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bookishofalder · 4 years ago

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Night Changes [Five]

Series Masterlist

Summary: Poe and the reader eagerly focus on their friendship. Unfortunately for them, life isn’t that easy.

Warnings: Language, mentions of smut, violence, injuries. WC: 11.1K

A/N: Please enjoy this failed attempt at fluff. Also, thank you to @hoeforthefictional for inspiring a scene in this chapter (see: Charlie’s shirts)

Your hand smacked against the cool steel of the dining table as you snorted, “That is not true!” You exclaimed, watching Poe run his hand over his mouth to try and hide his smile, though you could still see him shaking with laughter. “Poe that was Charlie, it was NOT me!”

“Sure Sweetheart,” He drawled through his chuckles, quirking a brow at you, “Charlie convinced your dad that we could all be trusted on our own for the weekend. ‘Cause, he was the one with the big sad eyes your dad fell for every time.”

You groaned, knowing Poe was right, your giggles confirming it to him even though you didn’t outright admit it. “Well you were the one who suggested we try to nab some booze at Eddard’s,” You pointed at him accusingly as memories of you, Charlie and Poe as preteens trying to break into a closed cantina to steal spotchka replayed in your mind. “I was the only one the old man didn’t hit.”

“My ass smarted for a week after that,” Poe frowned at the memory and you giggled again. He grinned over at you, and you felt a flush of delight at the early morning banter, each of you sipping your caf as the golden sun streamed in through the high windows and the room steadily grew busier around you.

It had been a few weeks since your return from the classified mission, the data collected on the outpost proving to be immeasurably useful, earning you both a very pleased smile from the General. A larger secondary team was already there; though they were outfitted with greater protective equipment and a lot more manpower to clear back some of the overgrown jungle from the base and work to bring it back up and running.

While it was a severe break in protocol, neither you nor Poe included the exposure to the red flower pollen in your mission reports. You described the sighting of the plant, cautioned approached and advised the settlement team to wear protective gear, but that was all. Though a mild amount of guilt settled in your stomach for the breach, the idea of writing down what had happened, of being hauled for questioning and medically assessed, was more than enough to make you feel it was the right decision.

It had taken three days to return to base from the mission. Even after your long conversation with Poe assuring him you were alright and that you didn’t blame him for what happened, he still walked around you like he was afraid any moment you would crack and reveal your anger or mistrust. He’d pointedly refused to touch you or come too close after the initial embrace you shared, and although you disagreed with his reasoning, you couldn’t help the relief that you felt because something about being close to him, touching him, stirred feelings inside you that you didn’t want to address.

It made it easier to focus on repairing your friendship if you maintained a slight distance from the man you’d known your entire life. Better to set aside any feelings or thoughts and work to find your way back to the version of yourself you missed. The one who had been happy. You wanted to be her again because the lonely woman you’d become was less than ideal. And you had missed Poe more than you’d admit.

You just wished you could stop the dreams.

“You know,” You spoke slowly, your eyes losing focus as you thought back to those younger years, “I’m pretty sure that was the weekend I became obsessed with learning about Mandalore. I saw that picture of the really famous one up in the cantina and wanted to know everything about it all.” You shook your head at your youthful silliness, the crush you’d developed for the faceless bounty hunter simply from hearing the tales of his heroics. You’d even had a-

“Remember the picture you had?” Poe cut into your thoughts and you refocused on him, “You had that up for years, on the back of your door, a street artist's painting of the rogue Mandolorian, Charlie teased you all the time for having it.” He was smiling at the memory, his eyes crinkling slightly.

You stared at Poe in surprise as warmth swept through you. “You remember that?” He shrugged, his eyes flicking away to glance at the table as if he was suddenly self-conscious, surprised at himself.

“Yeah, I...” You watched as he appeared to steal himself, his cheeks dusted with colour. “I remember everything. It was always us three, wasn’t it? I’d never forget Charlie or y-you.”

When he looked up again his eyes were burning with bright intensity. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away, even as your heartbeat tripled and emotion swelled inside you. Everything else-the noise of the caf, the sounds of others laughter and conversations-it all faded into the background as Poe and you regarded one another across the table.

A hand coming down onto your shoulder jolted you from your thoughts. You glanced up to find Temmin grinning at you both as he moved to take a seat next to you. “Morning, morning,” He glanced over mischievously at Poe, then back to you, “Sorry to interrupt your eye-fuck session, just wondering if you saw our surveillance got moved up?”

Poe was quicker to recover, pulling Temmin’s attention from you as heat flooded your face and you gaped wordlessly. “Uh, to now, I’m assuming?” Poe spared you a glance, his eyes unreadable as you swallowed, embarrassed at your reaction.

You’d anticipated those close to you or Poe to tease you both about the renewed friendship, entirely unsurprised that Temmin was the leading comedian about the entire thing. He’d happily jumped on any excuse to tease, but even though you were never one to flinch away from adult banter, the occasional sexually suggestive comments brought you straight back to the memories from your mission and rendered you speechless each time.

Pursing your lips, you took the last sip of your caf and stood up, your hands automatically sweeping down the front of your flight suit to straighten any wrinkles. You tried to give a half-hearted smile, hoping Temmin didn’t start to think you had a shitty sense of humour.

“I’m going to get started on pre-flight, in that case.”

You glanced at Poe and found he was already watching you, his lips quirking up in a way that made your insides bubble confusingly. Before you could turn away, however, Temmin was gently grabbing your forearm.

“Don’t uh, go that way, use the longer route. For your sanity.” He suggested, grimacing as you groaned in frustration.

“Kriff. Thanks, Snap.” You spun and stalked in the opposite direction, your eyes still scanning to ensure that you didn’t accidentally run into Rush despite Temmin’s warning.

The Healer had not taken kindly to your outright disinterest, apparently taking Poe’s interference at the cantina before your mission as a challenge. You felt you had enough on your plate now to justify not telling him point-blank to fuck off. You’d instead found yourself actively avoiding him, going so far as to duck into storage closets to hide, or in the case of two days ago, hide behind the broader frame of your Captain when you’d spotted the Rush walk into the hangar and look around for you.

Temmin had started to goad you after Rush had departed, stopping when he saw the look on your face and you’d resigned yourself to explain the situation. When you’d finished, he’d offered to talk to the Healer for you, suggested the Poe could and would step in as well, but you had been very clear that you didn’t want either of them to deal with your issues and told Temmin in no uncertain terms to keep the situation from Poe. He had been going out of his way in previous weeks to be kind to you. His continued (and entirely unnecessary) attempts to make up for everything that had happened, both on the mission and before. Having him do another favour for you when you had yet to figure out how to give back to Poe, didn’t sit right with you.

So you snuck out of the back of the dining hall and hoped you’d bought yourself more time to figure your shit out.

Earlier that morning

His curls were softer than you’d remembered, you loved sinking your hands into them and gripping. Your head felt so heavy that you felt yourself drop it into his neck, your heart swelling at how right it felt to nuzzle into Poe as he held you.

Fuck, it felt so good to straddle him this way, not just for how close your bodies were, how easily you could kiss him, but because his thick, long cock hit the best spots inside you at this angle. It was bliss, delicious, something you should have been doing for years. You rolled your hips as you came, crying out when he slammed you onto him and held you there as he came undone as well, feeling close to passing out when he cried out for you.

“Sweetheart, oh fuck, (y/n)!”

“FUCK!”

You gasped as you woke from your dream, trying to sit up even as your body continued to convulse from your orgasm and small moans tore from you. You gripped the sheets, panting as you floated down from your high, again. Another dream, the same memory replayed over and over every night until you eventually woke up like this, shaking and sweating and cumming.

You sobbed, sitting forward and drawing your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself as you dropped your head. This needed to stop and you didn’t understand why it wouldn’t. It had started up the first night you were back on D’Qar, always the same; the memory of those finals moments wrapped around Poe, the last orgasms you each had as the pollen had worn off, and then you’d wake up as you came. You’d tried masturbating before bed just to try and curb the need, but that hadn’t helped in the least. You were desperate now, confused and exhausted from waking up day after day filled with an intense need for something you shouldn’t want.

A good part of you thought your sleeping brain was just cruel, taunting you for what had occurred. But the logical side of your brain noted that it could very well be an aftereffect of the exposure to the pollen, perhaps the last dregs of it working its way from your system when you were most vulnerable. But since you hadn’t reported the exposure, there was no way to find out. It wasn’t like you were going to ask Poe if he was experiencing anything similar-either response he could give was equally as mortifying just to imagine.

Kicking your sheets away, you glanced at your clock and noted the early hour before stalking angrily into your fresher to take a shower. A cold one, because despite the daily orgasms you were waking up from, you were constantly on edge, hornier than you’d been in a long time.

It didn’t help that you were a touch-starved, lonely and unattached woman. Aside from what had happened with Poe on the mission, you hadn’t had sex in a long time and even the last few times you did, it wasn’t anything spectacular. Which was why you’d been almost ready to let Rush take you to bed before, just to feel something pleasurable.

And now...now you wanted to run away from all pleasure.

Poe watched as you hurried out of the room, your shoulders stiff and he frowned when you glanced hastily toward the other doorway before slipping out of view. He looked at Temmin, who was giving him a knowing, guilty kind of smile from across the table. “What the hell was that about?”

Temmin considered his words for a long moment, rapping his knuckles on the table. Finally, he said, “Major hasn’t told you?” As if hoping Poe might suddenly realize what was going on with you and let him off the hook. At the same time, his friend appeared unsurprised of the direction the conversation had gone since your odd departure.

Raising a brow at his friend, Poe leaned forward. “No,” He replied slowly, shaking his head, “Told me what?”

“Let me preface this by telling you she asked me not to make you aware of the situation. Healer Derrin has been cornering her around base every day since you’ve been back, trying to convince her to give him another chance,” Temmin paused as Poe shifted from curious to downright outraged, “Don’t look at me like that, I just found out myself like two days ago.”

“But-I-” Poe stammered, half rising from his seat, “What the fuck has he been doing?”

Temmin waved a hand in a calming manner, “Popping up all over, trying to catch her for a conversation. Only reason I found out was that he came into the hangar the other day and she practically climbed on my back hiding behind me from him.”

Beside himself with fury, Poe took several deep breaths to relax. “Fuck,” He growled, running his hands over his face.

A distant part of his mind wondered why he was so physically worked up, ready to seek out the Healer and lay into him. When he glanced up, Temmin was casting an obvious glance to the time and Poe relented, releasing his anger to focus on the task at hand. “Sorry, thank you for telling me. Let’s go.”

With a curt nod, Temmin jumped to his feet and fell into step with Poe as they made their way to the hangar. It didn’t go unnoticed by Poe that his friend cast a wary eye around, no doubt concerned they would run into Rush and he would be required to break up a fight.

Quietly sighing to himself, Poe rationalized that he could focus on patrol, then return to base and seek out Rush for a civil conversation, nothing more. Flying would calm him, help him to clear his head, and despite your request to keep Poe out of it, he wasn’t about to let you down by allowing some dick head to harass you.

Patrolling the Resistance base was a duty that fell upon every squadron, regardless of status. Poe knew he could probably convince Leia to let Black team off the hook, considering the number of high-status, incredibly dangerous missions she entrusted them with, however he felt it was good for his team to pull their weight when it came to the less exciting tasks.

It was also a good opportunity for some team building, as you all kept your comms open to have idle chit-chat throughout the shift. “Listen, Poe, Tommy was a lot taller than you. You know it, I know it, hell Temmin knows it! He knew Tommy!” You were giggling now, which was the only reason why Poe had continued to argue that Tommy wasn’t all that much taller than him.

“She’s right, Commander.” Temmin supplied with a chuckle.

Kare’s voice joined in, “I’ve never met this Tommy but he sure sounds a lot taller. Did you date him, Major?”

At the question, Poe felt himself stiffen slightly, suddenly extremely curious to hear your response. You didn’t hesitate, “Oh, maker, no. Never.”

“Wow,” Poe chirped with a laugh, “I’m kind offended for Tommy with how passionately you just said that!”

You laughed, “Tommy wasn’t my type, Kare. We were just friends.”

“But he did ask you out,” Temmin suddenly supplied, unknowingly causing Poe to frown. Tommy had asked you out...when? It can’t have been during Gold team days, because then he’d know about it, if not from you then certainly from Charlie, who was close with Tommy. Which meant that you had seen Tommy at some point after you left and spent enough time with him for the handsome pilot to ask you out. Jealously silenced Poe and he opted to listen only.

“Oh,” You sounded surprised that Temmin knew about it, “Yes, well we were stationed together for a while at an outpost a few years ago.” Though your voice had tightened somewhat, Temmin had apparently not picked up on it and continued speaking, teasing you.

“Huh well, Major, from what I heard via our mutual friend Rico, you two had a 'friends with benefits' thing going on during that assignment.”

You laughed in embarrassment, “Fuck off, Temmin.”

Realizing that his silence was both telling and uncalled for, Poe decided to join back in. “What, sweetheart, embarrassed to admit you liked his man-bun?” He joked, happily drawing further laughs from you and the rest of Black team. Inwardly, however, Poe was spinning and he tuned out of the remainder of the conversation as he fell into deep thought.

It was incredibly wonderful having you back. Despite everything that happened during the mission, the resulting change between Poe and you had exponentially increased his overall happiness. It felt, in some ways, like old times. The void that was Charlie was there, ever-present but not always overwhelming, sometimes it was just a hum of grief in the background as you walked next to Poe, your shoulder occasionally brushing his arm, or when you laughed fully and your eyes crinkled the same way Charlie’s had.

And stars, you were funny-Poe had always thought you had a great sense of humour, but the past few years had given you a slightly harsher perspective, something that most Resistance fighters developed in time. It meant your wit was a little drier, your sarcasm in great abundance. He’d laughed more these past few weeks than he had in years, something that didn’t escape Temmin’s notice, his friend often shooting him a knowing wink when you weren’t looking.

Professionally, not a whole lot had changed, though conversation and directives were less chopped, he was proud to know that despite the tension and anger that had been between you before the mission, you had both worked immensely well together.

He had been terrified that you would leave again, despite your assurances on the contrary. He wouldn’t even have blamed you if you had; he remembered everything that happened, the way he’d touched you, the dark bruises and marks he’d littered across your soft skin, and the things he said. The harsh, cruel words still twisted in the back of his mind, surging to the forefront at random to taunt him, force him to relive the way he’d demeaned you. But you hadn’t left, in fact, Poe was pretty certain that the first few days back you had barely left his side just to prove to him that you wouldn’t, and he was grateful for that more than he could tell you.

He was grateful to have you back, to banter and tease, to see your smile brighten the room every day, usually because of something he had said. His old feelings were stirring, never really having faded altogether, but he was eager to push them down again and focus on the friendship. He needed to reign in his jealousy over something that had happened years ago between you and Tommy.

There was no reason good enough to admit how he had felt before Charlie died, and certainly, nothing in the galaxy could convince him to confess to you how he was starting to feel now.

It was better, he thought, to just be friends. Safer.

Earlier that morning

Your skin was soft, delightfully silky and smooth under his rough fingers, and he enjoyed gripping you harder, pulling your hips to his as he filled you, over and over. Your warm body pressed against his as you straddled his lap, your moans weak and head lolling from the pleasure.

The feel of your head falling to his neck, your body curling into him as your orgasm hit.

“Oh Poe, don’t stop!” The way you said his name. How you clenched around him, pulling him to his own peak. The feeling that was coming inside of you, bliss and rightness of the action intensely overwhelming as you shivered in his arms.

With a start, Poe woke up, his dream-induced orgasm ripping from him. He was unable to do more than groan in pleasure, his hips rutting against the mattress as his cum spurted, hands gripping his pillow. Biting his lip, the shame washed over him before he’d fully finished cumming, his groan morphing into a pitiful sound of desperation.

Every fucking day he woke up much the same, his dream-memories of those final moments under the grip of the pollen replaying over and over until he woke up mid-orgasm. He hadn’t had wet dreams since he hit puberty, for Maker’s sake. He thought it must be an aftereffect of the pollen, further proof the intensity and potency of the red flower was beyond anything he’d ever heard of.

Grunting in frustration, Poe climbed out of bed and retrieved a towel to clean up his mess. Turning on the shower, he glanced at the time, happy that he had enough time to rinse off before meeting you for what was becoming a routine morning caf.

He kept the water cold, punishing himself for his dreams and wishing like hell he could erase the images of you, so beautiful and soft around him, from his mind.

It was ideal that the man essentially stalking you was a Healer because it meant that he was relatively easy to track down on base. Healers had long shifts in the med-bay and usually didn’t stray far from base in case something major happened that required additional medical support. Poe was walking to the med bay now, leaving you with Temmin and your funny friend Ana back in the dining hall, to confront Rush.

He’d come up with a simple excuse to step away, stating he required a few essentials from the commissary and wanting to get there before they closed. You were eating slowly tonight and he had taken advantage of that and Ana’s rare presence-something that would keep you in the dining hall much longer, conversation flowing, so that he could slip off to the med-bay.

He’d felt your eyes watching him as he excused himself, burning into the back of his neck as he tried to walk as casually as possible out of the room. As soon as he was clear, he sped up in case you decided to follow him, but a glance over his shoulder before he turned the corner a few minutes later proved he was right that you would linger with Ana instead.

As he walked along the halls, nodding and smiling at anyone he passed, Poe attempted to steady and control his emotions. He would ask Rush to leave you be; be nice but incredibly firm. Advise the healer that it was in his own best interest to keep things professional unless you did indicate you were interested. As he argued with himself on the best way to word the request, Charlie’s image floated around in his head, reminding him that if he was still alive and some dick head was bothering you, he would be the one to calmly protect you. Poe was the less than calm protector, but he needed to channel your brother here because he hoped to prevent you from finding out he’d cornered Rush.

As he approached the final stretch of the hallway that led into the med-bay, a nurse just coming off duty came walking along in the opposite direction. Poe recognized the older woman, brightening when she glanced up and saw him. “Evening, Rosie, how are you?” He flashed her his best grin.

With an affectionate roll of her eyes, Rosie calm to a halt in front of Poe, “Good evening Commander, what brings you to our neck of the woods? You don’t look injured unless your big head is giving you a headache.”

This was why Poe liked her, she was the type to catch on to bullshit and funny as hell. He couldn’t help his bark of a laugh, “No, I’ve gotten pretty good at lugging it around,” He replied, “Listen, can I ask you a quick question before you head off for a night of dancing with a lucky guy?”

“Lucky lady,” She corrected with a wink, and Poe smiled apologetically with a nod, “And go ahead, what’s up?”

“Right, my mistake, although now that I think of it I don’t think any of us men could survive your charms,” He joked, pulling a laugh from the deadpan nurse, “I’m looking for Healer Derrin, do you happen to know where I could find him?”

Something close to a knowing look flashed in her eyes then, but Rosie didn’t comment. “His shift just ended, actually. He left for the hangar roughly, oh, ten minutes ago.” She glanced at her wrist comm for the time, nodding to herself at her estimation.

Poe frowned, realizing that it was routine for you to have left dinner already to go to the hangar to input your mission report for the day and perform your check of his and your own ships. Because you were dining with Ana, however, you hadn’t left yet. “Thank you, Rosie.” He gently clasped her shoulder as she smiled at him with that look still in her eyes, but she merely bid him farewell before he spun around a hurried away, taking the quickest route to the hangar.

When he arrived, the hangar was fairly quiet, only a few lingering mechanics wandering about, several service droids cleaning the large space and performing nighttime checks. Still wearing his medical clothing, Rush was easy to spot as he stood near your ship across the room, eyes staring off at nothing as he waited to see if you’d turn up.

When he heard Poe’s footsteps approaching, he turned with a hopeful look before spotting him and shifting to a placating smile. “Evening, Commander!”

Poe stopped a few feet short Rush and tried his best to return the smile, “Healer,” His voice was clipped, and he took a careful breath in an attempt to keep calm and channel Charlie. Friendly, to the point, no need to get worked up. “What brings you here so late?”

Rush shrugged, “Hoping to catch the little bird that keeps flying off,” He admitted, gesturing at your ship, “Can’t seem to get any face-to-face time with her, but I’m hoping to clear things up and start fresh. Think I moved too quickly before.”

Poe plastered his face with a neutral expression as his insides burned upon hearing Rush refer to you as ‘little bird’. “Listen, man, I’ve known (y/n) my whole life and I don’t think she’s interested, I mean, it’s been weeks since your date and she’s been avoiding you since.” Poe kept his voice as steady as possible, not wanting his tone to convey anything other than mild interest.

Rush bristled immediately, however, “That your objective opinion, Dameron?”

His voice was pointedly not steady and his tone was anything but mild. Still, Poe held up his hands in a placating gesture, “It is, and it’s kind of...uh, obvious, I guess.”

Poe watched as Rush took a measured step closer to him, though this didn’t serve to intimidate as the Healer stood an easy couple of inches shorter than him. “You’re full of shit. You’re telling me this because you want to fuck her,” He glared up at Poe, who was frowning as he fought his internal battle to remain calm. “Actually, noticed you two are buddy-buddy all of a sudden; so that’s it, isn’t it? You went off together for nearly two weeks and she spread her pretty legs for you-“

Well, no one could say Poe didn’t try. His fist was connecting with Rush’s smug face before the Healer could continue his vulgar accusation, falling back a few steps before regaining his balance and shooting a glare that did nothing to intimidate Poe.

Forcing himself not to move in for another punch, Poe pointed his finger at Rush, “Shut the fuck up, asshole. I never want to hear you talk about her that way again, got it?”

Rush scoffed, his hand rubbing along his reddening jaw, “You’re only proving me right, reacting like that. Either you want her so you’re trying to prevent me from having a chance, or you already had her,” The Healer was seething mad, clearly not thinking straight. He didn’t seem to see the tension rolling over Poe’s body, anger coiling within and ready to burst forth in more than just a single punch. Or maybe a handsome guy like Rush Derrin couldn’t stand the idea of having a competitor, as he seemed to view Poe, and it clouded his usual ‘nice guy’ personality entirely, made him mean, made him say things that he really, really shouldn’t. “Tell me, what is she like when you’re balls deep-does she moan as loud as I-“

This time, Poe didn’t hold his anger back into a single punch, he opted instead to launch himself at Rush, whose eyes flashed in fear just before he was taken to the ground. Fistfights weren’t something that Poe usually got himself into anymore, though he’d had more than his share growing up. He held himself to higher standards now, especially considering his high rank within the Resistance, the respect he had from his fellow fighters.

All of that was out the window though as he wrestled on the hangar floor with Rush, who gave a yell of anger as he tried to out fist Poe. He was strong, a decent enough match physically despite being shorter than Poe, who twisted his hips to roll Rush in a flurry of movement, eager not to end up bested by being pinned under the man. He did feel the punches he gained in return, particularly a stinging blow to his cheek that seemed to hit directly on the apple, skin splitting on contact. Rush was wasting energy on cursing and yelling insults, most of which didn’t register with Poe as blood rushed loudly in his ears, rage only intensifying.

It was only a few moments of fighting at this point, not long enough for anyone who had been on the other side of the hangar to have made it over already to break them up. This was why Poe stiffened in complete surprise when he saw a figure approaching quickly in his peripheral vision, which distracted him just enough for Rush to take advantage and roll heavily, slamming Poe into the floor. He felt his head hit the concrete, though it wasn’t too hard of a blow it was disorienting. Before he could even begin to attempt to get Rush off of him, however, the figure that had first distracted him now came directly into view over Poe.

It was you.

But you weren’t yelling for them to stop like he would have imagined you would do. Instead, from his vantage on the ground, Poe witnessed your fury first hand, so much more intense than he’d seen in years. But the night of Charlie’s funeral that fury had been lined with grief and heartbreak. Now, you looked shockingly terrifying as you swiftly launched yourself at Rush, tackling him off of Poe in one motion before rolling with ease and jumping back to your feet.

When you pointed your blaster down at the Healer, who lay flat on his back in complete shock, even Poe flinched at the look on your face.

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” You hissed, your voice cold and low. There were a few people nearby, all who’d frozen upon seeing the Major asserting her authority over the lower level Healer. Though he partially flushed with pride and equal parts surprise, Poe was quick to scramble to his feet and hurry to your side. “I forbid you to enter this hangar again unless it’s for medical purposes, got it?”

Poe could see that your finger wasn’t on the trigger of your blaster, the safety clicked on still. All the same, your reaction was completely out of character and he wanted to stop that cold, harsh look on your face in its tracks, even if it wasn’t directed at him.

“Sweetheart,” He murmured, quiet enough that only Rush could discern his words, “Let’s take a walk, let Healer Derrin go and lick his wounds.”

The moment you dropped the blaster, Rush was on his feet and hurrying out of the hangar, blissfully silent, entirely amusing. Poe glanced around to the others nearby and gave a friendly nod of release, and they broke away to finish their work. Placing a hand carefully on your lower back, he put a slight pressure and started to walk, relieved when you complied and holstered your blaster.

Though he’d suggested the walk, you seemed to take control of the direction and somehow Poe found himself stepping through the door of your room minutes later. He barely had a moment to glance around at the minimally decorated space, his eyes again finding your pinned copy of his favourite photo on the corkboard, before you rounded on him.

You weren’t as furious as you had been before, but he still took a measured step away from under the heat of your gaze, flinching as he waited for you to begin yelling at him for interfering in your life, for embarrassing you, bracing himself for your wrath.

Instead, your angry gaze met his own and you faltered, your eyes flicking over his face and Poe watched the anger melt away, your expression softening into concern. “Oh, Poe,” You sighed, closing the distance between you both to reach up and carefully grab his jaw with one hand, turning his head to peer up at the cheek he’d taken the worst punch to, “Are you alright?”

You dropped your hand, not completely as he would have expected but to rest on his chest, just over his heart. Poe felt himself stiffen again, the casual way you touched him driving him almost into a frenzy of confusion and hope and fear.

“I’m fine, I can take a punch,” He grinned, cringing when his cheek stung from the movement. “Might need to pop a bacta-patch over this, though.” He reached up and carefully prodded the split skin, hissing at the pain.

You stepped away, tugging Poe by the arm, “Sit,” You ordered, pushing him toward your bed. He perched himself on the edge and watched as you went to the med-kit you kept in your fresher to pull out bacta-patches. “I knew you weren’t going to the commissary.” You added when you walked back toward Poe, grabbing your desk chair and setting it in front of him before taking a seat.

“In my defence, I was being nice at first,” Poe said as you wiped away the blood on his face before gently placing the patch, your eyes focused on your work. “He uh, turned out to be a bit more hot-headed than I’d have thought.”

You snorted, “I came in too late to know who hit who first, but you don’t need to defend yourself,” Picking up another wipe, you cleaned around the patch and some spots along the rest of his face that must have had blood splatter. “I made Temmin tell me if he told you about Rush. I know you were fighting with him because of me. And that’s...that’s why I hadn't mentioned it, actually.”

Poe stared at you for a beat, “What do you mean?”

“I just,” You sighed, your eyes searching his face before you tossed the wipe in the trash and you sat back in your seat. He already missed the feel of your hands on his skin. “I knew you would want to talk to him, and that could lead to a fistfight or whatever on my behalf, and I didn’t want you to put yourself in that position just for me.”

“Just for you?” Poe repeated in surprise, leaning forward, his arms resting on his knees, to look at you closely, “Sweetheart, come on, you know I’d do anything for you.”

You nodded, but Poe wondered if you understood how serious he was, how he wouldn’t hesitate, wouldn’t question. Or maybe you did understand and that was why you looked slightly afraid, your face flushed as Poe gazed at you intently.

“Poe, you’ve been going out of your way for me since we’ve been back. You know it’s all...we’re good, I trust you,” You leaned forward, your face mere inches from Poe’s, and took his hands into yours, “So you don’t need to keep proving yourself, I promise.”

Poe felt himself nodding as he looked at you, gazed into your bright eyes and saw the sincerity in them, the emotion. He was still, afraid to move now that there was nothing between either of you, fully aware that you were alone together in a locked room and nothing could interrupt you. He felt himself blush, heat crawling up his neck, and Poe wanted to lean away and clear his throat and push back everything he was feeling but you were making it too difficult, sitting there with wide eyes and plump lips and a look so earnest, so trusting that he was transported straight back to the first time he’d wanted to kiss you.

But the thing was, he was a skinny teenager back then, and it had been easy to talk himself back and resist the urge because of Charlie. Because he didn’t want to offend you. Because your mom was just down the hall and could walk in at any moment.

But here, Poe wasn’t a teenager anymore, and for that matter neither were you. No, you were both fully grown adults, a fact he was keenly aware of as his eyes moved from yours, slowly, and he saw the way your lips were parted, the flush up your neck, the way your chest was heaving slightly.

He’d never wanted to be braver in his entire life.

Just as he thought of closing the gap, though, an image surfaced. The memory of you, trembling on the table after the pollen had worn off, just before he could give you the bacta shot, your body littered with marks he’d put there, the marks that were in the nightmares he kept having. Bile rose in his throat and he was sure you sensed the shift then because you were pulling away even before Poe broke the connection of your gazes and eased his hands from your grasp.

It was quiet for a minute, each of you looking determinedly away from the other. You stood, and Poe glanced up, fearing you were going to ask him to leave. You had a thoughtful look on your face, however, and moved over to your dresser instead. He watched as you opened the lowest drawer, flipping through the contents.

“I realized the other day that you didn’t have any of Charlie’s clothing because of course, I’d taken it all,” You straightened, turning around with a small stack of shirts clutched in your hands, “But I shouldn’t have done that, so here, take these.” And you held the stack out to him, biting your lip as you did.

Poe’s heart stuttered in his chest and he had to blink a few times to clear the sting of tears threatening the corners of his eyes. “These were...Charlies’?” You nodded, your eyes swimming with similar emotion. He took them from you and looked down at the familiar, worn fabric in a variety of colours, each shirt soft and well cared for. “Sweetheart, I don’t know what to say.”

He stood up, gripping the clothes in one hand before carefully reaching out and wrapping his arm around your head, pulling you close and kissing your hair. You were stiff in his arms, but he felt you patting his mid-back. “You don’t have to say anything, flyboy.”

—

It was very rare that you found yourself in your current position, crouched outside of Poe Dameron’s window late at night, grateful that his father slept on the lower floor of their home because he found it cooler. And even though you knew Mr. Dameron wouldn’t be mad if he found you sneaking into his son’s room, because you and Poe were together most of the time anyway since forever, you didn’t want him to interrupt your attempt to apologize to your friend.

You carefully slid the window open, your eyes attempting to adjust to the darkened room within but there was no light this evening, even the stars were hidden by clouds that threatened rain you knew wouldn’t come for another day at least. You were gazing in the direction of where you knew his bed was, so when hands shot out to grab you from almost right in front of you, you couldn’t help the squeak you let out, still desperate to be quiet, before promptly falling backwards. You wondered if you were about to break your arm again, and it had only just healed the month before. Kriff.

Thankfully Poe had already grabbed your waist, his hands gripping tighter when you lost your balance before he pulled you through his window with a grunt, both of you tumbling down due to the force he’d used to ensure you didn’t fall. Landing clumsily on top of him with a thud, you both froze in the dark, listening for any sounds from downstairs.

You waited a few minutes, heart pounding in your ears, wishing you could at least see Poe’s face but it was too dark, you could only make out the faint outline of him. You could tell he was looking up at you, but that was about it. Feeling confident Mr. Dameron was still fast asleep, you shuffled off of Poe, only his hands were still gripping your waist, so you ended up kneeling right next to him.

“Poe?” You whispered, moving a hand down to pat the back of one of his, “I think we’re good-sorry, I wanted to-“

Poe’s angry sigh halted your words in their tracks, and you felt his fingers flex before he released you and moved away. After a pause, light from a small lamp bathed the room in a low, golden glow and your best friend came into view, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I heard your apology the first time, (y/n),” He hissed, and you hated the way he said your name, that he even said it at all when you were used to him only referring to you as ‘sweetheart’. “Breaking in to say it again doesn’t really-“

You had climbed to your feet, dusting off your knees before glaring up at Poe, “Fine, I won’t apologize again. But I’m not leaving until you talk to me, tell me how I can fix this.”

Poe ran a hand wearily over his face, not meeting your eyes. Guilt and shame and sadness were all that you felt these past several days as Poe actively avoided you, refused to even look at you, because of what you’d said. And you hadn’t meant it, you really didn’t, it just slipped out in a moment of heated disagreement and you wished you could eat the words back up before you’d fully finished speaking. The look he’d given you...

“I don’t know, I just need some time,” He grumbled, still not looking at you. You took a half step closer, hoping to draw his gaze. Disappointed when he only frowned harder and kept his eyes on the wall. “I know you’re sorry, but you still fucking said it.”

“And I have no excuse for it, Poe, I was out of line. I was angry and I wanted to just...”

“You wanted to hurt me.” He finished, and you were shaking your head violently because that wasn’t it, it really wasn’t.

“No, no that’s not why,” You breathed, tears threatening but you swallowed them back, blinking, “You’ve just been so weird lately, and you wouldn’t tell me why so I lost myself and wanted a...a reaction, something, from you.”

Poe’s eyes locked on yours then and you felt yourself shrink inward at the coldness within them, “You said my mother would be ashamed of me. Out loud, to my face. Because I wasn’t explaining why I’ve been moody-which by the way, if you thought about it you’d fucking realize why-so that was your solution?”

His voice had raised only a fraction, a whisper yell in the dim room, yet he might as well have been screaming at you. You deserved for him to rage and yell because you had said that. In a stupid, selfish moment, after weeks of odd behaviour from Poe and another fruitless attempt to ask him what was going on, you’d said his mother would be ashamed of him for shutting you out. You hated yourself for saying it.

You grappled with yourself, struggling to find words and Poe jumped on your silence to continue speaking. “I forget sometimes that you’re just a kid, a silly, spoiled little girl who gets her way all the time,” His words cut through the air like little knives, driving straight into your chest, “But in the real world, when you say mean shit like that you can’t always just bat your pretty lashes and say you’re sorry. Words have consequences, you fucking brat.”

You bristled, despite having known when you decided to come here tonight and beg for forgiveness that he might lash out, you weren’t prepared for Poe to talk down to you like this. Little girl. Spoiled. Brat. Was that really how he saw you?

Was he really going to leave to join the Resistance and you’d never see him again?

“Fuck you,” You gasped, pain lancing your heart as you glared up at your best friend, “You don’t talk to me like that, Poe Dameron. I said a shitty, horrible thing to you and I didn’t mean it and I’ve been trying to apologize, that doesn’t give you the right to speak to me like this. You’re calling me the kid when you-you’re acting like an angry little boy?”

Poe dropped his crossed arms, his mouth opening in fury as he stepped toward you, and you were ready for the fight, for the words to start flowing between you both as whatever the fuck was going on lately seemed to bubble up and over. But the dim lighting of the room left a lot of shadows and darkness, and his sudden movement toward you startled you. You couldn’t help it, you flinched, visibly and almost bone jarringly. You flinched away from Poe, one hand half raising in front of yourself defensively.

And the fight in Poe, that fire and passion, it was out in an instant. Like you had flipped a switch and all the power was sucked from the room. For a moment, he stood frozen in mid-motion, gaping at you as you straightened from your defensive stance, and you shook your head to organize your thoughts, wanting to just apologize again and leave. But he was looking at you so intensely now that you felt like you couldn’t move; like he’d pinned you with his horrified expression.

“Are you-?” His voice almost broke, and he didn’t try to clear it, merely lowered the pitch, “Are you scared of me?”

You wanted to shake your head, but your brain was still processing the shocked look he was giving you, the colour rising to his cheeks as emotion seemed to overwhelm him. Poe looked utterly wrecked at that moment, and even though you knew he needed to hear you speak, to assure him that of course, you weren’t scared of him, the sudden movement and looming shadow on the wall had simply caught you off guard, you couldn’t bring yourself to fucking speak.

“Sweetheart, fuck, I’m so sorry, please don’t be afraid,” He gasped out, holding up both hands slowly, palms facing you, “I would never-shit, sweet, beautiful girl, please don’t be afraid of me, please I’m sorry, I’m so so-“

You cut him off as he started to nearly sob, convinced you were scared of him, that you thought he might hurt you. “Poe, no, I’m not scared!” Regaining the use of your brain, you stumbled forward and threw yourself against Poe’s chest, gripping the soft tee he’d worn to bed, your face pressed over his heart. “I was just startled, I’m not scared of you, I could never be scared of you.”

You could hear his heart hammering away in his chest, feel how tense he was, his hands hovering in the air behind you. His voice was so quiet when he spoke that if you hadn’t had your head so close against him, you wouldn’t have heard.

“I would never hurt you, fuck, I wouldn’t try to intimidate you. I’m sorry I was going to stand closer so I-I could yell without waking dad up, so stupid...” The sob that had been threatening him tore out, crushing your heart a little.

He was ridiculous because you’d know him your whole life and you knew he wasn’t the type of man to physically harm or scare anyone. Sure, he’d been in his share of fistfights, but even you knew he was usually throwing a punch in response, and these last few months he’d been relatively cool-headed, a sign of his maturity.

You pressed your body closer to his before lifting your head to look up at him. Poe was still not touching you, and he was looking across the room unseeingly as he blinked back tears, his expression tense and upset. With slow movements, you reached up to stroke along his jaw, your hand pausing when you first touched him, your heart rate picking up a little when his eyes closed at your touch. You stroked more than the usual three times, repeating the action until his body relaxed against yours, continuing until his hands tentatively moved, one settling on your waist and the other raising to cup your face.

You stood like that for a long moment, your fingers still trailing the familiar path of his stubble, drinking in the way his expression, eyes still closed, softened for you.

“I know you wouldn’t ever hurt me, Poe,” You whispered, “That’s why I’m fucking wrecked that I hurt you. If you don’t want to see me anymore...I understand, I crossed the line like an idiot. Our friendship has always been the most important thing to me and I overstepped and I’m sorry, you’re right that I’m just a stupid little-“

“Stop,” Though it was low, whispered into the room, the command behind the word was enough to silence you and you gazed at Poe in surprise. He looked at you then, and you delighted at the expression he had, so filled with love and care. “I forgive you, I know you didn’t mean it. I saw your face right as you said it...we just, we both got too worked up. We keep doing that, I think because we know Charlie and I leave in less than a year.”

You nodded in agreement, the small movement making you suddenly very aware of how tightly pressed against Poe you were. He was still holding your face gently, but the hand on your waist was gripping you in a way the suggested he felt the proximity as well. You took a shuddering breath, “I love you, Poe. I’m sorry.”

He dropped his head to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering half shut, and the weirdest thought suddenly cropped up in your head. The most absurd notion that you could easily tilt your head and press your lips to his. You remained still, but couldn’t help but stare at his soft lips as he spoke.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” The hand on your waist clutched you closer, which you hadn't thought was possible, “And I promise I would never hurt you, never lay a finger on you or say something awful that I meant, never. Nothing could ever, ever make me hurt you, sweet, lovely girl.”

You closed your eyes, unable to trust yourself to resist kissing him when he spoke to you like that, his words coated in the deep, suddenly husky tone of voice. And you couldn’t rid those thoughts as he led you over to his bed and you cuddled against him, ready to sleep but your heart thrumming away as you imagined what it would be like to kiss him, your Poe.

What would it be like to be with him, to touch him, to-and you really blushed now, grateful he’d shut the light back off and his light snores were filling the room-feel him hard for you...you’d never been with a guy before, not like that. You’d had some steamy make-out sessions, groped and fondled with cute guys...but the idea of your Poe coming undone for you...

Well, that was suddenly an idea that you were completely unaware would have such an intense impact on you. You let the images play out in your mind for a moment before taking a deep breath and pushing them back and down, convincing yourself it was just a reaction to the adrenaline, the high emotions. Poe’s grip on you tightened in his sleep, and you snuggled closer to lay your head over his heart and listen to the steady beat.

—

Word travelled quickly around base that Rush Derrin had been beaten up by a pilot; the surprising thing was, at least to you, that the pilot in question was you and not Poe. Apparently, Poe scrapping on the floor with Rush wasn’t nearly as interesting or exciting as the story of how you’d tackled Rush, moved to your feet and drawn your blaster on him in one swift motion.

You had grown used to the quiet greetings over the months you’d been on D’Qar, and enjoyed the last few weeks of friendlier hello’s that cropped up in response to your rekindled friendship with Poe, but the tale of your no-nonsense, ego stripping attack on the rude Healer seemed to blast you into the same orbit Poe had been in as the ever-popular poster boy for the Resistance.

Everyone said hello, no matter where you went or the time of day. Ana sought you out the afternoon after to tell you that all the mechanics were raving about how they thought you were snobbish, and now realized you were, in fact, a silent badass. As embarrassing as it all was, it was nothing compared to Poe’s response to your new status.

He was insatiable, eagerly and proudly telling anyone who would listen-and it seemed everyone did want to listen-his first-hand account of watching you tackle Rush. Of how you’d coldly told him off as you followed your professional directive-protect your Commander, no matter the threat. Your shoulders were starting to ache from the number of times he’d clapped his hands over them, rooting you to the spot so that you couldn’t escape the latest admirers, gripping you because he really was proud, really meant everything he said.

“Okay, seriously,” You breathed when you finally broke free from a group of younger pilots, Poe laughing at your side in amusement at your reaction. “Commander, I may have protected you but I can just as easily go ahead and kick you in the-"

“Ah, come on now sweetheart, you wouldn’t do that,” He laughed, a playful arm dropping around your shoulder. Your insides had started reacting to every single touch, lingering or not, that Poe gave you. Which had been happening a lot lately. And it didn’t help matter that he’d look at you the night of his fight with Rush like you had told him you’d hung the moon just for him. You couldn’t shake the memory of the way he’d gazed at you as you sat frozen, inches away.

“Don’t be so sure,” You grumbled, allowing him to lead you to the hangar, “I now have to hope that if either of us gets seriously injured Rush isn’t the Healer on call, because I doubt he’d be much help now.” You noticed then that even though you were still passing people, and those people were smiling at you, no one had stopped you or spoken to either you or Poe.

Confused, you frowned up at Poe, intending to ask him, but the words died on your tongue.

No one was stopping you because they didn’t want to interrupt Commander Dameron and Major Horn, happily wrapped around each other, looking exactly like a love-struck couple. You were sure that a previous version of yourself, the one who existed years and years ago, would have quickly sprung out of Poe’s reach and laughed awkwardly, made an excuse to run to the fresher. Instead, a feeling grew inside of you that felt a lot like...

Possession. But that wasn’t right, was it?

Poe wasn’t yours, not like that. It was almost like there were two parts of you reacting to the increasing touches; the part that enjoyed the familiarity of his affection, and a part that starved for more and grew hungrier every time it was fed. It made it hard, impossible even, to sort through your real feelings for Poe. Because you did love him, you did feel yourself flush at the idea that others were viewing you as a couple, and yet...the path of your thoughts seemed to reroute itself constantly, focusing on the physical and craving more of it.

Maybe this was your problem before, you couldn’t admit to yourself how you felt toward Poe and it ended up being twisted up until Charlie died. You’d admitted to yourself that the biggest reason you’d fled was that you had realized, all those years ago, that you were in love with Poe. Was that what this was now? Old feelings slamming back home with startling intensity?

Then why could you only focus on his hands on you, if that was the case?

He’d noticed you’d gone quiet and came to a sudden halt in the empty hall, glancing down at you curiously, his eyes darker than normal. You felt his arm hold you a little tighter, the hand on your shoulder gripping almost too hard.

It felt really good.

Fuck, what the fuck.

“Sweetheart?” He searched your face, brows pinching in confusion.

Feeling a little dazed, you shook your head to clear your mind, keenly aware that there was no space between your bodies, that you could press up against him easily. And you were warm, actually. Really, really warm.

“Sorry,” You murmured, forcing yourself to give him a placating little grin, “Just...a little overwhelmed, I think.” You admitted, conceding a partial truth that you knew would suffice.

Instantly, his expression softened and he was backing up, pulling you with him until he was leaning against the wall. He spread his feet apart and pulled you to stand between them, his hands moving to cup your face gently as he looked down at you with kind eyes. You think you stopped breathing. You think he did too. He seemed surprised at his actions.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been teasing you for days,” He sighed after a pause, one thumb absentmindedly stroking your cheek. You were going to combust or pass out, or maybe just evaporate on the spot. “Good news is, I’m pretty sure the General has another mission that’ll take us out of this parsec for a day or two. Should give everyone enough time to move on.” His other hand moved from your face to brush back a few stray hairs, his eyes following the movement hungrily. They were darker still.

There was a familiarity in that darkness.

“That-that’s uh, good,” You stammered, your eyes moving everywhere except to meet his. You were afraid of what he’d see if he looked directly at you. Of what you’d see...but you didn’t understand why you were afraid.

You just got Poe back, you weren’t fucking this up. Get it together, get it together, breathe...

“I know I don’t need to ask,” His voice was low, the timbre shooting straight to your core, “But are you okay to fly, because you seem a little out of it.” His voice sounded wrecked, like it was painful to be speaking.

You nodded hastily, pressing your hands into his abdomen for some unknown reason. You could feel the muscle under his shirt, hell you could remember what it felt like to touch those muscles, to drag your tongue along the surprisingly soft skin, before...before...

Oh fuck.

You think you realized what was happening a moment before it was too late to react, your brain opting to shut down as pleasure ripped through your body with a ferocity that knocked you clean over. With a shuddering moan, you collapsed into Poe as your orgasm rocked through you, unable to speak now as wave after wave turned you into a whimpering mess. He caught you, his face confused even as he unknowingly rutted his hips against you and started trembling.

“What-?” He got a good look at your face then and realization dawned, his expression twisting in horror. “Oh shit, shit,” He groaned, clutching you harder against him and you heard him breathe out your name, equal parts fear and desire colouring his tone before he sunk to his knees, bringing you down with him, and his body stilled.

His orgasm tore through him just as violently, the only thing he could think to do was nuzzle his head into your neck and hide his face as he came. You were limp, your body jerking and convulsing as the high never ended, it seemed to hold at its peak and just drag you along for the ride, unwillingly. In the very back of your mind, you recognized that what was happening was, undoubtedly, an aftereffect to the pollen you’d been exposed to weeks prior. The nightly dreams, subsequent orgasms, the way fire licked up your spine at every touch from Poe...it made sense, and if you weren’t currently trying to keep yourself and Poe quiet as you each came, you’d probably be feeling like a first-class idiot for not reporting the exposure.

“Fuck,” You whimpered pitifully, clinging to Poe for life. You felt another hand on your shoulder suddenly and registered a voice saying your name. It took a few moments to find enough clarity to look up, blinking through the haze to find Temmin standing over you both, his expression frantic with concern.

“Major, (y/n), tell me what’s happening, talk to me here!”

“T-Temmin...we, we were exposed on our, shit,” You had to pause as your orgasm seemed to notch up another level, dropping your head to hide your face against Poe’s. “Mission. Red fertility plant, help, oh maker please help!” You cried out, the burning and heat threatening to undo you completely, no longer overwhelmed with lust but now a high that seemed too far for humans, your heart hammering in your chest like it wanted to break out, run away from you and abandon your trembling body as you burned.

You slumped over, distantly aware of Temmin roaring for medics, but determined to bring your focus to Poe, who was now holding you too tightly. You realized he was speaking into your neck, and you had to tilt your head awkwardly to hear. Your vision was narrowing now, but you could hear him perfectly.

“I can’t hurt you again, don’t let me hurt her, please make it stop.” He repeated this plea over and over, and it was the only thing you could hear as your eyes began to close, as other hands were on you, pulling him away and you fought to keep him close until the heat became too much and a sudden stinging cool hit your arm and you were falling, down and into an unknown abyss, your last thoughts swirling in your head louder than any voice around you.

‘Don’t let me hurt him again, please don’t let me hurt Poe again...’

—

Temmin paced the med-bay waiting area frantically, waiting for an update from the Healers on both the Commander and Major’s statuses. He’d been leaving the hangar when he found them in the hallway, clinging to one another as they seemed to convulse with pain, and it had fucking terrified him. It had made some sense when you’d be able to gasp out an explanation that you’d each been exposed to a fertility plant during your mission. But he didn’t have any room to be embarrassed that you were both essentially having orgasms in front of him because you looked so scared and confused and Poe’s words were stuck in his brain now.

“Please don’t let me hurt her again, make it stop, I can’t hurt her, she’s everything to me, please make it stop...”

While he knew he was a less emotional sort of man, Temmin wasn’t an idiot. He knew that Poe and you were soulmates who’d been through some seriously dark shit. That you just needed to work through it all to find your way back to one another. And apparently, you had started the process-finally-during your classified mission. He had been overjoyed at the change in your interactions with one another, that you seemed to be friends again, at least.

But he’d also noticed the weird reactions you both had to some of his more inappropriate teasing, seen how you would both flush and change the subject and he thought at first that maybe you had started dating again, only something seemed off. You had become increasingly more wound up over the weeks, and Poe had appeared to turn inward more and more, as though his thoughts were so intense he was trying to conceal them with every fibre of his being from everyone.

You had only mentioned a suspicious plant in your reports from your mission. It had been with dawning horror, as he screamed for Healers, that Temmin understood you’d mentioned the flowers because you’d been exposed. That whatever had happened upon exposure had been so bad that neither you nor Poe wanted to include it in your reports.

“Captain?” A Healer came out from the back, a soothing expression on her face that told him you at least weren’t dead.

He hurried forward nonetheless, “Maker, Healer Brooks, please tell me they’re going to be alright!”

Did you enjoy this chapter? Consider leaving a comment or reblogging to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Thank you 🤍

@mermaidxatxheart @foxilayde @eleinemk @paintballkid711 @mylifeisactuallyamess @20th-centu-fairy-girl @deitysnips @cannedsoupsucks @ubri812 @poedameronloverx @hoeforthefictional @astrological-bitch @itsnottilly @its-djarin @alex-sulli

#reader insert #poe dameron x reader #night changes series #fanfic #angst #fluff #poe dameron #multichapter #friends to lovers #star wars #poe x reader #oscar isaac #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron x female reader #poe smut

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embrassemoi · 4 years ago

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Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 30

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L Warnings: Language, angst, meeting new characters Important Question: do you guys prefer shorter or longer chapters? also, I listened to first love / late spring by Mitski for this ch if anyone else wants to listen along!

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | ao3 】

Chapter 30: Like a Tall Child

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Remus was alone for the trip back to King’s Cross; not wanting to be stuck with James or Peter who would only pester him. He mulled over his thoughts as his head rested against the window, watching the scenery whip by. But the more he had time to think, it caused more guilt to build; they were only trying to be supportive. They cared so much, still willing to associated with someone like… him. And all he did was push them away. He didn’t deserve real mates like them.

Remus tried to distract himself: knitting, drawing — reading next year’s material, but settled on pulling out his cartridge of cigarettes. About to light one, his attention was drawn to the soft knocking on the carriage door. Lily was there, waving before coming in.

“Hey,” she said, closing the door and sitting down. “I wanted to say bye for the summer.”

He exhaled, now itching for the rush of nicotine while Lily fidgeted in her seat. He already knew why she was there.

“Sev — Snape — came to me a couple days ago…”

It was impossible to escape, wasn’t it?

“They’re mad, his theories… He’s been telling me the entire year and kept going on about this one story… wild story of you and Y/N and the other Marauders…” Lily looked up nervously.

Instead of getting angry, Remus closed his eyes, feeling himself sink further into the cushions, centring his breathing. “What did he say?”

“He’s been telling me you’re a… a...”

“Werewolf?”

She froze at the word, having to take a deep inhale and suddenly looked paler than usual. Remus wanted to jump out of the moving train. “Yes,” she stated, “But I told him to bugger off.”

Lily stopped again, meeting his eyes. “So… It’s true?”

“You can’t tell anyone.”

Lily sat straight, leaning over and even putting a hand on her chest, close to her heart. “I’ll take it to the grave.”

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(Letters between Y/N and friends)

To my lovely Whiskers, I hope your summer has been grand so far. Are you sure you can’t spend time with me? It’s been so lonely. Prongs

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Dear Bambi, Unfortunately, I can’t. Mom’s dragging me to New York for the month. Something about being invited to do a special surgery. Said leaving me alone will do no good. I promise to bring you back a souvenir? How are things with Black? Whiskers

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My adoring, wonderful Whiskers, And it hasn’t. My parents are concerned. They’ve been trying to get me to talk about what happened but I can’t. Dumbledore and McGonagall have already started their punishments. He lost over 200 points for next year, got detention for half the year and he can’t try out for the Quidditch team if he wanted to. I wonder what they’ll do next. I love souvenirs! All things Muggle! Yours truly, Prongs/Bambi/James

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July 20th, 1976 Meet me in Times Square at 1 pm on the 8th. There’s a bench outside a bagel store, there’s no way you’ll miss it. Until next time, Matthew G.

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¡Hola! Greetings from Barcelona! My brothers took a few weeks off to spend time with me to come to Spain with my parents! They’re dragging me to a football game later. I heard they call it ‘soccer’ in North America. M. McKinnon

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Y/N L/N, Hello, I hope you’re having a wonderful break. Your letters are the highlight of my day and they keep me busy. So I hate to inform you that you need to stop sending me letters for now. I’m not supposed to be getting any and my parents are going to start confiscating them if I receive any more. I’m sorry. I can’t wait to see you in the fall. R.A.B

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I’m visiting Tuney with my parents in a few days. She moved to London for a clerical job in March and we’re meeting her boyfriend, Vernon! He sounds nice but she’s told me she’s nervous about me and magic around him. Lily

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Petals! I’m sure you’ll be fine! Who couldn't love you? Write back and tell me what happens!

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Whiskers, I’m with my parents up in Wales in their cottage. I was born there before having to move for my Dad’s work. Also, I think I have to get a rabbit. James always told people that I got my scars from a poorly behaved rabbit and if I’m not seen with one soon, people will start to question. Remus

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Does this mean I get to call you Moony now? Professor Moony? Wales? And that’s where that small accent comes from. It bleeds through when you’re concentrating or relaxing. And a rabbit? At least they’re cute! I’m sure you can just Transfigure a book though. Y/N

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Professor Moony? Haha, okay! And really? I never knew. I’m kind of embarrassed now. I’ve thought about that but at this point, I think it would be easier just to have one.

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Oh no! It’s nice! Gives you personality. I think it suits you well How about… Moody Moony near full moons? And Moody Moony Mondays on Mondays.

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Now you’ve gone too far. Bloody fucking Moody Moony? Have you ever heard of Mad-Eye Moody?

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Would you prefer 'my Moony' then?

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Yes, actually.

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August 6th, 1976

“Hurry up!”

She thudded down from the top of the staircase, dragging her trunk behind while her mother sped out of the terminal door, flagging down one of the zipping yellow taxis with her luggage in hand.

It was strange, being with her mother again after almost a year apart. She hadn’t come to King’s Cross again, instead sending her a bus fare in anticipation of school ending. She hoped for some sort of recognition, any kind of sign that she was missed but was only given a side-armed hug and delved back into work.

Y/N wondered if maybe she just didn’t want her there, hoping she would get lost and never come back. She only had been on a bus in London twice, therefore almost ensuring that she would get lost and would have stayed lost if she didn’t have extra spare change to use a payphone.

Ignoring the crackle of whispers as she strode to the cab, people blatantly stared at her unnatural coloured hair, as she entered the car, slamming the door shut.

“Where ya ladies off too?” Said the driver, pulling out a map from their car door.

“Cranberry Street, Brooklyn Heights.”

It was a quiet drive, aside from the driver drumming their fingers on the steering wheel at the sound of the Bee Gees blasting in the background. She watched other cabs whipping back and forth, people going on with their days, the dirty streets and building under construction.

“Hey, mom?” She asked, reasoning now was a good time to talk about her OWL results. She’d gotten them mere seconds before leaving their house back in London and she’d been putting off looking at the results until now.

She only grunted, flicking through one of her medical journals, jotting down notes. “I don’t have time right now.”

Y/N sighed, that familiar sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach expanded again. “It’s kind of important.”

“Not now.” She waved her hand and ended the conversation.

Thirty minutes later, the cab came to a stop as they grabbed their luggage and strolled up to the brownstone building they were renting for the month.

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Jet lag got to her as she unwinded lounged until finally getting up from bed that morning as her mom rushed around the house. She frantically was putting on shoes, dressed impeccably sharp, no doubt in hopes to make an impression as her eyes flew across her journal. Her feet were scrambling to the door as she flung her bag over her shoulder.

“Have a good d —” And then the door slammed shut.

She stared blankly at the door for a while and then turned around, getting ready for her day. A daint drum of excitement yet nervousness built up, pushing aside that sinking feeling. Today she was going to see Matthew again.

Having a few hours to spare, Y/N walked around, marvelling at the tall buildings and lights before heading into the heart of Time Square, immediately spotting the bench outside the bagel shop. She sat, waiting for him anxiously. She made sure to wear a hat, covering any sight of hair to avoid weird stares and chatter.

But then a few minutes turned into ten and then twenty minutes later.

Slipping out the letter again to make sure, she re-read it. Time Square, at one, today… near the bagel shop…

“Where y’at?”

Her head lifted as she jumped to her feet and pulled each other into a tight hug.

“Matthew!”

His face nuzzled into the side of her neck, arms wrapped around tight as her face pressed gently into his chest. Eventually, she pulled away - arms outstretched to get a good look.

Matthew Gaplin looked different. His hair, coarse and thick, had grown. He was taller, filled out more, tan skin became even tanner from the beating sun and he filled out.

His smile was large. “S’been so long.”

She gave him a small whack!

“Ow!” He jumped back, “What’s wrong wiv ya?”

“I thought you stood me up.”

“Sorry, doing something for Mom. Had to wait on line forever.”

He looked down bashfully, now staring at the hat. His face made a disgusted look. “It’s disgusting out. Why are you wearing —” Curiously lifting the hat, his lids widened astronomically as Y/N grabbed it, covering her wild hair.

“I told you,” she hissed.

“Right the Potter sport!” He gave a full-body laugh. “Oh come on, I wanna see it again!”

But her hand clamped down on that hat to prevent him from pulling it off. “No! The Muggles keep judging —“

“Muggles?” Matthew’s brows furrowed. “The fuck is a Muggle? Sounds… demeaning.”

“Sorry, it’s what they call No-Majs.”

“Ahh,” and then he moved to loop an arm around her shoulders and continued to walk. “Too good to use ol’American terms?”

“Turned British snob.”

They laughed loudly as he took charge, showing her around the city. There was something so calming amid the chaos of New York. The bustle, low chatter and his enthusiasm made it all the better.

Soon enough, after hours of walking around, they both came to a stop in a large park as they grew hungry. Matthew disappeared for a while, leaving her alone to lay down on the soft grass before returning, holding up a brown bag with two drinks.

“Got us bagels wiv schmear.”

She mumbled out a thanks and took it from him as he sat down on the grass beside her.

“Missed ya, really.”

She shoved him playfully, his head dropping bashfully. “Shut up.”

It stayed quiet for a bit, as they listened to the birds chirping until he broke the silence again. “Ya thinkin’ ‘bout moving back eventually, right?”

“Why?”

Matthew gave her a haughty look, contemplating his words carefully. “Do ya… not know? They’re losing the war.”

Momentary terror gripped her heart but she swallowed it down fast. “Matthew,” her voice dropped, “Please, I want a fun summer… can we not talk about the war? I have more than enough time to worry later."

He wanted to keep talking, worried for his good friend but he refrained, biting down on his lip and nodded stiffly.

“So…” he thought to himself, contemplating how to change the direction of their conversation and fast. “Fess up, what’s been goin’ on over there.”

“Huh?”

“You’re telling me you haven't — what is it called? Kissing?”

“Snogging?”

He smiled. “You’re telling me you haven’t snogged anyone of those rich Old-Majs yet?”

“Nope!” She spoke too quickly and voice was a little too high.

“Liar. Ya going tell me who then?” Y/N looked down, hand going to fiddle with the fem of her clothes while Matthew shook her. “Come on! Tell me!”

“Fine! His name is Sirius Black.”

Matthew's eyes widened in recognition as he sat upright. “You don’t mean the Black family? Gawd! No way!”

“What?”

“And ya don’t even know!” Matthew was full of amusement. “They’re one of the oldest wizarding families out there! Are you still wiv him?”

Y/N stopped, trying to conceal a chuckle. She didn’t have it in her to lie anymore. “No! He almost got me killed.”

“Ha. Ha, very clever. Fine, don’t tell me.”

“You? Anything exciting?”

Matthew snorted. “Fought over a fin if that counts as exciting.”

“You know that’s not what I'm talking about,” she teased.

He abruptly became very serious and it had Y/N sitting up straighter. Matthew breathed in, this time not looking at her but instead at his metal pop can. “I’ve… had a tumble wiv a few... didn’t matter their… genders.”

It took a second for his words to click in but when it did, her mouth fell open and saw his face fall as she pulled him into a tight hug. “I don’t care who you cop, just be safe and have fun.”

He mumbled into her shoulder. “Been rehearsing that since I knew you were visitin’.”

“Love ya, could never judge you.” He tried to look insulted from the babying but prickled with tears before wiping them away quickly.

“Bless ya!”

“You alright though?”

“Now that I know your reaction, never betta. Now, you talk, enough ‘bout me.”

After making sure he was okay, Y/N prattled about Hogwarts. Matthew would pop in a few times, asking her to clarify or ask what words the British used — he often called her his ‘British insight.’ She rambled much about her day, her new friends but made sure to leave out a few details. Matthew became peculiarly silent through most of her speech. It wasn’t like him to not try to speak up, but he looked at her with something she’d only seen a few times prior.

Matthew stared at her for a long time, analyzing with underlying adoration. “What did them Brits do to ya?”

She looked at him, waiting for him to continue. “Ya sound different.” He says calmly, going to sip on his pop. “Talk funny.”

“Tawk funny,” she mocked and earned a shove. “Different? How so?”

“Everything ‘bout you seems different. Y’look happier,” he smiles, although there was a twinge of hurt. “Talk softer, look different — move differently and ya voice sounds different… but the same.”

She takes a bit of her food. “I hope that isn’t a bad thing.”

Matthew smiles gently, sheepish but there. “Not at all.”

She smiled back. Matthew always knew how to make her smile and it felt good, normal.

“Happy looks good on ya.”

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She finally sat down, tired from the long day she spent wandering the city. But it wasn’t long until a tapping sound came from the window. Celeste was there, waiting with a letter in her beak. She walked up to her, letting her fly inside and opened the letter.

Got my OWL results. Outstanding in Astronomy, DADA, Charms, Transfigs. Exceeds Expectations in everything else but an Acceptable in Potions. Moony

She re-read that last part. Remus getting Acceptable in Potions? Her attention travelled to the stark white envelope peeking out from the side pocket of her carry-on. She marched up to it, ripping it open and scanned the paper.

Outstanding in Transfiguration, Potions and Herbology, Arithmancy. Exceeds Expectations in everything else except Poor in History of Magic. She cringed at that.

She immediately got up from her seat. Rushing over to the master bedroom, peeking her head in. “Mom?” She said quietly, “Can I talk to you.”

“Didn’t I tell you I was busy?” Her voice cut through. “It’s not the time to be a nuisance.”

A scorching feeling of anger thrummed through her but kept her voice low and steady. “That was a few days ago.”

"My answer didn't change."

Any semblance of calm vanished. “It’s about my OWLs. My future. I need some sort of guidance.”

“I wouldn’t understand them,” she sighed and peered up. There was an odd expression, borderlining on confusion and something else. “It’s not the same. I’m not a… witch like you are. I don’t know how to help you.”

“I’ll make it into No-Maj terms?” Y/N’s voice was tight and came rushing over to where she sat on the couch. And laid out her examination results. “Look, an O is the same as getting an A! It’s the highest grade you can get. And here,” she pointed, “My teacher, Professor Slughorn, invites me to parties because of my work in Potions class. I’m one of his top students.”

She glanced at her mom excitedly but was met with a look of annoyance and slight judgement. But she continued, “A-and in Herbology I'm doing excellent too! I was becoming interested in becoming a Healer. I told you in my letters. It’s similar to being —”

“I’m sorry,” her mother said but it didn’t have any trace of guilt or sorrow, “I’m busy and you’re getting in the way of work — my achievements — that you know are important.”

“Are mine not important?”

A thick, profound silence filled the space between them. Everything about the connotation had her averting her body, feeling the sinking in her chest explode. From the war, traumatic near death experience and her mother's constant aloof nature, it was her cracking point.

Snatching the OWLs results, she walked out the door, shutting it gently before diving into her room; throwing the covers over her head.

All the New-Maj and No-Maj children were told stories of the Boogeyman. To Y/N, it felt comparable to reverting to a small child as she tucked herself into a tight ball. She recalled watching all the other children running up their parents, being roped with large hugs and smiles, surrounded with infinite quantities of love as they left the school playground. She remembered being envious, wanting to have two parents as the images of the Boogeyman drew near.

There was an overwhelming sense to scream — to cry out for guidance as the knot in her stomach grew. Instead of her mother coming to her rescue — to reassure, to give any sense of security or safety while other parents would scare off the Boogeyman or monsters ready to nip at their children’s toes under the bed, Y/N was left in the dark as all sense of relief or love vanished. It left her vulnerable, exposed to the monsters lurking in the dark.

Her mother may have not been physically absent but it sure felt like it.

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【 Next Chapter 】

Slang dictionary:

Fin = $5 / five dollar bill Bagels with schmear = bagels with cream cheese Wait on line = the same as 'Wait in line' Pop = Canadian slang for soda / soft drinks Sport / old sport = (depending on the context) a term of endearment similar to buddy, pal, friend

112 notes · View notes

di-kut · 5 years ago

Text

Fairy Dust

Pairing: Fem Reader x Ezra (Prospect)

Word Count: 16k i kNOW

Rating: MA (Extremely explicit sex scenes I don’t know what else to tell ya)

Summary: While collecting rare gems on an unpopular prospecting planet you are both infected with a sex pollen. (Porn with a mild attempt at plot?)

Warnings: Ok saddle up boys here we go Dirty talk, oral sex (m/f receiving), sex pollen, elements of dub con implied (although they do not do the do while under the influence!), non-established dom/sub dynamic, masturbation, orgasm denial, pharmaceutical drug use, saliva/cum play, nipple play, breath play, overstimulation (sorta), multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, clit slapping, unprotected sex, pleading, general kind of explicit sexual things

A/N: This is 29 A4 pages of absolute porn. I really can’t make a single excuse for this. As always this started as something much smaller and got way WAY out of hand. There is lots of yearning and pining in this for a sex pollen fic, and also lots of sex so there’s that. Um pls be kind to me?

The ground is soggy from the downpour. Your boots sink into the mud and stick. It’s hard going to climb out of the valley, even now, long after the rain has ended. You hike your case higher against you, have to pause and flex your hold around it. Heavy with a cargo which has made the whole descent worth every sodden footstep and fighting against the rain. A rare aquatic gem encased in a bloom which only surfaced during complete submersion. A field of water flowers, nothing but green swaying grass under the sun, suddenly appearing after the rain flooded the valley. The whole planet covered in flora which changed with the weather, almost terraformed with the climate.

The hill is steep, green except for the worn path of mud you had tracked into the grass on the way down it. The peak is near now, grass swaying lazily against a brilliant blue sky. The pod is over the rise, down in the next valley. You dig your feet into the sliding earth, feel it try to pull you back down the hill and into the gorge below, still filled with crystalline pools of clear water. No longer glistening with the purple heads of the gems, those are stowed in your cases. Enough to set you up for months. A year maybe. Rare enough that they will fetch a high price, high enough to have a holiday even. You smile at the thought, forget to check your steps and you shift your weight onto a patch of sliding mud. You stagger, yell, nearly drop. The earth beneath you keeps shifting down, pulls you with it. A hand catches your elbow, stops you from your inevitable fall back down the hill.

“Are you alright, Starlight?”

Ezra’s voice sounds distant through the earpiece. Crackles with static. Your heart is pounding, you can feel it sitting at the back of your throat. You twist your helmet around far enough to look at him and nod. He helps you right yourself, lets you hold onto his arm until you get your balance again.

You continue your climb. The hill wants to slide out from beneath you. Every footstep less steady than the last as you reach the top, the landscape more battered by the rain so close to the peak of the hill. But you don’t slip again, and Ezra is steady on his feet behind you. When you crest the top of the peak the sun emerges from the clouds still curled around the horizon, a halo of threatening grey, the cracking of thunder just audible, carried over the endless lulls of valleys and peaks. A surface of craters – each one filled with a forest, or a lake, or a jungle, on and on, disappearing into the distance. The storm seems far away, but the planet is not just unpopular for prospecting because the gems are hard to find. The weather systems fluctuate quickly, and change can happen in minutes. You eye the clouds with distrust, even as the valleys all around you are bathed in golden afternoon light.

Your breathing bounces around between your headsets, the echo of your own breathing reverberating back to you through the Ezra’s mouthpiece. He stops beside you, balances his case between his feet and sighs. Puts his hands on his hips and stares out with you. A beautiful planet, really, if you can forget the threat of the weather.

“One certainly does crave for the smell of dampened soil.”

“Ezra…” You warn.

“The atmosphere is perfectly breathable, I checked multiple times.”

“Don’t – ”

But he is lifting his arm and releasing the helmet. Movements sure and easy with his only remaining hand. He had been clumsy at it still, when you had first met him, just months after he had lost his right arm. But he no longer avoids your offers for help – doesn’t need them. He holds his helmet against his cocked hip and makes a show of sucking in a long breath. Turn his head to peer at you from the corner of his eye.

You sigh. “It might not be safe.”

“You shall have to take your helmet off, Starlight, without the assistance of our earpieces I cannot hear you.”

“I know you can hear me,” you mutter.

He chuckles at you and the sound curls the familiar sensation of tingling deep in the pit of your stomach. Ezra lets his eyes slip closed, a light breeze ruffling his hair, pushing it up and away from his face. Without the helmet you can see the shape of his profile, strong against the distant clouds. Skin glowing golden in the sunlight, blond streak almost white. You study the lines of his brow, the hook of his nose. Give yourself this moment while he is distracted to commit this memory of him to the same place you keep all precious memories of Ezra. Secret and deep. Almost let yourself think for a moment what it would be like if you took your helmet off too, if you gave in to him. But his eyes are fluttering open and you turn away.

You start the trek back down the other side of the slope. The pod is within sight now, nestled in against the tree line, facing out over a sodden field. Ezra is laughing at you, at your stubbornness. He calls something teasing you ignore, do not let the flood of colour rush to your cheeks. Concentrate on the squelching of your boots through the mud, and the sounds of his joining you as well, never far behind.

His voice marks a constant melody behind you, a soothing sound after almost two years. It’s deep and clear without the static of the helmet to interfere, rings out around you as he chatters. Content mostly just for you to listen, as he always is. The way down is easier than the way up had been, not so steep as the other side of the hill. Your case is heavy enough that you have to lean against its weight at steeper parts. The gloves of your suit are covered in mud from the extraction, so are the knees and fronts of your legs. You are glad a second trip won’t be required to make the journey worthwhile. Glad you will be able to wait out the departure safe from the rain and the storms from the inside of the pod. You glimpse at Ezra, can’t help the fond smile you don’t let him see. Think he was made for this, really, to be always exploring under the shine of the sun.

“We shouldn’t stay out here too long, Ezra.”

He has stopped at the base of one of the trees. Almost fifty metres from the pod. It’s not a tall tree, only Ezra’s height twice again, but its trunk is thick, broad enough that if you stood on either side of it your hands would not touch his. The bark is a smooth grey, covered over with glistening moss, still wet from the downpour. He’s close to it, staring up at something in the canopy above. His helmet pressed between his arm and his hip, the case hanging from his hand below. Small droplets of water occasionally fall from shuddering leaves, catch the light as the drop, the air filled with gems all around him.

“The flora of this planet truly renders one speechless.” He ignores your warning. “A blossoming kaleidoscopic gallery which changes with the weather.”

He places his case on the ground, then his helmet. Tilts his head at you to come closer. You step towards him, close the distance between you with sticky steps. He points up at something, whatever had caught his attention. You stop next to him and turn to see it. The canopy is not far above your heads, a dark leafy green shade from the blue of the sky. Drooping under the weight of the rainfall. Nestled in the green there are buds, yellow and small. They are what has captured Ezra, flowers unopened. Invisible when you had passed through hours before on your way from the pod, but now under the bloom of the sun they are opening. You stand together, shoulder to shoulder under the leaves, watching as dozens, hundreds of them appear above you. More of the local plants which change with the weather, just like your gems. Hidden away, something secret and magical. You can’t deny him this, this little piece of wonder in such a cruel world. Couldn’t deny him anything, not really. You will never tell him that, because the world is cruel, and has been cruel to you both. And you trust him. Know you will never find another partner like him. So it stays within you, locked away, with the little pieces of happiness you find with him. His smile, face turned towards the sun.

He’s watching you, when you turn. His skin golden in the sunlight. Magical himself. And then the blossoms open above you, not flowers after all. Petal-less buds which release a floating snow of yellow pollen which drifts through the air. Settles against his shoulders and into his hair. His smile is soft, changes when you catch his eye. He lifts his hand and knocks his fist gently against your helmet.

“Rather like fairy dust,” he says quietly. Pinches some of it from where it’s settled on your suit and holds it up between you. Blows it away. The pollen in the air between you comes to life, from a drifting snow to a dance, twisting and writhing through the air on his breath. “Do you think it would heal our wounds, Starlight? Bless the paint which brushes our lives with luck as well?” His eyes glimmer, playfully conspiratorial. Drawing you in towards him, in the way Ezra has of making you feel a part of something. A confidant. “Shall we bottle some, do you think?”

“We’d need a lot.”

He laughs. “That we would.” He closes his eyes and inhales. Exhales. Makes the yellow clouds of pollen chase each other through the air. “The aroma is divine. You ought to smell it.”

You sigh. “Just because the atmosphere is breathable…”

“The helmets were merely to protect our persons from the deluge and keep us from discomfort.” He hikes his own helmet up on his hip as if to demonstrate. “I have not come to harm from the removal of my own.”

“Yet.”

You fidget for a moment, think about saying no. But you can’t, not when he is smiling at you like that, like maybe if you remove the helmet you can make him happy. Like you are someone important. He doesn’t hide his emotions like you, he wears them open and honest on his face and in his eyes. A trait so at odds with his profession. You think he might want you, sometimes, when he looks at you like this. But know him well enough to know he is a wanderer, and that craving your body, after weeks alone in space, is very different to wanting you forever. The way you might know you want him, if you would ever let yourself think about it.

So you place your case carefully between your feet as well and lift your hands to your helmet. It releases with a soft hiss of the pressure and a click and you pull it away. The air is cool and sharp. The soil smells of rain. Ezra is right. The smell of the pollen is incredible. Sweet and sharp and bright. Unlike anything you’ve ever smelt before. Intoxicating, almost. Even more after the staleness of the air in your helmet and in your pod. You can smell him as well, a more familiar smell through the pollen. His eyes are catching the sunlight, the brown shifting between shade and light, sometimes golden sometimes orange and sometimes almost black. More beautiful than the trees and the dancing yellow pollen and the gems in your cases.

“Wonders of the universe, hey?” Ezra murmurs. He’s studying your eyes as intensely as you are studying his.

You throat closes a little. He leans towards you and you shrug away from him. Turn your head to hide your blush. “We should get back to the pod.”

You pick up your helmet in one hand and your case in the other. Ezra is quiet the rest of the walk. Your hair becomes coated with a fine yellow dust, your eyelashes, the tip of your nose. It lands on your shoulders and sticks to the mud on your suit. You feel the gnawing of guilt in your stomach, know you were too quick to turn. Too sharp with him. You turn back several times, get so far as opening your mouth to apologise. But he is staring at the ground beneath his feet, brows furrowed. As he has been other times when you have broken away too soon, when there has been a moment building between you. Only for you to shut it down. Close yourself off.

The pod is cool inside. You brush off the worst of the pollen outside it in silence. Awful, unfamiliar silence. Step inside and remove your suits without a word. But the tension breaks when you giggle at the cloud of yellow which puffs into the air when Ezra shakes his head. He laughs with you, and you settle back into normal, fall into your easy routine. Ezra stores the gems away while you pack the suits, try to get the worst of the pollen off them by shaking them out the door. Pack them away. Dinner; protein bars and supplements and flasks of water. Ezra has a field guide up for the planet, is flicking through the local flora and telling you anything which catches his fancy, reads out descriptions with a melody they do not deserve. It lulls you, makes your stomach turn more than normal. You catch his eyes resting on your face or your body several times before he looks away. It makes your skin break out in goosebumps.

“Ah look,” he says, kicks his feet up onto the bunk. You are still wearing your undersuit, a thick warm lining, but Ezra has shucked his, is wearing only his compression clothing. Your eyes linger where his shirt has ridden up and reveals a sliver of skin over his hipbone. “Our magical tree outside. Not a remnant of some fairy civilisation I’m afraid, and rather well documented.”

You hum encouragingly, distracted.

“Wide trunk… short height… a wider family of flowering trees which covers the planet’s surface. Names after a botanist… species is known for its pink flowers – ”

“It’s flowers weren’t pink.”

“Let me finish, if you would be so kind. Known for its pink flower which do not pollinate, as the pollen is enclosed in a separate yellow bract rather than the sepals of the petals. The pollen is of renown – maybe we should have bottled it – due to its – ”

He cuts himself off. You are fiddling with the zip of your undersuit, still staring at the gap between his shirt and pants. It takes several long moments of silence for you to be able to draw your gaze away from his skin and up to his face. “Renown due to?”

He is gone pale. Stares blankly at his screen.

“Ezra?” You straighten. “Ezra, what’s wrong? The pollen, what is it?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Is it poisonous?” You are oddly calm. Start running an inventory of the contents of your med kit, try to remember how long since you’d been exposed to it. “Ezra, are we in danger?”

“No,” he croaks. “It’s not poisonous.”

You deflate back against your bunk. Throw an empty protein bar packet in his direction and huff. Want to kick him in his shin for the dramatics. “You scared me. Don’t – ”

“It’s an aphrodisiac.”

You blink at him. “A… A what?”

“An aphrodisiac. It’s harvested for its high potency but it difficult to acquire because of the plant’s unique quality of blooming in certain conditions. The buds are only visible when exposed to extended periods of rainfall, and release pollen only under UV light.” He’s still reading the article aloud. His face slack in horror. “It contains hallucinogenic properties, and is known to create both psychological and physiological – ”

“Ezra, plain English, please.” You say. “So it’s – it’s what? We’re going to be horny?”

“Incomparably aroused.” He looks at you and then away again. Starts to flick through other articles with desperation. “It’s a hallucinogenic. It will not simply make us feel horny, we will be unable to think of anything else. It will make us feel things, phantom sensations, we will experience corporeal responses without other stimulation.”

You blanche. “Maybe it’s the wrong tree, maybe it’s – ”

“It’s not the wrong tree.”

“So what do we do?” You feel too hot, the space around you is suddenly too small and your undersuit too heavy. You think it must be a trick of your mind, but paranoia makes the flush worse.

Ezra clicks through article after article. He estimates you have maybe an hour before it takes effect, maybe less. The pollen was generally harvested, and the chemicals extracted to use as additives for drugs. There is next to nothing on direct inhalation. Not documented, not tested. He tells you it should only last a few hours – three to four. But you can feel your hands shaking, are only half listening. He’s speaking so quickly now, and you curl your feet onto the bed in front of you, wrap your arms around your knees. Was the flush from nerves or from the pollen? Were you shaking because of it as well? Ezra is still talking.

“What?” You say. Head shooting up.

“It does not seem to matter if you… if you finish. The effects of the pollen will not dissipate until it leaves your system.”

Your face colours. “Okay. Okay. Four hours though, that’s what you said.” You think you must look sick. You feel sick, as if all the blood has left you. “We’re both adults, we can just,” but you can’t even finish the sentence. Stare down at your knees.

Ezra makes a pained noise in the back of his throat.

It’s getting harder to breathe. Harder to see. The walls around you have started to blur. The bright white lights in the pod are too much, hurt the space behind your eyes. You shuffle to the edge of the bed and swing your legs to the ground. Feel the buzzing in your hands and feet. The switch has never felt so far away, and yet the air around you keep compressing, the walls closing in. It hasn’t been anywhere near an hour. Twenty minutes at most and you feel like your mouth is full of wool and your head too. Ezra has turned on his side, his back to you, the quiet sound of his long deliberate breathing the only noise he makes. You finally reach the switch, grasp at it with shaking hands. Ezra turns over his good shoulder, and you catch the sight of his hair – wet and flattened to his head.

“Don’t – ”

But you already have the lights dimmed. Still bright enough to see, but not painful anymore. Ezra seems vivid even in the dim, like he’s brought into hyper-focus, safe and solid in the pulsating world around you. Without thinking you begin to shuffle towards him. Lick your lips. Think maybe it would be better to stay close to him. Would make you feel better.

“What are you doing?” He pushes himself up on his arm, half facing you. The prominent muscles of his neck straining at the twist.

“I – I – ” You shake your head. Try to clear it of the fuzzy feeling which has settled over your thoughts. Suck in a deep breath which doesn’t reach your lungs. “I don’t know.”

“It’s the pollen.” He’s short. You can hear the tension in his jaw. See the ticking of the muscle under the skin. It distracts you. He kicks his foot to get your attention. “Lie down. Over there.”

You listen without question; the commanding tone sends a lick of heat up your spine. Your knees buckle when they hit your bunk, and you fall against it, boneless. Suddenly weak. It’s so hot. You can feel sweat forming along your top lip, sink over your brow and into your hair. You push the strands away with shaking hands, shove it back off your face. It’s too hot in the pod. Your mouth is so dry. So hot. The undersuit, you’re still wearing it, and your compression clothes beneath. Ezra has lowered himself back to the mattress, stares at the wall ahead of him, but his whole body jerks when he hears the pull of your zip. You turn your head to the side to watch him, stare at his back. Watch his shoulders pull tight through his thin compression shirt, damp with sweat. Watch the muscle tense. Catch your tongue between your teeth. His neck is so tight you can see every dip, see the veins stand out beneath the skin.

You get the zip undone and start to wriggle your arms free. The cold air of the pod is a relief until Ezra groans, deep and pained. The sound shoots down your spine, sparks across your lower back and into your stomach. Makes your cunt pulse. You echo the sound back at him, feel your body temperature climb again, impossibly. You slump, half out of the suit, your skin feels like the crackle of static, alive and humming. You are on fire. Can feel your chest and stomach and the creases beneath your breasts growing slick with sweat. You shift in the suit, still halfway down your waist, and the inseam of the crotch catches against your underwear. Without thinking, without meaning to, you are bending your knees, digging the heels of your feet into the bed and pulling yourself down. Feel the thickness of the seam, too much and not enough all at once dig into you and your back curves. Relish in the feeling of friction, and the release which dribbles, stick and warm, down your slit.

You choke on another moan.

Ezra is so stiff he is almost shaking. Pulled so taut he might snap. You can’t take your eyes off him, watch the way his ragged breathing fills him and rushes out again. Like he’s been running. Sweat soaking through his shirt now, making it cling to him. His voice is cracked and hoarse. “Be quiet.”

You can’t help it. Another moan slips out before you can stop it, louder at the sound of his voice. You bend your knees again and work your hips against the inside of the suit. Become aware of how swollen your cunt is, tingling. Worse than tingling. Somehow better. Your legs are shaking, breath coming in fast pants. It’s too loud in the pod, bounces around and comes back to you. Makes you dimly embarrassed, a small place in the back of your mind is mortified. But you can’t concentrate on why, can’t hold any thought in your head long enough to remember why you shouldn’t give in. Can’t remember why you’re holding back from the throbbing need in the first place.

“Ezra.” It’s too breathy. Too soft. That’s what you want, you realise. The taste of his name in your mouth makes it fill, hot and wet. Ezra, Ezra, Ezra. “It’s hurting.”

“It’s the pollen.” His voice is tight. He turns his head enough that you can see a sliver of cheekbone. “A few hours, remember? Then it will be over.”

The pod is getting hotter. You are getting hotter. Your breasts ache, you feel your nipples hardening, feel them catch against the sweat drenched fabric of your singlet and it stings. Another throb, so long you think it won’t end, makes you whimper. And then. Wet. Not dribbling, leaking. Flowing. The suit is still tangled around your legs. Your hands are shaking so badly you have to kick at it to get it off, manage to catch it and have it twisted around one ankle. Finally kick it onto the floor. Your compression pants are slick, and you are vibrating. Weak. The heat is still growing even now the suit is gone, like you are on fire. You still haven’t looked away from Ezra.

“You were in it for longer,” you say. Barely get the words out. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. “You had – had – ” a barely stifled moan “ – had your helmet off. For so long. Why aren’t you like this?”

He swallows loud enough that you can hear it. “I am well practiced. This feeling is one I am quite used to concealing from you.” His voice is like honey. Fills your head and your mouth and your body with syrup. But the words. The words make you weak. Make you utter another quiet whimper. “The effects of the pollen will wear off in a few hours, Starlight.”

You have to put a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound which threatens to escape from it. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You realise you can smell yourself. It makes you dizzy. And him. The sharp scent of his sweat on hot skin. Familiar. Unbearable. You kick your legs out, hit your head back against the bunk and fist your hands into the sheets. Struggle to hold on to the embarrassed part of your mind, feel it slipping away. Try to stop your hands from reaching between your legs at his confession.

“Ezra.” It’s almost a sob. “Ezra, please.”

“I ask of you only that you are quiet,” he says. Tight, pained. “Whatever you do to deal with – with this, just do it quietly. I can’t – it’s – ”

You have never heard him stumble before. Not with words. Never with words. You think sometimes that he must know them all, certainly knows many more than you. So much of your time together has been filled with his voice, wrapped in them, the way he rolls them in his mouth and holds them. But now he has none. And instead of being filled with his words, the space between your is hot and pulsing. Fills with other things. Aching.

You forget your embarrassment.

“We could, we could help each other.” You lick you lips. Pull yourself up onto your elbows with shaking arms. “We could deal with it together.”

“No.”

“Ezra!” It’s a petulant wail. His chest is heaving. The smell of him is everywhere, all around you. Mixing with the smell of you. “Please. Please, please, please.”

“I said be quiet.” He snarls at you. Full of venom. This is the Ezra he is with other prospectors. The Ezra that steals and kills. Cruel. Mean. The sting of tears in your eyes well and slip and fall. And still you feel your cunt weep with you.

“Do you… do you hate me?”

“No.”

“You do! Why else would you make me hurt like this?” A full sob works its way up your throat. Nearly chokes you. Makes your breathing stutter. “I only want you to touch me. You hate me so much you won’t even touch me.”

He says your name. Not Starlight. Says it with a bite which stings and clears your head long enough for you to finally wrench gaze away from him. You turn your head, press it against the cool wall of the pod nearest you. Close your eyes so tightly white bursts behind your lids and crushes your lashes against your cheeks. You try to breathe, but every mouthful is full of the taste of you both. You try to concentrate. And Ezra is panting as well, ragged and loud. Sounds closer, and you turn your head back to him, and realise your mistake. He has pushed himself back up onto his good arm and twisted to stare at you over his shoulder. His eyes are dark, face dripping with sweat, hair wet with it. Compression shirt almost transparent against the heaving mass of his chest. His mouth hangs open with his breath. You have to bite your lip, roll it into your mouth and dig your teeth into it hard enough to sting.

He is furious. “Do not speak to me as if I have no heart. It is because of my heart I am denying you.”

“Why?” You don’t understand him. “Why don’t you just – ”

“Stop.”

He twists fully now. Rolls onto his back. Your eyes follow his length, slip over his chest and stomach and – you think you might die. Think you will explode. His cock is tented in his compression pants. Even in the dim you can see the shape of it pressed against the grey fabric. The thickness of it. See the dark patch around the head where it leaks precum. Such a huge patch you think surely, truly, he must have already come. Know he hasn’t. You press your legs together with a strangled moan.

“Be quiet!” He squeezes and his eyes shut at the sound.

You writhe against the mattress. “All I want is for you to touch me Ezra, please, please, why don’t you want – ”

“Do you know how badly I crave you?” He cuts you off. “Do you know how often I have dreamt of you, like this, begging me to take you? How many times I have dreamt of fucking your cunt? Of the taste of you? God,” he makes a sound, half deranged. It might have been a laugh in a different time, a different place. “Have you any conception of the ways I have imagined having you? How many nights we have laid here while you sleep, and I bit my fist to stop myself from waking you while I come all over my hand?”

You heart must have stopped. Must have swollen until it was too large for your chest and been crushed. Outgrown its place. Blocked your lungs as well because you can’t breathe.

But he’s still going. Still talking.

“I have had to fuck my hand for months. Pretend it was your pussy. Or your mouth. Your pretty little mouth. And every night you are there, not four feet from me, oblivious and dreaming. I think of you licking up all my cum, cleaning it off my fingers. Fucking it straight down your throat. Fuck.” His words become lost in the deep groan which forces its way out of his mouth. His dick jumps in his pants. “Fuck.”

You are clenching around nothing, the tightness in your stomach and centre coiled so badly now it is painful. You pull your feet up nearer to you so you can lift your hips off the bed and grind them into nothing, into the air. Tears of frustration slip, never so frustrated before, so desperate and shaking. You hold the sheets tighter, know once you touch yourself you won’t be able to stop, but coming won’t help. The symptoms won’t stop until the pollen leaves your system. You drop your hips back to the bed with a harsh sound, something between a sob and a gasp. Ezra is breathless, groaning in response to every sound your make. You are so wet it has soaked through your compression pants, down around the crux of your thighs and into the seat of your underwear. Mixing with sweat. Sliding between your lips and your cheeks and making the drag of the fabric against you almost painful.

“Keep going. Ezra, please.”

“Don’t. Don’t make me… not fair.”

“Love your voice.” You twist. Jerk your hips forward against the bunk. “Could… could come to just your voice. Wouldn’t – wouldn’t even need to touch myself.”

The sound he makes is tormented. Guttural and deep. Sparks through you. “Fuck. Fuck. Shit. This is torture, it must be. Condemned for every lascivious thought I have had of you. Punished more my lewd cogitations. Every time I have pictured your pussy. Thought of what my dick would look like filling you up.” He chokes on the words. “I have imagined fucking you on every surface of this damnable pod. And the pod before that and the one before that.”

“Please Ezra. Please. I want you to fuck me. Anywhere, anywhere you want.”

You are looking him when he opens his eyes. He looks wild. Almost unhinged. He sucks his lips between his teeth and hisses when he rolls them back out. Is staring at the hardened buds beneath your drenched singlet. His breathing cracks, and for a moment, a second, you think he is going to break and move towards you.

“No.” It’s drawn out. Hard for him to say. He closes his eyes and faces the ceiling. “No. Do not make such requests of me. Not now. It’s not fair to ask me to take you now when you will surface from this haze and hate me for it. You will hate me for all of it.”

“I won’t.” Quiet. Timid. Desperate.

“You wish to hear my fantasies? Do you want to know what all of my fantasies of you have in common?” He waits. He is looking at you again, and he waits until you have focused on him. “In every way I have imagined you, in every way I have dreamed of taking you, you have wanted me as badly as I want you, Starlight.”

You can’t say anything. Your tongue is lead in your mouth. You are throbbing so relentlessly it’s almost impossible to think of anything else. The pain at the base of your stomach is growing, spreading, and you feel like your limbs are beginning to lock down. You have to roll onto your side and curl around yourself. More fluid moves at the action, leaking over your lips and thighs and soaking into the sheets below you. It somehow makes everything worse. It’s too much. So much. You are too full and not full enough. All you can think about is the feeling of him pushing inside you, tearing you apart, pounding into you as relentlessly as your cunt throbs for him. You sob again.

“I want you Ezra. I do, I do want you.”

“You would want anyone,” he spits. “It’s the pollen. You’ve been drugged.”

“But I want you! I always want you!”

“You think you do but you will live through this and then you will not want me anymore.” He turns over his good arm again and rolls onto his side. Faces away from you again. “This is torture enough for a lifetime of sins. I can’t – ”

You aren’t sure where the strength comes from, but you know you must move. Your body screams to move towards him, almost convinces you he will make the pain fade. You hold onto one thought, the sound of the pain in his voice, hold it tight as you can and roll yourself out of your bunk. He flinches away from you at the sounds of movement, and you almost forget yourself when you see his hips jerk involuntarily. Mouth-watering, knowing he must feel the need for you as desperately as you need for him. But you can’t. You burn the sound of his pleas across every thought you have and stumble to the corner of the pod, struggle to open the compartment with shaking hands, and when you do you drop the med kit on the floor. You are vibrating, and if you had thought you couldn’t see before then now it is blindness. You blunder through the kit, splaying its contents half onto the ground around it before you find the packet. A packet full of pills the size of pin heads, but powerful. Meant to be for adjusting to new planets time cycles. Getting back to Ezra’s bunk is easier than moving away from it, invisible strings inside you pulling you to him.

“Here,” you say. Voice hoarse like you’ve been screaming. Grates at your throat. “Ezra.”

“What?” He doesn’t turn.

“Sleeping pills. They… they can knock us out.”

He turns his head, just enough to see you. Up close he looks worse. Better, so much better. His pupils are blown so wide the brown around them is barely visible. His pillow drenched in sweat. His face is flushed, the back of his neck and ears and forehead are red. His mouth open in wet pants. You crumple, drop to your knees in front of him, or risk throwing yourself into the bed with him. You drop the pill on his pillow, think if you touch him you will snap and give in. He’s looking at you the same, like if you move wrong he will not be able to stop himself. You lift your pill to your lips.

“Wait – ” He says. “The pollen, the pills, we don’t – we don’t know if it’s safe.”

“Ezra.” You feel a hot tear slip down your cheek. Your singlet and your compression tights hurt your skin where they touch you. The cold of the floor is burning against your legs and hand. The air around you is almost too much. “I won’t get through this. It hurts too much.”

You swallow the pill before he can stop you.

He says something, but the sound of his voice is too much. You stumble off your knees and towards the wet room. Your control is stretched taut within you, about to snap. Kneeling next to his bunk you can smell more of him, see more. You get to the door and it takes your shaking hands two tries to get it open. You catch him slip his pill between his lips and swallow, and the flex of the muscles in his neck nearly has you trip over yourself to get back to him. But you slam the door closed between you. Slump immediately into a cold wall and slide down it until you’re crouched against the plastic floor. The wet room is tiny, nothing more than an insulated storage cupboard with a hose and shower nozzle. The pills are strong, you lean back against the wall, feel them mixing with the effects of the pollen so that the world swims before your eyes. You close your eyes. Try and count your breathing. You try to count three times and lose count every time. You can’t feel the floor beneath you. Can’t feel the wall behind you. The world is slipping so that it is only the fire of your muscles and the throbbing between your legs. Time warps into a tunnel, feel like you are suspended and falling through it at the same time.

There is no world around you when you finally shove the heel of your palms between your legs. Don’t care when you start moaning, writing against it. You couldn’t remember your own name if someone asked, where you were. Anything. Your knees drop out, one against the floor and the other shoved against the wall in the tight space. You head knocks hard against the wall behind you. You shove your other hand down, unwilling to stop rocking your hips into your palm until you can get the tips of your fingers down your compression pants and find your clit. The first roll over the bundle of nerves makes you scream. Forces it up out of some place in your stomach and up, up through your chest and throat. You do not ease yourself forward, you rub against the throbbing spot with enough force that your arm shakes from the effort. Stop long enough to pull the tights down your thighs so you can rub your clit and sink your fingers into your pulsing cunt at the same time. The knot in your stomach becomes unbearable. Your cunt spasms and clenches around your fingers, three of them, and still you feel empty, and yet somehow so full you are almost sick with it. Keening. Desperate. You are speaking, blabbering nonsense. Your hips jerk off the floor.

But there is no release.

You have no idea how long you lie there, rubbing yourself, fucking yourself with your fingers before you give up. Boneless and whimpering. Sobbing. You can feel how wet you are, feel it all over the floor beneath you and smeared up over your wrist. You drop your hands, the blackness closing around your peripheries enough to dull the burning. The sleeping pill clouds the last of your consciousness and you slip.

When you wake the first time it is sweating and with the dream taste of Ezra in your mouth. An imaginary taste you have conjured many times before this but made to feel so real by the pollen. You’re panting so fast they begin to run together, your body trembling and shaking. The wall of the wet room is hard and cold against your back. You don’t even have to touch yourself to come when the memories of your drug induced sleep return to you, the dream of Ezra’s cock heavy on your tongue and full to the back of your throat. Your release is so long and intense you slump further into the ground. Your forehead against the door. You are barely conscious of the shock tremors afterwards, of the jolting aftershocks of the pollen and dream induced orgasm. The place just below your stomach is still as tight as before.

You fade in and out, the sleeping pill enough to keep you under most of the time. You wake a few more times, coming or on the edge of it. Have slipped into a dark place where everything except the buzzing of your body does not exist. The pollen continues to conjure hallucinations, the feel of hands all over you, impossibly hot and rough, of being filled and fucked, again and again. Ezra. Always Ezra. Haunting you.

Hours after crawling into the wet room, your sweat has broken. Shivering, drenched and pressed against the cold walls in the tight space. You are dizzy, can taste the sourness of dehydration coating your mouth and the back of your throat. You yank the door open again, can’t walk, so you fumble on hands and knees to the water and raise a flask with shaking hands. Drink three of them. You get to your bunk and pull of your clothes – wet and dripping with cold sweat – throw them at the foot of your mattress. Defeated and exhausted when you pull the sheets over yourself. Cold. Ezra is quiet, a still ball on his bunk, still facing the wall. You wait until you see him breathe, watch his chest rise and fall. Let yourself give into the relief of exhaustion.

When you wake next it is to the sound of rain against the roof of the pod. There is a deep aching in your limbs and the muscles around your stomach, but no burn of satisfaction to ease the pain. You are still dehydrated. Eyelids like sandpaper against your eyes, so you don’t open them. You can barely roll over you are so stiff. The rain sounds heavy. Another torrential flood.

You drift for some time in the place between wakefulness and sleep. You can hear Ezra, awake and moving around the pod, bare feet against the floor. He stops near you and he pulls the sheet higher over your shoulder where it has slipped, covering your bare back from the cool air. Pulls a heavier blanket over you as well. You continue to wander, sometimes dreaming. Sometimes listening to the sounds of him moving about, the hose turn on in the wet room. Turn off again sometime later. Smell the soap when Ezra emerges and feel the waft or warm, steaming air against the top of your head. Not long after his hand is on your covered shoulder, gently shaking.

“Starlight.” He says. “You need to drink. Wake up.”

He waits until you start to move, wraps his arm beneath you to help you to sit. Holds up the blanket when it falls and tugs it tighter around your shoulders. Gives you water and a protein bar and leaves you. You stare at the things in your hands, then at his back. Feel like you are floating.

And then the day before begins to bleed into your thoughts like a poison, and as you wake the horror of embarrassment makes it impossible to sit still. You can’t look at Ezra, where he crouches with his back to you not three feet away. Digging through the med kit you had left on the floor. You force yourself to eat but the protein bar tastes like cardboard in your mouth. You are hyperaware of your nudity, feel small and exposed, and you pull the thin blanket around your shoulders as high around you neck as it will go. Think of Ezra opening the door to the wet room to find the mess you had undoubtedly left there. Think of yourself begging him to fuck you while he desperately refused. You feel sick.

He brings the med kit to you. You can’t look at him, can feel his eyes searching your face. He sighs and gently reaches for the blanket. You flinch before he can reach it and he drops his hand.

“I will not hurt you. I assure you.” He shows you his empty palm. “I only wish to ensure you are well. I need to check if you are still suffering any effects of the pollen.”

You shake your head, hold your hands against your chest beneath your shield of bedding. “I’m not.” Your voice is raw from screaming and then hours of sleep. You think he must hate you. Must hate you for being so weak.

“I need to check.” His voice is so gentle. So soft. “May I please have your hand?”

You do not move, can’t look at him. And then you slowly release your hold on yourself and worm one hand out through the blankets, careful to keep yourself covered and let him take you by the wrist. Lay your hand palm up on your lap. His fingers make your blood spark where they touch you and you wish he wouldn’t. Wish you hadn’t been so awful to him while he tried to refuse you. He clips a small device to your fingertip, warns you of the prick of it taking your blood. Checks your pulse, checks your temperature. When the device beeps he removes it and compares the reading with a small manual in the med kit.

“The pollen is out of your system.”

“How… how long has it been?”

“Nearly two days since we were infected.”

You look up in shock. He is staring at you, warm eyes soft and tired. Marred by the dark circles around them. His hair still damp from his shower. You burn red and look away again.

“Two days?”

“You’ve been unconscious for some time.” He packs everything away and moves. You glance at his back when he goes, watch a droplet of water from his hair drip a slow path along the back of his neck and disappear under his soft clean shirt. Images of the days before rise behind your eyes before you can stop them, memories of dreams. Memories of hallucinations and fantasies. Your stomach churns. “Do you need more water?”

You shake your head. “No.”

He nods and comes to sit opposite you on his own bunk, his arm braced across his knee. You try to hold his gaze but humiliation crawls its way up your throat and you squeeze your eyes shut. Keep remembering trying to convince him to fuck you through the effects of the pollen, remember the hazy, sordid details of everything you said to him. You don’t know how you will ever face him again, every be able to meet his eyes. Its all made so much worse by the memory of how badly you wanted him, a desperate need which tore you apart. Feelings which you had supressed and kept dormant before now refused to be ignored and you are full of guilt and affection, tearing you apart. Feel them push up against your heart when you look at him and twist.

“Ezra…”

You hear him sigh, lift your eyes to look at him. He’s smiling, soft and sweet and sad. “It’s quite alright, Starlight. We do not have to talk about it if you do not wish to.”

You fidget you fingers beneath the blanket. “I… I think.” You pause and swallow. “I think we have to talk about it, Ezra. I said – I said – ”

You wish you didn’t have to think about what you said, but you do. And Ezra’s words chase each other around and around in your mind and tangle inside your head. You can’t ignore those. Can’t ignore everything said between you and go back to the way things were. Can’t look at him without remembering the throbbing ache between your legs at the way his voice wrapped around his words and filled you up with fantasies of fucking you in the pod. You need to apologise to him.

Ezra shakes his head. “The pollen was very strong. It put us under extreme duress, and we acted against our natures.”

“Against our natures?” You stomach drops. You know you should not hurt so badly at the implication but your heart begins to crack. Of course he did not want to tell you those things.

“I quite understand.” He looks to his hand, clenched into a fist on his knee. “And you do not need to explain your words to me, I understand they were brought on by the pollen. I shall consider the things which you have said to me to be banished from my mind if,” he releases his clenched fist and inhales slowly, deliberately. “If you will extend to me the same courtesy.”

Your mind goes terrible, horribly blank. Your head begins to throb and you lift your hand to press against it, massage the tightness between your brows. Ezra wants to you forget it all, to forget the whole thing ever happened. Everything said between you was a terrible mistake, and it was, and he is giving you an out. You understand that much – no apology required, no rehash of the painful events. Ashamed when the burn of tears threatens behind your eyes. You should say yes, you think. You should agree to forget it and move on with your lives. But there is the awful feeling, a gnawing in your gut, that if you turned away from him this time it would be the last time. That the space between you would grow and grow until you could not find your way back together. And you owe him an apology.

“Ezra I… I don’t know if I can.” You pick at the blanket in your lap. “I don’t think I can just forget.”

He’s silent. Unnervingly silent.

“I have spent so much of our time together trying to forget.” You whisper. “I don’t want to forget anymore.”

He frowns. “What have you tried to forget before this?”

You shift in your spot. Glance at him and then away. “You know. You must know. All the times… all the time when we could have,” your nerves fill your throat and you have to pause. “Like before this. When we were outside. When you helped me up the hill. When you said – when you said we were seeing the wonders of the universe.” Every moment I could have told you I loved you. You can’t say it. “I can’t forget them anymore.”

Ezra is staring at you. You look to him, find his eyes, because he deserves you to look him in the eye while you say this to him. He deserves more than your cowardice – the cowardice you have given him for the better part of two years. His face is slack at your revelation and then crumples. Collapses in on himself. He looks like he’s in pain.

“These are moments you wish to forget?” His voice is hoarse.

“No! No, Ezra they aren’t!” And you realise what he has thought. “I… they are my favourite memories. But I can never let myself have them because – because – ” You suck in a shaking breath. “I’m not good with words like you. I don’t know.”

“Tell me. Try.”

He is leaning towards you, guarded. Hopeful, maybe. You feel your heart beating so hard you can barely concentrate. “Every time there is something between us, I try to crush it. Because – because I’m scared. But I save them all and I think about them later. I – I think about what you look like when you’re smiling in the sun, or what words you use when you’re happy. Or when you… when you look at me like how you looked at me under the trees outside.”

Ezra pushes himself from his bunk and crosses the space to you. Sits close enough to touch you, but he doesn’t. You are looking into his eyes and can’t look away now. Transfixed. He is so wide and open now. His eyes so warm. You did that, you think. And you swell with the pride of it. So you take a breath and continue.

“I’m scared one day you’ll leave me.” You confess. “Or if I… if I say anything then you will want me to go. And I can’t – I don’t want another partner. I just want you.” Your cheeks go brilliant red. And Ezra smiles, blooms, so bright it’s like looking at the sun. Your hands are shaking again. “I’m scared if I let myself feel everything all at once I might break. And I don’t want to break. And I don’t want to lose you. I want to – I want to have you forever.” You’re talking faster now, more urgent. Your voice drops almost to a whisper. “That’s why I try to forget them, every moment, and its chipping away at my heart Ezra, and I’m worried I won’t have any heart left. I think it…” You close your eyes. Breathe. In and out. Open them again and look at him. Really look at him, and let yourself be seen. All of you. The parts of you which you try to hide. “I think my heart already belongs to you.”

Ezra shifts again. His thigh presses against yours now, burning and hot. He twists his body towards you. Stares at you, his face crinkled in a blinding smile. “Your heart belongs to me?”

Your breath shakes on your exhale and you nod.

He inches closer. “I find myself without words, Starlight. Of course, it would be you that renders me speechless.”

You lean towards him again, pulled by his gravity. His body leans to yours. Not touching anywhere except along your thighs, still pushed together below you. But you grow towards each other, closer and closer, until you can feel the almost press of his body against yours. His face is so close you can see every line, every freckle and mark.

“Surely you know how I feel for you,” he says. His quiet words wash over your face, you could catch them on your tongue you are so close, but you do not, you hover. Just away. “You conceal your heart so well, but I have not concealed mine. Every word I spoke to you while under the influence of that pollen was true. I only wish I could have told them to you in some different way.”

Your heart kicks in your chest. “Ezra, I’m so sorry, I tried to make you – I said awful things when you told me you didn’t want – ”

He shushes you gently. Closes his eyes and shakes his head so minutely. “You did not act on them. I said far more depraved things to you.” He sighs softly. “I truly am sorry it had to happen that way.”

You hesitate. Nod and relax back towards him. He smiles so softly, opens his eyes.

“I dream not only of your body. Everything that I am is yours. The pieces left of me belong to you. Only to you, Starlight. They have for some time now.”

Ezra presses his forehead to yours, his hair tickling your skin. You let your eyes slip closed. Twist slightly and push back against him, rub your nose closer until his cheek brushes the tip of yours and you feel his eyelashes flutter on your skin. His lips close and open and trace the shape of a kiss ghosting against your mouth. Not quite touching. His hot breath mixing with yours. Less than a hair between you. You push you chin just enough to catch his bottom lip with your teeth, tug it down and let it go with a sigh. Lick against the imprint of the bite to soothe it.

He groans your name.

“Ezra,” you say into his mouth. Try to catch him in a kiss but he shifts and move away. Retreats from you so that his eyes can find yours.

“Are you sure?”

You carefully move your hands, touch them against his chest and move them up, lightly over his shirt. Clutch the back of his neck. “I don’t need pollen to want you, Ezra. I never have.”

He stares down at you, his eyes fill up everything around you, until he is everything. Just Ezra. Only Ezra. For a moment you are worries he doesn’t believe you but then he surges forward. Teeth and noses clash. His mouth hits yours hard enough to bruise, is hot and open. His tongue inside you, no building, no warning. He pushes against you and you let him, twist your hands into the damp hair at the nape of his neck and pull him to you. Tighter. Nearer. Can’t get him close enough. He yanks himself away and you gasp at the sudden loss. Remember to breathe. His arm readjusts its hold around you back and he shifts himself, uses his knee to shove your legs apart and move between them. You lift yourself off the bed to your knees and he pulls you forward again so that you fall into his lap, still wrapped in blankets. Brings his mouth back to yours. Kisses you until you’re dizzy.

He moves his mouth sideways, open and wet and drags it down your jaw to your neck and back up again. Panting. “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

He leans all his weight forward and tips you backwards. You fall against the bed, the blankets bunched under your back. Naked. He is staring, transfixed, between your legs. You try to close them, but he catches your knee, pushes his body into the space and forces them open. You burn, conscious of the dried mess which must still be there from the pollen.

“Don’t try and hide yourself from me, Starlight.” He is still staring at your cunt. Uses his torso to push against one of your legs and his arm to move the other. He forces your leg down by the inside of your knee, so slowly, until it touches the bed. Pushes it outwards slightly just to watch your pussy better. “And the other one.”

His hand stays on your knee, his eyes stay between your leg as you do as he says. Watches as the stretch makes your lips part and reveals the almost purple inner flesh of your pussy. He coos, and the sound changes to a groan when you flutter around nothing, a bead of fluid forming at your hole and then dribbling outwards. Your hips jerk at the sound and when your knees lift away from the bed Ezra holds the one he can with such forcefulness that you make a soft cry.

“Can I still touch you?” He asks. His voice surprisingly soft, at odds with the iron grip he has around your leg.

You nod.

You think he means your cunt. You think his hand will dig straight into you with the way he is staring at it. Hungrily. Instead he releases you knee, draws around it with just the tip of his fingers, a featherlight circle over the soft skin and then trails his hand along your thigh. Your hips lift when he approaches the crux of it, traces the crease between your centre and your thigh and then back up over your hipbone. Makes you whimper when he leaves you aching and untouched. He flattens his palm over it, grabs a handful of the flesh of your hip and kneads it gently, before releasing it, moving his flattened palm over the curve of your stomach. Feels it move with every shortened breath. Drifts up slowly and spreads his fingers over the shape of your ribs. Up again and beneath the crease of your breast.

“I imagine you all the time,” he says idly. His eyes look up finally, sees that you have twisted your head to the side and squeezed your eyes closed, trying to hold yourself together. “Look at me, Starlight. There’s a good girl. I imagine you often, when we are outside and you are covered by your suit, and I think of what you look like beneath it. Think about the shape of you when we are supposed to be harvesting our livelihoods.”

You keen. Writhe upwards and try to lift yourself towards him. He shushes you and flattens his palm over your sternum, long fingers push up between your breasts and his thumb and pinky hook beneath them. Not touching them. Forces you back to the mattress, keeps his hand on you and smiles as you gasp. Feels the vibrations of your moaning, exposed beneath him. He waits until you still and look back to him. Dark eyes watching you.

“Keep your legs open.” You realise you have pushed them up off the bed again. It makes you pink and splotchy over your chest and neck and face but you slowly, shakily part them again. Let them drop on either side of him. “You are more than I deserve, Starlight. More beautiful than I could have ever painted you in my mind’s eye.”

His hand moves again, up over your chest and along the lines of your collarbones. Out over your left shoulder and then down the length of your arm. Lets his fingers rest still at the velvety soft skin at the inside of your elbow and then follows the path of your veins through the skin to your wrist. Encloses his hand around yours and brushes his thumb over the pulse point at your wrist. Presses in and feels your blood sing in response. And then he lifts your arm up over your head and rests it above you. Presses it once into the mattress and fixes you with a look. Do not move it, he doesn’t have to say. He releases it again and this time his fingers trail the other side of your arm down and gently through your armpit and over your ribs to your other arm. You are already lifting it and he catches it to and finishes the motion for you. Holds your wrists together in one large hand. Surprises you by pushing up onto his knees and pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. Sweet. Chaste.

He pulls away. When your eyes flutter back open, he is close and smiling. “Starlight does not do justice to how bright you are,” he whispers gently. Presses a kiss to your temple. “There is no star in any galaxy which could pit itself against you and come out the victor. You would put them all to shame.”

Your eyes are wet. You have to swallow the lump in your throat. “Ezra.”

His mouth brushes your temple again. Your brow. The bridge of your nose and your cheekbone. Hovers hot and open over your mouth but when you move towards him he is gone, his mouth open along your jaw. He tongues the length of your neck, dipping into the pit at the centre of your clavicle. You lift off the bed again and his mouth moves down, finally to your breasts in wet kisses until he reaches your nipple. Looks up to catch your eyes when he gathers saliva in his mouth and licks it. Makes your toes curl into the sheets. He coats you until the bud is shining with wetness and then pulls away and blows on it, a gust of cold air, freezing against your wet flesh. You groan, both watch the way it grows hard and pebbled, the skin around it pulling together. Then his hot mouth is around it, burning after the coolness and you whine and arch into his mouth. Use the leverage of your knees on the bed to push yourself into him.

He releases you with an obscene noise, deliberately wet. Lays his cheek against your heaving breast so that your nipple is being brushed by the tip of his nose and smiles at you. Saccharine, like he hadn’t just been suckling at you. Like he wasn’t forcing you to stare at the painfully hard nipple between you. And then he moves and gives the same treatment to the other side. Warm and cold and hot. Until you are desperately trying to lift your hips against his stomach and roll your centre against him for any relief. Can feel the wetness dripping from you, running down your slit and back. Probably staining the already ruined sheets.

“Please Ezra,” you are panting. “Please.”

He chuckles and pulls away from your tits. Admires the two wet and hard peaks of them. Leans down to peck your right nipple so lightly you might not have felt it if he hadn’t just driven you to the point of overstimulation.

“I am sensitive to your plight, my sweet Starlight. But I hope I cannot be expected to rush this. I have many months of painful imaginations to fuel this encounter and I want to enjoy you.”

He lowers his mouth to the centre of your breasts. The heaving, solid spot there and leaves another wet kiss there. And then licks a long, hot stripe through your middle and readjusts his one arm beneath your middle, and you lift to make room for it, his forearm completely covered to the elbow beneath the mass of your body. Has to wrap it up under your right thigh and pulls the leg up higher to your side, stretching you so far open your thighs shake in protest. Then resumes his path of kisses over your stomach and down. You are clenching viciously around nothing, hips jerking even though you try to still them. His chin tickles the hair at the top of your slit. His eyes look up at you, smile at you even though his mouth is open beneath your naval, his tongue making lazy circles against the skin.

“Don’t move,” he says. “Or I will lose my balance.”

You bite down on your lip. Can’t speak, because you can feel another desperate noise building at the back of your throat. You nod.

He finally returns his gaze to your neglected cunt. Watches your hole flutter and spasm at the attention, watches as it leaks more wetness out and as it sinks down your slit and your crack. Makes a patch of wet beneath you. He leans closer and breathes you in. Smells you. It makes your head spin, makes your face so red you have to close your because you can’t think. You feel his nose almost against you and then his breath, hot and his tongue wet, so close to your hole you jerk before you can stop. But he doesn’t enter you, instead just barely lets the tip of his tongue run the length of your inner lips, all the way to where they encase your clit, stopping agonisingly just before it. First one side and then the other. Almost the same feeling as his fingertips had been over the rest of your body. But so much more.

You choke his name and he wraps his lips around your clit. You think you might black out, the attention so much more intense after the neglect. You feel a sob work its way from the back of your throat, force your hips to stay flat on the bed, try not to clench your right thigh around his arm in case he falls. He alternates sucking you, drawing patterns with his tongue and sometimes, when you release more wetness, he will lick a long broad stroke up your whole length and moan with his mouth stretched around as much of you as he can. Gather you on his tongue and dribble it back over your clit and pull away just to watch it slide back down your pussy. And then his mouth will be on you again, relentless. You feel his teeth more than once, grazing, experimental nips. Never hard enough to sting but enough to make you clench at the promise of it. Makes you leak more.

He pulls away.

“I have dreamed of the taste of you many times, Starlight. It is one of my favourites, one which I will often indulge myself. Look at me.” You have to force your eyes open, heaving from the effort of breathing. Tilt your head down and the sight of him makes you clench again and cry out. His hair is a mess, his blonde streak stuck straight up, and his face coated from his nose to his chin in your juices. The pink of his lips gleaming with fluid. “I will lay in my bunk long after you are sleeping and I will conjure ways in my mind to imagine how you will taste. I will try not to look at you, but I always do. And my hand is never enough when I think of how perfect I know you are, and so close, always so close to me, that I can hear the gentle undulation of your breath. I like the imagine you like this, beneath me, coming for hours so I can taste you and imprint the memory of it forever in my mind.”

He ducks his head back and licks up your length again, gathers you up and works his cheeks to mix you with his own saliva in his mouth, and then leans over your clit. Dribbles it over your clit, lets it land on the bundle of nerves and the skin and hair around it. And then blows on it like he had on your nipples. You let out a shriek and your head falls back at the cold air. Makes you draw up deep in your belly. Pulling tighter and tighter. So close. So close.

“My other favourite is that you will sit on my face, allow me to let myself be of use to you, let you fuck yourself on my tongue and rub yourself against me until you come.”

“Ezra,” you can barely speak. “Ezra, I’m going – I’m – ”

Your thighs are shaking so badly it hurts. Your arms straining above your head.

“Come.”

He latches his mouth over you as you do. Finally puts his tongue inside you and his nose brushes against your clit. Laps at you as you finally break and release over his face. You see white burst behind your eyes. Your whole body shakes at the force of it. You sob, hot tears streaking down your face. But Ezra doesn’t stop his ministrations, fucks his tongue in and out of you the whole time and when you think you might finish he moves his mouth back to you clit and moans against it, the vibrations of the sound pulse through your cunt and you scream.

“Ezra, no, I can’t – I can’t – I won’t – ”

You break again, not sure if it’s a second orgasm or the first. So, so wet. You can feel your pussy weeping. It lasts somehow, impossibly, longer than the first. You are boneless when it ends. Legs jerking, shoulders twitching off the bunk. Ezra laps at you until it almost hurts and when you flinch, he pulls back. Kisses your clit gently and slowly extracts himself from beneath you. Eases your leg around his body and pushes your knees together so you are on your side with your back to him. Kisses your thigh, and then your hip. Your shoulder. Lowers himself onto the bunk behind you and wraps his one arm around you and tucks his knees up behind yours. Flush and warm against you. Cradles you through the aftershocks of the orgasm with soft kisses to your neck and shoulder.

You turn slowly. Feel like you’re moving through water. You twist to face him and nuzzle you face into his neck. Let his arm pull you closer and his leg wrap over yours. “I love you,” you say into his skin. “Ezra. I love you. So much.”

He kisses the crown of your head, his hand gathers your hair and brushes his thumb over your scalp. “I would pour all that I am into you if you would give me the chance. I have spent my life in the pursuit of collecting treasures and now I have found one which I wish to keep always for myself. I would hoard you away from the world. I would give you the world if you asked for it.” Another soft kiss. He hums against your head. “I love you, my Starlight. My beautiful girl.”

And you are content to lay there, listening to the rain outside and the sound of his breathing, laboured at first but evening out into a gentle rhythm. You let your eyes close, press yourself between his neck and the mattress and sigh against his skin. Feel him tighten his arm around you and press his mouth into your hair. He’s wearing clean underclothes. Smells of soap. You know you should move and clean yourself from days of sweat and cum but you can’t bring yourself to leave him.

You jolt when you feel him unwind his legs from yours, had almost fallen asleep against him. There’s an awkward moment of shuffling before he can get untangled enough to push himself to sitting. You moan, reach for him and he chuckles. Leans over you again so that he can press another lingering kiss to your shoulder. And then he pushes himself from the bed and pads away. Comes back with a small towel, damp with hot water and settles himself by your feet. Tells you to sleep with a gentle voice and begins to gently scrub your skin. Your feet, your ankles, up and around your calves. All the way up your legs to your centre, wiping away the sweat and then very gently the cum which is drying between your legs and over your thighs. Your hips jerk away from the action, still sore and oversensitive, but you settle and allow him to work. He rinses the towel and returns. Sits you up and rubs your torso and your arms. You are aching from coming and twitch at the rub of the sheets against your centre. But your nipples still pebble at his touch and he chuckles.

“Come now, Starlight. To the other bunk. The sheets are clean.”

He helps you to stand and catches you when your legs buckle. Seats you in his bunk, against the clean sheets and leaves to discard the towel. You can see the tent of his dick in his pants when he returns, another patch of precum on the clean fabric. Your mouth fills at the sight.

“Ezra,” you breathe. “Ezra. I want to – ”

You fidget. Can’t say it. Years of keeping your feelings bottled deeply within you make the habit a hard one to break. Suddenly shy even after he had just made you scream. Made you orgasm twice. He stands before you, cock at your eye level and you can’t look away. Tiredness fading, soreness fading into something else. You lick at your lips and he groans.

“Can I please, Ezra?” You look up at him. Shuffle yourself closer to the edge of the bunk, and closer to him. Back down at his cock and then to his eyes. Dark and hungry and watching your mouth. “You’re not the only one with fantasies.”

He lets out a pained noise and nods. Chest heaving. “Yes. Yes.”

You scoot forward and slowly, carefully brace your hands on his thighs. Watch his dick kick slightly at the contact. Squeeze the thick muscle in his legs and bring yourself closer to him. Glance up at his eyes once more and he is watching you. Transfixed. You graze the head of him through his pants with your nose and then your mouth. Soak up the choked groan he makes, let it fill you up. Press open mouthed kisses to the already wet fabric, make them loud so that he will hear them. Let your mouth fall open further and further until you can almost close it around him. Hum in quiet satisfaction. He’s big. Just the tip of him makes you shiver.

You pull away and reach for the waistband of his pants, slung low on his hips already, and pull it slowly down. Take your time watching as his smooth skin is revealed, the patch of thick, dark hair at the base of him, and then the length of his cock. Just enough that he comes over the top of his waistband. Stare at it, slack jawed and nervous. Eager. Your mouth watering. He is big, bigger than you had realised. You hear the slap of skin against the pod and look up. Ezra has braced his elbow and forearm against the low roof and is leaning towards you, seeking your mouth.

You grant it to him. Lick the slit at the tip of his dick and then around it. Make sure you look into his eyes when you open your mouth and suck him in. Pause while you work your jaw to accommodate for his thickness and test the heavy weight of him against your tongue, taste him. Feel against him and massage your tongue against the shape of the prominent vein on the underside of his cock. He groans, stutters his hips forward into your mouth. You slacken your jaw as best you can, have to open your mouth so wide to fit him you can feel it stretch at the corner of your lips. You pull back, try to relax, take him back in again. Watch the way his head tilts back and the soft shape of his stomach heaves under his shirt. You lift your hand to work at his base, easing it up over the path of your mouth to spread the mixture of saliva and pre-cum down to his base. Bob your mouth over as much of him as you can, relish the feeling of his stuttering hips trying not to choke you. Trying to allow you to set the pace.

You move your hand from his thigh, up around to his ass, dig your fingers into the firm muscle hard. You push him forward from behind, force his hips forward and his cock deeper into your mouth, almost into your throat. More than is comfortable, but it makes you hot and aching, the feeling of the thick head of him pushing into you so hard you can barely breathe. You push again when you feel him try to fight another jerk of his hips, use your hand to show him you want him to fuck into you, still your head when he gives in to the feeling of it and groans. Lets his head all back and sinks himself into your mouth. His whole cock pulses hard and you moan, as loud as you can, to make him feel it. His hips hold in your mouth, almost too long, almost stops your breathing for too long. And then he pulls out and thrusts in again and again and again.

He’s cursing softly, using your mouth, his thrusts becoming stronger and deeper. Hitting the back of your throat. It brings tears to your eyes. He pulls out, rests just the head of his dick inside your lips and the sight of him, of his dick hanging just over the waistband of his pants and his thermal shirt covering him while you sit before him naked makes you thrill. You swallow him down, so far back it stings your eyes and makes you choke on him, sputter.

His knees half buckle and he yanks himself away. His dick falls from your mouth with a wet noise and a trail of saliva connecting you. He stares at it, swearing and panting until the string of fluid breaks. You whine, reach forward, try to pull him back again but he twists away.

He is breathless. Heaving. “I need… but a moment to collect myself.”

“I don’t want you to collect yourself.” You push yourself up onto both knees and sit on your ankles. Grip the clean sheets on either side of you. “I want you to fuck my throat. Please Ezra, please.”

His dick jumps again. Leaks a steady track of precum down the underside of its length and you moan again, twitch in your spot and mourn the loss of tasting it. Of the feel of it running down your throat. He closes his eyes and breathes, his fingers gripping against the ceiling so hard his hand turns white at the knuckles.

“I want to taste your cum, Ezra.” You blink up at him. Tears of frustration in your eyes.

You reach for him again and this time he catches both your hands in his. Yanks you from the bed with a yelp and pulls you to your feet. Turns you both and shoves you back, lands you on your own sullied sheets. Your bare ass bounces against the covers and you scramble backwards. Ezra is kicking out of his sweats and tugging off his shirt. Joins you on the bed. Bronzed skin exposed and dick hard and pink and pointed upwards. Shining with your saliva. You pussy begins to leak again.

“I want to cum down your throat, my beautiful Starlight,” he says, kneeling in front of you. “I want to fuck your throat until you cry and I want you to drink down everything I have to give you.” He grabs your ankle and yanks it towards him. You slide across the covers. “But first I want to cum inside your pretty little pussy. Is that okay?”

You nod. Nod so fast you dizzy yourself with it. He sits back onto his feet and yanks your ankle again, shoves your legs apart with his hand. Then his hand is on your clit. He is not soft or gentle this time. He pinches the bundle of nerves hard enough to make your cry out in shock. His hand leaves you, spans the width of your chest and forces your back to the bed. Then he is at your clit again, drawing harsh circles around it which make you scream. He doesn’t stop, not even when you can barely breathe, except to scoop your own juices from where they leak and smear them across your lips and clit. His finger is inside you, fucking you, and then back out. His hand disappears and you blubber, crying and humping your hips towards nothing at the loss.

The light slap against your clit makes you yelp. Makes you jerk your whole body in surprise, and then utter a low moan, feel the dribble of wetness down your slit and over his fingers.

“You have the prettiest pussy I have ever seen, Starlight.” Ezra grits. Sweat beading at his forehead and dripping around the curve of his brow. “I could watch your spasming little cunt clench around nothing all day. I could rub you like this and see how much your pretty pussy wants my dick in it. I could not give it to you, just make you lie here for hours and watch you and every time you almost come I could stop.” You are uttering fast, breathy little moans. Feel your pussy sputter and more wetness ooze from it. Your thighs jumping. He slaps your clit again, the sting much harder this time. You think if he doesn’t stop you will come again without having him inside you and the thought makes you want to scream. “You like this, don’t you? You like hearing me say what I wish to do to you. You like me spanking your cunt.”

“Please, Ezra.” You’re blubbering. Shaking. “Please, please, please!”

His hand lifts away from you again and you cry out. It comes back, but not between your legs. His hand is on your hip, holding you down. You start to push against him, start to whine.

“How long?” He asks. His voice almost conversational.

You’re panting too hard to answer him. Can’t figure out what he means. “H-how… how long w-what?”

His fingertips dig into your skin. “How long have you wanted me to fuck you?”

You groan. Leak. Can’t think, can’t form any words. Everything is bright and buzzing around you, your clit throbbing. And he wants – he wants – you toss your head to the side, screw your face up, try to think.

“S-since Arla-7,” you gasp. “Arla-7.”

He goes still. His hand turns to stone, pressing into you so hard. You sob, loud and needy. But he doesn’t move at all, just sits there. You turn your head back and open your eyes, have trouble seeing him through the tears caught in your lashes. He is not how you expect him to look. He is no longer harsh and snarling and telling you what to do. His face is soft. His hand moves from your hip to brush a tear from your cheek and then cradle your face. Tender and sweet.

“So long?” He whispers. “Arla-7 was – ”

“Nearly two years ago.”

He groans and then is crowding you into the mattress. Looms over you, his weight skewed, so he has to slide his arm beneath your head to keep himself balance. You feel the weight of his dick rest against your lower stomach. Let out a whimper. He rubs himself slowly along you, catches himself between your wet lips and drags his dick between you. You lift your hips to help, seek out the tip of him. Realise his arm is shaking in exertion. You drop back to the bunk.

“Would it – would it be easier if we swapped?”

He blinks down at you. Then nods and rolls onto his side and the back, over his good shoulder. Uses his arm behind your neck to pull you up off the bunk and with him. You swing up and gingerly sit yourself next to him. Loop your leg over his hips and balance your hands on his shoulders. For a moment there is a settling feeling, something softer and more peaceful works its way between you. Ezra lifts his arm and pushes your hair from your face and he smiles at you. One of his rare, small smiles. Like you are the centre of the galaxy. Makes you feel like maybe you actually are starlight. You smile back, press your lips to his wrist.

He drops his hand, grabs himself and you feel the blunt head of his cock push up against you. You moan, test your weight back and forward slightly and start to sink slowly. Feel the stretch of him inside you, so, so big. You sink lower and have to stop, feel your thighs shaking, your eyes fill with tears. Then lower again and you feel him at the back of your throat. You still, both hands on his shoulders, quaking at the effort of just having him inside you. The burn of the stretch doesn’t stop, and holding yourself up hurts too, so you lower again, couldn’t go any faster even if you tried, the friction of his dick against your walls so intense from the tightness of the fit. He’s murmuring to you, telling you to breathe, asking if you are okay. You keep sinking, feel a sob break your lips as you finally, finally cover him completely. Sit your thighs over his hips.

He’s holding your hip, his thumb drawing light circles against you. Still talking, still saying something. Your brain has blacked out, completely shut off.

Slowly you start to swivel your hips, gently rocking forward and back again. Feeling the burn turn slowly to something easier, something better. His words of concern turn into words of encouragement. You lift yourself off him just slightly and drop again. Feel his moan reverberate through his whole body. Feel his dick twitch inside you. You lift again, further this time and drop slowly, start to feel your toes curl again, start to ride him properly. He shifts beneath you, starts to match your strokes. Follows your pace with every thrust of his hips. Gentle at first and then faster. The wet sound of slapping skin fills the pod, drowns out the sounds of the rain outside. When you can finally open your eyes Ezra is staring between you at where his dick disappears inside you, brow furrowed, face red and damp with sweat. You groan and he grunts beneath you, tightens his grip on your hip and steadies you. Holds you still. He braces his feet against the bed and starts to thrust into you. Each hit jolts your body, you feel the slap of him under your thighs, against your ass. Bouncing your whole body at every impact, moans turn to sharp cries as he fills you, pumping into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you pant with each thrust.

He’s out of breath. “Touch yourself.”

You do. You lean to one side so you can reach a hand between your bodies and rub at your clit. It makes you cry loudly and buck into your hand, back against his cock. He’s staring at your bouncing tits, down at his dick sinking into you. You rub vicious little circles around your clit so hard your arm is shaking.

“Where – ”

“I-in-inside me.” Your words break with every slap of his balls against your ass, sending you scooting forward on your knees. “Inside me. Please Ezra, please, safe – ”

He yanks your hips down over him, not humping anymore, almost vibrating. You watch him come undone beneath you. His jaw locks, neck bulges and tips back. Covered in sweat, slick with it. His chest heaving. You feel the hot pumping of his release inside you and tweak your clit, panting until you join him. Stars burst behind your eyes and you slump forward. Clenching so tightly around his dick you wonder how he fits. It only makes Ezra groan beneath you, surprisingly quiet when he comes. You slump into him.

You lay panting together, chests heaving and slipping, pressed against each other. His dick still inside you, your trembling thighs wrapped around his hips. You can’t think anything, except for his twitching length inside you, the last of his release mixing with yours and starting to swell at the place where you meet but trapped, because his cock fills you so completely that there is no room for anything else. You let your head fall into the crook of his neck, drop completely into him. Feel his arm slowly lift and wrap over your shoulders. Hug you into him while he tries to catch his breath. When you gain enough sense to think anything it is that you must be in heaven with him. He is hot and alive beneath you. And in love with you. You sniffle and kiss his collarbone, hug your arms around him as best you can.

You must lie there for some time because you feel the sweat dry and cooling against your skin and Ezra tugs the meagre blanket over you both. You are boneless against him, happy at the feel of his warmth trapped beneath you and inside you. He tries to shift, and you feel him start to slide out of you. You tighten your thighs around his hips and squeeze your cunt around him with as much force as you can muster. He groans and stills. Hot breath fanning against your cheek.

“Stay,” you whisper. Face burning hot with embarrassment at this request. At admitting how good he feels, soft inside you. “Just for a little while.”

He hums and stills. Drops his hand to your hips and pushes you down further into his crotch. Lifts his hips a little to sheath himself inside you to the hilt. You groan into his neck.

“Who am I to deny you anything,” he says into your temple.

“Was – ”

He waits, and when you don’t continue. “Was what?”

“Was it…” You squirm, and still when you both groan at the feeling of your releases trickle out of you and trail down his dick and over his balls. You still before anymore can escape, red at how much you resent any of it leaving you. You suck in a deep breath. “Was it as good as you imagined it?”

“Better, Starlight. Better.” He brushes hair back over your shoulder, lets his hand linger on the skin and trace the length of your spine. You feel his smile when your skin lifts into goosebumps beneath his fingertips. “No phantom conjuring in my mind will ever compete with you.”

Your eyes well with tears and you are as usual left without words. So unlike Ezra. So you show him in your own way. You turn your head to press a kiss to the thick column of his throat. A chaste one first, and then open your mouth and breathe over the spot. Press another wet kiss to the same spot. You feel his dick, still inside you, jump.

“You are truly fortuitous we have made our fortunes worth on those aquatic gems.” His fingers trail further down your back. Lower. Ghost the bump at the base of your spine and lower still. Almost, almost touching. Glimpsing against the top of the crack of your ass and then retreating. Tracing over the swell of it and back over your hip. His breath his hot against your hair. “I do not think I could be convinced by anything to leave you. I have two years of craving to account for, my Starlight.”

Permanent tags: @btillys @vercopaanir

#I have been shamed forever #i cannot ever leave my house again #will never be able to face my family and friends again #ezra (prospect)#ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #fan fiction #prospect #smut #pedro pascal #fic #my fic #my writing

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yannowhatigiveup · 4 years ago

Text

My One And Only - Chapter 18

Previous | Next | Master List

Hey! Welcome back to another chapter of MOaO! I won’t be able to update this as much as I want to (I’m not really updating it as fast as I won’t to right now but I’m trying) as exams are coming up as well as other various things. (I just realized that I haven’t said this earlier I’m so sorry, Ramadan Kareem to those who celebrate it!) Also, thank you so much for 128 followers!

"...I believe I found a way to subdue Hawkmoth"

————————————————————

Her eyes repeatedly scanned the page, making sure she was reading it correctly.

"It won't defeat Hawkmoth" Damian carefully pointed out, not wanting to diminish her excitement. "But it'll be able to stop him for some time, a month or two at most"

"Do you know what this means?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "We'll be able to have some peace of mind! We'll be able to prepare ourselves! The whole of Paris! Who know, maybe we'll be able to get some clues on his identity as well as Mayura's as well!"

By the end, Marinette was spinning around the room, her slight giggles of happiness appeared here and there. Damian chuckled at her delight, seeing her happy was probably one of his most favourite sites in the world, that and seeing her flustered.

"I understand that you're excited but what do these cryptic messages mean, 'a tear of joy'? Did I translate that correctly"

She giggled at his confusion. "No that's one of the ingredients for the power up. Speaking of ingredients, I need to get some" Her bluebell eyes quickly scanned over the tablet again before she speed walked out of the hotel with Damian on her arm. "We're going to Master Fu's old place, he still has some ingredients we could use"

The two walked in silence, there was a topic that they needed to discuss, the end of the week was approaching fast.

"Maybe in the small time of peace, I can get Father and my brothers to help"

The bluenette chuckled slightly but not out of amusement. "I almost forgot, you'll be leaving in a few days" her gaze fell to the ground before she looked up at her boyfriend, solemnly. "It's gonna be a lot different, huh?"

He squeezed her hand gently with a comforting smile on his face. "It will be but I'm sure we'll handle it"

The couple grabbed the necessary ingredients and made their way back to the hotel. They dropped them off at the hotel room before making their way upper to the restaurant to get some food. Their dinner was quickly interrupted by a rockstar coming to congratulate his niece.

"Nettie! You're rock'n'roll! Your song is a huge hit!" Jagged exclaimed once he reached the table, he only seemed to register there was another person there once he sat down. His moderate cyan eyes widened in recognition when his gaze landed on the green-eyed boy. "You must be Damian, you look just like you're old man Brucie"

Damian shook his hand when the rockstar had offered it. "I am, Mr Stone"

"Uncle Jagged-"

"You break my niece's heart, I'll send Fang to eat you"

"Uncle Jagged!-"

"And I will gladly let you"

"I approve of your relationship, I just wanted to give the shovel talk since it sounded fun"

Marinette gaped at the two males on her table. "Dami, don't encourage him! I've already got Gami waiting to spar with you"

"Ah yes, my son's girlfriend is just as scary as Penny" Jagged visibly shuddered in good nature.

"Wait, Luka and Gami got together? Without telling me?!" The bluenette huffed, offended. "And to think I'm his honorary cousin"

Jagged chortled at her reaction while Damian had a faint smile playing on his lips. The rockstar decided to take his leave shortly after that, not wanting to draw some unwanted attention. He did manage to leave a pair of blushing teens as he told them to "Use protection!" before departing. Marinette was utterly embarrassed while Damian was flustered. Once dinner was finished, the couple went back to Damian's hotel room to discuss what they were going to do next.

Doing his best to help, Damian passed the ingredients to his girlfriend who then mixed up said ingredients in a pot.

"Can you get the Tear of Joy, Dami?"

The green-eyed boy looked through the ingredients until he found the slim bottle with a minuscule amount of clear liquid. He eyed the water as it squished in the bottle, it seemed so ordinary despite the great magic it could create. Damian could almost see the water taunting him with its mystic properties, he could just about feel it as he brought the bottle closer to the cauldron.

"This is it, correct?" The ravenette showed the blue-eyed girl the bottle in his hand

Her eyes lit up when presented with the vial. "Yes, that's it" As she removed the cork that was sealing the bottle shut, Damian asked a question that was lingering in the back of his mind.

"What exactly is the tear of joy?"

Marinette turned to smile at him. "It's a tear of joy"

"So a tear caused by laughter?"

"Precisely" She looked up at the ceiling wistfully. "I remember, when Syren attacked, Master Fu was trying to decode what a 'tear of joy' was. It took some time but we managed to figure it out in the end" She sighed. "It's great that we managed to find out about 'power-ups' but if we found out about them sooner, maybe more people would've been saved."

He put his hands comfortably on her shoulders. "What did Syren do exactly?"

She stopped dead in her tracks. That wasn't the reaction that Damian was expecting, whatever had happened with this Akuma must have been bad to induce this response.

The bluenette sighed and looked at the green-eyed boy straight into his emerald eyes. "Syren was one of the most dangerous Akumas we've ever had to deal with. She flooded all of Paris with her tears, only a few hundred people managed to reach the rooftops in time"

A breath quickly sucked in through his lips, the scene itself sounded horrible, imagining it even more so, having to actually see it must have been... traumatic.

"But Ondine is doing much better with Kim. And it's all in the past, we've learnt how to deal with the memories!" Her smile hurt to look at. His girlfriend had to deal with so much and she couldn't even express her negativity without fear of becoming an akuma. Damian placed a kiss on her head as she finally got the lid off of the bottle.

Both teens watched in anticipation as the droplet rolled down to the bottle's lip, teetering over the edge. It fell in. The concoction then shimmered a silvery blue. Grabbing a bottle, Marinette poured some of the liquid inside it, looked at the bottle and hummed in satisfaction. She quickly put all the equipment used back in a box and cleaned up any mess made. Once she was finished, she turned to the boy standing over her.

"I'll bring these back to Master Fu's old apartment then I'll drop this bottle off at my house, you can tell Tikki and Plagg that they can come out now"

The contents of the box shifted to one side, Damian helped steady both the bluenette and the box before going to the kwamis. Once the kwamis where comfortably with their owners, Tikki in Marinette's purse and Plagg in Damian's hoodie pocket, they made their way to the apartment. It still technically belonged to Master Fu, he rest hadn't rented it out so they were free to roam around. After putting the equipment away, the couple strolled to Marinette's house hand in hand. The bluenette went up to her balcony, with Damian close behind, and hid the bottle under her pink-striped deck chair, away from the sunlight.

"It needs to 'mature' in the moonlight, I guess. So when the moon is out, I'll take the bottle out" Marinette gestured for Damian to follow her as she went back down to the bakery portion of her house. "I'll give you some Camembert with the power ups infused. But I'll have to make it first!"

She hummed as she went upside to retrieve other substances that Master Fu had taught her to create. In the moment she was gone, Plagg appeared.

"I hate transforming!" The black kwami whined, settling in the boy's hair.

"What's so bad about it?" Damian raised an eyebrow at Plagg's outburst.

"It ruins the beautiful taste of Camembert, and it tastes weird"

"Quit your whining Plagg" Tikki's squeaky, but still relatively scary, voice rang out as both she and her owner returned.

"But Sugarcube-"

"No 'but's Stinky Sock!"

Damian watched with quiet amusement while Marinette giggled, handing him a wheel of Camembert.

"The cheese is cut up in different slices, each representing a different power up. I'll explain which is which on the way back to the hotel"

Damian put the wheel in his pocket before taking the bluenette's hand. "I look forward to it"

~~~

Each power up was simple enough, they all had a different colour corresponding with it's ability, making it easier to memorize. The couple walked by a dark alley as Damian check the time. Passing his phone to the bluenette next to him, Marinette took one glance at the time before dragging the two of them into said dark alley. It was time for patrol. Once both were done transforming, Noir and Ladybug made their to the assigned rooftop. When landing, Noir took his staff and looked through the help guide to get a better idea of what weapon he was working with. Spinning the staff with his hands, he separated the staff into two separate batons. He hummed in contentment.

"Grayson never gave me his escrima sticks for missions. I suppose this is good training if I ever want to use them"

The two rods snapped back together with a satisfying snap. Continuing to look through the articles on his now full staff, Noir didn't even notice when Ladybug moved to stand behind him. In one swift motion, the spotted heroine pulled down the black hood that was shielding the black cat-themed hero's face.

"La-"

Her covered fingers stroked his black cat ears, she giggled as his cheeks flushed. The feeling itself was unusual to the green-eyed hero, he had never felt anything remotely similar before but he wouldn't say he didn't enjoy it. It was just... unexpected. The spotted heroine, however, quite liked making the stoic Noir flustered. His ears felt so much like a real cat's that Ladybug was nearly taken aback, she got used to it after her shock, though. Noir found himself leaning into her touch but looking at everything but her in embarrassment.

Had his ears not been occupied he probably would've heard the two other heroes arriving, he only knew they were here as he saw them in his peripheral vision, rolling his eyes as he noticed them snickering.

'Angel, Rena and Chien are here'

Ladybug's head snapped in the direction of the two other heroes, one of her hands left his head as she she greeted the fox and the dog.

"Hello Rena Rouge, Chien" Ladybug greeted them casually, something Noir knew he couldn't do at that moment.

"Hello to you too LB! Hey Noir, did the bug find a way to tame you?

He mumbled a reply.

Ladybug giggled before turning to properly address the other heroes. "I've been thinking of adding three more members. I know it's a lot since you, Rena, have only just been announced as a permanent user and you, Chien, have basically just joined. But Noir and I found something that will require their help. I have a hunch that Hawkmoth might try something like Guerrier but with the same level as Syren"

The fox-themed hero nodded. "You need all the help you can get. So who do you have in mind?"

"A Snake, a Bee and a Dragon" The spotted heroine answered with no hesitation. "We'll need a snake as it is... intuitive"

Upon registering the description, Chien chuckled. "Isn't that the point?"

"Perhaps" Ladybug hummed with a smile on her face. "A dragon can control elements, a strong power would be useful. The bee miraculous's power is immobilization-"

"Paralysis can be very beneficial when trying to stop an akuma" Noir provided his input.

"Yes. So what do you think?" The spotted heroine looked between the three heroes standing on the rooftop with her. Noir hummed approval while Chien gave her a thumbs up.

"You always have the best ideas, Bug!" Rena voiced out her agreement, Ladybug let out a sigh of relief she didn't know she was holding.

"Then I'll go get them now shall I? We gotta teach them as fast as we can" The blue-eyed heroine took the yo-yo from her hip, spinning it with a flick of her wrist. "I'll send them here and then you show them the ropes"

"Aye aye Captain!" Chien saluted and Rena followed suit, only after a quick laugh. Noir rolled his eyes in good nature while pulling his hood back up, flicking his cat ears before doing so.

Hurling her yo-yo at a nearby building, Ladybug hissed through the air, her yo-yo latching onto another building as she neared the previous. Soon enough, she landed gracefully in a quiet area where two familiar figures were strolling hand in hand.

"Ladybug?" A boy with dyed hair questioned, a bluenette with short hair and almond eyes next to him.

She nodded before pulling out two miraculous from her yo-yo with, presumably, unlimited storage. "Luka Couffaine, Kagami Tsurugi, these are the miraculous of the Snake and the miraculous of the Dragon. They grant you the powers of Intuition and Perfection. You will use these miraculouses for the greater good, can I trust you?"

Luka and Kagami shared a knowing look then turned to the heroine in front of them.

"You can count on use Ladybug"

"We're honored to be chosen to fight by your side, my Ladybug"

She gave them the miraculous and watched as they both transformed into Viperion and Ryuko. "The others are waiting at this location." She showed them a map on her yo-yo. "I'll meet you there once I finish with a task a have to do." She hissed through the air once more, thanks to her yo-yo, and landed on a rooftop that was very familiar now. There stood a blonde, leaning on the banister.

"Ladybug?" Chloe's confused voice rang out.

"Hello Chloe Bourgeois" Ladybug took something from her yo-yo. "This is the Bee miraculous, it grants the power to immobilise your opponents. Should you choose to help us-"

"I can't"

"Pardon?"

"I said I can't" The blonde looked solemnly at the heroine. "I've been an utterly horrible person, I don't deserve to be a hero. Especially after... Queen Bee"

"People can change Chloe" Ladybug put a hand on the blonde's shoulder. "As long as they are given the chance to. Do you want to take this chancep?"

Chloe stared at the miraculous before looking at the heroine with a determined expression.

"I won't let you down, Ladybug"

~~~

Ladybug soon returned with a bee-themed heroine, named Honey Bee, by her side. After a brief reintroduction, the patrol began. Rena Rouge took the west side with Honey Bee and Viperion, Chien and Ladybug took the East while Ryuko and Noir took the North, they had already checked the South. Most of the patrol was done in silence, other than the odd 'nothing wrong here'. Ryuko had been the one to start a conversation

"You're the new wielder of black cat miraculous, correct?" The dragon user questioned Noir. He recognised it as the beginning of an interrogation.

"It certainly seems that way" Ryuko hummed.

"You fancy Ladybug, don't you" The question obviously took him aback. "Do you consider yourself... worthy?

The cat-themed hero didn't hesitate. "No"

He saw her raise her eyebrows.

"Ladybug is too virtuous for this world, there's not a soul in this entire universe worthy of her affection"

The dragon hummed in satisfaction. "You remind me of the boyfriend of one of my friends. Though I have yet to be convinced that he should date said friend, you have proved yourself worthy of Ladybug. I approve of your relationship even though it isn't my place to make such a decision"

"I am pleased" Despite the fact that he is a leader in this team, he's content with the fact he has the great dragon user's approval as she is the most intimidating of the team, other than Ladybug herself.

"Also don't mess this up, Ladybug is a Queen " Ryuko casually pointed out.

"Glad I am not the only one that thinks so"

"How can you not? Have you seen her?!"

"She's a goddess"

"You have my approval again"

~~~

Noir and Ryuko were first to arrive as they had finished their patrol early, the rest of the team weren't too far behind, however.

"Alright" Ladybug began once everyone returned. "Honey Bee, Viperion, Ryuko, it'll be best if you memorize all of Paris. That way, when there's trouble, you'll know your way around."

"I found that an aerial view is the fastest way to know the city like the back of your hand!" Rena Rouge pointed out.

"That's also the way I did it!" Chien chimed in,

"Yep! If you don't mind, there's something I'd like to discuss with both Rena Rouge and Chien. Noir, will you join us?" The spotted heroine turned to the heroes named.

"I ought to" He replied flatly.

"Alright then, follow me!" Ladybug hissed through the air followed by Noir with his staff and Rena and Chien with their enhanced abilities. Soon they landed in an alley. "I know you already know this, Rena, but I think it's fair if Chien knows too"

"Fair that I know what?" His gaze moved between the two heroines before landing on the black cat hero, silently begging for answers, to which Noir returned with an unconvincing shrug.

"That you know this. Tikki, spots off!" A blinding red light filled the narrow corner they were in, Rena shut one of her eyes while Chien shut both, Noir was shielded from the light thanks to his hoodie. Then, a certain Marinette Dupain-Cheng stood where the spotted heroine once was.

"Wh- Bu- How-" Chien spluttered as his brain combusted with all the information that was flowing through it at once. Marinette giggled at his confusion, Rena full on laughed, clutching her stomach while Noir merely smirked. "But, but I saw you standing next to Ladybug! Wait no, yourself? My brain is melting! Wait, you two knew?!" The dog-themed hero screeched.

"She's my best friend" Rena shrugged with an innocent expression, her transformation dropped. Chien stared in shock.

"She's my girlfriend" Noir mimicked Rena Rounge's shrug while letting his transformation fall too, leaving Chien the only one transformed.

"Okay THAT makes sense, you're both deathly attr- Wait, did you say best fRIEND?!" Chien shrieked and detransformed.

"ADRIEN?!" Alya exclaimed, Marinette and Damian watched in amusement.

"As entertaining as this is-" The green-eyed boy cut in before the pair would attract unwanted attention. "-Marinette needs to explain the reason why she revealed her identity to you"

The bluenette nodded. "You see early today, at school, I had this 'miraculous burn' I guess you could say from Guerrier's attack. Thanks to Alya I'm feeling better but that resulted in getting my identity revealed. So to avoid anymore incidents like that, I also told you Adrien. I can't tell the rest of the team yet as I don't want them to go all protective over me, you'll three will have enough overprotectiveness"

"Not wrong there, girl" Alya said without shame.

"I know I have to tell them my true identity at some point but right now it's better just to have you three know."

"We understand" Alya and Adrien said in unison.

"Great, now let's go back to the others so we can tell them patrol is over"

~~~

It was sunset, the orange cotton clouds contrasted beautifully with the darkening blue sky. A cool wind blew through the air, cold enough to make one shiver but not enough to catch a cold. Walking hand in hand, a couple made their way to Le Grand Paris. The bluenette looked up to the noirette next to her, leaning onto his arm covered by the Robin-themed hoodie and smiling while doing so, she closed her eyes to savor the moment.

"Angel?" Damian brushed the stray hairs on her face as she pulled away to look at him properly.

"You know, I'm really going to miss this" Marinette raised their conjoined hands as they approached the hotel doors.

He hummed and in response, put his arm around her waist to pull her closer while going through the elevator doors. "I am too"

They soon reached the hotel room, the kwamis roaming around for food once they got inside. Food in hand, Tikki and Plagg sat of the coffee table, leaning on one another as Damian turned on the screen to watch a movie. Once he was comfortably seated, Marinette joined him, snuggling into his side. He brushed his fingers through her silky midnight hair. He was going to miss this, deeply. What would life be like going back, without the beautiful bluenette physically next to him?

'I do not want to find out'

———

Provisional Cessation, It was created for the purpose of temporarily stopping a miraculous from being used if any harm were to come to the user. It would also deem it unusable for a certain period of time if the miraculous were ever come into the wrong hands. The reason Master Fu didn't tell Marinette this information was because the last time a user tried this power up, they were put into a magical induced coma, it was too risky.

———

Taglist:@little-bluestar,@miracleofadisaster,@frieddonutsweets,@jjmjjktth,@genderfluidmoma,@starlit-dreaming,@icerosecrystal,@lolieg,@kashlyn,@mochegato,@eggadoodle,@walkingthroughonautopilot,@toodaloo-kangaroo,@lady-bee-fechin,@weebjai1

#daminette #damian x marinette #marinette x damian #maribat #maridami #mlb x dc #ml x dc #damianette

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sanghyukstattoos · 4 years ago

Text

Four

Characters: Lee Jaeyoon x reader, Kang Chani x reader, Hwiyoung I Kim Youngkyun x reader

Genre: Smut- smut- smut

A/N: I have goose bumps right now from writing this

And I appreciate feedbacks!

You could feel the warmth of Jaeyoon’s fingers gently caress your temple, occasionally pulling back the strands from your face. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck, sometimes barely on your collarbone, calmly lingering as he pressed soft kisses to the skin. Various colours from the tv screen were reflected in the round glass table as you held a conversation with Chani who was sitting in front of you. He was relaxed, slumping against the material of the sofa head turned your way, fingers lingering at your ankles.

Sounds of a drum kit, guitars, saxophone and vocalists slowly resonated from Youngkyun’s phone. In the background, the music played softly and made the three of you move in some way, especially Kyun who was moving along to it. Jae’s arms encircled your waist and from your position, you could smell the perfume off him. Kyun walked out of the kitchen, pressing a kiss to your lips as he took a seat opposite Chani, grabbing some crisps from the bowl on the table.

‘‘We could try this’‘ Chani replied, showing you a picture on his phone. You held back a smile, already analysing the picture and trying to apply it to the bedroom. Jae nodded from behind you, agreeing and drawing Kyun’s attention who was munching on something. As he looked at the picture, he couldn’t hide the smile on his face, thinking that he was probably dreaming or something.

Once he had agreed, Chani asked if you were okay with trying it and immediately, their attention was on you. You felt yourself heat up at the attention but subtly clearing your throat, you thought of adding something to it- like a twist. Jae nestled his face into your neck as you spoke and you could feel the warmth of Chani’s hand, encouraging you. You causally agreed when they nodded, internally excited at the prospect of what you had just discussed.

Your joggers were pulled off your legs, slipping you onto your back in the process, the comfy material of the mattress enveloping you in its warmth. Kyun and Chani were standing on either side of Jae as they viewed you with inky eyes, unbuckling their belts. Sliding their belts off, they discarded it somewhere, each taking their time to undress. Having no idea who to look at, you just gave up, resting your head on the pillows, lying in anticipation.

Jaeyoon chuckled as he saw your head hit the pillow, pulling his oversized jumper in one go which caught your attention, widening your eyes as inklings of arousal trickled into your pupils. Kyun and Chani had already stripped to their boxers; the lighting of the room allowed you to see their toned bodies. The curves placed emphasis on their arms and upper torso, many years of performance succeeding that. Kyun chose to lay next next to you, peering at you through his beautiful eyelashes. He leant down to press his soft lips against yours, his fingers dipped into your jumper and pulling it over your head.

You were bare underneath, comforting fashion that came easy to you in your own house. They quickly realised that you had played games and danced with the four of them while being naked underneath caused a coarse amount of arousal to run through them. Jae leant to give your swollen bud a slight pinch, hearing you whine as you laid in Kyun’s arms. Kyun swiped a tongue over your lower lip, kissing your parted lips. Chani had settled on your other side, pulling out his cock and stroking himself to the sight of your naked body. Beads of precum trickled from his slit, member growing increasingly hard at the way his friends handled you.

Jaeyoon stroked himself through his boxers, his eyes drinking in the sight of your legs spread while Hwi hungrily groped your breasts, kissing you and squeezing the flesh in the palms of his hands. The more Kyun touched you, the more you softly moaned into his mouth, wanting someone to touch you. One of the two pulled your last piece of clothing from your legs, chuckling at the stain on them. Chani pulled your leg to one side, giving Jaeyoon more access to you as he leaned down and lapped his wet muscle at your folds.

Kyun leaned away, placing a delicate kiss to your cheek, the embodiment of all his lust for you. This allowed Chani to take over as he ran his fingers through your hair tugging your head back and attaching his lips to yours. You softly groaned at the stinging feeling on your scalp and them allowing you to take a breath in between. When Kyun’s lips shifted to Chani’s, the intensity changed. He messed your hair while placing your hand over his cock, groaning at the feeling of your warm hand stroking his erection. Kyun’s thumb ran over your neck as the other repeatedly groped the soft flesh of your breasts.

Jaeyoon collected his spit and smeared it over your pussy, the combination with your juices making it easier for him to side two fingers into you. He pressed his tongue flat against the opening of your pussy and swiped up, running over your sensitive bundle of nerves and drawing an erratic whimper from you. Kyun pressed open-mouthed kisses to your neck, nipping the skin as he completed a trail of hot, summery marks that lined your collarbone and stomach. While Chani tilted your head up, swiftly biting down on your lower lip and then licking the pain away, Jaeyoon’s smooth hands on your thighs firmly gripped them apart in place as he pumped you full of his fingers and Kyun’s air-blown hair gently tickled your breasts that he was nestled into, his full concentration on sucking the area of the skin.

The heaviness of your breaths drew Kyun’s attention, smiling as he loosely ran his thumb over your clit. You groaned into Chani’s mouth at the stimulation and he leaned back at the sound, chuckling as he looked at a familiar sight. Jae completely pulled his wet muscle out of your entrance, a little whine leaving your mouth. Your legs were spread as Kyun rubbed your clit and Jae licked your juices, your legs spasming as his actions further aroused you, drawing friction in between your legs. You lifted your hips to match the pace of Kyun’s fingers, his response to smack your clit and keep you still.

Chani and Jae were in awe as they watched the way your body moved off the bed. Your breasts shook with the movement, swollen buds hardening, waiting to be touched with the lack of wetness from someone’s mouth on them. You didn’t bother to hold back your cries, letting them know how sensitive you were feeling. The more Kyun teased your clit, Chani ran his hands up and down your body and Jae pumped his cock at the sight, the more you struggled to keep up with the lack of real stimulation.

Kyun slapped your clit again, this time to see your reaction and you scrunched your eyes at the feeling, hands reaching out for Kyun’s own. Chani’s fingers carded through your hair as Jae filled your with his digits again, hearing your sex squelch at the wetness. You were taken into Chani’s arms, his lips gently pressing against yours, muffling your cries and soft moans. Hwi began to stroke himself as he rested his head in between your breasts, comfortably continuing his teasing. Jae gripped your legs once again, placing a trail of comforting kisses to your inner thigh.

Jae occasionally smacked your inner thigh, watching you jerk a little with each slap. He smiled as you relaxed under Chani’s touch whose face was hovering above yours, fingers also gently stroking your cheek. Your breaths came out harder each time as you stared back at Chani, his nose scrunching at how adorable you seemed in a state where you were totally out of it. Your clit painfully throbbed at the sensations you were feeling, legs aching from being held back and skin tinting as Jae continued to deliver slaps to your inner thigh.

You had stopped stroking Chani, gasping at Hwi’s hand that landed a harsher smack to your clit. Hot tears spilt from the corners of your eyes as you struggled, ‘’Ngh, please’’. Jaeyoon awed at your form, knowing that you could very well throw them off and masturbate to a release without the teasing.

You were taken back to the time when you decided to pleasure yourself without them. As they had found you in a compromising position each of them made sure to fill your hole as you cried because you were not allowed to come for the night. Or when Jaeyoon caught you and he made you rut yourself against his jeans as he watched you try and reach an orgasm that he knew you would not reach.

Chani’s nimble fingers swiped each tear away from your cheek while Kyun adorably stared at you from between your breasts and Jaeyoon’s hand stroked his cock, using his precum to slide his hand easily over his member. You gasped as Jae added a third finger, having originally gone in with two, pausing as Hwi stopped his ministrations on your clit at the same time. Kyun used this to slip off his boxers while Chani did the same, discarding them to someplace off the bed. Hwi returned to heat himself up while Chani took your hand and returned it to its position on his cock.

Chani’s eyes held some sort of emotions in them when he saw your tears but before you could place them, his hand gently gripped the side of your face and whispering about how much he would love to fuck you, he kissed you. Your lips moved slowly against his, a contrast to his prominent dominance over you earlier. Somehow you didn’t realise that he had broken a little over your tears.

Jae- your baby- faced fling turned best-friend would spread your legs and eat you out if you asked- and you had before. His hands would have already started gripping your ass and wandered to other areas of your body, his first thought would have been to ram you from behind but he could control himself. As much as he desired you, your wishes came first and if you wanted him to pin your naked body to the kitchen table and lick your juices from your dripping pussy that messed up the surface below, he would have gladly done it for you.

Kyun had a distinct charm- one that radiated innocence but you knew that he could do worse. Anything new that you wanted to try startled him but he would try to do it the next time the two of you met up and you almost fell for this guy. In his eyes, you were his and he would treat you as such including laying you on your back, fingers intertwined and chests touching as he slowly made love to you. But he could also let you suck him off on your knees when you wanted too or roughly pull your hair as you rode him in the back of his car.

You felt Jae’s tip prod at your entrance and you moaned into the kiss with Chani, excitement filling your system. You hand went to caress Chani’s cheek and you deepened the kiss, feeling Jae’s cock start to enter you. You groaned as you felt the tip enter you, the whole head entering you next. Jae was slow, stilling so as to not hurt you and let you adjust, biting his lips as he heard you groan into Chani’s mouth and tug Kyun’s hair whose tongue was carelessly swiping at your nipple. A whimper left your mouth as Jae started to fully seat himself inside of you and Chani broke the kiss once again, to nestle his head against yours as Jae bottomed out.

Arching your back, Kyun took to placing light, delicate and even sloppy kisses from his position next to you. Chani delicately pecked your cheek, letting your fingertips trace his skin as he gasped at your fingers that found his cock, sliding your hands over his as he stroked himself. His member throbbed just like the first time the four of you had had sex. He was aroused at the way you wanted to be handled, letting Kyun tease you while Jae inserted his member into your sex. He twisted his hand around his dick, his vision blurring as the eyelashes that he peered at you through connected.

Kyun was content with his cock painfully hard and in desperate need of your attention, his brave exterior never betraying how he felt on the inside. Laying on your chest and nestling his head in your breasts made him feel satisfied enough while he was touching you again. The way you jolted and spasmed when you were close to reaching your high made him want to hold you and not to let go until you were tired. Jae had loved the way you felt around his cock from the first time the two of had had sex. The two of you were so well connected that after that ‘click’, you agreed to keep your friendship as well as explore the sexual tension between you two.

He slipped into you, the feeling of your walls enclosing around his cock causing a groan to leave the base of his throat. Moans left the two of you as Jae took on a quick pace, rubbing soft circles onto your inner thigh, occasionally lightly pinching the skin. Kyun lifted your chin, connecting his lips to yours while you used your other hand to take his hard cock and wrap your hand around the base. Swiping a finger over his tip, you used his precum to smear it all over his cock, using it as a lube to stroke him more easily. You drew out a moan from him as he breathed heavily into the kiss. You didn’t quicken your pace, instead slowing down and stroking him leisurely.

He liked it when you held back, so that when his high arrived, it would wash over him like a furious wave. Jae decided to hit your sweet spot, just as Chani reached to rub your clit, your lips parting at the extra jolts that his motion sent throughout your body. You moaned into the kiss with Hwi, infatuated with the taste of his lips and right now, you also longed to taste his cock on your tongue.

Chani watched Jae slowly thrust into you, tracing the way your pussy swallowed his cock wondering just how aroused you were to produce so much arousal. Your wetness covered Jae’s cock, his precum allowing him to slide into you much more easily. Legs spread and stroking his cock, he licked his lips when you started to stroke Kyun, the two of you heavily moaning into each other’s mouths. He smiled a little, reflecting on how much he loved the weekends.

Jae’s groaned and quickened his pace, pounding you into the mattress. You cried out at the change, the movements too fast to kiss you, so Kyun dove into your neck, pressing comforting kisses along your collarbones. You could feel your high near as well, the tightness growing as Jae grunted, kneeling in front of your body as he held your legs up, allowing him to access a much deeper part of your sex.

The new position made you fumble for Chani, his fingers adding extra pleasure to your clit as he rubbed the area in harsh circles, watching your face twist in pleasure as Kyun kissed you. As your fingers reached for your nipples, Chani grasped them, intertwining his fingers with yours so as to let Kyun do the work. You hadn’t stopped stroking Kyun’s cock and Kyun had started to notice that you were nearing your orgasm. Jae held your ankles at his chest level, continuing his pace on your pussy till he released inside you with one final thrust.

You unravelled at the feeling of Jae’s cum inside of you, coming all over his cock that twitched inside of you at the feeling of your cum. Jae tightly smacked your ass, letting you know that you had been good for him today. Chani who was watching the interaction and stroking his cock over you, groaned as he quickened and pumped his release over your torso, sighing in content at the feeling of releasing. You and Jae smiled at each other, breathing heavily and you pressed a kiss to Kyun’s lips who instantly returned it, excited for the next part.

Getting up, you got on your hands and knees as Kyun moved behind you and Chani and Jae moved to your front. Some of this was planned, especially this bit since the boys and you had been brainstorming different new positions to try out ever before the weekend had arrived. Kyun didn’t waste his time, grunting as he entered your tight pussy while Chani and Jae began to stroke themselves, watching your facial expressions turn into pleasure as you felt Kyun bottom out inside you. You were thrusted forward as Kyun started to slowly move inside of you, Jae’s cum dripping down your leg every time he slid out.

Chani tapped his erect cock to your lips which you opened and swallowed, his member entering your mouth and settling over your tongue. You held back a gag as he reached the back, positioning himself carefully as Jae rested on the pillows, acknowledging how hot the scene actually looked. Kyun bit his lips as he held your waist and bought you back on his cock, your ass bouncing with the movement. Chani held your head upright as you sucked him off from Kyun’s movements, breathing heavily at how the vibrations of your moans onto his cock added to the pleasure.

Kyun settled for a slow pace, knowing that he would release soon, his beautiful smile showing when you cried out as he gently rubbed your clit in circles. He was teasing you as he rocked you on his cock, confident that you wanted him to at least increase his pace seeing how glossy his cock was from having only penetrated you moments ago. You bobbed your head, taking in Chani’s cock that leaked precum onto your tongue. The corners of your mouth were soon covered in his juices, feeling your arousal drip down your leg and onto the mattress.

Jae pumped himself, twisting his hand around his cock as he watched you squeeze your eyes shut and revel in the pleasure. As he met Kyun’s eyes, he smiled, chuckling at your reaction to having your clit rubbed. Your nipples had hardened once again, breasts bouncing with the movement. Reaching for your nipple, he tweaked your bud which caused you to moan around Chani’s cock and clench around Kyun’s, both men groaning as a result.

He continued stroking his cock as he reached for your other bud, lightly slapping it twice before giving it a little tweak. You continued clenching around Kyun, feeling yourself tighten as you realised that you would come before Kyun and maybe Jae and Chani. Your hands had started to hurt from the same position but it dulled out as Kyun picked up the pace on your sex.

You let out sharp moans, feeling Kyun’s cock and fingers enough to let you release your juices around his member. He continued to thrust into you, letting you ride out your high and from then on, pounded into your creamy pussy. Chani on the other hand, grasped the back of your head and bought you down on his cock while Jae got on his knees and joined you next to Chani. Tears slipped from the corners of your eyes as Kyun continued to fuck you, feeling sore from having released twice in one day.

Kyun noticed your tears rubbed your hips in comforting circles as he murmured, ‘’Hold on baby’’. You made a sound of agreement as Chani pulled out of your mouth, a string of saliva dripping onto his cock from your mouth. Jae and Chani aligned their cock’s at the centre of your mouth and you opened up for them, watching them stroke themselves to their orgasms. Kyun threw his head back and released into you, groaning at the relief from his prolonged high as his juices filled your hole, dripping out and running down your legs as he pulled out.

You flinched as Chani and Jae released hot and tick white spurts of their release onto your face and into your mouth, sighing in relief as they also released for the second time. You sat down before your hands could give way, gulping as you looked at the dazed out look on their faces. They met your eyes and the four of you smiled and let out laughs, relishing in from the pleasure the four of you had just experienced. Chani held you from behind and Jae stroked your hair while Kyun rested on you, head in between your breasts as the four of you dozed off to sleep.

You woke up to the sound of the microwave door opening and closing, groaning at how early it must have been since the three of you had had a late night the day before. It had already been a week since the last time and this week, the four of you decided to try something new, in the kitchen. You made your way to the kitchen, stretching your limbs on the way and paused to smile at the sight in front of you. Kyun was there, his broad shoulders facing you, arms moving in a frenzy to navigate the yellows and whites of the egg floating in the pan while also trying to quieten and not disturb you.

You felt a rush at the sight and not wanting to scare him, popped up by his side with a quick, ‘’hey’’. A shy smile lit your face as you turned your attention from the pan to him. ‘’Did I wake you up?’’ he asked, after a quick ‘’hey’’ back, the smile growing on his face as he watched your cheeks pink. You shook your head in disagreement, adding a little, ‘’no’’ for comfort and one by one, you went to wrap your arms around him. ‘’Aren’t you curious?’’ you asked, nestling your face into his back.

‘‘Curious about what?’‘ he inquired, smiling at the eggs on the pan as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. His grip on the pan holder tightened, wanting to look at you so badly but he was afraid that the eggs would burn if he decided to look away from them for one second. You hummed in response to his question, not quite sure why you asked him in the first place. You either had to give an answer or not and so you chose not to, instead choosing your favourite way of communicating.

As soon as he turned to place the eggs onto a plate and switched off the stove, your hands slid from around his waist to the fabric around his hips. Your fingers twisted around the knot, letting the two ends fall loose and hooked your finger into the band. He paused at your actions and you took the chance to push yourself closer to him, close enough so that he could feel your body heat against his. Basking in his scent, you slipped your hand into his shorts and palmed him through his boxers, feeling the bulge grow. A breathy moan escaped his lips as he tightly gripped the counter.

You were aroused when you woke up and he only intensified how warm you had felt, your juices soaking your panties. You felt a little stain of precum soak through the material and you brought his boxers down, his cock red and hard as it sprang out. Using his precum, you used it to lube his cock, spreading the essence with slow, languid strokes. He bent at the feeling, food long forgotten and put all of his weight onto to counter to hold him up, You didn’t stop, motions continuing to tease him but he knew what you were about to do. You used your other hand to turn him around and your eyes never left his as you slowly lowered yourself onto your knees.

Pressing your lips to the tip of his cock, you opened your mouth to swallow him whole and he groaned at the feeling. He threw his head back, a soft knock being heard as he gently rested on the cupboard doors behind, eyes seeing nothing as they shut at the arousal flowing through him. You puffed your cheeks as you went down on him, suddenly aware that you weren’t wearing anything much apart from his shirt. The urge to remove it overcame you and you paused, removing your shirt and letting it slide next to you on the floor. You didn’t hesitate in taking him back, this time bobbing your head as you sucked him off, your saliva coating his cock as you tasted his precum on your tongue.

Jae and Chani could walk in anytime and just see you on your knees in nothing but underwear pleasuring Kyun but you could have cared less knowing that they would join you two anyways. You squeezed your legs together at the thought of them walking in on you, stroking whatever part of Kyun’s cock that you couldn’t reach. Your other hand was covered in his juices and you used it to grab his ass and fondle the flesh in your grasp. Your knees touched the tip of his toes and with his juices staining your lips, you licked the swollen head drawing a louder moan this time after the small, short gasps had begun to fill the room.

You popped as you left his cock, eyes meeting his and he pulled you onto your feet, lifting you up onto the counter. ‘’Where’s Jae and Chani?’’ you asked him and he replied, ‘’They’ll be out for some time’’ in what sounded like a hurry. You giggled and shrugged as he spread your legs and settled in between them, shifting your panties to the side and aligning his cock with your entrance. Heavy moans left the both of you and Kyun penetrated your entrance, thrusting his hips forward, making you grip the counters as you panted.

You moaned out his name, arousal spreading throughout your self as he held you in place, fucking into you. Your breasts bounced with the movement and he latched his lips onto a hardened bud, lapping to the sounds you made. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, moaning at his cock touching your sweet soft. He brought you closer to the edge but held your leg apart in place, bringing you naked body close enough to touch his.

The sounds of heavy breaths filled the area, the food getting increasingly cold as Kyun hungrily met your lips, tongue pushing past your lips and into the wet space within. His hands rested on your ass, smacking the flesh till you cried out into his mouth, his other hand grasping your head to keep you firmly in place. Rubbing your bruised ass cheek, he moved onto the other, stinging your flesh as you were pounded into, by his cock.

Your fingers tugged at his hair, the stinging sensation of his scalp causing him to groan into your neck. Nipping at your skin while he pounded into you, he pressed you onto the counter, stilling at the release of his juices into your pussy. He rubbed your clit in circles, helping you reach your high, hearing you cry out his name as your juices instantly covered his cock. He held you to his chest as you came, finally resting your head on his chest, taking a deep breath. ‘’We only did this some hours ago though’’ he pondered, drawing a laugh from you.

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awhmilkywey · 4 years ago

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burgers and fries | t. carrick |

pairing & genre: tobias carrick x f!mc (ava dahl) — fluffy as hell

warnings: one curse word | english is not my first language

word count: 2.4k

request | prompt | neither | challenge

tags: @usuallyamazinglyaverage ; @perriewinklenerdie ; @cyb3r-kat ; @moonsoltice ; @romewritingshop ; @tsrookie ; @hedwigsbixch

a/n: a special thank you to @usuallyamazinglyaverage @perriewinklenerdie and @cyb3r-kat for allowing me the use of their characters (anna dawson, claire herondale and bianca hemgrove, respectivel) and a bonus to perrie for being generally awesome and helping me out with this fic. You can thank her for the Romeo line!

Ava has a history of flouting protocol to assist her patients.

The machine whirred to life, shooting a steady stream of murky liquid into the small paper cup. Ava skimmed her medical chart while she waited. Her patient was a young adult who came in with severe chest pain and discoloured skin around her calves. The primary doctor wrote down that earlier scans ruled out heartburn as well as pericarditis. She reached for her coffee and took a cautious sip. The blemishes could point towards a blood clot—deep vein thrombosis, perhaps? It could quickly develop into a pulmonary embolism if left untreated.

The nurses' station was relatively quiet when she approached.

“Could you order a lung scan and a chest X-ray for my patient, please?”

Marlene took the chart with a professional nod. Her exhaustion matched her own.

Ava murmured a quiet thank you and tossed her cup in the bin. The results wouldn't be back for a couple hours. If her hunch was correct then she would most likely need to page the surgical department. For now, however, her rounds were finished and she could take a breather.

Her face twisted into a frown as she remembered her bag was still in the conference room. Her confrontation with Harper ensured she had been too uncomfortable to remain there. Ava decided to take the stairs one at a time. Saying she was dreading their next meeting was an understatement. They would need to have a serious conversation with Bloom. Ethan breaching protocol was on him alone. A conversation with Harper was in order as well; earlier she had been caught by surprise but she wouldn't let that kind of treatment stand. Barging in, wrongfully accusing her without any evidence whatsoever, yelling and refusing to believe her even when the culprit was standing right there—Ava wondered when the cool renowned surgeon became an unruly child.

The revelation that Harper still saw her as a reckless intern made her incredibly angry. Her one mistake happened over two years ago and she came forward to shoulder the blame. Ava had grown since then, both as a doctor and as a person. Her near-death experience also served to put things into perspective, to say the least. She would always have the best interest of her patients at heart but she would never again jeopardize her career so foolishly.

That thought brought her back to Ethan. Frankly she didn't recognise him any more. He came back from the Amazon a different man—one she wasn't sure she liked all that much. Their tentative relationship hadn't stood a chance. Him being her attending was difficult enough, then she was facing the possibility of being suspended, and just as she thought they could make it work after all, Naveen promoted her and Ethan was her superior once more. He maintained a painfully professional demeanour around her from there on out. Ava wasn't doing too great during that time.

And when her intern year came to an end, he disappeared. He wasn't answering her calls nor her texts and her trips to his apartment were fruitless. She found out he was out of the country through WHO's Instagram account. She stopped bothering afterwards.

Ava shook her head, red curls bouncing over her shoulders. Dwelling on the past wasn't helpful. Especially when the Ethan from her memories didn't correlate with the Ethan she was currently working with. Her most recent conversations with him left a sour taste in her mouth.

The conference room wasn't as empty as she expected.

“Heading out?” Tobias sent her a warm smile.

“I've some free time to kill.”

He nodded in understanding. “Holding up okay?”

Ava hesitated. It occurred to her that he was the only person she was truly comfortable with on the team. The only one who'd never underestimated her or made her feel lesser.Tobias was the person who either supported her suggestions or countered them with his own logical arguments and used both as teaching opportunities.

“I've been through worse,” she replied, shrugging non-committally.

He scowled. “What Harper did was uncalled for.”

Ava offered him a wry smile. “I have a history, don't you see?”

“Oh you mean the history of being civil to Bloom even though you want to punch his face in?” he asked innocently.

A laugh bubbled up in her chest and he soon followed with his own deep chuckle.

“There's this place downtown.” He sobered up but was still grinning. “One of my favourites, if you want to check it out.”

“What's in it for me?” Ava raised a playful eyebrow.

His eyes darkened, tongue briefly flickering out. “Good music, good books. We could get dinner after.”

Ava swallowed. “Sounds fantastic.”

Tobias' intense look softened. “It's a date,” he said cheekily.

She laughed again and swatted at his arm. “Lead the way, Romeo, before I change my mind.”

Bantering with him was easier than it should've been. Knowing how laid-back he could be when comfortable made her notice more about how he carried himself around the rest of the team. It gave her a small thrill to be able to witness that side of him.

Tobias drove her to a time-worn shop tucked away between a colourful diner and a boarded-up building. An old sign hung over the entrance reading The Starlight Den. The outer walls were covered in messy chalky drawings and splashes of peeling paint, broken crayons and plastic buckets sitting to one side. He laid a hand on her lower back, gently guiding her through the battered wooden door.

“I used to come here all the time as a kid,” he commented, glancing fondly around the shop.

Neutral colours predominated with the occasional vibrant hue flashing here and there. Bookshelves lined the left side, brimming with works from classics to comic books. Customers could settle down on various armchairs and sofas, reading under the light of several dimmed lamps. Ava slid her eyes from the makeshift coffee bar to the vintage posters on the opposite wall. A soft tune drifted from the gramophone in the corner. Neat stacks of vinyl records were arranged in polished boxes in the centre. A counter held several players for general use nearby.

“This is a dream come true,” Ava marvelled, running her fingertips across the book spines.

Tobias hummed, reaching to pluck a comic from the shelf. He presented it to her with a flourish. Spider-Man was holding a man clad in green on the cover.

“First introduction to Spidey. Also the first comic I ever read,” he disclosed, absently thumbing through the pages.

“I didn't know you read comics.”

Tobias cocked his head. “Haven't read them in a long while but they were a big part of my childhood.”

Ava cast a look about. “I can see why you'd like to come here.”

Two teenagers were hanging around a record player, giggling quietly to each other, while a sharply dressed man made small talk with the handsome man behind the register. The overall atmosphere was quite cosy. It felt a bit like home. When she returned her wandering gaze to Tobias, he offered her a knowing smile.

“I have an idea,” he announced with a quick clap of his hands. “We each pick a book and a record for the other. I have a player back at my apartment.”

Ava crossed her arms. “Is this a ploy to get me into your bed, Carrick?”

He raised his palms up in mock surrender. “Absolutely not. Just a ploy to get a pretty woman eating take-out on my couch.”

“From that diner next door?”

“Rosa makes the best burgers and milkshakes in Boston.” He gave a solemn nod, cracking up in the following beat.

Ava contemplated him. “It's a date.”

He lit up with a boyish smile.

She didn't know much about his likes and dislikes given that all their interactions revolved around their work. Browsing the bookcases, she opted to get him a copy of The Little Prince. She remembered her papa reading it to her when she was sick or when grief was heavier than most days. She picked up A Day at the Raceson her way to the counter.

“Don't peek,” Tobias warned after their purchases were done. “I'm going to get our food and then we can head back.”

“I want nuggets.” Ava blushed when her stomach growled.

He patted her head. “As you wish, m'lady.”

Ava watched him walk away, unable to remember the last time she was this happy. Tobias was so carefree. He didn't allow their work to burden him, always trying to finding the silver lining in each case, and refused to let it interfere with his life outside the hospital. It was a breath of fresh air, compared to her previous relationship with Ethan. Tobias was light where Ethan was dark.

The ride back to his flat was mostly quiet. He tapped on the wheel along with the song playing on the radio—she vaguely recognised it as being a new Ariana Grande single. She, on the other hand, was more occupied with staring out the window and trying to control her nerves. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, making her almost want to throw up. Tobias was undeniably attractive, charming and witty. And they were going to be alone at his place.

Ava choked on air.

He was quick to lay a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, hey, I got you.” At her lack of response, he slid his hand further and began to rub her back, eyes briefly leaving the road to look her over.

“I'm good,” she gasped.

His touch continued to burn her skin until the car was parked in his garage.

Tobias' flat was messier than she expected but not in the dirty sense of the word. It was a sort of organised chaos that breathed life into the walls. The coffee table peeked from beneath a mountain of medical journals, two blankets were thrown haphazardly on the couch with a pillow half-fallen on the carpet, like he had dozed off while reading. The telly was still on as well and she paused to watch Jessica Aniston and Matt LeBlanc acting on the screen.

He steered her towards the kitchen.

“I forgot to clean, sorry.” He seemed unusually sheepish.

“Mine's not much better, believe me,” she reassured him, squeezing his arm. She took the food bags from him and set them on the table. “Kitchen or living room?”

“Living room!” he called out from the pantry, coming out with a package of napkins and a container of assorted candy.

He had stored away the blankets and the pillow by the time she brought the food to the coffee table, journals stashed away in the corner bookcase. Ava noticed that he also changed into a looser tee, his biceps highlighted underneath the artificial lighting. He grabbed their purchases from the shop and turned to her with a bright smile.

“I realised we don't actually know each other that well,” he said, grabbing the book from the bag, “and I would like to remedy that.”

Ava accepted the gift, lips quirking up at the sight of the blue cover. “I've never read The Great Gatsby,” she informed.

His smile widened. “Let me know what you think when you're done, yeah?”

“I got you this one.” God she was nervous. “I, uh—I didn't know what you liked so I figured I'd give you one of my favourites. After my mum died... my dad used to read it to me as a kid.”

Tobias met her gaze and she was surprised to see him so serious. “I—Thank you, Ava. It means a lot that you would share that with me.”

She needed to look away. Was he getting closer?

Her stomach growled again.

“Eat,” he murmured, slowly leaning back. “I'll put the records on.”

He returned to the couch as the beginnings of Dancing Queenfilled the room. Ava beamed.

“How did you know?”

He popped a fry in his mouth. “I may have cheated on this one. Claire told me you were a fan.”

The mention of her friend warmed her heart. “I didn't know you and C were buddies.”

Tobias rubbed the back of his neck. “We're not, not really. I, um, went to ask her how you were after what happened. Anna and Hemgrove were gone already, so...”

His concern sent the butterflies into a frenzy. Ava focused on her burger so he wouldn't see the deep red staining her cheeks.

It was only two episodes into Friends that she noticed the missing fries in her plate. An indignant yelp was muffled by the food in her mouth. Tobias blindly reached for another one but she slapped his hand away, earning her a surprised squawk from the man. Ava made a move for his plate and was stopped when he put his arm between them, lifting the other up so she wouldn't touch his food.

“Oi! That's not fair!” she protested, not realising she was half-sitting on his lap as she tried to get her fries back.

“All's fair when you're hungry, sweetheart,” he retorted, laughing at her worthless attempts.

The loud sound of porcelain breaking was unmistakable. In an effort to get closer, she had pressed against his chest, their bodies practically glued together, and the twist of his wrist weakened his grip on the plate. Ava sunk into him in defeat and promptly peeped as her groin made contact with his.

“Shit, sorry Av—nghh...” He cut off with a strangled moan.

Ava hurried to relieve the pressure of her thigh on his crotch, feeling mortified.

“I'm sorry—” “Wait—” they spoke at the same time, both floundering.

“Just—wait.” Tobias held onto her hips, heaving out a frustrated sigh.

She would never admit to anyone that no, she very much did not want to move.

Except maybe to the girls, who would most definitely grill her tomorrow.

They remained in that exact position for a couple silent moments. Neither sure what to say nor how to act upon the revelation that they were entirely too comfortable physically for two people who were supposed to be just work acquaintances.

Up close, his eyes looked more green than brown. Ava told herself that she had bigger things to worry about.

But it was a pretty colour.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he quietly confessed. “I have to know, though. Is—is there anything between you and Ethan?”

She let out a shaky breath, touching her forehead to his. “Not since last year.”

He gave a short nod, raising a hand to cup her face. “Could there be anything between us?”

“Why don't you kiss me and find out?” she whispered against his lips.

She felt his smile before he did.

#tobias carrick #open heart #choices: stories you play #choices open heart #open heart tobias #choices #fanfiction #f: burgers and fries

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yoontopia · 4 years ago

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𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲 | 𝗺𝘆𝗴

pairing: min yoongi x reader

genre: anti-soulmate au; light smut (in the form of making out, thigh grinding), angst if you squint, fluff, strangers to lovers, arranged marriage (kind of)

rating: M (for the light smut, swearing)

word count: 5.4k

summary: either you find your soulmate by the time you’re 25 or a partner is chosen for you, that’s the law. (un)fortunately for you, you were just born without a soulmate scar, an anomaly in a world defined by fate, so it seems your decision is made for you. you meet min yoongi the day after your twenty-fifth birthday and its everything but what you were brought up to believe. there are no sparks, no bells, and definitely no love.

author’s note: unedited because I wrote it pretty much in a sitting. will be editing later!

You are happy for Solhee. She’s twenty four-and a half and manages to find her soulmate by literally running into her outside the twenty-four-seven grocery store on the corner of the block. Solhee barely had six months to go before it would have been too late for her. The system assures you that you will find your soulmate, your other half, before the age of 25. If this doesn’t happen, the government intervenes and matches you with someone they see fit.

It wasn’t always like this. Your parents met when they were in their thirties, and are very much soulmates, if the matching marks on their wrists are any indication. But the government insists that anything after 25 is too late, especially to further the population. Society literally dictates that you’re married off by the time you’re 25.

You don’t want to know what happens if you don’t follow the law. And you’re happy Solhee doesn’t need to find out either. Solhee’s soulmate scar shines in the sunlight as the two of you sit out in the park, sipping on juice boxes and eating home-baked cookies. She tells you of her meeting with her soulmate, and the rush to get married so they can make it in time before the deadline. A plain, white gold band glitters on on her left ring finger.

“It felt like coming home,” she tells you, sighing and staring up at the blue sky. “Finding my soulmate, I mean. You know me, I never believed in this stuff. I figured if I didn’t find them, Big Brother would just hitch me off with someone and that would be okay. But I’m glad I found her in time. I can’t imagine it now if I hadn’t.”

You nod along, taking a sip of your pineapple juice. It’s sour, but you like it. Your eyes wander over to Solhee’s wrist — her mark is a small crescent-shaped moon — it matches the one on her fiancee’s wrist, and it stands out on her pale skin. You squeeze at your juice box to get the last remaining drop out, trying to ignore your empty, unmarked wrists.

Your soulmate mark never appeared. The latest you should’ve been able to see it would have been your 18th birthday. You remember, hiding away from your own party, rubbing your wrists raw, begging it to show up. Looking back, you aren’t sure who it was you were begging to.

Of course, you aren’t alone. There are several cases like yours. Marks that fail to show up, or even individuals who have the mark but don’t manage to find their soulmate on time. There is a solution for that — the matching program ensures you don’t end up alone.

After seeing your friends and coworkers find their soulmates though, you’re not sure you want someone to be arranged for you. It feels artificial and feels like you’re missing out on something incredible. What if the person they match with you doesn’t love you? What if you don’t love them?

It’s been a while since you’ve entertained such childish thoughts. You’re an adult now, almost 25, and this is a reality. In the next two months, on your 25th birthday, you’ll wait for the government to contact you. They’ll send you a name and then check in on the two of you consistently to make sure the match is happening. It’s not like you have a choice and you suppose its better than being completely alone and soulmate-less for the rest of your life. In a way, you’re almost grateful, as someone who doesn’t have the mark. You just wish things could be different.

You watch Solhee marry the love of her life exactly on her twenty fifth birthday. She glows in her dress, and as her best friend and maid of honour, you’re busy making sure the wedding goes by without a hitch. You’re the last of your friends to turn 25, meaning you’re the only one in the group currently single. Taehyung and Jimin, also friends from your college days, laugh and tell you to enjoy the last of your bachelorette days, but their entwined hands are all you can focus on. You know they’re just trying to make light of a rather depressing situation, and you’re grateful

You meet Min Yoongi on a snowy evening, the day after you’ve turned 25. He’s got curling dark hair, ears adorned by various earrings that dangle in the light. A delicate nose, and strong hands. He looks at you like he’s looking at a stranger, which for all intents and purposes, you are. You clutch at the letter in your hands with his name on it. You smile tentatively at him. He doesn’t smile back.

It doesn’t feel like coming home at all.

You move in with Yoongi as soon as the new year starts. He has a roomy apartment in the centre of town and lives by himself so its easier. He helps you move your boxes into his place. He never says much, but he’s never rude, or mean to you. In fact, he’s been polite, respectful — even caring, in a way you are to a coworker or an acquaintance. He shows you around his small flat. It’s two bedrooms, one of which he’s turned into a small studio. You know he works in the music industry, but aren’t sure what his exact job entails.

“I can move my work stuff to my actual studio at the company,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you don’t want to sleep in the same bedroom, that is. I don’t want to force you.”

You smile slightly, scratching your cheek.

“No it’s fine,” you say. “I don’t want to encroach. I promise I’ll stick to my side of the bed.” He nods.

“I usually work odd hours,” he says. “I DJ at the club down the street some nights, so I don’t come home until early morning hours. Usually I work from home during the day. There’s a schedule on the fridge.”

“Um, I work a regular 9-5,” you tell him and he nods again. “I’m home on the weekends and evenings.” It feels a little like drawing up a schedule with a roommate. You don’t really mind. It could’ve been so much worse.

Yoongi’s running a hand through his hair. You notice he wears a lot a jewelry, and file away this fact for later. His ears are adorned again with several earrings, pierced in multiple places. Bracelets clink on his wrists of various materials and colours. A single, silver necklace hangs around his neck, two fish swimming in a circle. He’s a Pisces, you realize. He’s been twenty five nine months longer than you have.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says, waving a hand towards his small, but cozy living room. A small couch and an armchair sit pointed towards the TV. A guitar sits in the corner of his studio, next to an old brown piano. Hints of music adorn the place, photos of Yoongi with his friends at various concerts and gigs. He looks different when he smiles. He has yet to smile at you.

You spend the rest of the day moving in, and its evening before you emerge from your now-shared bedroom with Yoongi. He’s nowhere to be found and the taped schedule to the fridge tells you tonight he DJs.

There’s containers full of food on the counter with your name on them, and you assume he’s left you some of his own meal. You eat alone, and do the dishes. You go to sleep that night, feeling no different from your usual self.

Months pass by quickly once you’re settled in with Yoongi. The two of you fall into an easy routine. You cook breakfast, and he cooks dinners and lunches are usually eaten at work. You split your grocery costs.

Honestly speaking, he’s a really easy roommate to live with. As time goes by, you get to know more things about each other. You learn that he likes meat more than anything else, that he has a tendency to overwork himself when deadlines are near. He has three close friends that he’s grown up with, and an older brother. His family owns a small brown poodle called Holly. His brother is a chef at a Korean restaurant in the city. You’ve met him once and liked him. He’s allergic to seafood, but eats it anyway because he likes it too much.

You also know he has, or had a soulmate. One time you caught him coming out of the shower wearing nothing but jeans. You were curled up on the living room couch watching TV and you could see him shuffling around shirtless in the bedroom, looking for a shirt to pull on. It’s the first time you see him without his usual bracelets and there is a mark on his wrist. You can’t make out what it is from where you’re sitting, but its there, clear as day against his milky white skin. An uncertain feeling curls in your stomach.

Until this point, you’d assumed Yoongi was like you — wrists bare. But this changes things — either he’s never met his soulmate, or they aren’t around anymore, and you don’t know what’s worse. He hasn’t spoken about it, and you almost understand why. It’s not like the two of you are close. Everything you know about him, you’ve gleaned from information you’ve received indirectly. You understand now, why he keeps you at an arms length.

You catch up with Solhee and Jiyeon over brunch. The two are bright eyed, fresh off their honeymoon. Hands entwined under the table, giggling. You laugh along with them, forgetting for a minute about your situation, that is, until Solhee brings it up.

“So how’s Yoongi?” The question is casual, but you know it’s a loaded one. Solhee isn’t just asking how Yoongi is.

“Fine,” you pick at your food. “He’s asleep right now — worked till late.”

“Hey he’s the DJ at Tropical right?” Jiyeon asks, leaning forward. “The popular one.” You’re dazed. Six months of living with him and you don’t even know which club he works at. You nod anyway, not wanting to appear clueless. “I heard he’s really good. Taehyung knows of him through Seokjin.”

“Kim Seokjin?” You ask, surprised. It’s one of Yoongi’s friends. Jiyeon nods. “He owns the club.”

“Hey we should go check him out one night!” Jiyeon is excited, and clueless. You smile half-heartedly at her and Solhee sighs. “Tae can get us into Tropical on the day Yoongi works — when does he work?”

“Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays,” you reply. Jiyeon nods.

“So… who’s down for it tomorrow?”

The club is sweaty, and crowded. You’re here without telling Yoongi, a fact that already makes you feel guilty for some reason. The strapless number Solhee had forced onto you clings to your skin as you follow your friends towards the bar. You haven’t been to a club since university and you can’t help but feel a little out of place.

“There he is!” Jiyeon screams, pointing towards the small stage at the other end of the dance floor. Sure enough, Yoongi stands there, two laptops in front of him. His hair is tucked into a baseball cap, but other than that he’s dressed the way he usually is, in jeans and a silk button up. The music is loud, and your heart thumps in your ears. “Let’s go closer!”

The three of you make your way closer to the stage, maneuvering past the sweaty, drunk bodies. You can barely make out the music he’s playing, and you know barely anything about music to know what’s good and what’s not. He must be good though, if the crowd is anything to go by.

Solhee pulls you and Jiyeon into a corner next to the stage with a good view and the three of you stand there bopping along to the music. Even though you barely know him, you have a strange feeling of pride curling up inside you. He’s incredible.

Your eyes glaze over the crowd until they land on a woman, standing only a few feet away from the three of you, one arm crossed under her chest, the other caressing her chin. She’s also watching the stage, a smile on her face. The world seems to spin for a second because your eye catches the mark on her wrist, and you don’t have to double check to know that it matches the dark haired man on the stage.

The night goes from bad to worse when Yoongi jumps off the stage after finishing his gig, and she runs up to give him a hug. You feel like throwing up, but nothing compares to what you feel when his eyes find you over her shoulder.

Things quickly sour after that. The peaceful relationship the two of you shared previously is shattered. You avoid him on the nights he’s home, preferring to crash at Solhee’s, who’s more than happy to accommodate you. Jiyeon apologizes profusely but you cannot blame her, not when none of this is her fault in the first place.

“Don’t you think you should let him explain?” Solhee asks one day over dinner.

“There’s nothing to explain,” you say automatically. “Their marks are there — it’s self explanatory.”

“What a harsh system,” Jiyeon adds softly. You nod. If there was a way for Yoongi and his soulmate to be together, you’d want it to happen. Then maybe you wouldn’t feel like an awkward third wheel. “Do you think they found each other after the deadline?”

“Definitely,” Solhee nods. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have been matched.”

“I don’t want to come in between anything,” you say softly.

“Oh honey you’re not,” Solhee says. “None of this is your fault.” You bite your lip, holding back tears threatening to fall. You haven’t cried in front of people in years. “It’s not Yoongi’s fault either. You should really go home and talk it out. He probably misses you.”

You choke out a laugh at that. The idea that Yoongi misses you is ludicrous. You were a nuisance to him at best, even though he’d been nothing but respectful of you and your space.

“What the two of you need is to spend time together,” Jiyeon says, and Solhee nods. “Get to know him, tell him he needs to come clean with you with everything. Maybe then things will see peace.”

You decide to go home that night. You know it’s a Tuesday and Yoongi should be home. Stomach in your throat, you shakily unlock the door to his—your— apartment. The TV is on, and Yoongi is curled up in the corner of the couch, swaddled up in a blanket. It’s only been a little over a week, but you find you’ve missed him. You find you’re also surprised he’s actually here. A part of you had almost expected him to take off. He turns to look at you and starts, hurrying to turn the TV off. It’s oddly clumsy from someone who you thought was aloof, and it almost makes you giggle. Almost.

“Hey.” You say lamely.

“Hey,” he replies back. It’s awkward. This is such a bad idea. Who decided confrontation was healthier than hiding from your feelings? You’d like to prove whoever it was wrong. You sigh, slumping a little, mind wandering again to the pretty girl that is his soulmate. You don’t usually hate how you look, but in this moment you can’t help but draw comparisons. Yoongi’s pretty too after all. Giving him a curt nod, you begin to make your way to the bedroom.

“I’m sorry.”

You pause, and turn to look. He’s standing up now, blanket still around his shoulders. A closer look tells you he looks tired. His ears are devoid of earrings for the first time, hair unkempt and greasy. He’s not wearing his usual bracelets — you suspect he only did it to hide his soulmate mark from you. You must be staring at him with a dumbfounded expression because he repeats his hushed apology.

“For what?” Your voice is just as shaky.

“Everything.” He says instantly.

“Do you love her?”

“No.” his reply is instant again, and you find yourself believing him. There’s no lie in his eyes. “I met her a month after we… moved in together,” A month after the government threw the two of you together against your will.

“Do you want to try things with her? I promise I won’t come in between that, I know how wonderful it can be to—”

“No.” He says again, his voice firm. He takes a tentative step towards you.

“Why not?” You’re genuinely curious. He shrugs, almost as if he doesn’t know the answer himself.

“Don’t want to.”

“Why not?” You turn to face him completely now. The two of you glaring at each other. He’s struggling to find the words and stares up at the ceiling in defeat.

“I don’t wanna leave you alone alright?” He snaps. You scoff

“Don’t pity me. I can take care of myself just fine. Did it before you came along too.”

“Don’t act brave when you don’t have to,” his voice is softer now. “You think I don’t hear you cry to yourself at night when you think you’re alone? Or when you hang out with those friends of yours and get suddenly quiet?” You open your mouth, then close it. Yoongi had attended a total of one party with you and your friends. You were surprised he picked up on it at all.

“But she’s your soulmate,” you say, confused. He shrugs and sits back down on the couch, flicking the TV back on.

“Yeah, she’s also someone I don’t know, and someone I’m not going to bother to know” he says easily. “I’m not gonna chase after her if it means losing a friend.” You didn’t even know he considered you a friend.

“B-but that night at the club?”

“Didn’t know she’d be there,” he says. “I’d told her to never contact me again the day I met her. Just because she thinks its okay to be unfaithful to her partner doesn’t mean I think its okay too. I’m not about to live that kind of life, especially with someone who thinks something like that is okay.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You take a hesitant step forward.

“What’re you watching?”

“Sky Castle.”

“Can I— can I join you?” He nods, patting at the empty spot on the couch next to him. “What if you regret this down the line?” You ask at last, sitting down on the other end of the couch. It’s your worst fear and you can’t believe you’re voicing it. “What if one day you wake up and wish you’d gone after your soulmate instead of settling for me?”

He smiles faintly, more to himself than anything. You think this is the first time he’s probably smiled in your presence.

“I made a choice already 5 months ago. Haven’t regretted it yet,” he says simply. He doesn’t deny that he settled for you, not when it’s the cold hard truth. You settled for him too after all.

The couch feels like home for the first time since you’d moved in.

Things change again quickly after that. You and Yoongi fall back into that seamless schedule, but now there’s a little something to it. The two of you are still far from a couple, but you find yourself curling up next to him in front of the TV more often. He waits for you to eat the meals the two of you are able to eat together. The two of you even do activities outside the apartment. You meet more his friends and he meets more of yours. Its progress. You don’t mention his soulmate again, and neither does he.

You find Yoongi’s actually a really easy person to get along with. He’s funny in his own dry, sarcastic way, often saying jokes with the straightest of faces. He snappish and straightforward and has an incredibly low tolerance for bullshit. His friends baby him, probably because of his smaller stature and childlike features, and although he grumbles, he lets them. You even think he enjoys it. He smiles more in front of you now, gums on display, and you know that his cold persona in the beginning was just a front. In reality Yoongi is a shy, awkward boy that finds it hard to make friends, and so he comes off aloof, but is anything but

It also makes sense to you why Yoongi had been so firm in staying with you all those months ago. He’s steadfastly loyal, never going back on his word, and even honest to a fault. Sometimes, when you’re in one of your self-deprecating moods, you think he only chose to stay with you because of his principals, and not because he actually cared for you beyond a friend. But you’re glad he’s here nonetheless. With all your friends paired off, you’re glad you have someone to do things with. Someone who, in a way, belongs entirely to you.

You marry Yoongi exactly one year after the two of you met. Non-soulmate matches don’t have the deadline to wed as soulmates do. As long as Big Brother (as Solhee so lovingly calls the federal government) knows you’ve been matched in their system, you can take things easy and get to know one another. How sweet of them to allow that, you think to yourself sarcastically.

He looks smart in his plain black suit, hair neatly parted, showing off his forehead and well marked eyebrows. He looks older like this. You wear a simple white dress, and carry a bouquet of lilies down the aisle. Yoongi doesn’t cry with happiness at the sight of you, but his slight grin warms your heart. You know that whatever the case, you’ll be comfortable with him.

He plants a simple kiss on your lips, a formality more than anything else. You and Yoongi aren’t physical. What you share is a platonic friendship, and you try not to let your mother’s suggestive wink cloud your mind. While you like Yoongi, you’re not sure you think of him in that way, and he definitely has never thought of you as anything more than a friend. Yoongi’s hands are warm and calloused and familiar, and you think you can learn to make a home in them.

“My parents are soulmates,” you tell him on your wedding night as the two of you lie on your shared bed staring up at the ceiling. “They met when my mother was 27, my father 32.” You don’t know why you’re telling him this. You’ve changed into your comfy PJs, but Yoongi is still in his dress shirt and trousers, top buttons undone, tie loose. You want him to know you.

“Mine were too,” he hums. You turn to look at him. You’ve never met his mother. His father and brother were at the wedding, but you weren’t sure if the topic of his mother was a sensitive issue. “Until things didn’t work out and she left him.”

“Oh?” Stories like that were rare. This is your first time hearing one. Yoongi doesn’t elaborate on his mother’s life and you don’t ask, grateful that he’s entrusted you with this information.

“I guess that’s why I don’t really believe in the whole soulmate thing,” he continues, sitting up and pulling his tie off. “There’s no such thing as fate or destiny. It’s all about choices and commitment.”

His soulmate mark is visible to you now as he gets up to take his shirt off and change into something comfier. It almost looks like a tattoo, a small fish, not unlike the one he wears in his necklace. The mark is familiar to you now, but it doesn’t carry the same pain. His words are new to you, having grown up around talks of fate and destiny, but you find comfort in them. Hearing him say it like that makes your heart warm. The two of you fall asleep easily that night, facing each other, but still a few feet apart

Yoongi’s eyes flash as you enter the bar. You’d gotten dressed at Solhee’s place and she’d sat you down in her chair, eyes devious, and done your makeup. You feel uncomfortable in your skin, face heavy with everything she’d slapped on it and you pull down your skirt.

“Cheer up, you look hot as fuck,” Solhee hisses beside you as the two of you make your way to the reserved table where the rest of your friends are. “If Yoongi doesn’t get a boner after this, I don’t know anymore.” You shush her hastily, ears going red as you sit down across from your husband. He’s still staring at you, something dark evident in his eyes, and you try to ignore the roaring in your ears.

Marriage had treated you two well. You still weren’t physical, but sharing pecks before heading off to work, or cuddling and hand holding weren’t foreign concepts anymore. You weren’t sure how far Yoongi wanted to go, and you didn’t know what you yourself wanted.

Yoongi looks good today. He’s wearing his infamous dark silk button up, with the top three buttons undone so you can see the column of his throat. His hair is parted and in the dim lighting he almost looks like a feline ready to pounce on his prey. You swallow.

Your husband’s beauty is not foreign to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before after all. You’ve seen his hands as they glide over piano keys or when they pluck at his guitar. Yoongi is beautiful and you can’t deny the attraction you have grown to hold for him. Your insecurities however, prevent you from verbalizing your thoughts. There’s just no way he’d be attracted to you, not in that way. Next to Yoongi, you look painfully average.

He doesn’t say much, just sits across from you and sips on his whiskey, occasionally leaning forward to snag a nacho from the shared plate the table has ordered. You wonder if he’s angry at you about something.

Halfway through the night, the several glasses of wine you’ve drunk catch up to you and you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. You’re trying not to stumble and you’re thankful you make it to the bathroom in one piece.

When you come out of the stall and are washing your hands, you jump when you see Yoongi enter the bathroom.

“Yoongi!” You hiss. “This is the girl’s bathroom—.” Yoongi raises a well-marked eyebrow, and walks up to you in two quick strides. Before you know it, he’s crushed his lips to yours. You’re taken aback but you melt into the kiss quickly, hands roaming up to grasp onto the front of his shirt. His hands settle on your hips before moving to grab your ass. You gasp and he takes the opportunity to explore your mouth with his tongue.

Dimly you’re aware that this is technically your first real kiss. He tastes like whiskey as he pulls you closer to him, shoving a leg between your thighs. You let out a whimper, and you can feel him smile against your mouth. He lets go with a pop before latching his lips onto your neck. You throw your head back with a groan, freely grinding on his thigh now as he licks a thick stripe up your neck and nibbles at your ear.

“Let’s get out of here,” he groans, voice deep. “Before I fuck you in this disgusting bathroom.” You moan at his words and make a voice of complaint when he pulls himself away. You straighten your skirt hastily and eye him, his lips swollen and smeared with your lipstick. He grabs your arm by the wrist and pulls you out of the bathroom, out of the bar and into the crisp night air. The two of you giggle as you walk to your apartment, Yoongi stopping you periodically to steal kisses.

You unlock the door hastily, and he pushes you in, slamming the door behind him and latching onto you immediately. You moan as his hands reach your skirt and pull it up over your ass.

“God,” he groans in between kisses. Your shaky hands are unbuttoning his shirt. You push it off him. “Please tell me you want this.” He walks you towards your bedroom, shoving you onto your bed.

“Yes,” you respond instantly, breathless, looking up at him. “Yes, oh god, of course I do.” He’s climbing on top of you now, leg back between your legs. You grind onto his thigh, wild moans escaping your mouth as he sucks a bruise onto your neck, his rock-hard erection prominent against your core. Your hands find his belt and take it apart, undoing the buttons on his jeans. He sits up to push his pants off him before reaching over to tug your top over your head. You’re left in a bra and underwear, your skirt bunched up at your waist, staring at him expectantly.

That night is simple, the two of you moving in unison, finding what the other likes. Your hands disappear in his hair and he makes a home in the crook of your neck as you reach your respective highs.

You fall asleep blissful and satisfied, curled up in Yoongi’s arms.

Your relationship takes yet another turn after that moment. Now its like the two of you can’t keep your hands off of each other. Consequently you do it on every surface in the apartment. It’s funny, you think, you haven’t even said the L word to each other yet, and you’re not even sure if you do. Growing up, you were taught that one came after the other, but your relationship with Yoongi is anything but conventional.

At night, he holds you, curling his body around you like a child. You can hear his heartbeat this way, and nights soon become the things you look forward to the most.

It still doesn’t make the relationship easy. You argue, slam doors, ignore texts, but at the end of the day when you crawl into bed, apologies evident on your tongue, he pulls you in and kisses the crown of your head wordlessly.

You and Yoongi are solid; a team, almost. You think you work well together. Growing up you were taught that finding your soulmate meant ringing bells, and puzzle pieces feeling like they were slotting into place and you spent your entire adolescence craving that. But whatever this is that you share with Yoongi is special, in its own way. There are no sparks, no flashing lights, and definitely no bells. Now you know what Solhee meant all those years ago about the feeling of coming home. There isn’t any other way to describe this feeling.

There are many more turning points in your relationship that you look back on fondly — the day you told him you loved him is one you remember vividly. It was nothing special, just casual conversation over dinner. He’d given you a blinding smile and returned the sentiment.

“Do you regret it?” You ask, out of nowhere. You’re washing dishes and he’s beside you helping you dry them.

“Hm?”

“Choosing me, back then. Do you regret it?” You know the answer already. Gone are the many months you spent belittling yourself. It’s been a few years with Yoongi now and you know exactly where you stand with him.

“I wonder sometimes,” he hums. “How differently things would’ve played out.” Don’t we all, you muse to yourself. You could’ve been matched with anyone but somehow it was Min Yoongi that stood in front of you on that cold, snowy that day, unsmiling and unfamiliar. It feels like a lifetime ago. When you look at him now, he’s heartbreakingly familiar. You know him like the back of your hand. “But there hasn’t been a single day where I’ve regretted you.” You grin and poke his cheek with your soapy hand.

“Go wake Sunhee up,” you laugh. “It’s time to feed her.”

“Yes ma’am,” he tells you dutifully and you watch as he shuffles into the second smaller bedroom. Gone is the studio equipment, replaced with pastel green walls and a small wooden crib Yoongi had crafted himself. Sometimes, when you look in there, you can still see a dark-haired boy with his eyes closed, playing on that old brown piano.

#kwritersworldnet #bangtanarmynet #btswriterscollective #min yoongi #yoongi fluff #bts #bts fluff #yoongi #suga #suga fluff

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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 4 years ago

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New York High Rise {2}

Chapter summary; The time of the parley is finally here. You arrive at the club you and Steve decided the conference would be held. During your time there you don’t only get a face for the new mob boss, you also get a taste of his personality.

Pairing: Steve x reader (mafia!au)

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Chapter 2/5

Word; 8k

Warnings; mentions of drugs, alcohol and nicotine use, mentions of canon-type violence

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

A/N: So, like... this chapter wasn’t meant to become so long but it did anyways. hehe, sorry for that one. And also, I decided that this, now after starting to write it, that it will be (at least) five chapters rather than the four I planned it to be. PSA: If you want to be tagged in the series, jus send me an ask!

SERIES MASTERLIST

"We're here, Miss", you looked up at your chauffeur, who already was looking back at you in the rearview mirror.

You'd been so in your own headspace the whole drive here, to where you and Steven would meet, that you hadn't noticed you arrived. There was definitely a reason, which was that you'd done everything from flicking through the complete portfolio, now including the newest document as well, that T'Challa and Shuri had put together for you about the latest Canine boss. Even your contract you'd looked over once more. Perhaps you could call it a compulsive habit of yours rather than simple caution, seeing how it always was something you felt you needed to do, even though neither of the current documents would reveal any new fact or fault.

Seemingly it was something Mr Davon, which your chauffeur's name was, had noticed regarding how he hadn't engaged in the usual conversation the two of you commonly partook in. And by how he now looked knowingly at you, confirmed it.

"Thank you, Davon", you nodded to the grey-haired man in the front seat for notifying you that you'd arrived at the club. The man in question simply smiled before opening his door and stepped out.

Despite that you insisted on doing it yourself, you knew the usual custom of him walking around the car to open the door for you would follow his exit from the vehicle. And the moment you finished gathering the files you'd read and put them into your handbag, the sound of someone unlocking your door came.

As the door swung open, you instantly heard the sound and low thumping of music, and as soon as your eyes pulled from the car's interior to instead look outside, you were met by the lazy radiance of neon. Unconsciously, you felt your nose scrunch at the scene.

Just because this property laid in one of the few neutral territories in New York didn't mean you hadn't already scouted the site. It may be no dingy and low life hood club, the pay to enter price that was quite expensive taking care of that problem. Thus, most of those coming here weren't ordinary people. It was those for which money wasn't a problem or had enough connections to be let inside. Consequently, there was no line of people outside the entrance. Still, you loathed the idea of meeting Brooklyn's Golden boy here.

Nevertheless, you needed to admit it was better than the place Steven originally had suggested, which for a fact had been in the heart of Brooklyn. It had been a hard no to enter his grounds for a conference. The same the opposite way. That was you now found yourself in the Northern part of Queens.

"Everything alright, Miss?" Your eyes snapped to Davon, who expectantly looked over the top of the door. Patiently waiting for you to get out of the car.

"Always", you flaunted a lighthearted smile, able to do so because of the adrenaline that slowly started to settle in. It always happened before each crucial business meeting. Nothing new. Hence, you did nothing but take a deep breath to contain yourself slightly as you stepped out of the car.

There hadn't been a need for a jacket when you left your office. And though the evening air was slightly colder and served a gentle breeze, the late June wheater could still be deemed warm. Therefore, your skin didn't prickle, nor did you feel chilly, while watching one of your trusted guards, which just now had talked with the bouncer, walk towards you.

"What did he say?" You asked the big man stopping in front of you. Joshua, your most entrusted bodyguard since day one, looked dapper in the darker clothes he wore. Most of the time, he wore opaque colours. Goes with the job, the brunette always says. But, the attire itself was usually laid-back, now though he didn't wear a t-shirt or jeans. Instead, the suit you'd gifted him.

"Said that the Canines been here for the last hour", your eyebrows raised at that. You may regard punctuality as one of the keys to success. As well as to get people to view you as prepared rather than tardy. But one hour ahead of the scheduled time? That wasn't punctuality. It was impatience. Steven thought this, or rather his, deal would be done and over with swiftly, it seemed.

"Very well", you opted to say, hearing the car door close behind you when you took a few steps forward.

"I wish you good luck, Miss", you looked over your shoulder, finding Mr Davon having retaken his position by the driver's door, a kind smile on his lips. The man always was polite and wished you a favourable outcome for each meeting you went to.

"I assure you when we see each other next time, that good luck will certainly have been what ensured me my deal", you responded, earning an amused chuckle from Davon.

"I sure hope so. I'll be waiting with bated breath until you come back and tell me the good news", your smile turned a little more genuine towards the man as you nodded at him a final time before following Joshua towards the club's entrance.

Your heels clicked as you moved forwards over the pavement. Even when you stepped into the marbled and luxuriously decorated foyer, did the sound echo.

There was no question that this club wasn't for everyone. If not noticeable from the entrance hall you walked through - the personnel working there simply throwing glances your way before quickly looking away - it was apparent by the nature of the club. The clean, near shining from how polished it was, environment, along with the absence of the pungent and soured smell of alcohol, served as a constant reminder.

And though the marbled floor didn't turn into a sticky carpet when Joshua lead you further in, preferably a dark tiled floor, it became clear you closed in on the actual club part of the building. The sound of your heels faded as the music increased. Quite promptly, you started to feel the bass vibrate through the floor. Likewise, could you make out the lyrics of the songs.

Past your bodyguard, you saw how the dimmed lighting you walked through were replaced by those of neons. They reflected off the floor, the polished metal features on counters and the leatherlike seatings you spotted further ahead.

Your eyes, however, were pulled from trying to observe the area ahead to Joshua when he glanced over his shoulder. It was his silent way, regarding how the music neared the louder decibel, of asking you if everything still felt fine. Regardless that you often went with his gut-feeling if a situation was safe or not, Joshua always checked with you. Chiefly, because he knew your instinct was as good as his. You'd kept yourself alive as much as he had, to be honest.

And regarding how you didn't felt anything was off at the moment, you curtly nodded to ensure him to continue. This was a parley, after all. And, on top of that, it was pure commons sense to not draw weapons on neutral grounds. Hence, no need to worry. Yet.

When once more walking forwards, you now entered the main space.

Immidetly you regarded the multiple bar counters, the dancefloor and the tables, including the people located at those places. Albeit the light was dim and the pink, blue and purple neons contorted the colours of clothes, you spotted no dress under the price tag of a couple of thousand dollars nor any suit. You even guessed the multiple glasses filled with drinks scored as ridiculously high.

Although, it wasn't to discern those things you surveyed the room. It was to find allies and foes. The former was easier. Regarding how you not only knew who your own women along the panthers were, but also because they were the sole ones meeting your gaze as your eyes roamed the space. The latter, though, was trickier. Not only because men, already surrounded by one or multiple women, lingered their eyes over you. Even a few ladies did the same thing. More so due to the fact foes were meant to blend in.

"One in the right corner, standing with the blonde. Another two, respectively sitting with the pal in a white shirt and lounging at the bar".

You'd noticed Joshua had fallen into your step, so he preferably walked alongside you then a step ahead. Although, you hadn't felt how he dipped his head, for others rather insignificantly, but which for you enabled to hear his voice as he spoke. It was an efficient way to let him communicate with you without others noticing. And though he hadn't explained what he informed you about, it was enough for you to know.

One more time, you dragged your eyes across the room, albeit not stopping significantly longer on the people the man beside you'd pointed out. Merely to hide the fact you knew, notwithstanding the conversations they were having with their company, most of their attention was on you.

"The rest?" You looked away from the scene you'd lingered by to instead look to your side. The brunette beside you had still his head tipped slightly towards you to hear if you said anything, even if his gaze was set straight forward.

"I believe they're ahead, somewhat of an equal amount watching the corridor and him", the swift action of indicating forwards made your eyes trail from Joshua's profile to look forth.

The two of you had almost wandered half the length of the circular room and up a couple of stairs, but it seemed you wouldn't need to do a whole lap to reach the end, only climb up the last fleet of steps to the uppermost part of the room. Thus now, not more than ten or so feet before you, there was an opening in the wall.

It looked like the beginning of a corridor, one which had two men stationed by it. Even though you instantly saw they must belong to Steven's troupe, the way they lounged at the hallway entrance made them look more like fellows wanting to distance themselves from the main room of the party than bodyguards. However, the way their conversation died and eyes instantly snapped to watch you when you came closer gave them away for anyone who may have looked.

Joshua now stepped in front of you, seemingly holding a brief and tense dialogue with the two men. The three of them were all the same build, tall and sturdy. Although, you didn't feel small among them. Nor did you when Joshua motioned for you to follow him in between the two chaps.

You held your head high, knowing how much these guys ever stared at you with a burning rivalry that you never would fight them. You would fight their boss.

When you headed down the corridor, with no doors adorning the walls, you could hear multiple voices, possibly one which belonged to Steven, resound lowly from the open entrance at the end.

You supposed something adorned the walls, or they'd simply been built in such a way that the further you progressed, the more they blocked the sound of music. Otherwise, you wouldn't have heard the merry laughs or chatter, nor the return of the click of your heels, when you neared the door standing ajar.

You began to smell a sweet scent as Joshua stopped in the doorway to the room. Thus, you nearly concentrated more on the smell than the way the room fell quiet. Lucky for you, you'd already encountered the aroma. Otherwise, you would've been bothered by not being able to place it.

It wasn't the aroma of a women's perfume nor food. You knew what it was. The godfathers always offered you one of the rolled tobacco's when visiting. And, the moment your dark-haired bodyguard stepped to the side to let you step over the threshold of the room, you immediately found a golden casket, opened and displaying the finest of cigars, standing on the edge of the table inside. However, your eyes didn't linger there for long. Instead, they trailed to the man you were about to meet, who was one of many already watching you, yet the sole one sitting down and smoking a cigar.

Steven Grant Rogers.

You almost slipped and showed how taken aback you were, not because of the dominating aura exuding from the man in the leather armchair, such things you were plenty used to. But no, it was as of a fact his looks.

He was young, much younger than you'd thought. If to decide by his appearance, Steven must've been born close after his father's death. You would never have guessed when knowing of the age his father passed and concerning how he operated his empire and the rivalry against you. From this, the man definitely fitted the older generation. But no, it seemed he apparently didn't belong there.

"Nice to finally have a face for the man that's been testing my patience lately", you broke the silence that had covered the room like a lid. Though you awaited the same reaction you would've had to such a comment - which would've been nothing more than a smile regarding how you couldn't bother to display any prominent reply - Steven did the complete opposite.

He chuckled, the sound a deep rumble of amusement. You almost wondered if his voice would be equally as low or if it all was a consequence of smoking the cigar he for the moment held limply between his finger. Apparently, you would get an answer to that quicker than you imagined. And the answer was his voice was like that of molasses, deep and rich.

"I took the liberty to prepare a drink for you", the Canine boss motioned, with a nod, towards the identical leather armchair on the opposite side of the table and the small stand beside it. You spotted the same crystal glass you had at home resting upon it, with a deep amber liquid in it. Whiskey. "Would you have preferred on the rocks?"

Your eyes tracked back to Steven, who currently reached for his own glass. Which similar to yours stood on the small table beside his seat. He made the small move without averting his gaze from you.

"I actually prefer it neat", he cocked his head as you said this.

His hair was not cut short or trimmed neatly like all those men before him. Instead, it reached the nape of his neck. No pomade or other product kept it out of his face. It simply looked like he'd ran his hands through it once and for some magical reason, it had stayed like that without looking greasy. But it was because he seemingly hadn't put any product in that one of the strands, shifting from brown to dark blonde, had fallen slightly out of order when he'd moved his head. Nevertheless, seeing as it had done nothing but come to rest against his cheekbone, Steven paid it no attention.

"What suggests it's neat?" This time, you cocked your head.

"I simply presumed you didn't take yours any other way", as you stated this, a smile began to ghost the man's lip.

"Be my guest, then", Steven replied, raising a hand to gesture towards the empty armchair opposite him.

You simply smiled at the invitation, walking forwards with back straight and head held high, no matter you were the sole one making a sound in the room and all the eyes were on you. Even as you sat down in the leather chair, you didn't wince at how the material groaned when finally being forced to change its state of unoccupied.

To be sitting opposite the man that you for days had prepared to meet was totally different than what you'd expected. Not only because you awaited an older, a much older heir of the Canine Empire, also because the man now watching you with blue eyes that pierced your stare back evoked a challenge.

You understood why Shuri thought this would be interesting now, even though you still found this whole matter nothing but bothersome. Steven could possibly be the sole person to actually put up a hurdle for you.

"What do you say, should we let our fellow companions leave so we can start?" Even though the man had stated it as a question, he waved his fingers directly afterwards, dismissing his guards as if it had been a command for you to follow. And therefore, you simply leaned further into the back of the leather seat, one leg hooking over the other. Making your heeled shoe relaxed in the air.

You would not follow his command that easy.

"Not that clever to send out your guards before the opposing part agrees", you regarded how your words made one of Steven's bodyguards stop on the threshold out of the room. The brunette with shoulder-length hair didn't stay there for long, though, concerning how his boss's minimal nod served as enough of command to continue out.

"Concerning this is a parley, I doubt you would dare kill me", there was a mockery in his voice that you disliked, despite your reasoning earlier had been the same.

"Doubt it", his eyes narrowed when you said this. Moreover, he also deposited both his glass of whiskey and his cigar in its hold. The smoke from the rolled tobacco whirled up in a thin line from the table. Instead, then a cloud from his lips as previously.

"I know you don't like to get your hands dirty", Steven said, the hand which had rested on the armrest coming to stroke his bearded jaw. Despite the facial hair, you knew there laid a sharp edge underneath it, separating his throat and face. Hence, his beard followed that line with an undeceiving definition. "So why do I own the pleasure?"

"I never said I would be the one pulling the trigger", even if I dreamt to, you thought to yourself as you looked back at Joshua. Ever the guard he was, his eyes only momentarily shifted from the mob boss facing you to meet your glance before he vigilantly went back to observing Steven. You looked back at the Canine whose eyes seemingly had trailed to watch your bodyguard the same instance you had but by now snapped back to you. "And not even you, as the parasite that you are, deserves a bullet coming from my gun".

Instantly you saw the tick enter Steven's jaw when he clenched it. You very well knew that your choice of word for him would push his buttons. Like every last godfather, he was a prideful man. And like you'd played them like strings ever since reaching the top, so you would do to the man in front of you. That was why you raised your hand from tapping on the armrest of your seat.

You heard the move Joshua did at your action, even hinted at it in your peripheral. Although, instead of concentrating on the gun that he'd unholstered and pointed Steven's way, your eyes stayed on the later mentioned man.

Presumably, the mob boss was staring down the barrel of the gun. But there was no frown etched upon his forehead, displaying a worry. Nor were there any tenseness in his body as he languidly sank further back in the armchair, legs splayed wide and arms resting on top of the armrest.

Steven slowly turned then, from watching the gun aimed at him, to meet your gaze.

"Do it. You'll just get all my allies over you".

"Let them come. I'll win. After all, you requested this meeting when you knew you were about to lose", another jab at Steven's pride, one he took personally this time, you saw it by the glint entering his eyes. But, rather than putting him out of his misery and ridding yourself of a thorn in your side. You dropped your hand completely rather than flick your index and long finger down, which was the signal to shoot.

"But, seeing as I'm already humble enough to give you the chance to meet me rather than grinding you to dust, I'll continue on that track for the moment", you hummed while you heard Joshua sheath his gun again.

"How grateful I am", the stinge of terseness was evident in Steven's voice as he spoke, but you paid it no mind, just gave him the slight raise of your eyebrows as if to convey a silent 'as you should'. "And now the guard, so we can start".

You'd gotten your point across to him. Therefore, you didn't hesitate to order Joshua to wait outside during the negotiation this time.

"Are you...", you didn't let the brunette finish his sentence before you shot him a look, which was enough for Joshua to understand you were indeed sure. You followed the back of your trusted guard, who trailed the same path as Steven's had a few minutes prior. And not until he disappeared and instead gave the view of a now-closed door did you redirect your eyes back to the Canine boss.

For some reason, it felt like it got lighter in the room, not simply as in the heavy silence of multiple added presences. More so that the lamps, not the same as the neon ones outside, shone brighter. Perhaps, it was because only you and Steven were left, giving it a vaster opportunity to spread.

It made you remark and notice even further details about the mob boss. Not only did it lighten his eyes, but it also made the shifting of brown and dark blonde locks contrast considerably with what he wore.

You didn't talk about a slightly too large suit, which you often refrained from remarking how ill-fitted they were to the godfathers, seeing as they were the sole ones wearing them. No, Steven... you knew he'd chosen to wear what he did to make an impression. Why else was there any need for a three-piece suit, all in black on top of that? Maybe the same reason as you'd chosen your attire, power. He wanted to show he was the top dog. Only, he was forgetting that if he were no bear, the felines were amongst the apex predators, no canine in sight.

For the passing moments, neither of you said anything, simply sat there watching each other. Observing each other.

He was a man fit for the role of a mob boss. Thus Steven had that aura one simply possessed or not. He evokes the need to be respected, to be feared. Therefore, you guessed leading came naturally for him. And that his physics -which you discerned to be great, by the how he almost dwarfed the armchair he sat in- only was a measurement to further establish his status as alpha.

In other words, he was the one who your eyes would draw to first when stepping into a room and also the last when bidding goodbye.

"Are you impatient?" Your jaws clenched when the canine boss broke the silence saying this. As well did your nails, which had been rapping against the leathered armrest, stop when he tipped his head in such way he told you he noticed the movement.

"I am not you, Steven", you retorted, which simply made the corner of his mouth quirk upwards. You raised a brow at his reaction. The amount of amusement and overall cockiness he returned your comments with steadily made you, despite what you said, rather impatient to get this over with. Yet, it seemed Steven had no hurry whatsoever now when you were waiting for him to begin.

He looked away from you, the smirk tugging in the corner of his lips remaining there as he reached for the whiskey glass he previously had put down. Your gaze, however, didn't stray from the man opposite you. Consequently, making your eyes trail his profile while he took a sip of the alcohol, savouring the taste by the looks of it.

When he lowered the glass, swirling its contents gently, his gaze found yours. He didn't remark how your eyes never ventured from him and around the room to inspect it further, not really that it was much to see.

"Call me Steve", he said, which made your eyebrows lift. Either he offered you a nickname, or it was just what most called him. Still, both were unusual seeing the setting the two of you were in. "And to sate your wonder why I ain't starting this meeting, we'll begin as soon as one last member joins us", you felt a tenseness stiffen your body when Steven, Steve, so nonchalantly had told you this. You may have underestimated the canine boss somewhat. Because seemingly, he was blatantly good at reading people. Perhaps that was why you compelled your voice to sound even more indifferent than before when responding.

"Thought you said this was a private affair".

"Oh, it is, our entertainment won't hear a thing", not even before you could think that you feared the worst from his statement did the sound of a door opening catch your attention.

You noticed in your peripheral how this time it was your turn to be the single one averting your eyes, concerning how you felt Steve continued observing you when you looked away from him. Though you despised the equal amount of curiosity and caution that had made you look towards the entrance at the moment, it was done and you couldn't more than proceed to look at the person now entering the room.

It was not any sort of guard, concerning how the man entering wasn't of the same build as either Joshua, or any of Steve's men. On top of that, he seemed incredibly timid, not only by how silently he tried closing the door behind him but also by the hurried steps he approached the end of your table with.

"Mr Rogers", the man nodded at the mob boss when close enough. "Miss Y/L/N", he quickly repeated the greeting your way while completely stopping at the end of the table. "I'll just prepare the set-up for you and..."

"Good", Steve answered before the man finished, effectively cutting him off. You felt the side of your nose twitch by the dark blonde man's blunt way of stopping the club worker from talking. Steve certainly lived up to his reputation of doing as he pleased with no regard for others.

You probably would've huffed if you didn't already know the Canine boss would understand why. And, to be honest, you tried reducing the number of remarks leaving him, concerning how the meeting hadn't even started and you were fed up with his persona already.

So, instead of commenting on Steve's attitude, you watched the man who had entered the room put up a metal case on the table.

You hadn't noticed it earlier, even though the crate, made of aluminium, was quite eye-catching. But now, when you had, you knew before it was opened and revealed rows and rows of tokens as well as a set of cards that it had been a poker set.

This time, you couldn't help but cock an eyebrow, unimpressed by Steve's attempt of entertainment. Maybe you were more old school than you thought, seeing how the Canine boss kept surprising you with his way of handling a conference.

"Poker?" You questioned out loud when swiftly glancing up at Steve, who, while you looked away, had reached for his cigar, puffing on it slightly.

"Hope you know how to play", he said amusedly, blowing out the lungful of smoke he inhaled right before answering you. It travelled across the table but evaporated before reaching you, albeit the sweet scent still did.

You refrained from answering him. Simply settled on switching which leg crossed which, while grasping the whiskey glass.

The russet liquid was almost soothing in its taste, despite the burning sensation in the back of your throat after swallowing it. It was sweet at the same time that it was spicy, giving your tastebuds the imagination that caramel and cinnamon dwelled on them. You relished in the taste while following the man setting up the oncoming poker game.

He'd placed the dealer chip before himself and was currently shuffling the cards. It was clear it was his profession by how smoothly he did it.

Hence, not until he seemed satisfied did he put them down beside the box and redirected his eyes to flicker between you and Steve.

"How many chips do you desire?" The dealers gaze had locked with yours as he asked the question, yet before you could answer him, you were cut off short.

"We'll take ten thousand worth of chips each", you glanced at Steve as he said this.

"Deciding to become a gentleman all of a sudden?" You remarked while the dealer started to stack the number of tokens the man opposite you had requested. A tug tilted the dark-blonde mob boss mouth upwards into a smirk.

"I'm always a gentleman".

"A gentleman would've offered a higher amount", his smile dropped. "This was a forced act of charity".

"This is nothing more than entertainment to pass our time during our meeting", he got defensive. You heard it by how sharply he worded the sentence.

"Who said passing time should be done cheaply?" It was clear you didn't want Steve to answer, by how you neglected him of any further attention by looking elsewhere.

While your and Steve's short conversation had taken place, you'd missed how efficiently the dark-haired man had dealt out not only each of your chips but also your individual pair of cars. Even the aluminium case was off the table.

"Are you ready to begin?" You only met the dealer's eyes momentarily before looking at Steve.

"If the gentleman is, so am I".

"You heard the lady", as much mockery that you'd accentuated the title aimed at him, as much did he put on the one he returned to you. You didn't take ill, simply peeked at your cards, a two and eight, both spades, before starting the first round of betting by chucking two hundred worth of chips into the pot.

The dealer nodded, understanding the first game had begun. Thus, looking expectantly at the Canine boss for his move. Steve looked at his cards before calling as well. Meaning the dealer could show the first three cards you would play after.

The flop was turned up quickly despite the awkward placing the man had at the end of the table. Seven of hearts, two of clubs and eight of spades was the first batch of cards. So far, you only sat on a pair of eights. Not great.

"So, Steve, tell me now when our entertainment has started, why have I bothered to come here?" You shortly diverted your eyes from the game to grab your glass of whiskey. Once you looked upon the table again, the fourth street card was presented, queen of diamonds. You called.

"I'm here to offer you a deal", as expected, you thought to yourself and withstood the urge to roll your eyes, not solely because of what he'd said but also that he raised the bet. He was sure he would win.

"Speak up then", you spoke after sipping your drink.

You knew the slight twitch in the corner of his mouth wasn't from what one could read as impatience from you -which it wasn't, just a command- but rather that the last card turned for this round much have matched what he desired. And the card had been the queen of spades. Thus, instead of following his raised bet with a call or even a further raise, you checked. Steve called.

When the dealer confirmed the round was over and it was time for showdown, you and the mob boss opposite you both flipped your cards visible for the other. As you guessed, he'd won and it was on queens, three of a kind.

While the dealer pushed the pot of this game towards Steve and quickly went on with collecting the cards and reshuffling them, the Canine finally looked at you.

"Concerning how you ventured into my territory the last few months, I want you to pull back all your dealings with everyone on my side of New York, no matter how big or small", you cocked a brow at Steve's demand.

"You were the one overstepping the border to my area first. I only answered", you reminded the mob boss while the next poker-round began. You had better cards this time, a jack and a nine.

"And that's my deal, sweetheart", he began once he'd followed your call and once more, the flop was turned. You didn't even pay attention to the cards, as your eyes snapped up to him and nose scrunched at the nickname he used for you. "If you don't pull back your advances in Brooklyn, I'll continue painting your streets red".

It was how brazenly he stated that he wouldn't stop the killing that made your jaws clench. If this hadn't been a conversation eye to eye, preferably over the phone where you could mute yourself if needed, you would've put down your whiskey glass a lot less gently. But now, only the awaited echo of crystalline glass settling on the marble side-table sounded.

"So you want me to pull back my offence? Solely for you to stop the killing? Not pull back your forces from Manhattan, just stop picking off my allies?" You questioned him, instinctively checking to not bother with the game.

"You heard it", was all Steve said as he followed your act of checking, consequently making the last card become turned without any further bet placed than the initial one.

You continued observing the dark-blonde man. His eyes, albeit the light blue could trick you, conveyed no humour. So he was serious.

You didn't know if that made things better or simply made you lose all and any hope in a man that tried running an empire this way. You'd expected a poor deal to come from him. But this, this wasn't just bad. It was ridiculous.

You definitely hadn't been playing to win this round. Which, when you absentmindedly called before the showdown, became apparent. You got two pair on your jack and nine. Commonly, you would've bet a little more on that. Although seeing how Steve got four of a kind with his ten's, whatever you didn't do wouldn't have mattered. Your hand wasn't enough to win.

"Do you think that's how you run an empire?" You broke the silence quite harshly. At least it was enough for the man distributing the pot and collecting the cards to jerk slightly. But you didn't care about him. Closer to the truth was that you all but ignored his shuffling in your peripheral. What you concentrated on was the rise of Steve's eyebrow at your remark.

"It works, doesn't it. Or do you have any pointers on how you think I should run it, sweetheart?" The dog had really crawled under your skin, as Shuri had said.

"You shouldn't run it as your father", you wanted to snap at him. Instead, you levelled your voice, forced it to not turn shrill with agitation. And it struck a nerve, not his pride but a nerve. It was clear by how Steve remained leaned forward after having inspected his new set of cards. "Your visionary is old-school. To remain in control and run an empire, you need to be able to read the future. At the moment, all you have is just a dirty business".

"Dirty? You ain't really the cleanest angel in this world when picking of my men", you definitely had struck a nerve, seeing how his voice had become thicker but more powerful.

However, despite Steve's try to show his authority, you waved of his clap-back dismissively while leaning forwards and not more than tipping the edge of your own cards to see the suit and symbol. A queen and an Ace, both decorated with the sigil of a spade. You withheld showing the amusement towards both the Canine boss and his outburst and the feeling of finally having a game that would be yours to win.

"I've never said I was. But, even those killing on my order is smooth and precise. No tracks. Which is quite contrasting to your manslaughter", thanks to Steve already resting his forearms on his knees, the mob boss swift move of following your raised bet even before the first three cards was presented went fast.

You couldn't help but glance up at him for a short second before looking down again to the new card the dealer turned. A smirk now threateningly close to spreading. Because what you'd seen was a pair of blue eyes growing darker than any brown eyes ever been. And those eyes were set on you rather than the first poker game you had any genuine interest in.

"You've got your point across. You ain't ready to put a bullet between someone's eyes to clear a hurdle..."

"Clearly, I haven't gotten my point across if you misunderstood it", you cut Steve off halfway through his sentence, one you knew would've ended in a demand for a yes or no answer on the deal he oh so kindly offered.

Before looking up at him, you made your move in the poker game, a call. Steve, who still had his eyes trained on you, chucked a random amount of chips into the pot, resulting in not only a three doubled raise than what the original call had been but also for the round to continue to the last card.

"What I meant, Steve, is that I'm ready to fight for what I've created. Though, compared to you, I know people are resources, not constant hurdles", you said, eyes tracking down to the last card now resting upon the table. "Together with this, the cogs upholding your empire are getting rusty and soon won't be able to be changed at all because the model is too old. You invest in nightclubs and any other category of clubs where one can drink themselves stupid, along with other businesses that even I, who run a syndicate, frown upon. It ain't sustainable, so why would I ever seal a deal with you, knowing your empire will crumble in a few years? Give me one good reason".

You didn't need to look up and away from the table to see how the Canine boss fisted his hands, that you saw anyways.

"You've just pointed out why you should seal the deal while you can", this, however, made your gaze turn upwards to meet his. "You may be ready to fight, but how dirty? I invest in things that make money. I pave my own way instead of hesitantly following an already existing one. I'll be the one surviving because if something ever malfunctions in my empire, I won't be put in a situation unfamiliar to me, unlike you. If your perfectly built skyscraper suddenly gets hits by an earthquake, it ain't built to withstand it".

"As I said, give me one good reason and I'll even entertain the thought of considering your deal", you let yourself remain unfazed by Steve's previous threat. Because even though he hit his head on some points, what he'd said wasn't reason, just intimidation.

"It's the best decision for your little empire, sweetheart". The condescending manner he said it this in made you, even though your blood steadily began to boil by the audacity of yet another wealthy and power-hungry mob boss to speak down to you, simply glance down at the two cards laying face down before you.

There was no need to look at them once more. You wouldn't forget a queen of spades and ace of spades existed there. You would especially not forget it when ten of spades, jack of spades and the king of spades rested among the five upturned community cards.

"If you're brave enough to call me sweetheart, are you brave enough to go all-in?" You pushed all your chips into the pot as you said this. When looking up at Steve after that, the first thing you were met by was the cocky look on his face. It was all created by that quirk of his brow, the proud look in his eyes telling you how wrong your decision had been. And that he, without hesitation, mimicked your move.

However, you knew the Canine boss lost all the money he'd put into the game the moment he did. When he put his hand down, showing the straight flush of hearts, numbered from king to nine, it was simply a fact.

"Show me your cards, sweetheart", you only tipped your head, flipping your cards to lay flat on the table, open for the man opposite you to see.

There was no need for you to watch your royal flush. Thus, you simply watched the change on Steve's face. His smirk shifted into a thin line. His arrogant appearance trickled away in a ripple, initiated from the twitch by the side of his nose. Your victory didn't only irk him. He loathed it.

"You're rash and impatient and forgets to think when your temper takes over. You see, Steve, that's why you may win the first few matches, but not the league. So, should I really listen to you speaking about what's best for me when you can't even win a little game of poker?" You caught how his eyes snapped up to glare at you but paid it no mind as you turned towards the dealer.

"Could you collect the chips and transfer them to cash?" You asked the dark-haired men, who, with a swift nod, answered your question.

"What's your name?" The man glanced at Steve, obviously noting that the one who'd hired him for the evening wasn't in the best mood.

You had heard the rumour of Steve being a charmer, which settled deals easy most of the time. However, you also heard that the Canine boss was quick, if not quicker, to take out the gun if his charm didn't do the job. Regarding how cautious this man was, whatever the dark-blonde man still glaring daggers at you had done to rent either his service or this whole club hadn't contained faith, simply fear.

That was why you didn't push any further for a name.

"Very well, keep the money as a tip", the dealer swiftly snapped his head to look at you, eyes wide.

"B-but..."

"I have no use for it and seeing as you did a good job, you earned it", your voice, albeit softer and not as foul as when directed at Steve, didn't leave any room for discussion. This the dark-haired man also understood, as he gave you a small smile as thanks and hastily collected the tokens.

Within a minute, the former dealer had arranged all the chips that he would trade for the hefty amount they were worth, along with the rest of the poker material he'd had with him. And once done, he only left with an appreciative nod towards you, rather than both you and Steve as he'd done when first entering.

It was in the echo of the door shutting that you finally looked at Steve again. His eyes were heated, but you couldn't but smile at him instead of answering with a similar scowl.

"Steven, like this poker game shown, not only was my hand valued higher than yours but so is my empire. I do not hear any bargain coming from you about how you should've won this game or how we should meet in a middle that favoured you more than me, despite that your hand was a straight flush while mine was a royal flush. So, why are you doing it with my empire?" You uncrossed your legs, leaning forward similarly as he had done for the past minutes. "Rules are rules, are they not? And if we follow the rules of poker, that means the highest rank of hands is set to win. Therefore, I'm the one who should go winning out of this deal you try to settle with me too", he was grinding his jaws and you guessed his mind was grinding equally as hard.

"You seem to forget that luck is a big part of the game". Steve's voice was more a gruff sound than anything else.

"Oh, but I haven't", you hummed, leaning backwards until your back leaned into the spine of your leathered stool.

Reaching for your whiskey glass, you simply held it for a minute, an index finger tapping against the side, while letting your eyes glide over the Canine boss.

"You see, your success is all about luck. You're an only child, your father's golden boy. Of course, you get to inherit the empire he established before you because he believes you'll be able to rule it with the same grace as he. Why you took so long to step into the role, though, is a mystery. But I didn't mind, seeing as you left room for more suitable individuals to take The Canines former position", he leaned backwards again when you said this and you knew it was a reaction connected solely to your words. Once again, you'd struck a weak spot because he remained silent as his features became pinched and hands gripped the armrests.

"Compared to you, though, my route has been tough, self-learnt and mastered. Upon that, I have a cover, I got money from working and through business choices those sums only raised. You may be the luck of the game, but I am the one with the skill".

"Only because the rest of the world thinks your fortune is a lucky investment, everyone in this world knows the truth, no matter how much you try to hide it. Your money is as dirty as mine", the octave Steve's voice had dropped into to display whatever threat or resentment he held for you at the moment, made you chuckle rather than shy away from him.

"But I try to wipe the dirt off of them at least".

"What? With your charity galas to raise money for those who need it? It's the biggest joke I ever heard".

It was always amusing to hear someone resent your charity galas because you believed anyone could and would hold them if they simply wanted to. But to take up a gun, shoot someone and then hide was more manageable than to execute a double-sided play.

"It may be a joke to you, Rogers, but I keep my facade up to ensure my and my empires survival. You have already crumbled by not caring how much blood that drips in the wake of your name", you stated. When continuing, you cocked your head to the side as if you spoke to a child. "So you know what, the best thing you can do for your empire is to sign my deal", while you'd talked, you also reached for the folder containing the contract. And, it was with a blasé edge you threw it before him on the table.

"If you don't sign it and have it delivered to me, I know you've declined my offer and this war will be ended in another way", you took a last sip of th whiskey before putting it down on the table separating you rather then the side table it was meant to stand on. "Great doing business with you, Steven".

You didn't wait for a reply nor refusal before you rose from the leather armchair with your handbag in your grasp. Walking towards the door and the impending sound of the clubs blaring music, you left the mob boss that had dared to challenge you behind.

Series taglist:

@fanfic-love-show @gabycamargo22 @fckdeusername

#steve x reader #mafia!Steve x mafia!reader #mafia!steve rogers #mob boss steve rogers #mob!boss steve #mob!boss au #mafia!au #mafia!reader #enemies to lovers #steve x reader angst #steve x reader teasing #steve fanfic #steve fanfiction #MCU #MCU fic #marvel #mcu fanfiction #marvel series #fanfiction series

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pretchatta · 4 years ago

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swoon june day 29: (ballroom) dancing

continued from day 21: fake/pretend relationship

rating: general; kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 1350 words

---

The gala was in full swing around them. A band played from one end of the huge ballroom as gowns of all colours swirled over the dancefloor, precious gemstones glittering under the soft lights. Guests who weren’t dancing were talking and mingling around the edges of the room, taking every opportunity to make important connections or simply show off their wealth. It was a sickening display of the extreme inequality that was not just present but practically encouraged by the Empire.

Kanan stood with Hera to one side, each holding a drink and surveying the room. Ignoring the fact that the event could have housed and fed one of the many small villages displaced by the Emperor’s demands for more land, it was a magnificent affair. Towering columns of pale blue stone held up the arched ceiling over the curved white dancefloor. All around it, small hovering droids threaded their way through the crowd, each mounted with a gold-edged white tray. Some carried drinks or canapés, while others collected empty glasses.

So far, none of the guests present were the person they were here for. Kanan didn’t have a description of their target, but Hera had told him they would have a golden sunburst emblem displayed prominently on their outfit. The riot of colour made spotting something that would normally be distinctive difficult, but they had made a few laps of the room and were yet to see the sunburst.

“Let’s dance,” Hera said suddenly.

Kanan turned to her in surprise. “What?”

She was still scanning the room anxiously. “Everyone else seems to have had at least one, and I don’t want to stand out. Plus, I’ll have a better view of the entrance from the dancefloor.” She dumped her empty glass onto a passing droid-table and grabbed his hand. “Come on!”

Kanan barely had a moment to put down his own half-finished drink before she was dragging him towards the dancefloor.

“But I don’t know how to dance!” he protested after her.

It earned him a sceptical look over her shoulder. “How can you not know how to dance? It’s easy, just follow my lead.”

She found them a space amongst the twirling couples and turned to him, still holding his hand in one of her own. She placed her other hand on his shoulder, and through the thin material of his shirt he could feel her fingers were still cool from where they’d been holding her drink. He didn’t know what to do with his other hand, and in his indecision it hovered awkwardly.

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Here,” she told him, placing it on her waist. His fingers brushed the soft, bare skin of her back.

“Now try to follow my feet with yours.”

It took Kanan a few moments to register her words. Hera’s sudden closeness was very distracting. He could feel the warmth of her body radiating through the thin silks of their clothes, and the sweet smell of her perfume filled his nose. Her breath tickled his neck. It was almost too much; he was drowning in her.

Hera started to dance, and Kanan took drastic action. He reached for the Force. Its calm tranquility filled him and fortified him, drawing him out of the crowded ballroom slightly and enabling him to focus again. He followed the movement of Hera’s feet, trying to stay in time with them without getting underneath the sharp heels. The steps were simple, and it wasn’t long before they settled into a rhythm.

Kanan managed to hold himself together as they slowly traversed the dancefloor. Between his focus on the Force and on Hera’s steps he was unable to pay the slightest bit of attention to the room around him. The contact could have been dancing right next to them and he wouldn’t have noticed.

Once Hera saw that he was keeping up with her, she experimented with something different. She released his shoulder and spun away, still holding his hand, before twirling back into his arms. Her dress flared out around her calves as she moved, revealing more of her smooth, slender legs. She looked up at him with eyes that sparkled with the joy of the dance. Kanan’s heart skipped a beat; she was breathtakingly beautiful.

Kanan continued to draw from the Force and its unending serenity as they resumed their dance. He was starting to feel like the old teachings were coming back to him; with practise, he might even be able to do this with the ease he did as a child.

“I still can’t see the target,” Hera murmured in his ear, and it was enough to break his concentration. Fortunately, his feet seemed to have memorised the steps and didn’t need his brain to continue moving. It was taking everything he had to keep his voice steady as he replied.

“Maybe they’re not coming.”

“No, this contact has never let me down before. They’ll be here.” She sounded confident in her assertion, and Kanan really wasn’t in a position to argue.

The song wound down to its end, and Kanan felt relief. Being so close to Hera like this was simultaneously electrifying and agonising.

“Let’s go sit back down,” he said as the final cadence played. He started to take a step back from her, but her grip on him tightened.

“No – wait – I think that’s them!”

Her arms were suddenly steel, holding him in place as she craned her head over his shoulder.

“Where?” He tried to turn to see for himself.

“Don’t look, just keep dancing,” she hissed. “I’ll try to move us closer.”

The band started up the next song, a slower one with a different beat. Hera let go of his hand to place both of hers on his shoulders.

“Put your hands on my back,” she murmured, her lips barely an inch from his ear. “Keep following my steps.”

He did as he was told, both hands splayed against her bare skin. It was warm under his palms and he resisted the urge to stroke his fingers along her spine. She moved closer to him so that her chin rested on his shoulder and her chest pressed against his. The silk did nothing to hide the curves of her body; combined with the touch of her bare skin, it would be easy to imagine there were no clothes between them at all.

Don’t think about that, he told himself sternly. He wondered if Hera could tell he was feeling a lot warmer than usual. He reached for the Force again, trying to find comfort in its cool tranquility.

Hera led him in the new dance, slightly easier than the previous one. It was slower and had fewer steps, and it wasn’t long before Kanan could let his feet continue for him. There were more distractions with this one, however; as well as Hera being much closer, every now and then the tips of her lekku would brush the backs of his hands. Whenever that happened it was like the light touch was igniting sparks over his skin.

“I’ve got eyes on her,” Hera whispered. Kanan felt her breath over his earlobe.

His concentration faltered.

“Her?”

“Mikkian, middle-aged, blue skin. She’s got the golden sunburst on her shoulder; she’s definitely our target.”

He felt Hera slightly change the angle of their movement, guiding them across the dancefloor. The steps lengthened and Kanan needed to focus harder to follow them. If anything, the distraction helped.

The song reached its final cadence and Kanan found himself desperately hoping that Hera would let them stop dancing. Maybe even step outside for a minute. Fresh air would be good.

“She’s slipping out. This is our chance!”

A moment later Hera had slipped out of his arms and was moving away. It took his mind a few moments to catch up, and by then she’d taken his hand again and was leading him off the dancefloor.

They were now on the job: hunting an Imperial for tactical data.

This, he could do.

---

To be continued...

#kanera #swoonjune2021 #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #sw rebels #sw fic #star wars rebels #star wars: rebels #star wars fic #pretchwritta #fic #swoon june

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capitaineathos · 4 years ago

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I finally wrote something! Here is my Musketeers Summer Solstice gift for @number-of-the-beast-is-666 :)

It's kinda self indulgent fluff, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

~~~~~

Porthos loves his little flower shop. Thinking about where he came from, how he grew up, how his life could have gone, he's proud of how far he’s come. He's built his tiny business from the ground up and the work brings him joy. He has a small base of regular clientele and plenty of orders on his online shop to keep him busy. His arrangements are known for their beauty and for their affordability, and Porthos takes pride in each and every one. He loves his little shop and he knows he always will.

~~~~~

Aramis loves the little flower shop on the corner. He remembers the first time he'd visited; a particularly difficult therapy session had left him feeling low and his counsellor had suggested that he buy himself some flowers to bring some joy to his home. He remembers how sceptical he'd been, how he'd scoffed at the idea, yet found himself drawn to the little shop on his way home anyway. He remembers the warm smile of the florist; his kindness and the joyful enthusiasm that seemed to radiate from every pore. The florist – he gave his name as Porthos – had suggested a bouquet of sunflowers, bright and warm and happy, and Aramis had felt just a little of the despair lift from his heart.

To this day, sunflowers are his favourite bloom.

Now, more than six months later, Aramis is a regular customer at the little shop. He comes to buy himself a bouquet every two weeks, striving to always keep flowers alive in his home. And if it means that he can see the florist’s smile, it will always be worth the price.

Yes, Aramis loves the little flower shop on the corner and he knows he always will.

~~~~~

Today, the shipment is of roses. Porthos likes to stock blooms of various colours; red and yellow and orange and pink, and various hybrid combinations of the four. He unpacks each flower carefully, his calloused fingers always deft and gentle in every movement. He knows that the slightest hint of roughness can bruise the delicate petals and he has grown used to the tender care that they require. And with St Valentines Day fast approaching, he knows he must preserve as many of these roses as possible.

He begins to cut the stems, fingers quickly staining green as the chlorophyll comes in contact with his skin. He finds that he doesn’t mind the stains so much now; not like he did at first. They are part of him now, and they are part of a job that he loves with all of his heart and soul. A fresh smell, the freshness of the flowers that he surrounds himself with, is already clinging to his hands, and will do for the rest of the day. And the sweet, perfumed scent of the roses will linger just as long, perhaps allowing him a whiff even as he falls asleep at the end of a long day’s work.

Cutting stems is repetitive and time consuming and, though he considers himself to be rather good at it, it is inevitable that some of the roses are cut too short to be useful for his bouquets. For Porthos prides himself on quality and he likes to make his bouquets as perfect as they can be. So any roses that are too short, or slightly bruised, or otherwise not quite adequate, are set aside and Porthos laments that he has no use for them. Though they may not be quite perfect, they are still beautiful and could still bring someone joy. Briefly, he wonders if he could take them by the local retirement home after work.

However, his thoughts are soon interrupted as a cheery tone sounds from the front of the shop, signalling that a customer has entered. Leaving his roses aside for the moment, Porthos emerges from the back room to stand by the counter, should he need to offer assistance.

When he sees who has entered his shop, his heart skips a beat.

He sees Aramis often, and the two of them have become amiable acquaintances, but Porthos can’t help the quickening of his breath and the frantic thrumming of his heart that always occurs when the other man enters his shop. He wipes sweaty palms on his jeans and tries to calm the fluttering in his chest.

But when Aramis turns to smile at him, his legs suddenly feel weak under his weight and he has to swallow a sudden burst of nerves.

“Good morning, Aramis,” he says, proud of how level his voice sounds. “Is it time for your next bouquet already?”

Aramis laughs and the sound is almost melodic; clear and bright as a church bell.

“Am I so predictable?” he asks. “I was actually hoping that your sunflowers might be back in season. As much as I love the other bouquets you made for me with the chrysanthemums and carnations and such, I’ve really missed having my sunflowers around.”

Porthos sighs softly. He knows of a perfect bouquet that he could make for Aramis – with bright sunflowers and vibrant irises in a bed of green foliage – but the sunflowers won’t be in season for a few months – not until May at the earliest. And Porthos hates the thought of disappointing Aramis; even the idea of it leaves a hollow, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. Yet, there really isn’t much that he can do.

Aramis must see it in his eyes, because his bright, charming smile falters ever so slightly, even though he tries hard to hide it.

“I assume they aren’t in season yet then? Oh well! Do you still have any of those carnations?”

Porthos helps him to find a bouquet; warm and bright and colourful, just like Aramis himself. It is full of chrysanthemums and carnations and camellias and Porthos almost thinks that it might be one of his best.

Aramis certainly seems delighted with it and, as he comes to the counter to pay, promising to come and pick it up after running a few more errands, he casually asks;

“So, do you have any plans for St Valentines?”

Porthos shakes his head. It has been a long time since he celebrated the day with a significant other, but he hardly minds. He has always believed that having many relationships is much less important than having the right ones, so he has been waiting for the right person to come along.

Looking at Aramis, he almost allows himself to hope that it will be worth the wait.

Yet, he is still surprised when he hears the soft laugh from the other man.

“Me neither. The whole thing may seem rather cliché, but I actually quite enjoy being swept off my feet every once in a while, so it'll be a shame to spend it alone.”

Porthos opens his mouth to apologise, but Aramis holds up a hand to stop him before a single syllable can pass his lips.

“No, it’s ok. I’ve had enough fooling around. I want to find the right person; the one who I'll hopefully spend the rest of my life with.”

Aramis slides the money across the counter and their fingers brush; only ever so slightly, and only for a moment, but Porthos swears that he feels a jolt of electricity surging through his veins.

He looks at Aramis and wonders if he feels it too.

But Aramis says nothing, just smiles and turns to leave.

Porthos watches him for a moment, then forces himself to draw his eyes away from Aramis' retreating figure, to begin sorting the money into the till. But then he finds something unexpected hidden amongst the bills; a small slip of paper with a hastily scribbled number scrawled upon it. For a moment, Porthos can’t move, he can barely even breathe. All he can do is stare at the slip of paper in his trembling hands, barely even able to believe that the moment is real.

However, the sound of the door opening quickly breaks the spell and the words have escaped him before he even has time to think;

“Aramis, wait!”

There is a pause, and then Aramis is peering around the doorframe, one eyebrow quirked in silent question.

“Please... just... wait just one second?” Porthos asks, and Aramis nods in response. Porthos feels a slight weight lift from his chest as he ducks into the back room and collects up the roses that he had previously set aside. He collects them into as neat a group as he is able, though it is nothing like the quality of his usual work. He ties some yellow ribbon around the stems and returns to the front of the shop.

As he offers Aramis the roses, too nervous to say a word, he can feel his heart pounding in his chest. In that moment, the entire world is Aramis and Porthos isn’t sure whether he’s about to watch his world crumble.

But then Aramis smiles, warm and bright and beautiful, and breathing seems just a little easier.

“Porthos, they’re beautiful!”

“Just like you,” Porthos whispers, and Aramis’ cheeks turn a dusty shade of pink. He takes the roses and cradles them to his chest as he leans in to gently brush his lips against Porthos' cheek.

“You will call me, won't you?” he asks, and Porthos doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so nervous. Aramis is so bold and loud and cheerful, yet he seems so shy as he asks the question. He can barely meet Porthos' gaze, instead choosing to look down at his feet, and all Porthos wants to do is look into those eyes and fill them with hope and joy.

So he gently places a finger beneath Aramis' chin and tilts his face up until their eyes meet, and he smiles.

“I promise.”

It’s two simple words, but Porthos can see how happy they’ve made Aramis. His smile seems brighter, the tension has eased from his shoulders, his eyes are sparkling with excitement. He is beautiful, and Porthos suddenly needs him more than he needs air.

It is instinct and it takes him by surprise, but he leans in and gently catches Aramis' lips with his own. Aramis melts into his arms and Porthos settles his hands on his hips. His hold is gentle, treating Aramis as tenderly as one of his precious roses. For Aramis is like the flowers; precious and beautiful and fragile, and he deserves the same tender care.

It only lasts for a moment, the soft pressure of Aramis’ lips against his own, but Porthos could swear that no moment will ever be as perfect.

Aramis smiles at him, one hand coming to rest against his cheek.

“Call me,” he whispers again and Porthos nods, forcing himself to take a breath and finding that all he wants is Aramis.

“Absolutely.”

#bbc musketeers #musketeers #aramis #porthos #portamis #porthos/aramis #flower shop au #musketeers summer solstice #musketeers summer solstice 2021 #number-of-the-beast-is-666

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darkredehmption · 4 years ago

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Class Is In

#SL #ClassIsIn

Written by @DamagedBrother and @OfFeatherNFang

****

Mal:

I shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t even the first time, but thank fuck, none of my new ‘students’ seemed to notice. As each of the Brothers filed in, taking various seats at the front of the room, I resisted the urge to up and fucking leave. Instead I clenched the black dry erase marker, my eyes straying to Zsadist, who watched me with a small, reassuring smile. My free hand absently brushed over the new scar beneath my shirt, reminding me of what I was doing, and why.

My most recent hospital stay had ended only a few days earlier, and while I’d been approved to teach a classroom full of muscle clad, would-kick-the-shit-out-of-satan killers, I was still black listed from actually leaving the manse to go on rotation. So I had to take what I could get I guess.

As silence crept in with everyone settling the fuck down, I felt the even more uncomfortable weight of eyes on me, waiting for how I was going to wow them. I mean, this wasn’t a class on explosives, firearms, or the 52 ways you could kill a guy with your thumb. This was on the supernatural. Or, I guess, everything ELSE that was supernatural other than… well, us.

“Right, shit, well… here we go. Never been a public speaker, so bear the fuck with me while I figure this shit out,” I mutter, tapping the marker against my free hand. Rhage, helpfully, grinned and said ‘here, here’.

“Well, let’s start by cutting straight to the why’s of being here,” I say firmly, looking to Zsadist and giving a small nod. “Z had a demon hitch a ride. He was possessed,” I say flatly. “And demons gossip around the lava water cooler worse than chicks in a high school. If we don’t start taking precautions now, we could be seeing more of them. Or more of what happened…”

I managed to keep myself from brushing the scar this time, but nothing could quell the furious fire burning in me to ensure Zsadist would never, ever have to go through that shit again.

Zsadist:

I couldn’t help but keep my eyes locked onto my male. I mean let’s face it, I always wanted my eyes on him. But even more lately with what had gone down recently. I could have lost him. Lost the most important person in life at the hands of myself. Well technically not myself, but still, this meeting was important. It was important for the Brotherhood to learn some knowledge on a new threat we had.

Demons.

Shaking the thought from my head as I give my male an encouraging smile. He looked nervous as hell to be in front of the Brotherhood right now, about to teach them a thing or two of his enemies. Though I wanted to believe that my Brothers would behave and give them his full attention.

I couldn’t help but notice Mal’s hand as it crept closer to the new scar that I helped make on his body. Yes, this wasn’t my doing completely, but my hand was the one wielding the dagger. I had to stop letting myself believe this was all my fault, because it wasn’t.

The demons were another enemy that we needed to take down. So I made sure everyone was paying attention before my eyes landed on Mal once again.

Mal:

“I can honestly say I’ve never dealt with a demon possessing a vampire before, but then again, I don’t think the regular vampires they’re used to quite cut it…”

I frowned at that thought, but shrugged and kept going.

“Anyway, we’ll deal with the other breeds of vampires in another lesson,” I say absently, shaking my head. “And ghouls… werewolves… wendigos… poltergeists… well, you get the idea.” I waved my hand as if it would dismiss all the other breeds of supernatural beasties I’d just thrown out there. “Demons are our most pressing issue. How to identify one…”

Turning to the white board, I popped the top on my marker and started to write as I spoke.

“Flickering lights. While also a sign of a malevolent spirit, it can be an indicator that a strong demon is nearby. In their raw form, they look like dark black smoke. That smoke will seek access to your body through your nose and mouth,” I instruct, turning to look back at the Brothers.

All of whom were staring at me, wide eyed and… damn, I wasn’t sure. Angry? Disbelieving? Incredulous? I couldn’t pin it. But this shit was definitely not what they were used to dealing with, and I was going to need to give them a minute to absorb.

“Uh… ask questions, if you want. If it… makes it easier.”

Zsadist:

Whoa okay. That was a lot of knowledge my male just spilled. I was just accepting the fact that demons had entered our world, but all those other things? Hell no.

As I looked around the room I couldn’t help but notice my Brothers with the same blank look on their faces. Vishous was the first one to recover. I watched carefully as he lit a blunt then leaned across his desk.

“Well shit. Always figured there was more to life than just us and the humans.” Vishous said with a shrug.

Rhage’s brows drew in as he raised his hand. I couldn’t help but laugh as he played the role as a student. Once called on, by the very sexy teacher, he drops his hand and unwraps a lollipop.

“So...like all those things you are saying is bad? But how can that be true? I mean...Hadrian is a shifter and he isn’t bad. Used for bad things, sure, but that isn’t his fault. I guess what I’m saying is, what is trying to come for us currently? Do the demons work with the other parties that were mentioned?”

Ah yes, Hadrian.

Even though we were connected, I had a weird feeling that Rhage was tight with the male as well. Rhage once told me that he can relate to Hadrian in some way and hopes that they would get the chance to spend more time together.

Speaking of, I needed to check in with the shifter and make sure he was doing alright. We did manage to be on rotation together every now and then, but rarely did we have the time to chit chat. Maybe next time Mal was out fighting and I was at home I could see if Hadrian wanted to grab a beer. Couldn’t hurt.

Mal:

“Not all shifters are bad the way not all vampires are bad,” I conceded, nodding my head. “Hadrian is a special example too. Even in his world, being able to shift into more than one creature is rare. Most shifters, like werewolves, are bound to one animal.”

Pausing, I took in a breath, trying not to let myself be distracted by thoughts of Hadrian. The shifter being metaphysically bound to my mate was still a raw point for me, but I was working through it. Y’know. Slowly.

“But back to demons…” Lifting a hand to my shirt, I tugged down the collar just enough to reveal the pentacle tattoo across my chest. I also tried to ignore the quick way Z’s golden eyes narrowed at my potentially showing skin to his Brothers, but in this instance he was definitely going to have to breathe. “There are ways of ensuring a demon can’t possess you,” I explain. “This symbol is a protective one that repels demons. They can’t possess me. You can also wear the symbol, or other various amulets and protective talismans, to prevent it.”

Letting go of the shirt, I start a list.

“So, symbols. Talismans. Holy water,” I add, my tone rueful as I figured some of them were, undoubtedly, rolling their eyes. After all, holy water was also a mythical vampire repellent. “If a demon has already possessed a body, you can sometimes provoke them into revealing themselves by saying the name of God in latin.” I glance back at all of them. “Their eyes will turn a complete and glossy black with no iris at all. If they turn any other colour… well. Run like hell while screaming my name,” I say dryly.

Zsadist:

My eyes narrowed dangerously low when I watched Mal reveal his chest to my Brothers. Sure, they’ve seen his bare torso, but that doesn’t mean I wanted them sneaking a peek.

Quickly my head snaps in Vishous’s direction when he starts sketching in the notebook he brought to Mal’s class. Leaning over my desk to look over his shoulder only to reveal a drawing of the tattoo my male wore on his chest. Vishous continued to underline the shape as I leaned back into my seat. He probably had a plan of making some amulets for us to wear while out on rotation.

Everything Mal described sounded...insane. But I knew first hand that this was serious, and everything that he was saying was true.

“I can’t believe we are going to turn into demon hunters!” Rhage chimes in with a goofy smile.

I hold back a snort, turning my attention towards Tohrment as he clears his throat. All heads turn towards his direction.

“So...do these demons have a main purpose? Or do they just run around trying to find people to possess. Like we know what the lessers want...I was just wondering if these demons had an end goal.” Tohr murmurs as he crosses his arms.

Mal:

“Woah, hold your horses dragon boy,” I snort, shaking my head. “I don’t want to turn the Brotherhood into hunters. Believe it or not, there are hunters out there ready to track down demons and the like when they pop up and send them back to Hell. The ‘only’ reason I am teaching ‘anything’ right now is because… well, me being here could bring more of the nasties into our radar, and I want everyone at least prepared to handle it.”

Yeah. Fuck. I ‘so’ did not need to lead these leather clad killers into metaphysical battles. They were all about the bang bang motherfuckers, and you couldn’t waste a ghost or half the things I’d fought with just lead and blades alone.

“Case in point,” I continue, arching a brow. “Half the shit I deal with can’t be snuffed out with a few bullets or a well placed knife to the heart cavity, yeah? Banishing demons requires the seal of solomon and exorcism chants and a whole whack of shit. In the case of possession? Prevention is so much better than cure, so I just want everyone able to avoid it. Depending on who excels at these classes, I may go further to teach exorcisms.”

My eyes flicked to Zsadist, then to Vishous, the two I’d already pegged as most likely to be taught an exorcism. If Vishous didn’t go ahead and research the latin for it without me I’d be shocked.

“As far as a demon’s purpose…” I trailed off, sighed then shrugged. “Really, they want mayhem. They want souls. They don’t want to be in hell. So, all of the above and then some. The better their vessel, the more situated they are to get other demons up and included. So, a breed of rich, powerful vampires with all manner of weapons at their disposal would be ‘very’ appealing,” I add dryly. “So, to reiterate… demons flinch at the latin name of God, burn at the touch of holy water, have dark eyes and look like dark clouds of smoke when they come at you in raw form. Any questions?”

Zsadist:

Everyone kinda stayed quiet, some shook their heads as Mal asked if anyone had questions. Which honestly I was a little relieved at. That means that my Brothers were taking this seriously. Then again after they discovered Hadrian, and learned about shifters, they must believe that anything is possible at this point.

“Think this is a good starting point. We need to continue on and train to be able to handle the demons. Mal is right in a sense where we don’t need to go out and look for demons to destroy, but more so be equipped to handle them if they get in the way from our main goal.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle slightly as Rhage’s face fell. Maybe one day Rhage could go on a mission if any of Mal’s hunter friends ever needs a hand. Then again Hollywood actually might cause more damage.

Snorting at the thought as I look up to watch them file out slowly. Vishous stops in front of my mate to show him some things he wrote down then bumps his shoulder before following out after Butch. Figures V would be all about this. I’m sure he would be up all night doing research.

I lean back in my desk, keeping my eyes on my mate as a private smile slowly forms on my face. Something that my Brothers wouldn’t get to see. Slowly I move to get up, the wooden chair creaking beneath me as I shift my weight off of it.

“Well, that went...well.” I rumbled as I made my way over to the very handsome teacher. “What do you think?” My arms cross over my broad chest.

Mal:

With everyone getting the basics down and with no further questions, class seemed to be dismissed. As Vishous stopped to show me his mockup of the tattoo on my chest, I nodded, agreeing with his ideas of necklaces and arm bands bearing the symbol to protect the Brothers. They needed things that were easy to put on or keep close that wouldn’t get in the way of the fight.

Waiting for Z to come up, I felt myself relaxing the closer he got, until he was right there and I was leaning over to steal a kiss.

“You think it went well?” I murmur, grateful to hear it. “Could you tell I was nervous? Teaching classes is not really my schtick, but everyone seemed to… take it well.”

Sighing, I leant against the desk at the front and gestured backward at the board and the notes I’d made.

“I know this is new to everyone, but… I appreciate the enthusiasm.” Pausing, I looked my male over and felt a familiar and welcome rush of affection. “You okay?”

Zsadist:

The kiss was soft and I welcomed it by sliding my arms around Mal’s waist. Holding my mate against me as my hand lifted to graze his cheek.

“Yeah, now that everything's okay and you are healed.” I murmur as I avoid his gaze for a moment. Trying not to picture the moment I stabbed my own mate in the chest.

Clears my throat. “This is good. We needed this done in case we came in contact with another demon. It seems like everyone took it serious for the most part.” I snort thinking of Rhage then shrugs. “Do you feel good about continuing the lessons? I want to make sure every Brother is well equipped to take care of a demon if we come across one. Scribe, don’t need anyone else getting possessed and stabbing people in the manse.”

Mal could have died. So we needed to take this seriously and make sure everyone in the mansion was safe at all times. To think that we let a threat in, that I let a threat in, was unsettling.

Mal:

Nodding, I rubbed a hand down my mate’s arm reassuringly, looking at the empty classroom. I’d already started to take precautions of my own. The second I’d been released from the med wing I’d sought out, of all people, Fritz, asking for a layout of the grounds and every entrance. From there, I’d gone to each one and set up holy seals - wards to keep out demons and trap any that tried to enter.

“I’ve spoken with Vishous,” I murmur, still thinking about the wards. “I let him know about the wards I put near the entrances - asked him to figure out more permanent solutions to my chalk and salt displays. I think Fritz almost had a coronary when I drew on everything, threw salt everywhere, and told him he couldn’t clean it,” I add ruefully, flashing Z a smile. “But at least that’s a start. I should’ve thought of that when I moved in…”

The admission tasted sour on my tongue, and I looked away from the intensity of that golden gaze to better process my guilt. If I’d had devil’s traps set when I moved in, Zsadist and the demon hitching a ride wouldn’t have got past the door. He’d have been trapped, but performing an exorcism at that point would’ve been a lot fucking easier. But instead I’d been naive, thinking the demons and all the beasties I’d hunted would never find me in Caldwell. And Z had almost paid the price.

“I’m good with continuing lessons, not just on demons,” I said finally, letting out a breath. “And while I was honest when I said I don’t want the Brothers going hunting if I can help it, there is a perk to knowing I have back up if something goes down in our backyard.”

Zsadist:

“Don’t beat yourself up about that. Hell, I’m surprised this is the first time we have come in contact with them. With all the shit we dabble in you would have thought we would have seen them before” I shrug before reaching for my male. My hand cups his nape, forcing his gaze back to mine.

“Hey. You can’t beat yourself up over this, just like you told me that I can’t even though I do.” I snorted. “It’s done and you are safe in my arms.” My voice cracks slightly at that, holding him a little tighter in my arms.

“Everything is going well, and I’m grateful to have you teach us how to handle these demons.” I nod before slowly pulling away.

“Now...come on, let’s head back upstairs…”

My scarred lips turn up into a playful smirk as I start down the hallway. I couldn’t wait to have my male in our bed and to know that he was safe with me.

#EndSL #ClassIsIn

#SLS BlackDaggerBrotherhood

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drxwsyni · 5 years ago

Text

Petrified (pt.5)

Yandere Erasermic x f!Reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

a/n: idk what to say about this part. the dialogue wasn’t fun, but that’s about it! hope y’all enjoy!

5.9k words

Warnings: reader experiences anxiety

Realistically speaking, there was a very low chance that you’d be able to wrestle your nerves under control as you waited for the impending meeting. It was creeping upon you, quite painfully slowly. On top of that you still had yet to resolve the almost instantaneous sensation of despair you felt upon waking.

Even as you spent the time you had to yourself completing menial tasks, nothing could truly remedy the feelings that plagued your being. It was incessant. Eating away at your will to distract yourself. And eventually you did succumb to its pestering.

No matter what you occupied yourself with, the reality of the approaching situation would invade your thoughts. It would keep you there until you mentally fought tooth and nail against it. But even then it wasn’t enough. It simply became easier to settle with the mindset.

You opted to lay on your thrifted couch, toying with the soft tussles on the blanket that was draped over your lower half. The connection of the fabric running across your fingers to how it actually felt wasn’t something your brain was choosing to register at the moment.

Rather, you simply stewed on your conflict.

It felt like you did this a lot nowadays. Brewing over muddled thoughts that didn’t entirely make sense but also did at the same time.

You trusted Shouta and Hizashi. Yet there was always an inkling of suspicion―or perhaps it was moreso a fear. Probably both, you assumed. What you wouldn’t give to have this whole reality be erased from existence. To never have met the two. Never have gotten preyed on by some lowly criminals that made you so indebted.

But that wasn’t something you could control. Much like you couldn’t seem to control the extent of the impact the heroes were having on your life. That was something they preferred to dictate, regardless of your protests.

Not that you protested all that much. To be fair, you hadn’t exactly been assertive with your wishes. Still, that doesn’t mean your few opinions should be as disregarded as they were.

It angered you more than anything. Shouta wouldn’t give you the chance to speak your mind while Hizashi glazed over the problem with a delusional sense of care. With their combined insistence it was more than enough to force you back into your shell. A place where no matter how upset you were, the courage to speak your mind was next to impossible.

If you didn’t know any better you would think that they were just as aware of this as you. After all, they seemed to be exploiting your weaknesses more and more. Maybe they did know you quite literally feared their methods of approach and were doing it just to see your pitiful reactions.

It would be cruel, and highly unlikely. But your mind had a habit of coming up with the worse case scenario, and this idea was no exception.

You were so wrapped up in contemplating the meaning for their behaviour and subsequently how you felt because of it that the time passing at an alarming rate didn’t even phase you.

No, not until the sound of your phone pinging―an alert for received text messages―were you finally pulled out of your stupor.

From: Shouta

Are you still okay with being picked up at 5:30?

4:32 pm

The time on the receipts made your heart drop a little. An hour left.

You:

That’s fine :)

4:33 pm

From: Shouta

Let me know if you need more time.

4:33 pm

You:

Will do, thanks!

4:34 pm

Of course you didn’t need more time to meddle with your own thoughts.

How exactly were you supposed to get ready to spend time with them? You couldn’t make anything to bring, something they made clear. Were you supposed to wear something casual? Or maybe dressing up a little was the better option.

None of these details really mattered, but overthinking was one of the things you were best at. So at each decision you came across you muddled over what to do. When all was said and done, you chose to settle with a navy blouse and black high waisted jeans. Dark colours were best for not drawing attention to yourself after all, and that was exactly what you wanted to do.

The rest of the routine to prepare for your slowly ensuing departure from the comfort of your apartment was done on autopilot. Any actions couldn’t be fully processed when your mind was drowning in nonsensical worries and ‘what if’ scenarios. The phenomenon wasn’t surprising, but still mentally taxing nonetheless. Nothing you could think or do would make you feel better. This was just something you would have to push through regardless of the voice in your head urging you to make up an excuse not to go.

After all, excuses now would only postpone the inevitable. And right now the inevitable was already here.

From: Shouta

I’m outside.

5:29 pm

You’d been ready for the past fifteen minutes―spending your remaining time anxiously waiting at the kitchen table. You regarded the text with a feeling of dread, but pushed the sensation down as you pulled on your shoes and jacket, stuffing your wallet in a pocket.

Just as he said, Shouta was waiting outside the apartment complex in the parking lot. He was leaning against the side of his car, eyes trained on his phone. Dressed in casual clothes with his hair pulled back into a half bun, he lifted his head upon hearing your approaching footsteps.

You watched as his eyes briefly scanned your form, presumably taking in your choice of clothing. “Ready to go?”

He didn’t exactly sound bored with the pseudo-greeting, rather it was a ‘let’s move this along’ kind of sound. It made you question for a moment whether he actually cared about the situation, but you disregarded the idea. “Of course.” Out of habit you offered a warm smile, which made his face lighten slightly in return. Even that alone was comforting compared to his normally serious facade.

Shouta opened the passenger door for you, letting you step in before closing it. He rounded the car and entered on the drivers side while you fastened your seatbelt, hands shaking ever so slightly. It was in your best interest to keep your nerves under control as much as possible, lest one of the two men pick up on it and become more concerned.

The car started with a low hum, the interior dashboard lighting up in areas that were blacked out before. The radio was playing quietly, allowing you to just barely register the soft rock music being emitted from the speakers. Shouta was the first to break the silence as he began driving.

“So, how was work yesterday?”

Small talk, thank god.

It would probably be a good idea to disregard the normal strain it put on your body. “It was good, like any other Friday I guess.”

The erasure hero nodded slightly before replying, “Anyone giving you trouble?” His eyes never left the road as he spoke, which you were thankful for, but it also made his expression hard to read from where you were sitting.

“I suppose a few people were a little impatient, but it’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

To that he only offered a hum in response before moving to turn the radio up. By now there was a segment between the hosts, and you gratefully let it fill the silence if it meant you could avoid any awkward bits of forced conversation.

You found out regrettably that his home wasn’t too far from your apartment. Perhaps roughly ten minutes there by car, and you were already pulling up to the settlement.

It was comfortably small, set in a neighbourhood with houses of a similar size. You could tell that it was a pricy abode, evident in the elaborately carved wooden doors and smooth stone walkway. Everything exuded luxury, and you expected to find the same quality of handiwork on the inside. Not only that, but it was placed comfortably in the midst of the city―not close enough to any normal bustling life but in an area that would allow for a fast commute. Just another aspect that alluded to it’s likely expensive cost.

Shouta pulled into the driveway, parking the car inside the garage which was surprisingly big enough to fit the automobile. You stepped out as soon as the car door unlocked, the erasure hero following suit. The sound of the doors slamming shut echoed off the walls loudly, causing you to jump a little with your nerves already being on edge. Silently, you prayed he had yet to pick up on your behaviour.

“S’just through here.” Shouta gestured to the only door in the room before heading towards it, one hand shoved in his pocket. He held it open in wait for you to round the car and step through the threshold.

Instantly your senses were flooded with a smell that was so indisputably welcoming―a certain warmth, enhanced by the aroma of a home cooked meal in the making. It was wildly calming, and in that moment you forgot how stressed you’d been over the ordeal you were about to sit through. And yet, even as you came back to reality, the atmosphere continued to still your worries to a certain extent.

“We’re home.” The erasure hero’s voice sounded off behind you, causing you to turn to see that he was removing his jacket. You did the same, but before you could ask where to hang it Shouta had already gently removed the article from your hands, placing it on a hanger in the front entrance closet.

As you were removing your shoes a certain voice hero made himself known. “I’m just in the kitchen, grub’s almost done and cooked!”

Once the two of you had finished up getting comfortable, Shouta led the way deeper into the house. Following him, you finally laid eyes on his partner who was preoccupied at the stove. He glanced over his shoulder, face turning bright upon seeing you.

“Songbird? How’ve ya been?” He talked like he hadn’t seen you in forever, but that was no surprise.

What did come as a surprise was the suffocatingly tight hug he went on to wrap you in. The contact was jarring, but you did your best not to recoil. After all, you would be lying if you said the hug wasn’t at least a little nice. Sure, your mind had momentarily ceased it’s functioning from the shock, but biology did have its ways of easing your pain. Namely, in the form of that sweet release of serotonin as an innate response to the affection. Leaning into it to prove you weren’t too bothered by the close proximity, you responded. “Ah―fine. The same as last time you saw me I guess.”

The blond pulled away, opting to hold you by the shoulders as he spoke. “That head feelin’ okay? Your meds workin’?” The look in his eyes told you how concerned he was, even though the soft tone in his voice did more than enough to convey it. It was one of the few times it carried such delicacy to it, something you were grateful for as you don’t think the normal booming of his voice would’ve been tolerable from such a distance.

You smiled warmly, doing your best to maintain eye contact―and failing after a few seconds. “Yep, everything's back to normal, pretty much…”

That’s what you said, but it wasn’t the truth.

The reality of your health was something you normally chose to disregard, but you knew it wasn’t normal. At the end of the day, your normal was likely another person's hell. The exhaustion you felt was second nature, but that didn’t mean it was easy to deal with. However, putting up with the sensation was worth what you got out of it. So you kept going―kept lying―both to yourself and others that you were okay.

The pause Hizashi gave before answering instilled a brief pang of anxiety. The two were unbearably perceptive―they had to be, being heroes and all. But whatever he was thinking seemed to pass. “Good ta hear, why don'tcha make yourself comfortable while we finish up sweetheart.”

You glanced over to the stovetop, then to the countertop that was adorned with wayward vegetables and measuring cups. Naturally, you couldn’t help but offer assistance. “Oh, I don’t mind helping out. If you want I could―”

“Nah listener! Go get comfy, ‘Shou and I’ve got this.” He gave your shoulder a few reassuring pats, before motioning to the living room with his other hand.

As he gave you a gentle push, you managed to sputter out a response. “Um―okay, then…” Was it a strong response? No. But they weren’t giving you time to come up with something more polite. So you took Hizashi’s queue and padded over to the living room.

The first thing you noticed when you stepped into the expanse was how...empty it was. It had furniture―more than enough to fill the room. All of it looking high in value, only adding to the comfort and prestige of their home. That wasn’t the issue. It was the lack of personal items that stood out.

There were none of the items that you would expect in a well lived in home. Things like photos or framed degrees on the wall―nothing to suggest that either of the two heroes stayed there. Not so much as a haphazardly discarded personal belonging like a sweater or even a stray coffee mug was in sight. It was immaculately devoid of unique human presence. The only thing that served as evidence to suggest someone was actually living there and it wasn’t more so a showroom was the laptop on the coffee table in front of the couch.

But that was it. Peculiar, to say the least.

There was quite literally nothing else for you to evaluate. Nothing to help you get a better sense of who the heroes were behind closed doors. With the lack of stimulation came an awkward feeling of self awareness. So you did what the blond instructed―you made yourself comfortable.

The couch looked invitingly cushiony, so there you took up residence, pulling out your phone for the distraction of social media. You had your back to Shouta and Hizashi who were still in the kitchen. That particular detail mildly unsettled you, and you did your best not to let the paranoia induced urge to keep looking over your shoulder get to you.

With the comfort of the temporary seclusion you concluded that while they might be taking your presence to make up for the burden you’ve placed on them, you were paying an equal amount with your sanity. They couldn’t have seen how much their existence in your life as of late was displacing your will to remain calm. If they did then you were sure the heroes in them wouldn’t have suggested this meeting.

They were getting too personal, and all you could think about was never having to see them again after tonight.

Regrettably, the sound of clinking metal pulled you out of your thoughts. Behind you Shouta had begun setting the dining table, placing down cutlery along with napkins. Part of you knew that your offer of assistance would be shot down. It was all routine at this point, and you’d honestly lost track of the amount of times it had happened.

You inwardly cursed yourself for causing unnecessary anxiety, “I can help with that, if you want.” The ‘if you want’ came out unintentionally, your subconscious knowing what was about to happen.

Shouta glanced up at you, “That’s fine (y/n), you can just take a seat.” He went back to what he was doing without another word, before heading back to the kitchen.

It wasn’t even worth putting up resistance over.

Standing up, you walked over to the dining room, claiming the spot next to the head of the table. Not a moment later and the two were walking out with various bowls which appeared to be steaming.

“Hope you’re hungry sunshine! Dinner’s comin’ in hot” Hizashi set down a bowl in front of you.

“It’s beef stew, hope you don’t mind.” The erasure hero sat down at the head of the table. His partner left the room, only to return with a tray of golden dinner rolls.

“Homemade and fresh outta the oven!” He set the tray down in the middle of the table, taking a seat across from you.

You looked down at the food displayed before you. Frankly, it looked absolutely delectable. “This looks really good, you must’ve been at it for a while.”

Shouta had already begun eating so you assumed it was safe for you to do the same. Lo and behold, the food tasted just as good as it looked. The perfect ratio of vegetables to meat, seasoned to perfection. It was impressive, to say the least.

“Yeah it did take a bit, but it’s worth it for you songbird!”

You were almost too distracted by the mouth watering meal that was gracing your tastebuds to care about his pet names. And even if you did care, the hospitality would help in overlooking it. Thankfully your nerves had calmed down a bit, part of you thinking that you were growing used to their presence ever so slightly.

As you ate, the two took it upon themselves to make idle discussion to fill the silence, Hizashi always doing more of the talking than his counterpart. You did the listening, as they were dealing with topics beyond you. Namely hero work, its details something that you couldn’t quite relate to, let alone offer something valuable to the conversation. You weren’t complaining either―it was easier to let them go on than it was to worry yourself over trying to find something interesting to say.

It would’ve been nice if things could’ve stayed like that. The mood was something you could tolerate at the moment, an occurrence that was rare when you were around the two men. But of course something so ideal as that would never last.

Soon enough their back and forth discourse began heading exactly where you hoped they would avoid tonight.

Hizashi was on the subject of a few unsavoury criminals that had been active in the area. Nothing too serious, but still posing a large enough threat to those who were less capable of defending themselves.

And then he started talking about the area you were walking through when you just so happened to get cornered by similarly dangerous individuals.

At that point you were a little over halfway done eating, and desperately wishing to quickly move from the subject if not just drop it entirely. But no, Hizashi was intent on remaining on the topic.

“Ya know, a few buddies of mine have been dealing with some trouble in that area.” With his mouth half full, he continued. “Sure you gotta work so late? Can’t imagine walkin’ home at that time is very safe.”

You’d lost your appetite.

“Yeah, they need me to cover the later shifts, and I don’t really mind it, so…”

Shouta seemed to be more interested in the discussion now that you were involved. “Still, you should try and switch to morning shifts.”

“Mm―not only that but ya can’t just go exploring a bunch of alleyways. Shit’s bound to happen there hun.” The blond had set his food aside and was more than happy to indulge himself further in telling you what to do.

Did they really think you were so dense that you’d be going down alleyways just to explore?

You placed your spoon in the almost empty bowl, bringing your hands to rest on your lap. At least like that they wouldn’t be able to see you trying to relieve some stress by repetitively fidgeting with the end of your sleeve or digging your nails into the palms of your hands.

“I was taking a shortcut. That’s not something I would normally do.” There was a certain feeling of spite in your voice, but you doubt they could register it. Rather you probably simply sounded displeased to be talking about that night, mixed with a hint of shame for letting yourself get attacked like that.

“If that’s the case then I’d advise you take the long way. You’re just putting yourself at a higher risk by going down that path.” Shouta was taking a sip of his drink as the two let you process their advice. He didn’t seem to like the idea of you ‘putting yourself at risk,’ judging by the almost disappointed tone in his voice.

It was hard for you to meet their eyes as they spoke, so instead you alternated between staring at the table while looking at them for a brief second to prove that yes, you were listening to them.

However you did watch as Hizashi moved to fold his hands atop the table, leaning forward slightly. He paused, likely gathering his thoughts. “And, ah...somethin’s been sorta bothering Shou’ and I for a bit.” The two men eyed each other for a moment, “It’s just...the doctor never said what was quite wrong with ya, being so tired and all.”

The heroes were looking intently at you for an answer, causing you to mentally recoil from the unwanted attention. But you still had to come up with something to influence them into moving on to something that didn’t directly relate to your wellbeing. “Oh...well it was the end of the week I guess. That probably explains it…” You were curious to see if the answer was satisfactory, but upon looking up a little more to judge their reactions you found that oh no, that was most definitely not enough.

They didn’t look convinced in the slightest. You weren’t lying to them, just omitting most of the truth. And somehow it felt like they knew you were doing so―your suspicions being quickly confirmed.

“You passed out, (y/n). Your records don’t list any medical problems so there should be no reason your shifts cause you that much exhaustion.”

You had no doubt Shouta was boring holes into your skull with the unmatched intense look he was likely giving you. The wavering amounts of courage you held only allowed you to observe him from the shoulders down. He’d leaned back in his chair at this point, one hand in his lap while the other rested on the table.

They didn’t have the right to be so invasive with your personal life. They were heroes. They saved people and then they were supposed to move on.

Not access their medical history without their permission to see if they were being completely honest.

As if sensing your growing uncomfortableness, Hizashi piped up. “We’re just worried about ya sweetheart. Stuff like that doesn’t just happen outta the blue. And if somethin’ really is wrong then you gotta tell us.”

You could almost drown in the concern blanketing his words and tone. It was conflicting―you knew he was being genuine, and that the two were just that invested in your wellbeing at the moment. But that’s what scared you.

The attention was entirely unwelcome. How many times did you have to reassure them that you were handling things before they let it go?

Self-awareness was haunting you, knowing full well how you were going to be unable to control the shakiness in your voice. Even less so was the hold you had over the stirring of worrisome emotions brewing inside you. You knew skirting around the truth was better than telling them you used your quirk at work. They would probably get mad at you―the reality wasn’t a conventionally accepted thing.

“I think..I’m just a naturally tired person. And those guys freaked me out a bit, so...I don’t know. I guess it was just a combination of those things?”

You waited in heavy silence for a response. For once it seemed that they were thinking before they spoke. Hizashi especially liked to say whatever came to mind, at least that’s what you thought. Shouta wasn’t as impulsive, but he never hesitated this long. And so when he finally spoke, you weren’t sure whether to be relieved due to the occurrence or not―given what he said.

“If you think we believe that excuse for a second then you're very wrong, (y/n). You might be tired, but we know there’s more to it than that. It’d be much easier if you’d just cooperate with us.”

Looking up was a bad idea, but your head moved on its own. While Shouta looked as menacing as ever, his partner looked...nervous. You’d never seen him that way, like he was suffering just as much as you were. Perhaps it was a side effect of this irrational concern he felt, realistically you didn’t care. But the feeling transferred to you and slowly the pit in your stomach grew bigger and bigger with each passing second. You weren’t sure how much longer you’d be able to hold out.

“Please just tell us the truth, songbird. You’re not in trouble, we promise. It’s just―we can tell there’s somethin’ off with ya.” If your hands were on the table you wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to hold them, knowing of his tendencies.

You looked back and forth between the two, eyes silently pleading for them to just drop it altogether.

Of course, you knew they wouldn’t.

Maybe you should just run while you had the chance?

“R-really, I’m okay. Listen, dinner was...really good, but I think I should be going n―”

“You’re not leaving.”

The erasure hero was in no mood to put up with you dancing around the topic at hand anymore. He brought you here to find out what the fuck was going on with you and he’d be damned if you just denied them that truth any longer. Hizashi had no complaints―maybe wincing at his partner’s harshness a little, but otherwise was in it just as much as him.

The blond could bring the tension down a little though, mostly for your sake. “Are ya not gettin’ enough sleep? Shou’ knows a pretty good doctor that helps with that kinda thing if that’s the problem. We just wanna make sure you’re being safe is all, sunshine.”

Really? Because this feels more like an interrogation than a friendly discussion over your habits.

Perhaps it would be better to just cut your losses and tell them. You didn’t want to, if they deemed fit they could be the reason you lose your job. Your boss didn’t know that you used your quirk―nobody did. It was how you stayed ahead of everyone else. Technically it was like cheating, having such a big advantage over your coworkers in your line of work. But where was the harm? You were making people happy, there’s nothing wrong with that.

But just like before you left your apartment to be accompanied to their house, your mind decided it was a perfectly fine and healthy idea to come up with countless ‘what ifs.’ One of which included the possibility that yes, you would be fired for this small transgression. Even though it was unlikely, it still plagued your mind with dread. The shop was where you got validation―a place where you knew you were doing something right. You didn’t want it taken away from you.

But you had to tell them. They were waiting. There was no way out of this.

“M-my quirk…”

How were you supposed to explain this?

“What about your quirk?” Shouta was not giving you any room to weasel your way out of this.

Your eyes remained trained on the abandoned dinner in front of you. “I use it...at work, sometimes. It just makes me a little tired I guess.”

The erasure hero didn’t give his counterpart the chance to ruin the moment, knowing you were susceptible to revealing more information with another push. “Only sometimes?”

God, it felt like you were being shamed for what you did.

“A lot...I use it a lot.” Admitting it felt hard even though you were more than aware of your behaviour. It was their reaction that made the task so difficult.

“What’s your quirk, sweetheart?”

You looked at your hands―the tools that made the fruits of your labour possible. “I...um―it’s called Nurture. I can sort of...put life back into plants? It just makes them healthier, but doing it puts strain on my body. Makes me a bit sleepy, but it isn’t usually that bad…”

Shouta gave a quiet hum in response before continuing, sitting up in his chair a bit. “Well―I wouldn’t call that a bit. No point in trying to downplay it now, just be honest.”

It was probably supposed to sound lightly encouraging, but he sounded more like he was making a demand.

A demand in which you had no choice but to meet.

“Okay...it can be a little much sometimes. B-but Friday was the exception, I had to use it a lot the night before so...the exhaustion just caught up with me.” You left out the part where the emotional response from being cornered was likely a bigger problem than the sorry state your general physique was in.

Hizashi sighed, and it would appear that the two were relieved to finally get the explanation they were looking for. You however were not in the same state. You were vulnerable, and inwardly you prayed they would leave well enough alone.

The erasure hero took a sip of his drink, and you caught the men exchanging glances before the blond spoke up. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You didn’t respond. Just kept staring at your hands.

“What you’re doing isn’t illegal or anything, but it’s still not something you should be doing. I’m sure you know what could happen to your career if this kind of information got out.”

At that your eyes shot up, looking desperately in Shouta’s direction. “Please don’t tell my boss. He doesn’t know, and I’m not hurting anyone by using it. Please just―I don’t know what I’d do without my job.” You glanced back to Hizashi, looking like your words were hurting him as well.

“I don’t know (y/n), you’re not exactly being responsible with your quirk. Just because you’re not hurting anyone else doesn’t mean it’s safe to disregard your own health.” Shouta must enjoy judging you when you were at your lowest, seeing as he tended to do it an awful lot.

Just when you thought this night couldn’t get any worse, it did. It got so much worse.

You weren’t able to form a rebuttal, but it didn’t matter when Hizashi beat you to it. “Listen, we don’t want to do that songbird, honestly. How ‘bout we make another deal instead…”

What in god’s name could they want from you.

“W-what kind of deal?” How you wished they’d just let you walk free, unburdened by their presence like you planned on before coming here. It’s like they wanted to watch you squirm uncomfortably with anticipation.

Finally the blond continued. “Simple. Ya try not to use your quirk as much and we don’t tell management!”

Shouta added his take, “And you have to keep coming over for dinner so we can make sure you’re holding up your end. It’s a fair proposition. Take it or leave it.”

It was unbelievable. Of course you didn’t want to comply―they were blackmailing you for christ’s sake. But one problem did stand out, “What are you guys getting out of this? I―I’m just not quite sure I understand.”

The erasure hero sighed, “Call it peace of mind―lets us know you're not on the verge of death while enjoying your company at the same time.”

Clearly they couldn’t see how much you weren’t enjoying their company. Or maybe they did and simply didn’t care. How they thought this was a fair deal was beyond you, and it didn’t exactly matter either way.

You didn’t want to admit it―to agree to their ‘deal,’ but you had no choice. They’d effectively cornered you. At this point you could only hope they would get bored enough of your presence to eventually call it off. You wouldn’t be able to stop using your quirk, it would break your heart not to. You got so much out of using it―emotionally at least.

They might not know if you were lying now if you agreed to it, but having to see them again wouldn’t be good news. Was it that obvious what your quirk did to your health? Honestly speaking, you’d never really evaluated whether or not you looked worse for wear. All this time you just acted without thinking of the effects. Perhaps there was physical evidence―but it was something you would have to evaluate later.

Not that you personally cared whether or not you actually looked tired. There was always makeup for that if you were feeling self-conscious. Mostly, you needed to see what you had to do to fool them into thinking you were complying.

At least they were patient when it came to this response, and eventually you did manage to give one. With great reluctance, you spoke. “I guess...if that’s what you want. But I―”

“Then it’s settled! We can keep meetin’ up like this every Saturday from now on!” Hizashi was positively beaming at the prospect, you however were not as excited.

Every fucking Saturday?

The thought of having to experience the same god awful stress made your heart sink. They should be sick of seeing your face by now. All you’ve done for them was place an immense burden, both on their wallets and apparently their minds as well. It didn’t matter if they were worried about you―they would have to get over it.

You would play along for now, mostly for the sake of your sanity.

It was simple. You just had to convince them that you were keeping up your end of the deal. It wasn’t impossible. You would be fine.

Shouta stood up from his chair, muttering an “Alright, then” as he did so. You watched almost helplessly as he began gathering the bowls and glasses off the table, stacking them in a neat pile.

You would've offered to help, but they’d already taken enough from you tonight. Realistically, you doubted it was even possible to form a coherent sentence. Your mind was too muddled with what was currently an inescapable despair, alongside of a slowly kindling detestment for the two men.

The audacity they held to put you in such a position would be impressive if it weren’t also mildly disturbing at the same time. For heroes, they seemed wildly unaware of how oppressive their behaviour was.

For the time being you were under their every whim and command. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something you would have to put up with.

Just enough for them to see you were okay. That you were capable of functioning even when your quirk posed certain unpleasant obstacles.

And in your mind of calculating escapes, you just barely registered that the two had gone back to their discussion of life events that you’d never come close to relating to. Hizashi still being the more dominant, relaxed as his partner cleaned the dining table.

The clock ticking away on the wall read 5:57 pm. You wondered how much longer they’d keep you here, seeing as they never made a point to ask you what you were comfortable with anyways―probably planning on doing the same with when they thought you should be free to go for the night.

End of Part 5

_____

taglist: @roseloverofpastels @shinsous-eye-bags @tjhonoluluprezstitch626 @pekusofixus @riarora @glitterypinkkitty @elektraeriseros @hadesnewpersephone @axolotleyeliner

#yandere bnha #yandere erasermic #yandere shouta aizawa #yandere aizawa #yandere present mic #yandere yamada hizashi #yandere hizashi #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #yandere

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mamabearcatfanfics · 4 years ago

Text

Instinct - Part Three

Read on below, or here on AO3 if you prefer!

Kaede sighed, rolling her neck from side to side to ease the strained muscles. She rose slowly from her cramped position at the low table where she’d knelt all afternoon, pounding fresh herbs for a poultice. Even though she used a cushion now as a concession to her arthitic knees, her joints were protesting painfully. Overuse, or was another Spring storm brewing, like the one last night? The fingers on her right hand spasmed a little as she shook them out, and she rubbed her aching knuckles absentmindedly. All these little aches and pains. When did she get so old? And why did these troubled times have to come upon her village? Yes, she was still powerful spiritually, but her aging body now came with all these niggling physical limitations that prevented her from seeking direct confrontation. The battle against Naraku and the collection of the Shikon no tama was much better left in younger hands.

Shuffling her weary limbs over to the door frame, she pushed the woven screen aside to look out down the road leading north, away from the village. The sun was setting, throwing its firey colours on to the darkness of the gathering storm clouds in the west. It looked like her arthritic joints had forewarned that more rain was brewing after all. She wondered how her children were doing, and if they were safely out of the weather.

Kaede smiled wryly. Such a motley little group they were. Even though they were no relation, and Inuyasha and probably Kirara were decades older than herself, she did think of them as her children, the closest she would ever get to having a family. Even though she was well liked in the village, loved even, the position of miko was a lonely one, set a little apart from the daily lives of others. Having that rag tag bunch burst into her life had brought her troubles, yes, but also joy.

She’d known Inuyasha longer than any of them. When she was just a simple village girl and her much older sister Kikyou was priestess of the village and guardian of the Shikon no Tama, he’d been there, looking no different than he did now, over fifty years later. Around Kikyou he’d been reserved, almost hesitant in his manner, as if he were afraid to upset her and draw attention to his half youkai nature. But he hadn’t been that way with herself, meeting her teasing questions with his usual gruffness, willing for the most part to suffer her childish fascination with him.

She could admit to herself now, she’d had the smallest crush on him – the innocent feelings of a ten year old girl for an older man who was beautiful, strong and unattainable. He was a big brother figure when for so long there had only been her and Kikyou, whom she’d adored as one who could do no wrong. And then Kikyou had died, accusing Inuyasha of fatally injuring her as she sealed him to the Goshinbuko in retaliation.

Kaede had visited the tree often in the weeks following Kikyou’s death. Yelled at Inuyasha, screamed at him, asking him how he could have betrayed them, when he’d shown evidence of loving Kikyou, when she herself had looked up to him as a big brother and a protector. In the following months when she could steal moments from her new role at the shrine, she visited the Goshinboku to sit amongst its roots underneath his silent beauty to weep hot heavy tears over the way her life had turned out. She had never wished to be a Miko, but she was helpless under the weight of village expectations when they discovered she also possessed reiki after Kikyou’s death.

Over the years, those feelings had settled. Her grief had dimmed and she had accepted her role as village protector and healer, enjoyed it even. When her emotions finally ceased to cloud her memory, she recalled how Onigumo’s prescence had made her feel, the crawling uneasiness that crept up her spine whenever she visited that cave in Kikyou’s place. But there had been no answers to her lingering questions. And now… now she had more answers than she knew what to do with. Inuyasha had awakened and returned to her life, and so had Kikyou in a warped and twisted form. Onigumo had become the half demon Naraku and Kikyou’s reincarnated soul was housed in a girl five hundered years from the future. Fate truly had a warped sense of humour it seemed.

She was still learning what to make of Kagome, her far distant descendant who fell through time. She seemed to be such a spirited girl, always willing to speak her mind, never afraid to raise her voice, which was not in itself a bad thing, considering the circumstances. She had a good heart, always willing to give others a chance and try and see a situation from another’s perspective. And Kaede could plainly see that girlish heart longed for Inuyasha.

Was fate playing a part in this too she pondered? Inuyasha’s feelings for Kagome were also strong; Kaede was sure he meant for them to be hidden, but it was easy to see the regard he had for the girl. He cared deeply for her, in his own way. But what could come from it? Could they really have a future together? Only time would tell.

The last ebbing light of the sunset fell away, and Kaede let the door screen fall, shivering a little as the cool night breeze blew in around her ankles. Time to light a lamp and set the rice to cook.

She had just finished washing the rice and put the pot on the embers when she heard the sound of pounding feet coming up the path to her home, too fast to be one of the villagers, accompanied by the snapping aura of youki. Rising as swiftly as she could, knees cracking with age, she reached for her bow. But before her fingers could grasp it, Inuyasha crashed through the doorway, his chest heaving and expression wild.

“By the Kami Inuyasha” she scolded, “are you trying to give this old woman a heart attack? What is going on?”

He knelt next to the fire, clutching a gasping dark haired figure wrapped snugly in Kagome’s sleeping bag, and turned his beseeching eyes to Kaede. She was taken aback by his frantic words.

“Please, help her. Don’t let her die.”

Kagome woke with a start. She was so cold. Her teeth chattered, and she couldn’t control the intense shivers that shook her body, displacing the blanket that had been tucked carefully around her. But her head felt hot, sweat beading on her forehead then running down her face to dampen her hair and collect in the hollow of her throat. How was it possible to feel like she was simultaneously freezing and on fire – surely that was a physical impossibility. She groaned, wanting to open her eyes, but feeling like even that was too much for her.

Everything hurt. Every breath while she lay on her back cut like shards of glass, the pain excruciating, but she had no strength to sit up. It felt like there was a tight mask held over her face that only let the barest trace of oxygen into her screaming lungs, no matter how much she wheezed to take in air. Her body fought to cough and breathe at the same time, without her having any say in the matter, and she whimpered, panic rising. She was drowning on dry land, with no way to swim to the surface.

Warm hands. There was pressure on her shoulders, a soothing rumble, and she turned blindly towards it, craving the heat and life in those hands and the comfort of that sound. Now that she was upright her breathing felt a little easier, the pain in her chest and back more bearable, now he was here. Those warm hands moved her gently to lean against him, her naked skin shivering against fur and cloth, a deep rumbling sound vibrating against her spine. Warmth encircled her, those hands tugging a blanket up to her chin, and she sighed in relief, tucking her face in against that small patch of smooth skin, resting her nose into the hollow of his throat. The fresh clean scent of cedar and cypress from the woods calmed her. She could barely breathe, but she knew that smell.

“Inuyasha”, she gasped softly, raising one hand to clench her fingers into his suikan, her relief in his prescence palpable. She wanted to open her eyes and smile for him, show him she was glad he was here, but her body betrayed her, harsh coughs racking her already shivering frame.

Inuyasha looked down at the pale girl in his arms. The previous silence of the small hut was now filled to the brim with Kagome’s coughing, the raw sound grating up her throat, stealing the air from her lungs until she was gasping. She looked so fragile, curled up as she coughed into his shoulder, letting out a soft whimper at the end of each fresh burst. It was a pattern that had repeated over and over since they’d arrived here the night before. Just as she seemed to settle and was drifting into sleep, her breath would catch, and another fit would start.

His heart clenched at the sight of her pained face, tears falling from her sooty lashes and down her feverish cheeks. He held her close, tapping on her back and supporting her as he had for the past night and day in the isolation hut.

When they’d first arrived and he’d begged Kaede to save her, the old woman had insisted he leave them in the isolation hut so she could get Kagome comfortable and sponge her down to help her fever, citing propriety. He’d hovered outside, snarling and pacing, listening to a barely conscious Kagome weeping and gasping inconsolably as Kaede tried to calm her with quiet words. After a few minutes, he hadn’t been able to stand it any longer, and had rushed back into the hut, pulling her semi-naked form into his lap, rocking her as he held her tightly in his arms. Almost without thinking, he’d begun to make that grumbling noise that he made only for her, and Kagome had calmed almost instantly, his deep rumbling vibration soothing her almost to sleep.

With a wry smile, Kaede had conceded to the needs of her patient and had handed Kagome’s nursing over to Inuyasha, only bustling in and out of the small hut behind her own to bring medicinal tea, broth, and water to sponge down her fevered skin. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d tapped on Kagome’s back to help her try to clear her lungs, sponged her heated skin with cool water in an effort to bring down her fever, coaxed the bitter herbal medicines down her protesting throat.

Inuyasha laced his fingers into Kagome’s, and she squeezed his hand hard as another coughing fit had her lungs spasming, more tears running down her face as she cried out in pain, finally managing to cough up the greenish phlegm that had been choking her into a cloth he had ready under her mouth.

“That’s it. Good girl. That’s my good girl. I got you.”

He hadn’t wanted to leave her side when she had finally fallen asleep after coaxing her to swallow a little broth to take away the bitterness of her afternoon dose of medicinal tea, but he’d had to. She wasn’t getting any better. There was no improvement, despite his and Kaede’s careful care. And he could tell Kaede was worried, no matter how calm she looked on the outside, which made him even more so.

So, heartsick and anxious, he’d gone through the well. He’d falteringly explained the situation to Mama Higurashi, his voice breaking a little as he told her exactly how sick he and Kaede thought she was. When she’d angrily demanded why he hadn’t brought her home straight away, he’d tried to explain Kagome’s reasoning and her fear of spreading the illness. Told her he was now making the decision to bring her back through the well against her wishes, and that he didn’t care if Kagome was angry with him. He’d just wanted to warn Mama first, in case she thought precautions needed to be taken.

After a few moments of pure panic, Mama had embraced him, soothed him with quiet words that he’d done the right thing in letting her know, and had taken charge of the situation just like he’d hoped she would. While he hovered in the background, she made a phone call to another mother to arrange a sleep over at a friend's house for Souta, then ran out to Grandpa sweeping the temple grounds to explain the situation. He’d wanted to stay, but she’d finally got him to agree to stay with one of his friends for the night, just until the doctor had seen Kagome.

Then she called their family doctor, asking if he could make a house call as soon as possible, explaining her concerns about possible influenza and not wanting to take Kagome to the emergency room at the hospital, just in case. As he left the shrine she’d just finished collecting medicine from the bathroom, and was busily putting clean sheets on Kagome's bed, the bedroom window wide open to and air out the room. All Inuyasha had to do was bring Kagome back through the well. He could feel the fear driving Mama’s nervous energy, but it also gave him hope. He didn’t care what else happened. All he cared about was Kagome.

Now that Kagome’s coughing fit had eased, he propped her limp form up against his chest, reaching for the pyjamas that Mama had given him to dress her in, fluffy, pink and soft. It was easy to tug the pants with the elastic waist up her legs and over her underwear, but the shirt with its tiny heart shaped white buttons tested his shaking fingers.

Kagome thanked him sleepily, her voice raw from coughing.

“Kagome, I gotta tell ya somethin’.”

She blinked her eyes open, looking blearily upwards and taking in his tired anxious expression with concern.

“Inuyasha, you okay?”

He snorted, sighing exasperatedly at her, and smoothed back her damp fringe.

“Stop wastin’ your breath on me, dummy, it’s you that we need to worry about at the moment.” He took a deep breath, his gaze serious. “Kagome, I want you to listen to me”, he said, his voice slow and deep. “I don’t want any fuss, and I’m not gonna take no for an answer. I’m takin’ you back through the well to your Mama.”

“No”, she whispered, reaching up to tug on his suikan weakly, her voice wheezing and cracking, “contagious… don’t want them to die… isolation hut, you promised.” Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and her bottom lip trembled.

“I didn’t promise nothin’ of the sort”, replied Inuyasha gently, brushing away her tears with his thumb. “Besides, you’ve been here in the isolation hut for over a day Kagome, and you’re just gettin’ weaker. Kaede agrees with me. I ain’t gonna let you get any worse. I know you’re stubborn wench, but so am I.”

He folded down the collar of her pyjama shirt that was sitting crooked, and gently pulled the dark hair caught inside the collar loose to rest down her shoulders. Her tearful expression of betrayal was breaking his heart.

“I explained to your Mama what you were worried about, and she has it all sorted. Your grandfather and Souta are stayin’ somewhere else. She’s got a doctor comin’ to the shrine and medicine organised. It’s going to be okay. You’re gonna be fine”, he said, his voice hitching a little. He pressed his forehead to hers, then planted a brief kiss there as he tucked the dark sweat dampened hair hanging in her face behind her ears tenderly. “That’s what Mama said, and she’s never lied to me, so it’s gotta be true, right?”

His voice cracked a little more, and he took a deep breath, pulling her close to him, tucking her in under his chin to hide his sudden tears, blinking them away before Kagome could see them. He could swear over and over that he would protect her, that he would lay his life on the line for her, but what good was a sword against this?

“Inuyasha”, she whispered, her face burrowing into his chest, “… I’m scared.”

He pressed his lips to her hair, rocking her in his arms as he had the night before, when he was desperate for her to get some healing sleep. “Don’t cry my sweet girl, don’t cry. I got you.”

He eased himself to his feet with her still in his arms, moving slowly and carefully. He paused in the doorway where Kaede waited to say goodbye.

“Don’t cry child”, she said soothingly, patting Kagome’s arm in a comforting manner. “Inuyasha is doing the right thing – let him take care of you. Your body is working hard to fight this illness, but this fever of yours needs to come down, and you need rest. I am sure the healers in your time will know how to proceed, and I have no doubt I will see you again when you are feeling better.”

“Kaede…”, Kagome whimpered tearfully.

“None of that now”, said Kaede firmly. “Off you go. I’m sure your mother is anxious to see you.” She nodded to Inuyasha, her expression calm and kind. “Keep your spirits up Inuyasha”, she said softly, “all will be well, you will see.”

He blinked at the older woman, his own eyes bright, then nodded, his jaw clenched tightly as if to prevent the unspoken fears in his eyes from spilling down his cheeks. With Kagome held safely in his arms, he took off towards the well, his graceful speed pulling them from Kaede’s sight in no time at all.

Once they were safely away, the serene expression dropped from her face, and she raised her tired eyes to the heavens, the late afternoon sun lengthening her shadow far behind her. In her long years as a healer, she had seen very few recover from the lung fever once their symptoms were as severe as Kagome’s, but surely the kami could not be so cruel. She was worried for Kagome, but just as worried for Inuyasha. How would he handle the loss if Kagome died, when he was only just beginning to accept the place she held in his heart?

“Please”, she pleaded, a single tear rolling down her weathered cheek, “please let all be well.”

Mama was waiting for them at the well house, her usually kind brown eyes anxious above a white mask that covered her nose and mouth. Her breath hitched as she took in Kagome’s flushed cheeks and shallow breaths and she blinked away sudden tears.

“Mama, I’m sorry”, wheezed Kagome.

“Shh, baby, everything will be okay, you’ll see. I’m just glad to see you.” Seeing Inuyasha’s startled expression at the mask she explained.

“You said Kagome was concerned about infection, so I will wear this mask unless the doctor says she’s no longer contagious – that way she won’t have to worry. Please take her straight up to her bedroom so we can give her some medicine to help with her fever. The doctor will be here soon.”

She followed quickly behind Inuyasha as he carried her daughter up the stairs to her bedroom, watching silently as he gently placed her on the bed and propped her upright with soft pillows. She handed him two small tablets and watched as Inuyasha coaxed Kagome to take them, praising her when she managed to swallow them down with sips of water.

“Now that we’ve got Kagome settled, we need to disguise you a little before the doctor gets here”, she said quietly to Inuyasha, stroking his shoulder. “I’ve put some old clothes of my husband’s in the bathroom, a t-shirt and some loose comfortable pants – he was about your height, so hopefully they’ll fit well enough.” Nodding, he dropped a soft kiss to the top of Kagome’s head, then left the room.

“Inuyasha?” Kagome called out, her eyes widening at his sudden absence.

“Shh my darling, it’s okay. He’ll be right back after he’s changed into modern clothes. You want him to be able to stay in the room when the doctor is here, don’t you?” Mama soothed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Reaching for the cloth sitting in a bowl of tepid water, she wrung it out, smoothing it over Kagome’s face and wrists, the heat of a mother’s love swelling in her chest. Her baby. No matter how old Kagome got, she would always be her baby.

Kagome began to cough and Inuyasha reappeared in the doorway as if summoned, pulling the dark t-shirt over his head as he sat on the other side of the bed, easing Kagome forward a little so he could tap gently on her back.

“That’s it. That’s my brave girl”, he soothed, as Mama reached for the box of tissues, placing them in front of Kagome. “Cough it up now, that’s the way.”

Mama couldn’t help the sudden tears that sprang up to roll silently down her cheeks, dampening the mask. When had the brash self-defensive boy that had burst into their kitchen over a year ago been replaced with this kind and caring man, his face worn with worry and fatigue? The weight of fear sat heavy on his shoulders, but his eyes when he looked at Kagome held an intensity of feeling that could not be denied.

She had been watching the growing attachment between her daughter and Inuyasha with trepidation at first, unsure how any relationship between them could work. They were both still so young! Where would they live? Inuyasha was half youkai - was it possible for them to have children? And what would happen when the first blush of love receded and Kagome began aging and Inuyasha did not – would he turn her aside? Questions, too many questions that had no answers, none that she felt she had a right to ask. There was no denying the love between them. And she felt with all of her heart that they were made for each other, and meant to be together. But she knew only too well, that love, no matter how strong, could be taken away, and she was petrified, for both of them.

She had grown to care for this boy like a son, this vagabond half demon from the past that had burst into their humdrum modern lives. Kagome had explained his lonely life previous to their quest for the jewel, and Mama had decided from that moment to love him fiercely, whether he wanted it or not. She could feel the neediness in him; it was hidden deep down, so deeply that he probably didn’t recognise it himself, but she could see it. She had welcomed him into her family, done her best to show him that she valued him both for himself and as a protector of her daughter, accepted him as he was. And now just look at him.

Kagome closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep.

“Inuyasha”, she said quietly, watching as he maneuvered himself to sit on the bed so Kagome could lean against him, “when was the last time you ate?”

His slow blink and blank stare had her nodding. Not recently then. “What about Kagome?”

“I managed to get her to take a little broth around midday. But not much. She said that eating makes her feel sick.”

“Alright, I’ll just make something for you then.”

“You don’t hafta. I’m alright.”

Smiling, she reached forward as she stood, softly tweaking one of his pointed twitching ears.

“I know I don’t. But I want to. You’re taking such good care of my daughter Inuyasha, let me take care of you.” Tactfully ignoring the sudden brightness in his amber eyes, she left the room to go down to the kitchen, turning to take one last look at them before she headed down the stairs.

Inuyasha had his head bent forward, his lips pressed firmly against the crown of Kagome’s head, his own long white hair falling either side of her face like a protective curtain. He was making a sound she could only compare to Buyo’s contented purring, deep and low. It was a calming sound, and even though she knew it wasn’t meant for her, Mama took comfort in it. Kagome was as safe as they could make her, until the doctor arrived. Yes, she was very ill, but she was also young and strong. Their little family would get through this, and come out the better for it, she was certain.

Part Four

#mamabearcat fanfics #instinct #inukag fanfic

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years ago

Text

Fic: Patience

Summary: Hohenheim and Trisha sleep together for the first time. It’s somewhat awkward considering that the souls are attempting to be helpful for once, but Trisha is nothing if not understanding, and what could have been a disaster turns into something sweet.

Rated: Explicit

Note: From what I can tell, opinion seems split as to Hohenheim’s sexual activities prior to settling with Trisha, but I’m in the camp that thinks Trisha was his first and only. I’m not going to go into my deeper reasoning here, but I headcanon him on the ace branch of the sexuality tree. Even after he settled with Trisha, I don’t think they had all that much sex.

Patience

It isn’t until they’re inside the front door and it has closed with a soft but very final click that Hohenheim begins to fully appreciate where this is going, and he feels a slight current of panic start to thread itself through his nerves.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to have sex with Trisha. It’s just that she’s the first person he’s ever had those kinds of feelings towards, and he knows that his lack of experience will show. How on earth can he explain to her that he’s still a virgin?

Prolonged life aside, she’s twenty and he’s physically thirty-six (he thinks – he never celebrated his birthday back when he’d been a slave). He really ought to have some knowledge. As it is, he’s got four centuries on her and he’s completely clueless. Four centuries and he’s never had sex. What has he been doing with his life? Not that, obviously. He’s travelled far and wide and he’s met many people, but Trisha is the first one he’s let get close enough for that kind of desire to develop.

Then there’s the ever-present hum of the souls. Trisha knows about them; there’s no way he would have let things get this far without warning her about the half a million unavoidable, if unwilling, observers sharing his headspace. She’s all right with the notion, but right now, Hohenheim himself is having some trouble with them. He’s learned to live with them, but he really wishes that they would all just shut up for five minutes. He knows they’re only trying to help in their own way, but the first time is daunting under any circumstances and absolutely not made easier by a few hundred thousand souls, all arguing with each other over the best way to go about this.

He’s even more confused once they all start yelling conflicting advice at him, and he’s about to give it all up as a bad job and take Trisha back to her own home when her arms slip around his middle and her mouth slants over his, soft but undeniably eager, and Hohenheim surrenders. Maybe, just this once, he’ll let himself have what he wants for a night.

She smiles at him as she breaks the kiss, and he feels one hand come down to his ass, pulling him in closer against her.

“Everything ok? You’ve got your thinking face on.”

“My thinking face?”

“Yeah. You look worried. I don’t bite, I promise.”

She’d said that the first time that she’d kissed him, and he’d been unable to articulate anything other than ‘arp’ for about five minutes afterwards.

“Trisha?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve never done this before.” The words almost fall over themselves in his haste to get them out.

“Really?”

Hohenheim nods, searching her face for scorn, disgust, mockery, expecting at any moment for her either to laugh or recoil, or just leave him standing completely dejected in his own hallway. Not even the few souls attempting and miserably failing to be encouraging in the back of his mind can stop the familiar nervousness of being truly terrible at interacting with normal human beings.

Trisha just smiles. “Well, there’s a first time for everything. I’m sure we can figure out what we’re doing between us.”

“I have every faith in you. It’s me I’m worried about.”

She laughs, but there’s nothing malicious in it.

“You’ll be fine.”

Hohenheim kisses her again, because at least he knows what he’s doing with that. And it’s not as if he doesn’t know the basic fundamentals of what’s about to happen. He could just do without the ‘helpful’ tips generating slanging matches inside his veins. At least they’re shouting at each other and not him.

“Please be quiet,” he hisses under his breath. Trisha touches a fingertip to the bridge of his nose, trying to smooth out the frown line there.

“Hey. Just ignore them for a while. I’m here.” She squeezes his ass and gives him a saucy little look that should be wrong on someone as sweet as Trisha but that does something to his insides and makes that ember of attraction burn a little brighter. “Maybe we ought to go upstairs?”

Hohenheim nods, letting her lead him up the stairs to his bedroom. At least the bed is made and it’s vaguely tidy, which isn’t always the case.

Trisha looks around at the books and paperwork that have spilled over from the study. “Are all the rooms in your house filled with alchemy?”

“Yes.” Considering he’s been known to draw arrays in toothpaste on the tiles before now, he can’t even claim that the bathroom is untouched.

Trisha rolls her eyes and begins to undo his tie.

“Oh, you’re wonderful.” She pulls him in and kisses him before he can respond, but there again, Hohenheim doesn’t think that a response is needed. Just more kissing, and Trisha’s hands finding his and bringing them to the buttons on the front of her dress.

“I think the next step is taking all our clothes off.”

Hohenheim would be lying if he said he has not thought about what Trisha looks like naked. He would be telling the truth if he said he hadn’t thought about it up until two hours ago, when the hints she’s been dropping for a while that she would very much like him to see her naked, and vice versa, ceased to be subtle and even he couldn’t misconstrue her desires.

Since then, it feels like he’s been thinking about it at least every five minutes.

Objectively, he knows what women look like naked. He’s seen enough of them – he’s been studying and practising medical alkahestry for hundreds of years. But there’s something very different about that context and this context, and his fingers fumble over her buttons, his mouth going suddenly dry as he pushes the dress off her shoulders, leaving her in a plain cotton camisole and knickers.

There’s colour rising in Trisha’s cheeks now, and for all she’s taken the lead so far, he’s reminded that this is the first time for her, too. He should probably do something that isn’t just standing here staring at her like a lemon.

“The bed?” he suggests.

“Good idea.”

He’s not quite sure how they manage to make it to the bed, or how Trisha manages to get his shirt off, but then she’s lying back against the pillows with her legs open in welcome, and she’s pulling him down on top of her, and he feels like he’s drowning in a very good way.

You can touch her, you know, some talkative soul points out, but there’s something in the back of Hohenheim’s mind saying that he can’t, that he shouldn’t, that he’s a monster and Trisha is, well, Trisha, and he doesn’t deserve her.

There’s also the fact that she’s petite and slender and he’s tall and solidly built, and he doesn’t want to crush her.

“I won’t break,” she whispers, as if she can tell what he’s thinking. “I’m not indestructible, but I’m not made of porcelain either.”

She reaches up and takes his glasses off, and he blinks a few times to readjust. He doesn’t actually need them; any optician would be able to tell at a glance that the glass is plain. But knowing that he has a doppelgänger out there, he wanted something to distinguish them, and he knows that the Thing in the Flask (no longer in a flask, more’s the pity) would never want to be seen as anything less than a perfect specimen of humanity. So glasses it was.

There’s another, more pragmatic reason. People are less likely to notice his unusual eye colour if they have to look through glasses to see it.

Hohenheim trusts Trisha. He’s never trusted anyone this much, not even Pinako, whose obstinate and enduring friendship is the reason he’s stuck around in Resembool long enough to meet Trisha and form a relationship with her in the first place. If Trisha says she’s ok, then he’s not going to pretend that he knows better than her.

So, he takes his chances, shifting his weight and bringing a hand to her breast, rubbing his fingertips over her nipple where it stands hard and pert against the soft fabric of her camisole.

Trisha wriggles under him, lips quirking up in an expression of pleasure.

“Mm. That’s good.” She pushes him back so that she can sit up, pulling her camisole off and tossing it onto the floor. The flush of self-consciousness is still there in her cheeks, spreading down over her neck and bare decolletage, but her eyes are bright with want as she brings his hand back to her breast. “Please. I want you to touch me.”

In that moment, Hohenheim doesn’t think that he’ll be able to deny Trisha anything for as long as he lives, because in that one simple sentence she’s given him a gift she’ll probably never truly comprehend the scope of. She knows his story, she knows about the souls, she knows about Xerxes, and yet she still loves him in spite of it. She still wants his hands on her, unafraid of him marring her in some way. She still wants him to be the first one she’s ever intimate with.

He leans in, capturing her mouth again and trying to pour all of the gratitude and need into the kiss, trailing down over her cheek and jaw and making her gasp. He pulls back.

“Are you all right?”

“I’d be better if you keep kissing me.”

Hohenheim is happy to oblige, continuing to circle her pebbled nipple with his thumb, and Trisha arches up into his touch, wanting more. He switches to her other breast, repeating the treatment and feeling a little pride at the soft noises she makes. He’s so focussed on her that he startles when he feels her fingertips trail down his arm.

“My turn. I want to touch you, too.”

Trisha’s touch is featherlight as she maps his chest with her hands, drawing out an involuntary shiver as her fingernails scrape over his own nipples, and she smiles that sexy little smile again at his reaction before moving downwards towards his belt and the now completely undeniable bulge below. A part of him can’t help being ferociously embarrassed by his body’s rapid reaction to what’s going on and moreover to the fact Trisha is in his bed wearing nothing but her knickers and she’s touching him and…

“May I?”

Her hand is hovering over his crotch, and there’s that drowning feeling again, and Hohenheim nods. She touches him so lightly, and yet he can almost feel her warmth through the fabric. Suddenly he’s very aware of human anatomy and the fact he’s a lot taller than Trisha and his cock is in proportion with his height, and she’s slim-hipped and unstretched, and this has the potential to be a complete disaster. He closes his eyes, attempting to focus on the here and now and trying desperately to ignore the bluster that’s started up in the back of his mind again.

It’s fine, it always hurts the first time. No, if it hurts then you’re doing it wrong. Virgins bleed the first time, why do you think we had to slaughter so many chickens on wedding nights? Shut up and let him breathe for goodness sake, he’ll be a nervous wreck any minute if you keep this up. If she bleeds then you’re being too rough. Why did we bother with the chickens then? The patriarchy, Mara, that’s why. Can we not get into arguments about the patriarchy right now? My first time hurt like hell. It’s called ‘making LOVE’, it’s not supposed to HURT.

“Hohenheim?”

He opens his eyes to find Trisha’s green ones full of concern. She pushes him back up onto his knees and scooches up into a sitting position, her legs cradling his as she holds his face with gentle hands.

“Are you all right?”

“I…” Hohenheim sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Trisha smiles. She’s so accepting and so patient.

“I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“I might.”

“You won’t. If it’s uncomfortable, then I’ll tell you to stop, and you’ll stop. You won’t hurt me.”

She kisses him, softly but still with that ever-present fire, carding her hands in his hair to get him closer and giggling against his mouth when she gets tangled up. Hohenheim decides to cut his losses and pulls his ponytail loose. It’s probably the first time Trisha’s ever seen him with his hair down, and he watches her taking in the sight for a moment.

“You remind me of a lion, with your beard and your hair like that. It’s like a lion’s mane.”

In spite of the remnants of panic swirling through his veins, Hohenheim has to laugh at that, and Trisha laughs too, and she buries her face in against his neck.

“It’s ok,” she says. “We’ve got all the time in the world. Tonight we can just… be close.”

“Yes. I’d like that.”

They break apart by necessity, Hohenheim standing up to take his trousers off whilst Trisha gets comfortable between the sheets. She cuddles in close against him when he joins her, fingers dancing over his shoulder and down his arm, interlacing their hands and pressing a kiss to his palm.

“Feeling better?”

Hohenheim nods. “Trisha, I think you’re the most remarkable person I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you.” She giggles. “You’re definitely the most remarkable person I’ve ever met, but then I’ve never left Resembool, so I don’t have a very wide field of comparison.”

She trails her fingers back up his arm, down his side, round over his hip and up his spine, and Hohenheim feels his skin break out into gooseflesh under her touch. Trisha must definitely have noticed, but she doesn’t say anything, content to keep drawing patterns over him with featherlight fingertips. Emboldened by her ease, Hohenheim mimics her, lazily working his way over her soft skin until she nestles in his arms, closing her eyes with a smile and drifting off to sleep in his embrace.

For a long while, Hohenheim just watches her, the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way her breath disturbs the tendrils of her hair that fall over her face. No matter what else happens, he feels like he could get used to this, that spending every night for the rest of forever with Trisha here beside him, in his arms, would be better than anything else in the world.

The souls are still arguing in the back of his mind even as he begins to feel a sense of calm that he’s not felt for a very long time, if ever, and he’s content to ignore all their bickering as he feels slumber take him too.

For the briefest of moments when he wakes up alone in a bed that he definitely had company in before, Hohenheim is rather alarmed, but Trisha’s dress and shoes are still on the floor so she can’t have gone far. He rolls over, pillowing his hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. Everything seems different in the warm morning light. There’s less urgency, less energy, although still the same amount of desire. There’s time and space to think. Actually, that might not be a good thing. Overthinking everything was what led to all the trouble last night.

The souls are still at it, but they’re much more subdued now. Maybe they’ve realised that they’re not helping and are trying to give him as much space as they can. Maybe they got it all out of their systems whilst he was dead to the world.

The bedroom door opens and Trisha tiptoes around it, smiling when she sees him awake.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes. I was surprised, actually.” She slips back into bed with him. “I thought that having another person there would make it difficult, but apparently sleeping with you is as natural as anything. Actually sleeping, I mean. Not the other kind of sleeping. Although maybe that will come naturally too. Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying.” She pulls the sheets up over her head in embarrassment.

“That’s ok. I don’t know what I’m saying either.”

Trisha emerges from her cocoon and leans over him, bending in closer and closer until she presses a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“It’s still pretty early,” she says. “And we don’t have to be anywhere.”

Hohenheim knows what she’s suggesting. Maybe they can restart what they cut short last night.

“We don’t.

There’s a pause then, a moment of stillness and silence, and Hohenheim realises that Trisha is waiting for him to take the lead. She’s far readier for this than he is, that was made clear to him last night even if neither of them actually said anything out loud, but being the perfect person that she is, she’ll go at his pace. As if he needed any more reasons to be head over heels in love with her.

He wants this. He never thought, in the past, that it was something he ever wanted. He always wanted to have a family, but after so long alone he’d accepted it would never be possible. Trisha has reignited the hope, and at the same time ignited something dormant that was perhaps never ignited before, the want to be as close to her and as intimate with her as possible not for the sake of itself but because she’s Trisha and she’s wonderful and he adores her.

Hohenheim pulls her down into a kiss that he hopes conveys all that. Her reaction is certainly encouraging, covering his body with hers and tangling her fingers into his hair.

“All right?” she asks breathlessly, cheeks tinged pink.

“Yes. You?”

“Oh, yes.”

She sits up and pulls her camisole off again, and now Hohenheim can fully appreciate the sight of her in the light. His hands follow a familiar course from last night, cupping her breasts and rubbing her nipples to pebbled points, enjoying the way her eyes close and her head tilts back.

“Maybe you could go lower?” Trisha takes his hands and draws them down her sides to the waistband of her knickers. The blush is spreading from her cheeks down over her chest again, and Hohenheim just sits up and stares as she slips off him and pulls her underwear off, leaving her gloriously naked and bathed in a sliver of golden sunrise.

Every language he knows, including the mother tongue he hasn’t spoken in so long, deserts him in that moment, and since he knows in the back of his mind he should probably do something that isn’t simply gawp at her like she’s a fairground attraction, he kisses her again. Trisha curls her arms and legs around him, keeping him close, and they stay like that for a long time until Hohenheim begins to feel his cock responding to her nearness again. He goes to pull away by instinct more than anything, but Trisha holds him tighter, one foot tracing up and down his calf.

“Don’t run away,” she murmurs. “I want to feel you. I want to see you.”

She releases her tight hold on him a little, and although there’s a part of Hohenheim that still thinks they’re about to get on a runaway train to disaster, he takes off his underwear.

He knows he’s never been this vulnerable with someone before, but it’s not uncomfortable with Trisha. She drinks in the sight of him like he did her, and then she’s pulling him back down into her arms, peppering him with kisses over his lips, cheeks, neck.

“Please touch me,” she whispers in his ear. “I trust you.”

That vote of confidence shores him up more than any of the misplaced encouragement the souls can give, and Hohenheim shifts his weight off Trisha, tracing his hand carefully down over her chest and tummy to the patch of soft dark curls on her mound. Her thighs fall open wider for him and he can feel the first traces of her wet and glistening arousal on her folds. His own pulse quickens at the thought of it.

“Is this all right?” He strokes along her slit tentatively, watching the way her hips jerk and wriggle against the sheets, pressing into his touch.

“Mm.” Trisha nods, her eyes fluttering closed, and then her hand comes down to guide his fingers to her entrance, hot and slippery and ever so slightly overwhelming in a very good way.

Hohenheim yelps as Trisha’s fingertips brush over the sensitive tip of his cock and she looks at him, startled.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes. That was just… Would you do it again?”

Trisha smiles that devilish little smile again, her tongue darting out over her lips as she curls her fingers round his length and strokes gently. Hohenheim’s masturbated before, he’s no stranger to this kind of touch but from a hand other than his own is something entirely different and indescribable.

“Are you ready?”

Is he? He’s pretty sure his brain’s only half there, but…

“Yes.”

It takes a lot of awkward fumbling for them to get into the right position and lined up properly, but Hohenheim knows that Trisha’s giggling fit is not directed at his ineptitude but at the entire situation, and he’d far rather that she was giggling and happy than not giggling and not happy. But then her arm is around his back, and her face is buried in against his neck, and he’s pushing into her and everything falls into place.

“Tell me if I hurt you.”

Trisha nods against his neck and Hohenheim begins to move slowly, going a little further with each thrust until Trisha’s hand stops him.

“No deeper, please. Not this first time, at least.”

The implication of there being a subsequent time after this one must mean that he hasn’t completely disgraced himself, and Hohenheim keeps going, as carefully as he can, Trisha’s thighs tightening around his back. He can feel the tension beginning to coil in the pit of his stomach, and Trisha is so warm and velvety around him. For a minute or so, his entire world is reduced to him, Trisha, and the bed frame under them; he can even drown out the souls.

He retains enough presence of mind to pull out before he comes, but not enough to be able to warn Trisha and stop her from getting her thighs covered in his sticky seed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to, not inside you…”

Trisha just kisses him again, and for a long time, nothing more is said. Hohenheim rolls off her onto his side and Trisha follows him over, snuggling in close again as their legs get completely tangled up in the sheets.

She smiles softly, pushing his hair back out of his face.

“All right?”

Hohenheim nods. “More than all right. And you?”

“I don’t think we did too badly for a first attempt. And you know what they say. Practice makes perfect.”

“I think I’ll need a minute before any more practising.”

Trisha laughs. “You’re wonderful, and I love you.”

“I love you too, Trisha.”

The souls are blessedly quiet as he continues to lie there in the rising sun with Trisha in his arms, never wanting to let go of her.

There’s a part of him that knows it can’t last. She’s human, he’s immortal, the entire thing is doomed before they even start, but Trisha is different to anyone else he’s ever met over the course of his long life, because Trisha gives him hope. She gives him the drive to not just accept his fate and resign himself to never making this kind of connection with another person. She makes him want to fight against the inevitability of what will eventually come. She makes him want to be mortal again, to regain a normal life and live it out with her. She makes him believe that somehow, somewhere, the means to do it are out there and he can achieve it. She trusts him despite everything he’s told her about himself, and although he’s barely trusted anyone since he made the mistake of trusting the Thing in the Flask, Hohenheim trusts Trisha with every soul in his veins.

She makes him believe that, just maybe, he’s worthy of love and happiness after all, and for Hohenheim, that’s a gift far more intimate than what they’ve just done.

#FMA Brotherhood #Fullmetal Alchemist #FMA Fanfiction #Van Hohenheim #Trisha Elric #HohenheimxTrisha #Fic: Patience

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