#realizations and nightmares of the past haunting me & just. it’s so painful I know maybe I’m being dramatic and there’s a possibility that

[ko-eko-ev-go-ms]

Brain is braining too much me thinks

[elysiaheaven]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐘-(𝐒𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥)-𝐉𝐢𝐚𝐨𝐪𝐢𝐮 𝐱 𝐅.𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫-(The Fox's Wedding Sequel!)

@kianasflowers Banner credit!

Mentions of Gorey descriptions! Beheading descriptions

Dear Mei,

I realized that the village I'm in needs my help, I just remembered everything. Sorry for not replying for.. a couple of years?

I hope everyone is fine and well! It's a long story how I ended like this. But, I hope I will be able to see you again.

I really want to meet all but I can't! I have to save these people so, Maybe I'll die.

My location is the Xianzhou Luofu, If you want to meet me. You can! But I don't know how I'll be by the time you come or this letter.

Maybe dead, a corpse.

Or Alive, Helping people.

I hope that man who calls himself god wouldn't win...

Hey Mei, Will you get me some new kimono and a seed of the sakura tree? If I died. Place it beside my grave.

If I live...

Present day

The days in Yaoqing were quiet but heavy, filled with both healing and the lingering shadows of your shared trauma. You and Jiaoqiu spent much of your time indoors, a small, humble home nestled in a quiet corner of the village. The walls that held you both felt both like a sanctuary and a cage, protecting you from the outside world while reminding you of the isolation brought by your injuries.

You struggled with your mobility, the pain in your neck and feet making every step a reminder of the glass shards and the torment you had endured. Walking was a challenge; sometimes, even the simplest movement felt like an insurmountable task. And Jiaoqiu—his blindness had taken away much of his independence, and though he tried to adjust, it was clear the world felt different to him now, unfamiliar and unforgiving.

Cooking had become a trial for both of you. You would attempt to stand by the stove, wincing as you leaned against the counter, trying to prepare a simple meal. But even that was difficult. Your body protested with every movement, and Jiaoqiu—once so self-sufficient—was now struggling to eat due to the severity of his internal wounds. Spicy food, which he had once enjoyed, now caused him immense discomfort, his body rejecting the heat as it tried to heal.

There were moments of despair, moments where you both felt as though the weight of your past was too much to bear. The nights were particularly hard for Jiaoqiu, plagued by vivid nightmares that left him trembling and drenched in sweat. You would wake to the sound of his ragged breaths, his body tense with the horrors that played out in his mind.

Jiaoqiu stirred in his sleep, his body tense as the nightmare took hold. His breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling unevenly, trapped in the throes of a memory turned twisted and nightmarish.

In his dream, the air was thick with the smell of blood, the sound of clashing metal, and the sight of Hoolay standing before him, blade in hand. Jiaoqiu was bound, unable to move, his limbs frozen as he watched helplessly. You stood on the ground before Hoolay, your body bloodied, your neck exposed—ready for the final blow.

"No…" Jiaoqiu gasped, his voice hoarse, barely able to form the words. His throat tightened, his heart pounding against his ribs, desperate to stop what was about to happen.

But the scene continued, cruel and unrelenting. Hoolay's lips curled into a sneer, eyes dark and unfeeling as he raised the blade high above your head.

"Don't do it!" Jiaoqiu screamed, his voice breaking. But Hoolay only laughed, cold and merciless, the sound echoing in the empty space.

You turned to face Jiaoqiu, your eyes wide, filled with a strange, unsettling calm. Blood dripped from your wounds, your body trembling, but your lips twisted into a smile—a horrifying, broken smile.

"You did this," you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of sorrow and accusation. "It's your fault I died, Jiaoqiu."

He shook his head, eyes wide with terror. "No… No, I didn't mean for this to happen!"

But you only laughed, a haunting, echoing sound that filled the air. "Of course, you did. You were too weak to save me. You let this happen."

Tears streamed down his face as he struggled against the invisible bonds, desperate to reach you, to stop what was happening. "I tried! I tried to save you!"

Your smile widened, grotesque and unnatural, your eyes hollow, as if all the life had been drained from them. "Too late," you hissed, your voice turning sharp, venomous. "You always fail, don't you?"

Hoolay’s blade descended swiftly, and you didn’t flinch. You just stood there, still smiling as the sharp edge came down, slicing through your neck with sickening precision. The sound of flesh tearing and bone cracking filled Jiaoqiu’s ears, louder than anything he had ever heard before.

"NOOO!" Jiaoqiu screamed, his voice raw, his throat burning as the world spun around him. He couldn't bear to watch, but he couldn’t look away.

Your head rolled from your shoulders, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Your body crumpled, lifeless, the blood pooling around you, a stark contrast to the eerie smile still lingering on your severed face.

Jiaoqiu sobbed, shaking uncontrollably, as Hoolay’s mocking laughter rang out. "Look at her," Hoolay taunted, kicking your head towards Jiaoqiu's feet. "Look at what you let happen."

Jiaoqiu was paralyzed, his mind broken, the sight of your dismembered form seared into his brain. Your head lay inches from him, eyes still open, still staring at him with that unnerving smile.

"I’ll never leave you," your voice whispered, even though your mouth didn’t move. "I’ll haunt you forever… You deserve this, Jiaoqiu. This is what you made me."

Jiaoqiu screamed again, his heart tearing apart as your words echoed endlessly in his mind. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

But in the nightmare, there was no escape. Hoolay stepped closer, blade dripping with your blood, his grin widening. "You failed her once," he sneered, "and now you’ll keep failing. Over, and over, and over again."

Jiaoqiu's hands clutched at his head, unable to bear the torment. "Please… stop…"

But the nightmare only deepened. Hoolay raised the blade once more, aiming it toward Jiaoqiu this time, his voice cold and final. "It's time for you to join her."

It’s your fault. You let her die.

In the nightmare, your voice echoed, twisted and unnatural, as you stood over him. Headless, your body loomed, holding your severed head in one hand. The blood dripped slowly, pooling beneath you, and your lips—still smiling—moved, whispering something too familiar.

“Jiaoqiu." your voice rasped. “They’ll stuff us both in the secret box… of the goldfish.”

Jiaoqiu’s heart pounded violently in his chest. The words made no sense, but the terror they filled him with was overwhelming. You stepped closer, head dangling from your fingers as if it were nothing more than a toy. The smile on your lips widened, grotesque, and your dead eyes locked onto his.

“They’ll put us together," you continued, "inside that box. You and me… forever.”

Jiaoqiu couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. His body felt frozen, paralyzed by fear. His hands trembled, desperately trying to claw himself out of the nightmare, but it was useless. You bent down, pressing your headless body against his, your cold, bloodstained hands grabbing him, holding him tight.

“We’re going together,” you hissed, your breath cold against his skin. “Inside the box… together.”

He screamed, finally breaking through the silence, but it didn’t stop. Your grip tightened, your bloody fingers digging into his skin, pulling him into the darkness.

Suddenly, the world seemed to collapse. Your body went limp, falling to the floor in a heap of broken limbs. And then, with a chilling whisper, your head rolled toward him, your mouth still moving as it spoke: “It’s a nightmare, Jiaoqiu… Wake up!”

The words jolted him, and Jiaoqiu woke with a gasp, his breath ragged and uneven. His body felt heavy, drenched in cold sweat, his heart still hammering against his ribs. He blinked, expecting to see the comforting glow of light in the room—expecting to see you beside him.

But there was nothing.

Only darkness.

For a moment, Jiaoqiu’s heart stopped. He blinked again, harder this time, trying to adjust his eyes to the blackness that surrounded him. But no matter how many times he tried, no light came. It hit him then, like a punch to the chest: the Tumbledust poison. The nightmare had faded, but the reality remained.

He was blind.

The room felt suffocating, the weight of the darkness pressing in on him, as if the nightmare hadn’t fully let go. Jiaoqiu's breath came quicker, panic rising in his throat. He reached out, his trembling hands searching the bed, the space beside him where you should be. But all he found was emptiness.

“Where… where are you?” he whispered, his voice shaking, as his fingers frantically felt the sheets, the pillow, the empty space. His hands moved faster, desperate to find you, to feel your warmth. But there was nothing.

Jiaoqiu’s mind raced. You were there, he thought. You were right there.

But all he could feel was the cold emptiness of the bed, the sheets crumpled beneath his fingers, his touch finding no trace of you. Fear crept up his spine, his chest tightening with every second that passed.

“Where are you?” he whispered again, louder this time, his voice tinged with desperation. His hands moved in every direction, reaching for the space around him, the nightstand, the floor, anything that could prove you were still here.

Jiaoqiu’s breathing quickened, and panic clawed at his throat as his hands frantically searched the bed. His voice trembled, his desperation rising. "Where are you?" he whispered, louder this time, his heart pounding in the oppressive silence. His mind was spinning, trapped in the darkness, unable to find you, unable to escape the terror gripping him.

Just as he was on the verge of screaming, of losing himself completely to the fear, he felt it—arms wrapping around him from behind, warm and gentle. The familiar scent of you washed over him, grounding him in the present.

“It’s okay,” you whispered softly into his ear, your voice calm and soothing. “I’m right here.”

Jiaoqiu froze, the tension in his body slowly ebbing away as your warmth enveloped him. He exhaled a shaky breath, his heart still racing but slowing, his panic easing.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you continued, your voice a soft murmur. “So I stepped out for a bit. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He was still trembling, still uncertain if this was real or another nightmare. The darkness made everything uncertain. He mumbled, barely able to form words. “Come… kiss me. So I know it’s really you.”

You shifted, moving in front of him, and your lips brushed his—soft, familiar, real. Jiaoqiu exhaled in relief, his body relaxing against you. He clung to you as if you were his lifeline, his grip tight and desperate.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your lips. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to doubt you. I… I was so scared.”

You smiled softly, stroking his cheek. “It’s fine,” you whispered, kissing his forehead gently. “It’s okay. I’m here now. You’re safe.”

You cradled Jiaoqiu, feeling his breathing slow and deepen as sleep finally claimed him, you tried to follow him into that same restful darkness. But something was wrong. Even in the silence of the night, whispers crept into your ears, soft at first, but growing louder with each passing moment. The voices of countless souls, pleading, moaning, begging for peace.

Their cries sent a chill down your spine. You squeezed your eyes shut, holding Jiaoqiu tighter, as if his warmth could shield you from the cold weight of their voices.

"Help us… free us… give us peace…"

The words wrapped around your mind, echoing endlessly. You could feel the souls crowding around you, unseen but close, their desperation pressing in on you from all sides. Your heart raced as you gritted your teeth, willing the whispers to stop, but they only grew more insistent.

You buried your face against Jiaoqiu, your grip tightening, as though if you held on tightly enough, they wouldn’t be able to touch you. His steady breathing was the only thing anchoring you to this reality. But the voices wouldn’t stop. They wanted something. They needed something from you.

You tried to block them out, tried to convince yourself that it was all in your head. But the feeling of their presence was too strong, too real. Your hands trembled as you clung to Jiaoqiu, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

"Release us…"

Your eyes shot open, the darkness around you feeling suddenly alive, shifting and moving with the weight of the spirits. You didn’t dare look. You couldn’t. The fear was too overwhelming, too paralyzing. The souls weren’t leaving you alone. They were here—right here.

Your teeth ground together painfully as you forced your eyes shut again, but the whispers slipped into your mind like cold fingers, clawing at your thoughts. You held back a sob, trying to breathe through the terror.

Jiaoqiu stirred slightly in his sleep, but he didn’t wake, his exhaustion keeping him under. You envied him. You wanted to escape into the same peaceful darkness, but the souls wouldn’t let you. Their demands grew louder, their voices overlapping into a cacophony that threatened to drown out everything else.

You gripped Jiaoqiu so tightly now that your arms ached, your body tense and shaking. You could feel the tears welling up behind your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.

But sleep would not come for you. The souls kept you trapped, their whispers pulling you deeper into fear, into the knowledge that you couldn’t help them. You couldn’t even help yourself.

And so you lay there, eyes closed, teeth clenched, shivering in the darkness, too afraid to sleep, too terrified to let go.

[shadesslut]

hiiii! could i suggest a fic thats kinda been on the top of my head recently?? soft ethan landry originally tried to get close to the group by getting with amber freemans ex whos the adopted daughter of dewey and gale. originally she died alongside her dad, but the doctors brought her back. so now, she lives in constant ptsd from it and has a bad episode after having a nightmare of deweys death, though even though she tries to not bother ethan about her past, hes there then and helps her thru it

IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE THIS. I HOPE YOU ENJOY🫶

haunted

Pairing: (Ex-Amber Freeman x Ex-Fem!Reader, Fem!Reader x Ethan Landry)

Content Includes: (Angst, fluff)

Main Masterlist

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Her mouth was stained with a taste of metallic. Her vision was blurred, everything tinted by a bright white light, but she knew what was happening. Her father was dead, staring coldly at her as he laid on the white tiles of the hospital. Was all of this for nothing? All those years of fighting not only for himself, but for his daughter. All those years of winning those battles against Ghostface. All of the sacrifices he gave, it was taken away by a simple kitchen knife. Taken away by her. 

Amber Freeman. The one who finally got Dewey. The one who haunted Y/N’s dreams, and the one who haunted her nightmares. Tonight was a nightmare. 

She knew she was dreaming, she knew it. But the way Amber pulled off her mask as she laid there bloody, it hurt just as much as it did that day. 

“Please, Amber,” she pleaded in pain. Blood spewed out of the freshly cut wound on her chest. “I love you.”

Amber looked coldly down at her, and at that moment, Y/N realized. Realized all of it was fake. All of the words and kisses Amber gave her; none of it was real. She wished she could apologize to her dad, she wished she could tell him how much she loved and appreciated him. She never did that. And now she never could. 

She prepared herself for the knife to sink into her side. She knew the routine by now, it was like clockwork. It would hurt, it would feel real, but every time, Amber would kiss her. And maybe, just maybe, that made up for the pain. 

The knife sunk into her stomach, and she arched up as she screamed in pain. Amber kissed her, just as she anticipated. Her vision started to grow black, like spilled ink staining a painting. Amber was a painting to her. Her beautiful work of art she loved looking at, even if Amber wanted to hurt her. 

Then, she awoke. 

First she shot up, then she breathed heavily. Her breaths were sharp and quick, and her hand went to her chest as she felt it tighten. Ethan stirred as she started to cry. 

His eyes fluttered open as he looked to the source of noise. His eyes widened, and he immediately sat up to wrap his arms around her. 

“Shhh it’s okay, I’m here,” He whispered. 

She turned her head to look at him, and all she focused on were his eyes. Dark, brown like hers. She hated how sometimes she would get so lost in his eyes, she would think of Amber’s eyes. How they darkened as she looked down at her in excitement. 

“It’s just me,” he said. It was just him. There wasn’t any evil in his eyes

She only let out a choked sob, and Ethan moved her head to rest on his chest. He pulled her to curl in his lap, her legs pulled up to her chest as he cradled her. 

“You're okay, I've got you.” 

She steadied her breaths. Don’t think of her, think of him. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. This was the fourth time this week. He shook his head and shushed her. He kissed the crown of her head and started humming her favorite song. The same song Dewey sang to her when she was little. 

“I miss him.” She whispered under her breath. 

“I know.” He whispered back. 

She didn’t know how many more nights of these she could take. She knew Ethan would leave her soon, that he would grow tired of this. 

“I’m sorry for waking you, again.” 

“It’s okay,” He cooed, playing with her hair. “It’s not a bother. I just want you to be okay. I love you.” 

She looked up at him, eyes glossy. She opened her mouth to respond. To tell him she loved him too. 

“You don’t have to say it. I know it’s hard for you.” 

She let her head move against his chest as he breathed. They sat in a blissful silence in each other’s arms. Her nose whistled as she breathed softly, and Ethan smiled down at her. He was the only thing that made her feel happy. He protected her, just like Dewey did. 

“You know,” Ethan started as he wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “The moment Chad pointed you out at that party, I knew I was done for. I knew that you were the one for me, and I didn’t need to look for that perfect girl anymore.”

“Ethan,” she choked out. 

“Let me finish,” he gently interrupted her. “I knew what happened to you last year. Chad told me that he’d kill me if I hurt you, but I knew you could do that yourself. You’re so strong, Y/N. You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. You are so much more than what happened to you that night, so much more than her. She wasn’t good enough for you, and even if she was she didn’t deserve you. No one does, because you are perfect. I love you. I love you with everything I have.”

She grabbed his hand, and she placed it over her heart. I love you too. 

He kissed her. He kissed her so many times that she forgot about her dream. And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel bad about her father’s death. 

That night, Amber wasn’t in her dreams. Only Ethan.

[heli-writes]

A marriage of convenience, part 5: firsts.

Pairing: Yoriichi x you

Summary: Yoriichi's friends think that Yoriichi is too lonely and needs a wife and family to take care of him. They propose a marriage of convenience to a woman who's in need of a husband. The arrangement of the marriage is simple: both parties live their lives as before, y/n takes care of Yoriichi as a wife and Yoriichi keeps unwanted men (and demons) away. Love is not required, friendship is appreciated. However, how detached can one be when living so close to each other?

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Series Masterlist

It's warm. That's what Yoriichi notices first. There's something plush but spiky beneath him. A sweet smell fills the air. He sits up groggily like he's waking up from a bad dream. When he opens his eyes, everything is too bright. He sits in a field of colorful flowers. He can't see the end of the field, it's so bright like he is staring right into the sun. He squints his eyes. When he finally widens them again a little, he notices a figure standing a few meters in front of him. He gets up to get a closer look at the person, maybe ask them where they are. "Excuse me?", he yells but his voice sounds as if he's miles away from his own body. The figure becomes clearer. It's a woman. She's wearing a yellow kimono and a hairband. Uta!, Yoriichi thinks. His heart starts racing and he involuntarily picks up speed. There is so much I still need to tell you, he wants to say as he reaches for her. He grabs her should and she turns around facing him. (Y/N) smiles and says: "There you are, Yoriichi. I was waiting for you."

A sharp pain rips him out of the dream he was having. Instinctively he reaches for his arm, the source of the pain. He sits up disoriented. When his eyes adjust to the brightness of the room, he realizes he's at the guest house. "Are you okay?", (y/n) asks, "Seems like you were having I nightmare, so I pinched you really hard.". "That explains the excruciating pain in my arm.", Yoriichi replies. Also, how can she pinch this hard, he asks himself silently. "A demon? Sometimes bad things of our past haunt us in our sleep.", (y/n) says compassionately. Yoriichi looks at her for a moment. "Something like that.", he sighs.

After a good breakfast and a walk alongside the nearby creek, the couple finds their way to the market square. (Y/n) squeaks in joy at the sight of the market. The whole place changed overnight. Chains of lights and decorative banners were strung over the market square. Rows of stalls fill the space. "Are you looking for something in particular?", Yoriichi asks. (Y/n) shrugs. "Not really, but it's just nice looking at things, I guess.", she replies. Together, they stroll over the market. (Y/n) stops at every stall and looks at the work displayed. Sometimes she even chats with the vendors. "You know, even if you're not buying something, one should acknowledge the hard work the artists and craftsmen put into their pieces.", (y/n) explains when they leave a stand with particular ugly clay pots. Eventually, they pass a stand with handmade jewelry. (Y/n) oogles the necklaces and hair pins in awe. "Hello, young lady! Are you looking at anything in particular?", the woman working at the stall asks (y/n). "Oh, nothing particular! I am just admiring your pieces! Do you make them all on your own?", (y/n) asks her. "Yes", the woman replies, "I am self-taught. My parents never had the money for buying jewelry so I started early making my own. I believe every woman, even the poorest, deserves to feel pretty.", (Y/n) gives her a bright smile, "That's such a kind business philosophy! I try to follow a similar with my business.". "Oh, you're a self-employed woman, too? What do you do?", the saleswoman asks. "I make and sell medicine, something everybody should have access to.", (y/n) announces proudly. "Seems like we're sisters in spirit!", the woman exclaims, "Why don't I look for something that might suit you?" (Y/n) chuckles embarrassed. "Oh no, it's fine. We're just here to look.", (y/n) tries to explain. "It's alright.", Yoriichi intervenes, "I'd appreciate it if you have something nice for my wife." (Y/n) blushes at Yoriichi's words. It's the first time he called her his wife.

While the saleswoman starts rummaging through some boxes behind the counter, (y/n) turns to Yoriichi. "Yoriichi, you really don't have to buy me anything.", she says. Yoriichi shrugs. "Why not? You wanted to come to this market, why not buy something?", he says. "Still...", (y/n) tries to insist. Suddenly the saleswoman appears in front of the two again. "Considering you work with your hands, a ring or bracelet would be unfitting. So, what do you think of this hairpin? It can keep your hair out of your face while working.", the woman says as she presents (y/n) with a copper hairpin. (Y/n) gasps as she takes the hairpin in her hands. The design is quite simple. The hairpin is made out of one slim stick. At one end of the stick, a decorative sun is attached. The middle of the sun is made from a burgundy-colored stone. Two delicate chains are attached to the back of the sun and two tear-shaped stones in the same color dangle from the two chains. (Y/n) strokes over the sun's stone with her thumb. "It's... like the color of your eyes, don't you think so?", (y/n) asks Yoriichi. "Hm... I guess. I suppose something in a different color would be better then.", he proposes. (Y/n) looks up to him almost offendedly. "Why that? It's such a pretty color.", she argues. "I actually really like your eyes.", she mumbles to herself but Yoriichi catches it. "In that case, we take it.", he decides. While Yoriichi rummages through his pockets for the money, the saleswoman helps (y/n) to put the hairpin into her hair and hands her a small mirror. After Yoriichi hands the woman the money, (y/n) looks up from the mirror and asks with a beaming smile on her face: "What do you think? Does this suit me?". Yoriichi stops in his tracks for a second. It's the first time he sees her with her hair in an updo. (Y/n) usually wears her hair down, even when she works or cooks. With her hair up like this and the pale blue kimono she's wearing, (y/n) looks like one of the fine ladies from the city, Yoriichi thinks. He notices that he's staring. Quickly, he clears his throat. "It suits you.", he tells her. "Really?", (y/n) asks excitedly as she takes another look in the mirror. "Really.", Yoriichi smiles kindly, "You're very beautiful, (y/n)." (Y/n) looks up to him slightly shocked and her face becomes red immediately. "T-thank you...", she stammers. The saleswoman lets out a hearty laugh. "Oh, to be young and in love. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day!", she bids the two goodbye.

Embarrassed, Yoriichi and (y/n) continue their way over the market. (Y/n) keeps her eyes fixed on the ground, still taken aback by Yoriichi's sudden compliment. Meanwhile, Yoriichi couldn't help himself but glance at the side of (y/n)'s face. (Y/n) can feel Yoriichi's glances and they make her face burn even more. When she looks up to propose to find a snack to eat, she stumbles over her own feet. However, she never makes an impact on the ground, since Yoriichi reacts promptly, grabs her arm with one hand and pulls her up. Underestimating his own strength, he pulls her up a bit too strongly and her face hits his chest. Trying to prevent her from falling backward again, he quickly puts his other hand on her waist, steadying her balance. Before (y/n) knows what's happening to her, she is caged by Yoriichi's arms and awfully close to him. "Are you okay?", Yoriichi asks breathlessly. "Uhm... yeah...", (y/n) whispers. Yoriichi's looking straight into her eyes and she can't look away even though she feels terribly embarrassed. He's so close. His grip is firm but soft. (Y/n) can even smell him from the position she's in. For a moment, Yoriichi seems unable to look away either. Eventually, he lets go of her taking a deep breath. Both of them need a moment to collect themselves. "So," (y/n) says in a meek voice, "Would you like to grab some food somewhere? It's getting late." Yoriichi feels relieved about the topic change. "Yes, sure. How about some udon? Mrs. Nakamura mentioned a shop a bit outside the village.", he proposes. "Great idea! That sounds amazing. I could use some fresh air away from all this trouble.", (y/n) agrees. She's not sure if she means the market or what just happened.

The two walk to the udon shop in silence. Since the village is located on a mountain, the udon shop is a bit further up the mountain. When the two arrive, the sun has already started to set. When the two hold their bowls, they take a seat at a bench the furthest away from the other guests. They sit next to each other in an attempt to not have to look each other in the eyes. Instead, they are presented with the sunset that slowly settles over the valley. (Y/n) almost forgets her food over the natural spectacle. After they both finished their food, they continue sitting on the bench and staring at the setting sun. The sun colors the entire valley in red and orange hues. It looks as if the villages and the surrounding trees are on fire. (Y/n) sighs deeply. Yoriichi takes a look at her face. The orange of the sun sparkles in her eyes. Noticing Yoriichi's stare, she looks up to him and gives him a smile. "What are you thinking about, Yoriichi?", she asks him. I'm thinking about earlier. How soft you felt when I held you, he thinks but feels embarrassed and guilty the moment the thought crosses his mind. Instead, he simply shrugs. "You can't see the sunset from the cottage. The sun disappears behind the trees way before it starts having this color.", she points out. "Would you prefer to live on a mountain then?", Yoriichi asks her. "God no," (y/n) laughs, "Imagine having to pull that cart up a mountain every time I come back from a market. No, thank you." Yoriichi turns away from her and takes another look at the sunset. "You know, I could pull it up for you every time.", he says. (Y/n) looks at him surprised. "Oh, that's sweet of you. Does that mean you want to live on a mountain?", she asks him. Yoriichi shrugs again. This silences (y/n) for a moment. His apathy sometimes stuns her. How can he not know what he wants from life? Sometimes it seems as if the only thing he ever cares about is doing his duty as a demon slayer. "You know, (y/f/n), my fiancée always wanted to live on a mountain. He grew up on one and wanted the same for our children." Yoriichi is taken aback by this a bit. It's the first time she mentions his name and shares information about him. This must be the not forgetting part of the day, he thinks.

"Uta was pregnant when she died", he suddenly blurts out. He doesn't know where that came from. "Oh." is all (y/n) can come up with. This is new information to her. "I'm really sorry, Yoriichi.", she says quietly. After a while, she adds hesitantly: "I've been pregnant before." It's not something she wanted to share with him before, but it feels right in this moment. "I-i... Please don't think less of me now...", she rambles on. "What happened?", Yoriichi asks. (Y/n) turns away from him. "I don't know. It didn't stick. Lost it in the second trimester.", she answers. Her shoulders drop. "You know, the baby was the reason why we decided to get married. (Y/f/n) was so excited. He took the miscarriage a lot calmer than me. Promised me that we'd try again after the wedding.", (y/n) explains quietly. Slowly, Yoriichi puts his arm around her and squeezes her arm. For a moment (y/n) tenses up. Then, she relaxes and leans her head against his shoulder. "Seems like we both lost our future.", he concludes. (Y/n) thinks about this for a moment. "A future.", she corrects him, "We've lost a possible future. We're not dead yet. So... there's still a future. Just a different one." Yoriichi hums in agreement. "One worth living for?", he asks. Shocked, (y/n) sits up. "Of course. I mean... with (y/s/n) and you... that's quite a good future, I'd say.", she exclaims. Yoriichi gives her a soft smile. "I'm glad that you think our future is good.", he says. (Y/n) blinks at him dumbfoundedly. Our future, she thinks. "And you?", she asks carefully, "Do you think it's a good future?". She feels him squeezing her arm. "Yes, I do."

They stay at the bench until the sun's down and the workers at the udon shop start lighting lanterns. "We should head back to the guest house.", Yoriichi points out. He doesn't like being outside after dark. He didn't bring his sword since he didn't assume they would be out this late. (Y/n) nods and hops up from the bench. The walk back into the village becomes a real challenge for (y/n). With the sun down, the only light that lightens their path is the slim crescent moon. Due to his work, Yoriichi has no problem navigating in the dark, but (y/n) is unsteady in her steps and stumbles over every twig in her way. "I'm really sorry, Yoriichi. I must seem like a bull in a china shop to you.", she apologizes to him. "Don't worry about it. Let me help you. Here, take my hand.", Yoriichi offers. Hesitantly, (y/n) reaches out for his hand. It's warm but itchy and hard in hers. His sword training left him with plenty of callus on the inside of his hands. (Y/n) is still unsteady on her feet but Yoriichi calmly leads her down the path. (Y/n) is glad that she needs to focus on her steps and barely has any time to focus on Yoriichi's hands. Eventually, they make it back into the village where lanterns light their path. Nevertheless, Yoriichi doesn't let go of (y/n)'s hand. I wonder if he forgot, (y/n) thinks. It's not like she wants to let go. She likes holding hands with someone. She already dreads the day when (y/s/n) gets too old and doesn't want to hold hers anymore. She never thought she would anybody's hand again after that. She notices how the distance between her and Yoriichi gets thinner as they walk beside each other. Their arms brush against each other from time to time. (Y/n)'s heart starts to speed up and blood rushes into her face. Great, now I have to think about it, she thinks. I hope my hand isn't getting sweaty, she worries. Before (y/n) can worry any longer about sweaty palms, they arrive at the guest house.

Mrs. Nakamura greets them as they enter the house. "Ah, look who's back so late. Did you two have a great time?", she asks them. (Y/n) gives her a polite smile. "Yes, we were at the market.", she tells Mrs. Nakamura. "Ah, and did your lovely husband get you something nice?", she inquires. (Y/n) turns red a bit again. "Uhm... yes, he did.", she stutters. Mrs. Nakamura laughs wholeheartedly at that. "See, young man? I knew you got this.", she tells Yoriichi who embarrassedly rubs the back of his head. When they walk back to their room, (y/n) asks what Mrs. Nakamura was talking about. "Just a misunderstanding that came up when I asked for a second futon.", he tries to brush it off. "Oh, did she think we had a fight?", (y/n) asks dumbfounded. "Uhm, no that's not it...", Yoriichi replies. His discomfort grows with every word. (Y/n) broods on this while they enter their room. "Oh, I've got it. She thought I didn't want to have sex with you!", she announces proudly. Yoriichi looks at her flabbergasted. He definitely didn't expect (y/n) to be this blunt. (Y/n) bursts out laughing at the sight of Yoriichi's facial expression. "Am I right?", she says wiping a tear from the side of her face. All Yoriichi can do is nod. "That must've hit your ego hard.", she notes as she falls onto the futon. "Why that?", Yoriichi asks as he sits on his own futon cross-legged. (Y/n) props her head onto her arm. "Well, men tend to get offended when women tell them they don't want them in that way. And when other people get to know about that, men feel humiliated and get very angry.", she points out. "Did that happen to you before?", he asks her. "Just enough to make me marry a total stranger.", (y/n) shrugs. "Was it really that bad?", he wonders. (Y/n) sits up. "You're a kind man, Yoriichi. But not every man is like that. Some men think they have a right to take whatever they want.", she replies calmly. When she sees the worried wrinkles on Yoriichi's forehead, she quickly adds: "But it's stupid to try to get on with a woman who knows which plant can kill you slowly but painfully." Yoriichi rises his eyebrow in suspicion. "Not like I've ever killed anybody. I don't have it in me, really!", she quickly defends herself. Yoriichi chuckles at that. "No, you don't.", he concludes.

"Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean?", (y/n) pouts. Yoriichi has to chuckle again. "You're too nice for that. Also, I doubt you can take down a man as tall as me.", he points out. "Hey!", (y/n) exclaims, "Is that a challenge? Cause I'll fight you". She quickly stands up and takes on a fighting stance. Yoriichi has to suppress a grin. With that stance, she's knocked off her feet in seconds, he thinks to himself. "I'm not going to fight you.", he notes. "Why?", (y/n) flashes him a grin, "You think you'll lose?" This time Yoriichi bursts out laughing. (Y/n) never heard him laughing that honestly. It's infectious, she thinks. "I don't want to sound too presumptuously, but I'm pretty sure your chances are slim.", he teases her. "Oh, right, because you're the strongest demon slayer alive.", (y/n) says, "I'm not that strong.", Yoriichi says quietly. "Ah, but then you are scared to lose against a girl!" (y/n) mocks. Yoriichi slowly gets up. (Y/n) swallows. She didn't think he would actually take on the challenge. Maybe she teased him too much. Or he felt comfortable enough to boast a little. With Yoriichi's neutral face, there is no way to tell. "You sure about this?", Yoriichi asks. No going back now, (y/n) thinks. "Absolutely.", she says trying to sound confident. What happens next, is a mystery to (y/n). Suddenly, she's laying on her back with Yoriichi standing above her. Damn him, I'm not going down without a fight, she thinks. Quickly, she pushes her legs together in between which Yoriichi stands. Not having expected (y/n)'s move, she manages to destabilize Yoriichi's stance. Having nothing to hold onto, Yoriichi falls forward but manages to soften the blow by falling onto his elbows.

When he opens his eyes again he's confronted with (y/n)'s surprised face. Only then, he notices the position they are in. (Y/n) is under him and at least half of his body is pressed up to hers. Their faces are only centimeters apart. He could count the freckles on her face if he wanted to. He notices how he slightly dips forward. His long hair tickles the side of her face. She blinks and just like that the moment's over. Yoriichi breaks eye contact and quickly removes himself from her. Carefully, (y/n) sits up. "Oh my," she chuckles uncertainly, "There's a lot of falling today. I'm sorry I'm so clumsy." Yoriichi catches his breath. "Yeah, I guess that's enough falling for today. Let's go to bed.", he replies. (Y/n) sighs relieved. "Yes! Totally! I go to the bathroom and change real quick.", she says and quickly hurries out of the door. Yoriichi leans against the wall, trying to calm his heartbeat. No more fighting, he decides for himself. He's not sure he would survive another moment like this.

[1wishand1thought]

MY SNEAKY LITTLE FOX| PART 2

Kaz Brekker x Fem. Y/N

Here you have part 1, in case you haven't read it yet: part 1

Summary: Kaz struggles to keep y/n out of his mind, her absence making him worried about the possibility of losing his most secret investment. The uncertainty of her presence in Ketterdam forces him to get into deep waters, using his knowledge to get to where she lives, only to find himself lost in the sound of her voice.

Warnings: NSFW/ Nudity descriptions, naughty vocabulary(is that even the right word? I only see this as poetic writing lmao, OKAY SORRY. let's continue).

A/N: OH SAINTS THIS ONE WAS A WHOLE CHALLENGE GUYS. I had a clear path to write this, and then a million Kruge stepped in my way avoiding me to keep going. Seriously, I lost motivation like Jesper lost money when betting. Anyway I hope you like it, it's a bit longer than the first one, I'll put the word count later. LOVE YOU, TKYSM FOR 114 NOTES IN PART 1🫶🏻🥹

Wordcount: 3417.

A week had passed since the incident. A whole damn week where her inner struggles to not think of him just got worse.

The night washed over the city, only with the twilight and the stars flickers enlightening the dark and empty streets of the city. She was in her house now, an underground place in Ketterdam.

Y/n paced back and forth as if she was trying to solve a puzzle to finally ease her thoughts, but instead, failed every time. Her mind kept replaying his voice, as she had memorized every detail, treating it like a meticulous plan: no flaws or loose ends. All she wanted was to forget him, to comply with the words that left his mouth like a hundred bullets:

"You better keep your mouth shut and never bring this up in a conversation ever again, y/n... Or else you'll regret it for the rest of your days," he had warned her back then, as he covered his bare hands with a pair of leathery gloves.

She regretted everything about that night; the way his neck seemed so tight, as if he was a disguised thief, holding back a painful scream. She remembered how the vein on the side of his forehead pumped fiercely as if it was trying to break free from his face. Anger rose inside her.

Why did he let her watch?

Was that a sort of "taunting you because I know all your secrets" improvised joke? Because yes, she felt the heat and arousal bubbling inside her when he fidgeted with his shaft that night. She even felt as if she was the damn cock in his hands.

But did he know all her secrets? Did he know that she hadn't reached the climax in years? Perhaps he even knew where she lived. It aggravated her that he let her see him in such a vulnerable state, so intime, so... appealing.

A tattoo was carved into her frightened mind. Did he do it to taunt her, then? Does he know all about her?

She discarded every suggestion. The only personal information she had divulged to Kaz was her name and skills. She had also warned him to keep her recruitment a secret, and maybe she had even mentioned how she preferred to keep to herself rather than socialize with the people of Ketterdam. So all her personal information was deeply buried in her mind.

What she had yet to realize was that Kaz had her entire birth chart stored in a well-guarded section of his restless brain. He always found a way to know everything, as he couldn't bear not knowing it all.

He somehow, and with the help of his witty brain, managed to get her full name and the address to her place. He had also discovered details about her lineage and parents, who were long gone either to hell or with the saints. It wasn't much, but considering the time it took him to obtain such valuable information, it was certainly something.

Y/n hadn't even sneaked near the Barrel to eavesdrop from outside Kaz's office. Her eyes were glued to the stonewall in front of her now, and the cold moonlight brought back memories of Kaz's figure. His image haunted her like a nightmare, constantly invading her thoughts for the past seven days.

She needed to let go, but she was certain she couldn't do it. She hissed in frustration, her back landing on the bed behind her. The cold bedspread sent shivers through her warm body. She was only wearing her underclothes, as she was alone in her home.

The place had no walls dividing the spaces except for the bathtub and toilet in the corner, where no natural light reflected on the porcelain washbasin or bath other than the warm light of the candles she had spread there.

Her gaze drifted back to the long, narrow window that looked out onto the bustling street above. In the morning and through the murky glass, she could make out the feet of pedestrians as they hurried past. It was a small connection to the outside world that faded at night. No pedestrians were outside now, mostly because all the nearby buildings were full of early workers and showmen waiting for the early hours to head back to their workspaces.

A few candles illuminated the dining room placed a few steps away from the kitchen, the warm light spread only to the border of her bed and collided with the cold tone of the moon. Still, the kitchen was dark, as the candlelight reflected on the only tall furniture in the kitchen. The stone step separating the table from her bedroom space prevented her from having a clear view of the entrance.

Back at the club, Kaz's stress had accumulated in the last few days and had now reached its peak. He fidgeted with the crow head holder of his cane as he sat in his office, his eyes fixated on the wall, his breath coming out in short, heavy gasps. His free hand tightly gripped the edge of his desk, causing his knuckles to turn white beneath the fabric.

To his right, a half-empty bottle of brandy sat on his desk, and untouched papers and bills piled up in a messy tower before him. He couldn't focus on them, not with her image haunting his thoughts.

《Where are you?》 he wondered as his mind drifted back to her face. He could recall the subtle movements of her thighs, the panic in her blushed cheeks as she tried not to get caught. It was all too appealing.

It was for the best that he cut the emotional ties with her. He had a club to run, money to make, and he couldn't afford any distractions. But he needed her for the job. He needed her unique set of skills. The way she could vanish into the shadows of Ketterdam like Inej once did. The only difference between them being a few distinguishable features.

He considered going to check if she was there, fearing that she might have left Ketterdam after their last encounter. He needed to be certain of her presence, otherwise, he would have to find someone else to do her job, which he didn't want to do.

As time passed, his anxiety grew, and he was unable to shake the memories of her from his mind. His thoughts were in turmoil, and he knew he needed to find a way to focus before it was too late. It shouldn't have been difficult to concentrate, given that he didn't like her.

Kaz didn't even realize when he left his office, unconsciously stepping out and leaving his cane on his desk. He didn't scold Jesper for flirting with Wylan at the bar when he was supposed to be working. Of course, the couple wondered where their boss was going, but neither of them dared to ask him about it. He seemed lost in thought as his leg wobbled a bit from the imbalance. His frown was deeper than usual, and one of his gloved hands was clenched into a fist at his side.

Fortunately, her place was not too far from the club, but it was far enough that, as if by a miracle, her slightly warm body became warmer, her cheeks flushed, and eventually, after a few minutes, she found herself breathing heavily. Her hands moved in time with her thoughts, and the images of Kaz, so vivid in her mind, only served to fuel her fire. She had done this a few times in the last week to try to free her mind of the torture his image spur her to do, at the same time that she put all her efforts to release the moan fighting to come out. This time felt different, as if her body knew something she didn't.

Unbeknownst to her, Kaz was nearby, clenching his teeth so tightly that it made his jaw hurt. It made him wonder if it was due to her absence from work, or the way she made him feel that produced this sort of reactive action.

He knew a knock on the door would be odd, considering that she told him she was not a very social person, hence didn't have any friends.

So, he decided to use his brain. He made sure to see if there was any visible light reflecting into the streets from the visible lower window almost glued to the floor. No light was visible. Good.

He knew she lived unseen in Ketterdam.

Like a fox hiding from the danger, without knowing the danger it held inside. He new it though, probably why he called her that.

He would just leave an envelope with the tasks he had for her and then he would leave. If she read it, she would show up in his office. If not, then she had made her choice very clear.

His lockpicking skills gave him easy access to her place. He tried to keep his limp as light as possible so as not to make his presence obvious. He opened the door with little noise, which was surprising considering it was a wooden door. However, the floor was made of pure stone.

He noticed the dark, small kitchen and immediately took in the warm light of the candles illuminating the rest of the space.

He thought she might have left the candles on, so he didn't take a wider glimpse of the room. He left the envelope on the dark counter and right after reaching for the door handle, he heard it.

His feet locked to the floor, and his chest stopped. Kaz turned his head to the side to take in the sound more clearly. It was as if someone was having a nightmare, with uneven but barely audible breaths. The table and chairs of the tiny dining room obstructed his view, preventing him from seeing the full scene.

His feet moved as a reflex, after silently closing the door before him, he took some cautious and slow steps forward. And then, when he got a clear view, a flame that he feared had been extinguished was ignited from the ashes, burning fiercely inside him. Evaporating all his senses of destruction and vengeance, and replacing them with a gutting desire.

He took in the scene, his hands were sweaty, his mouth slightly opened, and his chest heaving.

Whimpers.

He froze, not making a sound; like a sculpture, he didn't move a muscle. He just stood there, transfixed by the sight before him, his eyes locked on it.

On her.

She was caressing herself, one hand occupied with her breasts, fidgeting with her nipples, and the other under her panties. Her eyes were closed, portraying pain and torture, but deep inside her arousal increased with every touch.

She unlocked a part of her mind that allowed her to visualize Kaz in front of her. As she seemed to have found her only inspiration that may allow her to finally cum. Something she had avoided the last week.

She tried before touching herself thinking of something else, making up someone else’s face in her mind, failing relentlessly every time.

Now, in her mind, a bulge was evident in Kaz's usual black pants, his hands bare, and his cheeks flushed. The image made her wince from pleasure. Her lower lip was tugged between her teeth. Each brush of her hand made her body quake.

A few seconds later she opened her eyes, and she swore she saw her boss's face.

There, in the darkness.

He was staring at her intently, and for a moment, she stopped, bewildered. Her red cheeks acted like fire in her body, burning her entirely with embarrassment and excitement.

《Why are you stopping? I didn't stop when you caught me jerking off》 He thought. His brain took such action as offensive, breaking the pleasant view.

"Don't," the shadow spoke, panting, desperate, and begging almost.

Kaz Brekker wasn't the type of man who begged, not even when he was staring death itself in the face. But now his mind betrayed him, his words being a reflex to his needs.

His dark figure leaned closer to the bed, finally revealing his pale temple. Y/n's heart hammered in her chest as if it was trying to escape like a frightened child. "Don't... don't stop, y/n," There it was again, his voice roaring. His thoughts now sprinting out of an opened cage that would be too hard to lock again given the view. His hoarse and needy voice echoed along her soft gasps.

It took a few seconds for her to realize it wasn't a trick, it wasn't a hologram, something impossible to touch. Kaz Brekker was in front of her, his jaw looked tight, his expression sharp like a blade cutting trough her; his gaze taking in every inch of her skin.

He was like a starved animal waiting to finally get its prey after several failed attempts. He watched every movement, enjoying what he had craved several times where only his imagination was able to put it to work. Now, being real and having her in flesh and bones before him, he didn't want her to stop, nor would he allow it.

It felt as if the candles turned into a hundred torches. The heat around them was both pleasing and hurtful. He wanted to touch her, but somehow his hands were blocked to each side of his body. Loose strands of hair fell over his eyes, but it didn't act as a distraction, his focus being only on her figure. The drip of the several candles blended with the sound of her wet pussy.

His sharp blue eyes found their way to hers, an invisible string forcing to look each other, making it impossible for any of them to break eye contact.

Kaz made his way in front of the bed and sat in the nearby wooden chair. His Adam's apple wobbled as he swallowed hard. The bulge in his pants was evident now, just as y/n had imagined minutes ago.

"What...," her voice cracked, making it impossible for her greedy self to form a full sentence as she was overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. He cut her off sharply, in a demanding tone.

"Shush," he growled, the usual gelid expression covering his face entirely. He was fighting the urge to take his glove off and replace her own hands with his.

Oh, he wanted to squeeze those tits and lick her nipples so badly.

However, his hands still wouldn't move. He felt like a prisoner in his own body, struggling to break free. The uncertainty of how his body would react when he touched her still lingered in his mind.

"Just keep doing it," he demanded, his eyes moving from her face to between her legs, as to try to send her an indirect message of what to do next.

She pushed her underwear aside, mostly due to the desperation taking over her entire body, and for the hint she caught in his eyes. Her wet cunt being visible now.

Y/n closed her eyes, enjoying how she felt when she fingered herself, just as he enjoyed watching her doing so. Her mouth gaped as the shivers she felt took her higher with every touch, the orgasm closer with every passing second.

"Open your eyes," Kaz urged, his voice growing deeper and more desperate. He felt his dick pumping, trying to break free and holding back the urge to cum right then beneath the black fabric.

An inner fight with his mind allowed him to move again a few moments later. A pair of eager hands unbuttoned his pants, showing his greedy bulge over his black boxers.

Y/n complied with his orders and opened her eyes, only to catch him with his gloved hands now full of his cock, just like the other night, adding the fact that she was also with her hands occupied doing the same to herself.

He didn't even bother in taking his gloves off; he just needed to stroke it.

It went on for a few more minutes, with him watching her thrust her fingers in and out of her pussy faster, and she watched him stroking his dick. Both of them, with their arousals and voices, provided the only sound that bounced off every wall, echoing in their ears and carving like an unforgettable memory inside their minds.

With their eyes locked onto each other, their hands fully occupied, and a layer of sweat on their faces under the warm light of the candles, they finally came. Kaz was the first one, and he was more silent this time given all he wanted to hear was her, as he'd imagined: her voice breaking, her legs squirting, her chest going up and down as if she had just run a marathon throughout all of Kerch. He wanted to hear her say his name.

Y/n came a few seconds later, her voice breaking, the sound louder than ever between the walls, she finally gave in, letting the moan out. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and the next words would carve in the deepest part of Kaz's mind, like a catchy song that only he could give himself the pleasure of repeating. "Fuck— Kaz!" She yelled, not so loud but enough to make Dirtyhands bite his lower lip.

He compared what he had imagined to the view before him, they were quite alike, except for the lack of Kaz's touch on her skin.

It took a few moments for Y/n to ease her breathing. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling. Embarrassment washed over her as she didn't dare to look at the man in front of her.

His lips twisted and contorted into a crooked grin, revealing his satisfaction with what he had just seen. His usual dark eyes betrayed little emotion, but deep down he was afraid to accept the eagerness that burned within him. He wanted her and hoped to make her his right then and there, but the option of him panicking when touching her frightened his mind. It aggravated him: to have her in his gaze and not be able to feel her skin.

Hidden inside Kaz's heart, the flame was still on. He longed for the day when he would finally take his naked hands and feel how wet she was, with no intrusive thoughts in their way.

He took his right glove—now covered in cum– off, whilst still glaring at her body on the bed.

"I need your presence for the job," he muttered, ignoring the fact she was still naked, panting slightly, and her eyes lost in her thoughts.

She wasn't mad about him changing the topic. She hadn't yet found the words to say something anyways.

His normal façade cut sharp like a knife. He knew it was for the best. He tried to convince himself that there would not be a third occasion, given that, if he stood any longer, he would not cum over his gloves but on her stomach. And his hands would not be holding his cock but her hips, keeping her still in the bed.

"If you still want to work for me, I'll be expecting you tomorrow night at the usual time," he said, tilting his head toward her direction as he turned around to leave, taking her utter silence as a reply.

On the other hand, Kaz didn't want to say what echoed in his mind. An uncontrollable pull was trying to stop him from leaving, encouraging him to just give in to her. To finally betray his mind and let something other than revenge and money in his heavy heart, allowing his hands to touch someone else's skin.

He wanted to feel hers under his fingertips, to taste her breath in his mouth. Something that through the passing of months he never accepted until now. But words failed him as they often did, forcing him to repeat the same romantic situation he had with Inej years ago.

So, with the clicking sound of the door closing behind him, they gave an end to their interaction, which would allegedly be the last one, and both let out a long sigh of relief.

Putting an end to his torture of not being brave enough to touch her, and to her torment of not being able to feel his touch.

HII!! So, as I wrote at the beginning, writing this was a love-hate relationship considering my sudden motivation loss. I was so motivated writing this and then BANG, my mind goes blank as fast as Kaz's heart when he sees Inej haha.

Anyway, I really, reaaally hope you like it and if you don't then it's okay we can pretend that this doesn't exists 🫶🏻🤣

Tag list ( the lovely users that asked for a part two):

@outlawqueen17 @bunneex

@tiana76 @freddycarterswife

[sweatywitchtree]

Chapter One: She Gets Her Revenge

---

### **Chapter One: She Gets Her Revenge**

The halls of the college felt eerily familiar, like a ghost from my past had come back to haunt me. As I walked through the crowded campus, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the memories pressing down on me. It was a different world now—one filled with laughter, bustling students, and the promise of freedom. But for me, it was a reminder of everything I had endured.

It had been years since I last saw them, the trio who had made my childhood a nightmare: Gojo, Geto, and Shoko. Their laughter echoed in my mind, the taunts still fresh, like scars I couldn’t quite forget. But today, those scars were not just reminders of pain; they were fuel for my revenge.

I paused at a corner, taking a breath. I was no longer the timid girl they bullied. I had changed—physically, mentally, and emotionally. My curves had filled out, and I had learned to carry myself with a confidence I hadn’t known before. The big breasts they once mocked had become part of my strength, a weapon I intended to wield carefully.

As I spotted Gojo leaning against a wall, a casual smirk on his face, my heart raced. He was surrounded by friends, his laughter ringing through the air. The sight of him sparked a mix of anger and exhilaration. This was the moment I had been waiting for. I stepped forward, weaving through the crowd, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Y/N?” Gojo’s voice cut through the noise as I approached. The playful glint in his eyes dimmed slightly when he recognized me. “Is that really you?”

I offered a tight smile, my pulse quickening. “Yeah, it’s me. Funny running into you here.”

His friends looked between us, curiosity piqued. “You’ve changed,” he said, a hint of surprise lacing his tone. “For the better, I guess.”

The compliment felt hollow. I remembered every cruel word he had ever said, every laugh at my expense. “Thanks, Gojo,” I replied, keeping my voice steady. “I’ve had some time to work on myself.”

The atmosphere shifted subtly as I leaned in, lowering my voice just enough for him to hear. “You remember how you used to make me feel? Like I was nothing?” I let the words hang in the air, watching the confusion cross his face.

He shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean—”

I cut him off, feeling a rush of power. “No, you didn’t mean it, but you did it anyway. You and your friends.” I gestured toward his group, who were now listening intently. “You thought it was all a joke, right?”

The mood grew tense. I could see the gears turning in Gojo’s mind as he tried to regain his composure. “That was a long time ago. We were kids.”

“Kids who thought it was okay to ruin someone’s life?” I challenged, my voice steady but low, each word punctuated with emotion. “You have no idea what I went through.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but I could see the realization dawning on him. I was no longer the victim; I was standing up for myself.

“Look, I’m not here to fight,” I continued, softening my tone just slightly, hoping to lure him in. “I just want you to understand that those jokes, they stick with you. They haunt you.”

Gojo's friends were silent now, sensing the shift. I could feel their curiosity and unease. It was my moment to turn the tables, to reclaim my narrative.

“You think you’re so charming and untouchable,” I said, taking a step closer, my voice lowering to a whisper. “But what if I told you I’m not afraid of you anymore? What if I told you I’m stronger than you’ll ever know?”

A flicker of uncertainty passed across his face, and I relished it. This was the power I had been searching for, the strength I had forged from pain.

“Maybe you should watch your back,” I finished, letting the words hang ominously in the air. Then I turned on my heel, leaving him and his friends in stunned silence, the thrill of victory coursing through me.

As I walked away, I felt lighter, empowered. This was just the beginning of my revenge, a small but significant victory against the ghosts of my past. I knew I had to be careful; my plan was just starting to unfold. But in that moment, I was no longer a victim. I was Y/N, and I was taking control of my life.

---

This version of the chapter aims to be realistic while incorporating Y/N's emotional journey and her interactions with her childhood bullies. If you’d like to adjust any part of the narrative or explore different elements, feel free to let me know!

[glamoureddreamer]

The past

Undertale (Blue x Dream)

Warnings: light violence, mention of weapons, mention of breaking bones, and nightmares (please let me know if I’ve missed anything)

I hope you all enjoy I hope you all have a great day! Remember to take care of yourselves!

Dream has had the same few dreams for hundreds of years, he could hardly call them nightmares anymore.

They don’t affect him as much as they did in the past, he use to wake up screaming and crying for his brother. Now, he just wakes up like any other day.

When he woke up in his dream he was immediately met with a feeling of nostalgia. Right in front of him was the tree of feelings, his mother, his home.

There was giggling and talking it came from by the tree. A little version of himself was running around the tree acting like the animals his brother Nightmare read to him about.

He knew what dream this was instantly. This was the day he had first witnessed the evil side of the villagers. The side his brother always saw.

The dream started great it always did, he loved seeing him and his brother play. But the dream turned to hell so quickly. Right on cue somebody yelled ‘Hey!’ while walking up the hill to the tree, to his brother.

The little version of Dream jumped down the tree and greeted them with a bright smile, asking if they were here for his apples. Dream remembered ignoring the bats and weapons they held in their hands, thinking it was just for a game he hadn’t heard of before. Oh but how wrong he was hurt.

Two of the monsters pushed past him like he was nothing and walked up to his brother and the tree.

Little Dream was about to go stop them when one of the other monsters grabbed him. The monster yanked on little Dream’s arm making him cry out as his arm was twisted.

Immediately Nightmare stood up letting his book drop, Dream now realized that his brother was terrified of the villagers but regardless stood up to them to save him. Dream wished he had done the same, maybe they wouldn’t be in this mess.

“Let my brother go!” Nightmare yelled at them. The monsters ignored him and took a few steps closer holding up their weapons.

Nightmare’s face turns from anger to pure fear. They grab onto his indigo tunic and pulled him off the ground, they slam his small body into the tree, and there was a sickening crack.

“No! Please! Stop! You do not have to do this! I will give you all the apples you want! Please just do not hurt him!” Little Dream cried trying to pull his arm out of the monster's grip.

The one holding him smacked him, making little Dream freeze. Tears filled his eyes quickly as he holds his cheekbone.

“You really think this is about apples, you are as dumb as you look.” They sneered.

Dream stood from afar opening his mouth, mouthing all the words.

This dream, this trauma was nothing new for him. He hated to admit it but it still hurt sometimes to see dreams like this one. Nightmare’s cries will forever haunt him, if he was better, if he had known, he could’ve prevented the apple incident.

Little Dream sobs and begs for them to stop hurting his brother and to just leave, they ignore him until they are done.

The villagers finally leave, back then it felt like years. Little Dream was let go and once he was he ran up to his brother immediately.

Little Dream sat on the ground holding his brother in his arms.

Dream felt his soul sink. That wasn’t normal. In the real incident, in all the dreams before this one, he helped Nightmare stand so he could take him down to the lake and clean his wounds.

Dream walked closer to the pair, Nightmare was begging softly for his brother to save him.

“B-Brother… help-“ Nightmare choked out through his pain and tears. Little Dream did nothing just continued to stare down at his brother.

“Drre-am p-lease I-ack!” He watched helplessly as little Dream pulled out a knife and stabbed Nightmare’s apple soul. The other dusts before him crying in pain.

“NO!” Dream cried out. Little Dream turns towards the real Dream with black soulless eyes that poured down his face.

Dream gasps falling on his tailbone, he winces in pain staring at little Dream. He offers the real Dream a creepy smile, it made Dream feel cold.

“It is all your fault.”

“N-no I-“ Dream tries to explain his words getting caught in his nonexistent throat. He begins to sob.

“You did this.”

“You killed him.”

“No, it is not I..”

“You could not save him-“

“NO! NO! NO! NO!-” Dream dug his fingers into his skull screaming no over and over.

“Dream. It is your fault.”

“No.” He cries over and over slowly getting quieter.

“Dream. You killed him.”

“Dream. Y-“

“Dream?”

“Dream?!”

~~~

Dream sat up quickly panting heavily, he was covered in a thick layer of cold sweat.

Immediately Dream looks around, he needed Nightmare. Was Nightmare okay?! He needed to make sure he was okay!

He stops seeing looking around once his eyes land on Blue looking at Dream in concern.

Reality caught up with him.

Right. Nightmare was corrupted because of him. They were still at war with each other.

“Dream, are you okay?“ Blue asks setting a hand on Dream’s shoulder, he squeezes it gently trying to get the guardian's attention.

“Dream?” Blue asked gently. Dream sniffled golden tears pouring out from his sockets. Dream shook his head.

“Oh, Dream..” Blue pulls Dream into his lap with ease and cuddles him. He rocks the sobbing skeleton in his arms gently.

Dream shoves his face deep into Blue’s slightly oversized shirt, sobbing hard. Blue rubs his back gently whispering words of comfort.

“It’s okay.”

“Let it all out Dreamy.”

“I’m here, deep breaths.”

Dream wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, all he knows it that he cried until he felt like he couldn’t anymore.

Dream pulls back still sniffling and hiccuping. Blue radiated love, concern, and affection, it was nice to know Blue wasn’t upset at him for waking him up.

Blue rubs his humerus asking him if he wanted to talk about it. Dream nods taking a deep breath trying to mentally prepare himself. Blue smiles encouragingly and took Dream’s hand squeezing it lightly.

“When your ready Dream.” Dream offers a small bittersweet smile, then begins to go over his dream. At the end of the explanation, Dream was struggling not to cry again.

“Dream that didn’t happen, nor would it ever happen.” Dream leans down hugging Blue again, trying not to cry.

“You did all you could, I’m sure Nightmare was thankful.”

“But it was not enough!” Dream cries. “He is gone now, I will never get him back! I miss him!”

“Shhh, it’s okay deep breaths.” Blue rocks him again hoping to calm him from his panic.

They continue this until Dream was once again calm. Dream shakily wipes his tears.

“What if next time we battle them, we bring no weapons and try to suggest a peace treaty?” Blue suggests, Dream sniffles nodding with a slight smile.

“Yes, that..that sounds nice…thank you Blue.” Blue smiles and pecks his teeth.

“Don’t thank me! I’m your date-mate! I’m supposed to take care of you in your times of need!” Dream chuckles at his enthusiasm.

It got quiet for a moment between them it wasn’t pleasant but it wasn’t terrible either. They just cuddle each other as Dream tries to soak up Blue’s love and feel better.

“I do not want to go back to sleep.” Dream quietly admits.

“That’s more than okay, I’ll stay up with you. Is there anything in particular you need?” Dream hesitated for a moment before he spoke.

“Cuddles.” He whispered, Blue smiled with a bright grin his eye lights turning into big blue stars.

“I have the best idea then!” Blue scoops Dream with ease making the golden skeleton yelp.

Blue giggles a little making Dream flush, Blue pecks his cheekbone before they head into the castle living room.

Blue sets Dream on the couch before giving him a blanket and his favorite pillow.

“Here, pick a movie or show you want to watch,” Blue says handing Dream the tv remote. Dream thanks him quietly.

“Stay here for a moment I have a surprise!” Blue says vanishing into thin air. Dream sets the remote down and cuddles the pillow in his arms.

It felt nice, he was so lucky to have Blue.

Blue was back a few moments later holding two mugs that were steaming.

“I know you like tea, but this felt like a hot chocolate kind of moment.” Blue smiles handing Dream the mug.

“Careful it’s still hot,” Blue warns kindly. Dream smiles and blows on it.

Blue sits next to Dream and wraps an arm around his boyfriend's waist.

“I love you Blue, thank you again.”

“I love you the most Dream! And it’s not a problem at all! I love taking care of you!”

[shrinkthisviolet]

❝ if you ever need a place to stay, let me know, okay? ❞ for Iris and Cisco please?

This one…really got away from me 😅 in a good way though! Under the cut for length (and ofc this is post-s3, pre-s4):

Cisco thought he’d gotten to know Iris pretty well over the past few years. Even amidst Barry's coma when they’d first met, they’d become fast friends. Iris found him more approachable than Caitlin at the time, and Cisco found Iris a welcome spot of bright optimism in a dreary place filled with loss.

Iris was always like that. Always encouraging, optimistic, nurturing. Cisco had seen her cry plenty of times, but he’d also seen her brush it off when she saw him, change the subject. And he’d never really felt like it was his place to say much about it. Especially since by the time he did feel like they were friendly enough for him to do anything, Barry was awake, and Iris was dating Eddie, and...Cisco knew where he’d be more of a hindrance than a help.

But now…in the wake of Barry leaving, it fell to Iris and Cisco in different ways to cope. Barry had placed the burden of leadership on Cisco’s shoulders, told Iris to keep growing, loving, and running, and Caitlin was...off dealing with her own stuff.

Cisco tried, but...he was no leader. He could give Wally direction behind the comms just fine, but...really, he was more intent on getting Barry back, so that he could set everything right. Maybe things would make sense again. Maybe...

Maybe his best friend’s bright smile would stop haunting him. Maybe Savitar would.

(The sight of that hand, so close, so close���he knew about Cisco's nightmares, he knew how much it hurt, how Cisco remembered every agonizing detail, and he'd still—

“Not you,” Savitar cooed, “her.” His other best friend. As if that was any more merciful.)

Iris wasn’t doing much better. She’d quit her job, she was apparently still living at the loft...and more often than not, she offered to run comms while Cisco went to see Harry, or Dr. McGee, or Jay Garrick's wife Joan, or...

Or while he just went home, curled up into a ball, and sobbed, screamed, dreamed about Barry returning, woke to that being only a fantasy.

It got easier, passing that torch to Iris. He hadn't even realized it until it had already happened. He didn’t even realize that she was there after he left hours after sunset, and there before he came by at 7am.

What he did know was that one day, he left, realized hours later that he’d forgotten something, came back in...and found Iris hunched over the desk, sobbing quietly.

And then it hit him. Hard.

“Iris...?”

She startled, wiping at her eyes and trying for a smile that didn't hold. Once, twice, thrice. “Oh. Cisco. I...I didn't realize...I thought you’d—”

“Yeah, I just...I forgot something,” he said. “I, um...” He was almost tempted to make a quick escape, but Iris’s heartbreak rooted him in place. “Are you...?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly.

“Right. I just. You don't look—”

“I said I’m fine!” She snapped, sighing right after. “Sorry. I just—”

“No, I shouldn’t have..." he sighed. “Look, you don’t…owe me an explanation of anything. You loved him more than anything…I get that. I just wanted to say...if you ever need a place to stay, let me know, okay? My apartment’s big enough for two.”

Barry was a hard person not to love…and a harder person to not grieve. Cisco was nearly torn apart by it…he couldn’t imagine Iris’s pain.

Iris's eyes widened. “I...what?”

“Well, I just—I know your loft is really important to you, and I don't mean you have to move out,” he rambled. “I just. If you wanted to. Temporarily. Just...just until...”

Until when? Until Barry came back? None of Cisco’s ideas were yielding results, he couldn’t promise th—

“Okay.”

Cisco blinked. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Iris agreed, smiling shakily. "I, um. Just for a couple nights, maybe. Change of scenery could be nice. If…if that’s okay with you.”

“Y-yeah, yeah. That's what I was thinking. Um...” Cisco ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Whenever you want. Tonight, even.”

“You’re sure?” Iris asked slowly.

“Only if you are.” He didn’t want to push her into anything.

“Cisco, it's...I mean, it's your apartment you're offering, I don't...I wouldn't want to impose—”

“It’s not an imposition,” Cisco insisted, “I’m offering. We’re friends, right? And this is what friends do.”

“Yeah.” Iris’s smile was a little brighter now, which Cisco counted as a victory. “Yeah, this is what friends do.”

prompt list!

[twig---verginix]

augh okay sorry discussions of puppet abuse under the cut. csa and incest specifically

what did she mean by this. I'm reading way too deep into a post from 2015 that I didn't even screenshot myself I got it secondhand from a wonderful theory post in the tag that interpreted it in a Wholly different way but like. sigh. follow me through and tell me if the logic tracks right.

captions relate to their images. that is how things work on instagram, right? is it a leap to assume, like i did, that the caption is calling Yellow Roy's "speshal one?" Which like, of course, that tracks– for better or for worse, every small thing we know about Roy's motivations are (as far as I can tell) centered around his son and keeping him trapped in the nightmare of his existence. and watching the whole time. and making sure he stays there? and that nobody outside of his influence can posses him as their own. maybe. so like awww he loves his son his son is his valentine actually nah no sorry sorry I don't think there's a way I can construe this as normal even if you try to view things as Roy being a caring and protective dad in his own way The Whole Time, that's like.

Or I mean like maybe he's still caring, I guess, you could say, in the sense that. look. Even if you overlook the VERY INTENTIONAL AND CONTEXT-SPECIFIC LANGUAGE of a "special one" in this series,

which I don't think you CAN do, because why would you call back to an episode that *you* wrote, just a year prior, the episode about. like. the intense loneliness that comes from your community despising you and how romantic love specifically a) is the only balm for this deep pain b) culminates in marriage and c) is inescapable and entirely out of your control. as taught to a child by a cult.

iiiiiif you WERENT trying to imply something even more insidious than the abuse we've seen from Roy onscreen. Right?

even if you ignore the language it just kind of points a certain way. Do you see what I'm saying? do you see why i can't stop thinking about the Family episode of the tv series? can we talk about the dawning horror when Yellow realizes he has been made into "mummy," that he has always been "mummy." can we talk about roy stepping past his son to Devour the family and the way Yellow says something like "oh i knew you would come!" right before he's brushed off. and the sounds of the carnage right on the other side of the door where Yellow's still standing right after his hollow little "bye" to his father. Lemme just call up talented writer and director Rebecca Sloan to ask her for clarification on a post she made eight years ago, what Yellow meant when he said in an interview that he dreams about his "middle being haunted," and also Who gave her the right

[that-is-just-so-typically-me]

It’s so stupid but so many times these last few years I’ll just be thinking about everything and the image that leaps into my head is that ending scene in the (terrible, exploitative) movie Blue is the Warmest Color where, years after Emma leaves her, Adèle watches Emma from across the street as she’s walking away with her current, in a visual parallel to a scene earlier in the movie where it was the two of them. I knew it was a sad scene when I first saw it so long ago - with my ex - but after she left and in the weeks following where she didn’t come back and say she’d realized she acted rashly and really loved me so much more than the reason she’s given for leaving, that she realized she wanted me as much as I wanted her, that I was as irreplaceable in her life as she was in mine. This scene became clear in a way I never imagined and the pain of it still takes my breath away.

Like everything I learn about them makes me feel like I’m just in some sleep paralysis nightmare where the person who told me we were going to be the rest of each other’s lives, our little daily lives, our adventures, our shared loved ones, our family, our spending the rest of our days growing old together, is doing exactly all of that with someone else and it feels so deeply wrong. I know it isn’t wrong for her - it’s what she chose, what she really wanted instead of what I had to give, as she has every right to do. It’s not that I don’t respect it - I’m glad she made the choice that was right for her, and got to end up with the person she loved more than anyone. The fact that it destroyed me and that I’ve spent 2.5 years trying to survive and learn something from this enough to regrow in new ways doesn’t mean that it was her fault or something she hadn’t every right to do. But I am just so haunted by regret for everything I couldn’t be or didn’t do.

I need to do some kind of inventory and decide what to keep and what to purge of every memento I have. Maybe it’s not good to keep anything at all. I just feel like I have to do something tangible that’s symbolic of trying to keep all of this in my past in order to make room in my heart for anyone good in the future, if that’s even out there. Or at the very least maybe I can finally properly get my heart to wrench its stupid eyes off the ghosts of the past and just accept that they are never coming back. And just finally grieve.

[hyperfixatinglove]

hello, it's the dead rising anon from a few months ago. im back but this time it's about,, silent hill!! im watching retrospective videos on all the games and i recognized a name in the murphy search,, you!! i didnt know anything about SH months ago so i didnt even realize! i love that for you. he is very cool! love his story. love that love you give him especially knowing how other fans feel about the game. heartwarming ♥ im a fan of henry and eileen from 4 myself aheh. talk about murphy here!!

Hello again! It's lovely to hear from you again!

Oh dear, I hope you didn't watch the ones where they claimed Downpour was one everyone hated. I have one video I like to watch about Murphy's game though!

I'm very much honored you associate murphy with me ;__; ♥

Murphy is the coolest he's my fave SH characters, obviously but I love Heather and her game too because of the themes.

God, Eileen goes through so much shit in SH4 I just wanted to hug her when I watched 4 she gets half beaten to death by Walter and the night doesn't get better at all for her. I have such love for Henry too, he's very much underrated & also hated like Murphy. Henry's very much private person like Murphy but Henry also has all the shit that comes with sleep deprivation and other shit so of course he'd appear "emotionless" poor man.

I love Murphy so much, his story really captivated me when I was teenager and he as character hasn't let go since. I don't think many games have such visceral look into losing a child and what that might do to a parent like they potrayed with Murphy, I find him very fascinating as character and his game hurts me time and time again and yet I keep coming back to it like it's home.

Murphy deserves, more than anyone I think, loving and safe and supporting home and partner, one that does not blame him for the choices he has made, the road it led him to, the pain he experiences and has to live with. The pain of losing Charlie will never go away but maybe the ache and hurt will not be so overwhelming and freezing years down the road. Maybe he will find some amount of peace with me.

His past should not haunt him the way it does, come back to bite him again later down the line like it did with Anne-Marie, so I like to think he went into trial for killing Napier and hurting Coleridge but Sewell is deemed responsible so he has to do some time but not a lot in Ryall again. It's his worst nightmare, since he says he doesn't want to go back, but with my letters and support he deems it necessary if everything leaves him be afterwards and it does.

I like imagining Murphy on balcony, watching sunset with drink in hand and small smile on his face. ♥

[smutteedreams]

Hey precious! I hope you’re doing okay🥰🌸

If (and only if!) this is okay with you, may I please request a drabble with a very needy Kakashi. He simply can’t get enough of you and he’s all over you like you’re ice cream melting away! 🥺👉🏾👈🏾

Maybe he had a nightmare about losing reader, and simply wants to hold reader and he’s reassured that they’re not going anywhere and very well exist in his arms.

The rest is totally up to you to decide! I just wanna read some Kakashi fluff(even if it’s a little spicy😉hehe)

Hope you have a good night or day and please ignore this if it’s not what you’re feeling! Thanks beautiful♥️💐

Billie billie billie...idk if i love your ass for such a heartwarming request or hate you for making my single ass feel even more single (jk you know ily) plus im down bad for this hunk....so ENJOY i guess

Kakashi x reader

WARNINGS: themes of depression, insomnia and trauma, fluff, slight nsfw

Frustration is one word to describe it, the constant drifting in and out of sleep- too tired to stay awake but too scared of the nightmares that haunt him to fall asleep. After struggling like this for god knows how long, Kakashi finally opens his eyes and lets out a dejected sigh. He wasn't new to this torture. No. He was way too used to it. He shouldn't be but some things just can't be helped.

His mind started wandering off into the darkness of his soul- the loss of his comrades and his sensei, his inability to protect those close to him, the feeling that he can only bring misfortune to those around him. Before he knew, his body was shaking, mind going haywire in a constant loop of guilt. He was about to start hyperventilating when he felt movement and his gaze landed on you, curled up by his side on the bed in the apartment you shared. Your hands snaked around his chest, your legs wrapping his thighs and waist, your head on his shoulder- you were clinging to him like he was the most fragile and precious being in the universe and you never wanted to let him go. And its true, you didn't and that realization seemed to bring Kakashi out from the void in his heart and back home to you.

You woke up when you felt like you were being squeezed only to see Kakashi laying his head on your chest, tightly wrapping you in his arms as his whole body shook. It took you a minute to come out of your dazed state from being woken up and to realize what was going on.

"Kakashi?" No answer.

" Babe, are you okay?" Still no response. You suddenly felt your tshirt getting wet where Kakashi buried his face and you immediately hugged him. You pulled him closer so that his whole body was over you now and cradled him like a baby. You buried one hand in his tangled white hair while the other rubbed his back to calm him down.

"Its alright love...you're okay...you're okay. I'm right here baby and I always will be. I love you so much. Just let it out ok?" Kakashi nodded in response.

You knew about Kakashi's past. It took him almost a year into your relationship before he could talk to you about it. He cried that day, so did you. It hurt you to see the man you loved carry so much pain in his heart- pain that was too much for any person to bear alone. So you offered to share his pain. Since that day, you guys had come a long way, both as people and as lovers. Kakashi felt happy and content, even blessed, to have you in his life.

But he had his moments of relapse. Tonight was one of them. He needed to feel something, something other than despair and you made him feel loved and wanted and it frightened him beyond words could express. He was scared of losing you like he lost so many others. He was scared that you would also fade to a memory, a teaching that he would have to drill in his students.

" Promise me that you're gonna stay. I swear I'll never forgive you if you leave me behind as well."

You gave him a reassuring smile and cupped his cheek, lightly pecking his nose.

"Of course love. You know you mean the world to me, don't you? I promise I'm staying. After all, how can I leave this ass," you said as you reached to spank his scrumptious booty but Kakashi was faster and pinned both of your arms behind your head with one of his hands.

"Really? I'm not safe from your sneak attacks even now?" he said as he wiped his tears away.

You both laughed at this and you were glad that you could feel Kakashi's body relaxing gradually.

"Are you feeling a little better now?"

"Uhmhmmm...".

"Good cause I need you to move. You're squishing me!" you tell him in breathless pants. He mumbles a quick sorry before readjusting himself over you so that you are comfortable, and then burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You look down at him to find him looking at you expectantly with the cutest puppy eyes. You knew what this look meant- it meant that Kakashi of the Sharingan, the "cold-blooded" shinobi feared by his peers and enemy ninjas, wanted to be babied and was asking you to play with his hair.

You of course obliged and buried your hands in his messy hair because you loved doing it and those eyes made you melt. Your fingers roamed on his scalp, softly scratching and massaging when you suddenly felt sloppy kisses and some nibbling on your neck, on your very sensitive sweet spot- something that always ended up with you struggling to stand the next day.

"Hun, whatcha doing?" you asked in a teasing tone.

"Nothing..." he replied making the most innocent face he could come up with but failed to hide his smirk. You tugged on his hair to bring his face up to yours, crashing your lips against his in a soft but passionate kiss. The kiss got deeper and more heated as you both got needy. Soon you could feel Kakashi's erection brushing up against your clothed sex and let out a soft moan, earning a small grunt in turn from Kakashi.

His hands reached under your clothes. You let out a gasp that turned into a long moan when you felt his cold fingers pinching your nipple and rolling it between his thumb and index finger.

"I love how these always perk up at my touch" he said and bit your lower lip sucking on it ever so softly.

"W-wait...don't you have to train your little gremlins tomorrow?"

"Well yeah but I guess I can be a little late."

"Did you even plan to be on time in the first place?"

"Nope", Kakashi chuckled before pulling the sheets up hiding you both under it.

.............................................................................................................................

i poured my heart and soul into this piece so i really hope i was able to give you what you want @iambilliejeanok

ASKS/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN PEOPLE

[alloftheimagines]

bucky barnes | nightmare

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words: 1.9k

warnings: PTSD, Hydra!reader, nightmares, memories of non-consensual surgery and scars, blood, injury (broken nose), mentions of killing, reader accidentally hurts Bucky when coming out of a nightmare.

request: Could I request a Bucky imagine where the reader was also a part of hydra and has nightmares about her past. Reader and Bucky are dating and he comforts her after the nightmare. Maybe she accidentally attacks him when he wanted her up and she feels super guilty after realizing that she kinda hurt him. And ofc a lot of angst and some fluff at the end.

Bucky knows not to wake you from a nightmare. He knows because when the roles are reversed, he’s found himself with his metal hand around your neck, your eyes round and full of fear. With your shared history of being brainwashed, tortured, and made to kill for Hydra, he’s the only person in the world who knows how to handle you when the past comes back to haunt you.

And yet he forgets in this moment. You’re writhing and screaming beside him—it’s only been weeks since he’s even allowed himself to sleep in your bed and not on the couch. You sound…shattered. Your vocal cords rip and tear with every scream. “No! Nonononono!”

His heart clenches with pain. Because he knows how awful it is when your mind takes you back to the horrors you’ve faced. How the next day, it feels like you’re back at square one and have to start the recovery process from scratch. And you don’t deserve that. You deserve so much better than that.

“Baby,” he whispers, turning onto his side. It only seems to make you worse. You begin to thrash, the duvet torn off you both and tangling around your legs.

“Please,” you sob. “Please, don’t. Please. I don’t want to. Not again. Not again.” Your chest heaves like the waves of a tempest and he can’t stand it a moment longer. You’ve had nightmares before, ones that have made your screams tear through the apartment, but this is different. You’re not screaming anymore. You’re shuddering as though you’re trapped somewhere cold and unreachable, and he has to take the pain away. He has to.

“Y/N,” he whispers, nudging your shoulder as gently as possible. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

But you don’t. You curl into yourself, your hand clutching your stomach, and he knows it’s not just a dream. It’s a memory. Your worst day. You barely talk about it, but he finds you tracing across the jagged scar sometimes as though remembering what they took from you. The surgeries they inflicted on you to make you a better assassin. To prevent anything that might slow you down.

“Please.” Your voice is only a rasp now, full of exhaustion. “Make it stop.”

And Bucky knows he has to.

He shakes your shoulder harder, and when you begin to kick at him, he can only think to straddle you so that you can see him, know you’re safe. Sometimes being weighed down helps you. You have a weighted blanket, and you always let your dog sit on your stomach. Even he’s scuttled off somewhere now, though.

“Wake up,” Bucky says through clenched teeth, trying to pin down your wrists. “Please wake up.”

He loosens his grip when your eyes snap open, and realises a second later the mistake he’s made. Your pupils are wide and your irises full of hollow shadows. You’re still not here, still somewhere else, still trapped in the past.

“Baby…”

Your clammy hands curl around his neck, and you swing him onto his back so that you’re the one on top of him. And then you claw. You claw, because all you see is the face of the surgeon you woke up to on that day you’re dreaming of. Hatred floods you, white-hot as scalding water.

“Y/N!” Bucky shouts, trying desperately to grab your arms. When he finds your wrist, you elbow him in the nose, causing blood to rush from his nostrils. “Baby, it’s me. It’s Buck. You’re here. You’re safe. It’s over now. Look at me.”

You're hysterical, screaming, breathless, until the blood covers your hands and his voice penetrates the bubble you’ve been trapped in. Buck. Bucky. The face beneath you, spattered in blood, belongs to the man you love, not the one you despise.

“Oh, god.” You stare down at your trembling, bloody palms and then your gaze flits to him again. He’s breathing heavily, but his eyes are soft, full of concern.

“Oh, god,” you say again, crawling off him. Your legs don’t work, and you end up on the floor, still hauling yourself back until your spine hits the skirting board.

“It’s okay. Sweetheart, it’s okay.”

You shake your head. It’s not okay. You could have killed him, and he would have let you. “No.” You choke on the sob, bringing your hands to your lips. “No.”

He sits up slowly, his metal arm glinting in the moonlight and his dog tags clinking together on his bare chest. “It’s okay,” he repeats, slowly climbing off the bed. He walks slowly towards you and, when you don’t cower, crouches in front of you. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

“I’m sorry.” You want to reach out, wipe the blood away, but your muscles are frozen and your hands fisted at your side. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know where I was. I thought…”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“I hurt you.” Anger fills your voice now, not for him, but for yourself. For the people who did this to you. For the people who made you into a killer, so that every time you wake up, you have to take minutes, hours, to remember how to be a person again instead of a weapon.

“It’s already healing.” He sets his nose just to prove it, a harsh crack causing you to cringe. The blood congeals on his Cupid’s bow. “See? All better.”

“It doesn’t matter. It could have been so much worse.”

“It wasn’t.” He shuffles closer, tucks a sweat-matted strand of hair behind your ear. “It wasn’t. I’m okay. We’re both okay.”

You have no answer to that. With quivering fingers, you reach out slowly and swipe away the blood, his stubble bristling beneath the pad of your thumb. “I’m so sorry.”

He pulls you close, then, because he knows you need it, even if you’re not sure you deserve it. His hot, bare torso warms you up, the smell of his citrusy soap sharp and sweet in your nostrils. You cling on for dear life and sob, sob, sob, because it’s all you can do. You can still feel the throb in your stomach from the surgery you’d been dreaming about, still taste the foul shit they fed you after to get you “strong” again. You can feel the starchy linen around your calves and the needles in your arms. You can feel it all, and the only thing that assures you it’s not real is his hands drawing circles along your back, from your shoulder blades to your tailbone.

He doesn’t say anything, because he knows there’s nothing to say. You have to pull yourself out of this now. He can only hold you while you do.

You don’t know how long you sit like that. Somehow you end up in his lap, his back propped against the wall and your arms wrapped around his neck. Loosely, so he knows you’re not going to hurt him again. It feels wrong to be this close to him after what you’ve just done. You pull away, running your fingers through his hair as you gaze at him through bleary eyes.

“Maybe…” you gulp, your throat raw and gritty. “Maybe I should sleep on the couch for a while. Maybe we jumped into this too quickly.”

He shook his head, brushing his nose against yours lightly. “No.”

“Bucky…” you sigh, hollowed out. “Don’t make this harder. Please.”

“I’m not. I’m making it easier. We’re not going back to being too afraid to sleep in the same room.”

“I just tried to kill you. I’m not…safe.” The last word comes out small, cracking with guilt. You want so badly to be able to trust yourself again, trust you won’t hurt the man you love, but you can’t. And that’s the worst part. You can love the hell out of him, but it doesn’t change the instinct to destroy. The day Hydra took you, they made sure you’d always be a killer before anything else.

“I trust you,” he murmurs. “I shouldn't have woken you the way I did. I just didn’t know what to do. It was one of the worst ones you’ve had in a while.”

And it knocks you sick to your stomach. You want so badly to forget.

Hot tears roll down your cheeks. You make no effort to staunch them as you collapse beside him, tired eyes fluttering closed.

He laces his fingers through yours and squeezes. “It’s not the first time it’s happened. Not with either of us. It won’t be the last. But we need to learn to deal with it without a wall between us. It’s never gonna be easy, but we deserve to try. And if that means I get my nose broken every now and again, so be it.”

“It’s not funny,” you snap.

“I know. I’m not joking.” He turns to face you, his eyes glistening. “I love you, Y/N. All of you. You’ve stood by me when I’ve woken with my hand around your throat. When I’ve kicked and punched and shut myself off. It’s what we do, and it’s never going to go away—but neither am I. Neither are we. We have to stop feeling guilty for suffering. I don’t want to sleep without you again.” He places a kiss on your knuckles and then leaves your hand against his chest, where you can feel his heart beat steadily. “More importantly, I don’t want you to wake up alone when things get that bad. I want to be with you through every nightmare and every bad day. I want us to get through this together. Even the worst parts.”

A lump fills your throat. You swallow it down and lean into his chest again. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.” Or who you’d be. The only thing that brought you back from all that hatred, all those bloody battles, was him and his love. His belief in you.

“You don’t have to think about that,” he whispers into your hair. “Come on. Let’s go back to bed.”

He guides you up off the floor. You follow him tentatively, perching so far away from his side of the bed that you might fall off. But he pulls you closer by the waist, his hand curling protectively around your stomach. He kisses the scars along your shoulder blades then, each one a different story, a different kill.

“What if I hurt you again?” you worry, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“Then we’ll deal with it,” he says, all gravel and softness, two things that shouldn’t go together but do. “Like we always do.”

His fingertip finds the thick scar tissue just below your belly button and traces along it lightly. It’s something you can never do. You can’t even stand to look at it most days, only finding the ugliness of what Hydra did to you, and what they made you do, too. But he touches it like it’s the most fragile of glass, like he’s memorising the shape of it, and you sink deeper into his chest as your eyelids grow heavy.

“Think about something good,” he says. “Your favourite place. I’ll chase away the bad dreams if they come to get you.”

You don’t have to think. You’re already in your favourite place now. All you have to do is keep counting your breaths and noticing every part of you he’s touching: your backside against his pelvis, his chest against your back, his fingers on your stomach, his legs nudging yours. You clutch on harder to him, just like before.

“You,” you murmur finally, already sinking back into a restless slumber. “You’re my favourite place.”

“And I’m not going anywhere.”

[danger-noodle-uwu]

This is a pretty graphic idea I had but I understand if you don’t want to do it or find it too triggering.

I want to request hc’s of the Brothers + Datables (but if you do the Brothers and Datables separately than just the Brothers please) reacting to MC being summoned but MC’s covered in blood and holding a weapon like a bat or knife, because they massacred their abusive family and they don’t feel bad about it at all. Mc’s pretty emotionally hollow and they don’t show much reaction or fear to dangerous situations either since the Bros do start off threatening and rude but they relate to Mammon since he’s emotionally abused by his Bros and physically punished by Lucifer.

This is only if you feel comfy doing it and I apologize if I broke the rules and making you find it very triggering and disturbing

Trigger warning!

Mentions of blood/murder/abuse

Do not proceed if sensitive

Lucifer

At the summoning part, Lucifer would be merely worried about what type of student has diavolo choosen, pitying his taste. Though he was but a demon, weary and skittish around you.

The Avatar of pride scared of mere human?

(Though he kinda was)

Blood being spilled on the floor was common in devildom yet he was unfazed.

But now, things are different and he can't help to worry about how this weak creature will influence on his brothers.

the fallen-morningstar tried to keep you away from the entire of his brothers including himself.

He also made sure that never was anything that could be used as a potential weapon surround you.

Often the man would receive rather harsh words from you and get somewhat hurt. Yet , not a single cry reach your ears.

(Que enemies to lovers dynamic)

When the pair started dating, the raven-haired demon had already known the past and what it once held for mc...

Oh how much he wishes, he helped you instead of interrogating every movement, to regain the 'you' that your parents killed. So, he will find a solution. To find those rascals in the realm of spirits or demons and put them once again at your mercy.

Prepare yourself Mc. For a whole month of pampering and love as he will never dare repeat the mistake he made.

Mammon

As the story is, Mammon didn't encounter you first but only heard melody of your voice.

The first meet was unforgettable, he was petrified to see the blood dripping off your slender bruised figure.

One thought that he was scared however, No he was anything but scared. He had thought you were the one hurt like--you know h-how Lucifer hurts him.

He rushed towards you but was stopped by the eldest saying " They aren't hurt." And this was the first person tried who befriend you.

When your words were sweetly aimed at him and just HIM. He'd feel his heart beat racing like crazy which made him believe he thought you found him special.

He was never honest with anyone, until you showed up. His biggest fear was snapping because of the mean comments his brothers pass and you had probably done something similar.

He wanted to know. Though dense he may seem, he hoped you'd tell him.

Was it scary? Do you feared this before? Is it still scary? Do you feel emotions after this?

Yet he never asked...

When the greedy Boi and mc started dating, they told everything about their condition. Of how they snapped.

He was the most understanding of his brothers and promised to never let another one harm you. Not even you.

He loved even more since that day. Not to mention 1323433454455686 'I love you's per day.

Leviathan

Blabbering lord knows what, Leviathan had stepped out of his room even if that was to scold mammon and get his money back.

He obviously knew about the exchange program but what he didn't know was that bloody murderer would be part of it!!!

He wasn't moving when he saw the numb expression you wore and the bloody knife you had held.

Inside, he was scared shitless but he didn't know how to show it.

A mere-human had terrified The great admiral of hell's navy. What shame he was.

"Oi cut it out!" Yelled the scummy yet kind demon protectively moving between the two.

In the beginning, he felt unsafe only by your gaze and refusing to make eye contact.

And then, a good day to exit to his room. The true reason being the pearly raindrops that had littered the gardens of HOL.

He saw you... soaking wet smiling and hurting... shining brightly though it felt dim.

That day. That dammed day. He found out who truly were. A beautiful person who was just hurting and breaking.

Since then, he has been a mix of a nagging mother but also shy as if a touch-me-not.

Dating him was heavenly, he wasn't shy with touch yet words were a whole another thing to him.

He always left 'Love you's in the chats and reminders on your phone that were just a bunch of 'eat healthy' 'stay safe', etc.

And this was certain that his love will never end.

Satan

Snatching the bat from your hands, the blonde-man threatened to kill you with your own weapon if you dared to move.

And that's exactly what you wanted... to die... to end the suffering...

And he saw it.

Saw how horribly you were hurting, he knew what it felt however, he couldn't lose his composure not in front of his brothers.

Wrath is a storm which is followed by pain. He knew this. Same in your case except pain knocked the doors first.

He knew it was too early for asking. So, he kept his mouth shut. Not wishing to hurt you any further though he didn't know why he felt this way.

When you finally finished your 2nd month in your new home, things had changed as the Avatar of wrath often talked to you not about how bloody you arrived or you had killed but are you okay now?

His words were soft. So sweet.

Each time he would offer you his shoulder to cry on, you would feel your heart slowly warm up. Slightly more each-time.

Soon enough you started dating the green-eyed pact demon of yours, recalling the long lost feeling of warmth and love.

The knowledgeable one loved to show physical affection especially in front of his brothers.

Oh~ the smell of their burning envy, when he kissed the nape of your neck and complimented you.

Post-its were his favorite though.

He would often write 'Love you, kitten' 'take break,love' 'you look amazing today',etc.

Asmodues

He yelped when he saw a bloodied figure emerge from the purple haze. Are they okay?

He was concerned only till a knife was spotted next your seemingly heartless figure. Now, he was somewhat hiding behind satan in disgusted yet anxious way.

You gaze deeply disturbed him to an extent he even had nightmares of you ripping him open with same knife and had that soul-less expression.

He much like Leviathan refused to see you after the encounter but what was different, was the course of events...

He saw you arguing with Lucifer, for you refused let him hurt Mammon who curled behind you.

Asmo felt pity for you as he knew the outcome of an argument with the eldest.

"Lucifer don't hurt him, please. He already has enough bruises" Asmo says giving his sweet brother Luci the puppy eyes, hoping they would work. (Yeah they didn't)

But nonetheless Luci~ still backed out and left the hallway.

You rush for the poor injured demon, he is crying while thanking you for the save.

And there for one moment, The lustful blond saw emotion in those glassy eyes of yours. It was beautiful and aching at the same time.

Making him greedy for more...

Later the very same day, he approached you finally asking the questions his head was haunted by.

What was weird? He didn't blame you for breaking instead he complimented you for being a survivor of such harsh tortures.

Accepting his confession was the best thing you ever did.

He is open with affection especially when you both are in public to show he is yours. You are his. You belong together.

for his hunger to see those pretty eyes shine with joy is endless, he makes Mc smile with happiness and love

Beelzebub

Famished as always was the sixth born. Especially after smelling human blood.

Little did he know the blood of the now dead parents of mc, the exchange student.

He wasn't even fazed unlike his brothers. He couldn't care any less than he did nor about the blood neither about the weapon clutched in your hands.

Even if you passed insults, he wouldn't mind. Sometimes, he asks why you dislike him? And is fine even if the answer is illogical. (Don't fuckin hate him)

Numb eyes. Tears flowing freely. Cuts. Bruises. Hurting. Dying inside.

The glutton wipes the sweat off his forehead remembering the condition of yours in that horrendous nightmare.

You looked awfully similar to belphi when- when s-she died. He blamed himself and hurt himself for being so useless. Just like you do.

And then realization hits--

YOU ARE HURTING!!

He now knew why your rude words didn't hurt him because you were like belphegor trying to protect your fragile heart.

Why you look numb? because you're trying to hide the pain. Push people away so you don't get hurt when they go away.

The following day, you were gently woken by the huge teddy bear. He held a hand out for you before taking you to his room for the special breakfast.

You teared upon the sight instantly realizing that he recognized your suffering. He apologized for not noticing earlier and from now, he will be there for you.

Never in the three realms did he think he'd fall for you? Maybe he had all along just didn't notice....

Once you begin dating the orange-head, he was ecstasic and cheerful all the time. Encouraging words followed you everywhere.

He would often eat the entire fridge out. So as apology, a cupcake with sorry written on it was placed on the kitchen counter. Other days, when he won't go such extreme, carrot chips or a poison apple etc. Waited for you.

Beely is the opposite of possessive. Protective. He is Protective and supports you through the ups and downs in life. He was your true savior. A savior who never judged you for your past.

His Love is the sky, you learned to fly in.

Belphegor

He had heard the tale of how the human exchange student had shown up covered in blood with a bat in hand.

Never did he believe that it was true until seeing the monotone figure of them.

The way they spoke made them like Lucifer. Emotionless. Heartless. Ruthless. Monster.

He wanted to strangle them on spot but he was stuck within the confines of the attic.

The sloth couldn't help passing comment making mc slowly reveal the aching heart of their own-self.

Expression faultered and he saw it--No, no more like felt it. The way their tears were swallowed. The way their voice turned monotone once again to cover what had already been seen.

However, the seventh born didn't say a word, he just showed affection through body language as they couldn't touch each other yet.

After he was free from the prison of an attic, he ran to you. His star. The one that guided him out to freedom.

It felt weird dating the lazy demon. Afterall, he was doing nothing other than shoving compliments in your face and dozing off here and there.

Few months pass and things become smoother than how they were.

Now, he always compliments you but softly and sweetly. Always willing to listen to whatever you wanna rant about.

"You are my true love, Mc. The star that guides to where I belong when I'm lost."

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

Welp! That was long as hell. Anyway, thank you for the request. It kinda feels like you and my sister share the same brain cell cuz she said the same thing but like- mc ate their organs and more messy. God I hope you like it...

Good day!

[no-droids]

Mercy, Sabotage, and Dead Space

(gif credit to @redwyyne-archive)

Part One of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.7K

Summary:

1. No sex.

2. No touching yourself.

3. No orgasms.

Warnings/Tags: DUBCON/NONCON elements, fuckboy Poe (OOC), Enemies to Lovers, degradation/humiliation, mentions of oral sex, SMUUUTTTTTTTT also I’m not sorry for what I did but you’re not allowed to read if you’re gonna get mad at me okay byeeee

***

This.

This shit, right here.

If the question was ever, “What’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever let Poe Dameron somehow talk you into doing?” then the answer is this stupid shit, right the fuck here.  This is like.  You remember that one game, Mercy?  The one where you’d dig your nails in and twist arms and just needlessly inflict pain on each other as children until one of you cried uncle because someone somewhere once decided to turn torture into a matter of pride?

You always thought those games were fucking ridiculous.  Who can hold their breath the longest, who can handle a lit deathstick against their flesh the longest, who can take the hardest punch—who cares?  It’s child’s play.  It’s self-inflicted agony for the sake of bragging rights and even as a youngling, you refused to fall for it.

But then you met… fucking Dameron.

You know those people that… they don’t just rub you the wrong way, but literally every single aspect about their personality is sandpaper against wet skin and your whole entire being feels chafed raw just by existing in their general vicinity for an extended period of time?

You’re… you’re not usually a competitive—much less aggressive person.  You never have been.  It’s just not part of your nature.  If you ever excel at anything in life, it isn’t because of some secret, deep-seated desire to win or be better than anyone else.  You just… do you.  You do whatever you do, and if it’s good, it’s good.  And if it’s bad, it’s good.  Because at the end of the day at least it’s still you, and you’re okay with that.

But this?

This shit?  Right here?

“This is fucking dumb,” you say, because you know it’s what you both must be thinking so you may as well just get it out in the open.  “This is the dumbest fucking thing, Dameron.  What are we doing?  Why are we doing this?”

The grumpy, orange-jumpsuited figure sitting behind you just sighs heavily and slumps even further down in his bucket seat, as if it isn’t the first time you’ve tried asking this incredibly valid question (it totally is), bringing a palm down to thunk the top of the guidance controls between his legs in a quiet irritation you’re almost certain has everything to do with the very topic you’re trying to bring up. 

“Because,” comes that infuriating drawl.  You can only see his face from this angle by looking at his reflection in the transparisteel barrier directly in front of you, but even just imagining the way his mouth moves while he rounds out the words makes your jaw clench.  “The coordinates we picked up were scrambled and this rendezvous could be going down at any one of thirty-six locat—?”

“No,” you interrupt him with a scowl, “not why I’ve been floating in dead space in this Maker-forsaken ship with you for eight fucking hours a day since… fuck, what’s today?  Thursday?  Friday?  Nope, can’t be Friday, Friday’s our off-day.  Thursday, then. …Thursday?”  You shake your head.  “Ugh, see?  Time doesn’t exist when I’m not allowed to cum, life is like one never-ending nightmare.”

“Oh.”  He takes a second to think about it in silence, the calloused tips of his fingers scratching the side of his face while he considers.  It wouldn’t usually be as loud as it is right now.  Maybe it’s the haunting quiet of space surrounding the ancient powered down hunk of metal you’re both stuck in, inadvertently isolating and amplifying the sound—or maybe it’s because your copilot’s jaw is currently covered in a thick, dark beard that you swear barely took his testosterone-overloaded ass a fucking week or two to grow, if that.  Regardless, the dark bristles crunch loudly under his short fingernails and it takes you about a grand total of five whole uninterrupted seconds of the scraping sound to realize you’re grinding your teeth along with it.  “Well,” he finally says, “that was your stupid idea.”

“Hmmmmmmmno,” you contest firmly, wiggling your elbow back to poke at his shin with your index finger once, twice, thrice, until he finally slaps your hand away in quiet irritation.  To the misfortune of you both—and likely the other hundred or so pilots concurrently taking rotating shifts in these tandem x-wings in a glorified mass stakeout, the cockpit of this ship is just way too fucking small.  Your arm is squeezed uncomfortably against machinery and electronics to get to him from this angle and a light slap isn’t going to stop you now that you’re here.  “You—” (poke) “—have a superiority complex and decided to turn it into a competition, not—” (poke) “—me.”

“Oh, I have a superiority complex, okay,” he scowls and nods in vehement, fake agreement, finally giving up and letting you poke at will, but the appeal is lost as soon as you realize he’s over it and your arm eases back into your lap.  You watch his reflection look out of the viewport and scan the empty void of space for the twentieth time in the past five minutes, clearly just as desperate to get back to base as you are.  “So what is it you call saying—wait, no no, not even saying, loudly declaring—‘Of course I can go longer without sex than “wham bam thank you ma’am” Dameron, you brainless fucks, it’s a simple fact!’”

“Alright—I don’t sound like that, fuck you very much,” you return, in reference to his shrieking, high-pitched impression of you surrounded by your fellow pilots in the rec room when you’ve had a bit too much to drink.   “Also, you don’t have to finger-quote literally every single syllable of my fucking sentence, Dameron.  First and last word, that’s all it takes.  And if it’s so superiority complex-ey of me to state simple facts, then what is it you call saying ‘betcha two weeks worth of pay you can’t, pretty baby’?”

“Uh, easy credits?”  He immediately asks, side-eyeing your reflection through the transparisteel.  “ Easy credits.  Just begging for it.  Two weeks of your slutty, sexy, easy fucking credits just begging to be taken and used— ”

“You need to get laid,” you cut in to tell him bluntly, scrunching your nose in what you hope looks like disgust.  As per protocol, the power to the x-wing was cut at the beginning of your shift—what feels like a fucking eternity ago—as a preventative maneuver in case the target falls out of hyperspace unexpectedly.  Avoiding the scanners of a fleet that may never actually show means it’s cold and dimly lit in here—just starlight in front of either you, but you’re hoping he can gauge the severity of your revulsion with your back to him.  “You just turned my money into a sex object.  It was vile.  I feel violated on its behalf.”

“Sounds like you’re the one who needs to get laid,” he tosses carelessly back at you, and you roll your eyes with as much sass as you can physically muster, so tired of all the dodging.  You know this hasn’t been easy for him either, he just has too much pride to admit it.  “Besides, you’ve gotta be past the withdrawal stage by now.  Is it really all that bad?”

“The fuck you mean, ‘Is it really all that bad’?”  You snap at him, shuffling around grumpily in your seat, hating the way the bulky weapons controls sit right between your thighs and prevent you from closing them.  Withdrawal stage, ha.   “Of course it’s all that bad.  It’s horrible.  It’s the fucking worst.  And more importantly, how are you not having any trouble with this?  Oh, wait—that’s right,” you answer yourself before he has a chance to.  “Because you cheated.”

“I did not cheat,” Dameron’s reflection immediately challenges with an accusatory finger pointed at you.  “I did not.  When the fuck did I cheat?  I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half—all because you don’t believe in the honor system—just so you could tell me I fucking cheated?”

You scoff, feeling your annoyance spark even more.  He’s always been able to get under your skin, but the neglect you’ve been forcing your body to endure is just throwing gasoline on an already roaring fire.  “Okay, first of all?  Rude.  I am a fucking joy to have as a roomie, alright?  I put up with your snoring, your 2:00 AM dinners, you blasting your radio while I’m trying to sleep, I barely complain about your body odor—”

“My snoring is adorable, I get snacky at night, only sad people with fucked up lives hate music, I smell amazing,” Dameron casually lists off on his fingers, the self-confidence so easy and unshakeable that you swear he’s almost preening at the compliments he just gave himself by the time he’s finished rebutting everything you can think to throw at him.  And, while you’d never admit it, he does smell good.  He smells… unbelievably fucking good.  Always.  Something dark and woodsy, you can never quite put your finger on.  It pisses you off, so much that you’ve made a habit of pulling a face of disgust whenever the warm, rich scent noticeably reaches you, hoping it deflates his ego just a little bit.  No such luck so far.  

“Whatever.  The point is I’m a good fucking neighbor, alright, I’m neighborly as fuck,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.  “And don’t make it sound like I’m putting a chastity lock on your balls every night, because you can fuck anyone you want.  In fact, I strongly fucking encourage it—I just want to know about it when it happens.”

Dameron smirks and you groan, already knowing what’s coming.  “You wanna hear it?”

Yep, there it is.  “Second of all—”

“Feel the whole bunk rock with it?”  He goes on, completely ignoring you.  “Use the excuse that you’re trapped up top so you can just stay there the whole time and listen?  You know you can do a lot more than just—”

“Second of all,” you project over him, “you’re seriously telling me you haven’t had any wet dreams then, hm?  No snorgasms?  Hmmm?  No happy naps?  No captain midnights?  No mattress fracking?  Hmmmmmm???”

His voice very quickly sounds… shocked.  “How many fucking euphemisms—?”

“Wait wait, one more—” you quickly interrupt, too much momentum to stop now, “—sleepskeet.”

You watch in immense satisfaction as his expression seems to progress through all five stages of grief, before he exhales a long, unamused sigh and scratches his beard again.  You want to pluck each strand of it out of his face one by one.  “Anyways.  Wet dreams are totally different and don’t count.”

“It’s not different!”  You burst out, unable to help yourself, “it’s an orgasm, and rule number three is no orgas—”

“I know what the rules were, Gold-Ten,” he returns calmly, and it infuriates you, how he’s always able to make it seem like you’re the instigator who’s overreacting.  And he knows exactly what he’s doing by calling you by your flight designation, and it pisses you off even more because calling him Black-Leader in any other situation besides active warfare just feels like an unnecessary reminder of his skills.  Why he’s currently behind you manning the guidance controls and why you’re currently stuck in the front seat with the bulkier weapons systems.  “The question is if you’re seriously that bad enough of a sport to automatically disqualify me because of something that happens to any human with a dick indiscriminately when we blueball ourselves.”

“But that’s the entire fucking point, Dameron!”  You shrill, throwing your hands in the air in pure exasperation.  “There it is!  You need it more than I do, you just said it yourself!  Not to mention I said I can go longer without sex than you can— sex , not orgasms, but as it turns out I win at both.  Now can we please call this shit off so I can finally cum?  This isn’t fun anymore.”

“Nope,” he says immediately, popping the P with a bit too much hard emphasis to be genuinely amused.  He’s frustrated, too—his voice is too pleased, too fake to not be masking irritation underneath.  “Sorry.  But this was also your stupid idea, so.”

“You’re insufferable,” you grumble, anger flaring equal to his, just way more… verbal.  And descriptive.  “Wet dreams don’t count, fucking right.  Tell that to the oceans of Kamino I got going on down there, huh?  I move on this seat wrong and I’ll slide off it—”

A loud slam of a palm against the controls suddenly echoes throughout the small cockpit, causing you to jump slightly.  

“Don’t,” Dameron snarls, “... say shit like that to me.  Not right now.  Not right now, fuck .”

You go quiet for a moment, not expecting that much of an outburst at something you considered to be a throwaway remark, but then… oh.  Something occurs to you, something… sinister.  Oh, well, now there’s an idea.

Everything inside you immediately surges up and burns at the thought—the mere whisper of a way out of all of this, quickly, without giving in and letting him hold your surrender over you for Maker knows how long.  It’s so fucking simple, you don’t know why you didn’t think of it before.  You don’t have to wait him out at all; instead, you just need to… entice him into giving in first.

Neither of you say anything for a while, and you don’t know what he’s thinking (nothing, probably—a dry tumbleweed bouncing across an empty desert landscape, you imagine) but you take the dip in conversation to consider a plan.  You can’t go at it too outright, it’ll be too big of a turnaround and he’ll see it coming lightyears away.  A halfhearted joke about your pussy tossed out without thinking is what catalyzed the most substantial reaction from him you’ve seen, so… maybe you can keep steering the conversation towards the idea.

“How many wet dreams have you had?”  You suddenly ask, your heart beginning to pick up in your chest as soon as the words are out of your mouth.

“Excuse me?”  Dameron grunts from behind you, and you catch his reflection raising a thick eyebrow at you.

You take a deep breath and disguise it by stretching your back out just a little bit, lifting your shoulder blades and arching the sore muscles there, before settling back down in your normal crappy posture once more.  “Now many times did you cum in your sleep?  Had to at least been once for you to claim they don’t count.”

“Why does it matter?”  He asks, completely sidestepping the question for the second time.  “It was involuntary.”

You shrug.  “Just so I know how many freebies I can get tonight.”

“No,” Dameron instantly counters, his voice dead serious.  “Not fucking allowed.”

“Why not?”  You ask, and this time, there’s significantly less challenge than you’d typically deliver it with.  Instead, your voice is soft, questioning.  Not argumentative, but curious, and there’s just enough of your point left unsaid that it’ll seem like he conjured the rest of the image himself.

There’s silence while he considers his response to the perfectly executed bait.  You assume you’re both picturing the same thing, because it’s what you’ve pictured almost every single night spent in this celibate hellscape.  The cool darkness of your shared quarters, the standard-issue sheets that still feel crispy and rough on your skin no matter how many nights you’ve slept in them, with one of your hands pressed tight over your mouth and two of your fingers circle your clit.

“You only get to do it if I’m in the room,”  he poses instead, and you swallow thickly, feeling your body tighten with an unintentional drop of pure heat through your tummy at the thought.  Maker, it must be really bad if Poe fucking Dameron is getting to you like this.  The bane of your existence shouldn’t make your insides twist in on themselves—at least, not in a good way.

“Not like I’d have much choice,” you eventually respond, keeping it purposefully ambiguous.  “It’s your room, too.  Unfortunately.”

Stars, it’s been so long since you’ve done this, since you’ve walked the fine line between flirtation and seduction, wanting to turn on the charm slowly—gradually ease it up like a hyperdrive lever under your fingertips so that you’re at maximum by the time he realizes you’re even there.  You take a moment to glance at his reflection, watching Dameron look back at you curiously, a flash of interest in his eyes.

“By the way, how does that one girl feel about us doing this?”  You ask out of nowhere, suddenly remembering the existence of his pretty little number.  You’ve seen her under his arm around base at least a few times, which is more than you can say for the rest of them.  “Red-Six.  Tall brunette with the tattoos—I don’t bother learning names, they all come and go.”

“Nihla,” Dameron nods with a wistful sigh, tilting his head to rest against his shoulder.  “Or, wait… Neah.  No—it was… Nalal.  Yeah, Nalal, I think that’s right…”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter.  “One of the greatest mysteries of the universe is how many people get in line for you, I’ll never fucking understand it.”

“They just want me for my cock,” he tells you without missing a single beat, sounding like he’s not joking in the slightest.  “It was starting to get obnoxious.  Glad I finally have an excuse to turn them down.”

“Unbelievable,” you repeat, stunned by how truly, mind-blowingly full of himself he is.  “You’re… fucking…”

You end up just staring at him and making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, at a complete loss for words, and Dameron eventually shrugs and continues on after you fail to form a coherent thought in the allotted time frame he provides.

“Now I can just tell them I’m in a long-running bet with Gold-Ten over who can sexually deprive themselves the longest and weirdly enough, they don’t seem all that interested anymore,” he remarks, tilting his chin up and rubbing at his beard again, and for some reason… the sound of it bothers you somewhat less now, the way he phrased that resonating deeper inside you than it should.  Lower than it should.  You blink a few times, almost shocked by your body’s unprecedented response to his admission—Poe Dameron uses you as an excuse to turn down sex with pretty girls?  Happily?—and your mind goes blank for a second while he watches you through the transparisteel.  “It’s alright,” he eventually goes on, tilting his head.  “Sometimes a sabbatical is good.  I do really miss pussy, though.”

“Well,” you finally tell him, oddly not having much else to offer at the moment.  “I’m sorry?  And… you’re welcome.  I guess.”

Dameron shrugs once more and makes an apathetic sound without opening his mouth, and you drop your stare down to the machinery between your spread thighs after feeling like you were looking at each other for too long.  The position started uncomfortable and seven hours later, it’s still fucking uncomfortable.  At first the discomfort twinged at your hips and lower back, but now the sensation seems to be… centering itself a bit more, finding a spot right between your legs, especially when his words echo through your subconscious and make you naturally want to push your thighs together.  I do really miss pussy, though.

You try to snap out of it a bit, try to stop hyperfixating on the way your underwear has felt sticky and wet for fucking hours now, but it’s so fucking difficult to chill yourself out when your body already went into this whole situation with a month and a half long stumbling block.  He’s not really doing anything at all—he’s leant back in his chair and staring out the window into the black emptiness of space when you steal a look once more, but something about how his casual responses are affecting you makes it seem like he’s the one currently seducing you.

Maker, you have to focus.   You have to control yourself.  You’re starting to feel a little warm in your thick jumpsuit—a particular shade of orange that does not compliment your complexion but you normally rejoice in wearing regardless.  It’s baggy and uniform and hides most of your curves and most importantly, it keeps you toasty on missions like this.  Space is cold —especially this far out in the Cauper Void, and there’s no fucking reason this powered down hunk of floating metal should feel as muggy and stifling as it does in here.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you suddenly hear yourself say, spontaneously, no thought put into it whatsoever.  One last try, one last attempt to avoid it, a last-ditch go at flight before he gives you no choice and you’re left with this one remaining option.  “This isn’t a good idea.  It’s… not healthy.  I don’t want to do this anymore.”

This gets a small chuckle out of him.  “I know you don’t, pretty baby.”

“Then let’s just call the whole thing off,” you propose once again, trying to lighten your tone, make it a… a friendly thing.  It sounds so fake, even to your own ears—since when would you be desperate enough to let the dreaded petname slide?—but granted, you know what they say about time and measures and all that shit.  “We can call it a tie, just go back to the way things were befo—”

He cuts you off and pins you with his gaze through the reflection.  “You realize that you begging me to put an end to your suffering is—ridiculously hot, mostly—but also only an incentive to make me keep pushing until you finally give in?”

You groan and comb some of your hair off your forehead, not liking the way it’s getting just the slightest bit damp.  “Fine, we won’t call it off, but can we at least just stop—”  You immediately catch yourself, not wanting to unintentionally push this too far too quickly, but your hesitation is clear and compelling enough for him to prompt you.

“At least just stop what?”  Dameron asks, and though you don’t think it’s intentional or even noticeable from his perspective, something about the way his voice sounds… husky.  Low to the ground.

“Stop dragging it out,” you breathe, your heart pounding.  Why is your heart pounding so fucking fast?  This is a fucking sting op, a facade, so why are you getting so caught up in the lie you’ve spun for yourself?  “Finish it.  Sooner, rather than later.  Quit being masochists about it, just fucking put it to—”

Maker, your eyes instinctively snap to his at your poor choice of wording, having almost said bed on complete accident.  Genuinely, you didn’t mean to phrase it that way, but at the same time, the thought of it almost burns you alive.  Fuck.  Dameron, and you, in bed.  It could be mean.  It could be rough.  A fight for dominance more than anything.  He’s bigger than you and he could make it fucking hurt, especially after going without it for as long as you have, but something about how double-edged that type of relief would be isn’t really sinking in for you right now.  Like a person slowly dying of thirst that’s fantasizing about drowning.  Regardless, the idea of a night with him and the sudden assortment of vivid imagery it provides is enough to get you to shut up and take a deep breath, just wait with your mouth shut for whatever his response is.

Unfortunately, you don’t have to wait long at all.

“This is cute,” he suddenly tells you, and you jerk back and sputter a bunch of consonants stupidly like he smacked you.

“Fuck you?”  Are the first recognizable words that can be heard.  “I’m not—this isn’t fucking— cute?”

“It’s cute,” Dameron repeats, hiding a soft smile from you with a few of his fingers pressed to his lips.  “You,” he says as he points at your reflection, twirling his finger around in circles, “trying to be all sneaky about it, go about your little performance.  It’s like… watching a little kid just blatantly fuck up a magic trick but they’re naive enough to think it’s working.  Keep going, I’m enthralled.”

You hold still for just a second as ice suddenly sinks through your tummy and clears away any trace of warmth you may have once felt from before.  Of course.  Stupid.  Stupid, you shouldn’t have even tried something like that, you don’t know why you thought…

Horrifyingly, you go dead silent and the lack of an immediate response from you hangs awkwardly in the still air.  You’re usually so quick with him, so fiery, letting the things he throws at you just glide right off you, but for some insane reason, you’re actually fucking… embarrassed?  A little bit?

You should say something, but your whole body is just frustratingly blank, almost buzzing in mortification, and it gets worse and worse the longer you stay quiet.  You don’t usually put yourself in a position to be compromised, and you certainly didn’t think the place he decided to jab this time had particularly thin skin.

You… you’d forgotten what it’s like to have someone laugh at you when you’re genuinely trying your best to flirt.

Well, it’s too late to say anything now, you think.  Now it’s just uncomfortable in here—true discomfort, not the typical angry silences.  You’re used to that, you’re used to huffing and crossing your arms and ticking your jaw through the breaks in conversation, refusing to say a word because you’re beyond pissed off.  This is different.  This quiet sits different in the air, this emotion hits different in your chest, somewhere vulnerable.  A crack in your armor he found without even necessarily intending to, but at this point, the stupid way you can’t seem to hide the wound from him is just as much to blame.

“So, uh…”  Dameron clears his throat as you shut your eyes tight against the awkwardness, but you can still feel a strange little shift in the air from behind you.  There’s something about the enclosed space, the quiet darkness surrounding you both, you feel… too close to him.  Sharing his air, feeling the energy when it’s cramped and you’re not able to just get up and storm away from him like normal.  You don’t like it.  You don’t like that you can immediately tell something has changed without being able to see him, that type of intimacy between you is pushing a boundary you can’t quite pinpoint but know exists.

You snap your eyes open and look over at Dameron’s reflection when he’s quiet for too long, and though you try to glare as fiercely as possible at him while you do it, the look on his face almost stops you dead.  The pure intensity raging in his expression, the way he’s got his eyes narrowed, flicking back and forth between yours, carefully studying you, wondering if perhaps he may have gotten it all wrong.  “I mean, y’know.  Theoretically speaking, and all.  If I broke, you’d let me fuck you?”

You… aren’t expecting that.

You don’t know why but your heart suddenly starts to race again, but it’s not the same as before.  Before it was speeding up and at an angle, like a rocket trying to escape a body’s gravitational pull, to go somewhere, search for something.  This time it just feels like it’s ricketing downhill, unsteady and out of control, about to break apart with every single pothole that rattles and slams through you.  Shit.  You didn’t expect the ultimatum would be presented to you so up front like that—you thought there’d be… some resistance, at least.  

Fuck, you take way too fucking long thinking about it, and your face feels warmer and warmer the more you mentally pick apart his specific phrasing, wondering where you should even begin.  You still haven’t said anything, but the damage is already done.  What should've been a firm, instantaneous go fuck yourself is left suspended, unanswered, open for interpretation.  You miss your window of opportunity to shut him down, you overshoot it by a longshot, and then you feel that spark of a what-if flare deep down once more.

No, fucking stop it.  Stop it.  Maker, your eyes do everything they can to not look at him while you concentrate and work to tap into your anger, stoking the flames of your fire to avoid feeling… temptation.  How dare he?  How fucking dare he do this to you, especially when there’s no chance to get out of here, to abort mission and cut your losses?  You clench your jaw and isolate that fury, magnify it until it’s the only thing you can feel anymore.

“My turn now,” Dameron eventually breaks the silence to clarify, blinking at you, and by this point you’re so fucking pissed off that you don’t recognize that isn’t actually a question.

“No,” you immediately snap, strung far too thin to deal with this new, treacherous territory with him.  Defaulting to normal is best, it’s easier.  “No, it’s not your turn, and fuck no, you can’t fuck me, not even if it means I win this stupid bet.  No to everything that has anything to fucking do with you, alright?  Don’t talk to me.  You’re lucky if I agree to sleep in the same fucking room as you tonight.  And—and?—I think your beard looks dumb.”

Okay, so maybe the last part was just a little bit childish, but you’re in such a bad fucking mood and you want to insult something he’s clearly just trying out for right now, hasn’t yet solidified as part of his usual appearance and unshakeable confidence in it.  It’s a downright lie—you think he might look more attractive with it than he ever has.  Effortlessly rugged and masculine, framing his face and making his eyes all the more piercing.

You don’t think it works, but regardless, he heeds your sharp words and says nothing for a good few minutes at least.  You had hoped the break in interaction would allow you the ability to reset a little bit, give yourself time to work through it, but it’s like the pressure in the air steadily increases regardless of how silent it is in here—or perhaps, because of it.

You can’t help it.  You flick your eyes to the transparisteel in front of you once more and catch his reflection staring directly at you, unmoving.  It jars you as much as it sparks your anger, and you glare down at your hands and give him a few seconds.  A few seconds of grace, of mercy, before you try again.

Sure enough, he’s still got his dark eyes pinned to you when you go to check once more, like he’s actually fucking thinking about something right now, which is just… astounding, for obvious reasons.  Mainly, the nerve of him.  The fucking nerve of him to be able to look at you like that, like he’s just entitled to study your every feature, searching your eyes for things you’ve never looked deep enough to find within yourself, making incredibly loud assumptions with his mind that he has absolutely no right to be making.

“Shut up,”  You snap at him defensively, feeling like you’re sweating buckets even in the freezing emptiness of dead space.  You can’t figure out if it’s a cold sweat or if your body is legitimately just malfunctioning under his stare.  “Shut up.”

You watch as his reflection suddenly drops his head back against the seat and rolls out the stiffness of his neck, blinking his eyes shut and raising his eyebrows like you’re completely overreacting, like he has absolutely no idea.  “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re not that dumb,” you challenge.  “You’re… plotting.  Evil plotting.”

A thick eyebrow drops so that only one is quirked up, and a grin pulls at his lips.

“You’re right,” Dameron admits casually after a moment with his eyes still closed, his voice pitched low in the cramped ship.  “I was thinking about what it’s gonna take to get you to lose.”

You swallow against the dryness in your throat, starting to unintentionally bounce one of your legs up and down without even realizing it.  Fuck, this ship is small, it’s too fucking small in here—you gaze wistfully out at the vast endlessness of space, wanting to grit your teeth at the irony of being surrounded by the one thing you so desperately wish you had.

“I just have to find a weakness,” he shifts forward in his seat and reveals to you, bewilderingly shameless in his honesty.  Like all of a sudden you’re an accomplice to this endeavor instead of its target, as if he isn’t spoiling the secret by letting you in on it.  “Something that you like, that gets you going.  Something that riles you up, gets you all hot and bothered down there—”

“So you can exploit it,” you huff, slouching over a bit and trying not to sound like you’re pouting.

“—so I can exploit it,” he finishes happily, collapsing back into his seat like he’s glad you caught on so quick and he doesn’t have to explain further.  “Now we can do the whole routine—the bickering, the tension, the undeniable sexual chemistry we have—or we can skip all that and you can just tell me flat out what it’s gonna take to rev that pretty little engine up, because I want it purring.”

And, it’s so fucking weird, because the specific verbiage that would normally make you cringe just hearing it spoken aloud doesn’t inspire the typical response, even though it feels like it should.  It feels like you should be grossed out, it feels like a moment you should screw up your facial expression and act offended, but you’re… not.  This is actually fucking working, it’s unbelievable.  The undeniable fact infuriates you just as much as it stumps you.

“You do realize that everything you say is a game that two can play at, right?”  You point out, not really sure where you’re going with this but feeling heated about it all the same.  “What’s stopping me from exploiting something you like?”

“See now that’s a great idea,” Dameron announces, clapping his hands together happily and sending you jumping a few inches in your seat at the sudden sound, your hand automatically shooting up to rest on your thumping heart.  “I can tell you what I like, and you can just listen.”

Alright, no, wait—backtrack—

“How about I tell you what I don’t like,” you snip breathlessly, tucking your hair behind your ear and feeling all the blood rush to your cheeks.  Default to normal, default to normal.  “Your fucking attitude.  Your demeanor.  The way you talk down to me.  You don’t listen.  You walk around like you’re such hot shit just because you’re a good pilot but none of that means anything when you don’t ever fucking listen.  You’re terrible at it, doesn’t matter who’s talking—you don’t listen to me, you don’t listen to people who actually like you, you don’t listen to orders, you don’t listen to reason—”

“You think I’m a good pilot?”  He suddenly asks, and you have to take a second.  This cockpit isn’t designed for anything other than sitting, much less turning all the way around, but you’re sure you can find some way to throttle him from here.  He chuckles as you let out the loudest sigh you’ve ever heard yourself make—which, is an incredible feat you think both of you should be congratulated for—before Dameron eventually carries on.  “You could tell me that,” he admits with a shrug, a hidden smile on his face that he’s trying to bite back.  “Or you could tell me the truth.”

You shouldn’t encourage him, but you just can’t fucking help it.  There’s something inside you, something you can only compare to a morbid sort of curiosity.  Maybe you’re just a glutton for punishment, even more so than agreeing to this bet has already confirmed.  “And that would be—?”

“That you use anger as a defense mechanism because I touch a nerve you didn’t realize you had,” Dameron replies breezily.  “Have since the moment we met.  And that you maybe want me to touch something else, but you’re too stubborn and proud and committed to hating me to ever admit it.  You can admit it, it’s okay, I can touch whatever you need me to tou—”

“How about the emergency eject button?”  You hiss, finally feeling your frustration peak.  “Pop the top on this bitch.  Put me out of my fucking misery, right now.  You’ve got such a big head that the blood flow will probably keep your tiny little brain warm enough as long as you strap yourself down beforehand, I’ll wait.  And then you can go back to base, alone , and find another poor girl to emotionally torture since you probably don’t get enough of it from the ones you work your way through but can never remember the most basic things about.”

Remarkably, that actually shuts him up.  You’re doubtful the jab really hurts him, but you’re not going to feel bad about it either way.  He deserved that.  You cross your arms over your chest and don’t even bother looking at him, huffing and flushed with the climax of your ferocity, now left feeling strangely exhausted in its wake.  Eventually your breathing evens out and disappears into the silence, until nothing at all can be heard.

It’s like that for a moment—only a moment, before the loud tearing of velcro suddenly shreds through the quiet in the cockpit, completely rattling you.  Automatically your eyes shoot over to his reflection, watching large hands pull the orange jumpsuit apart at his chest and then shrug it over broad shoulders.  It’s not sexual.  It can’t be sexual, because there’s just no fucking room to allow it—it takes him forever to pull the long sleeves down his arms, but the way he drags it out somehow just increases your anticipation for an event you should have absolutely no interest in spectating.  He’s wearing a white sleeveless undershirt underneath and the jumpsuit bunches at his waist, making him look all the longer and more defined as he finally collapses back into his seat and reclines in it, the distant constellations bathing his lean torso in dim speckles of starlight.

Your gaze catches on every good part of him—it falls down the muscular lines of his neck and follows the thin gold chain wrapped around it, disappearing into the white of his scooping neckline.  His toned body finds a place to rest and stretch out without looking awkward or uncomfortable, coarse hair darkening his jaw and dusting the strong lines of his forearms—but it’s his eyes that make your heart stutter.  They’re endlessly deep and dark and knowing , and you can’t seem to look away from him, not even when he opens his mouth to address you.  

“You’re always so fucking mean to me,” Dameron remarks, and for just a split second—just a split second, you feel a stab of regret.  “I should eat you out tonight.”

Fuck, he hits the nail right on the head on his very first try, and just hearing the words come out of his mouth so effortlessly makes your pussy clench in on itself in need.  Nothing about his inflection changed from one sentence to the next, nothing in his voice made it seem like he just flipped the fucking galaxy upside down with just a few words.  To an onlooker who doesn’t speak Basic, they’d have absolutely no hint as to why your face is suddenly radiating heat at an industrial capacity, blazing hot enough to warm the whole cockpit.  You feel like you’re literally burning up with it.  You have to put a palm to your cheek to make sure it’s not actually on fucking fire.  “What— what did you just say to me?”

“That’s what you need,” he drawls, unbothered by the sharpness of your tone.  “What you’ve needed, ever since I can remember.  Should’ve done it a long fucking time ago, now that I’m thinking about it.  How long’s it been?  Tell me the truth, I know it’s been awhile.”

You feel like you’re being roasted alive like one of those hairy little Kowakian monkey-lizards that you’re pretty sure have sentient designation but are the first to be skewered and cooked over the firepit regardless.  Your heart is slamming against your sternum and you scramble to come up with an even slightly clever response after such an ambush.

“This is your plan?”  You raise an eyebrow at him, feeling a bead of sweat drop down your temple and onto the corner of your lashes.  Oh fuck, be cool, be cool.  “You think this is gonna work?  Ask me if I want a weak orgasm and rugburn on my thighs?”

“I can shave,” Dameron proposes quietly, lifting his chin and gently scrubbing the side of his cheek.  The sound of the thick bristles against his fingers makes you swallow thickly and push back very vivid thoughts of how his face would feel between your legs.  How soft and wet his mouth would feel at the center of that thick, coarse beard.  “Tonight, I’ll shave it off.  Make it nice and smooth for you.”

Something inside you surges up to assure him he absolutely should not shave, and you actually have to bite your tongue to keep it buried at the last second.  Stars, that was a close one, what the fuck prompted that?

“I don’t give a shit what you do,” you quickly return, resisting the urge to wipe your brow.  “Beard or no beard, makes no difference.  Foreplay is overrated, I’m not big on wasting time.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” he immediately laments—so quick , and the worst part is that the sympathy in his voice actually sounds sincere.  You’re having trouble looking him in the eyes right now, hearing the genuine pity come through in his tone.  “Who… who did this to you?”

“You said you want to figure out what I like, what turns me on,” you return, tucking your hair behind your ear once more and trying not to sound self-conscious.  Maker, how long until your shift is over?  You need to get out of here, this shit is… way out of your league.  “I’m not into it, so try again.”

“Really?”  Dameron takes a moment to look at you, furrow his thick eyebrows at you in barely concealed curiosity, before his head tilts sideways and drops to his shoulder.  “Normally I’d respect that, but I meant it when I said you need it.”

“We fucking hate each other, Dameron,” you hiss, a reminder to him as much as it is to yourself.  Fuck, you really don’t like where this is going.  “You don’t know anything about me, you don’t know what the I n—”

“I bet you think we’d fuck hard,” he murmurs, low enough that you have to take an unsteady breath and physically brace yourself for whatever is going to come from that dirty mouth next.  “You think that maybe I’d throw you around a little, give it to you from behind, teach you a fucking lesson for always talking back to me.  But that’s primitive shit, Gold-Ten, that’s not for you.”

Resist.  Resist .  You’re part of the fucking Resistance, for Maker’s sake, you’re taught to hold out until death in torture scenarios.  Since when did this tin can suddenly become a new POW camp simulation you have to train for?

“I want to take you apart so slow that you can’t talk at all,” Dameron continues quietly, and you close your eyes, biting your bottom lip hard enough to sting.  “We don’t even have to fuck—I mean, I want to, but mostly I just want to taste you.  Go nice and slow.  I want you on your back, so I can look in your eyes and see all that anger just… fade away.  I want to watch you try to fight how fucking good I’ll make it.  How hot it’s gonna be when you can’t glare at me anymore, when your pretty doll eyes go all soft and sweet and you finally realize that I’ve never hated you at all.”

Maker.  This is a trick.  It’s not a question, it shouldn’t be presented like one—this is a dirty rotten trick , and you’re not gonna fall for it.  You can’t fucking fall for it.  It’s a low blow, and you refuse to even acknowledge he said anything at all.  He’s lying to get your guard down.  He laughed at your flirting.  He’s a shit person, he’s using you, this isn’t real.

Real or not, you still gulp loud enough for him to hear it.

“We could go back to our room after our shift is over,” he offers out of the blue, and you have no clue why, but when he pauses and lets it hang in the air for a second, you don’t interrupt him.  You stay completely silent while he waits for you, waits for your typical snarky comeback.  You have it in your head instantly, you know what you’d normally say.  Your room.  It’s not ‘our’ room, it’s fucking your room that you’re generous enough to let him bunk in, a privilege he’s this fucking close to losing—but you can’t find it in yourself to say it right now.  Your anger is gradually losing the war to your arousal and you’re forced to watch every single small defeat inside you happen from the sidelines.

His reflection blinks at you through the transparisteel, his eyebrows raising just slightly at your prolonged silence, before he suddenly sits up a little and leans forward.

“And I could lock the door,” Dameron continues, lowering his voice, both in volume and register.  “The lights in there are way too fucking bright but I don’t want to be in complete darkness, so maybe we can turn them off and open the port shade, let just enough light come through to see.  I could turn on the radio, find something quiet, easy to listen to.  Something you like, I’ll let you pick it out.  And then… Wait, hang on, which bed?”

You clench your jaw and purposefully say nothing even as your pussy squeezes, glaring right through his reflection into the black void of space.

“Mmm.   Your bed,” he eventually decides.  “I want you comfortable.  You shower at night.  Your hair will be wet and you’ll be in those baggy pajamas that you think I can’t see your nipples through, the ones that I know you take off under your covers and then put on in the morning when you think I’m still asleep.  That’s good, I want you relaxed, so that maybe… maybe you’d let me take your panties off at some point.  And you could lay back and open your legs, and I could go down on you for a little while.  However long you need.”

Fuck.

No, this isn’t fucking happening.  Your lower muscles aren’t twisting in so hard that it actually fucking hurts, your pussy isn’t leaking through two layers of fabric under your jumpsuit, your body isn’t outright revolting against the sheer neglect you’ve put it through.  Maker, it’s fucking painful.  You have to clench your hands into fists and dig your fingernails into your palms before you can open your mouth.

“You want to know what I need?”  You nearly wheeze, a drop of sweat sliding down the back of your neck this time.  Your body feels like it’s three sizes too big for this cockpit and your skin feels like it’s three sizes too small for your body.  “I need you to shut the fuck u—”

“What you need,” Dameron purrs, sliding up closer behind your seat and sighing soft against the worn material of your headrest, “is a warm mouth to cum in.  Don’t be shy, pretty baby, you can tell me.”

You growl out his last name as threateningly as you possibly can before he purrs yours right back in your ear, and fuck, you’ve never heard it sound so sexual before.  Last names allow pilots to maintain a respectful distance from each other.  Flight designations are Resistance-wide, but last names are just… allies.  Not friends, not companions, but a vast network of people brought together by a common enemy.  It hurts to lose a first name.  But the way yours sounds rolling off of Dameron’s tongue is just too sinful, too intimate when calling you that is meant to sever intimacy by design.  He says it slow and makes it dirty, muddies it in the back of his throat as he slides up even closer to you, until his face is right next to yours as you stare at each other through the transparisteel.

“I’m really…” he pauses, before exhaling through his nose and swallowing thick enough to make his Adam’s apple drop and bounce up again, his tongue coming out to wet his plush lips as he blinks slowly at you with a heavy gaze, “… really good at it.  Call me Poe and I’ll do it for you all night.”

Shit, your pussy is just a fucking mess right now.  It feels like it’s melting sweet and syrupy all over your thighs, throbbing and pounding and clamping up and screaming at you to do something, at least press your hand down there to alleviate some of the aching tensi—

No— stars, no touching yourself is rule number two.  You drop your hands to your thighs and squeeze them, trying to reign yourself back in.

“I think you’re—just projecting,” you try, but turns out responding in general is just an all-around bad idea.  Nothing about it comes out right.  The ‘just’ sounds like your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and your voice cracks on the word ‘projecting,’ but you don’t even have time to be self-conscious or embarrassed at how much you’re giving yourself away—all your energy has to go towards fighting the tightness between your open legs, how you’re so fucking turned on that you’re worried you’ll cum without even touching yourself.  Oh Maker, can you imagine?  How fucking proud of himself he’d be?  You can’t let that happen, but fuck, holding back something so appealing is so much harder than it sounds.

Tap into that anger, tap into that anger—only, you can’t suddenly find it.  Where’d it go?  Fuck, doesn’t matter, conjure it.  Quick, before it’s too late, get mad —don’t let him lure you into a… a false… 

Dameron tilts his chin down towards the line of your shoulder and then slowly turns his head towards your neck, breathing you in gently.

A false sense of…

His soft exhale makes goosebumps break out all the way down your arms.

… What?

“Maybe you’re right,” Dameron acknowledges, talking just under your ear.  You watch his eyelids dip and the dark beard brushes against your skin and you catch just a hint of that woodsy, spicy scent engulfing you.  Like… teakwood, maybe?  Stars, you don’t know, you think you’re starting to lose your mind.  What the fuck does teakwood even smell like?  “Maybe it’s just what I need.  You should exploit it, chances are I’ll still cum first.”

That rockets another painful spasm down low.  It hurts so fucking bad—fuck, maybe you could… rub yourself up against these weapons controls?  Just a little bit?  That joystick, right there, just ease yourself up against it just to nurse this wound a little bit…?

No, fucking— bad.  That’s bad, you have to stop—

“This isn’t real, this isn’t—y-you just…”  You flutter your eyelashes shut, digging your fingernails into your thighs like it’ll help break through the fog of his lulling voice, how fucking amazing he smells right now.  “You just want to win th-the b—”

“ Fuck the bet,” he tells you quietly, his head dipped low enough now that his lips brush against your neck, and you shudder so hard at the sensation that your shoulder almost knocks into his chin with it.  “You really think I’m doing all this for a fucking bet?”

Don’t trust him, don’t trust him, don’t—

Your deep breath is so stuttery and uneven that it’s technically just a series of shallow inhales all anxiously strung together, too desperate for oxygen to go about it legato.  It’s painfully obvious to him by now, it has to be, but you very quickly miss the shaky breathing as soon as he takes away your ability to do it all together.

“Let me taste you,” he whispers, his voice almost breaking with how gentle it is, how it sounds like it flips in and out of his register when he speaks this low.  “Right now, let’s make it real, let m—I know you have to be soaking fucking wet, baby, just let me try a little bit of it, please—I’m… holy shit, I’m so hard just thinking about it.”

“You c-can’t,” you stammer, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration.  At him, at the situation, at the painful throb of emptiness between your legs.  “Fuck, it’s not allowed, it’s against the rules—”

“It won’t be,” he assures you, and you hiccup when you suddenly feel his hand brush against your side, strong fingers branching out to curve against your ribcage.  “You don’t have to do anything, you can stay just like this.  Just a few seconds and then I’ll stop, I promise.”

Oh, Maker, it’s on the very top of your tongue, so unbelievably close to telling him something—but you don’t know what it should be.  You’re right at the tipping point, on a tightrope right between what you want and what you should want.  And, knowing you’re this close to giving in, Dameron slowly eases his hand down your side and starts to trail it inwards, and just the lightest brush of his warm tongue against your neck shatters any composure you have left.

You whimper and instinctively try to close your legs, but you fucking can’t— your knees are forced wide apart by controls and your whole body freezes when his hand slides down and folds gently along the curve of your pussy through the thick fabric of your jumpsuit.

The feeling of being held like this by him is just too good , cradled so perfectly in his palm as he opens his mouth and flutters his tongue out to taste your skin again, giving you a little more of it this time and letting you feel the roughness of his beard with the way his lips move.  Your breath catches, then he hooks his fingertips up just the slightest bit and pulls back, and you suddenly have to smack your whole hand over your face in a terrible attempt to stifle your loud gasp.

“Oh, Maker, I c-can’t,” you stammer against your fingers, not being able to trust him or your own body.  You continue to protest even after he moves back up, resting his palm low on your abdomen, letting the heat bleed through the fabric and transfer directly to your floor muscles as he lifts his head up from your shoulder.  “I can’t, we can’t, I…”

You can’t see him, but you know he’s looking at you.  He’s staring right at you through the reflection, studying the way you’re hiding your face from him, how you’re still melting, still losing your composure just from the warm palm pressed tight your tummy.

His touch leaves you for a second. But then the deafening sound of velcro ripping at the crotch of your jumpsuit has you dragging your hand down your mouth and your eyelids dipping.

“Dameron,” you breathe into your fingers, just as his carefully slip into the small opening and begin to work at the button to your pants. “Dameron, this isn’t—you don’t want—”

“You don’t get to tell me what I don’t want,” he grunts at you, and you try not to bite yourself at the sound of him unzipping things and yanking fabric to the side.  “What I really fucking want is the real thing, but I guess this’ll have to do for now.”

“I—”  Your mind whirs desperately, trying to process when his fingers wedge under your panties and down.   But he doesn’t give you a single fucking second.  As soon as the tip of his middle finger reaches your slit, he’s dropping it and sliding it through your slick, hot, unbearably neglected cunt.

“Fuck,” he spits, and you feel like you might be about to break your own fucking jaw with how hard you’re clutching it, trying so desperately not to make a noise.  The pad of his finger is rough and calloused as it drags against your clit in slow, tight circles, and you clamp your eyes shut and try to breathe normally, but it’s no use.  Fuck , it’s been so long .  You’ve been aching for it for a full fucking month and a half now and you know that even if he couldn’t feel it, he can hear how drenched you are right now.  It’s making an obscene sound as he steadily masturbates you with one heavenly finger, giving your body what it’s desperately craved for so many weeks.  “Fuck, baby’s pussy got fucking wet hearing me talk about how good I’d lick it, huh?”

That sends a bright flare launching through you and you gasp raggedly, both hands whipping out to snatch at his forearm where it disappears between your legs.  “No, shit, wait, stopstopstopstop stop , I—”

His hand slips out immediately and yet you continue to tremble like his finger is still right there, like your clit is just imagining it so vividly that it’s successfully convincing itself of the illusion.  The aching bit of flesh is burning, that good burn, the one that’s searing and bright that makes your muscles continue to chase the sensation long after the stimulation is gone.  Fuck, he almost made you cum.  He barely touched you for a few seconds and yet your fingers have to tighten into claws to slow your body down the fuck down, flexing against your thighs and trying your best to halt the impending climax.

By the time you’re able to wrangle yourself back from the edge and look at his reflection, his middle finger is already in his mouth and he’s blinking slowly at you, his pupils blown wide.  You’re breathing hard at him, staring open-mouthed at the way his lips are closed below his second knuckle, how he takes forever dragging it back out again.  You have to close your eyes.  You have to clamp them shut and keep them that way, knowing you won’t be able to look at him through whatever he’s going to say next.

Except, oddly, he doesn’t say much.

“Shit,” he breathes, dropping his mouth to your neck once more.  “Shhhit.  I…”

Your eyes snap open in sudden, blind panic when he doesn’t continue, horrified at the possibility that he doesn’t like it.  Dameron always has something to say, he doesn’t go speechless.  “Oh—Maker, is it not—?”

“Mmmfuck, just—” he grits, panting hot air against your skin, “—fuck.  Give me a second.”

You can only see the crown of his head with the way he’s angled, but you can see his shoulders a little further back.  They start… moving slightly.  Just the littlest bit, a smooth motion, like his whole body is slowly easing back and forth—

The nav controls are between his legs, you immediately realize.  He’s grinding up against them with how close he is to you and your seat.

And suddenly, it’s like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.  A ray of sunshine that breaks through the raging storm.  Dameron might cum in his pants like this.  Which means you’ll win, and arguably more importantly, you’ll finally be able to cum.  You don’t even take a moment to consider the potential consequences—how you’re going to have to withstand the stimulation until he succumbs to it, how you’ll have to outlast—but you’re not thinking straight.  You’re not really thinking at all.

“You can…” you suddenly hear yourself whisper, and your heart pounds in your throat when he instantly stops moving.  “One… one more.  If you want.  You can put your finger inside this time, it’s where I’m the… w-wettest.”

“Fuck,” Dameron croaks into the crook of your neck, his voice scraping low and rough and sending a tremor through you.  “Fuck, okay, yeah—”

His hand slides across your hip and down, but you catch him just in time.

“But don’t touch my clit.”  You try to sound as firm as possible through the breathlessness, still trying to put your foot down even when you’re giving in, and Dameron’s teeth come out as he stifles a soft groan into your neck in response.

“Yes, baby,” he murmurs obediently as his hand sinks down once more, and so diligently, he avoids it altogether.  His fingers slide under your panties and fall straight down to your entrance, down to where you know you’re the hottest, where your pussy is flexing and pushing wetness out with a steady, wicked throb.  The pad of his middle finger presses gently against the tight muscles there, rubs just the slightest bit to feel that resistance, and then the length of it eases inside you so slowly that your knees rattle against bulky metal.

“Fucking Maker , ” he hisses as he slides it in, his body making a sudden jerk against the controls.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of something inside you after so long, after such a torturous buildup, and you grasp at his forearm again when it curls naturally up against searing pleasure.  Oh, it’s so good, it’s so good, your hands shake while he very carefully moves it in and out, the raw sparks of heat threatening to incinerate you as your muscles cling to every ridge of his finger.  He gets it sopping wet, bathes it so completely in your slick that you’re almost certain it’ll come out pruny and drenched.

“Shit, okay,” you pant, squeezing desperately around his finger, “o-okay, fuck, that’s enough.”

His hand pulls out… slower this time.  He slips his finger out of you quick enough, but he drags the tip of it through your folds as he retreats, just barely grazing your clit and making you jolt in your seat.  Shit, you don’t know if it felt intentional enough to fault him for it—mostly it just excites you, thrills you to have him edge you like this without really needing to put any effort at all into it.

Dameron lifts his head to sink his finger deep into his mouth once more, and you tremble as you watch him enjoy it, staring at the way his shoulders seem to relax as soon as your taste is on his tongue, how his face goes soft with it and he almost slumps.

Relief.  Genuine, not embellished.  He still doesn’t say anything after he slowly slides it out and blinks at you, no sugar sweet drawl telling you how amazing you taste, no candied words to make you give in and let him have another go.  You’re both breathing hard at each other, staring, waiting to see who will break first.

Stars, you… fucking like this.  You want him to keep going, but you can’t offer it again.  It’s just too exposing, too revealing to let him you’re actually really fucking enjoying this, you can’t—

“Do you w—?”  Your voice automatically comes out through the silence without your permission, sounding just absolutely fucking wrecked by this point, but his palm is already slithering back down as soon as you speak, and you make the softest little submissive noise in your throat at him taking immediate initiative like that.  He’s not as careful about it this time—his hand finds its target with less frill, his finger slides in quicker, sinking deep into your heat with little hesitation, lighting you on fire from the inside out, and you bite the meat of your thumb to stay quiet.

“Fuck, this is so hot,” he suddenly breathes next to your ear while your legs spasm and you gasp brokenly.  “This is so—fuck, pretty baby letting me do this to her, I can’t fucking believe—”

Dameron eases a second finger inside you this time, letting you feel that delicious stretch from this angle, unable to lift your legs or shuffle around to help and subsequently resigned to simply experience it the way he gives it to you.  Your teeth have probably permanently indented your bottom lip from how hard you’re clamped down, a testament to how much you’re trying to hold back the loud moan you miraculously haven’t released yet.  Somehow it makes it sexier, not letting him hear you, not having your own noises to drown out the spark of urgency in his voice beginning to peek through.

Shit, it’s too much.  You can only let him touch you a few seconds at a time before you feel that familiar tug towards mind-numbing bliss, and the more he does it, the more appealing that feeling then becomes.  It’s teasing you, floating right in front of you and calling into question what could possibly be so bad about just reaching out to meet it?  You could.  You could cum right now.  What’s two weeks of pay?  You could cum all night long if you want, that is a thing you can do—

Quickly snapping out of your hypnotic downfall, your trembling hands snatch at his forearm once more, and Dameron, the fucker, drags his fingers slowly over your clit on the way out— so not accidental, not even close to it this time, but the sensation makes your hips stutter upwards and chase it nonetheless.

“Fuck you,” you groan at his audacity, your chest arching as you drop your head back, “I said don’t touch my—” but two wet fingers slipping past your lips and onto your tongue muffle the rest of your sentence.  Your heart does half a somersault before slamming down early, the taste of your pussy filling your mouth as you automatically start sucking on them.

“None of that,” Dameron tells you softly, massaging his fingers along your tongue before pressing a sweet kiss under your ear.  “Be nice.  I’m being nice.”

You should bite him.  Instead, you just close your eyes and mphh weakly around his fingers, your body sagging as you give into it and let him explore your mouth with them, your lower muscles cramping up in painful desperation even when he’s not anywhere near that part of your body right now.  Your tongue even comes up to lick between them, swirl around them so soft compared to how hard you’re puffing through your nose.

Dameron slowly inches his fingers out, letting the tips of them rest against your bottom lip for just a brief moment, before his hand is moving again.  Not down, but back and around, so he can open his mouth and taste you another way this time.

Shit, you feel like you’re dying.  You need air.  Your hands clench into fists and you use the back of one to wipe the sweat from the bridge of your nose while he takes his time sampling you like this.  If anything, he looks just as blissed out as before, continuing to rub his crotch up against the solid metal between his legs and teasing you with it as much as he’s teasing himself.

“Maker, let me do this for real tonight, okay,” Dameron pants after dropping his fingers from his mouth, sounding like he’s fighting for his breath while you can’t find yours at all.  Your eyes flick down to watch the way his hand disappears behind the chair to grab the controls and push his cock up against them even harder, how he drops his forehead to your neck like he just can’t fucking handle it anymore.  “Fuck, I’ll shave, I’ll do anything you want, just let me—”

“Cum,” you gasp out before you can stop yourself, and there’s a moment after it where his hips suddenly stutter against the controls, and you both freeze.

Shit.  Shitshitshit, did that actually work?

No, you very quickly realize, his body isn’t spasming like it would if he finally emptied his load after a month and a half.  He’s just… holding there, his head buried in your neck, completely still.

You didn’t mean it like that.  Well… fuck, you did, but you didn’t realize you’d be that reckless about it, that upfront about reissuing the challenge.

Dameron pulls back to look at you from the side this time, but it’s too cramped—he keeps his head turned facing you even as his eyes flick up to the transparisteel to take in the finer details of your features, the thin sheen of sweat on your forehead, and the slightly alarmed way you’re blinking back at him, worried you just shot your blaster at him in the midst of a mutual ceasefire and you fucking missed.

You see the understanding in his eyes instantly fall into place, and it’s not fucking good.  Ohhhhhh no, it’s not good.  Your chest starts rising and falling rapidly, suddenly registering the position you just put yourself in.  Fuck, you didn’t think—you saw your opening, so clearly, you didn’t have time to think about the consequences.

“D-Dameron…” you try your best to placate.

“Don’t touch your clit?”  He asks quietly, the raspiness of his voice ripping a hole through you while his hand suddenly shoves its way back down your body once more.

“Dameron,” you whimper, your heart stuttering in panic as you grasp weakly at his arm reaching between your spread thighs, “Dameron, this is—this is against the r-rules—”

“You keep saying that,” he comments, his fingers easily finding the opening in your jumpsuit no matter how hard you flex your thighs against bulky mechanics to try and close them.  “How clearly do you remember the rules?  What were the rules again?

You open your mouth to respond but his hand sliding under your panties and down just obliterates any chance you were going to attempt.  No words, nothing comes out but a shaky whine as his finger sinks into your soaking heat, going right for the kill.

“Come on, baby, the rules,” Dameron reminds you when you never give him an answer.  “Tell me.  No fucking, no jerking off, and…?”

You suddenly struggle forwards in a last-ditch attempt at preventing the inevitable, hoping you can scoot up enough in your seat to escape his reach from behind.  But fuck, your thighs have been shoved wide open for nearly eight hours—none of the muscles are working the way they should be anymore.  There’s just enough room in front of you to get there and you probably would’ve been able to do it at the beginning of the shift, even with his hand between your legs like this, but you’re sluggish and your thighs pull sharp and urgent with the movement.  The frantic maneuver enough to veer his fingers off course just slightly, moving one of your lips to the side at an angle, and you keep pushing against the pain no matter how useless it is.

“—No cumming,” he finishes for you, and his other hand is slithering up under your arm and groping one of your breasts through the jumpsuit before shoving you back tight up against your seat once more, totally helpless against it.  “Probably have another fifteen minutes or so before our shift ends.  Better hold it in, pretty baby, because this one is all you.”

“This—this isn’t fair, this is—”  The second the slippery pad of his finger presses hard against your clit, you’re biting your lip to cut off a breathless whimper that slips out.  “This is… is sab— sabotage— ”

“Oh, I know,” he moans next to your ear, mocking your high plea of distress with a fake, overly sympathetic whine.  “Feels so fucking good though, doesn’t it?”

Fuck, it does.  The build feels like an orgasm in itself, just working your way to it.  You’re already so unbelievably close after just a few seconds of direct stimulation, an obvious consequence of originally agreeing to such a hardcore edging workout.  You’re pouring sweat, so swollen and tight between your legs as you do everything you can to revolt against your body’s needs.

“Oh fuck, stop touching my clit—” you gasp raggedly, heart thundering in panic while your lower muscles start to immediately seize up, “oh—fuckfuckfuck— Poe, take your finger off m—”

Instead of doing it, his hand just slows down until the tip of his finger comes to a halt, maybe less than an inch over top of it.  You still can’t catch your breath though, not when you feel yourself throbbing against absolutely nothing, the calloused pad holding perfectly still over the bundle of nerves.  The swollen bud still arcs and flares at a steady frequency, building and building, and you choke out a wordless garble, absolutely fucking furious that this is what’s gonna make you cum.

“Don’t make me cum,” you switch up your sentence but not the terrified plead in your voice, the way it’s pitching up and out of control in the dead quiet of space.  He doesn’t even acknowledge it.  “Don’t make me cum, don—”

“Say it again,” he prompts instead, and lightning arcs up your spine.

“Poe,” you wheeze, the words coming from you without thought, your fingernails digging into his forearm even as your hips jerk up into his touch, “fuck, don’t make me cum, Poe—please don’t make me c—”

“But it’ll be so good,” he counters lowly, and your clit throbs in desperation at the richness of his voice when he speaks like this, saying things from deep in his chest.  “It’ll be so fucking good when it happens.  Stars, you’ll feel so much better, won’t you?  Cum right now and I’ll give you as many as I can until we have to go home.”

“N-No,” you whine, feeling his teeth scrape at the crook of your neck.  “No, I can’t—”

“Cum for me,” Dameron raises his voice, sharpening it into a direct order.  “Right now.  Come on— fucking make yourself lose.”

“But I—I—” you sob, starting to feel your body curl inwards, nearly about to succumb to the burning, the tightening, right on its last breath, “I-I don’t want to cum—”

“And I don’t fucking care,“ he hisses while your hands start flexing unintentionally, grasping helplessly at his immovable forearm where it disappears between your legs, the dark hair sliding under your fingertips as you claw desperately at it.  “You’ll fucking cum when I tell you to cum and you’ll like it, you disrespectful, cock-deprived, bratty little—”

And then everything goes dark.

No, literally.  The stars disappear.

The cockpit is suddenly shrouded in pitch blackness, and you’re almost certain it’s because you pass out, except then Dameron is all but ripping his hand out of your jumpsuit and cursing repeatedly in alarm.  You crumple in on yourself, eyes clamped shut and not hearing anything, right at the peak of your ecstasy and ready to soar into the light completely unassisted, your muscles doing all the work on their own—

“—shit, they’re way too close—” you hear his voice shout, “—we have to turn the engines on—Gold-Ten, baby, turn the fucking eng—”

You’re almost there, you’re almost there, you’re gonna cum, you’re gonna fucking—

Your first name, roared out in startling, blinding panic.

You don’t often hear it.  Just during roll calls mostly, but only if you’re flying with a different squadron and need a new temporary flight designation for the day.  First names hurt.  You can’t remember a time you’ve ever willingly told anybody yours.

Your head jerks up to look at his reflection but something else beyond the transparisteel takes immediate precedence.  Your brain takes about two seconds to catch up before thundering terror slams through you and halts your previously inevitable orgasm in its fucking tracks.  A runaway train about to launch off its tracks suddenly slamming directly into a megaton force-field of cold, hard fight or flight instincts.

A staggering fleet of First Order ships silently plunging out of hyperspace on all sides—your powered-down x-wing stationed right in the middle of the drop location.

***

Stay tuned for part two coming soon!!

[spookyvalentine]

10, 12, 25, 32 (off your third shepard ama questions list) if you’re taking asks! 👀♥️

AHH YES I WILL!! and yes I'll do it off the fourth list ;) also im gonna to include truce too since I’m finishing this so so late I hope that’s ok!!

10. Favorite drinking buddy and why:

Mercy never met a homebrew they wouldn’t sample. like, oh shit you made it? yeah I’ll take a sip of that. They don’t drink much (that was their teen years), but they do want to taste something locally made. And mercy loves being someone’s drinking buddy. hell yes, sit next to me, gimme the DL. can always rely on them to be the dd and cover the bill. Didn’t get drunk on the sr1. On the occasions they do get close to shitfaced—well. mercy’s alone shut away somewhere. The ones that have a pass to drop by are Kasumi, Thane, Edi, Jack n Vega. (crime lord: wrex, kasumi. sports coach: vega, nihlus. white collar: samara, edi)

Stellan doesn’t want just a drinking buddy—they want a whole party! as many people as possible. On Mindoir, Stellan was raised in an artists farming commune that had large gatherings to celebrate a harvest and the gifts of the season—sharing fresh cheeses and bread, vegetables on the grill and fruit for smoking later, jars of jam and pickles and butter, honey wine and fruit beer. eating under the big tree. dancing and music around a bonfire, watching the sun (and for some, the moon, too) sink down into the lake. that being said they have a wine night or two doing some board games/group activity. oh you know their citadel party was just. spectacular. joyful

As for Truce? hmmm. Well since I’m still figuring them out their answers are gonna be shorter than mercy n stellans. First instinct? Joker. The two of em have a lot of shared history, even before me1

12. Where do their thoughts linger? The past, present, or future?

Mercy’s solidly in the present. the here and now. what counts is the time between each breath and what they’re gonna do with it. kasumi’s grandmama taught them and mercy’s kept up a regular yoga practice since akuze

Stellan is always looking to the future. thoughts skipping ahead, strategizing, making predictions… what is the next move? How to get there? there’s a reason Stellan was known as a galactic kepesh-yakshi talent first

Truce is hunted by their past in a way mercy n stellan’ve never had to suffer with. A legacy. fuck, a lineage. There’s a ghost already haunting their next footstep

25. Does Shepard dream of the starchild, or does it take a different form?

OKAY so I’m stupid and was a uhhhhh lil high when I wrote this list of questions, so I’m gonna articulate it a bit better n split it into two and maybe go edit the list: Who are they chasing after in their nightmares? Does the starchild/reaper take this form for the final confrontation?

So in Mercy’s nightmares, it starts out as strangers, acquaintances then loved ones revealed to be indoctrinated and consumed by reaper tech until barely recognizable. And inspired by @angstyastro’s big brained Isani idea that gripped me by the throat and hadn’t let up, is the starchild takes mercy’s image, flickering randomly between ages, from younger than they remember to older than they’ll ever be

Stellan’s first dream has the kid, Anderson and the alliance room they were in blasted to bits. They start having nightmares about the mindoir raid (they hadn’t had one in nearly seven years). And the starchild flits between all their siblings, many parents, grandparents and cousins. It hurts, makes them angry at first, but with the slurry of pain, concussion and adrenaline, it’s not too bad seeing their faces again

Ahhh I can’t come up with anything for Truce yet, I gotta rotate them some more

32. What kind of drunk is Shepard? Affectionate, weepy, belligerent…?

Mercy is… honest. They have opinions—in a way that others belatedly realize that until that moment, Shepard’s been holding them at arms length. And for all that mercy knows just every detail and decision that shaped their lives, and like, even after saving the entire galaxy together (twice!!!!), mercy rarely talks about themself. when they’re drugged with a psychedelic (a self-indulgent tropey abduction fic I’ll finish some some day), they are deeply affectionate and weepy

Stellan is a flirt. It’s so unexpected because hoo boy. The commander does not have game. after a pina colada though? Smooth criminal. Fetching blush all across the cheeks, their nose and ears pinking. Big velvet pupils, white teeth biting down on reddened lips. Clever timing, a charming laugh. Leans all up into your space. And with Shiala! Positively handsy. It’s a sight to behold for sure, of spritely little Stellan Shepard leaving tall beefy Shiala with a dropped jaw and a hot stare. Big dancer

Truce, I can’t decide if they go quiet or go out pickin fights

fifty (last) questions for commander shepard