cima's story, which is basically just bullet points. there's no reason for this i love both stories very much just for some reason the words flowed for me here and not there

to avoid having a second jewish story where wwII is prominent, the wesninskis get a page out of my own family's book: nathan's grandfather (neil's great grandfather) came to the americas fleeing the russian pograms around the turn of the 20th century

so

Wesninski came to brazil (city undecided, have a lot more research to do about individual cities in brazil). he had waardenburg syndrome(a hereditary genetic condition that can affect eyes and hearing) which runs very strongly in his family (his son, nathan, and neil will all inherit it), and he is completely Deaf. while he came to brazil alone, in his new home he connected both with the local jewish community and the local deaf community, and eventually marries another Deaf Jewish woman

eventually they were able to establish a kosher deli and restaurant in the city, one which became a common hangout for the Deaf community. then one day (probably around 1915), a group of japanese men came in, and kept returning

these were the moriyamas, recently arrived from japan, in a place with very few japanese people and businesses. they liked the wesninski deli because they didn't share a language with anyone in there, couldn't even be heard by most of them, and it would also be difficult for the authorities to question them. two layers of protection for a crime family in a vulnerable place

wesninski and the moriyamas were amicable to each other, but as they didn't actually have a way to communicate that was the extent of it. but the moriyamas were polite and payed well and didn't bother the other customers. als, as a jewish establishment, they had a lot of education resources, which were helpful to the moriyamas in learning about brazilian society, including beginning to understand portuguese

now, in japan, the moriyamas were a small yakuza family. they got driven out by their bigger and stronger and more established competition around the time when japanese immigration to brazil was just starting, so that was where they went. though they had little option in where they ended up, they also had little competition in establishing their business

i still have a lot of research to do about the moriyamas. about both how the yakuza operate and about how brazilian organized crime works, and about life in brazil for early japanese immigrants. so a lot of the moriyama details are pretty vague

now the wesninskis had a son, meyer (nathan's father. name in reference to meyer lansky, famous american jewish mobster of polish descent) who was around 14 when the moriyamas arrived. he himself was not fully deaf like his parents, though was hard of hearing and raised in the Deaf community. as he goes through his rebellious teenage years, well, the gangsters are right there

in the early days the moriyamas were still more concerned with mostly the japanese enclaves, but they had aspirations of expanding. meyer wasn't japanese, but he was helpful to the moriyamas who came into the deli to study. he was perceptive and bold, could keep a secret, knew his way around knives from working in the deli, and knew the city. he was a good asset to them, and he was interested in causing some trouble

over the next ten years or so, meyer got increasingly more involved, alongside the moriyamas becoming increasingly more established throughout the city. he goes from someone who helps out occasionally and relays information beyween parties to getting involved with minor shakedowns, bribery, evidence disposal. by the time he's in his 20s he's thoroughly enmeshed

his parents were older when they had him, and his father died relatively young, leaving meyer the store and his mother to take care of. they were vaguely aware of his connections to the moriyamas and didn't approve of what he did with them but he also kept the worst from them, and was always a diligent son, and the only one they had. he assured them no matter how far he went that he wasn't "really" part of the gang

"yakuza have tattoos, and see, ima? no tattoos. i'm still a good jewish son, not a gangster"

now the problem arises when meyer falls for camara da machado, a young Deaf woman who frequents the store

(based on/inspired by/FC yaya dacosta (where the name comes from) and rutina wesley)

she was a Deaf girl born to a hearing family who struggled to give her the support she needed, maybe even just a single mother, and she'd spent a lot of time alone at the deli from a young age (12-ish?). she was shy and quiet and a little bit of a shrinking violet, but the wesninskis became very fond of her. she started tentatively helping them out around the store which became a job. she was often included in family meals and holidays, and always had a bed in their apartment above the deli if she needed one, and more than once had helped patch meyer up after he got in trouble to hide the extent of it from his parents

she was a couple years younger than him but he'd always been sweet on her. and she'd had a crush on him from basically the moment she'd layed eyes on him. they'd known each for years and camara was basically family, and then one day when they were both in their 20s it just suddenly clicked for them

so meyer and camara fell in love. meyer was head of the house, had to keep the deli running, and had his mother, camara, and possibly camara's mother (undecided at this juncture) to worry about and he decided he didn't want to continue working with the moriyamas in case it dragged his family into danger. being a gangster was a fling of youth and he was ready to grow up

when he informed the moriyamas of this though, they,,, did not agree.

while MEYER might not have considered himself part of the gang, THEY didn't think he just got to walk away. he'd worked with them for too long and knew too much. there might even have been a desire to tie him to the family permanently through marriage. and well,, one man against a growing criminal empire can't do much

it was a huge shock to him, and made him truly realize how naive and reckless he'd been. he'd been a dumb kid who wanted to start some trouble, the moriyamas were career criminals. they expected that once you were in, you were in for life, and they did not take kindly to meyer disagreeing with this

he didn't know how to explain this to his family... so he didn't. they'd all told him they wanted him to stop, but he'd meant for the announcement to be a surprise. after learning that he would not be permitted to walk away, he chose to just hide it and continue with business as usual

it worked for a while, maybe a few years, a time during which the moriyamas were getting a lot more brutal as they got more established and increasingly looked to expand, putting them in competition with other gangs and greater law enforcement, until they were a true crime empire spread across whole regions of the country. meyer had lost a lot of esteem in their eyes by asking to leave, leading them to put him under increasing scrutiny and giving him more incriminating tasks, to ensure that he would be incriminated if he ever tried to turn them in. it's during this time that he first had to kill for them

then camara got pregnant

and meyer was terrified. he didn't know how the moriyamas would deal with a kid. the only marriages and children he knew of within the family were endorsed by the boss, many arranged by him, and he knew his wouldn't be approved. yakuza wives were heavily involved with the business too, and he absolutely did not want that for camara

he broke down and told her everything. she's horrified, and furious that he kept it from her, but she didn't want to give up her baby. it would be hard, but she believed they can keep it hidden, and if the moriyamas found out, maybe it wouln't be so bad?

(spoiler: it would)

they have a son, born natan da machado, under his mother's name

meyer and camara never got married. meyer was going to propose after he left the moriyamas but that obviously didn't happen. marriages were supposed to be blessed by the boss, and meyer never dared to ask. they already lived together, anyway

but with natan, they decided that meyer couldn't acknowledge him as his own. in the deli or in the streets, he didn't acknowledge natan. he was camara's bastard son, and meyer didn't want anything to do with him

it was a flimsy disguise at best. natan was mixed, but there was a strong enough resemblance to his father. even if his hair was a darker red or he had brown skin, they had the same eyes

they tried to keep him away from the moriyamas as he grew up, hoping they wouldn't see him and make the connection, but they also kept him very hidden in general, just in case. he spent a lot of time inside, with his grandmothers

and that was how natan grew up, feeling like a secret, his father cold and distant, only acknowledging him in their apartment. cut off from other kids his age. a hearing boy in a Deaf family (natan himself was HoH but still had most of his hearing. meyer and his maternal grandmother could both hear, but they had gotten out of the habit of it and mostly communicated through sign)

natan developed a deep feeling of resentment towards his father and shame about himself from a young age. he felt like a mistake, defective somehow. so wrong he had to be hidden away from everyone

there's only so long that you can hide a child, though, and when natan was around ten the moriyamas found out about him, and they were not happy.

they didn't like split attention or loyalty. they kept children and family under very tight wraps. they should be one hundred percent enmeshed in the moriyama empire, raised to be loyal and helpful in whatever way they were needed. the fact that meyer wanted and was willing to leave for this family, and then hid his son, was a huge betrayal

still, they gave him an opportunity to prove his loyalty: kill camara or the moriyamas would kill them all: her, natan, meyer, and both their mothers

but meyer couldn't do it, and instead he told camara to run and hope they didn't actually care enough to chase her down. and she did. and she couldn't take natan with her. (i haven't fully fleshed out why yet, currently thinking that meyer was given this ultimatium when they already had natan)

so camara left her son, and got away

i built the story of mary's mother as a reflection of mary's story if something had been different, and i built nathan's story the same way. his wife takes her son and runs away with him when the moriyamas try to take him from her. nathan's mother was in the same situation and left him behind

over the next forty years of his belonging to the moriyamas he gets to marinate in that resentment. from the father that ignored to the mother who ran away from him, he internalizes it as being something wrong with him, not the circumstances. the more he's taught to torture and kill and the more he excels at it, the more this belief gets cemented. he's good at killing, he was meant to kill. he's twisted and broken and wrong inside and he always was and his parents always knew

and then when it happens again but differently this time he throws away a decade and millions of dollars and his standing with his boss to hunt down his son and his wife because he didn't get to run away so why should they? why does mary love nathaniel more than camara loved natan?

from here, the exact detail's of nathan's story aren't quite solidified. whether he was raised by his father from then on or by his grandmothers (or whether his grandmothers left with his mother) or whether the moriyamas put him somewhere else entirely, but from then on he lived under the moriyamas' direct supervision, and they taught him how to turn a knife on a man

they took his mother's name from him, though, so he's natan wesninski, not natan da machado, because they own the wesninskis now

and when the moriyamas decided to expand beyond brazil when natan was a young man instead of a child, and settled on the east coast of the US, they renamed him nathan, because it sounded more "american"

---

so that's it. obviously there are still a lot of unfinished details in both stories, but they're strong enough at this point to stand on their own and i haven't changed or rethought a lot of the major details in a long time

i've become extremely attached to these OCs and their stories, and i hope they interest other people too. some day i'd like to write them out in prose properly, along with the story of nathan and mary meeting, but that'll be a while away considering the pace i move at

so until then i just wanted to put this out there

[wesimpforxiao]

Inception: Chapter 5

"Pft! I-Ahahaha!"  You were doubled over the table trying to stop yourself from choking on your food while Ajax crinkled his nose in disdain.  The two of you were at Xinyue Kiosk for a late-night dinner that he had insisted was his treat.  You've only ate at fancy food places like this every once in awhile; these meals were so freaking expensive! Your initial hesitance to join Ajax on the basis of money was soon overshadowed by the entertaining sight sitting across the table.

"Tch...tsk..." With every effort, he grew more impatient and frustrated.  It didn't help that you were watching and laughing at his incompetent efforts to use chopsticks!  "Ugh! Forget it!"  He gave up and stabbed one of his sushi rolls rather violently before shoving it into his mouth with a pout.  Ajax turned away from you as his face grew redder and redder, but he couldn't help glancing back to see the smile on your face and the tears of joy rolling down your cheeks.  Well, as long as this brought you joy...at his own expense...He let out a huff before reaching for his drink.  At least whatever bitterness you held towards him last week seemed to disappear.

"I-I can't believe you...! I can't take it!" At long last your laughing fit died down enough so you could breathe, and you reached up to wipe your tears away.  "Pft...! I'm sorry, but this is too funny!"

"Yeah yeah," Ajax sighed yet again, his confidence deflating like a balloon and his posture slouching.  What a way to impress a girl.  He should've went for the fork first!

Noticing his sudden change of attitude, you slipped out of your seat and joined his side, leaning over him.  "Here," you swiped the chopsticks off of his plate and placed them in his hand once again, this time so they were in the correct positions.  "Now you've got the right hold on them."  Your fingers were still draped over his while you guided the sticks to another piece of sushi.  

Contrary to your concentration on helping, Ajax was a bit more flustered than usual and it wasn't because of the chopsticks.  For some reason his heart fluttered at the sudden lack of distance between the two of you, just like that night under the light of the Mingxiao lantern.  'You think I'm in love with childhood friend?  My my my, Mr. Zhongli, perhaps you've finally lost your marbles after spending so much time with mortals,' he recollected.  No...there's no way Zhongli's right about this.  This is all a fluke!  But your hand was so warm, no doubt because of your pyro vision...how long had it been since he felt such gentleness from another person?  The closest he's ever come to human contact was by beating his foes senseless!  And when was the last time he had a genuine hug?  It's been years, he realized, since before the inception of my Fatui status.

"There, see?  You'll get the hang of it."  He snapped back to the present when your hand quickly left his.  Whatever light had begun to gleam in his eyes faded just like the heat from your touch, and he watched you sit back down at your end of the table.  "You're not completely hopeless at chopsticks," you smirked.

"You're right, ojou-chan.  One day I'll surpass you when it comes to these cursed utensils!"  He hid his feelings by attempting to put your lesson to use, but failed drastically again and again.  It was obvious he didn't pay attention to a single thing you had told him to do! The boyish desire to one-up his best friend made you giggle again.

Somewhere behind the decorated divider that made up your private dining space sat the eyes and ears of the wolf.  Following Master Childe around proved to be fruitful just as expected; while the harbinger often held private meetings and dinners to get closer to clients, this one felt different based on all the others that Charlie had followed him to.  There was a distinct familiarity--one that Childe was definitely not faking for the sake of deceit and was shared with the mysterious girl sitting at the other end of the table.

I see, thought Charlie while his ears strained to pick up the other noncoherent whispers on the other side of the screen.  He'd been following Childe around all week and had quickly picked up on the harbinger's avoidance of his own men so that he could spend time with you.  Clearly, this woman must hold a special place in Childe's heart--an old flame, maybe?  Regardless of the specifics of your relationship with him, it would make the most sense for you to be the vigilante Childe has neglected to capture; the merciless blood-thirsty harbinger would've gone in for the kill if it were any other person, but since it's you...you'd be protected. Sheltered.  Allowed to get away with tormenting the Fatui since you're so close to Childe.  You're untouchable.

Of course, this was all just a theory.  To properly identify you as the vigilante Master seeks, he'd have to follow you around instead.

A chill ran down Childe's back out of nowhere; something's wrong.  While he continued to struggle with the remainder of the sushi, his gaze darted to every which-way to identify anything out of the ordinary.  He was sure the two of you weren't followed, and he had made every effort possible to avoid his subordinates on the way here, even setting up a private room that isn't too common in the Kiosk.  Still, he couldn't help but feel like he was being watched. You noticed the sudden tension in the air around him, and stared until he noticed.

"What's wrong?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing," his voice lower than a minute ago, "Please excuse me, ojou-chan.  I need to use the restroom."  He slipped out between two of the dividers and froze once he was out of your sight.  The remainder of the room was deserted. How odd...the tension in his shoulders slowly faded as he was put at ease.  

"Excuse me," a petite voice drug him out of his thoughts and he was greeted by the waitress.  She held a silver platter with a pair of matching deserts on it.  "Oh, have you changed your mind on desert after all?"

"No, not at all.  Please, allow me."  He took the tray from her and watched her exit the room.  With one final skeptical glance around the room, he returned to the inside of the dividers.

"Oh, and before I forget," Childe began to dig into a delicious chocolate desert you didn't remember the name of but seemed to be some sort of cake.  "I have a business trip coming up at the end of this week in Mondstat."

"Oh really?  That sounds fun.  How long will you be gone?"

"For a few days at the least.  Actually, I was wondering if you'd join me."

Your forkful of chocolate-something froze in midair.  "...Join...you...?  But I don't have anything to do with your company...I'd be a distraction, don't you think? Plus there's my business with the funeral parlor and I don't think I can request days off on such short--"

"I've already spoken to Zhongli about it.  He and Hu Tao cleared you as of last night.  So, what do you say?  Wouldn't this also give you the chance to visit some of your friends there anyway?"

"Well...yes..." you mumbled with a slight blush.

"What do you have to lose?  Think of it as a much-needed vacation.  You work too hard from what I've heard from Zhongli!  Besides, we can use this opportunity to learn more about each other, don't you think?"  Seeing your hesitation, he let out a defeated chuckle and shrugged.  "Of course, that's if you want to come with me.  If not, I understand."

"I..."  Well if my superiors approved, then I guess there's nothing wrong with taking a trip, right?  "Okay, I'll come with you."

................................................

The quiet peacefulness of Liyuan wilderness was disrupted by an exhausted groan and the dragging of feet.  "Ugh, since when was it ever this hot in Liyue?"  Your clothes were soaked in sweat from the summer-like heat despite your vision granting you resistance, but Childe appeared mostly unbothered--mostly.  He didn't show it, but when you'd look elsewhere he'd often pull at his collar and reminisce of the harsh winters of the Motherland.  "Thank the archons that the sun is finally setting."

"We've already passed Wangshu Inn, but it's not too late to turn back and spend the night there.  Are you sure you want to sleep in the woods, Reed?  You'd be passing up the chance to cuddle me, you know."  He reveled in your half-disgusted, half-flustered reaction while you struggled to fully comprehend his words.

"Q-Quit it!  Like I've said before, this wouldn't be my first trip to Mond.  I have no problem lying on the ground!  Or are you saying you can't handle it?"  Flipping the subject onto him did no good at hiding your flushing skin; the arrogant smirk on his face proved it.  "...Why don't we stay here?  There's the creek nearby, and a clearing up ahead."

Childe eyed the surrounding area and set his pack down.  "If the lady insists."  The pleasant aroma of packed food filled the two of you with delight.  "Shall I begin cooking dinner?"

"I wouldn't mind," you practically drooled.  Ajax's cooking was amazing! After that initial dinner when both of you reunited, he would sometimes surprise you with homecooked meals to take home and man were you excited for the next time he offered.  A toy seller and a cook...his younger siblings must live a luxury!  "I'll get some water!"

The creek wasn't too far away--perhaps some fifty feet or so.  The crystalline waters murmured quietly over the pebbles and stones, some spaces louder, others quieter where the fish gathered.  If it wasn't getting darker by the minute and the threat of hilichurls wasn't so prominent, you could've stayed here much longer.  Not that hilichurls posed that much of a threat to someone acquainted with your fighting skills, but you've only come across them once or twice, and the giant ones could easily bulldoze through you if given the chance.

Once the pot of water was full you rose to walk back to your little makeshift camp.  Ajax had insisted on bringing fresh produce since the trip to Mondstat wasn't a particularly long one and the trip was rather straightforward.  Maybe he was going to make stew?  Whatever he chose, you just hoped none of the food spoiled from the sun beating down on the packs all day.

By the time you got back, Ajax had already managed to start a fire and was humming some unknown tune while preparing the produce.  You couldn't help but raise a brow and tighten your hold on the pot.  "Um...really?"

"Hm?"  His eyes slid to you, then back to the fire.  "Oh! Sorry, I wasn't thinking.  Don't worry, Reed.  It won't bite you."

"I'm not coming close enough to feel the heat on my skin.  Here," you thrust the pot towards him and he made sure to grab it before the water spilled over.  Your light footsteps got quieter the further you strayed from Ajax and the fire, taking shelter beneath one of the far trees where your packs lay.  

"Relax, ojou-chan.  I won't let it hurt you."  A small chuckle escaped him before he resumed his humming session without a second thought or noticing your silence.  

You really don't remember...You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt.  What did they do to you, Ajax?

Your silence carried on until the crickets duetted with the occasional hoots of a nearby owl and the crackling of the fire weighed heavily on your mind.  "I'm sorry, ojou-chan."  

"Mm?"  He had stopped rambling about some disagreement he and a coworker had about communication and was now looking directly at you.  

"I'll put out the fire," he moved.

"No, you need to stay warm."

"I wouldn't say that."  He drug out a blanket from his pack and laid it in the space between where he sat by the fire and you, who sat at the tree behind him.  "Here.  You'll lay on that side, I'll lay next to the fire."

Your eyes narrowed at the flickering flames behind him.  "Is that even safe?"

"Well if the fire ever gets out of control, you or I can put it out," he reasoned and pat the spot next to him until you reluctantly obliged.  He didn't lay down until you were settled in with your back facing him.  Silence befell the campsite until he took a deep breath.  "What's on your mind, Reed?"

It took a few minutes for the answer to come out.  "Do you not remember our last encounter  before my mother and I left Snezhnaya?"

"Now that you mention it, not really."  He remembered a vague goodbye, but nothing else about it.  It was sometime right after he returned from the abyss if he got his timeline correct.  Feeling a tad nervous for whatever reason now, he let out a small laugh.  "Could you possibly enlighten--" You rolled around so you faced him and met his gaze with tears. That's when his memory came rushing back.

"Ajax!  Ajax!"  You ran at him full speed with hot tears spilling down your cheeks until you collided with him in a tight embrace.  "I--I thought they got you too!" He seemed to freeze under your touch, so you pulled away to look him over.  He appeared tired and wild for lack of a better term, with eyes as wide as saucers like a snow leopard meeting a human for the first time.  He was different, but you couldn't put your finger on how.

"'Too?'"

"The Fatui," you sobbed.  "A day after you went missing, my house...my daddy..."

His words came out as harsh as the cold with not a hint of his kind demeanor shining through. "Spit it out."

"You know how my daddy fights against the Fatui in my town? They burned my house down and...and daddy..." Was your face red from crying all day or from the cold?  "...he burned with it."  Ajax didn't seem injured, so some of the stress weighing your shoulders down dissipated a bit now that you knew your dear friend wasn't hurt.

But instead of Ajax explaining where he was or consoling you for the loss of your father, a horrid giggle pierced through the snowscape.  It was inhuman, what with its pitch sending an icy chill down your spine and instantly replacing your expression of sorrow to one of confusion and horror.  "Ha...Hahahaha! Hahahahah!"

"Why are you laughing? This isn't funny!"

"Ahahaha!  Silly Reed," he chided and pat your head like one consoles a younger sibling, "in this world, only the strong survive.  Your father wasn't strong enough." The girl before him trembled at his words.  "He was too weak if he died like that."

"Th--This isn't funny, Ajax! Cut it--OW!"  You were shoved into the snow with an unfamiliar strength.  Ajax never raised a hand at you, even when you two played together.  What was he--

A dangerous glint danced in his eyes like the fire that consumed your house two days ago. "No, you cut it out!  You're gonna get yourself killed if you keep acting weak.  The world has no mercy on people like us.  It's kill or be killed.  Do you understand that, Reed?"

"Why are you...What is the matter with you?!  Don't you care? What did the Fatui do to you?!  Who even are you?"  Hot tears rolled down your cheeks until the cold froze them in their tracks.  Yet the boy that stared down at you was uncaring, cruel, and held no life in his eyes.

"It wasn't the Fatui," he muttered to himself.  "Hurry up and get on with it already.  What was really so important that you needed to tell me your dad died?"

"My mama and I...we're leaving tomorrow.  I came to make sure you were okay and to say goodbye.  We won't see each other again, Ajax," you finally rose to your feet and clenched your fists.  "But you don't care, do you?"

"No.  I don't.  Leave me alone already."

"I..." Ajax blinked several times as he processed his long-forgotten memory.  "I'm so sorry, Reed."

"If you're so sorry, then tell me what happened.  What did the Fatui do to you?" Even in the dark, you could see a hint of sadness in the depths of his eyes.  "If they hurt you too I swear...I swear I'll make every single one of them pay."  Heat radiated from your body at the thought.  "I promise." Yet even as you said this, there was another, darker, more bittersweet emotion in his expression.

"I...fell into the Abyss."  Those were the only words he muttered before rolling onto his other side, facing away from you.  And though you didn't really understand what he meant, his empty tone struck a cord within you.  Warm arms gently wrapped around his torso with a heat softer than the campfire that lulled him to sleep.

[nejibaby]

Love Language

Pairings: Neji x Y/N

A/N: First time writing a fic for Neji. In fact, this is my first time writing a fanfic involving anime characters. But I’m so whipped for Neji I couldn’t stop myself from writing this. Please let me know your thoughts about this. 💜

When you opened your eyes from your sleep, you immediately knew you were having one of those days. “Those days” meaning the days where you feel a need for skinship. It was one of those days where you were feeling extremely clingy.

Oh but the skinship you crave doesn’t necessarily have to lead to sex or anything, you just wanted physical touch. It was something you find comforting. It was, after all, your love language.

So when you peeked to the other side of the bed — your boyfriend Neji’s side — you couldn’t help but want to press yourself closer to him. But knowing that he was a light sleeper was enough reason to stop yourself from doing what you want. He just came home from a mission last night and he deserved to rest as much as he can.

You watched his profile as he took deep, even breaths — a telltale sign that he was fast asleep. You slowly and gently touched the side of his face, pausing still as you checked if he woke up at your movement. When you deemed that he was still asleep, you lightly rubbed your thumb over his cheeks, just a featherlight touch but an act where you poured your love for him.

You slowly rose up from the bed and placed a soft kiss on his forehead, exactly where his curse mark lied. Afterwards, you whispered, “I love you, Neji.”

It was the first time you’ve said those three words out loud. You felt a little but guilty for not being able to say it when he’s awake, but it’s not just something you can say out of the blue. Besides, you have to build up courage to actually be able to say it. Right now though, right now you were still a coward.

He stirred a little in his sleep. You were alarmed, afraid that you had woken him up or worse, that he had heard your confession. But his movement stopped when you ran your fingers through his hair. When you are sure he has fallen back into slumber, you slip out of the bed.

The Hokage, Tsunade, assigned a mission to you today so you had to get up early if you wanted to cook breakfast for Neji.

_____________________________

At a young age your parents taught you the importance of learning other people's love languages in order to build a good relationship with them. That’s how you found yourself observing what makes your friends happy. You wouldn’t tell them this though. You were quite sure they’d end up teasing you for worrying over trivial things.

You were sure your love language was physical touch because you often find yourself happily linking arms with Sakura or passionately fist bumping with Naruto. Not to mention you would hug them goodbye instead of waving your hands. It probably meant nothing much to them, but to you, it made you feel loved and accepted. It warmed your heart.

From observation, you learned that Naruto was happiest when people acknowledge him and his hard work so you made it a point to cheer him on and to give him words of affirmation from time to time. With Sakura, she likes to spend as much time as possible with you when you both don’t have missions to do. You were guessing she was lonely because of Sasuke leaving but it could also be because she was an only child and wasn’t really fond of her parent’s shenanigans. Either way, she was always up for quality time.

You were the closest with these two so you made it a point to act according to their love language. And just like what your parent’s said, it worked on strengthening your bond with them.

It was with them that you confided with your little crush on Neji. At first they found it weird. Because how can someone so sweet like you take a liking to someone who was a little… cold? Detached?

You chastised them immediately after hearing what they’ve said, claiming that Neji was honorable, strong, smart, good looking, and just overall dreamy.

Sakura giggled at how you zoned out with hearts on your eyes as you uttered those words and that’s when she knew you were serious.

Naruto, on the other hand, was cringing. He knew how mean and condescending Neji could be. It was painted on his face how he didn’t like Neji for you. But at least your crush wasn’t Sasuke.

When you got your bearings together, you immediately turned to Naruto and told him to keep his mouth shut. You recalled saying, “Naruto, If you ever talk about my teeny tiny crush, I’m going to leave Konoha all together, just like Sasuke did!”

You were exaggerating, of course. You wouldn’t leave Konoha just because of that, but your speech worked on Naruto. You recalled that his eyes widened in surprise and then promised that he won’t tell a soul. You doubted if he could keep a secret but eventually, you just didn’t care anymore. It was just a crush anyway, it wasn’t a big deal and it wouldn’t matter if he knew. If anything, you both weren’t really that close to begin with, so there’s no friendship that could’ve been ruined. And besides, Neji has always been the all-business type of guy, you were sure a little crush was something insignificant to him.

________________________________

When Naruto left the village to train with Master Jiraiya, you eventually became closer with the other shinobis that were more or less closer to your age. This includes Tenten, Lee, Ino, Shikamaru, Choji, Kiba, Shino, Hinata, and surprisingly, Neji too.

It all started when Sakura had begun training with Lady Tsunade. You’ve been assigned to a lot of missions where you were teamed up with different shinobis, but what was weird was that Neji was almost always on your team.

You just wished Lady Tsunade was assigning both of you often in one team because you were always both free at the same time or that you worked well together or that you were both very skilled and had high success rates on missions. Any rational reasoning really, as long as it’s not because Sakura had pulled some strings.

At first you were really nervous about teaming up with Neji on missions, afraid that you were going to mess up in his presence. But when the initial nerves died down, you’ve masked whatever little feelings you’ve had for him quite well. Not that it was hard. In fact, it was easy for you because you prioritize the safety of the village before anything else.

But the missions truly did make both of you closer. What started as only speaking about the missions became casual talks about your friends. Nothing much, mostly small talk, but it was enough to ignite the small flame in your heart.

_______________________

When you arrived back from your missions, despite being tired, you would always gather your friends around to hang out before another mission was handed to you.

Being a jonin meant you were assigned to more higher rank missions, but sometimes, it just meant having much, much more missions than normal. It was tiring, only having a day or two to rest unless you were injured before another mission was handed over. So somehow it became a tradition of some sorts to gather around after you’ve finished a mission. After all, only you and Neji were jonins in the group.

Unbeknownst to you, your friends viewed you as someone who glued them together. You were the reason why they were much closer than before, now that Naruto wasn’t around. So when possible, they would make it a point to meet with you, knowing how lonely it could be now that you were alone after your parents died when Orochimaru attacked Konoha.

Sakura would often give you a look when Neji was around as all of you spend time with each other catching up. He rarely joined the gathering, preferring to rest instead of socializing. But every now and then he would come too. And when he did, somehow Sakura found a way to make him walk you home. Not that he wouldn’t do it without Sakura urging him to.

Ever since that one mission where you, Neji, and Shino were ambushed, Neji became much closer to you. Maybe it was because when one of the attackers somehow managed to stab him, you came to the rescue.

You were an exceptional kunoichi, your skills were one of the most regarded in the village so you were able to bring down most of the attackers, but not before they left a huge gash on your leg. When the fight was over, you rushed to Neji to heal him using medical ninjutsu that Sakura taught you. Luckily, Shino was only left with a few scratches.

“You know medical ninjutsu?” Neji asked, surprised.

“Yeah. A little. Sakura taught me every now and then when I’m not on a mission.”

“You should heal yourself first.”

“No, I’m fine. Your wound needs more attention than mine.”

It was true, his wound looks a lot worse than yours, but in the end you managed to heal it. However, it took too much chakra from you so with whatever minimal chakra you could use, you tried healing your wound as well. But that left you tired and weak which didn’t go unnoticed by Neji’s byakugan.

You were able to walk for a mile before your body couldn’t anymore. Neji has been looking out for you after you’ve healed him just in case this happened.

“We should probably rest a while,” Neji says.

“No, no. It’s just a few more miles to Konoha. We should keep going,” you say.

Neji looks at Shino, silently asking if they should continue or not.

Shino nods ahead, “It’s much safer if we reach the village as soon as possible. Why? Because you are both not in good shape from the ambush. If we stayed here longer, we might get attacked again. If we push through going back to the village, we’ll reach it before sunset.”

Neji looks at you and then nods his head. “I will carry you.”

Before you could resist, you were already on his back and he was already jumping through branches.

You wrapped your arms around him so as not to fall. He felt warm and you felt safe. A weak smile found its way to your face, grateful that you had comrades looking out for you.

You even allowed yourself to be giddy because of the fact that Neji was there, carrying you to safety.

“I’m sorry,” you say. Your body was shutting down from exhaustion but before you lost consciousness you said, “And th-thank you, Neji.”

Sakura had been waiting by the village gates knowing you were supposed to arrive that day. She perked up upon seeing Shino but then tensed when she saw you being carried by Neji. “What happened?”

“There was an ambush when we were on the way back after the mission. I was careless. I got stabbed. Y/N and Shino fought them off. She healed me but she lost a lot of chakra in the process.” He explains in one breath.

“Let’s get her to the hospital.”

Since that day, you became so much closer with Neji. Whenever he finds you walking alone, he’d offer to walk with you. When you were both assigned on missions, you noticed he started bringing food pills for you. When you were somehow at the training grounds at the same time, he’d hand you an extra bottle of water.

You figured it was his way of thanking you. Nevertheless, the gestures made your heart flutter.

You weren’t going to let him be the only one who’s being thoughtful, so when you trained together, you’d make sure you brought an extra towel for him to use to wipe off his sweat. Sometimes you’d even bring him food, claiming you miscalculated the amount of food you cooked. You weren’t sure if he caught on with your little crush, but you sure hoped he didn’t. The smile on his face as he thanked you for these little gestures was heartwarming to say the least. And it was enough to make your week better.

________________________________

You weren’t quite sure when Neji had started to take a liking to you but you remembered a time where your friends pointed it out to you.

It was a day after Neji completed a long mission. He seeked you out so he can train with you. You immediately agreed, knowing you didn’t have anything planned that day.

When you were both finished, drained from the intense training, you handed him a towel as he gave you a bottle of water. You were both trying to catch your breath when a voice came calling out your name. You both turned to the source of the sound.

Once you saw it was, you squealed and immediately came running towards him, engulfing him in a bear hug. “Lee!” You exclaimed.

He laughs and spins you around. “How has the prettiest flower in Konoha been?”

You snort. “I think you meant the strongest kunoichi next to the Hokage.”

“That works too.” He brings you down and notices Neji watching the interaction. You both walk towards Neji and Lee says, “I see you have been training with my rival.”

“Yes. Neji helps me train when he’s around. He just came back from a mission yesterday.”

“I see. What do you say, Neji, will you indulge me in a battle?” Lee says as he throws punches and kicks in the air.

Neji’s eye twitches, “Sorry, Lee. I’m tired.”

By the time Neji replied though, Lee was already counting push-ups. It was impossible to be able to talk to him when he’s in the zone so you and Neji just let him be and walk away.

When you were both away from Lee, Neji clears his throat and asks, “Have you always been that close to Lee?”

You were confused by the sudden question. “Hm. I guess so. We’re all friends, right? But we got a lot closer recently. When you were away on a mission, Lee kept bugging everyone to train with him since you and Guy sensei were away. But well, no one really wanted to train with him because they were busy with other stuff. And since my training buddy,” you nudged his elbow, “was away, I agreed. Honestly, his timing couldn’t have been better. Kakashi sensei just taught me a new water style jutsu and I was trying to see if I can weave the signs faster. Lee was the perfect partner for the job.”

“Oh.”

You frown, what does that mean? “Is there something wrong, Neji?”

“Nothing.”

You let it go, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. Just as you were about to round the corner going to your house, you halted, “Oh, I forgot I was supposed to meet Sakura today!”

“Okay. I will walk you there.”

“Thank you, Neji,” you said as you felt your cheeks blush.

When you found Sakura, you greeted her with a hug while whispering, “I need to talk to you about something.”

She gave you a look but nodded anyway. You turned back to Neji and thanked him for training and walking with you.

He nods and tells you that he’ll be heading out then.

“What happened?” Sakura asks.

Just as you were about to answer, Tenten came running towards the both of you, “Oh, there you are!”

“Tenten, what’s up?”

“What do you say we get together and do it up a little? At Yakiniku-Q.”

You and Sakura turn to each other. She just shrugs. “Sure.”

Tenten smiled brightly and dragged you two to find Ino and Hinata.

Tenten found Ino first. She was with Choji and Shikamaru. Tenten immediately went to Ino to talk about her plan. Meanwhile, Choji scoops you up in a hug. You laugh, “Well someone’s eager to see me.”

“I haven’t seen you in a while!” He exclaims as he puts you down.

You hang your arms around Choji and Shikamaru’s shoulders, “Yeah, I’ve been training nonstop. How are you guys?”

Shikamaru whispers under his breath, “How troublesome” but you ignore him.

“We’ve been on missions here and there.”

You were supposed to respond but Choji’s attention has shifted to Tenten and Ino when he heard “Yakiniku.”

“Yakiniku?! I’m in! I’m in!”

“You guys aren’t invited.” Tenten declared.

“Huh? Why?” Choji frowns.

“Because it’s time for just us girls to hang out. Right? Let’s have a girls-only get-together!”

“Sorry, Choji. I’ll treat you next time!” You console him.

“Alright! We just have to find Hinata then.” Tenten says.

When she was able to convince Hinata to join, you all went to Yakiniku-Q together. As you entered the store, you silently asked Sakura, “Why do you think Tenten invited us here?”

“I’m not sure. But I think everyone’s a little bit down from missing Naruto.”

“I miss him…” You say wistfully. And a little bit loudly. You only noticed it when you looked up and found that Ino, Hinata, and Tenten were all looking at you. And then you turned your head, you saw that your male friends were there too, by the other table, looking at you as well.

You flushed at the sudden attention and stepped behind Sakura in an attempt to hide yourself.

Kiba was the first to break the silence, “Oi! Who do you miss, huh?” He says teasingly, moving his eyebrows up and down.

You felt yourself becoming redder and redder as you found Neji looking at you and Kiba curiously, but with a slight downturn of his mouth.

“Is it—”

You lounged at him to cover his mouth before he was able to finish his sentence. “Don’t you dare, Kiba.”

He raises his hands in surrender. You reluctantly remove your hand from his mouth. Lucky for you, he remains quiet, but he has a smirk on.

Sakura pulls you away to lead you to the girls’ table. You kept eye contact with Kiba as you mouth, I’m watching you while glaring at the man.

“Why did you even react like that when you were just talking about Naruto?” She whispered.

“Have you seen Kiba? He kept subtly looking between Neji and me. I’m pretty sure he’d tell on me right then and there so I had to stop him.”

“Why didn’t you just say it was Naruto?”

“I could have but the undertone in his voice sounded like he was implying I have feelings with the person I miss.” You explained exasperated.

Sakura just sighed.

You dropped the conversation as the girls started talking about what to order and how great the deals were. You immediately relaxed and smiled, happy to be in the presence of your friends.

You took a peek at the other table to check if Kiba had said anything, only to be met with Neji’s eyes focused on you. You stilled, not expecting him to be looking at you. You gave him a small smile and a wave, he just nodded, face devoid of any emotion and then he turned away.

You frowned.

Tenten was cooking the meat while the rest of the girls had engaged in small talk. You joined in the conversation every now and then but your mind was occupied by how weird Neji was acting.

Your friends were quick to notice it. Tenten handed you a serving of the cooked meat, “What’s bothering you?” She asked softly.

“You don’t seem yourself, Y/N…” Hinata said.

You quickly shook your head, “I’m fine.”

“Didn’t you have something you want to talk about?” Sakura pipes up.

You groan, knowing full well you weren’t going to escape this conversation. “So there’s this guy,” you pause as you took a bite off of the cooked meat Tenten gave you.

“You mean Neji?” Ino asks.

You suddenly choked on your food at the sound of his name.

The girls laughed at your reaction. “Well that’s embarrassing,” you muttered as your cheeks flushed pink. You look at Hinata, you were suddenly shy that your dilemma involved her cousin.

She nodded and offered you a smile so warm you feel your shyness dissipate. “Wa-was I that o-obvious?” You stuttered.

“Not really.” Ino chimed in. “Sakura here was the one who’s obvious. She’d always look between the two of you when he’s hanging out with the group. Not to mention the amount of times she asked Neji to walk you home. I’m pretty sure everyone in our group of friends caught on it already.”

You narrowed your eyes on Sakura and she cringed. “I’m sorry!”

You deflated and then shrugged your shoulders, “Doesn’t matter. As long as he’s not aware. Wait! He’s not aware, right?” You look at Tenten and Hinata.

“I’m not sure, I don’t think he’s ever mentioned it.” Tenten said.

You turned to Hinata in question, “He’s not really the type to share about those things.”

“Right.” You said before taking another bite on your food.

“So are you gonna tell us what happened?”

“It’s probably nothing.” You casually replied.

“Out with it.” Sakura said, her patience wearing thin as you tried to skirt around the topic.

You sighed but told them anyway. You told them what happened earlier after you finished training with Neji and then the conversation you had after you saw Lee. You even told them about the small interaction that happened at the shop while you all ate.

“I never thought he was that type.” Ino broke the silence after you told them the story.

You looked at her with curiosity. “What type?”

“The jealous type.”

Ino might as well have grown two heads with how you looked at her then. “Huh?” was all you could ever think to say.

“It’s obvious he likes you.” Tenten teased.

“If it was obvious then I would have known. I’m pretty sure we’re just good friends.” You said matter-of-factly.

Everyone groaned at what you’ve said, even Hinata. “You’re so dense,” Ino muttered.

“If he only sees you as a friend then why does he keep on stealing glances at you every now and then?” Tenten asked.

“What are you talking about?”

She discreetly pointed her finger towards Neji’s direction. You whipped your head to see and, lo and behold, there was Neji staring at you, but he was quick to turn away. You blushed and your friends giggled at the interaction.

“I’m too sober for this conversation.” You declared as your friends continued to tease you. “Alright, let’s drink!” was the last thing you said before you pushed the thoughts of Neji aside.

________________________________

You smiled at the memory. If Neji’s jealousy hadn’t been pointed out by your friends, you would have never started acting on your feelings. And you wouldn’t even be here waking up early cooking breakfast for him. You wouldn’t be the receiver of his kisses or hugs although you only got them in the confines of your house.

You were naturally affectionate, Neji knew this and he would indulge you with affection privately. In all honesty, if it was up to you, you would be holding his hand in public for the world to see, maybe even peck him on the lips from time to time, and hug him as much as possible.

However, Neji was a private person so you assumed he didn’t like public displays of affection. You respected that. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get a little bit jealous when he sees Lee lift you up and spin you around or when he sees you and Kiba playfully pretend to fight which somehow always ends up with you on Kiba’s back or when Choji wraps you in a hug. Shikamaru and Shino aren’t as affectionate as the others but sometimes he’d find you slinging your arms over their shoulders. It bothered him sometimes. But all his worries quickly vanish at the end of the day, knowing it was he who gets to hold you at night and he who gets to see you first in the morning.

Coincidentally, you had your own worries when it comes to not being able to be affectionate with Neji in public. Sometimes your insecurities got the best of you. You would hear unreasonable voices in your head. Maybe he’s not proud of me. Maybe he only sees me as a temporary lover. Maybe I’m not good enough.

But you know this isn’t true when you find him looking at you with his loving eyes. He’d always give you the softest look that warms you more than hugs do. It was a look reserved for you only and it satiates all your thirst for affection, more than physical intimacy can.

You know he feels your love just as much from the way you’d cook him food, heal his injuries and brush his hair. Neji was an independent man, but somehow you made yourself so important that he found himself depending on you more. This wasn’t a problem for you because if it’s for Neji, you’d gladly accept such responsibilities. Always. Just for him.

[uchihasakurawrites]

Until Next Time

Rating: T

Summary: When ghosts from the war come back to haunt Sakura, Sasuke's there to try his hand at warding them off. A story of comfort, growth, and realization. (Blank Period)

Word Count: 3,777

A/N: Long time, no see everyone! Thank you for your patience as I’ve worked through some writer’s block the past few months. I know many of you are waiting on the next chapter for A Lesson in Practicality, but I hope you’ll still enjoy this piece. Please let me know your thoughts if you have the time! Otherwise, thank you for taking some time to read my work. ^_^

Warning: This story contains depictions of panic attacks, PTSD flashbacks, and some alcohol abuse. Nothing too dark in here since it's mainly a comfort fic, but please be cautious if any of these topics are triggering for you.

Cross posted on Ao3 and Fanfiction.net

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Her day begins and ends the same way every other day the past year seemed to - with Sakura walking into the hospital with a confident spring to her step and a brightness in her eyes and dragging herself out (on the rare day she had the energy to pry herself from her desk) with antiseptic or blood or a mix of the two staining her hands and the lab coat she'd forgotten to peel off.

Tonight, Sakura consciously decides not to make the effort to drag herself out of the hospital. Leaving means she'll be roped into the birthday party Ino's been planning for Sai for months, and she doesn't quite have the energy to even shower, let alone paste a convincing smile on her lips.

She spares a glance at the old clock posted right above the chalkboard in her office as she shuffles in and locks the door behind her.

8:00PM.

Fourteen hours since Naruto shook her awake and thrust her straight into a day from hell.

It's still a little too early for anyone to come looking for her yet. Naruto will notice that she's not at the bar right when he arrives, but Hinata will patiently remind him of the shitshow that was today and reason that Sakura's still probably dealing with the aftermath. (In much less colorful terms, of course; Sakura's only heard her friend curse a handful of times, none of which were in front of Naruto.) That'll buy her about an hour before Ino starts making a fuss and sends Sai or Kiba out to Sakura's apartment.

If she's not there, they'll assume she's still at the hospital, and they won't come back until it's close to midnight. Not today. Not after seeing the hallways lined with burn victims pleading for someone to find their loved ones. Not after returning home and finding that the stench of charred skin and blood isn't so easy to wash out of their clothes.

Sakura didn't get to leave. Her role just changed from a kunoichi dispatched on a rescue mission to the de facto head of the hospital the moment she crossed the threshold.

She pulls the shades in hopes of convincing her friends that she isn't here if they do decide to come looking but stops short in front of the light switch. The migraine between her temples screams for her to turn the fluorescents off, but she doesn't trust her mind not to see death in the shadows of her office tonight.

She turns them off anyways.

It isn't until she's sitting criss-cross on her floor with her too-full bookshelf at her back and a bottle of sake in her hand that Sakura realizes her hands are trembling. A splash of sake makes its way onto her carpet instead of into her cup, and she curses because it's good sake - the expensive kind that Tsunade bought her a case of after the war and no no no.

She cuts that thought there because violent memories of the war, or rather the days immediately following the war, have been intruding into her mind all day and she just can't.

A case or so of sake should knock her and those thoughts right out (or so she hopes). Years of honing her skills as a medic nin have given her a certain resistance to toxins, including alcohol, and it's why she doesn't bother to drink most of the time; social drinking is more of a waste of money than anything else. She figures that's precisely why her mentor gave her an entire case as a gift.

It isn't until she's two bottles in and there's a buzzed lightness to her body that she realizes she's crying.

Her breath seems to come faster and faster, shallower and shallower, and she wonders if the buzz and creeping, cold numbness in her fingers is because of the alcohol or the lack of oxygen. She's shivering, muscles tensed to the point of pain, but she blames it on the chill of the hospital.

Another glass will knock the cold right out. At least, that's what Tsunade used to say when she drank away the ghosts that forced themselves a little too close to the front of her mind.

It's a few glasses later that Sakura starts seeing the eyes of the dead staring back at her from the shadows at the edges of her office. She's back on the battlefield, the same smell of burnt skin and the mournful cries of shinobi finally processing the deaths of their comrades hanging in the air. She's been healing for days, but she continues to push. The fighting may be over but there are still identities to confirm, survivors to heal, and families to be notified.

Sakura knew that death was part of her job description from her days in the Academy; protecting the interests of the village often required it. Tsunade had let her figure out that the same was true of her job as a medic on her own, when she lost her first patient at fifteen. She'd learned to put the deaths she dealt with in a neat little box which she deadbolted and tossed on a shelf in the deepest recess of her mind she could find.

But death was a uniquely stubborn bastard that didn't always like to stay in that box.

She'd been awake for the full three days the war had drawn on, but the medical corps was tasked with the brunt of combing through the miles upon miles of dead shinobi for another forty-eight hours or so. They'd had help, but medics were the ones needed throughout to organize, heal, or in the worst possible cases (which Sakura and Shizune handled) show mercy to the shinobi who were alive but long past the point of saving.

Sakura nearly vomits and washes the bile down with more sake. One glass. Another.

The quiet tears have turned into sobs that scratch at her throat and squeeze her lungs. Her nails cut thin crescent moons into her forearms, and her shoulders hunch as if she can ward off the prying eyes. Sakura barely has the presence of mind to activate the silencing seal in her office - the one she keeps on hand when discussing particularly sensitive cases - before her sobs grow into half screams. She can't get enough air to manage much more than a hoarse cry, but if she can just drink fast enough, it shouldn't matter.

And so she cracks open another bottle and brings it directly to her lips, trying to focus on the burn of the alcohol on her throat and Naruto's bright smile reassuring her that everything would be fine when he first found her clutching a bottle of sake in the corner of her disaster of a bedroom.

What she doesn't count on is the alcohol making it increasingly difficult to distinguish reality from the memories that have escaped from her mind and seared themselves into the darkness around her. They become more real, more tangible, until she swears she can hear the fresh widow of a shinobi from Cloud shouting about how Sakura hadn't done enough. Another voice joins until there's a chorus telling her exactly what she feared most:

There shouldn't have been so many casualties. She should have been able to do more.

She was weak.

Her tears stop for a moment when she looks up and sees Sasuke standing in the doorway. For a fraction of a second, she almost feels relieved and tries to move to go to him, but she's reminded none of this is real, and she can't be sure which Sasuke this is. Given her current state of mind, it's probably the one who haunted her nightmares for months after the bridge and still longer after his genjutsu in the war. She takes a swig from the bottle she clenches in her fist and curls back into herself.

Sasuke's repeated calls of her name fall on deaf ears.

For his part, Sasuke is at a loss. He's never seen Sakura like this (and he'd witnessed her tears firsthand on many occasions as genin). Sure, she's always worn her heart on her sleeve and been far too open with her emotions by standard shinobi rules, but she has never seemed so broken.

Looking at the scratch marks that trail down her forearms and the far too many empty bottles of sake for someone of her stature littered on the carpet, Sasuke realizes he doesn't know this woman - and in retrospect, he never should have assumed otherwise.

From her confessions both during the war and when he made the decision to leave her behind yet again, Sasuke knows she's still fiercely loyal and has a light bright enough to forgive and heal anything it touches without her needing to make the conscious choice to do so. Her skills as a shinobi have grown to the point that she could give him a challenge if they were to spar, and he's seen her heal an entire battlefield for days on end while still fighting on the front lines.

She's become more than worthy of the title of the "New Sannin," as the original Team 7 has now been christened, and she still loves him (unreasonably so in his opinion, but he's come to realize that maybe he doesn't want her to change her mind - even if he thinks it would be better for her in the long run). But that's all he knows, and he finds himself wanting to discover more of who Sakura is now.

He has years of absence and cruel actions to make up for, and far more growth beyond that to become someone who deserves the steadfast love she's always been ready to give him.

At the moment, however, he needs to get her to let go of the liquor bottle she clutches onto like a lifeline and refocus on the present. He's been trapped by his past more times than he'll ever admit, and though he hasn't had real comfort since his mother (and Sakura, he amends), he owes it to her to at least try.

Sasuke approaches her slowly, intentionally making his footsteps heavier so that she can hear him approach. Whatever nightmare she's trapped in - he confirmed it wasn't a genjutsu the moment he broke the lock on her door after an unnerving spike in her chakra - she hasn't seemed to notice he's actually here. He bites back the guilt that surfaces at the thought that he could be part of her nightmare, but that's something they can work through later.

He crouches down in front of her, taking a firm hold of the hand that clutches the bottle to try to coax it out of her grip. She jolts at the touch, peeking hesitantly up from her knees with red-rimmed eyes and a mix of tears and sweat coating her cheeks.

"Breathe, Sakura."

Her grip loosens as she meets his eyes. He sees uncertainty waver in her gaze as she hiccups in a short breath, but then the panic snaps back down and tightens her hold on the bottle yet again.

"I- I can't."

The words are stilted, as though forcing out those two words causes her physical pain. Sasuke, however, considers it a small win as it means Sakura's decided he's real. Her breathing is still far too fast, and he knows he needs to stabilize it before she's ready to explain what's happening.

It's awkward - both because Sasuke has never done this and the fact that he hasn't completely sorted through his feelings for his teammate - but he eventually pulls Sakura far enough away from the bookcase that he can shuffle in behind her. He secures his legs around her sides and arranges Sakura so that her back rests on his chest.

It's almost annoying just how snugly Sakura fits against him, her head tucked just below his chin. A part of his mind notes how her curves seem to melt into his frame only to be ruthlessly shoved down. There are priorities, and noting how the boyish (yet annoyingly charming) Sakura has clearly blossomed into a young woman is not one of them.

Where the Sakura from his memories smelled of strawberries and artificial sweetness, the woman in his arms tonight seems as though she's been doused in a pungent blend of antiseptic and ash.

"Breathe, Sakura."

Sasuke repeats Sakura's name to ground her as he starts regulating his own breath: six counts in through the nose, hold, eight counts out through the mouth. He's sure to exaggerate his breaths a bit so Sakura can feel the movement against her back. Hesitantly, his hand comes up to trail over the marks on her forearm. His hands have always been cold, so he figures the one he has left might be able to relieve some of the sting from her nails.

He makes a mental note to pick up some basic medical ninjutsu and doesn't bother to pretend it's just for field injuries.

It takes about ten minutes for Sakura's breathing to return mostly to normal. It still stutters every now and then, but she's matching Sasuke almost breath for breath. She doesn't move away from him, and Sasuke doesn't move to shift her.

As they sit in silence, save for their own breathing, Sasuke realizes he's put himself in a position where he needs to actually start the conversation. There's no bright chatter, no smile to coax him into talking. Again, he's at a loss.

It seems this new Sakura has retained a talent for doing this to him.

Annoying woman.

"Tell me about it."

Sakura immediately shakes her head, breath trembling yet again. Sasuke sighs and guesses he should have known she wasn't going to make this easy for him. He can't blame her. If someone asked him to do the same, he would have told them to fuck off.

"Sakura."

She turns to him with a dangerous look in her eyes, a cold jade that threatens to cut him if he pushes too far. Sasuke's always been the best at serving the very same look, but it's unnerving to see it etched into Sakura's soft features.

"Dammit, Sakura. Just talk to me."

Her gaze grows warmer, but not in the way he wants. She's angry, and Sasuke isn't really sure how he could have pissed her off in just six words. Sakura being Sakura, she of course makes the reason for her anger clear immediately.

"And why the hell do I need to do that, Sasuke?"

Sasuke nearly winces at the dropped suffix on his name and tries to remember how his mother handled it when he refused to confide in her.

"You haven't been here" - even Sakura knows this is unfair as she says it, but the confusion, grief, and alcohol clouding her mind make it difficult to acknowledge how much the man she loves has grown to be able to offer this to her- "and you never told me anything when I asked you to. So fuck off, Sasuke-kun. I'm sure Naruto's expecting you."

Naruto most definitely wasn't, but Sasuke doesn't see the value in pointing that particular fact out. By the time he got to the village and was promptly dragged into the bar he had made the mistake of walking past on his way to the Hokage Tower, the idiot was already drunk off his ass. Ino was as well, so Hinata asked Sasuke if he would mind going to check on Sakura at the hospital since she and Sai needed to stay to take care of their significant others.

Sakura finally moves to get up, tipping over a half-full bottle of sake in her efforts, but Sasuke can still see the tremors in her hands and the familiar strain of a jaw clenched against tears. Her eyes still dart towards the corners of the room.

Sasuke's well aware of the ghosts that can haunt those shadows and resolves to help Sakura put hers to rest, even if it's just for the night. His legs tighten around Sakura before she can fully pull away from him, and she falls back against his chest with a huff and a glare that's more tired than venomous.

Sasuke sighs and lowers his head. His bangs cover his eyes as he decides to voice at least part of the feelings he's managed to process regarding Sakura. He's not sure exactly how to categorize how he feels about her yet (mostly because his mind still can't comprehend why someone so bright has loved him through so much darkness), but he wants to help and that's about all he can offer her at the moment.

She deserves more, so much more, but he hopes it's enough for now.

"I'm here, Sakura."

He wants to add that he's not going anywhere because someone who will stay is only a fraction of what Sakura deserves, but that's not a promise he can make.

He feels Sakura's surprise as she stiffens against him, and her breath stops altogether for a few worrying moments. Sasuke wills himself to stay relaxed at her back, still maintaining a steady breathing pace should she need the rhythm again.

Sakura's thoughts are a whirlwind that she tries to grab ahold of but slips right through her fingers. She's torn, half of her mind shattered glass that urges her to open up and share even a part of her pain so that she can just stop breaking. Sasuke's here, showing his own vulnerability (however slight) in hopes that she'll trust him enough to do the same, and she's not sure when she'll experience this side of him again.

The other half, near-solid stone with only spiderweb cracks, whispers that voicing the memories that haunt her will only confirm her weakness in Sasuke's eyes. Instead of seeing the warrior who destroyed the ground and healed thousands in the war, he'll see the wisp of a girl who had trailed behind him as a genin.

It's the gentle, unconscious stroke of Sasuke's thumb across her forearm that makes her decision. Sasuke can sense the shift in Sakura as her head drops back onto his shoulder and her eyes squeeze shut. She's tired, so tired.

"I killed them."

Her voice breaks in the middle, and Sakura hisses out a quiet dammit at her traitorous voice. Sasuke's hand tightens where it rests on her arm.

He's quiet for a moment. Outside of discussing strategy or the details of a mission, talking isn't something Sasuke has much practice in. That, and his plan may have ended at getting Sakura to calm down enough to breathe properly.

He spends another minute in silence, growing increasingly frustrated with his inability to find the words he needs to comfort the woman who has always known exactly what he needed to hear. Sakura, however, doesn't seem to mind the silence as she relaxes against him. Green eyes crack open, and though they're still muddled with pain, he sees a steady glimmer of trust and contentment behind them that immediately quells his frustration.

The open trust in Sakura's gaze reminds Sasuke that she's never expected him to be anyone other than himself. She's always been patient, meeting him more than halfway as he seemed to take one step towards her and two or three back.

He suspects it's the same now, as there's no expectation in her eyes, no tension in her body that suggests she's irritated by his silence. So instead of pushing himself to think of the correct words to fill the empty space, Sasuke pulls her more firmly against his chest and shifts her so his chin rests lightly atop her head.

It's more affection than he's ever shown, and it's far from comfortable for him, but Sasuke knows that Sakura's worth a bit of discomfort.

Just as Sakura has spent so many years steadfastly waiting for him to come to her, he settles in to wait for her to tell him - whether that time comes tonight or later down the line.

That time doesn't come tonight. Though she trusts Sasuke with her life, Sakura can't quite break through the insecurity that he'll find her weak the moment she says anything more. Maybe it's not a fair assumption to make, but most of her memories of them together on the battlefield ended in Sakura being treated as fragile - something to be left behind and protected.

Even if they made progress during the war, Sakura's not quite ready to test the durability of the picture of strength she painted as she threw herself at Madara or took on a goddess at her team's side.

Instead, she's happy to just let his presence ward off the shadows in her mind. The voices are silent at his touch, so she decides to just enjoy the rest and wrestle with them when they inevitably come back after Sasuke's gone again.

Sasuke feels Sakura's breathing even out and watches her eyes flutter closed as she falls asleep against him. It's an interesting thing, having someone trust you so fully that they're willing to be at their most unguarded.

And he's done nothing to deserve it. He knows this, and it merely strengthens his resolve to continue his journey of atonement so that he can become someone who's at least a fraction deserving of Sakura and all that she's willing to offer him.

As he maneuvers himself out from behind Sakura and shifts her onto his back, Sasuke realizes with a tinge of bitterness that this is something he could have every day - Sakura's presence and everything bright and loving that entails. But as much as he wants to be there when she wakes up and finally say yes to taking her with him, he's not quite ready for that step.

There's more growth to be had, more relationships to mend, more emotions for him to reconcile within himself. While he knows having Sakura by his side would expedite the process of mending bridges and healing his own wounds, she needs to keep some of her light for herself.

When he leaves this time, it's out of consideration not just for himself, but for both of them. He can just make out the time when he asks Sakura to join him on his journey in the near future, but it's not now. They both have steps they need to take before they're ready.

He leaves Sakura tucked under the nest of far too many blankets she's always stubbornly kept haphazardly strewn across her bed, with a simple note on her nightstand:

Next time, Sakura.