#because there's an empty seat across from jungle

[tatonslice]

you can tell which one i think about the most

[magicbystarlight]

Lioness

Sergei Kravinoff (Kraven the Hunter) x Reader

Summary: Your friends drag you to a club on Halloween and you catch the eye of a hunter.

Warnings: 18+, smut, orgasm denial, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, no condom mention, self-deprecation, overall very fluffy. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Yet another work that's mostly self-indulgent, but partially for Lovely 💛

It was loud. Even with the earbuds shoved into your ears to drown out the incessient buzz of conversation, the music still pounded in your bones. And fuck, it was hot. You’d thought the cozy lion jumpsuit would be a better costume than the tight spandex catsuit Felicia had tried to get you to try on.

You sat in the booth watching the club move around you. Gwen had procured it at a discounted rate by promising a table full of pretty girls. Why you’d been included still confused you. At twenty eight to their twenty one, you felt more like a mother than a friend to the girls in your comms class. More often than not they were at your apartment, eating the only home cooked meals they’ll have all week, and enjoying the quiet they can’t get in a dorm. They’d invited you out before, but never as vehemently as tonight.

“If she’s not going, I’m not going,” MJ had declared, throwing her feet up on your coffee table. Most likely a lie, you realized now as she danced in her non-costume costume with a wide grin. But it worked. Because here you were.

Your focus shifted to each of the girls, checking they were all alright. Felicia was dancing with MJ in the catsuit she’d tried to get you in. Gwen in a some seventies aesthetic she claimed made her Stevie Nicks was at the bar talking to some guy you recognized from campus. You’d kept count of all their drinks and so far they seemed reasonably buzzed. But it was Halloween and the creeps were out in droves.

Your gaze drifted to the rest of the patrons standing at the bar. There’s more skin than fabric. One man in particular wore some cheesy jungle getup with only an open vest lined with a faux lion’s mane and a tooth necklace to cover his torso. Not that you blamed him. With a body like that…

Heat bloomed across your face as you realized he was watching you as well. Your attention fell to the table. God that was embarrassing. The rum and coke you’d ordered when you first set down was more water than anything, but it gave you something to fiddle with. It wasn’t enough to hold your attention for long. You looked for the girls again, finding them exactly where they had been a few minutes before. And finding the man gone.

You let out a laugh. You were being ridiculous. He probably wasn’t even looking at you. Who would? You sighed and leaned forward to put your empty glass on the table.

A shadow moved in the corner of your vision that made you jump. The man stood at the edge of the booth, smile playing on his lips. They moved but you couldn’t hear anything. Oh! Right. You pulled out the buds. He said something else, but you still couldn’t hear him. The loud beat drowned him out.

He gestured to the booth in a silent request. You nodded and moved over, biting your lip. He took a seat. His frame dwarfed the bench. And you. An arm stretched behind you. He leaned in, the smell of sweat and cologne drifting over you, beard scratching your ear. “Your costume is inaccurate,” he said with a voice like honey. Warm, rich, and sweet. Something tugged at the hood you’d pushed back. “A lioness does not have a mane.”

Something in you deflated. That’s why he’d come over? To mock your costume? As if you weren’t embarrassed enough. “I’m aware, thanks.”

His hearing was better than yours. A puff of air hit your ear. “Retract the claws, little lioness. I only meant to start a conversation.”

You’re saved from responding by the bottle girl, Amber you think, stopping by. She had a new rum and coke and two shots of a clear liquid. “I didn’t order this,” you tried to shout as she took your empty glass. She pointed across the table. At the man. Right. He stretched out his hand, a bill between two fingers. From the blue tint you’d guess a hundred. She disappeared a moment later.

"Let us start, again, yes? I am Sergei." He picked up the shot glasses and offered one to you. "Though I often go by Kraven."

"I don't really like to drink much."

"Neither do I."

He moved back and you stared confused as he downed one of the shots. He again offered the other. You took it, bringing it to your nose. There was no discerable smell. You took a sip. "It's water?"

Sergei laughed. "A hunt is no fun when the game is tranquilized."

It took a second before it clicked. "Ah. Hunter," you pointed to him, "lion," you pointed to yourself. "Clever."

“So,” he began, plucking the shot glass from your hand, and tipping it down his own throat, “why are you here tonight if not to drink or dance?”

“Who says I’m not here to dance?”

He nodded towards the floor where Gwen had joined MJ and Felicia. “If you wished to dance, you’d have joined your companions.”

You started to explain that it was them who had dragged you out here despite your protests, but stopped. “How did you know that?”

“Hunter,” he touched his bare chest, “lion,” his fingers caught your chin. “A good hunter always observes his prey before he makes his first move.” He was really into the whole hunter persona he’d crafted. Maybe he was an actor. Or one of those cosplayers. Either way you didn’t think it’d be quite so alluring if he weren’t so attractive. He leaned in again, that same scratch of beard against your ear. "Would it be to forward to mention how much I'm looking forward to having your pelt on my floor tonight?"

He couldn't be serious. You weren't ugly, but you were wearing some silly pajama-like jumpsuit and nearing thirty. There were several dozen younger and prettier options he could take home tonight. Ones who could match the aesthetic of his six pack. A quick glance around and you could see a sexy lion and tiger and bear. "Is this a joke?" Your gaze returned to him, trying to calm the quickening pace of your heart. "Some bet with your buddies?"

He head cocked to the side and released you, brows furrowed. "A joke? Why would I joke?"

"Why would you want me?"

"Why would I not?" Your mind raced to come up with a response, but Sergei continued, "You are a beautiful woman. I have not been able to tear my eyes from you all night." He brought a hand up and ran a finger down your jaw. "I am a simple man. I see something I want and I pursue." A flush crept up your neck. It's hard to ignore the hunger in his eyes. They bore into you, dark and earnest.

"You're serious?"

He took your hand and held it against his chest. His heart beat out of sync with the music. “There is nothing I desire more than to ravage you tonight.”

A shiver ran down your spine. Your gaze fell from his eyes to your joined hands to the muscles glistening beneath to the bulge in his—

You diverted your eyes back to the dance floor. None of the girls were there. For a moment he was forgotten. Worry replaced whatever feelings he stirred. Where were they? Did they leave you behind? Wouldn't Gwen have told you? You'd seen her only moments ago.

A hand on your shoulder brought you back to the moment. Sergei was staring at you. He said something. Damn music was too loud. You leaned in, gesturing for him to repeat himself.

"Where has your attention gone, little lioness?" He sounded amused.

"I can’t see my friends."

His chest rumbled. “They are by the bar.”

You turned your head. Sure enough they were sitting at the bar. Watching you. Gwen held her thumbs up and Felicia mouthed, “Oh my god.”

It seems they approve.” Your heart fluttered. The way he was looking at you, the way his fingers had begun to stroke the back of your neck, the heat rolling off him in waves, it all left you breathless. “Perhaps we should get some air? I have a place not far from here. A little quieter, no?”

Your gaze flicked between his lips and his eyes. Was this really happening? Was a man who looked like a Greek God about to invite you back to his place? Your eyes dropped to the tenting of his pants. Oh yes. He was. "Okay."

"Good." He rose and offered a hand.

The crisp air outside did little to cool your thoughts. The girls had been all smiles and wiggling brows as you made excuses for your exit. Felicia had pulled you into a tight hug and whispered, "That man’s going to wreck your pussy."

Sergei's place wasn't far, as promised. But you wouldn't be able to tell anyone how you got there. Terribly stupid, but allyou were aware of as you strolled through the crowded downtown streets was the firm grip of Sergei's hand and the warmth of his body beside yours. A ridiculously long elevator ride later and you were at his door.

"You've been quiet." The lock clicked after he punched a code in on his door. “Are you nervous, little lioness?”

“I’ve never done this before.”

The door opened. Sergei motioned you inside. You stepped into the darkness. The silence was deafening after the constant drone of music and busy streets. A click and the lights flickered on. The first thing you noticed was how normal the apartment was. Well, not normal. Rich. A bit old fashioned. But you half expected to see game heads on the wall and fur rugs. But the only thing that seemed to hint at such a thing a glass case holding an old style rifle.

Thick, muscled arms wrapped around your waist, dragging you back against the solid mass of a man. Your breath caught. His lips found your neck. "Are you saying I am your first?"

"Not first, but," you bit your lip, "first one I've followed home."

"I'm honored," he rumbled. Teeth nipped at the tender flesh below your ear, tongue tracing the shell. A shiver ran down your spine, heat settling between your legs. A hand roamed up, over your breast, and settled on the zipper on your chest. "May I?"

You nodded, a breathy, "Yes," leaving your lips.

His fingers toyed with the pull and slowly drew it down. Breathe fanning across your neck, he peeled it off your shoulders and down your arms. A trail of goosebumps followed his hands. The jumpsuit pooled at your feet, leaving you in nothing but the silly lingere Gwen had made you buy during a drunken late night study session.

"You are stunning." Sergei spun you around, his hands trailing down your sides, and resting on your hips. "My little lioness."

"Sergei," you breathed, hands gripping the front of his vest.

"Do not be shy." His lips brushed over yours. "Touch me. Kiss me. Claw me. Do what you will."

Your hands slid up his bare chest and locked behind his neck. His mouth covered yours in hungry kiss. Heat exploded within you. Desire you'd thought lost to youth roared. Raw, unbridled desire. He kissed you until the need for air became too great. Your lips broke apart. Your lungs burned. Sergei wasn't as bad off, his chest rising and falling evenly.

He smiled down at you, eyes bright, and stroked your cheek. "Breathtaking."

Your stomach fluttered. His words, the way his hand had moved from your cheek to rest against your pounding heart, the heat and hardness pressing into your soft belly. How was this happening to you? A man like this couldn't want you. Could he?

"Sergei, I—"

He pressed a finger to your lips. "You are still thinking this is all in jest."

"I'm—"

"A gorgeous woman," he said, pressing his forehead against yours, "who I wish to ravage until the sun rises."

You couldn't help the small laugh that escaped.

"You doubt my intentions," Sergei murmured. "Do you think I will leave you unsatisfied?" He rolled his hips into you, cock straining against the fabric.

"No."

"No?"

"Of course not, that's not what-"

"That is right." His hand found your ass and squeezed, fingers teasing at the lacy thong. "So, allow me to please you."

Your fingers twisted in his mane. "Okay."

In one smooth motion, he hooked an arm under your legs and swept you off the floor. You gasped, clinging to his broad shoulders. "What are you doing?"

"Taking my prize," he growled. He carried you through the living room and past the kitchen, your shoes lost somewhere in between. In the next breath he was kicking in a door. The bedroom. The lights flipped on and the bed came into focus. Your gaze flicked around. A bookshelf. Closet. A chair. And then, finally, the mirror. You stared, wide eyed, at the two of you. He placed a kiss against your temple and strode to the bed, setting you on the sheets. He shrugged off the vest, revealing his and kicked off his shoes. Your thighs pressed together.

Your hand reached forward. Fingertips grazed his abs. "Wow," you murmured, eyes following the trail of hair disappearing into his waistband.

"Does it please you, little lioness?"

You nodded and let your fingers drift to the button of his pants. You paused and looked to his face. "Is this okay?"

Sergei chuckled and cupped your cheek. "Of course."

You popped open the button with shaking hands. Your heart was pounding in your ears. You dragged the zipper down. Sergei's hands moved to his belt, tugging the leather free. A few tugs and his pants slid to the floor. His erection strained against the fabric of his boxers.

He pushed them down and kicked them aside. Your breath caught. He was huge. It must be against some law of nature for a man to look that good and be that big.

You reached for him and stroked. He groaned and leaned into the touch. Again, thumb running over the head.

"Enough of that." He'd pulled out of your grip, leaving the memory of his heat blazing your blame. "I want to taste you." He fell to his knees, dragging you further to the edge.

He bit into your thigh, soothing the sting with a kiss. Up and down he went on both, only allowing his nose to brush across your mound.

With a bit of help, he dragged down the lace and discarded them across the room. He purred, "What a pretty pussy."

He buried his head between your thighs, his tongue finding your clit with ease. You jerked away from the sensation. No man had found it before. They'd licked around for a minute and move on. Sergei swirled his tongue around it and you tried to pull away again. He growled, wrapping his thick arms around your thighs and dragging you back.

The tip of his tongue ran across it, teasing the sensitive bud. Your back felt to the bed, arching and gasping. He growled again, lapping at you. Your nails dug into his shoulders. Your hips ground against his, pushing his tongue harder against your clit.

"On my god," you gasped your body quivered.

It was so much so quick. The tension in your stomach grew. It was going to snap. You were going to fall apart. "I'm going to-"

He pulled away.

You whined and tried to tug him back. "I was so close."

"I know, little lioness." His tongue grazed over the clit. "But tonight you are only allowed to cum on my cock, yes?"

You whimpered. That wasn’t fair.

"Yes?" He asked again, sucking your clit between his lips.

"Ah!" Your back arched, but his arms didn't allow you to move far. "Y-yes!"

"Good girl." His beard tickled as his head dipped lower. A moan fell from your lips as his tongue entered you.

He continued, licking and sucking and fucking with his tongue until you were a quivering mess beneath him, once more on the edge. And then he pulled away. One of his arms released a leg. Your bra was tossed aside and a hand trailed down your stomach and through your folds spreading your wetness, before his thick fingers pushed into you. You groaned, hips bucking. It was slow to pump in and out, dulling the climax that had been so close but not allowing it to fade.

Sergei added another finger, scissoring them inside. His thumb rubbed your clit in gentle, but sporadic circles. He was torturing you, teasing the edge but never letting you fall over.

"Please fuck me.” You begged.

"As the lioness wishes."

The delirium he’d left you in made his actions seem like a blur. One moment your one the edge of the bed, him kneeling in front of you, and the next your somewhere in the middle, his body hovering just above, the head of his cock poking between your spread legs.

You reached up and gripped his back, holding tight. His cock slid along the lips of your pussy, coating the head with you. "Please," you pleaded.

His cock pushed in a single fluid motion. Without resistance or pain. Not even discomfort. “A perfect fit,” he said before capturing your lips.

You moaned against his mouth as he began an unrelenting pace. A hand slipped under your neck, the other holding your hip in a bruising grip. Every thrust sent you further into a blissful haze. You babbled, incoherent. Begging and praising. Your nails trailed down his back, trying to anchor yourself.

His rhythm faltered. He pulled away, panting. His face was flushed, beads of sweat rolled down his temple, pupils blown. "Turn over."

"What?"

He pulled out, cock bobbing, and gripped your hips. He rolled you over. "On your knees."

He slid back into you with ease. A groan filled the room. Yours? His? He was hitting a spot that had the coil in your belly tightening. "Fuck, Sergei, I—"

"Go ahead."

You fell forward, face pressed into the blankets, back arched, and came. Stars danced behind your eyelids. You clenched around him.

He leaned over you, lips on your back. "Good girl."

He didn't give you a chance to catch your breath as the high slipped away. His fingers found their way to your clit.

"S-sergei," you whined.

"Again."

He didn't relent. Didn't slow. Kept you there, trapped beneath him, writhing. Tears gathered at the corner of your eyes. "P-please."

"Again."

You shook your head.

"Again, little lioness."

"I can't," you sobbed. A lie. You felt the wave gathering in the horizon.

"You can."

"Sergei," you cried.

He buried himself deep. His lips pressed against the shell of your ear. "Again."

You came again. A choked moan tore from your throat. Every atom felt as if it had exploded with you.

His teeth grazed over your skin. His voice, rough and deep, murmured, "Such a good girl."

A whine escaped you. His fingers had not stopped.

"Again."

"Sergei—"

He growled. His arm hooked around your chest, pulling you up. Your back flush against his chest, he moved again. The angle hit a new spot making you writhe and moan and beg.

"So good," he murmured. His other hand slid to your breast. His thumb brushed over your nipple, rolling and tugging and pinching.

"S-sergei. P-please."

"Once more."

"No."

"For me," he purred. “I must feel you once more.”

You shook your head, trying to fight it.

"I know you can."

You whimpered, a few stray tears leaking from your eyes. White filled your vision. Your whole body trembled, muscles twitching. You weren't sure what was worse-better. The torturous, slow build or this overwhelming pleasure that had you on the verge of seeing god.

The coil snapped. Your head fell back, a loud cry of his name escaping your lips.

"That's my lioness," Sergei growled. His hand fell from your breast, snaking between your bodies. "Cum with me."

His thrusts grew erratic. A string of foreign words left his lips. His fingers circled your clit, extending your climax with his. Your muscles tensed, a final cry of his name falling from your lips. Sergei cursed, the last of his spend filling you.

He dropped, the weight of him pinning you down. The smell of sweat and sex hung heavy in the air. His heart pounded against your back.

His cock pulsed inside you. For a while the only sound was your shared labored breaths.

You clenched as his lips met the junction of your neck and shoulder, his own hips jerking from the overstimulation on his softening cock.

"Sorry," you said.

"I am not." He kissed your jaw and slid out, a flood of warmth dripping down your leg.

"Fuck."

He rolled off and the bed dipped beside you.

You turned your head to watch as he splayed out across the it. One arm propped under his head, the other stretched out beside him. You let your eyes follow the trail of hair to his spent cock.

"I must apologize, little lioness, for ending the hunt so soon. I normally last much longer, but you felt far too good."

"Oh," was all you could think to say.

His laugh rumbled. "Do not be embarrassed. Your pleasure is a gift. I intend to treasure it."

You sat up, wincing. You were going to be sore tomorrow. But that was tomorrow. Tonight was a dream. And what a wonderful dream it was. You swung your legs over the side.

"Where are you going?" Sergei asked, sitting up.

"To get cleaned up and grab my costume."

"You wish to leave?"

You stood on shaky legs. "I should get back to my apartment before it gets too late."

"It is already late," Sergei said, taking your wrist. He nodded to the clock on his nightstand. How on earth was it already nearly four? It had only been a little past midnight when you’d left the club. "You'll stay here tonight. I want to make you breakfast."

Your brows rose.

"Unless you do not want to?"

You looked at him, eyes roaming over the muscles that seemed impossible for anyone to maintain. The handsome features of a man who could have anyone he wanted. And he’d wanted you. Why not let the dream last a bit longer?

“Come,” he said, patting the he’d beside him. “Lay with me.”

You joined him and he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. His nose pressed against your hair, inhaling deeply. "I think this has been my most successful hunt."

You laughed, a yawn interrupting. Maybe he’d drop the persona in the morning.

His lips met yours in a lazy kiss, the scratch of his beard leaving you warm. You sighed against him and relaxed, listening as his heart began to beat in time with yours. "Sleep, little lioness."

“But the mess?”

“Tomorrow’s worry. Sleep not. I have exhausted you.”

You didn’t argue and nuzzled further I to him. "Night."

"Sweet dreams."

[rcmclachlan]

Thin Red Line (bucktommy, 6x11 missing scene)

Me: I'm rewatching "In Another Life" and had a thought. What if Buck met Tommy during his coma dream?

@dadvans: RC I’m going to kill you

+

Between leaving Christopher to wander the hospital hallways like a ghost in search of Eddie for all eternity and doing absolutely nothing to stop Bobby from popping pills like they’re Flintstones vitamins, Buck’s going to single-handedly bankroll every renovation project Dr. Copeland has over the next ten years. 

He wonders what she’ll say when he tells her about this during their next session. She’ll probably just sit back thoughtfully and muse, "You say you were trapped in a world where your biological family loved you but your chosen family had no idea who you were. Tell me more about that, Evan."

It's a moot point unless he manages to get out of here, so he swings the axe up, throws a sneer in his evil doppelgänger's direction, and is about to bring it down as hard as he can when his right arm is suddenly jerked behind him like someone’s trying to pull it out of the socket. 

Startled, he whirls around, but there’s no one there. Even Bizarro Buck is gone. 

An odd pressure tugs at his fingers. For a second, he thinks there’s something wrapped around them. He looks down but he can’t see anything. He can feel it, though. He tests the tensile strength of it by bouncing his hand back and forth, and whatever it is pulls taut when his hand gets close to his body. 

It reminds him of playing tug-o-war on the playground as a kid, except instead of deliberately allowing himself to be yanked off balance so his parents could later fuss over the bloody state of his knees, he begins gathering the palpable nothing in his palm and, with a last look at the tableau of the real him lying in the hospital bed waiting to die, follows it out of the room and back down the hall. 

He comes to a stop in front of a door that looks like all the others. He must’ve missed this one, although he can’t feel dumb about it, because there’s no way in hell he would’ve guessed this was the exit. 

"Take me home," Buck murmurs, opens the door, and walks out—

—onto an outdoor patio. 

He drops his head back with a groan. "Oh, come on."

With the wicker chairs and mind-numbingly navy umbrellas, it looks like every cafe’s outdoor seating situation in the state of California, right down to the almost oppressive number of ferns in beige planters shoved in between the tables. The only difference is that the place is completely empty. 

Correction: almost empty. 

Through the crush of the basic bitch jungle, he sees a solitary man seated at one of the tables, idly sliding a to-go cup from side to side with his big hands. As he draws a little closer, he’s able to clock the guy’s deep blue flight suit and what looks like the LAFD insignia on his arm.

Everyone who’s made an appearance in this weird-ass dream has been someone he knows. Even Daniel, who died before Buck ever met him, still made something stir with some kind of primordial recognition in Buck’s marrow the second he woke up and clapped eyes on him. He'd taken in the gray hair at high temples, the same nose Buck sees every time he looks in a mirror, the confident smile, and had just known who he was.

Buck has no idea who this guy is. He’s pretty sure he’d remember someone who looked like he bench presses actual benches in the morning and rushes off to be photographed for Men’s Health by lunch. 

As Buck comes up to the edge of the table, the man looks up at him, and the light of the sun catches his eyes. For a second, Buck’s back on the pier, gazing out into a cloudless sky stretched over the sea, but there’s no inhale of the earth, no oncoming wave. Just deep, Pacific blue. A slow smile spreads across the guy’s face, which takes him from unfairly handsome to utterly striking. 

"Hey."

A shiver starts from the very bottom tip of Buck’s spine and travels upwards like ripples on the surface of a lake, spreading out into all of his limbs until he can feel the eddies lapping at even the smallest arteries. For no cogent reason he can think of, his resting heart rate picks up until he’s flirting with full-on tachycardia. Maybe he’s about to code in the real world.

"H-Hey," Buck stutters, feeling caught out. "I—sorry, I’m—I’m a little turned around here."

The man gives him a look that’s both amused and commiserating, then picks up the drink cup he’d been playing table hockey with and holds it out. There's something thin and red tied around his ring finger, but Buck can't concentrate on it for some reason. It fades completely out of view every time he tries. "Want a sip? It’s the worst coffee you’ll ever taste."

It's said around what is clearly a laugh, but Buck doesn't feel like it's at his expense, plus it's so infectious that he can’t help but crack a grin. The muscles in his back, which feel like they've been locked for days, are finally starting to relax.

“If it’s so gross, why’d you get it?” Buck asks, genuinely curious.

The guy shrugs. "I didn't."

Nodding as if that makes any kind of sense, Buck looks around to see if the ferns are hiding anyone else, but it really does seem like there's no one else here. He turns back to the man, who's watching him with that deep, placid gaze. 

It's so strange. He'd been so desperate to find a way out of here, psyching himself up for a battle he was prepared to fight to the death in, but all he wants to do right now is grab the chair across from this stranger and just… let the clock run out.

He reaches for the back of the chair closest to him, but it jerks away with a screech. 

The guy unhooks his foot from the chair leg and, staring straight into Buck's eyes, shakes his head gently. 

Buck swallows around a suddenly dry throat. Under his feet, the patio stones tremble. "D-Do I know you?"

When the man smiles this time, the corners of his eyes crinkle, digging lines that run down his cheeks. Buck thinks of the picture Jee-Yun gave him last week of a beaming sun. She'd drawn deep yellow lines coming off it. Sun rays. 

"No," the man says, his voice as warm as a crayon drawing made with unconditional love. "Not yet."

He lifts his hand and this time Buck can see the little red string tied around his finger, and the long tail of the other end of it draped over the table top, which Buck follows the trail of, heart pounding, until it comes to a stop. He looks down to find the other end is tangled around the fingers of his own right hand. 

When he looks up, shaking and exhilarated, there's a door in the middle of the patio that swings open in obvious invitation. 

The man is no longer at the table, but there are suddenly lips at his ear. "See you soon, Evan."

Before he can close his eyes and sink into the hot wash of breath over his cheek, a large hand slides up to the middle of his back and shoves—

+

Buck knows he's being an absolute creep and Eddie won't stop giving him weird looks about it, but he can't help it. The pilot who's about to steal a helicopter for them has been nothing but friendly and confident, and he's currently wiring Buck up to his headset with brisk, competent hands, and all Buck can do is stare at him like he's got tonight's winning lottery numbers. 

Tom Kinard—"Tommy, please. Tom is my father, who I hate."—looks up from where he's bent a little at the knees, trying to get the microphone adapter to hook into Buck's belt, and shoots Buck an awkward grin. 

"Is there a spider in my hair or something?"

He hadn't realized how much tension he was putting into the air until Tommy cuts through it with that. Buck ducks his head and laughs, feeling like a dumbass. "Sorry, man. It's just—do I know you from somewhere? You look so familiar."

"Maybe I just have one of those faces," Tommy says, all good humor.

For Men's Health, maybe, Buck almost replies, then has to clench his teeth so it doesn't slip out by accident. What a weird thought to have. With his luck, Tommy would've taken it the wrong way and then abandoned the mission altogether. But even thinking it feels like a lie. Buck's known the guy for all of five minutes but he's oddly sure Tommy wouldn't leave them in the lurch because Buck feels the need to share every dumb thought that crosses his mind. 

"All right." Tommy stands up straight and steps back, but not before he gives Buck a friendly pat on the arm. "You're good to go."

Feeling oddly bereft, Buck says nothing as Tommy steps around him to where Chimney's been not so patiently waiting for his turn. 

"Sorry about him," Chim says, jerking a head in Buck's direction. "He was struck by lightning last year and hasn't been the same since. I mean, he was always annoying, but now he's just weird."

Buck deserves an Oscar for the fake outrage in his voice when he shoots back, "The view must be great from your glass house, Mr. I'm Dressing My Kid Up As A Ceiling Fan For Halloween," because the rest of him feels like it's in a tailspin. Every atom in his body is positively screaming for some reason. It's probably because they're all going to die. That makes the most sense.

When Tommy laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

Sun rays, Buck thinks nonsensically, and tangles the headset wire around the fingers of his right hand. 

+

Now on AO3!

[urfavstargirl1]

the darkest night - part 2 of 3

part 1

summary: teenage eddie and reader discover some hidden feelings in a game of truth or dare

cw: best friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, kissing, trauma (mentions of Eddie's dad going to jail), cursing, etc.,

word count: 3.8k

February 8th, 1986

“Punch bowl’s emptyyyy,” Gareth shouts from across the room, pouting from the kitchen. 

“It’s all your fault,” Jeff replies in mock anger. 

Gareth points a finger back in Jeff’s direction. “Noooo, you’re the one who said–”

“Remind me why I’m here again,” You lean over and whisper to Eddie as you watch the two boys drunkenly fight over a very meaningless bowl of jungle juice.

“Because you love me,” Eddie replies leaning forward and getting just a little too close to your face, trying to smirk, but feeling too hazy to fully commit to the gesture.

You gently shove Eddie and the stench of alcohol on his breath away, “Are you sure it’s not the fact that I just love partying with high schoolers so much I still do it even though I already graduated?”

“Eh,” Eddie dramatically shrugs, “Same difference.” “Truth or darrreeee,” Jeff shouts from the kitchen as him and Gareth bring more cups over to the living room.

“Truth or dare,” Gareth roars behind him.

Guess the whole punch bowl debacle didn’t take long to resolve.

You look around the room and see everyone gather in the living room. A few people take the empty seats on the couches around you while others bring a chair from the dining room or sit on the floor. 

You place a comforting hand on Eddie’s forearm, grateful you both took it upon yourselves to stake claim on the love seat. 

As much as you loved your best friend, Eddie, these were all his friends. After failing senior year the first two times, these were the people he grew to love in that hellhole of a high school and you never wanted to mess with that. But the only thing you had in common with them was your love for the boy with the wild head of curls.

You make eye contact with a girl across the room. She’s Gareth’s girlfriend and one of the only other girls here. You smile at her and she smiles back and shrugs.

The only other thing you know about her is that she’s in the school band. Practically everyone here has been at some point.

Soon enough, cups get passed around or refilled, ensuring that if anyone wasn’t drunk before, they will be pretty soon.

Gareth gets the game started and you watch the other kids play as you wait your turn. 

The game kicks off with a dare for Gareth to go to the front yard and scream “penis” as loud as he can. His girlfriend chooses truth and has to answer who’s the weirdest person she’s ever had a wet dream about to which the answer was the nerdy boy from The Breakfast Club.

The game continues to go back and forth like that as other member’s of Eddie’s band and friends continue to play. You sip on your punch and laugh at all the right moments, but otherwise require much more alcohol to make things more bearable.

By the time it’s yours and Eddie’s turn, your limbs are feeling a lot softer, your skin warmer. It doesn’t take much effort to smile, but it does take a hand on Eddie’s leg to prop yourself upright. Even when you feel the muscles tense up under the black denim covering it.

“Truth or Dare Eds?”

Eddie scoffs and laughs, “You insult me.”

You look over to his friends and say, “It’s a dare. Whatcha got?”

Gareth and Jeff and the boys look at each other with a devilish gleam. They only exchange glances before Gareth looks you and Eddie square in the eye. It’s as if the boys have already planned for this moment.

“We dare Eddie - to keep his hand on the very inner thigh of the person next to him till the next round,” Gareth commands with a smirk.

You turn to look at Eddie and see a slight clench to his jaw. As soon as it appears, it fades away as he grins and looks over to you, the only person next to him. 

Eddie shakes his head and forcibly grins at Gareth, “Piece of cake.”

You laugh aloud, surprised the boys hadn’t dared him to give the room a strip tease or something.

“Yeah,” You hiccup, “Kind of a mild dare Gare, I was expecting more from the so called freaks of Hawkins High-ah!”

You lightly gasp, feeling your eyes widen and back arch slightly as Eddie’s rough hand gently smooths over the top of your thigh, dangerously close to your hips and settles down on the inner side, right at the apex of your soft thighs.

A warmth spreads through your cheeks as you blankly look from Eddie’s ring clad hand up to his face and scan the faces in the rest of the room, praying to god nobody noticed that.

“Alright, now that that’s settled,” Jeff says tauntingly before the rest of the eyes of the room land on you.

“Truth or dare?” Gareth asks. 

You gulp. All of a sudden feeling like the room has gotten really hot. All too aware of the piercing stares and the ironclad grip of Eddie’s hand on your thigh. He’s looking at Gareth as he begins to rub slow circles in your skin with his thumb and you swear, if it weren’t for the alcohol in your system, surely his touch would be enough to make you pass out.

“Um, truth,” you croak out, trying to sound as normal as possible. It takes the strength of a thousand suns to keep your eyes from closing and your mouth from letting out a noise very inappropriate for a crowd of what is more or less strangers.

“Who was your childhood crush?” Jeff asks.

Your eyes widen and you jerk your head back a bit. That’s it?

You sigh in relief, worried you might’ve gotten a harder or more embarrassing question.

You inhale and shrug. With a shy smile you say, “That’s easy: Eddie.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow and his grip on your thigh tightens. His thumb stops rubbing circles as his fingers dip deeply into your flesh. He looks at you over his shoulder, “Which Eddie?”

You shake your head and laugh, “Uh, Munson? The only Eddie I know?”

Eddie shakes his head and turns to face you, never letting his hand move from your leg, “But your childhood crush could be anyone. What about Tom Cruise? Or all those John Travolta movies you made me watch.”

“Why do you think I made you watch them?” You answered perhaps a little too casually for Eddie’s ears. 

“Huh,” is all Eddie seems capable of saying with a curt nod of his head. 

How could he have missed it? All these years and he never would have thought you ever felt the same. 

He instantly sobers up and his mind starts running through all the memories he had of you over the years. 

Why is this news to him? Did you drop any hints before and he was just too dense to read them?

The long phone calls, notes passed in class, and joints shared in the back of his van. The bicycle races, shared mixtapes, and times at Skull Rock. All the little nothings that were perhaps everything. 

But it all seemed to point to one moment. The day that’s been seared into his brain for the past 8 years, a memory so vivid it’s as though it happened only yesterday.

All it was was a stolen kiss between two kids. On one of the darkest nights of his life, she was his shining northern star.

He knew he was pushing his luck. That he’d gotten caught up in the moment. A moment he knew he’d never have again. But did it mean to her what it meant for him? 

All these newfound questions and feelings come flooding in, taking his world and turning it upside down to–

“Earth to Eddie,” Gareth calls his name.

“Eds,” You whisper as you tap along his forearm.

“Huh?” Eddie shakes his head.

“It’s your turn again man,” Jeff says in an annoyed tone.

“Oh, my bad,” Eddie mumbles.

“You don’t have to keep holding her leg either,” Gareth adds.

“Oh,” Eddie says as he looks down and notices his hand still tucked between your legs. “Forgot it was even there.”

He makes a show of removing his hand, leaving an empty feeling between your thighs and the warmth of your legs, gone from his hand. It might be Eddie’s imagination, but after he removes his hand, you slightly shuffle closer to him.

“Let’s do truth,” Eddie says with a slight edge to his voice.

You’re mid sip when you nearly choke on your drink. When was the last time Eddie didn’t choose dare?

“Have you ever cheated on a test?” Jeff asks.

Eddie makes a face of disgust. What kind of bullshit question is that? 

“Yeah man, who hasn’t?”

When the rest of the group looks to you for your choice, you pick truth.

“What’s the sexiest song you’ve ever heard?” Gareth asks.

Without hesitation, you answer, “I Was Made for Lovin’ You by Kiss.” 

Eddie has to refrain from letting his eyes pop out of his head.

“Eddie actually showed me that song,” you goofily smile at him, not realizing the impact your words have on him and the growing heat in his veins.

“Really? Kiss?” Gareth’s girlfriend asks amusedly.

“Yeah, I know, kind of weird, but I don’t know, something about it just… gets me going for some reason,” you explain.

With every word you say Eddie swears he might just burst. It’s all too much to handle.

When the moment passes and he’s sure everyone is already focused on the next person, he excuses himself to go to the bathroom. 

When he gets back, he finds you pouring yourself another drink in the kitchen.

“Hey Eds,” you smile at him as he stands beside you, You lean your head against him shoulder, “Having fun?”

Eddie watches as you take a swig from your cup. He forces a smile, “Yeah. You?”

You nod, letting the rest of your body move with each shake of your head, “I am now! Cheers.”

You look up at him and hold your cup out before taking another gulp. 

“Alright thirsty girl, let’s get you back to the couch,” Eddie says as he lays a gentle hand on your lower back and guides you back to the living room. You almost trip over an empty beer can and Eddie’s sure he’ll have to take you home pretty soon.

The next round of truth or dare makes it’s way back to you and Eddie. Eddie uncharacteristically chooses truth again and is asked if he’s ever gone skinny dipping.

“Can’t say that I have Gareth the Great,” Eddie replies earnestly, just ready for this stupid game to be over with.

“You haven’t,” You asked, words slightly slurred as the alcohol in your system starts catching up to you. “Why not? It’s fun.”

Eddie looks at you incredulously. You’ve gone skinny dipping? Why is this the first he’s hearing? And more importantly, why wasn’t he there? He has a sneaking suspicion it was probably that one year you went to summer camp though.

He shrugs it off, “I don’t know. Guess the opportunity hasn’t really presented itself.”

You nod as the group proceeds to the next person.

“Give me a good dare, okay?” You say giddily, gleaming next to a very concerned Eddie. You hardly ever choose dare, especially not around people you don’t really know well.

But you’ve got adrenaline and alcohol flowing through your veins. Nothing else really matters

That is until your dare is to give someone in the room a lap dance. 

Without hesitation you turn to face Eddie. The lust blown look in his big brown eyes doesn’t completely register with you. In fact, you’re not so much focused on Eddie, but on completing the dare as though it were just another part of your daily routine. 

Without thinking, you place a hand on his shoulder and wobble as you move from sitting on your butt to sitting on your knees. You slip, but Eddie's strong hands catch you, grasping onto either of your arms. 

“Easy there,” he whispers as he steadies you. He looks up at you and gulps, heart beating wildly in his chest. 

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?”

You nod and shrug as if to say, “It’s just a game, isn’t it?”

You take your hand and gently brush away some of the stray hairs by his face. You smile at him and place a hand on the hard muscle of his shoulder.

Pretty soon, Eddie is going to be a goner. He’s not going to last very long if you keep this up. And if he can help it, he refuses to let his friends see him like this.

As you prepare to drag your leg over his hips, you stumble again, even harder, forcing Eddie to grab you by the hips to steady you. 

“That’s it, I’m calling it,” Eddie mutters.

“What’s wrong,” you ask, your face close enough to his that no one else in the room can hear your voices. 

“You’re drunk, and I’m taking you home,” Eddie whispers into your ear as you feel his strong hands grab a hold of you.

Before you can say anything else, Eddie picks you up and rises from the couch.

“Sorry guys, Y/N’s not feeling too well anymore. I think we’re gonna call it a night,” Eddie apologetically waves to the people in the room.

“C’mon, the party was just getting started,” one of the boys goads.

As soon as Eddie sets you on the ground, you cling onto him, resting your now panging head onto his arm.

“Eds, the room is spinning,” you whisper.

“I know,” Eddie says as he wraps an arm around your mid-section.

Eddie says his goodbyes to the group as Gareth walks you two to the front door. He whispers something to Eddie. He’s close enough that you probably could have heard it if it weren’t for the pounding in your head.

Eddie slowly guides you to his van and sets you in the passenger seat. He buckles you in and makes his way to the driver's side. 

He keeps the music low as he drives you to his uncle’s trailer.

“Eddieeeee, I don’t feel so good,” You whine as you struggle to keep your eyes open.

“I know sweetheart, we’re almost there,” Eddie says as he looks briefly in the rearview mirror.

“My head hurts,” you add.

“I know it does. When we get to the trailer, I’ll get you some medicine and it’ll make you feel better.”

You groan and let your head fall back against the seat. “Eddieeeee.”

Eddie hasn’t seen you get this drunk in a while. He almost forgot how cute you were or how much he secretly enjoyed being needed by you like this. Even if it included holding your hair back as you puked up your intestines back at the trailer.

“Eddie,” you softly sobbed as you clutched the rim of the toilet bowl, knees hurting from the tile, “It hurts.”

Eddie rubbed comforting circles along your back while his other hand kept holding your hair back. 

“I’m never drinking again,” you huffed.

Eddie chuckled and stayed with you until everything had come out.

When you were sure you had nothing left to throw up, Eddie gave you a painkiller and a glass of water. He even offered you some crackers in case you could stomach it.

“C’mon, let’s go lie down,” Eddie whispers as he guides you to his room. 

“Eds,” you call out with grabby hands. “What’s up?”

“I need pajamas,” you whined.

Eddie grabbed a band shirt and plaid pajama pants and handed them to you. Like most nights whenever you had slept over, you settled into the routine of facing away from each other to change, but this time, Eddie could see you from behind in the reflection of his mirror.

As he took off his shirt, so did you. Those little black lines of bra straps outlining your back felt like tiny magnets pulling him toward temptation. They wouldn’t go away even when you put the shirt he gave you on.

As he changed out of his jeans into pajama pants, he had to will himself to keep his eyes off you as you did the same or he knew he might get himself into some kind of trouble.

“Done,” you announced as you climbed into his bed. Eddie watched as you pulled the covers up and nestled your head on the pillow, heart warming at how comfortable you were around him.

A very shirtless Eddie climbed into bed with you and you instantly gravitated toward him, wanting for every part of your body to be touching his.

You entangled your legs with his, wrapped your arm around his torso and pressed your cheek along his chest, nuzzling your nose slightly.

You inhaled the scent of his skin and it brought a smile to your face.

Eddie was frozen for a moment, slightly taken aback by your clingier than normal behavior, but welcomed it anyway.

“You’re my best friend in the whole wide world, did you know that?” You asked with your eyes closed as you dragged a finger haphazardly across his chest.

“You know, I had a feeling you might,” Eddie teased.

“I love you Eds. Thanks for taking care of me.”

Eddie brought a hand up to the side of your head and gently caresseses it, combing through your hair and finishing with a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Anything for my favorite girl.”

“Yeah?” You ask with the biggest puppy dog eyes known to man.

“Yeah,” He shrugs, "you don't have to say it all surprised.”

“No,” You whine as you shuffle closer and cling your limbs around his, breathing in the scent of him in his chest, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You peer up at him, “I just - I don’t ever want you to stop.”

“I couldn't even if I tried.”

“Really?”

“Yeah really, you’re my girl, been my girl for a long time. I’d do anything for you”

You smile, eyes looking like stars. “I’d do anything for you too Eddie.”

“Oh, I know princess, you’ve been doing it since we were kids.”

“What do you mean?” You cock your head.

“I mean exactly what I said, you’ve always been there for me, been one of the few rock solids I've had in my life.”

“Well of course Eddie, you’re my best friend.”

Eddie fights the volcanic smile forming on his lips and the tears welling in his eyes

He cradles the back of your head with his hand and pushes your face deeper into his chest so you cant see the tears beginning to escape

“The darkest night never felt so bright with you by my side,” he whispers in your hair as you drag your finger along the base of his spine

You pull away and wipe away some of the tears that have fallen on his cheeks, “I love you Eddie.”

You and Eddie tell each other you love each other all the time, before you hang up the phone, whenever he drops you off at home, but something about the way you said it just now feels different.

“You… love me?”

“Yeah… one might even say, I’m in love with you.”

That can’t be the alcohol talking, right? 

And here's his moment, he could finally say it, make it come true.

“I-I love you too, I’ve loved you since the day I saw you in first grade. You were wearing those cute little pigtails and ridiculous purple overalls as you were running around on the playground.”

You lightly smack his chest “Eddie, how could you? Those were my favorite.”

“Yeah well you're my favorite, how about that,” Eddie smugly teases as he mockingly gets in your face. He’s so full of love and joy, he could just kiss you. But despite the fact that you quite literally confessed your love for him, first, he might add, Eddie is suddenly self-conscious. You may love him, but would you even want to kiss him?

You sense his energy, absorbing up whatever confidence he seemed to just lose.

Even as his eyes soften and fall to your lips, you can’t help but do what you knew, even as a kid, to do: show him how much you love him.

“Eddie,” you whisper, as you place a finger under his chin and tilt his head up to look at you.

“Yeah,” he whispers back in confusion. 

“Remember how you were my first kiss,” you ask in a soft voice, gazing at his eyes and lowering to his lips.

Eddie doesn’t nod. He always kind of assumed he was. You were his. Even if neither of you said it, till now.

“You never let me go for seconds.”

Eddie makes a noise, somewhere between a laugh and an exhale, “What? What are you talking about, crazy girl?”

You rolled your eyes, “You kissed me, and then pulled away. I wanted another, but then you kind of just cockblocked me.”

“What,” Eddie roars into laughter, “We were 12! You can’t, cock block anyone when you’re 12.”

“Eddie,” you laugh in frustration as you cup his cheek, “What I’m trying to say is, we’re long overdue for another kiss.”

“Are we,” Eddie shakily asks as your index finger drags from his cheekbone to his bottom lip.

“Mhm,” you hum, leaning forward slightly. You look up into his eyes, as if to ask, “Is this okay?”

“Please,” Eddie murmurs as he leans in the rest of the way, reigniting at the way your lips feel on his. A perfect fit.

In a similar way, Eddie’s lips are a warm refuge for yours. As he moves his lips with caution in a sweet rhythm against yours, they’re still just as slightly chapped as you remembered them to be. 

And something about the thought of comparing your kiss to Eddie now, adults, to the one you shared as kids, makes you groan. 

Eddie takes the moment to slip his tongue between your lips. He didn’t get the chance to taste you, and he doesn’t know if he ever will again, but he’ll be damned if he wakes up the next morning with any regrets.

Exploring each other's mouths is something new entirely. You’re in uncharted waters. But it’s okay, because you know that as long as you’re with Eddie, you’re okay.

Even though the technique is new, Eddie’s lips feel like you’re home. 

From softly caressing his lips to tasting him, kissing Eddie is like a high you’ve never known. A moment, you never want to end.

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 2nd: Friendship | F**Ked Up Kids - The Maine | Observant cw: vague allusions to high school-typical bullying, un-betaed because I'm challenging myself to write these in under an hour read on ao3 | link to series on ao3

When he was younger, Eddie would joke that his favorite classes were lunch and recess. He had freedom, didn’t have to deal with teachers and rules and the endless stream of Pay Attention, Eddie’s or Sit Still, Eddie’s. 

In high school though, in the wild jungle that is the Hawkins High cafeteria, he almost misses the safety of the classroom. 

It’s loud. It’s bright. It’s unruly. Eddie loves a healthy dose of chaos more than the average person but this is overwhelming, especially with the few friends he’s managed to hold onto in another lunch wave. It leaves him alone and untethered in the corner of the cafeteria with his Ziploc bag of Honeycomb as he observes the crowds, tamping down the anxiety that bubbles in his chest with a comfort food. 

“Hey.”

An older boy approaches him as he’s lost in thought, a kind smile spreading ear to ear, messy curly hair hanging just below his ears— the length Eddie’s always wanted and now, with Wayne, can finally work towards. He's still cautious though: the kindest smiles can hide the scariest monsters. He knows. He lived with his dad. 

But then Eddie realizes the stranger is wearing a band t-shirt that he recognizes instantly and it lowers his haunches. 

“Hey. Nice Dio shirt.” Eddie shifts back to show that he’s wearing a similar one. Same band, different design. 

“Oh shit, we match! Good taste. I’m Rich.” The kind stranger introduces himself and takes a seat at the empty chair next to Eddie. 

They’re all empty anyways. 

Eddie nods and smiles, tentatively hopeful. “Eddie.” 

It turns out, Rich is the head of the school’s Dungeons and Dragons club, Hellfire Club. He sits with Eddie the entire lunch period, sharing his pizza and eventually inviting him to join him and his friends across the way the next day. The pizza is disgusting but it was better than the snack he’d grabbed on his way out the door that morning, and it’s the gesture that counts anyways.

Over time, Eddie grows into himself and out of his shell, but he never loses the little freshman inside who sat and watched. Watched others interact, watched others shy away, watched others slap on a happy smile and fake their way through high school. It’s why, when the latest leader of Hellfire manages to graduate, Eddie becomes the de facto new head of the club in 1983. 

As the new leader and Dungeon Master, Eddie takes it upon himself to be to the little sheep what Rich had been to him. The leaders since Rich graduated back at the end of Eddie's freshman year have been fine, creative, fun, but none have taken as active a role in helping protect the vulnerable of Hawkins High as Rich. It’s something Eddie brings back, instills in the new members, engrains in the culture of Hellfire: we’re the fucked up kids, sure, and we’re alone, but we’re alone together. 

First comes Jeff, a sophomore who has the bad luck of moving to Hawkins in the middle of the school year. Eddie notices him sitting by the trash can, eating what looks to be that day’s meatloaf special with headphones over his ears. When Eddie approaches him, he lifts just one headphone and Eddie hears the unmistakable guitar line of Black Sabbath’s Voodoo loud enough to hear from a foot away. In just about no time, Jeff becomes arguably Eddie's best friend.

Next comes Frank, who Eddie catches in the music room shredding a bass guitar. He tells Eddie under no uncertain circumstances that his nickname has always been Freak and he’ll answer only as such. It causes a little confusion when people begin using it as a pejorative against Eddie, but Eddie wears it with pride. Not just for himself, not just as a way to usurp the slur for himself, but to protect Freak from anything worse. 

Gareth is a bit younger, a true freshman when Eddie is in his first senior year. He catches him in an argument with some jock who’s just spilled who-knows-what on his vest. Maybe intentionally, maybe not. The point is that Gareth is about to get his shit rocked by three dudes on the football team and Eddie has built himself up to be just frightening enough to dissolve the tension. Or, to at least give the kid some backup if it gets to the point of needing backup. 

It doesn’t, thankfully, but Eddie discovers Gareth plays drums and his dream of re-igniting his old middle school band, Corroded Coffin, comes to fruition. 

Each year, Eddie repeats the same process. 

Protect the sheep. Protect himself. Have a little fun in the meantime. 

In 1986, in what he hopes to be his final senior year, Eddie meets a new crop of vulnerable kids with ghosts in their eyes that color them a bit differently than others in the past. One wears a Weird Al shirt to school, one has to contend with having the same last name as one of the smartest students to ever pass through these hallowed hallways, and one straddles the dividing line between popular and freak. Not even Eddie can imagine being that brave. 

In a few short months, he’ll find just how brave he can actually be.

Hellfire Club becomes Eddie’s pride and joy. A place where Eddie feels wanted and a place where Eddie hopes others do, too. They’re still the weird ones, the outcasts, the forgotten, but they can’t be lonely. Not when they have each other.

[flashnthunder]

luztoye end of the world au

(snippet under the cut)

The truck rattles along the empty road like an ant marching along a cracked sidewalk, meandering its way with quiet purpose down an endless path. Joe has the windows rolled down, and the midsummer heat of Georgia buffets them with heavy air. It feels better than trying to drive anywhere with the windows up and wasting even a few ounces of gas on something so trivial as the AC had long since become a thing of the past.

Music plays loud enough to let him lapse into silent thought as he drives. The double standard of the air conditioning lies with the radio. The radio and its attached cassette player neatly tucked under the half-cracked display is always on when George is riding. No amount of scolding and dirty looks ever prevented the inevitably of it getting turned on, and only George had the patience to coax the busted volume knob into working. Right now, Joe is subject to a second playthrough of a well-worn Billy Joel album and a private performance by George in the passenger seat. If he had known the world was going to end when it did, he would have made sure to have had a better selection shoved in his glove box.

Green trees flash by outside the window, and the grass that had turned into a jungle on the roadside almost falls over onto the faded asphalt. The summer peace is only interrupted by George leaning towards him across the bench seat and crooning the chorus with a surprisingly accurate imitation. He’s had more than enough time over the years to really nail it down and never was one to miss a chance to practice. Joe does his best not to smile, but the corner of his mouth must twitch because George dissolves into miming a saxophone with the determination of a man who knows how to crack his audience. Joe shakes his head and lets his fingers drum on the warm paint of the truck door from where his hand hangs out the window. They have another twenty minutes at least before they’ll be back, sparing any stops. As long as they get there before George can rummage through the glove box again, it'll be fine.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts again by a tapping sound on the window behind his head. He glances back, catching sight of Bill with his hand still up to the window to get his attention.

“Open the window for them would’ya?” he shoves at George from where he had halfway squirmed out of his side of the front seat to crowd into Joe. He had only stopped his invasion to avoid having to sit on the busted leather of the middle seat. George cuts off his performance with only mild complaint, reaching to turn the radio down first. The volume knob, predictably, takes some fussing before the sounds of the music finally quiet. He turns to tug the sliding window open, grinning at Bill when he leans forward to yell into the cab.

“Are you trying to break my back here, Joe? Jesus why do I always end up in the bed, one more pothole and you’re gonna get me laid up. How much further we got?” Bill’s scowl grows deeper when they take a curve in the road a little too fast. He grabs the edge of the window to keep from sliding around in the back of the truck.

“Aw wouldn’t want to hurt princesses’ butt back there with no padded seat. We're almost there, maybe fifteen minutes if you stop asking,” Joe eyes him in the crooked rearview mirror. Bill rolls his eyes and swats at George’s head when he laughs.

“Oh I don’t wanna hear nothing about princesses when you got your certified passenger princess up here hogging the front,” Bill says, and George manages to duck away from the second pass at cuffing his ear. He’s forced to retreat in full to his respective side of the truck, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning into the door.

“I’m in charge of the radio and the map, don’t be mad I’m useful,” George half sing-songs. If Joe wasn’t so bitterly fond of the stupid face he was making, he would have joined Bill in his attempts to smack him. The road curves back into a straightaway, and he urges the truck along. For the sake of not rousting Bill anymore, he avoids the larger potholes that pocket the sides.

“Bullshit you are,” Bill says, leaning further in the back window, but still not getting close enough to George to grab him.

“No, Bullshit is in the back with you, I’m up here,” George snarks, feeling relatively safe from his current position. Malarkey’s head pops up from where he’d been slouched down in the back. He looks distinctly less disgruntled than Bill, but still sporting windswept hair from the journey. Both he and George had lingering pink on their noses and cheeks from being in the sun all day. Joe knows that means George will be looking to go take a nap as soon as they get back. Hopefully, that comes after they get the truck unloaded.

“For the love of it, just get us there in one piece, Joe. I ain’t dying three years after the last real traffic jam because we end falling into a crater on this road here,” Bill says, abandoning George so Malarkey could lean in to hear what they were saying. They’re close enough to town now that the gripping dies down and the music goes back up. He leaves the window open, slowing enough that the buffeting of wind out of the cab isn’t quite as annoying. If he has to sit through more singing, Bill can too for all his bitching.

The rest of the drive is uneventful, and the green melts back into a pleasant background whizzing by. The outer fence of town comes into view first, old rusted barbed wire and an even shittier padlock and chain holding the gate closed. He throws the truck into park as they roll up to it and stop. The keyring with the padlock key lays on the dash, having only slid a little since he’d tossed it up there as they left this morning. He’s not sure why he ever expects George to jump up and get it. When he does look over, he’s met with an overly innocent expression and no hint of any intention about grabbing the keys. Joe huffs but swipes the keys off the plastic of the dash without comment and slides out of the truck.

“Not even pretending that he doesn’t got you whipped,” Bill yells from the truck. Joe flips him off without looking behind him. He can hear Malarkey laughing because apparently, all his friends are in on a collective conspiracy to make his life hell. Pulling the chain free, he jerks the gate wide enough to get the truck in before making the three-step journey back to the driver’s side.

“My knight in shining armor, I didn’t want to get my silk dress in the mud,” George says, batting his eyes in exaggerated motions once he’s back in and shifting the truck back into drive. If he had been prone to blushing, his life would be a whole lot worse. He gets by with a dismissive grunt and resolutely ignores the extra heckling from his traveling peanut gallery. He pulls through the gate and turns to jam his hand with the keys still in it out the back window, waving it between Bill and Malarkey.

“Like hell, I’m getting out before we’re back,” Bill says, and any further argument is spared by Malarkey grabbing the keys and jumping over the side of the truck bed to go lock the gate. Joe scans down the fence line and ignores the bickering.

“See Bill, chivalry is alive and well,” George lounges out a little further if at all possible, legs spread and back sliding down against the worn leather seat. In letting down his guard, Bill finally manages to poke him in the ear and George shoots Joe a withering look when he doesn’t fall over himself to defend him.

Malarkey swings back over the tailgate of the truck, his boots landing in the small space between the crates of supplies, “Alright, we’re all good to get going.” He settles back down in his spot near the window next to Bill, and they start moving again. There’s a relatively short distance between the outer fence and the inner one that encamps the buildings in town in some amount of security, and Joe takes the distance slowly. He's in no rush to come careening up to the second gate. Singing and complaining or not, he enjoys getting away from this pocket of their world sometimes. Supply runs were a necessary evil in the eyes of people too scared to poke their heads outside, but to Joe, it teased some level of freedom he missed. George making it his god-given mission to follow along didn't hurt either.

Babe must have been on the watch patrol today because as soon as he hears the truck’s engine, he comes jogging toward the inner gate. He’s got a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder, and as the truck rolls in he saves the argument of who is getting out again as he pulls the gate open for them. He gives a lazy mock salute, his free hand still curled around the rifle strap. Joe’s mistake is slowing to a near stop, which gives Bill time to vault over the side and land on his feet near Babe. No doubt to gossip about whatever it was they managed to talk about. George groans, head flopping back to give Joe a mournful look about having to unload supplies with three guys instead of four.

[drifterjo]

Te o Toriatte

Chapters II, III & IV

II.

Spiders from Mars, the interplanetary casino, hung on planet Mars low orbit. Its freakish name was an oldie - David Bowie’s band in his early days of Ziggy Stardust.

The exterior framework of the casino was spectacular, a colossal metallic round structure which intentionally resembled a roulette wheel. I had admired it from a distance on several occasions and my attraction held every time I saw it.

The interior didn’t disappoint either. There was a number of distinct areas, wherein gargantuan waterfalls and allotments of tropical jungle fused agreeably with post-modern design and connectionist architecture.  

Once inside, I pushed through row after row of slot-machines, ostensibly ignoring the hordes of dopamine addicts.

I headed straight for the table games lounge, my intention clear: to win a few thousand woolongs ASAP. I didn’t have any cash on me, but I needed some to get started.

I knew the place would be saturated with professional bookies. Right off the bat I counted half a dozen of them. They resembled vultures, patiently waiting to prey on the fallen.

These leeches in human form were nothing but scum and I would only recur to them as a last resort.

Not that I had much choice! My wallet was as empty as the dwarf moon of Dysnomia.

I wandered about for a while until I spotted this guy I knew from a previous monetary setback o mine. His name was Vex. He had the face of an ugly weasel and the eyes of a goat… a diseased one.

Adverse physiognomic considerations aside, Vex was willing to loan me enough credit to get me started on one of the poker tables. His interest rate was 100%, take it or leave it!

I took it!

III.

Even though it was Christmas (or perhaps because of it), most of the casino lounges were brimming. A hodgepodge of players, a fair sample of the different strata of population inhabiting our heliocentric system in those days.

I tried to figure how many of the players were playing on credit. If they were plebeians, their pockets should be as empty as mine. It was hard to tell.

There was a wide variety of types scattered across the room, from the gutter riff-raff, surely living on indigence, to the filthy rich, whose money they simply were unable to spend in their lifetime.

What I could tell was that all tables were full - all but one, that is, standing out like a sore thumb.

Dead center in the great room there was this solitary figure just sitting there, aloof from the gambling frenzy around him. A heavyset individual with a tailored white suit on, dark shades concealing his eyes and no drink on the table. Something about the guy was vaguely familiar to me, yet I couldn’t place it right away.

The green felt of the gaming table was as void as the five seats around it, something I found peculiar. Even though the guy looked tough enough, my instinct told me he was making a show of it. There was a reason for him being alone, of course, yet my guess was that he wasn’t a shark.

He was only pretending to be one.

IV.

I draw near to him, feigning a nonchalant attitude I didn’t possess. I felt tense, dying for a drink to calm my nerves and sooth my aching body. Before addressing him, I noticed that his eyes were undiscernible, hidden behind the black lenses of his glasses.

“5-Card Draw, no limit?” I said.

I was okay with Texas Hold’em, which I knew to be the most popular game around. I didn’t mind playing that game at all. But my favorite had always been 5-Card Draw, though. As far as poker is concerned, it is called «the old time greatest» for a reason.

The guy bobbed his head slightly, seizing me with a look that I was unable to fathom. Then he nodded slowly.

I stood indecisive, as if I needed a formal invitation to sit down.

“Grab a seat,” he said, as if reading my mind. He spread his arms, “Any seat you want!”

I sat down and faced him dead on. For a silent moment we seized each other like the couple of alpha males we were.

As if by magic, a freckled waiter in a tight sweater and a skimpy skirt appeared at my side. Her voice was as sardonic as her looks. “What will you have, sugar?”

“A double whisky on the rocks! Keep the rocks to a minimum!”

The waiter nodded and left.

The guy reacted, “Have you come here to drink or to play?” There was annoyance in his tone.

“Both,” I said swiftly.

I watched him took a card deck from a coat pocket - apparently an unused one, though you could never really tell. He removed a thin sheet of cellophane covering the deck and started to shuffle the cards rather sloppily. I couldn’t tell if the guy was for real or not.

The waiter returned with my drink. A black dealer impeccably dressed in a dark tuxedo, gloves and all, accompanied her.

My opponent ignored him. “Let’s dispense with the dealer, shall we?”

“Fine with me!” I shrugged.

[maybebored]

Dream 2: That Snake and Lego

I had two dreams last night. Details are a little cloudly now that it’s been several hours but I’m going to write the short parts I remember from it anyways.

Snake rules the Boat 🐍🛥️

      The first dream had to do with living on a boat and having a very shifty, long, several meters long snake living with us. It was really long. Like think the snake from The Jungle Book but twice as thicc and more of a light pale-ish green and yellow. He could strangle me by the waist if he wished.

     So we obtained the snake from the previous owners because he ate the wife and I don’t know why we have it but because of that I was very wary of the snake and really did not know why my parents thought it was a good idea to go out to sea with a snake that murdered its previous owner because there really was no way to escape from that snake in the ocean. Yeah. I made breakfast and stuff and talked to some friends and generally lived out of the way of the snake. 

     On details of the boat, it’s blue, a fishermen’s boat, and there’s water in the kitchen that comes up to like half of your foot from the floor to your ankle. There’s also various random animals scattered across the boat like that one furry round brown muskrat-looking dude. And I think there might have been other small creatures too, but not rats, probably hamster or guinea pig of some sort.       Anyways, one day the snake got mad at me, idk why, maybe because I do want to kill it sometime, but I never told it that. So we’re there and I’m backing to the side of the boat trying to calm the angry snake down and next thing I know I’m wrestling with it and we fall off the boat. There’s a huge shark that appears almost immediately, a great white shark. I try to abandon the fight and get back on the boat. Snake is really good at swiming and gets back on the boat too.       The boat makes way back to shore and parks by some old dock next to a market and we’re just catching our breath and I guess the fight is over. Snake goes to the market and I’m annoyed at my parents for keeping the snake.

The Lego House (and People) 🧍🏠

The second dream is something about lego and slowly turning into machinery.  My family is out looking for a place to stay, maybe cuz we decided the boat and snake was a bad idea, but there was this set of houses that looked really nice and modern but also quite expensive. No idea how we would be able to afford that, but the lady advertising the house led us in and my brother and I explored the rooms while my parents got the sales pitch. 

It was probably part of some home owners association, except we were told it’s owned by LEGO, and it was pinkish outside with one part of the building just sloping downwards like a weird lego brick. ✨modern houses✨ya know?

So I’m inside going to different rooms and my brother tells me, “that’s your room, I’m taking the other one.” The room he was mentioning was the one right by the door, even before the kitchen and the living room. It was also by far the most ordinary one. The living room was strange. It was mostly empty, with round cusions on the floor one end, and there was a literal amusement park ride that started by one side of the room and went through a door sized archway into another room. Instead of the usual seats, the two-seater ride had plush sofa seats and round cushions. There was the usual single handlebar that you would pull down on your lap for safety though. 

It was strange but I continued on to another room, hearing my parents and the saleswoman come closer. By now I’m feeling a little strange. My movements seem to be... jerkier. I can see myself lifting my arms in an odd fashion, not clumsily but stiffly. My brother is excitedly looking around his new bedroom and I can’t really see much but a strange swing that resembles the ziplines they put in fancy park playgrounds, the flat round plastics attached to a rope. His appearance has changed and his eyes have grown much bigger and his body, plasticky yellowish. His arms are gone, he’s now like a yellow russian stacking doll without curves. His eyes now large googly eyes and he’s jumping around excitely but without bending motions, just like a bad rendering animation. I tell him that “hmm that’s cool” but also asked him if he feels like there’s anything off about the place. I tell him I feel like I’m moving stiffly and something is strange about the yellowy haze I’m feeling. His googly eyes narrow in a way I didn’t realize was possible and he tells me that no, I’m just jealous of his place that’s so cool and turns around to continue his playing.

I head to my parents to tell them about the strange vibes I feel about the place. They’re with the saleswoman and they’re scooching into the two-seater ride, inspecting the softness of the seats and my mom comments to my dad about the different ways we could possibly use it. They’re a little yellow too. I walk up to them and ask them if they’re sensing anything strange about the place and the saleswoman prattles on about how the machienery works and pulls the lever to get the ride to start. I don’t know what to think about it but I don’t know where the ride leads to because there’s no door to go see unless I get in a ride myself. I’m quite certain that my parents will not be human once they return from the ride but I don’t know how to tell them that and off they go.

I wake up from my alarm clock. Sorry, I didn’t end up seeing what transformation took place. Could have been fun. p.s. We’re not actually turning into legos, more like a bad knock off version. Without limbs.

[gloryofroses19]

Hold Her Hand

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!reader

Song Inspiration: Prom Night by the Midnight

Minor spoiler to season 4, episode 4

There's an open road And now an open door And a pretty girl's hand beside yours Do you know what to do? She looks at you Can you leap from the ledge and bridge the two halves of the world?

[y/n] Henderson had always been a constant in Steve Harrington’s life. When he was bullied by Greg Green in October of preschool for his Easter Sunday shorts, she told Greg he looked like broccoli in his monochrome outfit. When he aced the hardest second grade spelling test, she was his desk mate telling him how lucky he was when she only got a 70%. When he had his first kiss in third grade, she did too behind the jungle gym in front of their classmates. When he lost the class hamster in sixth grade during H week of hamster parenting, she was on the floor in his laundry room enticing Nibbles with a piece of apple. When he pushed Johanthan Byers into a row of lockers in tenth grade, she disapprovingly shook her head and helped Jonathan up. When Nancy broke his heart, she watched Police Academy on repeat on his couch consuming ice cream. When he went to prom, she made sure the corsage he gave her survived when he pulled her to the dance floor. When he first tried on the Scoops A-Hoy uniform, she sat on his bed and told him “You should wear this and only this” before he pushed her off. When he put the last of her boxes in her car, she smiled and said, “Don’t let any broccolis bully you or Dustin while I’m in college.” 

They still maintained some consistency despite the distance. Every Thursday night at 9pm was their designated call time, letters were to be sent once a week and most of all, his constant love for her. 

There was a time last summer, after the Star Court mall and grief was flowing, where they found themselves on his kitchen floor. Where she smiled at him in a similar way she smiled at Dustin and he knew they loved each other.  

But leaving for college meant Steve lost her, because you can’t be a constant when you're miles away in Indiana University. 

And that lack of consistency made it hard for him to breathe. Their months apart made him realize how much he relied on her unwavering heart and steady grip on his hand to get through the days. 

Hold her hand We'll never pass this way again Hold her hand Forever I will slow dance Her breath is deep as you make it There's a chance if you take it And a heart that you break is still a heart Hold her hand Hold her hand

There was another constant in the Harrington and Henderson dynamic. The sad constant of finding themselves on the Wheeler’s basement couch taking a break from scheming. 

“Hey,” [y/n] whispered, gaining his attention. “Would you rather have feet for hands or hands for feet?” 

“What the hell, Henderson?!” he whispered confusedly as he faced another constant. The constant Henderson siblings need to ask idiotic and strange questions. 

“You looked miles away, and I’d much prefer talking to you than being alone with my thoughts.” She whispered back, not even raising her head from his chest to meet his gaze. 

“Why don’t you join dreamland like sleeping beauty?” Steve gestured to the youngest Henderson passed out and drooling on her lap. 

“Again,” [y/n] began finally meeting Steve’s gaze allowing Steve some time to breath. “I’d much prefer talking to you than being alone with my thoughts…or nightmares.” 

Steve could see the sadness in her eyes. Consistency had allowed him to learn to read them and he knew she was worried. 

When everyone broke for the night, the Scooby Doo Gang had dispersed across the Wheeler house. Nancy and Robin were sleeping in her room, Max had planted herself at the basement table, Lucas and Dustin went to Mike’s empty bedroom and [y/n] and Steve stayed seated on the couch. They had spent the first hour playing board games but when Dustin came back with a blanket and a pout, Steve put them away before following [y/n] to the couch. 

There's an open floor As the chorus soars And a pretty girl's hand beside yours Knows what you'll find But the threshold shines Can you leap from the ledge and bridge the two halves?

Returning her head to its place above his heart, Steve followed her line of sight to Max. Daylight would break soon and the ginger girl hadn’t stopped her writing all through the dark hours. 

“She’s going to be fine. We’ll figure this out.” A warm hand rubbing down her back had her shifting her attention back to Steve. He didn’t return his gaze, instead staring at the basement support beams but the flush on his cheeks let her know he was aware. 

[y/n] Henderson had two consistencies in her life, well three if you count her mother. She craved the consistency, it made living in the town of Hawkin’s bearable. Dustin had been her best friend since he was born. She never resented bringing him along with her friends and she liked spending time with his friends. It was a notable joke that the Henderson siblings had twin telepathy despite the age gap. Dustin and [y/n] knew that the other would always be there, no distance or demo-whatever could stop them. 

But her other constant, she wasn’t sure about. They had never experienced distance further than vacations and Hawkin’s town lines. Alphabetical order destined them to be seatmates and project partners in their early years. But as they grew, the consistency and banter kept them together in their later years, even before the Upside Down. 

However, the Upside Down brought a shift. Her constant protectiveness of the kids and need to control fell off around Steve, he helped her carry the burden. A shift along the trajectory from Dart to Demodog that made her realize maybe her constant warmth around him wasn’t of platonic friendship but of romantic love. 

Hold her hand We'll never pass this way again Hold her hand Forever I will slow dance Ger breath is deep as you make it There's a chance if you take it And a heart that you break is still a heart Hold her hand Hold her hand

“Stop staring.” Meeting her soft gaze, Steve tried to hold a deadpanned gaze. 

“I’m admiring.” She teased accompanied with a smile and a nose boop. Biting her finger, Steve revealed in her giggle and halfhearted attempt to get her finger back. 

Finally releasing her finger, Steve let [y/n] wipe her spit covered finger on his old Hawkin’s basketball t-shirt. She was matching him, but the earlier group’s verdict was that she pulled it off better. He claimed mutiny but Robin claimed it was scientific proof that she was prettier. 

Steve didn’t know much about science. But in sixth grade, Mr. Clarke paired him with [y/n] to make a presentation about hypotheses. What he remembers, other than his sweaty palms and racing heart, was that a hypothesis could only be confirmed after testing. 

And [y/n] Henderson proved to be a true scientist. She tested his definition of pretty every time she made eye contact with him. 

Steve decided to swallow the constant flutter of butterflies beating around in his heart. "You’re going to wake Dustin and then we’ll have to deal with a pouty-man baby.” 

“You’re a pouty-man baby, Harrington. Dusty is a pouty-teenage baby.” 

“Yeah, but we’re your pouty babies.” Steve held his breath as the words left his mouth. Over the million times he planned his confession to [y/n], never did he imagine it would be as soft as it actually was. 

Prom night turns to daylight we discovered Friends become lovers under covers

Searching his eyes, [y/n] was reminded of the T.S. Eliot quote about the world ending not with a bang, but a whimper. They covered it in ninth grade English where she spent everyday trying to stop hoping that her hands would brush the boy in front of her when they passed up their homework. But contrary to the quote, this was their beginning. 

“Yes, you are.” [y/n] replied softly, noticing the hopeful glint Steve was trying to suppress. 

“Are what?” Steve needed the confirmation. Between his dad, his reign as King Steve and Nancy, Steve craved the assurance. The assurance that he wasn’t bullshit, that he was good, that he was smart, that he was enough.

[y/n] knew all this and was happy to be that constant assurance. “Mine. My pouty-man baby.” 

Taking her hand in his, he sought to maintain the fairytale constant of a true love’s kiss. After placing a kiss on her hand, he laced their fingers. Giving a squeeze to his hand, [y/n] placed their joined hands down and returned her head to its rightful place over his heart. 

Hold her hand We'll never pass this way again Hold her hand Forever I will slow dance Her breath is deep as you make it There's a chance if you take it And a heart that you break is still a heart Hold her hand Hold her hand

The uncertainty was still there, they had no plan or explanation for what was happening and how to stop it or if they would all survive. But consistency had taught Steve Harrington that with [y/n]’s hand in his, they would figure this out. 

A/N: This is my attempt at a song inspired fic so I’d appreciate any feedback! 

A/N 2: I tend to oscillate between annoyance and denial about the Steve and Nancy situation in season 4. So piece is the reaction to the denial but there’s a chance I’ll be writing a part two AND separate angsty Steve x Henderson!reader piece.

[thegreatermermaid]

in my dreams you love me back (p2)

part 2 of satan x f!mc content: sfw, fluff! may contain slight suggestiveness. all characters are over 18 unless specified/canonically mentioned to be younger tagged (as requested): @aijlin part 1 here

Like the day I first wore my school uniform I feel awkward and excited I couldn’t sleep at all because of your Sudden confession last night

My stomach grumbled with fierce agony as I made my way to the lunch hall. "MC!" "Iara! How was your first day back?" I hugged her. "It was so cool! Did you know that Asmodeus was in ALL of my classes today?" After we grabbed lunch, we went and sat down at an empty table near the 7 brothers. Iara insisted that she wanted to look at the beauty of Asmodeus from her seat, to which I agreed. "So, do you have a thing for him then?" I asked, food still in my mouth. "For who?" She asked, her cheeks blushing into a red hue. I side-eyed Asmodeus from across the table. She smiled nervously, poking her fork into her plate. "..I guess you could call it that. What about you?" "Me?" I contemplated for a moment. Could I even count him as a crush, or was it just longing? I wiped the sweat off of my face. "I'm not sure yet." "Do you at least have a favourite?" She asked, her head cocking to the side. I averted my gaze to the floor. "I'm not sure." "Okay, so who's the best looking one?" I waved my hands dismissively. "I don't like any of them!" "Tch." I might do, though. ⎯⎯⎯⎯ The first school day had finished. Today was pretty eventful.

I decided to travel down to the library to start my homework. In there, I searched for different textbooks relating to the history of Devildom, though the one I requested had already been reserved before me. The librarian had recommended me to search for another volume. The bookcases were stuffed to the brim. I used the ladder beside it to search for the books placed higher. Although, the height was immense, and one small wobble could make me come toppling down. Yet, I had no luck, and it looked like I would have to ask around. "Hi, could you let me know of the current person using this book?" I asked the librarian at the front of the hall. She looked at me with piercing eyes through her golden-rimmed glasses. I heard her tongue click as she looked at the computer screen with disapproval. "It says that the system cannot process the current user. But I vaguely remember what he looks like-" "What does he look like?" I interrupted. She sighed in irritation and continued. "He has blonde hair and wears a navy jacket." Could it be him? "Thank you, miss." I bowed my head with shy gratitude. I wandered around the maze of bookcases, keeping my eyes peeled for any blonde-haired individual resting among the huge jungle that is the school library. I had caught glimpse of him, sitting on a leather couch near a crackling fireplace, peacefully reading the text infront of him while resting a notebook on his leg. "Hi... no, sorry, excuse me, may I use that book?" He turned around to face me, his aura glowing. "Would you like to work with me?" He asked, a smug smile transitioning upon to his lips. "All I would like is the book." I replied, trying to not sound desperate. In reality, I was trying my hardest to compose myself from wrapping my arms around him. "Really? I'm sure you'd like to. The way your face lit up when I asked you explains it all, doesn't it?" I froze. "Well..." He raised his eyebrows. "Well?" How do I go about this? "What's your name?" I asked him. "It's Satan. Are you going to ignore my question?" I attempted to pull the book away from him. "Fine, I'll study with you. Just give me that damn textbook-" He grasped onto my arm. "Then sit down here, what's stopping you?" I withdrew from his grip and sat down on the far side of the couch, restlessly waiting for him to finish the textbook. "Are you gonna sit there and stare?" "Well, I can't exactly read it like this, your nose is buried right into it." I scooted closer to him, forcing the book closer over to my side and began jotting things down into my notepad. He stared at me with curiosity, intently watching every pen flick and movement. "What's your name?" He asked. "It's MC.." I replied, diverting my attention to his aquamarine eyes, resting on my face. "Hey, Satan, I have a question." "What is it?" "Have we met before?" "No, I don't remember meeting you, MC." Tears began resurging in my eyes. "Ah, right.." "Why.. do you ask?" I gulped. "Oh, it's just because I knew somebody familiar." I managed to keep poised while in front of him. If I cry, it'll seem unpleasant. Maybe it was really just a dream, after all. But, how did it come to this? part 3 coming soon

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part I

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.7k Warnings: dubious consent (because of alcohol), just copious amounts of sex, oral, squirting, 69ing, college shenanigans, obnoxious frat boys, terrible fashion choices A/N: At long last, here we have the beginning. Massive thanks to @pleasantanathema and @whats-her-quirk​ who have been cheering for me since I told them I wanted to right a “little college AU” for a “little collab” June and I have been planning for a while. Also, I don’t know where I’d be without Lauren’s fraternity knowledge, so extra thanks for that, babe. I hope everyone has as much fun with this fic as I did.

God, you hate frat boys. 

Their sense of entitlement, all their fucking house pride. Brother this, brother that. It's annoying. Add in the factors of being an athlete on top of it, and they're downright insufferable. 

So it makes absolutely no sense that you're at a fucking Pi Kappa Alpha party. 

Your friend, Hitch, dragged you here (naturally), and it wasn't like you could really object considering she's the only real friend you have on campus. You study together and switch off between dorms to watch movies and bitch about classes. She's the complete opposite of you in many different ways, but you soul-bonded over biology and that was that. 

Unfortunately, Hitch decided she would leave you to your own devices almost immediately, opting to skip over to a game of beer pong and flirt with a boy in her statistics class. You have no idea why considering he has a fucking bowl cut, but she's been talking about him for weeks now. 

The party is filled with loud music and too many people with red solo cups. There's no way they're all of age, so you're already paranoid that the cops are gonna raid the place, but there's nothing you can do besides leave. It's a tempting thought. 

Before you can, though, there's an uproar in the kitchen, and curiosity gets the best of you. Moving from your place against the wall, you make your way over to peek in and see what's going on. A large group of frat boys, what you think are sorority girls, and whoever else wants to join are raising their cups to cheer. An especially loud voice rings out above the rest, "One win down, eleven more to go!" 

Claps and supportive shouts are nearly deafening. 

"I think we can do it! Do you think we can do it?" 

More cheers, more hollers. 

"Let's hear it for UC lacrosse!" 

You have to cover your ears this time. Should have known this party was to celebrate the win earlier that day. 

When the crowd parts, you see the ringleader, Erwin Smith who is very well-known on campus for three reasons: he will talk your ear off about history if given the chance, he's irritatingly gorgeous, and he will fuck any pretty girl with a pulse. 

Again—you fucking hate frat boys. 

To ease your bad mood and possibly encourage you to have some semblance of a good time, you shuffle further into the kitchen to grab a drink. You feel a little exposed, not dressed like many of the other girls who are either in rompers or the classic sorority chick outfit (giant college shirts that cover their shorts). You are in a crop top, torn shorts, and a floral cardigan. Not your best outfit, not your worst. 

There's no way you're touching any of the pre-poured cups or the jungle juice, opting for an unopened can of mediocre beer. 

You feel someone approach you from behind, glance over your shoulder to see nothing but a broad chest covered by a fucking hawaiian shirt. 

Craning your neck, you're met with another familiar face, one Mike Zacharias known as 1) Erwin's best friend, 2) one of the tallest guys on campus, and 3) the best lacrosse player on the team. 

You haven't spoken a single word to him but that doesn't stop him from grinning at you, flipping shaggy hair from his face, and chanting a low, "Shotgun, shotgun, shotgun!" 

"Are you god damn joking me?" You ask with a raised eyebrow. 

"Hell no!" 

"I have shotgunned a beer literally once in my life, and at least half of it ended up on my shirt."

"That's alright," Mike's smile shrinks to a smirk. "We're all about getting chicks wet in Pike." 

Face falling, you scoff, "Yeah, okay, I'm leaving." 

You sidestep him, cracking open the beer, but he follows close behind you. It makes a little bit of fear spike in your gut—everyone knows the horror stories that accompany many fraternities—but you're mostly just annoyed. 

"Hey, what's your name again?"

Again. As if you've actually formally met before.

"Why do you care?" 

Mike does not hesitate when he answers, "'Cause you look like you're having a shit time here, and I'd like to change that."

You roll your eyes, let your head loll over your shoulder to look at him again. If you're being honest with yourself, he's kind of extremely hot with his undercut and flippy hair, not to mention the stubble that's grown out just enough to make you think thoughts for a split second.  

"A noble cause," you quip. "Truly." 

He chuckles, watching too closely as you take a sip of your beer. 

"So? Name?"

After too big of a swallow, you answer him, and light green eyes brighten a little. 

"Oh, you're Hitch's friend, right?" 

Of course that would be your only identifier on campus. Hitch is insanely pretty and very outgoing. It makes sense that people just know you as her tag-along. 

It doesn't stop you from feeling slightly offended, though. 

"Yeah, and you're Erwin's friend, right?" 

"Among other things," he snorts. "Mike Zacharias." He holds out a massive hand that you eye before taking, figure you shouldn't be too much of a bitch and make a bad impression on the most highly regarded frat at the college.  

"I know who you are, dude. Not many people don't."

"Aw, flatterer." 

That grin is back on his face, lopsided and far too charming, and you definitely need to get away from him before you down a couple more beers. 

"Freshman?" He pries, and somehow you wind up at the staircase, leaning against the wall and praying he'll just stand beside you instead of caging you in. 

He does, and you let out a breath of relief. 

"Sophomore."

His eyebrows shoot up for a second. "Fuck, you've made it through a whole year flying under my radar?" 

You give him a wholly unimpressed look. "Wow, you really know what to say to a girl, don't you?" 

"That came off as shitty, sorry. I just mean, like, you're super cute. Feel like I would have committed you to memory if I'd seen you."

Your face heats up probably more than it ever has in your life, but you still snap, "We haven't had a single class together, I never go to your games, and this is the first Pike party I've been to."

Mike nods. "Ah, that explains it. Just haven't given anyone a chance to notice you." 

"Sure, let's go with that."

Another several sips. You hiss at the taste, and Mike laughs. 

"Can't handle beer?"

"Can't handle shitty beer."

"Ouch. Want me to grab you something else?"

He really doesn't seem to understand the warnings all girls have heard over the years. That, or he just doesn't care. You don't know him well enough to pass that kind of judgement.

"Uh, no. I always make my own drinks at parties."

"That's understandable." Except it isn't. He doesn't have a clue. 

"Well, you can go grab one, and I'll just finish this one for you. Don't want it to go to waste."

It's your turn to smirk now. "That desperate to swap spit, Zacharias?" 

"Like this?" He laughs through his nose. "Nah. But I can think of other ways."

"We've been talking for literally two minutes."

"I'm perfectly capable of making decisions in two minutes."

"Not any good ones obviously."

Tilting his head, Mike thinks out loud, "Can't tell if that's an insult aimed at me or yourself." 

"Take it however you want. I don't really care."

His eyes glint with amusement. There's no way you're escaping this any time soon. 

Long, thick fingers close around the top of your can, and he gently tugs it out of your hand then keeps those eyes locked with yours as he takes a sip. 

"Gross." You try to keep the teasing tone from your voice. 

"Just go get another drink."

You actually listen, mostly to get away from him but also because you could go for something easier to stomach. 

A game of King's Cup is going on in the kitchen, a five obviously being drawn because everyone suddenly pantomimes holding a steering wheel. It's surprisingly fun to watch, so you post up next to the counter after mixing orange and pineapple juice with rum. 

"Four's whores!"

"Categories! Different beers!"

"Seven heaven!" 

"Ayyy, waterfall!" 

You shake your head as everyone drinks for way too long. Some people are already swaying in circles where they're sitting. Others are simply red-faced. 

"Wanna play?"

"Jesus! You came outta nowhere."

Mike looks too smug for your liking, but doesn't say anything, just crushes the empty can in his hand and throws it into the trashcan next to the back door, all gooseneck and perfect arch. 

"Let me guess—you're reigning champ at beer pong."

"Nah," he waves you off. "That's Erwin and Nile. King's Cup however…"

"King's Cup isn't even a competition. It's just flipping cards and getting fucked up." 

"Well, yeah, but it's still fun."

You let out a heavy sigh, eyes still trained on the game going on, then concede, "Once this one is over, I'll play. Just to get you off my back." And because he won't have the chance to talk to you for the duration of the game. 

"Excellent."

You manage to finish your drink by the time the round ends, have to rush to make another as Mike strides over to the table and steals the two seats that have been vacated. They're right across from each other. You don't know if you'd prefer that or just sitting next to him so he can't stare at you.

Sauntering over, you plop down and place your drink in front of you. The guy to your right is quick to introduce himself with hooded eyes and a self-assured smile. You give him basically the same treatment that you've been giving Mike, making him pout and turn away as a freckled girl deals out the cards. 

It's fast paced, and you find yourself drinking more than you'd planned. Mike picks you as his buddy (of course), and the guy next to you makes everyone drink for nearly thirty seconds straight when he pulls an ace. 

Still, you find yourself laughing as people scream and curse. You catch eyes with Mike often, and as you finish your second drink, he begins looking very attractive. More attractive than before. So attractive that you allow him to pour your third cup. 

"If you roofied this, I'm gonna be real upset with you," you tell him just before taking a sip. He added more rum than you did, but that doesn't surprise you. 

"Hey, one of Pike's virtues is being a gentleman."

As soon as he says it, about seven people around the table shout, "Pi Kappa Alpha!" like some kind of sports team, and you roll your eyes so hard it hurts. 

You're drunk after this game. And, then you make another drink and get plastered. Meandering around the rest of the party, bodies begin to blur together, the music fades in and out, and you barely know what you're saying to Mike anymore as he follows you close behind in the same state. For every drink you've had, he's had two, and now he's walking around with a cup full of jungle juice nodding at his brothers, smiling at all the girls who look at him.

His room is downstairs unlike most of the others, right at the end of the hallway. It makes it far too easy to end up inside, but as soon as the door closes and his huge hands find your hips, your world disappears entirely. 

*

The first thing you feel when you wake up is a nauseating pounding in your head. The second is a very large body behind you. 

God dammit, you think, trying to recall the events of the night before. 

Pi Kappa Alpha. Hitch left you, so you hung out with… Mike Zacharias? From the lacrosse team? 

Frowning, you try to look over your shoulder, but all you can really see is a head of hair. However, you can feel the coarseness of his beard against your bare shoulder, and that's enough to solidify that it is indeed Mike behind you. 

Shifting some brings more of your physical state to your attention—your naked chest under the blanket, the way your legs are pressed together, your pussy between your thighs… swollen? Jesus, what did he do to you last night? You can also feel something dry and crusty on your stomach which is both disgusting and relieving. At least he had enough sense to pull out. 

Luckily, his arm isn't wrapped around you which makes it much easier to sit up on your elbow. It takes you a while to locate your clothes around the room from where you are, and even then, all you can find are your shorts, shoes, and bra. You peer around, trying not to groan at the headache threatening to make you black the fuck out all over again, but that pounding as well as the nauseating churning of your stomach is making it difficult. 

You slide out of the bed, basically crawling to the little pile of discarded clothes. As you fumble with fastening your bra, you glance around one more time in search of your shirt and cardigan, but it’s no use. What you do see, however, is the obnoxious Hawaiian shirt  Mike had been wearing the night before, and well… You’d rather not leave the Pike house topless, so…

Snatching it off the floor, you slip your arms through the giant sleeves and somehow manage to button up about half of it. Then, you’re flying out the door, desperate to be in your own dorm, curled over your own toilet, in your own clothes. 

Oh, thank god his room wasn’t upstairs, you praise, trying to remember the way to the front door. There are numerous bodies and tipped over cups to navigate through, and you cringe at the various odors that assault your senses. 

You see the door from across the room, so close and getting closer as you try not to trip over anything, but as you pass the kitchen, you hear a smooth, familiar voice greet, “Good morning,” in a smug way. 

Erwin is leaning against a counter, smirking over a steaming cup of coffee. He’s wearing only sweatpants, his hair is a little mussed, and for a split second, you understand why he pulls so many girls. 

Still, you roll your eyes and continue moving—a classic DNE situation, but the frat boy doesn’t seem to get the message, instead calling out, “Nice shirt!”

“Fuck off, Smith,” is the only thing you utter before leaving, slamming the door behind you. 

*

Mike easily catches the frisbee that spins directly at his face then quickly throws it back to try and catch Nile off guard. It works, and the brunet curses and has to go running after the flying disc. 

A few girls watching from the nearby fountain clap and yell his name, wriggling fingers in a wave as if he can actually see that far away. Mike gives one wave of his own hand then turns back to the grass where Nile is jogging back to his place.

“You did that on purpose, you asshole!” He spits.

Mike shrugs his shoulders, yells back, “Get better at frisbee, and you won’t have this problem!”

Nile throws the plastic so hard that it flies off toward the fountain, making all those girls scream and dive for cover. 

“Yeah, I’m not getting that,” Mike shakes his head. Nile drags his fingers down his angular face before setting off on yet another trek, apologizing profusely then standing around to flirt like usual.

Blowing hair out of his face, Mike considers joining his brother, but before he can, he sees a familiar figure turning on the sidewalk, about to pass the fountain and head toward Hartley Hall. 

His feet are moving before he really registers it, glad his long legs can carry him quickly even at a walk. Mike calls out when he’s a couple yards away, and you turn to him, eyes growing wide before you start to move faster. 

He can just barely make out the words, “Nope. Not doing this,” and chuckles, catching up the rest of the way.

“Hey, chill, I just wanna talk.”

You turn to look at him, head tilted up, squinting against the sun, and Mike has never been more thankful for his height because you look so god damn cute all small and irritated with him. 

“What is there to talk about? I don’t even remember anything.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, lacing fingers together behind his head. “Shame.”

“Whatever.”

Mike tries and fails to hide a snort, nods at Nile as you both pass him and the gaggle of girls surrounding him. Mike has no doubt his friend will get at least one phone number out of it, if not all of them. 

“Did you at least have a good time before you blacked out?” He ventures.

You shrug your shoulders, hitch your backpack up a little higher. “Maybe. But, if I was just around you the whole time, probably not.”

“Aw, come on! What did I ever do to you?”

“You need a list?”

Mike nods. “Would probably help.”

“For brevity's sake, I’ll just say that you started the night trying to get a literal stranger to shotgun a beer and ended the night fucking said stranger and… Not holding back, apparently.” Mike frowns, about to ask what you mean by that, but you elaborate before he can. Voice dropping, you question, “Do you have any idea how fucking sore I’ve been for the last few days? What the fuck do you even have hidden in those stupid shorts?”

“I’d be happy to show you again.” He grins sideways, and when you shoot him a venomous look, he figures it’s time to change the subject. “Anyway, I may have done that and more, but you’re the thief.”

“Excuse me?”

Mike tries to sound nonchalant as he accuses, “Stole my shirt and everything." Honestly, he's a little upset that he didn’t actually get to see you wearing it. 

“I—”

“That’s my favorite shirt, you know?”

You laugh. Finally. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“That shirt is fucking heinous, okay? You’re lucky I didn’t burn it.”

“Does that mean I can have it back?”

You make a little noise in your throat, something between a grumble and a growl, but you check your phone and tell him, “Fine. My next class isn’t for another couple of hours, so just…Follow me.”

It takes immense effort to not skip to your dorm like a little kid, but Mike is excited. He’s not gonna try anything weird, but just seeing your space? He’ll be able to get a better feel for you. So far, all he knows is that you live and breathe sarcasm and can’t handle your liquor well. It’s enough to get him a little more than interested, but it’s not enough to go off of.

The two of you gain a few looks as you make your way through the shared study space of the dormitory, heads turning, eyebrows raising in recognition. No one should be all that surprised; it’s not like Mike and Erwin haven’t frequented a lot of these rooms. 

You lead him down a hallway, and Mike looks at all the little dry-erase intro boards hanging outside of every door. He’s a little surprised to see that the one by yours isn’t blank. Your name is written in bubble letters, surrounded by little hearts, and when you catch him looking at it, you’re quick to tell him, “Hitch.”

“Ah. Of course.”

He follows you inside, staying by the door to not invade too much of your space, but he doesn’t even try to be subtle as he looks around the small room. Pennant for the college hung up over a cork bulletin board that’s a mess of photos and sticky notes. Cluttered desk with just enough of it cleared to fit a laptop. Tiny succulents on the window sill. Double bed covered in a quilt. And there, in the open closet, Mike catches sight of his shirt—pastel pink and littered with palm trees. 

After dropping your backpack on your bed, you step over to the hanging clothes and grab it, muttering, “Ridiculous,” as you hand it over.

Mike laughs as he slings it over his shoulder. “You know what’ll make you hate it even more?” You quirk an eyebrow, probably doubting that anything could, but your entire face falls when he informs you, “I have matching shorts to go with it.”

“No you do not.”

“Definitely do.”

“That should be a crime. You should be arrested.”

He chuckles, has a retort on the tip of his tongue, but something catches his eye—a bookshelf tucked away in the corner by your bed overflowing with novels and knick-knacks. Mike sees a particularly thick paperback, recognizing the black background and small desert picture on the spine.

“Bro!” He walks over, plants a hand in the middle of your mattress, and reaches for it. “Is this fucking Dune?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“This is, like, my favorite book, dude.”

“Seriously?” You sound just as disbelieving as you do disinterested. 

Mike begins flipping through it, scanning over highlighted passages as he nods. “I have the whole series back home, but I only brought this one and Messiah with me to college.”

He straightens up but keeps a knee on the edge of the bed, and you plop down to sit on it, watching him closely as he continues to look over the notes scribbled in the margins. 

“I had to read it in high school," you tell him. "Then my cousin gave me a lot of the books after I talked with him about it one time. I haven’t gotten around to reading them, though.”

“You really should,” Mike urges. “I mean, I know you probably have a shit ton of reading for classes, but if you ever get the chance, you should at least read the next two.”

“You some kind of closet nerd, Zacharias?”

“Kinda,” he admits, putting the book back on the shelf only to grab a worn copy of Fellowship of the Ring. “I mean, Erwin and a few others are well aware, but I don’t really broadcast it.”

“Not good for the cool guy image?” 

“Nah, people are just more interested in other things,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on the tiny print.

“Mike Zacharias,” his gaze flicks to you as you laugh quietly. “Lacrosse god and big fucking geek.”

He closes the book and uses it to lightly hit you on the top of the head with it. You half-heartedly smack him right in his abs only to push against the muscle harder and ask, “Jesus Christ, what do you have under there?”

“You know, that’s the second time you’ve asked what I have under my clothes,” he points out, a little too satisfied. “Better watch out, or I’m gonna start getting ideas.”

You huff, but your hand is definitely still on his stomach, unmoving but warm through his shirt. Mike told himself he wouldn’t do anything weird once he got here, but you’re already on the bed and touching him, and he’d kind of really like to have this particular experience while sober, so he very slowly takes your wrist and moves it away. 

It makes you look up at him, a question dancing in your eyes as your lips part. Mike makes sure his own stare conveys everything he’s thinking, wishes he could just transplant his thoughts into your brain so that he can put you a little more at ease around him. 

You’re onto him, though, tugging your hand from his grip and blinking a few times. He figures you’re about to point to the door and tell him to take his fucking Hawaiian shirt and leave. 

Instead, you pull on the fabric covering his ribs so that he loses his balance and has to catch himself before crashing into you. It puts his face level with yours, and you take the opportunity to kiss him—hard, desperate, and a little confused judging by the way you’re frowning. 

Mike grunts, holding himself up with the arm on the side of your hips then uses the other to slide under the thigh closest to him and pull you further onto the bed. He’s straddling you in no time, up on his knees so that he doesn’t crush you. 

Hearing the sound of shoes hitting the ground, he tugs his shirt off over his head, and then he’s curling over you again. Your mouths grow slick with spit. He slides his tongue past your lips, and you arch into him, fingers tangling in his hair. Mike pushes you back down so that he can strip you down to your bra and panties then takes the time to rid himself of his shoes and shorts.

“Oh, fuck,” he hears you breathe, and when he glances up at you, he finds you staring at what he knows is an intimidatingly large bulge under his boxer briefs. “It makes sense now—the soreness.”

Mike chuckles, slots his forearms on either side of your head and mutters, “Yeah, sorry about that.”

You lick his lips and he bites yours, bodies clashing together as he grinds himself against your covered pussy. Eventually Mike is able to snake a hand down your body, making sure to brush over your ribs so that you squirm beneath him. Fuck, he already loves the way you squirm. And, when he moves your panties to the side and teases your little hole, already wet just from making out, Mike discovers that he loves the way you moan too. 

He’s slow as he pushes a finger in, groaning when you clench around it. Pumping it in and out, he gently works you open and wonders if he was courteous enough to do this the other night. He hopes he was. 

You spread your legs for him, start bucking into his hand, especially when he hits that special spot inside you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fu—” You grab his face, bringing it close to yours again so that you can muffle curses against his lips. 

When Mike adds a second finger, your jaw drops, and you start to tremble. 

“Too much?” He asks.

You shake your head, stutter a breathy, “N-no. Just—ah—slow. Go slow.”

He moves to suck on your neck, promising, “I will.”

Mike waits until you’re dripping into his palm and spread about as widely as you can be underneath him. Then, and only then does he shimmy out of his underwear and question, “Condom?”

“Bookshelf,” you huff. “In the jewelry box.”

When he opens it, a little ballerina spins, and Mike has to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. “That’s twisted.”

“Shut up.”

He grabs one of the gold packages and tears it open, then rolls the latex over his cock and discards the wrapper somewhere. 

Mike only gives you his tip first, sits right inside your entrance so that you can squeeze him and get used to the feeling before he pushes in any more. You barely shift your hips back and forth, like an experiment. It’s just enough for Mike to see slick coating the end of the condom, and he nearly starts drooling.

He presses in a little more, appreciates the way your eyes roll into the back of your head, then adds one more inch.

“Jesus Christ.” Your breaths are coming in short gasps, words slurring together. He’s not even halfway in, and you’re already fucked out. 

Your cunt is spasming around him, and Mike tries to get you to relax more by lightly rubbing your clit with the pad of his thumb. 

You leak around him, pussy slowly but surely opening up a little more so that he can slide in further. He gives a few shallow thrusts that make you whine, then reaches up to grab one of your pillows which only sends him deeper. 

“God dam—”

Mike lifts you and shoves the pillow under your hips, smiles in a way he’s pretty sure you hate, then jokes, “Better to fuck you with, my dear.”

“In...sufferable…” The annoyed tone is lost when you cry out. Mike buries himself as far as he can without hurting you. He isn’t quite balls deep, but you feel so fucking good that he doesn’t even mind. 

Starting a steady rhythm that has every upthrust dragging over your g-spot, Mike watches through foggy eyes as your mouth opens and closes, chest rising with stuttering breaths before you exhale and moan. He dips his thumb between your folds to gather a little bit of slick and return it to your clit. The circular motion makes you arch again, and Mike abandons the little bud for just a moment so that he can unclasp your bra and pull it off. The sight of your tits bouncing in time with his thrusts almost does him in, but he holds back, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to gather himself.

You’re just clamping around him so perfectly, pussy drooling and creaming on his cock, and Mike is not a quickshot, but for you—

He pulls out all at once, flips you so that you’re on hands and knees, then spreads you open to lick into you from behind. 

“Holy—” 

Mike’s cock is throbbing where it bobs against his stomach, but he can ignore it for the most part, focused on eating you out, sucking at your messy lips then dragging the flat of his tongue over your hole. He moves his face back and forth, wants to leave his mark on you in the form of stubble burn between your legs. 

“Mike, Mike, fuck, please.”

He’s positive you can’t actually hear him when he teases, “Please what?” right into the crevice of your ass. 

You growl, push against him, and swallow enough pride to beg, “Please fuck me.”

Biting his lip, Mike straightens up enough to watch his fingers disappear into your pussy. One, two, then a third that makes your messy entrance stretch for him. He lowers his face again, feather light licks around your sensitive hole, and when he twists his wrist so that he can tap on your spot, you come immediately. 

A mixture of slick and squirt drips from your cunt and soaks into your quilt. Mike pushes more out as he continues to finger fuck you, humming at the way your arms give out and you fall against the mattress. 

This is the perfect position for him. He replaces his wet fingers with his cock and ruts into you quickly, chasing after his own impending orgasm. Pretty little whimpers fall from your lips, fuck drunk as you babble, “Oh, god, Mike, Mike, fuck…”

He’s gripping your hips too tightly, pulling you back against him, shoving his cock deeper and deeper until he finally comes with a shudder and a low groan. 

Mike pants for a few seconds, then leans down to press a few kisses to your spine, but instead of the usual happy sighs he gets from most girls, you just roll your shoulders and mutter, “Stop that.”

He does, then pulls out, takes a second to stare at your pussy—worked open from his size and still dripping. It would make a very pretty picture, but Mike wouldn’t dare try that with you. 

You roll onto your back, a huff of air leaving your lungs as you scrub a hand over your face then tilt your head to him. It looks like you have something to say, but you just chew on your bottom lip, eyes moving from Mike to the door.

And, he can take a hint. You don’t have to say it. 

With a self-deprecating snort, he pulls the condom off, tying it then tossing it into the trashcan by your bed. 

“Yeah, okay,” he nods. “Let me just…” Mike tugs his clothes back on, kindly tosses you your top so that you can cover yourself like you obviously want to. 

He makes sure to grab the Hawaiian shirt that brought him here in the first place, tossing it over his shoulder then striding to the door. 

Chancing one more glance at you, you force a smile and try to pad his bruised ego. “Don’t worry, it was good. You were good. It’s just not gonna happen again.”

Mike fights a smirk, raises a hand in a wave, then steps out.

Not gonna happen again, he chuckles to himself. Yeah, right.

*

You don't understand how this keeps happening, how you keep ending up in bed with Mike fucking Zacharias. 

This time you had gone to the disgusting bar right off campus, got one whole drink in your system before the familiar trio walked in. They were all in khakis and pastels—Erwin in blue, Nile in yellow, Mike in pink. Again. 

You actually slammed your head down on the bartop because despite how basic he looked in his light polo, Mike was still hot. 

Is still hot. 

Back at the Pi Kappa Alpha house, you're a mess of limbs on his bed. You take immense pleasure in tugging his shirt off, and once his arms are free again, he's lifting the hem of your little skirt and mouthing over your thong. 

You're more than tipsy after a couple more drinks but nowhere near as drunk as you were the first night. It hadn't taken much convincing from Erwin for you and Hitch to play pool with them, and when Mike had come up behind you to help you line up your shot, you knew you were a goner. 

While he's busy between your legs, you take off your shirt and bra. Green eyes flick up as soon as you toss both articles on to the floor, and without any hesitation, Mike reaches up to grope your tits. 

He's clumsy and distracted as he tongues over the warmth pooling in your underwear, squeezing plump flesh and pinching your nipple so that you whine and push your hips further into his face. 

Mike groans, just as drunk if not more so. He's messy as he kisses your thighs, nearly rips your thong when he pulls it off of you. 

His tongue feels good, too fucking good as he laves over your entrance, soothing an ache that isn't quite there anymore but definitely was a few days ago. 

"Taste so fucking good," he grumbles, slurping and sucking and making you squeeze your thighs around his head. 

"Okay," you pant. "Okay, okay." You grab him by the hair and lift his head from you, stomach flipping at the sight of the bottom half of his face absolutely covered in slick. 

God dammit, why is he so sexy? 

Your mouth waters, and the thought of possibly giving him head this time crosses your mind. You're just inebriated enough to stay relaxed, didn't drink to the point of throwing up, and he has gone down on you the last two times so... 

Lizard brain taking over, you sit up, tell him to flip over, then start making your way down his body. 

Mike grabs you before you can turn to face him, fingers digging into your thighs and pulling you down to sit on his face. 

"Fucking—I'm trying to blow you, for Christ's sake."

He moves his head just enough to tell you, "So? You can do that while I do this."

And, he's not wrong. It just means that you're gonna get distracted. 

For a while, all you can really do is control your breathing and undulate on top of him, but eventually you fall to your elbows and lick up his shaft from base to tip. 

Mike really does have a nice cock—a beautiful cock—bigger than you've ever taken in terms of both length and girth, and veiny in the perfect way. Even his balls make your pussy throb, large and round, the right just slightly bigger than the left and now dripping with saliva as you lower your mouth further and further onto his cock. 

The feeling of his tongue buried in your cunt is making you delirious, eyes rolling, muscles going slack as you gurgle around the tip hitting the back of your throat. 

Mike groans into you, his legs starting to shake, and you assume in your half aware state that he's trying to not just skull fuck you into oblivion. 

You know you're making a mess, both on his face and on his cock. The fingertips that have been holding you open shift, one of them slipping into your clenching hole, and your hips begin to move on their own volition, riding what he'll give you while moving your tongue back and forth. 

You've only taken about half of him, doubt you can take any more. He's hot and heavy in your mouth, and when you pull off to breathe, you can taste pre cum on the back of your tongue. 

It triggers something in you, makes you raise up and clumsily turn around so that you can work him inside of you. 

Mike groans a long, "Fuuuck," and immediately starts thrusting upward. 

You're lucky you're as wet as you are, but the burn that comes with getting so stretched out still makes you hiss. You brace yourself on his broad chest, feeling the dampness of sweat forming a sheen on him, and your own body starts to feel too hot. 

You had wanted to ride him to feel in control of the situation for once, but you quickly realize it's not gonna happen, Mike gripping your hips and moving you how he sees fit. 

He's raw this time, a thought that should scare you, but he feels so good even through the discomfort. Every vein and ridge hits all the sweet spots inside of you, the flared head of his cock smooth as it presses just where you need it to. 

You're squirting again—he just seems to be able to fuck it out of you. It's not the high you're looking for, but the release in pressure still feels divine. 

Mike seems to enjoy it too because he looks down at where you're connected, swears at the way you gush on his cock, then starts swiping fingers over your clit so quickly it almost hurts. 

More fluid leaks from you, and Mike breathes a low, "Come on, baby, come on, 'm gonna fuck you dry tonight." 

Hearing him talk like that—his hand rubbing over your overstimulated clit, his thick cock threatening to split you in two—causes heat to travel up your legs and down your arms until it settles in your stomach and floods you. 

You cry out, stars and tears behind your eyes as Mike keeps going, taking everything he can from you until he's laying in a huge wet spot in his bed. 

He lifts you just in time to shoot cum upward on your chest, white splattering then dripping down in strands to pool on his stomach. 

You stare down at him, mouth hanging open and find him looking up at you with the same expression. 

It's hands down the best sex you've ever had, but you're not about to tell him that. Instead, you dismount him like the fucking horse he is and stand on weak legs, actually have to lean on the bed for support. 

"Just stay the night." His voice is deep and full of gravel. It's entirely too hot. 

"Absolutely not." You shake your head, grab your shirt and his boxers then ask, "Where's the nearest bathroom?" 

"Down the hall on the right, but you don't have to sneak out the window or anything. Just use the front door if you're tryin’ to run away."

You can't help but snort. Stupid. "I'm not trying to escape, dummy. I just need to pee." 

"Oh. Right."

You slip out of the room, hoping it's late enough for everyone to be asleep, but you have no such luck as the door to the bathroom opens and fucking Erwin steps out. 

He hums, looking you over for a moment as his lips lift on one side. 

"Don't say anything," you grit through your teeth. 

He holds his hands up in surrender, chuckles, acting all innocent. "Wasn't going to."

You squint, not believing him for a second, then move around him to get to the bathroom. Before you can shut the door, you hear him mutter, "Another one bites the dust," and consider running out and strangling him.

*

"Please please please come with me to this game," Hitch begs, her hands clasped together, imploring eyes wide and doe-like. 

"No. You have plenty of other friends to go with. You don't need me there."

"But, I want you to be there. It's gonna be such a good match. Rival schools and all that."

You roll your eyes. "Hitch, in all the time you've known me, have you ever seen me give a single fuck about sports?" 

"No, but you'll finally get to see Mike and Erwin and Nile play."

"All the more reason not to go."

"Do you not like them or something? Why wouldn't you like them? Everybody likes them!" 

She doesn't know, and you don't want her to. She had been too caught up with that Marlowe kid at the party, then was kept busy playing pool with Nile to see you and Mike slip out of the bar together. 

It's the only secret you've ever wanted to keep from her. You will take it to the grave. 

"I just… I just don't, okay? I get a… Sleazy vibe from all of them."

You really don't. Not exactly. You're not a big fan of the 'fuck-every-chick-on-capus' mentality, but most college boys think like that. Only difference is these three can actually achieve it. 

Hitch crosses her arms over her chest and gives you a look you've seen on your mother's face many times, usually when she has a point to prove. 

"You know I'm just gonna keep bothering you until you come to one, so why not just get it outta the way?" 

And, there's that point. 

"Ugh." You know she's right, and you really can't put up with this all semester. "Fine, but I'm gonna bitch the entire time."

Hitch squeals and claps, bouncing where she stands. "Yes! Wouldn't have it any other way."

You dress in school colors, put your hair up so that it won't be on your neck as the sun beats down, then take Hitch's little hatchback to the field. You try to talk her into sitting toward the back of the crowd that's gathered on the bleachers, but she just pulls you to the front without acknowledging your request. 

Even with the helmets, you can easily make out who's who, mostly because of their size. Mike and Erwin are doing some kind of pregame ritual where they hit their sticks together, shout something, and chest bump. It's the most alpha thing you've ever fucking seen and makes you question why you ever thought screwing one of them was a good idea. 

To be fair, you never really did think it was a good idea. It just kind of happened. Three times. 

But, it needs to stop. 

You repeat that thought to yourself as you watch Mike sprint across the field and launch the ball into the goal several times. You repeat it as he dances around his opponents with ease, quick footwork until he can throw them off. You repeat it as he stands on the sidelines and takes his helmet off to shake out sweaty hair and squirt water into his mouth. 

And, none of it really helps. Mike is pretty incredible on the field, especially with Erwin and Nile backing him up. Everyone in the stands is screaming, yelling their names and chanting. It's a little contagious, you have to admit. You get as far as clapping but refuse to actually cheer. 

At some point, Erwin jogs over to the bleachers and waves his arms for everyone to get louder, and they sure do. Even through his helmet, you can see his sparkling white smile, and your own lips curl up as you shake your head at him. Unbelievable. He has all these people at his beck and call. 

Erwin has to get back on the field, though, fueled by the crowd like the other nine players. They end up pulling ahead of the other team and finishing the game eleven to seven. 

Naturally, Erwin announces a party at the Pike house, and naturally, Hitch drags you to it. 

This one is even bigger than the last. It offends every one of your senses—too loud, alcohol permeating the air, bad drinks, worse dancing, and strangers rubbing against you as you pass them. 

You give up on your beer before you’re even halfway through with it, just set the can on one of the counters and start milling around. You’d rather be anywhere else but here. Your head hurts from the game earlier, baking in the sun and not drinking enough water. Should’ve taken an Advil… And some Benadryl. Hitch wouldn’t have been able to bring you here if you’d been unconscious. 

All of the lacrosse team is there, flanked with guys who won’t stop slapping them on their backs and girls who won’t stop batting their eyes and squeezing their biceps. It’s comical, really, the fairweather trend. There’s no way this would be happening if they’d lost their last three games. Instead, the team would be getting harassed and pestered, not so subtle comments about practicing more and replacing members. You’ve seen it all before. 

Leaning against a wall, you watch it all unfold. It’s probably the most entertaining thing at the party other than the group of sorority girls dancing on a table. Things are getting out of hand already, and you would prefer not be here for the aftermath, but just as you're about to leave, Mike breaks away from the group and strides over to you.

“Hey, didn’t expect to see you.” He takes a sip from his cup, smiling around the rim.

You use your usual excuse: “Hitch,” and he nods. 

“Right. Did you watch the game today?”

Crossing your arms, you mumble a, “Yes,” that Mike can’t hear but can definitely see.

He beams then asks, “You gonna tell me I played well? ‘Cause I did.” He’s all cocksure and giddy, and it makes your body run hot in a few different ways.

“I don’t think you need anyone else fawning over you,” you say with a condescending laugh.

“You mean you don’t want me to flex for you?”

“I’m leaving. Right now." When you push past him a little too roughly, it causes him to drop his cup, and your shirt is suddenly plastered to your chest and stomach. The white isn’t discolored, which leads you to believe, “Fuck, is this just straight vodka?”

“No, Christ,” he cringes at your wet state, looking genuinely apologetic. “It’s just water. Sorry.”

You scrunch your top up to wring it out, wondering what he’s doing drinking water instead of liquor, but you’re not about to pick on him for staying hydrated. 

“It’s fine. I was about to leave anyway.”

He’s quick to stop you with a, “No, don’t. Just… change into one of my shirts or something."

Narrowing your eyes, you contemplate how many ways this can go wrong, how much you should not allow this, and even go as far as accusing, "You're just trying to get me in your room again."

"You wanna stay in a wet shirt?" Not really. "Come on."

He jerks his head toward the hallway, and you end up following him, grumbling the whole time because you swear to God if you end up on your back for him again, you're going to be very upset with yourself. 

Mike beelines it for his dresser as soon as you're in the room, much quieter than the rager outside. He digs around in it, flipping all the way to the bottom then pulls out a heather gray tee. 

"It'll probably still be a little big, but it's from high school, so you shouldn't drown in it."

He tosses it to you then, to your surprise, turns back to the wall to give you the privacy to change. You eye him the whole time, peeling off your top as well as your bra since it soaked through. His shirt still covers your little shorts, and you assume you look a lot like one of those sorority girls, but it's good enough, has that super soft feeling from being worn too much. 

"Thanks. You can, uh… You can turn around now."

Mike looks over his shoulder, like he's making sure you're decent, then turns around fully. 

"I was trying to get outta there anyway. Spilling a drink on you was a good excuse."

You open your mouth, choking on a scoff, then ask, "Did you do that on purpose?" 

"No! It really was an accident. I'm glad it was just water, but I still feel bad."

You're squinting at him, but now you're curious about something else.

"Why'd you wanna get away from the party?" 

Sighing, Mike shows a tired smile. "Honestly, I'm still worn out from the game. I'm already sore and covered in these god damn bruises. I just wanna relax."

"If you're covered in bruises, I can't imagine how the other team feels. You smacked the shit outta some of 'em."

"So, you were watching."

"I may have glanced up once or twice," you lie. "Anyway, why don't you just hide out in here?" 

He shrugs his shoulders. "Erwin insisted I show my face, and I didn't want him to give me shit about being a recluse."

You can relate. It's why Hitch drags you everywhere. You wouldn't even leave your dorm for classes if you didn't have to. 

Still. "Dude. You're definitely not a recluse. You're fucking everywhere. All the time."

"So? I can get tired too."

He's got a point. 

"Can we just chill in here for a while?" He asks you. 

"Why do you need me to chill? You basically just said you needed a break from social interaction."

"Yeah, but not all social interaction," he corrects with a small grin. "Please? I've got movies and video games, Zelda and shit."

Again, the contemplation kicks in, all the pros and cons. You know very well what this can (will) lead to, but you also want to escape the party. And, if Hitch whines about you leaving, you can tell her you were there the whole time. Not like it's a lie. 

"Fine, but I have some stipulations."

"Oh, do you?" 

"I do."

Mike waves a hand for you to go on. "Let's hear 'em then."

Holding up one finger, you tell him, "You have to let me snoop around your room—" he laughs. You lift another finger, "—and we are not, under any circumstances, having sex."

"Deal." 

You tilt your head, taken aback at how quick he is to agree. "Wait, seriously?" 

"Seriously. Go ahead. I'll pull up Hulu."

You hum, still suspicious, but start making your rounds, taking in photos from what you assume to be the high school soccer team he played on, then a fishing trip with Erwin, a middle-aged couple with a dog, and some pinned up tickets to sporting events he's attended. 

He has a bookshelf against a wall, textbooks at eye level, but the top and bottom shelves are filled with sci-fi and fantasy novels that make you smile. His TV is fairly large, big enough to see the picture from his bed which is also sizable and draped with a plush comforter. The last thing that catches your eye is his closet, halfway open and full of jerseys and Polos. A few different pairs of shoes sit at the bottom, but pushed all the way in the corner are a few boxes of fucking Magic the Gathering cards. 

"Oh, man. You really are a closet nerd. Like, literally."

"Huh?" Mike looks over at where you're kneeling, realizes what you're looking at and actually sounds self-conscious when he admits, "Yeah, uh, I wasn't joking the other day." 

"I've never played—too technical for me—but my friends in high school did."

"There are baseball cards back there too if that makes me any cooler."

"It doesn't," you say bluntly before straightening up and reaching to shut the door to his room. Plopping down on the floor next to him (where he was smart enough to sit), you add, "But even I can admit it's kind of endearing."

"Oh yeah?" He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, that stupid lopsided grin on his too-handsome face. 

"Don't get cocky, Zacharias." 

"You wouldn't let me if I wanted to."

Both of you agree to a Batman movie, and you make yourself comfortable, kicking your sandals off and leaning against the bed behind you. You're a little too aware of Mike's body beside yours, but you're able to ignore it for the most part, keeping a few inches between your arms and legs. Of course, he still brushes against you when the movie ends and he takes the time to stretch. His shoulders roll, making his shirt strain over his back, and when he holds his arms out, linked at his fingers, you can't help but take a quick look at his bulging biceps. 

"Fuck, I'm gonna feel like garbage tomorrow," he complains. You can see the bruises littering his arms, some of them thick lines while others are almost perfectly circular from where he was hit with the end of a lacrosse stick. 

"You have any classes?" You ask. 

"Just my ten o'clock and three o'clock."

You make a noise of acknowledgement then fall silent. You're not sure how to hold a conversation with him that isn't sarcastic or snippy since you haven't actually done a lot of talking in the first place. 

"Sucks," is all you can come up with. 

"It's alright. I've probably dealt with worse."

"Probably?" 

"Well, nothing really comes to mind, but I'm sure I have."

You should get going. It's late, and you have a nine AM tomorrow. Plus, the longer you sit next to Mike, the more ideas pop up in your head. Dirty ideas. Ideas that will leave you disappointed in yourself. 

"Well, I'm gonna head back. This has been…" You're unsure of what word to use, don't want to get his hopes up by saying 'fun'. 

Mike figures you out and offers, "Tolerable?" 

"Yeah, we can go with that. I'll get your shirt back to you sometime soon."

Mike chuckles and gets to his feet. "Just whenever you can." He grabs your wet top from the ground and holds it out to you, then reaches for the door as you slip on your sandals. 

You feel him close behind you, close enough for his chest to push against your back when you straighten up. His arm is pressing into your side, hand curled around the knob and twisting it, but he's unable to open the door as you let your head fall against it. 

"God dammit." 

"Hm?" You can tell he's leaning down because his breath falls just over your ear. 

"I said we weren't—"

He cuts you off, "But, you want to."

He's too hot and too smooth, and you can’t stop yourself from turning around and breathing, "Yeah, I want to." 

It's different tonight. Mike takes his time undressing you, kissing and sucking your neck, your collarbone, your nipples that pebble against his tongue. It's unnerving even as you squirm and moan. 

He eats you out lazily, flattening his tongue against your folds then dipping into your slit so that he can slip into your twitching hole. 

When he adds a finger, you immediately grind down on it, silently begging him to work you open enough to take his cock, but he doesn't move any faster, apparently content to just drive you insane. 

You're nearly begging by the time he turns you on your side and moves to lay behind you, hiking your leg up and pushing most of his length inside of you in one faultless motion that makes you choke and sob his name. 

That stretch is back, delicious as it is painful as he splits you open. His thrusts are the same slow pace, cock dragging against gummy walls as he drapes an arm over you to toy with your swollen clit. 

It takes you both longer than usual to come, but when you do, your whole body trembles against him, and you have to suck in several deep breaths until you feel like your lungs start actually filling with air. 

Mike paints your back with warm cum, groaning right in your ear as he rubs against you, his cock sliding easily up and down your skin and making more of a mess. 

That unnerving feeling blooms in your chest again, crawls up into your throat. 

Tonight had been too casual, too natural. The way you hung out and watched a movie was already a little strange. Him fucking you from behind, holding you tight against his body, was too tender. And, now, after he leaves to grab a wet towel and uses it to clean your back, you find yourself searching for words again only to come up with passionate—intimate. 

And, words like that scare you.

[ n e x t ]

[yuichi-ro]

I saw a fun post about synesthesia and Hanma and I was too fucking stupid to like it so i could find it later fml - here it is! cw: fem!Reader, intended small font, fluff, language, smoking (it's Hanma so)

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"-and when I make it big then I'll find something to make you say like shit! Or wow! Even shit yeah! Something that'll get your blood pumping- Get you really feeling like you just saw all the colors of the rainbow all at once, yeah?"

Lips reconnecting with the filter of his cigarette, Shuji held it between his lips as he hardly needed to extend his arms up to grip the jungle gym bars above him. Grinning with the thing hanging half way out of his mouth. The curls of smoke leaving the smoldering end even when he didn't take a drag.

"Oh yeah?" Your level of excitement never matched his. In fact it always seemed to counter his.

One solemnly swearing to be up to no good. The other solemnly swearing to be up to nothing at all. And both right next to each other on the same empty play set.

Feet dragging in the grooves of the worn wood chips under your swing. Kicking them up as you leaned back into the curve of plastic seat but hadn't lifted your feet up just yet. Sitting in a swing and you weren't even swinging.

Shuji's smoke drifted in your direction. While he was fooling around on the metal bars next to you. Frowning with a wave across your face you look away from him shaking your head, "I don't need thrills. You do enough for the both of us."

"See, that's what I'm talking about." His lanky arms came back down. Pinching his smoke between his thumb and forefinger as he took a long drag and puffed it out away from you like he might actually be paying attention, "I don't care. I'm gonna get something so grand even you'll think it's amazing. Because if you think it's something worth getting excited about-" Shuji plopped down next to you in the vacant swing. Legs too long to swing so he simply kicked back and forth with his cigarette burning away in his loose grasp, "-then it'll definitely something worth my time."

His legs looked so cramped in the swing meant for kids. Though yours looked no better stretched out and not once letting go to swing. Beginning to cramp after standing up like this for how long exactly? There weren't any kids when you both arrived. And there still weren't any. The only thing that had happened was the sky got darker and the street lamps came on. So there was no telling how long you'd both been here crawling over the jungle gym like a bunch of idiots.

"That's your motive? Something wild enough for you because I'd think it was something good?" Sarcastic down to the last syllable. When you looked over at him saddled beside you. Shuji wasn't even engaged or hearing you. Eyes cast elsewhere even above the city lights that had turned on ages ago.

His cigarette all but gone now. Just tiny little pale wisps leaving the bit he still clung to.

"Your world is so dull," Shuji's voice dropped. Not once did his gaze though as he looked up with the drifting smoke going farther than either of you could see, "I'm gonna make it so crazy I can wow you with all the colors of the world. Just you wait."

Shaking your head there wasn't any deterring him, swaying him or breaking his focus. Swearing you must see the world in nothing but colors as blasé as his smoke was all Shuji could carry on about even as kids. When in fact every time you saw him, a rainbow filled your senses to the point of spilling over.

How desperately you wanted to share that with him. But Shuji was busy chasing the colorless smoke drifting away. Too busy to see the colors dancing right here among you both.

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[ninyard]

i want to know ANYTHING and EVERYTHING about the andrew meets neil as stefan au

YES PLS OKAY

(holy shit this was supposed to be a HC ramble/snippets from the fic but uhhh….here’s a mini fic instead????? The actual fic I wrote isn’t even set back in California it’s set in PSU??? This was supposed to be short backstory!!!!!! Anyways lmk if u want the foxes stuff lol Enjoy <3)

Neil had natural looking ashy blonde with green eyes at the time, no older than 14 years old, going by the name Stefan Montgomery. Him and Mary ended up in a motel in Oakland for a couple weeks, regaining their footing after a close-call somewhere in Oregon.

Mary had hit Neil a gnarly heavy-handed blow after he forgot which name he was using in Eugene. Was it Sam? Or Dylan? Or had it been Joseph? A nice inch wide cut sat where his perfect court tattoo would sit, just on the turn of his cheekbone below the corner of his eye, bordered by a healing purple-brown bruise. Stefan was born on the border between California and oregon, stolen from a waiter at a pit stop diner, who didn’t let their coffee cups go empty as they mapped out where to go next.

He had met Andrew by chance; Stefan had been sitting on the bottom of the metal stairs that led up to the floor they were staying at. Mary was having a shower, dying her hair, becoming Georgia, perfect mother, a beautiful, average woman. He was people watching, looking at the cars pulling in and out of the car park, making up his own stories about who was who, what their names were and if they were worth stealing when they inevitably moved on. Andrew hung around the motel because just behind the building was an old, decrepit playground that’s should’ve been foreclosed years ago. Nobody ever used it, so it was a quiet place for him to be alone. He’d been walking through the parking lot after having just grabbed a chocolate bar or two from the vending machine when he stopped in front of Neil.

“What happened to your face?” It was quiet, barely a sentence, not big enough of a question to be intrusive or over-stepping.

“I’m a boxer.” That was the lie he’d been using for a few days. “I had a fight a couple days ago.”

You see, Stefan was a name Neil didn’t want to remember, like a bitter memory he forced himself to forget. It was just before Mary’s paranoia began to spiral even worse that it had already been. Stefan was keep your head down, we won’t be here long, give it a week, give it a week. Stefan was sleepless nights, watching his mother sat upright almost all night, eyes on the door, a knife under her pillow. Stefan was you don’t need friends, they’ll drag you down.

Mary didn’t know until the end that they’d been friends, Neil teaching Andrew the little boxing he knew, Andrew teaching Stefan how to keep yourself busy when you needed something to do. There was something about Andrew that made it impossible for him to stay away; he wasn’t a particularly happy kid, but the way he spoke, the way he cared about the fake life Neil had made up, the way he saw Stefan’s life as something he could never have.

“Have you ever thought about kissing a boy your age?” They’d been in Oakland for three weeks, and the two kids had made plans to meet every time Mary was occupied and Andrew was around. Neil didn’t really think to wonder why Andrew was always around. Didn’t he have a family who would miss him being gone all this time? Didn’t he have a home to go to?

“No,” Neil answered honestly. There wasn’t time for thoughts like that. Kisses weren’t signs of affection; kisses were lies, kisses were dangerous, kisses occupied a space in the mind that could be filled with run, run, run.

“Do you think it’s wrong?” Andrew had been swinging on the swing set, his feet dangling from the chipped plastic seat, the creaky chains holding him up. The question was loaded. Behind it was a conversation he’d had with his foster-mom, a slur from his foster-siblings, another hit from his foster-father.

“No,” that was an honest answer too. In his head his answer sounded like I’ve been told all kissing was wrong. But he couldn’t say that. Normal teenagers thought about kissing, and boyfriends, and girlfriends, and worried about how they looked in front of their crush. “Do you?”

“I don’t know.” His words were a sigh. Andrew trusted Stefan in this weird, out of character way. He’d never met anyone who’d been more interested to hear about his life than talk about their own. Of course, half of it was a half-truth, lies weaved into the story of Andrew.

Andrew was the first person who made Neil smile in a very long time. It was foreign hearing himself laugh, a sound reserved for fake interactions with strangers who couldn’t help but prying. Neil trusted him. His honest eyes often burning a hole in his face, on the days when Neil couldn’t bare eye contact. Andrew was a rock that Neil could feel himself becoming more and more attached to, more and more…attracted to? He didn’t know what that feeling felt like, but when he caught himself thinking about what a long hug from him would feel like, or a kiss on the forehead, the cheeks, the nose, the….

It was an impossible thought that Neil kept buried. Until Andrew had a bad day. Until Neil met him in the playground and he was sat underneath the slide, face buried in his knees that were pulled to his chest. Black hood pulled so far forward it almost covered the wet cheeks and puffy eyes he tried to hide. Stefan sat just across from him, the tips of their shoes not quite touching, but Neil rested his open palms on his shoes for Andrew to hold if he needed. He didn’t ask what was wrong.

“You’re my friend?” Andrew asked, half statement, half question. There was no hesitation in Neil’s “Of course.”

Andrew gently weeped, babbling on about wishing he could feel normal, or have a normal family. He wished he could understand himself. He wished he didn’t have to hurt so much. He’d looked up at Neil with his red eyes and wiped the tears from his face with the cuff of his sleeve. “Can I trust you?”

The statement hurt Neil far more than he thought it would. He hated that words spilled out of his mouth, his eyes stinging at the thought of saying what he really wanted to say. His mouth said “You can tell me anything,” when his brain said “I think Stefan dies in a week”.

Andrew told him about how he thought he was gay, and how embarrassed, alone, and ugly he felt to think that way. He didn’t know what normal feelings felt like. He didn’t know what it felt like to kiss someone he actually wanted to kiss. The statement hung in the air like a floating question. Did he…? Andrew had brushed away the thought almost as quickly as Neil did, but not without both their cheeks flushing pink at the unspoken idea. Neil watched as Andrew messed with the strings on his hoodie. Andrew cheered up after a little while, but when Neil realised how long he’d been gone for, he panicked. Instinctively, he pulled Andrew into a hug before running back to the motel room.

Stefan was bad memories, he’d always had to remind himself. Stefan was a mistake, a fuck-up, a vulnerability he would never, ever show again. Stefan was a slap across the face when he came back late. “Where the hell have you been?” Followed by a lie, then another, then another. Neil had only lied to his mother a handful of times in his life, but when it came to Andrew they seemed to slip out of his mouth at an alarming rate. The next time he seen Andrew, his swollen, burst lip barely hidden, Andrew had brushed his fingers across it and sarcastically asked if it was the product of another boxing match. Neil shushed him when he asked if his mother had done it. That was too personal. He was letting Andrew in too far and he was rotting Neil from the inside out. His hardened exterior fell away when he was around Andrew, and boy, was that dangerous. It shattered into a million pieces when they sat at at the top of the jungle-gym and Andrew asked so gently if he could kiss him.

No, no, no. The ghost of his mother’s hands in his hair told him to walk away. The phantom pain of a slap, and a hit, and a deafening lecture about his safety told him to stop letting Andrew in. He knew it was dangerous. He knew it, he knew it, he knew it. So why did his lips automatically curl around the word yes and his heart start pumping a hundred miles a minute? They looked each other in the eyes for a few seconds, minutes, hours, days, until they were both so close they couldn’t see each other anymore. It was only a peck, a playground kiss, but Neil’s stomach flipped. Andrew pulled away as quickly as he’d leaned in. He didn’t look at Neil for the rest of the hour they spent together, but Neil didn’t look at him. That wasn’t to say they each didn’t have to constantly fight a love-struck smile off their faces every few minutes.

Their meetings started to get less frequent after that. Andrew stopped showing up, but instead left little notes carved into the yellow plastic of the slide. ‘R u grossed out? -A’ was the first one he left after their moment’s kiss. All Neil wrote back was ‘Never’. The next time they seen each other in person they sat hidden again in the top of the jungle gym. Neil knew Mary was planning on them moving on in the following days. He couldn’t tell Andrew. Even the thought of it broke his heart. Regardless of the kiss, or kisses, they shared, Andrew had become the closest friend Neil had ever had. Neil had to remind himself more than once that everything Andrew thought he knew about Stefan was a fabrication. They spoke about sexuality again, hands brushing off each other, sometimes intertwined, sometimes resting on the others leg or arm. Andrew asked if Neil was gay, and his face fell when Neil said no, I don’t think so. It took him a moment to add on “I don’t know what I am”. They left kisses on each other’s lips that lingered for hours, for days. The more Neil let Andrew in, the harder it was for him to keep lying to his mother. She began to get suspicious of where he was going when she left him alone.

Even still, Neil didn’t hear when Mary came into the playground the last time he seen Andrew. Andrew had his head rested on his shoulder, their hands intertwined and hidden between their outstretched legs. They’d been talking about something and nothing at the same time. Neil’s stomached bottomed out when he saw her brunette hair and tiny figure step around the rusted green fence. He let go of Andrew’s hand as quickly and as subtly as he could, but he knew it was no use. He didn’t know how long she’d been standing there. Andrew looked into Stefan’s green eyes as Neil stood up, searching, scared. Neil sent him a weak smile. This was the last time he would ever look into those hazel eyes, his light eyebrows furrowed as he watched Neil begin to walk away. Neil had nodded his way, and whispered a frightened ‘See you around’ before he walked over to join Mary. She grabbed his arm and pulled him towards their motel room, already mentally packing their bags. Not before she beat him harder than she ever had before. Neil expected it. But every blow reminded him of Andrew until Andrew was no longer gentle touches and honesty and kisses. Andrew was a kick to the back of the knees as he walked through the motel room door. Andrew was a slap, and another, and another. He was a screaming, crying, angry mother, shoving whatever belongings they owned into their single duffel bag. Andrew was leaving their key at reception at midnight and starting their journey to another town. Andrew wasn’t worth it. Andrew was the swollen ankle he walked on for miles. Andrew was Mary pulling roughly at his blonde hair to dye it black in some random gas station that night. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth it. Neil left Stefan with Andrew in Oakland. He tried to leave the memories there too. Oh, how badly he tried.

The worst part was, Andrew didn’t know that was the last time he would ever see Stefan again. He waited every day for him to come back. Every day came and went and every day he never showed up. Neil didn’t know about that part, you see. Neil thought Andrew would forget about Stefan like a childhood crush, thrown away, moved on to the next cute boy who listened to him talk. They shared a thought, though, drilling the regret and shame into their minds. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth it.

(Part 2)

[foodieforthoughts]

When the ball drops

Summary: It's your third year in the Big Apple and you still haven't found your midnight kiss for when the ball drops, until tonight.

Pairing: Henry x Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Fluff!!!

A/N: Happy New Year to everyone! ✨ Watching the ball drop on New Year's Eve in Times Square is my ultimate bucket list! Also not beta read, so don't mind the errors, just had to get done in time before @infinite-shite celebrates New Year's before the rest of us! This baby deserves all the love in the world ❤️

*divider by @firefly-graphics

Title: When the ball drops

The cackle of people's laughter ringed through the pub as the hours ticked by. In contrast to the cold winter air of New York, the inside of the enclosed space felt warm. You quickly pulled on your apron and slid behind the bar, relieving your co-worker from their shift. He hugged you for the New Year that was to ring in about an hour later, happily weaving through the crowd towards the staff exit.

You sighed, grabbing the dish cloth to clean some glasses.

The excitement of coming to the Big Apple had quickly died down for you. You had dreamed of living in the city like the various shows potrayed, feeding lies that everything is magical and full of opportunities in this concrete jungle. But you could disagree with all the contradictions between facts and fictions and align them in a PowerPoint presentation. Not only were you yet to secure your dream job, you lived in a mediocre place with little to look forward to everyday.

Another sigh left your lips, your shoulders slumping despite the merriment around.

"That would be the second time you sigh." The crisp accented voice of a stranger sounded from across you. "What's the matter, love?"

You knew who he was. You ogled at his pictures on a regular basis, especially when he became Superman. But he looked nothing like the Henry Cavill you saw on the red carpets. Clad in a plain blue shirt, jaw sprinkled with the hint of a stubble and hair combed to perfection, Henry titled his head at you with a smile. You looked around at the other patrons, unsure if he was talking to you indeed.

Henry chuckled at your look of confusion. He took a seat at the barstool and grabbed the menu from the stand. With a dish cloth still inside the glass tumbler, you stared at the Hollywood heartthrob. The pub you worked at was frequented with celebs on a regular basis, the only downside being you usually worked for the day shift which meant by the time you rolled out of work, the big shots were only just waking up.

"Can I get-"

"Guinness?" You interrupted him. You meant to say it in your head but the word left your mouth before you could control your lips.

But Henry didn't flinch. He just smiled widely, the dimples in his chin dipping charmingly and his eyes shining like the brightest star under the flickering strobe lights. He slid the menu back towards you and clasped his hands together.

You blinked your eyes several times to rid yourself of the flutter in you belly as Henry smiled at you softly. He watched as you got him a glass and filled it up with his beer. Your hands trembled so much with the nervousness of serving an A list actor, who not only was doing well in industry but was exceptionally sexier in person, that you were worried the foam gathered at the top would dribbled down the sides. Noticing your struggle, Henry extended his hands and placed them over yours to secure his glass.

Electricity. In the most clichéd scenarios of romance movies, you felt a jolt of electricity when your hands touched his, the sparks travelling down your spine to your toes. Sucking in a sharp breath you handed him the glass, chiding yourself over your hyper aware mind.

"What is a pretty lady like you working in a bar at this hour?" He asked, sipping his fermented pint of alcohol.

"Coworker has plans with his girlfriend, like everyone tonight." You shrugged your shoulder, going over to another customer ordering drinks. You could feel Henry's eyes on you as you readied the customer's order. The sound of giggling girls pulled your attention just as the man left with his drink.

You walked back to where Henry sat, nursing his beer. "Anything to go with that?" you enquired, rearranging the shot glasses under the bar counter.

"I am still wondering how, in the world, a pretty woman like you, is stuck here."

You scoffed, more to yourself than him. "Because this supposed pretty woman is single as fuck." The mirth in your voice hid the sense of self pity edging at the corners of your mind. It had been three years since you had first arrived in the city with a possibility of reaching for the stars in both personal and professional life. You had been left disappointed with the jerks and assholes you ended up with, ultimately sitting at home and questioning your choices in men.

You noted the softness creasing at the corners of Henry's eyes. The last thing you wanted was to be seen as a miserable bartender at the end of the year, so you cleared your throat and smiled at him. "What is superman doing at a bar, in New York, alone?"

Henry chuckled. His gravelly thick laughter ringing louder than the music in your ears. "I was just stopping by the city, thought I'll stay to understand what the big deal is with the ball drop."

"Oh my God. Watching the ball drop and kissing at midnight is the most romantic thing you can do with your partner. You should be at Times Square!" Your excitement over the whole New Year's Eve shenanigan was flowing through in your speech.

"Too crowded." He shook his head, groaning and sipping his beer.

You rolled your eyes. "As opposed to this cramped pub?"

Henry chuckled again, throwing a wink at you. You felt the familiar flutter in your belly. You peered at him under your lashes, Henry seemed to be having his eyes only for you tonight. The giggling ladies were desperately trying to grab his attention while sipping on their Margheritas wearing their embellished dresses with low cuts and frills. You glanced down at yourself and frowned. Over the faded blue jeans and white t-shirt, you wore the black apron with the pub's insignia on the left breast. You suddenly became profoundly aware of how 'basic' you might look in comparison to the other ladies.

Self doubt clouded your mind. You politely smiled at Henry and hurried to the other side of the bar to serve the other customers. Maybe Henry only wanted someone to play the horizontal hokey-pokey with him for the night, or maybe he was bored and since you were obligated to talk nicely with him, he had pitched a conversation. Whatever the reason, you did not like how the multiple scenarios would end. You knew your feeble, fragile heart. You would get hurt, one way or another.

"Hi," Henry appeared again in front of you. He had his beer in his hand, his other elbow resting on the counter. "Did I offend you in some way?"

"No. But you are pretty much making me realize, how miserable my life is." Your voice sounded bleak against the booming voices. Tucking your hair behind your ear, you watched the couples snuggle up to each other. It had been ages since you had felt the loving embrace of a man, even longer since you had shared a meaningful kiss with someone special.

"What would you have been doing instead?" Henry's voice pulled you out of your desolated reverie.

"I would be in Times Square, with my significant other, which I don't have. We would get some drinks while standing on the outskirts of the crowd and watch the countdown."

There was a stir of activity in the pub as someone announced that there were only 90 seconds to the ball drop. You hadn't even realized that time had passed so quickly whilst you had juggled your conversation with Henry.

"Well, you have the drinks," Henry reached forward to grab a glass and poured half of his beer in the empty tumbler. "We are at the outskirts of the crowd since everyone is huddled near the TV." You nodded as you watched the couples gather near the enormous flat screen mounted on the wall. "We aren't at the Times Square, but we are in New York."

The countdown read 60 seconds with the red numbers counting backwards. Henry stood up and leaned forward on the counter. You watched with bated breath as he grabbed the strap of your apron and pulled you towards him.

His hand rested lightly on your cheek, his thumb grazing your cheekbone. The smell of beer, his perfume and musk enveloped you, bundling you in everything that signified him. You gazed into his cerulean eyes, the fleck of brown going dark against the blue ocean. Your hands hung by your side, flabbergasted by the surprising turn of events.

"I might not be your significant other," His breath washed over your heated face, his eyes transfixed on yours. "But we can perhaps change that."

"Happy New Year!"

Like the fireworks going off on the One Times Square Building, when your lips collided with his, there was a burst of colorful sparks celebrating the union of two people from across the pond. Henry pulled your face closer to his by grabbing behind your head, his fingers threading through your hair. You finally could think straight as you moaned into the kiss, holding onto the collar of his shirt as the pub erupted with loud cheers. In that moment, everything seemed perfect in the world. You felt your legs turn to jelly as Henry pulled back, breathing through his mouth, tugging at your lower lip with his teeth.

The smug smile on his face returned as he sat back on his barstool. You grabbed onto the counter for support as you gulped lungful of air.

"Did that count as something for when the ball drops?" He asked, sipping his beer and watching you from the brim of his glass.

You nodded. The heat on your cheeks traveled down to your chest, a grin spreading on your lips. Biting your lip you reached for the other glass of beer Henry had poured. "Happy new year to me." You announced before clinking your glass with Henry's.

✨HAPPY NEW YEAR GUYS✨

[evafrechette]

With A Little Help From My Hyung

↠ yoongi x seokjin | smut | friends to lovers, slow burn | 18+ | 2.4k

↠ Summary: Seokjin is the best roommate Yoongi could have asked for, he’s funny, respectful, a good cook and incredibly handsome. That’s a big problem though - because Yoongi has a constant boner over him.

↠ Warnings: eventual smut, drama queen yoongi, oblivious seokjin, blowjobs, standing sex, yoongi enjoys seokjin carrying him around, anal sex, yoongi is clumsy and hurts himself, which is a great excuse to have seokjin look after him, the other members make a small appearance, my fic usually has a few swear words, hyung kink???

"Hyung, stop it. Leave me alone." Yoongi's deep voice grumbled defiantly.

"Aish, quit being a baby Yoongi-yah, let me help." Seokjin held his hand out to the smaller man who sat on the cold concrete ground below him, food scattered around his aching body, tangerines rolling down the sidewalk.

Yoongi slapped away Seokjin's hand, scowling at his annoying roommate. He got onto his knees and attempted to stand, wincing in pain the moment he put pressure onto his left foot. Only moments before he and Seokjin had left the convenience store, arms full of energy drinks, jelly candy, ramen and tangerines. But Yoongi being Yoongi was busy in his own world and didn't notice the patch of ice on the footpath right in front of him, once his foot touched the slippery ice he slipped and wobbled about, struggling to balance before his legs came out from under him, falling directly onto his ass. Paper bag flying out of his grip, contents spilling onto the sidewalk.

He tried to stand again, taking his time as he clung onto Seokjin's arm, managing to get himself upright, left foot hovering above the ground, but when he placed it firmly against the sidewalk pain shot up his leg and he suddenly felt faint. "Shit, I think it's broken Hyung." He looked up into Seokjin's eyes, refusing to let the tears spill. Yoongi was in pain, a lot of fucking pain but he couldn't let his hyung see him be a cry baby.

"You hit the ground hard but it's probably just a sprain or something, I doubt it's broken. You're a real drama queen Min Yoongi. Can you stand by yourself for a bit?" Yoongi nodded in reply and let go of the elders arm, watching as he carefully rushed around picking up the spilled food and shoved it into his own bag. Seokjin walked back to Yoongi, spinning around so his back faced the man. He crouched down, holding the overfilled paper bag tight against his chest. "Jump on Yoongi-ah, and don't even try it with me. I'm your Hyung you have to listen to me."

Yoongi rolled his eyes but slowly hobbled over to his taller roommate, awkwardly jumping onto his back, arms wrapping around Seokjin's neck, and his short legs around his waist when the older man stood. "I don't have to listen to shit." He mumbled into Seokjin's messy brown hair. Seokjin let out his trademark high pitched laugh as he carried his injured roommate back towards their apartment, "You're so full of it Yoongi."

The walk would usually only take five minutes, but carrying a grown man (who enjoyed complaining every few minutes) had a part in the trip taking close to twenty. Yoongi laid his head on Seokjin's wide shoulders and enjoyed the way his oversized blue shirt smelled of a calming mix of lavender and vanilla bean, he took a mental note to check what brand of washing powder the man used when he got home.

Something about being carried on Seokjin's back made Yoongi's belly flip, he had never felt so small and vulnerable in his life. He was the strong one of their group - the pit bull, small but tough, with an acid tongue that could make a grown man cry. But being carried around by his cute, tall, goofy roommate was actually kind of comforting, it felt nice to snuggle against his broad shoulders.

Yoongi could feel his cheeks heating up, he had been crushing on his video game loving roommate for a few months now. At first the blond thought they were just compatible roommates, respecting each others boundaries and privacy, they quickly became friends bonding over their love of cooking, but along the way Yoongi developed feelings. His eyes lingering on Seokjin longer than what was socially acceptable, sneakily scooching closer to his side on the couch while he watched Seokjin get annihilated playing video games and "accidentally" falling asleep during their movie marathon nights, head resting comfortably against Seokjin's shoulder. But Yoongi knew nothing would come of his little crush so he kept his feelings locked away and instead tried to focus on their good friendship instead.

Seokjin carefully placed Yoongi on the couch, pushing a cushion under his now swollen foot. He rushed off to Yoongi's room and returned with a blanket which he draped over the smaller man. With a happy hum he walked towards the kitchen and Yoongi watched with lovesick eyes as he put away their food shopping. Everytime Seokjin reached up for the top shelf his shirt would raise a little, giving Yoongi a glimpse of the tantalising caramel skin underneath. Yoongi longed to drag his calloused fingertips along that skin, to leave small kisses down Seokjin's spine, along his lower back and down over his firm ass. He sought to taste Seokjin, to feel his cock heavy on his tongue, to feel the burn of his cock stretching him out.

"Hey Yoongi are you okay?" A cool hand placed against his forehead brought Yoongi out of his Seokjin induced daze. His roommate was looking at him with fondness and concern, "Your cheeks are really red but you're not hot or anything. I thought maybe you were coming down with a fever." Yoongi knew he was even redder now, but he allowed himself to relax against the man's hand. He sighed when Seokjin withdrew his hand and moved to sit on the bean bag on the floor. "Yeah, no I'm fine. Just a bit embarrassed about this." Yoongi waved his hand over his ankle.

"Aish, these things happen. Just have to be more careful. And Hyung is here to take care of you okay? Anything you need you let me know. Keep that boney ass of yours on the couch."

The pair spent the rest of the night watching a marathon of Law of the Jungle, empty containers of ramen and Kloud draft beer scattered across the coffee table. Yoongi as usual was unable to keep the snarky comments to himself, "Pfft look at them! Useless. I could survive on that island so much better than any of them." He quipped as a team of celebrities dived into the ocean to try to catch fish with just their hands.

"Errrr Yoongi-yah, did you forget that I had to carry your tiny ass home this evening? Your weak ankles wouldn't last a day on that show." Seokjin doubled over in laughter, clapping his hands loudly as Yoongi rolled his eyes.

"Whatever Jin-hyung," he scoffed, "Like you'd do any better."

"Pretty sure I'd do great on a show like this! You've seen me fishing Yoongi, I'm practically a professional at it now."

Yoongi groaned at this, Seokjin had dragged him out fishing more times than he could even count and he was nowhere near a professional level. The last time they went fishing together Seokjin didn't catch a single fish. He did manage to catch some seaweed and disintegrating plastic bag though.

Yoongi could feel his eyelids getting heavy, and instead of fighting the feeling allowed himself to drift off to sleep, which wasn't hard as sleep was his favourite hobby after all. Yoongi was having a beautiful dream, he was being carried in Seokjin's strong arms as the brunette carried him along the golden hues of a sandy beach, gentle waves breaking along the shore splashing against Seokjin's bare feet. He mirrored Seokjin's smile as his Hyung looked down at him, carrying him bridal style while the breeze whispered sweetly around them both.

"Aish, Yoongi you are a pain in my ass, but you're kinda cute so it's okay I guess." His gummy smile widened at the sweet but slightly insulting words. "What are you smiling about you weirdo." Seokjin let out a small laugh.

Yoongi was confused, why was dream Seokjin insulting him? It took him a few seconds to realise that he was actually awake and that he was no longer asleep on the couch, but rather in the arms of his Hyung. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and let his body go slack against Seokjin's chest, adding a few very realistic soft snores for good measure. Yoongi felt his body fall gently against the cold mattress on his bed, shivering slightly at the loss of heat from Seokjin's warm body. A blanket was dragged up his body, before footsteps retreated out of the room and the door clicking shut quietly.

Yoongi's eyes widened once he was alone in the dark room, had he heard correct? Did Seokjin just call him cute? It took all his self control not to squeal like a teenage girl. He wiggled down the mattress, throwing the blankets over his head and snuggled into his soft pillows. That night Yoongi had the best sleep of his life, with a smile on his face and a hard cock in his pants.

-----

The following weekend Yoongi found himself squished between his friends Jungkook and Hoseok in the back seat of Jimin's tiny Hyundai Pony hatchback. Usher's 'U Remind Me' thumped out of the piss-poor and incredibly outdated sound system, tinny and grating on his ears. His friends, including Taehyung who was sitting in the passenger seat, were singing along at the top of their lungs, he threw his head back and groaned. Why did he get stuck with the loud idiots of their group? Yoongi peered through the windscreen, tall, shapely pine trees lined the dirt road they traveled along. Dust swirled around the car, a curtain of brown blocking the view of the car travelling behind them. The sky was dotted with grey clouds, slowly drifting across the sky hiding the sun, who was trying it's hardest to make an appearance.

The car full of friends pulled into a small gravel parking lot and climbed out of the stuffy vehicle. They watched as the trailing car pulled up beside them, excitedly chatting and joking around now that everyone had finally arrived. Today was Namjoon's choice of activity, one Yoongi was secretly dreading - Hiking. He cast a glance towards Seokjin who was dressed in a pair of black and white track suit pants, sneakers, wide brim bucket hat with drawcord and a fluffy cream jumper. He swallowed hard at the thought of wrapping his arms around Seokjin's waist and resting his head against his fleece covered chest. He looked so snuggly and warm and cute, yeah, really really cute.

Yoongi zoned out while the others planned their trek, his mind too focused on Seokjin's beautiful plush lips, enthralled by how his Hyung randomly pouted while he spoke, his plump bottom lip puffing out before returning back to normal. Yoongi found this habit of Seokjin's incredibly endearing and wondered if the man was even aware of what he was doing. Or at just how crazy it was making Yoongi feel.

"Is everyone okay with the plan?" Namjoon asked, slipping away a map into the front pocket of his jacket. The group all spoke at once, loud and chaotic as usual. "Okay well let's go!"

The group trekked for a few hours, enjoying the challenging course. Up and down steep inclines, weaving through lush forest and snaking between narrow boulders that sat unsteadily on either side of their path. They eventually came across a small stream that separated the gravel path, Yoongi looked down at his feet and whined. "Do we have to go through that? I'm wearing brand new shoes." His nose scrunched as he caught sight of the shallow murky water he knew he would have to trudge through.

"Why would you wear new shoes on a hike Yoongi?" Hoseok laughed, clapping the smaller man on the back. Yoongi glared at his friend, tempted to turn around and walk back to the car. Fuck nature.

"Don't worry about it Yoongi-yah, climb on." Seokjin smiled, bending down in front of Yoongi, memories of the previous weekend flooded Yoongi's thoughts. Without hesitation Yoongi climbed onto his back, legs wrapping around his waist tightly. He placed his chin into the crook of Seokjin's shoulder and sighed as herbal scented hair brushed across his nose.

"O-okay then, well errr let's get going then." Namjoon raised his eyebrow, the rest of the group watching quizzically as Seokjin happily carried Yoongi across the stream. They exchanged looks with each other, hushed whispers at what had just transpired, Yoongi knew the others would be talking, getting a piggy back ride was pretty out of character for him, but he was blissfully peaceful at that very moment. So fuck what anyone thought.

-----

Back at their apartment that night the pair settled into their usual routine of cheap ramen, beer and trashy kdramas on the television.

"Hey Hyung, thanks for picking me up today," Yoongi bit nervously into his thumbnail, a habit he struggled to free himself from, "You didn't need to . . Hobi was right though, those shoes cost $300 why did I choose to wear them today?" Yoongi knew exactly why - he was trying to look good for Seokjin. He had dashed out to a Camping and Fishing store after work to purchase an entirely new outfit for the day. He settled on a long sleeved yellow and green flannel shirt, khaki trousers and a blue and black fleece fila jacket. Plus those damn tramping boots that cost as much as his share of the rent.

Seokjin leaned in, inches away from Yoongi's face, breath catching in the back of his throat, heart hammering against his rib cage. "It was my pleasure," Seokjin grabbed Yoongi by the cheeks and pinched, jiggling the flushed skin between his thumb and index finger, "That's what a good Hyung does, helps their cry baby friends out." He laughed, letting go of Yoongi and plopping back down onto his side of the couch. Yoongi's hand shot up to his cheek, fingers brushing along his warm skin. Seokjin's touch felt amazing, electric sparks coursed through his body, Yoongi wanted those hands touching him in places that crossed the line from friends to lovers, those long fingers curling up inside of him brushing against his sweet sensitive spot, wrapped around his cock pumping him until it was too much to handle and he was screaming Seokjin's name while he spilled his release over his Hyungs hand.

Yoongi found it hard to concentrate on the television in front of him, eyes constantly drifting towards his roommate who looked amazing in a pair of grey shorts and loose white T-shirt, his feet curled up underneath him, strong thigh muscles catching Yoongi's attention. He cleared his throat and quickly averted his eyes, Yoongi wasn't sure how much more of Seokjin he could deal with. He was the perfect roommate, but his desire to be fucked by the man was becoming an every minute of the day kinda thing. Maybe Yoongi needed to hurry up and move out. He thought about Seokjin at work, while doing his laundry, on the bus to the grocery store, while putting the rubbish out, when pumping his dildo in and out of his ass, Seokjin was on his mind 24/7.

Yoongi's cock twitched as he watched the couple on television, the male lead carrying the female through a cherry blossom lined park while a terrible ballad wailed in the background. He decided that being carried was his newest kink. Or maybe Seokjin's entire existence was his fetish? He tugged on his hoop earring as his thoughts travelled to a million different scenarios in which Seokjin would need to lift and carry him around. He recalled the previous weekend, waking up while Seokjin carried him to bed, how nice it felt to be held in Seokjin's arms, to hear him call Yoongi cute. He wanted, no he needed that again.

Yoongi glanced out of the corner of his eye, the brunette’s head was down as he browsed at something on his phone, he watered his lips and decided now was the perfect time to enact his master plan. Yoongi closed his eyes and let out a loud yawn, arms stretched high above his head, "Mmmm what's the time?" He asked Seokjin drowsily. "Huh? Oh it's  9:23, are you tired already?" The brunette placed his phone on the coffee table and shifted to face Yoongi. "You're not? We walked a million miles today, of course I'm tired." For theatrics he let out another yawn. Seokjin shrugged and took a sip of his beer. "Guess I've got a better stamina than you."

Over the next half an hour Yoongi let out more fake yawns, complaining about his sore muscles and tired bones - which Seokjin informed him wasn't a real thing and that he was being a whiny old man again. His body sunk into the couch, head lolling against the arm rest as he feigned falling asleep. It would only be a matter of time before he would be whisked away in Seokjin's arms and it was making him giddy, trying his hardest not to crack a smile. Yoongi heard the room fall silent, the television now switched off. His heart was racing, this was it - the big moment - his hands were softly shaking, breath uneven and shallow.

"Hey Yoongi, wake up." A large hand shook his arm attempting to wake him from his faux slumber. His eyebrows furrowed, this wasn't how it was supposed to go. Seokjin was supposed to pick him up and carry him to the bedroom, whisper a few sweet words in his ear and maybe jerk him off a bit. He opened his eyes and glared at the handsome man standing over him, his plans were ruined and he and his neglected cock were pretty pissed off.

"Why didn't you just carry me Hyung?" Yoongi sulked, crossing his arms against his chest like a defiant toddler.

"W-why would I? You can walk your legs aren't broken."

"Well you've been carrying me around a lot recently so I just thought you'd do it again tonight. Ahhh fuck it whatever." He mumbled, avoiding eye contact with the brunette who was trying his hardest not to laugh.

"Aish, Yoongi-yah do you enjoy Seokjinnie lifting you up and carrying you around?" He could no longer hold it in, erupting into a fit of laughter.

Yoongi's cheeks burnt bright red, he was already a small man but he had never felt as small as he did right at this moment. Tears threatened to spill over his long lashes, he knew he was being a little dramatic but his heart was practically ripped out of his chest by his crush. Yoongi bowed his head refusing to look anywhere other than at his hands which were clasped together tightly.

"Wait, shit Yoongi I'm sorry I didn't mean to make you cry," Seokjin dropped down onto his knees and engulfed Yoongi's hands with his own. "So you do enjoy being carried by me?"

Yoongi sniffed, "Yeah. I like a lot about you Hyung, the carrying thing is one of my favourites though."

An awkward silence filled the room, Yoongi's sniffles the only sound to break the dead air. "Well uh, there is a lot I like about you too," he stroked his thumb against the back of Yoongi's hand softly and slowly. "I like your dry sense of humor, the way you screech when you're excited - that is so adorable. I like how passionate you are about music and I really like how your cheeks turn red whenever we touch each other by accident. I sorta brush up against you on purpose just to see it."

A gasp escaped Yoongi's lips, head snapping up to look into the dark chocolate eyes of his roommate. Seokjin's cheeks puffed wide as he gave Yoongi a sweet smile, his thumb continuing to draw circles over Yoongi's hands which were resting in his lap. "I think you're cute Yoongi-yah, and I'd love to kiss you. If you'd allow me to of course."

Yoongi's eyes darted to Seokjin's plump lips, inviting and glistening. He couldn't hold back any longer, throwing himself forward as he smashed their lips together, hungry and desperate. In the wild rush of lips and tongues exploring new territory their noses bumped together, deep chuckles slipping out between kisses. Yoongi's hands frantically grasped onto Seokjin's hair, pulling him down so their body's were close but it still wasn't enough, he needed to feel naked flesh against his own. Yoongi's long fingers travelled underneath Seokjin's thin cotton T-shirt and brushed against his soft stomach, over his nipples rubbing the hard nubs between his fingers and then back down his chest. He played with the elastic waist of Seokjin's shorts, dipping his hand inside, fingers grazing the wiry mound of pubic hair just above where his hands really wanted to touch, "I-is this okay Hyungie?" Yoongi whimpered, Seokjin's tongue running along the exposed skin of his neck, teeth nipping the soft skin.

"Mmmm yeah, touch Hyung Yoongi." Seokjin bit down gently his teeth scraping the skin. He attached his lips against the smaller man's neck, alternating between sucking on the warm flesh and sly little nibbles, creating deep purple bruises that contrasted beautifully against Yoongi's pale skin. While Seokjin was busy marking his neck, Yoongi pulled his cock out of the shorts and stroked sensually up and down his length, which was growing harder and stiffer in his hand. His hand glided over Seokjin's length at a quickening pace, flicking his wrists and gripping tight around the head before pulling off and pumping again. Yoongi added another hand on Seokjin's shaft and slowly twisted in opposite directions, up then down, left then right.  His fingers played with the tip of his cock, pressing his thumb into the slit, stroking playfully over the head.

"Fuck your cock feels amazing Hyung," Yoongi sighed, Seokjin's cock pulsing in his grip, "C-can we fuck?"

Seokjin removed his swollen lips from Yoongi's neck with a 'pop' and took his time licking along the already fucked out man's lips, pressing their soft flesh against each other, gentle kisses that were in in opposition of the acceleration of Yoongi's heart beat. Seokjin sat between Yoongi's legs on the floor, hands roaming over the blonds thighs. When he reached Yoongi's crotch his fingers ghosted over Yoongi's hard cock visible through his sweats, he bucked his hips desperate for Seokjin's touch.

"Hyung's got you Yoongi, just sit back and relax hmmm?" He placed a sloppy wet kiss against the fleece material and helped pull them down to Yoongi's ankles. "Such a pretty cock Yoongi-yah." Seokjin's voice was smooth and sweet. His fingers grazed against Yoongi's balls, eyes flicking back up to watch Yoongi's reaction. He continued to massage his sack, pulling lightly and wiggling the weight in his hand. He rubbed his cheek along the soft skin of Yoongi's balls and then up and down his incredibly hard shaft. Tongue flicking out to leave small licks along the side, down to his balls and then further below to the sweet spot between Yoongi's balls and warm inviting hole.

Yoongi's slit was leaking precum so Seokjin lapped it up, moaning sinfully. A groaned escaped the back of Yoongi's throat when Seokjin took his balls into his mouth, sucking and kissing all over. He took his time enjoying their heat in his mouth. He stroked the blonds length while sucking the pale skin of Yoongi's inner thighs. Seokjin sat back and removed he and Yoongi's bottoms completely, throwing the pants into a small pile in the corner of the room. He stood and motioned for Yoongi to stand with him. Their lips crashed against another's once more, Yoongi standing on his tippy toes to match his Hyungs height. A knee slipped between Yoongi's thighs as the two men continued to taste and explore each others mouths.

"Shit, we need lube, uhhh, don't move Yoongi-yah! I'll be back quickly." Seokjin ran towards his bedroom leaving Yoongi standing naked from the waist down in their living room, cock red and hot. He gripped onto the base and squeezed tight, moaning at his own touch. Seokjin returned cock glistening from the lube, bouncing with every step. Yoongi gulped, Seokjin was longer than any cock his ass had taken before but god was he eager to have it inside him.

They kissed passionately while Seokjin fingered Yoongi's hole, stretching him open enough for his cock. Yoongi's mind had turned to mush, absolutely lost in the moment. It was as though Seokjin had flicked a switch in his ass to become a whimpering, whining mess. Seokjin bent his knees and using his right hand guided his cock into Yoongi's tight hole. Once inside he allowed Yoongi to get used to his size while his hands reached out to wrap around Yoongi's small waist. Without warning he lifted Yoongi, a squeak echoing in the silent room. "You are adorable Yoongi-yah, can't wait to hear more noises come from those pretty lips." Yoongi's legs wrapped around Seokjin's waist which readjusted their position, cock now deeper than before, big hands reached down to Yoongi's ass holding him in place as they walked out of the living room and into the hallway.

Yoongi held on tight, gripping onto strong shoulders as he was pushed against the wall with a thud. Seokjin's arms trembled from Yoongi’s weight so he started to pound into his ass before it was too much and he would have to let him go. Yoongi let out tiny pants and whimpers, eyelids half closed, mouth so slack drool was starting to drip from the corners. Seokjin's cock grazed over his prostate, hitting deep and hard with every thrust. "Hyung, hy-hyung ahh ah so good." His hands roamed over Seokjin's back leaving red and pink marks underneath the thin material of his shirt. His cock was trapped between their bodies, friction from their movements driving him insane.

Sweat dripped down Seokjin's face, his arms close to giving out. This was more intense than any workout his personal trainer at the gym had given him. He slammed his cock into Yoongi repeatedly eager to cum inside his ass. Yoongi's whimpers in his ear pushed Seokjin to his peak and exploded his white hot cum into Yoongi's warm hole.

They stood still while Seokjin caught his breath, Yoongi hanging onto his neck for dear life, almost as though the floor was lava. "Hyungie make me come, pleaseeeee I'm so close." Yoongi whined, nipping at Seokjin's lips then pouting against the plush flesh. He would rather be dead than admit it, but Seokjin was right - he was a bit of a drama queen. "I'll have to put you down though, I think my arms are about to fall off." Seokjin chuckled as Yoongi detached his legs from around the brunette's waist and placed them on the floor.

Seokjin reached down and gripped tight onto Yoongi's aching cock, moving his hand in a steady rhythm. Their foreheads touched, breathing in each others air, hushed pants and whimpers shared between the pair as they kiss messily, lips grazing chins and teeth clinking. Yoongi bucked into Seokjin's grip, incredibly close to his high. Seokjin's cum escaping slowly out of his hole and running down his creamy white thighs and the hand around his cock pushed Yoongi to his release, "Ah-ah Hyung don't stop, ahh I'm going to come, shit ahh." His body tensed as he came harder than ever before, Seokjin barely moving his hand as his cock throbbed and pulsated.

"Hyung, you have no idea how long I've wanted this to happen." Yoongi sighed, wrapping his hands around Seokjin's neck, fingers crawling their way up to thread through short dark hair. "I've wanted to do that since the day I moved in," Seokjin whispered in reply, ears turning crimson, "Come on let's get cleaned up and then cuddle."

-----

The pair made their way into Seokjin's bed, snuggled between a mess of cushions and soft toys, their limbs a tangled mess as impatient hands explored naked skin. They laughed as revelations of their feelings for each other were finally said out loud, cheeks tight and sore from smiling so hard. "Seokjin-hyung can we do this more often?" Yoongi's eyes avoided the naked man beside him focusing on the window pane instead. "Well I would hope so since I want to make your my boyfriend Yoongi-yah." Fingers caught hold of Yoongi's chin as his face was guided towards Seokjin's, a shy kiss planted on his lips. "Yes Hyung, fuck yes I'll be your boyfriend."

The roommates turned lovers drifted off to sleep that night with satisfied smiles on their faces, excited for what the future would hold for them both.

[bookishofalder]

Night Changes [Three]

Summary: In which the fragile state between Poe and the reader is shattered, a mission is assigned, and everything goes to hell. 

Warnings: Swearing, an actual fuck-ton of angst, light smut mentions, sad fluff, grief. WC: 14,090

To avoid too much free time you had begun working late any days that you could, making excuses to run diagnostics on your ship, tinker around or simply clean it. You left the maintenance to Ana, your lead mechanic, but knew enough to at least make yourself feel busy. The less free time you had, the less time you spent overthinking your life.

Today, you were both avoiding your thoughts as well as a specific person. Though truly there was nowhere on base he wouldn’t be able to seek you out, and your hope that staying in your flight suit in the hangar would be enough of deterrent proved futile.

The healer still showed up.

At the sound of approaching footsteps in the otherwise quiet hangar, you turned your head and instantly felt like an animal trapped in a cage. At this point, just over a week since meeting the man, you’d run out of excuses to try and encourage him, as nicely as possible, to fuck off.

Healer Rush Derrin was...annoying. To put it lightly, that is. If you were being honest, he was easily the most irritating man you’d ever met, and also the most clueless. Your initial attraction to him felt ridiculous now that you had one-failed-date and too many follow-up conversations that showcased just how self-absorbed and uninteresting the man was.

He’d found you a few days after your initial meeting, in the hangar as you had suggested to him, just before you were going to leave for dinner. You had lit up when you saw him walking over, feeling a little excited not only for time with a handsome man but also the opportunity to just talk to someone. Poe was giving you an unusually sombre silent treatment, though he did finish off reprimanding you the day after your mission fuck up. And then he was just...silent.

And you weren’t going to question it, because the less you said to one another, the better. It always felt like such hard work just trying to exist around Poe now, you were honestly grateful not to have to exchange jabs at one another. But it was also lonely; your only friend on base outside of Black team was Ana, your mechanic, who had long hours and limited free time. Temmin was always good for conversation, so you’d usually gravitate his way during the day when the opportunity arose, engage in friendly banter until Poe came along and you’d be forced to slip away. Kare was more content to give you a wide berth, treating you with respect and preferring the relationship was merely professional. You got along really well with her but could sense the lack of connection on a personal level.

So, lonely as you were, handsome as Rush was, you gladly accepted his offer to join him in the caf for dinner and treat it as a first date of sorts. At first, during the walk to the caf and waiting in line to pile your plates with dinner, you spoke casually enough that you felt the date was going fairly well. You weren’t too hung up on whether or not it would lead anywhere; it wasn’t like you were looking for anything serious at this point with anyone. You hoped it would lead to something fun, perhaps a few nights at the cantina drinking and dancing, and if you meshed well a couple of tumbles in between sheets.

But when you took a seat in a quieter section of the over large room, it was like a switch flipped for Rush and he went into ‘date’ mode and frankly, you’d wished he hadn’t. The man did not shut up about himself. He spoke over you enough times that you considered jabbing him with your fork, and just when you thought he was going to start asking you about yourself-now that you knew his fucking life story-he launched into a rant about what he wanted to do once the war was over, and on and on it went.

By the time dinner had ended and the caf was much less crowded, you were about ready to hurl yourself out the second-story window, figuring you could probably manage to tuck and roll to avoid injury that would require him to treat you, and then maybe you’d just run into the jungle for a few days.

As you pretended to listen to him ramble, your mind had wandered and you realized that you hadn’t ever needed to discourage any potential suitors before. Poe and Charlie had, in so many ways, made you set your standards high, high enough that not many dates ended up going anywhere, and you just never developed the ability to read other men, to be able to sniff out the bad eggs. Rush was a nice man, but he was also entirely not your type. And based on the way he occasionally bragged about mediocre accomplishments, you had a sneaking suspicion he would not be up to scruff in the bedroom.

You finally had to call the date off when he began talking about future second date ideas, politely cutting in to say you had an early call time and needed to call it a night. He hadn’t been fazed, merely clearing your trays before returning to the table, where you had stood up, to give you a gentle hug and a kiss on the cheek. You wished now you’d been more direct, thanked him for the date but admitted you weren’t interested. And you hated to think about it, but the best part of your date with Rush had been when, after turning away to walk to the exit that would take you to your wing of the base, you met a pair of familiar brown eyes from across the room. You saw Poe standing with Temmin, in the middle of a conversation, his eyes narrowed slightly in your direction, flicking between you and the retreating healer.

At least you somehow managed to annoy him, if nothing else.

But thanks to your complete lack of ability to send Rush a clear and direct message, you were awarded his regular appearance in the hangar each day following the date. Usually stopping by on his lunch, he’d chat with you amicably enough but end the conversation by asking you out again-each fucking time. You had tried the excuses of being too tired, too busy, going on a mission, and hoped he’d just give up. But he kept coming back, pulling out the works to charm you with no success.

You knew you were going to need to get it together soon and just tell him it wasn’t going to happen. You wanted to be nice about it because he was a friendly enough guy, he just wasn’t your type in the least. And you had never really needed to discourage a man before, now that you considered it. Before Charlie died, he and Poe had been by your side your whole life-and they took care of you, easily discouraging anyone you had no interest in by tossing an arm over your shoulder on nights out if you asked them to.

You’d mostly had a few casual flings, never anything serious. Even your first time was with a friend, on the eve of your departure from Yavin-4 to head to D’Qar and begin basic. You met up with an old friend, Tahla, and one thing had lead to another. It had been nice, each of you parting on good terms after what had been a pleasurable evening. One that only encouraged your high standards because Tahla had ensured you reached your peak more than once, something that you’d since learned wasn’t always a priority for male partners.

And after Charlie had died, and you’d fled D’Qar, you had tried to fill the emptiness with one-night stands. But you would only wind up feeling more lonely in the morning when they left, regardless of how good the sex had been, and none of the men had been what you had wanted. Or, what you had thought you’d wanted. You spent about a year trying and failing to fill that void with sex, only to give up on it entirely after the last man you’d spent the night with had broken the terms of your understanding and tried to continue the relationship. You hadn’t been ready to start dating, so you closed yourself off, moved to another assignment to be safe, and now it had been...a few years.

A few very lonely years.

Rush wasn’t going to be someone you kept around to date, and you really needed to get your shit together and tell him. Especially considering how he was looking at you right now, with big eyes that held a hopeful gleam.

“Evening, honey, how are you doing?”

You gave him a small smile, setting your datapad down on the step stool you had in your parking spot (you were endlessly teased for being too short to hop up into your x-wing). He was a few steps away, giving you a warm smile as he looked down at you.

“Hi, Rush,” You wiped the sleeve of your flight suit over your face tiredly, “Been a long day, I guess. How are you?”

“Just fine, just fine,” He nodded, then gestured vaguely toward you and your ship, “You’ve had a busy week, which isn’t a surprise for Black team but I hope you have some time off coming your way!”

Damn, he just had to be so nice, didn’t he? Yet, you knew you’d still be brushing him off despite wishing you could just look past his issues and let him in, a little bit, for maybe a little while. “Ha, I wish I had time off!” You lied, knowing full well that, unless a mission came in, you were going to have the following day off. “We don’t get as much vacation as you Healers do!” You teased, internally cringing because flirting wasn't going to help discourage him. Kriff!

And you saw the way his eyes widened at your gentle chide, hope flashing his expression before he smirked, “Oh, you think we get vacation, do you?” He took a step closer and you had to tilt your head back to hold his gaze, warmth pooling in your belly at his proximity. Encouraged, Rush raised a hand and gently brushed it across your cheek, and against your better judgement, your eyes fluttered closed at the small display of affection. He then dropped his hand to cup your neck, and when he spoke next it was a whisper as he had lowered his face to your level. “You know honey, even in this flight suit, you’re the sexiest woman here. Not sure you get told that enough.”

You bit your lip, heat flushing your cheeks, “Rush, I’m not sure I-“

His free hand was suddenly on your hip, distracting you from whatever you’d been about to toss out as an excuse prevent him kissing you; your eyes snapped open to find him giving you a searching look, reading the heat in your cheeks, the way you had moved just a little closer when his hand gripped your hip, and he seemed to approve entirely of your reaction. His lips ghosted over your jaw, chin, and then pressed to yours, and stars did you ever let him do it.

Suddenly, all of the excuses seemed silly because here was a nice, handsome guy telling you he thought you were sexy and giving you a hungry look that had wetness pooling in your panties before he’d even touched you. At first, this kiss was measured, soft, until you pressed your body against his and threw your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. You felt rather than heard his low rumble of pleasure before his tongue swiped across your lips and you parted them to allow him to deepen the kiss.

In those moments, there was nothing else, just a warm and friendly man holding you close and making you feel desired. And as much as you didn’t click with Rush, the idea of his large hands on your bare skin was making you eager to leave the hangar the find comfort in the physical, to let him in just enough so that he could distract you from life with his expert touch, sturdy build, even if just for one night.

Before either of you could pull apart to suggest moving things to a more private location, the abrupt clearing of a throat followed by the drawling voice of Poe Dameron interrupted you.

“As entertaining as this is, Major, I have to interrupt.”

You sprung away from Rush in surprise, twisting to find Poe standing a few feet away, hands on his hips and an annoyed scowl fixed on you. But instead of embarrassment or irritation at being found in a compromising embrace right in the fucking hangar, you felt a surge of relief.

Because, Maker, you had been just about ready to let Rush Derrin take you to bed. What was going on with you? You knew better, and already decided against this very thing and yet the moment he touched you, you went to putty in his hands just because you were lonely? Poe’s scowl relaxed, morphing to confusion at the expression on your face before he glanced over at Rush, who actually was annoyed at the interruption.

“Commander, apologies I was just saying goodnight to the Major here, I’ll uh, leave you to it.” And he shot you a smile before hurrying off, a smile that told you he read about as much as you’d expected from your reaction to his kiss.

You were furious with yourself.

Good thing Poe was right there for you to take it out on.

“Did you need something, or do you just wander around here at night to be annoying?”

Poe huffed a breath out in a mixture of annoyance and amusement. “Didn’t realize I’d be walking in on a Corellian Soap Opera sex scene. Leia wants to see us.” He shrugged, but you froze, torn between wanting to continue being angry at Poe and the desire to laugh because hadn’t you thought Rush looked like he belonged in one of those shows when you first met him?

His words sunk in then, distracting you, “Wait, she wants to see us right now?” When Poe nodded, his expression curious as a result of your weird behaviour, you glanced down at your flight suit, “Should I change?”

“No,” Poe shook his head, turning to begin walking and so you joined him, falling into step alongside him, “She said straight away, she won’t care what you wear.”

You fell into silence after that, walking through the twisting halls of base, and though it was evening time you still passed by a lot of other Resistance fighters. You realized as you hurried along that you hadn’t spent any time with Poe outside of missions, of the hangar, and you hadn’t yet witnessed how he was treated beyond that of other pilots. 

Turns out, he was well-liked and admired, everyone you passed greeting him by name with friendly grins or flirty smiles, and even though every person also greeted you by title out of respect, you still found yourself growing increasingly annoyed.

It was certainly due to a combination of emotions and reasons, but you chose to focus on the fact the Poe Dameron was walking around D’Qar as the poster boy for the Resistance, a title that should belong to your brother. You hadn’t realized you’d scoffed aloud until Poe glanced down at you curiously, his expression hardening when he saw your frown.

“What?” It was just the two of you in this new branch of the hallway, steps away from the room where Leia was waiting. You could easily have not replied.

Instead, you sneered at Poe, “Please, I’m surprised we didn’t stop for you to sign some autographs, Commander.”

Poe stopped walking and stepped in front of you, blocking your path, “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I’m just realizing how popular you are, I suppose. Poster boy of the Resistance, I mean, that has to have a lot of perks,” You kept your voice cool despite the heat burning inside you from how angry you’d grown. “It must be a lot of fun, getting to fly all the time, fuck whoever you want, walk around with that stupid smirk...” You trailed off with a shrug, satisfaction coursing through you when his surprised look turned to irritation.

“That what you think?” His voice was low and threatening and you didn’t care in the least.

“I’m not surprised, really. You’re like a celebrity, and without Charlie around to keep you from growing too big for your pants I guess it’s only expected you’d become the biggest player on the base,” His eyes turned to ice as you spoke, “Bet you can just smile at a woman and end up getting a blow-“

Poe moved so quickly you had no time to react, your anger clouding your defensive abilities. With no other noise or people around, you heard the sharp draw of breath he pulled in as he slammed you back against the hallway wall, his grip on your arms preventing you from hitting hard enough to cause pain, but it certainly shut you up. You gaped up at Poe as he gave you his worst look, his breathing hitched in fury.

You had finally gone too far.

And isn’t that what you had wanted?

“(y/n), do you-seriously, you think I just?” He broke off, his anger preventing him from speaking proper basic and his grip on your arms tightened, “You think I just walk around fucking everything that moves and having a blast every day? You think I’m fucking happy?”

You shouldn’t reply, you knew. You would be better to stop, to listen to the twinge of guilt now in the back of your mind, the little voice that was asking you if you’d ever made Poe this angry before and questioning why you were doing it now.

You instead decide to pull on the string a little more and see what you could unravel.

“Aren’t you? I’m not saying you didn’t love Charlie, but you have to admit without him and me around you did pretty fucking good for yourself-“

“Shut up,” He growled, suddenly pressing his body to yours and lowering his head to meet your eyes, preventing you from pulling away or even looking anywhere but into his dark glare. “Maybe you’re a little worked up because I just interrupted your foreplay session, but I need you to shut the fuck up. You don’t know anything about me, about my life now or what I’ve gone through. You want to be mad, hate me for what I did, that’s fine, I deserve it. But that’s it, that’s the line.”

“Oh, you get to decide where the line is all of a sudden?”

Poe scoffed, “You got what you obviously wanted, (y/n), you pissed me off. Can you just leave it? Because you really don’t want to hear about what my life was after you abandoned m-everything here.”

You gave a harsh laugh, “Fine, sorry to have insinuated you’re a heartless manwhore, I mean it’s not like you blamed me for my own brothers' death at the fucking funeral!”

Your words seemed to hit Poe as if you’d slapped him; he flinched and jerked away from you, taking a few steps back before raising a shaky hand to rub his face. When he looked back at you where you stood still against the wall, you faltered a little at the genuine hurt in his expression.

After staring at one another for a minute, Poe finally pointed at you and his voice came out more clearly than you’d expected. “You don’t know anything. Not about me, or what my life was after you left, or what kind of person I am now,” He took a steadying breath, walked to the nearby door and paused with his hand on the handle, “Just like I don’t know anything about you. Which is why when I see my second in command making out shamelessly with a healer in the fucking hangar, I don’t comment. I don’t know you, and you sure as hell don’t know me.”

With those final words, he swept through the door, not bothering to wait for you and you held still until the door shut behind him, letting out a sob as guilt-wracked your body. 

You regretted pulling the string.

-

Before meeting Poe at the cantina that night, Charlie mentioned too casually that Poe hadn’t been going home with women for some time. Not since you had officially joined Gold team, which he was insisting was because of you. That it was always you when it came to Poe Dameron. You brushed your brother off with a roll of your eyes, keen to avoid the direction his words were leading you. And it wasn’t as if you hadn’t noticed Poe’s abrupt change in behaviour, how he had stopped slipping off partway through evenings at the cantina to flirt with someone who had been giving him eyes, maybe dance a little before they would wander off, no doubt in the direction of one of their rooms.

It hadn’t exactly bothered you, he was free to enjoy himself as much as you were, and he never left you alone, never ditched you when you were having a bad day. You wondered what was going on with him, naturally, but didn’t ask and certainly didn’t want to discuss it with Charlie.

Poe was already at your usual table when you walked into the cantina, and his eyes seemed to light up when he spotted you. Trying not to let that go to your head, you weaved through the crowd with Charlie right on your tail, which was a good thing because his bulk and intimidating appearance meant that people hurried out of your way before you had to even ask.

As you moved, Poe’s eyes never left your face and you wondered if he sensed the way he was making your heart flutter, how your stomach was full of butterflies. Your mind also replayed recent memories, now with Charlie’s words in your head and Poe’s eyes melting you from across the room, you could see something...was different. 

How he’d been the one to walk you to your room every night you all went out, and even though you’d just spent an hour or two together he’d linger for a while, lounge with you on your bunk and chat until one of you yawned. How often you both would switch to a private channel to talk during training or low-stakes missions. And when...when was the last time you had gotten yourself your morning caf? You hadn’t realized, he had met you outside of your room nearly every morning, two steaming cups in hand, for a while now.

And the subtle touches. You grew up with Poe, and he’d always been an affectionate enough person, but Charlie’s timing had been right-you joined Gold Team and Poe’s behaviour had shifted, not just in the day-to-day, but also with how he seemed to operate around you. A hand on your back, fingers brushing your long hair out of your face, the endless hugs-the kind that made you feel safe and whole, each time.

When you reached the table and broke eye contact to take a seat next to Poe, his arm dropped to the back of your chair casually. Had he been doing that long? You always sat next to him, but you hadn’t realized...

Your brother flashed you a knowing look that Poe missed because his eyes were still on you. You fought the urge to frown over at him.

“You look like you’re still up in the clouds, sweetheart.” Poe tossed you his signature grin, and you smiled back at him while simultaneously noting how the grin didn’t reach his eyes the same way it used to. It was genuine, yes, but there was a depth to his gaze that seemed like he was a little self-conscious, unsure.

You raised the drink he’d had waiting for you in thanks, “One of those days, I suppose.”

If he thought your response was inadequate, he didn’t say. He merely nodded, eyes searching your expression for a moment before he looked away to take a sip of his own drink. Charlie pulled him into a conversation then and you fell silent, your thoughts swirling again.

You watched Poe, for a while, out of the corner of your eye. You picked up on how his eyes didn’t wander around the room like they used to, even though YOU noticed women looking over, trying to catch his eye. His arm remained behind you, though he wasn’t touching you, the thick design of the chair allowing you your own space...but actually, you don’t think you would mind if he did touch you, just casually.

Well, where the fuck had that thought come from?

Your train of thought startled you so much that you were grateful when you glanced at your drinks and found each of you was getting low. You leaned forward and tapped your glass, interrupting what was now Charlie and Poe’s version of a heated disagreement (so basically they insulted each other back and forth while laughing), and said, “I’ll get us refills.”

You were up and out of your seat before either could object, and you determinedly did not look back at your table. You knew Poe would be looking at you. You were scared of how that made you feel.

The bartender was busy making drinks for a group of loud women you recognized as mechanics, all out to let loose-as they so deserved. You knew they had long hours, and you watched them all, already tipsy and giggling too much, while you waited your turn. You were leaning against the bar on both elbows when a voice to your right caught your attention, saying Poe’s name. You didn’t react physically and probably would have tuned back into the drunk mechanic's funny banter had that voice not been so full of vitriol.

“I hate seeing him out having a good time, wrapped around the Horn girl like a fucking lapdog.”

You stiffened, though it was less from offence (because whoever this was wasn’t worth your time of day) but more because she obviously hadn’t realized you were standing behind them.

Another woman laughed, “I think he’s pouting, can’t get into her pants obviously. You should have made him work harder for it, Liv, maybe he’d be your lap dog instead.”

The first woman scoffed, “Look, he was good for a couple of fun nights, don’t get me wrong. The dude is seriously packing, and he knows what he’s doing, too. But even when I did have his attention it wasn’t all there. Pretty sure he’s hung up on her.”

“And probably will be for a while, she’s a stuck-up little thing. Dameron can’t be very bright if he lets her keep him wrapped around her pinky like that.”

“He’s a real idiot, that’s for sure. Good thing he’s handsome, clearly there’s not a lot going on-“

Abandoning your perch at the bar, you swung around and roughly poked the back of the shoulder nearest to you, furious, “Excuse me.”

Both women turned and you recognized the blonde one, she had hung out a few nights at the cantina with Poe in the weeks before you finished basic. She must have been one of the last women to go home with Poe.

At first, they were both frowning, curious, until they looked down at you. You usually didn’t mind how short you were, but when trying to glare at a couple of long-legged, beautiful women, you suddenly hated how it made you feel small. You jerked your chin up, “You’re speaking quite rudely about a superior, you know. I could report you for that alone.”

The blonde, Liv, glared at you, “I’m not saying anything new, sweetie. Most people are saying it, actually.” You remembered then that Liv worked in the comms office, a notoriously gossip-heavy section of the Resistance.

“Doesn’t make it any less pathetic, though, does it?” You jabbed, your anger increasing. Liv scoffed, setting her drink down on the bar and taking a step closer to you, a little too close to be anything other than a veiled threat. You held your ground, unfazed.

“Look, sweetie, you want to play dedicated little teammate instead of admitting you’re just jealous of me, that’s fine. But don’t get in my face about it, I’m not interested.”

“Funny,” You deadpanned, voice low, “And here I thought we both knew it was you who was jealous of me.”

Liv jerked back slightly in surprise, giving you her worst look, “Speaking as the one who has gotten to more than sample his goods-and let me tell you, you’re totally missing out because he does knows how to make a woman mean it when she screams his na-“

SMACK

Liv stumbled back a few steps, a hand reaching up to touch her tender cheek in disbelief, the skin already reddening from the impact of your full palm slap. You were more surprised in yourself, you hadn’t realized just how angry you were until it coiled and snapped at her insinuations. Still, you felt a rush of satisfaction that faded to concern when the much taller women straightened up and stalked forward, eyes dark.

“You little bitch!”

Before you could begin to back away-keen to avoid an actual fist fight-you felt a sudden presence behind you, Liv stopping short in her advance the same moment a familiar, muscled arm dropped over your shoulder. Her brows shot up in surprise before a simpering little smile appeared.

“Liv,” Poe drawled, his voice light and almost friendly, but the grip on your arm gave way to you that he wasn’t as calm as he appeared. When you glanced up at him, his jaw was tight, a muscle twitching there, and his expression was cold. Colder than ice. You wondered how Liv hadn’t frozen just from having that look directed her way. “So sorry to interrupt, but figured I’d step in before you do anything you’ll regret.”

Liv raised her hands as if in surrender, then pointed at you, “Not sure if you saw, Poe, but the little brat just slapped me.” Her fury was funny to you now. You’d clearly injured her delicate pride more than anything.

The arm around your shoulder shifted as Poe pushed the braid that had fallen behind it back in front, where you usually let your hair sit. It was a simple gesture, both casual and intimate, enough to have Liv’s expression fall.

He tightened his arm around you again before replying in a low voice. “Thankfully, I was lucky enough to see that. It’s officially now my favourite memory, ever. Proudest, too, seeing as I taught her how to hit back at bullies” With his free arm, Poe raised his hand and pointed it at Liv, who was looking at him wide-eyed, “Now get the fuck away from us, before you really piss me off.”

You had to bite back a laugh at how quickly Liv and her silent friend scampered away, leaving the cantina completely with their heads low. You turned to look up at Poe and thank him, faltering when you saw him gazing at you intently, concern and worry replacing the cold glare. “Poe?”

“Are you okay? What did she say to you?” He spun so that you were now directly in front of him, both his hands falling to gently hold your arms. Your heart was about ready to beat its way right out of your chest over the intensely protective and concerned expression he had.

You reached up and did something that always worked on Poe when he was upset; gently running your thumb along his jaw, just a few times, before you dropped it again. It used to feel like second nature. Now it felt...wonderfully intimate. It worked though, his shoulders relaxing. 

“I’m alright, thank you.”

Poe swallowed before throwing you a grin, “I don’t think I’ve seen you that angry since we were teenagers, sweetheart. And that was a nice hit.”

You laughed, shrugging, a little bolt of pleasure warming you when he pulled you a little closer, wrapping an arm around you. “She was being exceptionally rude. Guess I’m not in the mood for it tonight.”

Poe chuckled warmly, and you felt it rumble in his chest because you were pressed against him. Quite suddenly, the urge to reach up and just touch his hair a little, stroke his cheek, maybe run your thumb across his lower lip-

What was going on with you?

As much as you were completely confused at yourself, you didn’t miss how his laughter met his eyes-the warm honey gazing into yours almost adoringly. You finally looked away and turned, glancing at your table for your brother. Charlie, however, was gone. Poe, still with his arm wrapped around your shoulder, noticed where you were looking and laughed again.

“Charlie is otherwise occupied by none other than Vanya, who despite my initial skepticism does, in fact, exist.”

You snorted, “In that case, I think we can leave unless you wanted to stay-?

Poe cut you off, giving you a little smirk, “Nope, I’ll walk you home, sweetheart.”

And his arm didn’t drop as you made your way out of the cantina.

Nor did it drop when you were walking the halls, or entering your door code to your bunk.

It still didn’t drop when you both fell onto your bed, laughing over the look on Liv’s face after you had slapped her and how quickly she and her friend had run out of the cantina.

That arm remained securely around you the whole night, as you and Poe talked for hours, reminiscing about Yavin-4, exchanging banter over who was the better pilot, even imaging what life would be like once the war was over.

And Poe’s hold only tightened when you nodded off, laying the wrong way across your bed and tucked against his chest. Loosening only when he too fell asleep, his final thoughts that he would tell you how he felt after tomorrow’s mission decommissioning a fuelling yard in the Sanbra Sector. Because he wasn’t sure he could pretend otherwise any longer.

+

General Organa had noticed the thick tension between you and Poe the moment you joined him in front of her, your face flushed but otherwise neutral. Her eyes had flicked between you both before commending you on how well you worked together and then explaining that she had a mission.

Normally, a top-secret, high stakes recon mission would thrill Poe straight to the bone, but upon hearing the finer details he felt his smile tighten and his excitement waning. Of course, mere moments after finally exploding on one another, you and Poe were assigned the task of taking a cruiser to a planet in the outer rim. A three-day trip minimum there, where you would be inspecting a base long since abandoned by the Galactic Empire after it had fallen. An outpost that, once cleared, would be of incredible use to the Resistance.

Upon learning that she needed you to leave first thing in the morning, Poe thanked the General, promised her the best teamwork, and then swept quickly from the room. He went straight to his to pack, glancing at his wrist comm for the time. He decided that after he was finished preparations he would go to the cantina for a drink.

Stars, if he wasn't just assigned such an important mission he would be having several drinks. After what had just transpired with you, he was reeling and in need of a distraction. He was angry, yes, but mostly he was hurting.

You’d been aiming to get a reaction out of him for a while now. Giving him the cold shoulder outside of missions to throw him off balance. It was the combination of finding you pressed against the healer, who had had his hands all over you, and then hearing your accusations...he just snapped, something he wasn’t prone to doing and yet you always seemed to pull the strongest emotions and reactions from Poe, even when you weren’t trying to.

And it wasn’t so much the scorn with which you described his status as a poster boy, but rather the genuine belief you held that Poe’s life had been good without Charlie and you. As much as you were trying to piss him off, you still believed what you were saying, and Poe hadn’t known what to do, how to make you see that everything, everything fell apart after he lost you.

Fuck, he knew it was his fault-he had said what he said and then he’d left you alone in the dark, but it still floored him to hear how little you thought of him now. You didn’t just hate him, he’d realized, you also believed he hated you, that he was living a happy life and didn’t spend every day wishing his life was different. He had fucked things up between you and him so well, that you never realized just how much he loved you.

Loves you.

Because the truth was, as much as he didn’t like you right now, there wasn’t a single thing in the entire galaxy that could stop Poe Dameron from loving you.

And he didn’t know...what that love was anymore, what it meant or what he wanted from it. He was happy to leave it in the background, to let you despise him until you said the things you did tonight. What you said told Poe that you didn’t know anything, despite growing up together. You still refused, to this very day, to look back at your relationship with him and recognize that it was never anything but the start of something millions would die to have. An epic love story, one that generations to follow would have spoken of.

You never saw it, and he’d failed to show you. And now you were both just fragments of those star-crossed idiots, and Poe had never felt more lost or alone.

+

Aware that he had a good week alone with you ahead of him, Poe hurriedly changed and made his way to the cantina after packing, intent on enjoying one good drink with Temmin to help clear his mind. Socializing in a loud space was the perfect way to prepare for what was sure to be a stony silence-filled week.  

The cantina was busy when he arrived, his timing synced with the late-night crowd. It only took him a moment to spot Temmin, though, and he made his way across the room, raising a hand in hello when his friend spotted him approaching. He turned, signalling to a nearby waitress for another drink for Poe, before clapping him on the shoulder.

“Commander! Nice of you to join us!” Temmin called merrily, and Poe already felt his tension fading, his friends genuine kindness always appreciated.  

“Thought I’d better keep an eye on you idiots,” Poe replied, thanking the waitress for his drink and winking at his laughing friends as he took a swig. He fell into an easy banter with the others, sipping his drink slowly as he would only indulge in the one on the eve of such an important mission. After a while, his drink half-finished, Poe found himself glancing around the room quite suddenly, his senses on alert.

It was then that he spotted you. And no wonder he’d been wary a moment before, as his eyes must have gone past you twice before they snapped back, realizing that the long-haired woman in khakis and a navy shirt was you. He hadn’t seen your hair down since you had been back, and it was longer now than he thinks you’d ever grown it. The braids you normally weaved into your low buns left the long locks wavy, and you weren’t used to wearing it down as you kept self-consciously brushing it out of your face.  

You were standing with your friend, Ana, a few other mechanics Poe knew mostly by their faces. Your friend was laughing at whatever you were saying, hard enough that you joined in and even though he couldn’t hear you from across the room, he knew exactly how genuine your giggles were just from your expression.

Poe looked away, flushing with a mixture of emotions he preferred not to examine.

His hand roamed around the room before landing on a tall figure making his way toward you. Rush had a grin on his face that suggested pleasant surprise at your presence at the cantina. Remembering the weird look of relief that had been on your face when Poe had walked into the hangar earlier, he wondered if maybe you weren’t as into Rush as you had seemed in that particular moment.

Maybe he was already worked up before your argument if he was really honest with himself. Something about having to watch from afar all week as Rush popped in every afternoon to flirt with you, then to walk in on him pressed against you, it had pissed him off. It had also brought forth that same protectiveness he’d felt when the stormtrooper had punched you, which only served to confuse Poe further. He’d swiftly stuffed those thoughts back as he’d told you Leia was waiting to speak to you both, only for them to tumble around in the back of his mind until you’d crushed his patience to bits.

Poe watched as the healer picked his way toward you. Glancing at you, he saw Ana stepping around you to move toward the direction of the fresher, leaving you standing alone as the other mechanics seemed to have already melted away to have a separate conversation. You sighed, your smile faltering a little, before taking a sip of your drink, your eyes raising up and immediately zeroing in on Rush. His suspicions about your level of interest in the healer were confirmed when you blanched, your eyes casting around you and widening in horror when you realized you were entirely alone. And then you fixed the fakest smile he’d ever seen on your face before turning to greet Rush, a stiff set to your shoulders.  

When the healer reached you and greeted you by way of running his hand down the bare skin of your arm, Poe stiffened. You greeted him in return but took a half step back, eyes peering up at the much taller man with a modicum of fear. Suddenly, Poe’s mind took him back to years and years ago, on Yavin-4, when boys would hit on you and you’d glance toward Poe or Charlie for help and they would be right there, without question.

Now, you looked so alone that Poe’s instincts took over, Charlie’s voice in his head saying, ‘Flyboy and I will always take care of you, Kid.’ And he abruptly stood, abandoning Temmin and his drink, and marched across the room. His anger for the earlier argument was long forgotten and Poe almost felt seventeen years old again.

“Why don’t we continue our earlier fun somewhere quieter, honey?” He was saying, his voice carrying over the music. You had been focused on Rush until Poe was just a few steps away, your head jerking to meet his gaze in surprise.

And unless Poe was mistaken, he saw a little relief there too.

Without preamble, Poe grabbed you by the shoulder and gently pulled you back a few steps, moving you away from Rush. “Sorry pal, not happening.” His interjection was in vast contrast to how Charlie would have done it. He’d have smiled, sauntered up, made it friendly. Poe pointedly conveyed no warmth, no room for argument.

Still, the Healer didn’t get the hint. His brows furrowing, he tilted his head to look at Poe, who stood a few inches taller. “Didn’t realize you had any say in the matter, Command-“

“Don’t care,” Poe replied easily, “Buzz off, and read the room-she’s clearly not interested in you.”

“Now wait just a-“

“Actually Rush,” You hurriedly cut him off, your hand reaching up to grab the one Poe still had on your shoulder, “He’s right. I-I’m not interested, I’m sorry. And we have an early call tomorrow, so we’re just leaving. Goodnight.” You spun away before Rush could reply, your grip on Poe’s hand slipping to his wrist as you dragged him out of the cantina.

Poe spared a glance over his shoulder to look at Rush, who was standing in the same spot looking a little dumbfounded. He bit back a grin before looking forward and watching you pull him along. Poe could feel your hand burning his skin where you held his wrist. After making it halfway toward base, you stopped walking and let go, your arms crossing as you peered up at Poe.

“I don’t need you to do that, Dameron.” Your voice was low, your gaze sharp. Poe wanted to flinch under the intensity of it but instead found himself standing to his full height and matching your stance, returning your glare right back.

He scoffed, “Charlie would have-“

“Yes,” You cut in, taking a step closer to Poe and lowering your voice further, “Charlie would have. He always would have, that’s what big brothers do. But you’re just my Commander, and you don’t get to step in on my social life.”

The words cut, but Poe had heard you say worse to him. He flooded with exasperation, “Major, are you telling me you would prefer to head back inside and let Rush fucking Derrin flirt with you until he inevitably passes out before you can say ‘do you have a condom?’”

You gave a humourless laugh, “Oh, please don’t think that just because any woman you set your eyes on is keen to lay under you that it means the rest of us love to go home with random idiots, regardless of whether we make out with them or not,” You jabbed a finger into Poe’s chest as you spoke, your words laced with venom, “I hold myself to higher standards, and I definitely don’t need the Resistance playboy inserting himself on my behalf.” With that, you spun and stormed away, toward base.

Poe had no option but to follow you. He lived next to you, he was going in the same direction.

Still, when you glanced over your shoulder as you entered the doors that led to the ranking official's dorms and saw Poe a few steps away, your anger seemed to snap and you let the door shut behind you in his face.

“Sweetheart,” Poe drawled as he stepped inside, still only a few paces behind you, “Be as mean as you like, I don’t care. But save the anger for the real fight, it isn’t going to work on me again.”

When your only reply was a frustrated groan, Poe smirked to himself. He watched as you flipped your middle finger over your shoulder before disappearing into your room, the door slamming closed with finality.

His smirk faded then, as he began to consider exactly why he’d gotten so worked up, and whether it really had anything to do with Charlie.

MISSION DAY SIX

Poe was completely numb.

Numb with shame. Regret. Disgust for his actions. Still, he remained protective at your side, following you through the jungle as you avoided looking his way. Knowing you were just as eager to get back to the ship as he was, and yet keenly aware that it meant three days alone together in the cramped space.

At least it would give you both time to come up with a believable explanation for your delay in return. An entire day lost, yet you’d already agreed with one another that the real reason wasn’t going in the mission report. If you never spoke of what happened again, it still wouldn’t be enough to curb the pain, the fucking guilt he was feeling.

Poe had been wrecked, mentally obliterated beyond repair. How he wished he could have died-if he could have ensured you wouldn’t have been harmed he would have gladly let himself die. You promised him it was alright, that you were alright, and yet Poe knew there was no coming back from this.

No, now everything had changed. In one night, it had all changed.

MISSION DAY ONE

The morning of departure for the top-secret mission had been smooth, but entirely silent, between Poe and you. He was glad you worked well enough together to not need to speak. With merely hand signals and grunts, you successfully managed to depart D’Qar and slip into space.

Once safely in hyperspace, Poe left you alone in the cockpit to engage BB8 for auto-piloting the cruiser, secretly relieved when you didn’t come into the small cabin once you’d completed the task. Content to give you as wide a berth as he could in the tiny ship, Poe spent the first few hours of travel lounging on his bunk, reading.

Poe was used to being alone in his x-wing, even if there was a conversation over comms, it was always just him and BB8. But the planet was far enough away that you needed to take a ship built for longer journeys. This meant brushing against one another more often than either of you would have liked, for a few days more than was ideal. Especially given the current climate of your relationship.

It meant sleeping on bunk beds, Poe one the top bunk because he could easily climb up with his height advantage over you. As second in command, you were tasked with ensuring Poe and yourself were fed, watered, and debriefed on the little known about the planet where you were heading. It had been during the mission the week prior, where you had been hit by the Storm Trooper, that BB8 had stolen the data needed to find this outpost.

Poe’s duties were to keep an eye on the ship status, update the mission report and study whatever materials you sent his way to prepare, until arriving at the destination. And to ensure that his team worked well together, which was why he was going to try and walk around on eggshells.

It was when he was warming his dinner rations the first day that he realized you hadn’t ever come out of the cockpit, not for lunch or even a trip to the fresher. With a sigh, he warmed a ration for you and carried both into the cockpit. You glanced up when he entered, your frown morphing into suspicious surprise when he handed you your plate and drink wordlessly. He managed to sit down in the pilot’s seat and get himself comfortable before you spoke.

“Did you poison it?”

Poe rolled his eyes and glanced toward you, his eyes falling to the datapad you had resting on one knee. You were reading a newspaper from a planet he’d never heard of.

“Yes.” He replied swiftly, before pointing at the tablet, “How’d you get that?” His eyes narrowed when you smirked.

“Seriously?” You replied, taking a bite of dinner and dropping your gaze back to the article you had been reading, attempting to brush him off.

Poe scoffed, “Did you ask MY droid to load that on there for you?”

When you looked back at Poe, your brows were raised in surprise, “Did you really not notice BB8 in my room when you walked by this morning?”

You gave him an exasperated look when he shrugged because truthfully his mind had wandered when he’d opened his door that morning. Yours was open as a service droid was carrying out your supplies to take to the ship. You had glanced up when Poe moved into the hall, shot him a glare and then returned to whatever you had been doing crouched on the ground, which he now supposed must have been taking the newspaper data from BB8.

He hadn’t noticed his droid because his eyes had immediately fallen on the corkboard above your desk, where you had posted several photos, the largest of which was the same one he tapped every morning before leaving his room.

You frowned when he didn’t reply straight away; Poe tore his gaze from yours to look at his food. “Had other things on my mind,” He finally said, taking a large bite of his meal and speaking with his mouth full, he added, “And ask next time you want to have my droid do you a favour.”

In response, you merely gave a small, cold laugh, returning to your article. Silence fell between Poe and you again. Eventually, he finished eating and decided to head to bed and read until you came out of the cockpit. He took your plate from you wordlessly, not lingering to find out if you thanked him.

A few hours later, you slipped quietly out of the cockpit and made your way to the fresher, where he heard you have a quick shower before getting ready for bed. Poe was reclined on the top bunk, comfortably laying on both his and your pillows when you emerged, and he bit back a smile as he waited for you to look at your bunk.

You sighed. “Can I have my pillow back, please?” Your voice was tight and Poe smirked, aware that he was decidedly not walking on eggshells at that moment.

He sat up, grabbing the top pillow, “Well since you’ve asked so polite-“ Poe broke off as he looked down at you, his gaze dropping below yours. He gripped the pillow in one hand as surprise swept through him upon seeing what you were wearing to bed. It was one of Charlie’s old shirts.

He’d recognize it anywhere because Charlie wore that shirt all the time; it was one of his favourites. It had been a gift from you though Poe couldn’t remember the occasion. His heart constricting at the sight of you dwarfed in your dead older brother's shirt, Poe let out a quiet breath, at a loss for words. The shirt had a few holes in it from being worn so many times.

“Kriff, my face is up here, asshole!” You snapped, and Poe was abruptly pulled from his thoughts. Meeting your angry gaze and then registering your words, his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Honey,” He drawled, using the nickname he’d heard Rush call you the night before. When your face pinched with fury he knew he’d hit his mark. Poe jumped down from the top bunk, carelessly tossing your pillow behind him before taking a measured step toward you. “I recognize the shirt, that’s all.”

Glaring up at Poe, you flashed your white teeth before replying, “You recognize my shirt, so you stare at my chest for a solid minute?” Crossing your arms, you let out a humourless laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

Poe bristled, “Damn, you really have me cast as the worst kind of villain, don’t you? Poe Dameron, Rebel fuck boy. Poe Dameron, pervert with no fucking soul or moral code,” He was seething, leaning over you now, getting just as worked up as he’d promised himself he’d avoid. He gestured at your shirt vaguely, “Poe Dameron, sees a woman in a shirt and must be staring at her tits. Couldn’t possibly be that I see you wearing my dead best friend's old shirt and have any human feelings about that, right (y/n)? Because I ruined us,” He pointed first at you, then to himself, “It means that I don’t miss Charlie, don’t ever think about him, don’t have happy memories that make me sad.”

You were frowning up at Poe as he yelled, a mixture of surprise and confusion evident in your expression. For a moment, you both just stared at one another, and Poe thought you might be at a loss of how to respond. Until you did. Of course, you fucking did.

“You are the villain. You said what, the other day, that I abandoned you? How do you-I left after you deserted me!” Your voice was shaky with emotion, “You weren’t there for me for the funeral, and then you completely broke my heart and just walked away. Got into your ship and fucking disappeared,” Your voice cracked, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes; you hastily wiped them away, “Left me, all alone. I didn’t leave right away, Poe. I packed, I asked for a new assignment off-planet, and you still were just fucking gone. So I left, and you think it’s unfair of me to think of you as the villain?”

“Do you think I didn’t regret everything I fucking said the moment I said it? That I don’t know-didn’t know-how badly I fucked up?” Poe shouted back, “I tried to find you! You blocked me from being able to find you and tell you I was sorry. Didn’t even think you would forgive me, but you still deserved to hear me beg for forgiveness and work to make it up to you,” Poe took a step back from you, running a hand tiredly over his face, “What I did was the worst thing I’ve ever done, my biggest regret. I didn’t mean anything I said to you, I lo-I took out my guilt, my grief, on you and I know it was wrong. But you can’t twist everything I do now to fit into that version of me, it’s not fair.”

“Fair? Right, okay, I’m not being fair.”

“No,” Poe’s voice came out in a near whisper as he glared at you, “No, you’re acting like a brat, ever since you came back, and I’m kind of over it.”

Your eyes widened in fury, but before you could answer Poe swiftly stepped around you and shut himself into the fresher. He didn’t want to fight any longer, and he knew you would just be going back and forth at one another all night, neither of you willing to be wrong. So he turned on the water and had a brief rinse off under cold water and hoped tomorrow would be a little less terrible.

MISSION DAY SIX

You could feel Poe’s eyes on the side of your head as you walked. As much as you wanted to turn around and ask him to stop because you could basically hear his horrified, guilty thoughts screaming at you, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

You were struggling with your own mortification, jumping from memories of what had happened to concerns about what would happen next. What could even happen next?

How things had been between Poe and you up to yesterday could no longer be the case, not after this mission. You just didn’t know what that meant now.

As much as you considered, during the two-hour walk back to the ship, leaving D’Qar and Black Squadron once you returned from the mission, you knew you could never do that. That you wouldn’t do it.

You couldn’t run again, but how the hell were you going to stay?

Everything had changed last night. And you could remember every single detail of how.

MISSION DAY THREE

You woke first on the morning of the third day in hyperspace, blearily looking at your wrist comm to see it was fairly early morning back in D’Qar. With a small sigh, you stretched your body before climbing out of the lower bunk and stepping across the small cabin into the fresher. When you emerged, Poe was still fast asleep and you set about making caf as quietly as possible, knowing the longer he slept meant that much more time for you to enjoy peaceful silence.

As much as you’d both been on eggshells around each other since your latest fight, the tension and silence were thick and heavy and draining. As angry as you’d gotten as he shouted at you, guilt had wormed its way into your mind the more he had let slip how much he’d been hurting. The truth was, you hadn’t wanted to believe he could be hurting, preferring to close him into a box where he was simply a terrible person, through and through, when you knew that wasn’t Poe Dameron at all.

He had done a terrible thing, yes. But he wasn’t evil, he didn’t deserve the vitriol, the cold shoulder, as much as you dished it out these past few days, did he? On the other hand, you felt if you let up on that treatment entirely, it would be akin to forgiving him, letting him off the hook for his fuck up.

You thought that you were treating him how he deserved to be. You had convinced yourself he was the villain. When he’d called you a brat, it hit you a moment later that you were being a huge fucking brat. He didn’t deserve your friendship, forgiveness, but he also didn’t deserve how you’d treated him the past several days.

You sat in the cockpit leisurely reading another newspaper BB8 had loaded onto your datapad before the mission. Poe had grumbled about it, but you had always enjoyed reading highlights from around the galaxies, it was like a little guilty pleasure for you. You lounged for half an hour, sipping your caf and enjoying an article that discussed the art of moisture farming before you heard movement in the cabin.

You strained your ears, listening for Poe to enter the fresher. Once you heard that door swoosh closed, you abandoned your article to head into the cabin and begin packing your bags for arrival. Based on your best calculations, you’d be arriving early the next morning and wanted everything to be ready to hit the ground running. You set the two bags onto the foot of your bunk and then dumped all of the supplies in several armfuls over the rest of your bed.

You were mindlessly sorting, doing inventory and packing everything when Poe eventually emerged from the fresher. He said nothing, quietly getting his caf before heating a ration.

You hadn’t eaten yet yourself, so you decided you would get your ration once he’d gone into the cockpit to avoid you. You were caught by surprise when you turned from his pack, where you’d just stuffed in his protective outerwear, to see your ration warmed up on a plate, set onto your bunk next to you.

You stared at the food for a moment before glancing up just in time to see the stiff set of Poe’s shoulders disappear as the cockpit door closed. You blinked a few times before moving to sit down and eat your breakfast, the sudden tightness in your chest ensuring the food tasted of nothing.

-

You cleared your throat awkwardly when you entered the cockpit later that afternoon. Poe hadn’t emerged and as much as you were glad for space, you knew he needed to eat. And you kept thinking of how he’d ensured you had your breakfast when you were heating your lunch.

He didn’t look around when you came in, his eyes remaining on the book open in his lap until you held out his plate of rations into his line of sight. He gave you a weary look before taking the plate, “Thank you.”

You shrugged, then took your seat. He watched you in surprise but didn’t comment. “I think, um. We’ll be arriving early tomorrow and I think we should just go over a few things now if that’s alright?” You glanced up at Poe when he didn’t reply straight away, only to find him curiously searching your face, confused by your near timid behaviour. You swallowed uncomfortably.  

He turned to his food after a moment, spooning a large amount into his mouth before nodding at you. With that, you began to go over a summary of your notes and data on the planet, the outpost and surrounding jungle conditions. Poe listened as he ate, occasionally nodding his understanding.

“If we have to hike in, I should warn you the time zone we are landing in is at its peak of summer. So it’ll be extremely muggy during the day.” You finished speaking abruptly and Poe glanced up from his food and met your eyes.

“Well as much as I like a good hike, let’s try to get as close to the outpost as possible.”

You hummed in response, looking away as a heavy silence fell between you. Entirely at a loss, you simply sat together for a while before eventually, you decided to do weapons check in preparation for the next day.

When you stood, you had to brush by Poe. Instead of continuing to avoid looking at you, he peered up as you moved, his eyes tired, and you felt something tighten within you. Heat crawled up your neck and you hurriedly ducked out of the cockpit.

MISSION DAY FOUR

Excitement had overtaken Poe, as it usually did when a mission was well underfoot. This was compounded further by the knowledge that, very shortly, he’d be set free from the stifling tension of the ship. It had drained his mental energy enough that even if you’d told him that he had to wade through molten lava to get to the outpost, he’d happily take the lead. Naked. Blindfolded. He just needed out.

You had everything prepared the night before, so all that needed to happen in the early hours of the morning of arrival was pulling out of hyperspace, approaching the outpost and scanning for a landing zone. The base wasn’t constructed to have an outdoor hangar, as it would defeat the purpose of being hidden, but Poe had hoped there would be a spot somewhere around the facility. Given the abandoned state of the planet, however, he didn’t let his hopes climb too high.

He’d heard your frustration as you ran the ground scans and came up short, your breath huffing out in disappointment. He let you work through it, knowing you were more than capable of finding the next best option, though he couldn’t agree more that it was a letdown there would be the need for a hike. The longer the mission took, the longer you were stuck alone together.

You sat up straight once you’d found an area to land, throwing Poe a triumphant look as you pointed on the radar. “This will do, Commander. Two-hour hike, along a river that will provide a decent nav-point, look it leads straight through the outpost.” Your finger traced along a line excitedly.

Poe leaned over to look closely, examining the map and seeing no flaw in your plan, not that he thought he would. It was his job to double-check, to make the final call, but with you, as his second in command, it was hard to justify the need to do it-you were simply that good. He drew in a breath to reply only for his brain to stutter as your freshly showered, peachy scent filled his head.

With a slight frown, Poe leaned away before speaking, keeping his eyes fixed on the map. “Set the course, Major.”

“Commander.” You agreed, setting to it. Poe left the cockpit then, heading to gear up and check his blaster over while you took the ship in to land. By the time he’d finished pulling on his pack, holstering his blaster and ensuring his wrist comm was good to go, you had successfully landed the ship and given control over to BB8.

“Alright, buddy, take care of things while we’re gone and no parties!” Poe called to his droid, who replied in the affirmative before telling Poe to be careful. He chuckled warmly, punching the button for the ramp to lower as you finished gearing up and came to stand next to him.

Poe made to start down the ramp, stopping when you suddenly grabbed his arm, turning to look down at you in surprise. You released your grip and gestured outside. “I know it was in my reports, but I have to say it again-don’t touch anything, especially if it’s colourful. I overpacked on med supplies in case we come into contact with something poisonous, but we don’t know a lot of the species of plants and animals here.” You reached up and brushed some hair out of your eyes, “If we have to move quickly for any reason, try to pick the most open path, okay?”

Poe cocked a brow, “You think some plant will be worse than whatever’s making us run?”

You shrugged, following Poe as he began to descend the ramp. Immediately the cool hull of the ship disappeared, replaced by the humid air of the jungle planet. It smelled similar to Yavin-4, and as Poe took a deep breath, feeling almost nostalgic, he heard you do the same before replying.

“Honestly, I’m hoping we don’t find out.”

-

Within twenty minutes of a steady pace through the jungle, first in the direction of the nearby river and then shifting North to follow along its banks, Poe was soaked in sweat. You hadn’t understated the humidity, and though you had broth grown up on a planet with similar weather, it did feel a little heavier here. And the jungle surrounding you both was thick, densely packed with trees so tall and substantial that not a ton of light from the single sun made its way to the jungle floor. Though, if the shade was offering any reprieve from the heat Poe couldn’t fucking tell.

The air had sweetened somewhat once he’d followed you from the small field into the jungle and Poe, though on high alert for any threats as you lead the way, couldn’t help but admire all of the colour interspersed through the greenery. It was no wonder you had reminded him to avoid anything colourful, for the jungle floor was full of every colour imaginable, as beautiful as it was dangerous.

Thankfully, as you had predicted, moving along the bank of the river was the safest option, a long winding path of densely packed mud and rocks leading you to the outpost without having to brush against every bush you passed. The river wasn’t flowing too quickly, but it did give a subtle backdrop of sound that made the quiet between Poe and you less noticeable.

After just over an hour of walking, Poe was feeling grateful that the combat gear you each wore was as moisture-wicking as it was, though he had to keep wiping sweat from his forehead before it could fall into his eyes. It was one of the times he turned his head at an awkward angle to wipe his brow that his eyes caught movement in the distance, and though he kept walking behind you he fixed his gaze to the general area as he filled with alarm.

After a few minutes, he relaxed, fractionally, when nothing further moved. Still, he kept his eyes surveying the area, worrying at his bottom lip as he did. He was considering that the research and information about this planet didn’t pull a lot of data on living creatures, and as much as he was coiled for an attack he could just as easily have seen some sort of bird or rodent moving up a tree. His concentration on your surroundings was pulled when you suddenly let out a little gasp as you tripped on a root.

Without thought, Poe reached out and grabbed the back of your shirt before you could fall over completely, lifting you and setting you back on your feet. Embarrassed, you mumbled your thanks and looked away from Poe, who had been eyeing you to make sure you were alright. When your eyes landed somewhere just behind him and widened in horror, Poe was moving before you could open your mouth to warn him, instincts taking over.

Grabbing your upper arm, Poe urged you both forward quickly while pulling his blaster free with his other hand. You copied him, making no attempt to shake his grip and following his lead in shooting over his shoulder.

“You okay?” He asked, sparing you a glance and letting you go once you nodded and he was sure you were steady on your feet again, “Run.” And you did, neither of you wasting any time in shifting into sprints along the riverbed.

Poe looked over his shoulder and saw the creature he’d sensed earlier, cursing because it wasn’t just a rodent, and it looked like it most definitely ate humans.

It almost looked like a wolf, but it was about twice the size of any Poe had ever seen and its jaws were tightly packed with long, pointed teeth that would surely be able to pull limbs off without much effort. It was pursuing at Poe’s four o’clock, running carelessly through the many bushes and plants as it gained on you both, the only thing stopping it from lunging were the many thick trunked trees.

Firing a few more shots and cursing when they made no impact-clearly the beasts' sides were too thick for the blaster to cause harm-Poe shouted at you. “How far away are we?”

“At this pace ten minutes or so!”

“Fuck, okay, any idea what this thing is?”

You grunted, jumping over a fallen branch and glancing back at the monster, “Looks hungry, we should probably avoid letting it catch up to us.”

Poe swore again, picking up his pace and then aiming a few more shots over his shoulder carefully. The first few missed, but the third shot made contact with one of the beasts' eyes and it let out a roar of pain before barreling through the tree line and coming up right behind you both.

“Fucking shit, looks like we’re testing the theory of which is worse, sweetheart!” He barked, grabbing your arm and pulling you off the river path and into the jungle. Neither of you stopped, though Poe took the lead in running through the dense brush in hopes of keeping leaves and branches from hitting your face. His height advantage kept him just above most of the potentially dangerous plants.

He heard you continue shooting, then give a small whoop at the same moment another roar filled the air-you had hit it again. The heavy steps of the creature faded. Poe glanced over his shoulder to see if it had stopped. He didn’t see the beast anywhere, just you running slightly behind him until-

With a cry of his name, you suddenly sprinted to close the distance between you both and then tackled Poe to the ground, the impact, angle and speed making you both roll through the plants and bushes he’d been trying to avoid. Poe roared with indignation as he slammed right into the trunk of a large tree, coughing as dust filled his lungs. Seeing you on the ground next to him, he grabbed you and pulled you close, listening for any sounds of pursuit as you coughed along with him.

The tree you had tackled him into had a large bush at the base, which served as a decent enough hiding spot. You each waited for any sounds, but when nothing came Poe carefully led the way out, his eyes searching all over, almost overwhelmed at the abundance of colour surrounding you within the jungle. You both stumbled back toward the riverbank, reorienting yourselves until Poe looked around at you.

Closing the gap between you in two steps, Poe gripped the front of your shirt with both hands before shoving you into the nearest tree, “What the fuck was that?” He shouted, surprised to see you panting heavily and appearing unaffected by his violent outburst.

Shocked at his behaviour, Poe released you.

He was panting too, he realized.

“You almost ran over that edge up there, forty-foot drop.” You explained heavily, looking down at your clothing. “We’re covered in, what is this?” He watched as you patted your shoulder and dust hit the air, shimmering slightly in the light.

Since when did dust shimmer?

Poe glanced down at himself and found he was covered as well, copying you to try and get it off. “That bush had red flowers, did you notice?”

You nodded, frowning, “Yeah, not one of the few BB8 was able to identify. This could be its pollen.” You began to walk and Poe stepped in stride next to you, both of you walking along out of standard formation. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognized this. He just didn’t care, all of the sudden.

The base came in to view after a few minutes and Poe released a breath of relief. He hadn’t looked at you for a while, and something in his gut was telling him not to, though he had no idea why. He focused on searching for an entry point, trying to ignore how much hotter he felt, how the once comfortable clothing he had on now felt almost scratchy and he wished he could peel it off.

His skin felt...sensitive. Weirdly and increasingly sensitive. And still, he resisted the urge to look at you and see if you were experiencing anything similar. Looking at you didn’t feel safe.

Locating a doorway, you followed Poe and dropped to your knees to pry open the circuit board and play with the wires to get the door to release its lock so it could be manually opened. As he waited for you to work, his eyes dropped to stare at the back of your neck, where he could see the sweat dripping, the hair at the nape of your neck, below your bun, curling in the moisture. Just as he noticed how much you were sweating, he realized he was as well. Like, completely soaked.

Stars, he needed out of these clothes.

He didn’t even feel happy when you managed to break the door security and pry it open, nor any relief when he followed you inside and found the air in the abandoned, stone corridor outpost significantly cooler than outside. He simply followed you as you took a few steps down the corridor, stopping at the entrance to a room that’s door was open, peering in before taking a few steps inside.

It appeared to be some sort of old meeting room, a large marble table running the length, though most of the seats were gone and otherwise the space was unfurnished. This wasn’t a room of interest, and you seemed to decide this a moment before Poe, turning on your heel and looking up to meet his eyes as you did.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Poe looked back into your eyes as that gut feeling shouted again not to look at you, but it was too late.

A low growl tore from his chest, and Poe was stalking forward.

+

Poe was moving toward you and every muscle in your body was coiled, ready to run, your mind all but screaming at you to get the fuck away from him. But you didn’t, you couldn’t, you stood rooted to the spot as he made to close the distance between you both, growling as he did.

You knew something had been wrong since leaving the jungle. You had been sweaty and much too hot, and you almost started crying when you’d been trying to get the door to open to the outpost because your skin was aflame and you needed to get the layers off of it for relief.

And you’d felt...you couldn’t exactly describe it, but you just knew you shouldn’t look up at Poe as he breathed heavily behind you, something deep within you telling you that things were off. Very, very off. Whatever was happening, it was overtaking Poe more aggressively than you at this point.

It had to be the pollen, you realized with growing horror. If the pooling of heat in your belly was any clue, that red flower had to be an unidentified fertility plant. But you’d studied fertility plants, and none that you knew of were this intense. You’d only been exposed, what, ten minutes? And yet you were both sweaty and overcome already.

And Poe didn’t look like himself anymore, something in him snapped the moment he met your eyes. He looked like a predator. Scarier than the beast outside that had chased you.

He was a breath away when you heard yourself let out a whimper, a mixture of fear and longing that seemed to stop him in his tracks, his eyes widening. He stood rooted to the spot but visibly struggled to lean away from you, horror replacing the dark look he’d had moments before.

“What, what the f-fuck is happening?” He gasped, closing his eyes as if in pain.

“Fuck, I’m so fucking hot, I need to get out of these clothes!” You cried out, yanking your shirt from where it was tucked into your khakis desperately. “I think it was a fertility plant, Poe, we have to g-get out of our clothes. Cov-covered in pollen.” It was starting to hurt just to breathe, to speak, to not be touching Poe.

He gave a moan indicating he was equally as uncomfortable, opening his eyes again.

When he looked down at you, the dawning horror overflowed. His eyes, normally soft and honey-coloured, were completely black. His gaze locked onto yours and a smirk replaced his fearful look, and as much as it scared you, you couldn’t look away, heat and wetness now pooling between your legs in anticipation.

“Little girl,” He growled, his body locked tight still but his eyes devouring you, “Look at what you’re doing to me.” He demanded, his hand moving to palm over his crotch where-

Stars, even with his pants still on you could see the outline of his erection, and you whimpered again. This was going to happen, there was no stopping it, you could feel that despite everything inside of you fighting to step away, to run, that when you did move it would be straight for him.

The pollen from this plant would kill you both if you didn’t follow your urges, that much you knew. You’d studied the tales of this strength of a fertility plant, and you knew the dangers that it could pose. You might both die anyway, now that you’d been exposed. It could be strong enough that you’d both just fuck until you died, and you knew that should scare you but...you felt yourself fading into the back of your mind, the heat enveloping you everywhere. Taking over.

You moaned again, still fighting the need to close the distance between Poe and you because you needed him to understand what was happening. “We can’t stop,” You gasped out, and then you watched as the darkness in Poe’s eyes faded slightly and his horrified expression returned-he was trying to fight the pollen.

“Run, (y/n), g-get away before, f-fuck I need y-you so bad,” He was trying to step back from you but unable to fight the burning need, the desire. You saw tears slip from his eyes, “Can’t control my-myself, sweetheart, r-run p-please.”

Tears leaked out of your eyes as you only stepped toward Poe, feeling yourself disappearing further in further into the back of your mind, “We have to, Poe,” He was again only a few inches away now, and what a sight it must be as you each stood so close, fighting against the pollen’s wishes and trying to pull back from one another with no success, “W-we might d-die, can’t f-fight this, oh fuck PLEASE!” You suddenly felt the heat reach a boiling point and absolutely needed Poe to touch you.

“Sweetheart,” He groaned, “F-fight me, don’t, don’t let me hurt y-you, we ha-have to fight it!”

“POE,” You screamed, the last of your true self speaking, “I promise i-it’s o-kay, ple-please, I don’t wa-want t-t-to die!” And the band within you snapped, and you were moving into Poe at the same moment his eyes turned black again and then, quite suddenly, he was on you.

If only everything could have gone black at that point.

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