#short and half bald guy who thinks he's the best well think again

[drysauce]

i did everything on the exam. if the guy fails me then tomorrow morning im going there and waiting in front of his room for consultations and i WILL be arguing

[novoaa1writes]

candles

image source

pairing(s): dark!wanda maximoff x reader

summary:

you’ve been feeling strange for the past month, particularly when it comes to dating. 

you do your best to ignore it, thinking it’ll resolve itself on its own—given time, that is.

it doesn’t. 

(and it’s got everything to do with wanda.)

[also available on ao3]

word count: ~5,300

rating: mature

warnings: dark!wanda, NON-CON spanking (with a belt), NON-CON BDSM play, mental manipulation, partial mind control, emotional manipulation, mental coercion, trauma bonding, toxic dynamics, drinking, possessive!wanda, non-con mind-reading, vandalism, adultery (not in reference to you or wanda), brief instances of slut-shaming

notes: [requested by anon] reader’s sexuality isn’t explicitly stated, but ex-partners of different genders are referenced/mentioned

— —

wanda uses a couple bulgarian terms of endearment for reader here, so below is a lil’ list in the order of which they appear.

принцеса | printsesa | princess [feminine term of endearment] мила | mila | honey [feminine term of endearment] любима | lubima | sweetheart [feminine term of endearment]

*note: all of these are exactly one letter away from being precise matches to synonymous terms in russian. HOWEVER, the bulgarian alphabet and the russian alphabet are different—granted, in fairly minor ways. for one, while both are comprised of cyrillic lettering, russian has 33 while bulgarian only has 30.  

— —

You have no fucking clue what’d gotten into you. 

One moment, things were fine—good, even. And the next… well. 

You’ll explain. 

It was something like 11:30 on a Saturday night, and you were drunk. 

Well, not drunk. More like buzzed. 

But whatever, right? Considering the week you’d had, you deserved to let loose, even if only for a night. 

Monday night saw a very angry and decidedly unhinged soccer mom banging on your door, screeching vehemently about the ‘two-faced slut’ who ruined her marriage and demanding to be let in so that she could ‘make her sorry.’ Turns out, the older guy your roommate had been sleeping with as of late was married—not that he’d bothered to share that particular bit of information with her, obviously. 

The two of you spent the better part of the evening barricaded inside, passing a bottle of cheap wine back and forth while trying to explain to the 911 operator that you weren’t messing around, that there really was an angry soccer mom on your doorstep and you were actively fearing for your safety. 

She eventually left around 10:00pm—no thanks to the police, since the 911 operator hadn’t even bothered to give them a call. It wasn’t until the next morning when you left for work that you saw the woman’s parting gift to the pair of you: the word ‘HOMEWRECKER’ spray-painted across the front door in obnoxious red lettering. 

Bye-bye, security deposit. 

That same night, you made your roommate promise to start dating people in a similar age range—because really, the both of you were stressed enough as it was without worrying about coming in between yet another middle-aged couple’s dying marriage. 

The rest of the week wasn’t much better. 

On Thursday, your balding creep of a boss had made yet another blatant pass at you in the workplace, making you seriously consider (and not for the first time) the prospect of just quitting and being done with it. 

Then, at shit o’clock on a Friday morning, you awoke to an urgent phone call informing you that an ex of yours (one you were actually on semi-decent terms with) had gotten into a fairly serious car accident, and still had you marked down as her emergency contact. 

30 minutes later found you showing up at the hospital just moments after your ex’s current girlfriend had arrived, which then prompted the whole ‘you still being your ex’s emergency contact’ revelation when the current girlfriend demanded to know what you were doing there, which ended up being… well, you’ll just say it wasn’t pretty, and leave it at that. 

And your ex was going to be completely fine, anyways. She just had some minor cuts and abrasions, and would need to undergo a fairly minor (read: minimally invasive) surgery over the next couple days. 

Before leaving, you instigated a quick check-in with the doctors to ensure they had everything they needed—which then turned into you providing a list of allergies, as your ex wouldn’t likely be conscious for another couple of hours, and apparently the current girlfriend didn’t know of her sensitivities to penicillin and phenobarbital… which the current girlfriend was less than happy about, if the daggers she glared at you were any indication. 

Whatever. You were just trying to help. 

You thanked the doctors, told them to feel free to call you if anything went awry, then asked if they might tell your ex to call you when she awoke. You thought about offering some words of comfort to the current girlfriend as she sat vigil at your ex’s bedside, but the murderous glower she shot you the moment you got within ten feet of her was more than enough to make you think better of it. 

With that, you left. 

So… yeah. It’d been a shitty week. 

And now, here you were: a girls’ night out at the lively nightclub you and your roommate had scoped out just last weekend, tossing back $12 cocktails and letting the trashy EDM beat blaring over the speakers drown out the rest of your thoughts. 

You’d been feeling a little weird all week—all month, really. 

As far as you were concerned, this was exactly what the doctor had ordered.

 So, when a cute guy wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt that was at least a couple sizes too big yet did well to compliment his well-muscled torso came up to you and started chatting you up at the bar, you didn’t blow him off.

The exact opposite, in fact.

He was nice, and funny, and had a gorgeous smile that made your chest feel warm for reasons that had nothing to do with the alcohol. When he flirted with you, you flirted right back. 

You felt a little guilty for doing so, though you couldn’t exactly put a finger on why that was. Either way, you didn’t allow yourself to dwell on it for very long. 

After all, you’d been feeling hints of that for the past month, if not longer. It seemed to happen whenever you flirted with a cute guy, or went out on another Tinder date with a pretty girl, or even hugged one of your close friends. 

You’d get this painful tightening sensation in your gut, nausea roiling in your abdomen… a distant, lofty voice in your head telling you that this was wrong, that you already belonged to someone else. 

Which was pointless, really. Stupid. 

You were single. 

Your last serious relationship (barring the one with your now-hospitalized ex-girlfriend) had been over seven months ago with an eccentric guy named Lukas. He was kind, well-meaning… a bit of a dork at his very core, but you always found that more endearing than anything else. You’d dated him for four and a half months before deciding to break it off; because as much as you cared for him and enjoyed being around him, you didn’t love him, and you knew by then that you never would. 

You thought about him, from time to time—even missed him now and again.

And yet, the strangest thing about the shameful feeling you’d get whenever your roommate so much as brushed a friendly kiss up against your cheek—it had absolutely nothing to do with Lukas. 

You didn’t know how you knew that, but you did. 

Whatever.

This guy was not Lukas. 

His name was Des—short for Desmond, you learned over your fourth sugary-sweet cocktail of the night. He was charming and slightly foul-mouthed, but conscientious and passably polite where it mattered. He didn’t grope your ass or stare at your tits, nor did he make any lewd commentary about your body in any capacity. 

He also smelled… really good, like Old Spice and spearmint gum and the barest hint of cigarette smoke. 

That was more than enough for you. 

(Whatever, alright? Decent guys were in short supply these days.)

You smiled and let him buy you another drink, even after you’d insisted that he really, really didn’t have to. And when an obnoxious pop song with a beat that was far more catchy than you’d have liked to admit came over the speakers, you let him coax you out to the dance floor with minimal resistance. 

It was… fun. You liked the way his hands rested on either of your hips—gentle, almost careful; holding you like he understood he didn’t have a right to your body, like he was more than content that you allowed him this to even think of demanding any more.

Despite the twinges of guilt flaring in your gut, you let yourself get a little more comfortable… dancing closer and closer to him amidst a packed crowd of writhing bodies, letting your breasts graze up against his chest. 

It was teasing—provocative, even. A test, of sorts—one that Des passed with flying colors. 

He didn’t do a thing to rush you, just kept dancing across from you with his hands on your hips and his darkened gaze on yours—seeming fully content to let you set the pace for the moment. And God, but the way he was looking at you… patient but eager, like he wanted nothing more than to crush your body against his own and grind himself into you like an animal—and yet, still, he held himself back. 

You couldn’t help but find that attractive as hell. 

Looping your arms around his neck, you let your body to press flush against his as you swayed to the beat of the song, not shying away from the slight stiffness you could feel growing against your hip. 

That guilty, nauseous feeling in your gut pulled tighter. 

You ignored it, and, when he leaned a little closer to shout over the deafening music, “Would it be alright if I kissed you?”... well. 

You wasted absolutely no time in lunging up on the tips of your toes to capture his lips in a messy open-mouthed kiss, the strobe lights of the club fading into obscurity around you. His lips were warm and gentle against yours—tentative, at first, until you pressed a little harder and traced the seam of his lips with your tongue… and, yeah; that did the trick. 

A moment later, his lips parted to let out a quiet groan directly into your mouth as he began to reciprocate in earnest, setting every nerve ending on your body alight with electrifying want. 

And that’s when it happened. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, a twisted sort of clarity hit you square in the chest—slowly, and then all at once. 

The next bits were something of a blur. 

You tore yourself away from Des, turned to forcibly elbow your way through a floor of grinding bodies. You thought you heard him call out your name, and more than a couple people on the dancefloor turned to glare at you as you rudely brushed past them without care—but, whatever. 

You texted… someone, telling them you were headed back to the apartment, so they shouldn’t bother waiting up. The group chat, maybe? 

And now… Now. 

Before you can blink, the past crashes into the present, and you find yourself back outside in the pitch-black night. 

It’s dark… chilly. A brisk wind catches you the moment you stumble out onto the sidewalk, assaulting every inch of your exposed skin like scores of needles piercing your flesh. You whimper, shudder, and hug your arms around your body—trying to warm yourself back up like a scared little kid who forgot their jacket. 

For the first time that night, you regret the tiny black babydoll dress you’d chosen to wear for the evening—and that’s not even to mention the four-inch heels. 

It’s miserable, to be sure, but you can hardly focus on it for very long. 

No, you have to go somewhere. You feel sick, and cold, and wrong in a way you’re loath to even begin explaining to anyone else. 

And your head… you’re positively aching for something—someone to make this better.

You need… Wanda. 

Yes, Wanda is the person you’re looking for. She can make all of this better. 

You don’t know why, but you’re sure of it. You just need to find her. Hopefully she’s spending the night in her apartment on that super cozy sofa of hers, drinking hot chocolate and binge-watching something on Netflix like the two of you did a couple weeks back. 

A fond grin curves your lips at the recollection as you stumble off down the sidewalk, headed for the nearest subway station. 

Another wintry gust of wind hits you square in the chest, and you pinch your forearm hard, silently willing yourself to focus. 

The station should be less than a block down, if you’re remembering correctly. 

At the next street corner, you manage to brandish your pepper spray in one hand while you rummage around in your purse for your MetroCard with the other. 

It’s cold as hell, and you’re probably a little too drunk to be walking through the City streets alone right now, but you don’t much care. 

All you gotta do is find Wanda. That’s all. 

She’ll make everything better again. 

— —

Where everything else is confusing, there’s one part that seems to make sense—Wanda. 

You nearly pick a fight with the card reader at the subway entrance when it makes you swipe your card three times to let you through, and even the stairs leading down to the lower tracks are more of a challenge than they probably should be… and yet, somehow, the rest of it is blessedly simple. A no-brainer, really.  

You know which train you need to take… the blue one that arrives in four minutes. You know you need to stay on it for five stops before getting off. 

Once you’re up at ground level, you’ll have a short walk ahead of you—one that you know like the back of your hand despite only ever having been to Wanda’s a couple of times. 

You’ll enter Wanda’s apartment building, take the elevator right up to floor four, and boom! Home free. 

You do exactly that.

It takes a short time (thankfully) and there’s not an ounce of uncertainty within you all the while, like you’ve done this 100 times before.  

In seemingly no time at all, you’re there—standing on Wanda’s doorstep, knocking a couple times just beneath the burnished bronze ‘4A’ nailed into her door. 

Your head feels all light and dizzy; you’re still shuddering from the time you spent out in the cold; but—

“One sec!” Wanda’s muffled voice comes from inside, the mere sound of it washing over you like a soothing balm—promising relief. 

You’re safe now. 

You made it.  

— —

The moment the door swings open to reveal a bleary-eyed Wanda Maximoff dressed in tiny grey pajama shorts, an oversized Star Trek T-shirt, and nothing else, it’s like everything falls back into place. 

It’s like… like you can breathe again.

You’re still drunk, and shivering, and more than a bit confused; but now that Wanda’s awake and here and smirking like she knows exactly what’s happening even if you don’t, you feel… better, somehow. Not nearly so lost as you were before. 

“Y/N,” Wanda greets, stepping aside and offering out a hand to help you inside. You’re quick to take it. “I was not expecting you,” she drawls, though everything about her demeanor is saying the opposite as she shuts and locks the door behind you. 

You pay it little mind. “Yeah, I... ” you trail off, turning to face her even as an embarrassed flush warms your cheeks. All of a sudden, you can’t help but feel rather ridiculous for knocking on her door and barging in so late—especially without calling first. “I’m so sorry, I...  I don’t know why I’m here.”

Wanda just tilts her head, appraising you curiously even as the ghost of a knowing smile curves her lips. “Are you sure about that?”

The heat in your cheeks seems to intensify tenfold at that. “I… I need to tell you something,” you hear yourself say, and the moment it’s registered, you realize that it’s true. 

You feel… guilty, all of a sudden. Nauseous, too. Scared. 

You danced with that guy—Des. You flirted with him. You let him touch you… You kissed him. Why would you do that?

In the present moment, Wanda nods, like that makes perfect sense. Like all of this makes perfect sense. 

“Okay,” she acquiesces lightly, flares of crimson flitting through her measured gaze. “Is it something I’ll have to punish you for?”

‘Punish’ me? What—?

You feel Wanda’s presence in your head… inconspicuous tendrils sifting through your thoughts, worming their way through your scattered memories. 

No point in lying. 

“Y-Yes,” you hear yourself say. Much like earlier, it isn’t until the moment you’ve confirmed it aloud that you know it to be true. You danced with someone else. You flirted with him. You let him touch you… kiss you. “I… I’m so sorry, Wanda; I-I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You see the moment Wanda finds it—your memories of the nightclub. Meeting Des at the bar. Flirting with him… Kissing him. 

The look on her pretty features goes from bemused to disbelieving to absolutely murderous in zero seconds flat, and the realization hits like a freight train that you’re really in for it now. 

Fuck. 

“Go to the bedroom,” she snarls, her typically blue-green eyes burning with scarlet light. “Then take off that slutty dress. I want you on the bed, face down, naked. Do you understand?”

Your head is spinning; confusion rears its ugly head in your gut even as every ounce of your being screams at you to just obey—‘cause if you can just do that, the rest of it will start to make sense. (Maybe.) “O-Okay.”

— — 

You don’t know how you know the way to Wanda’s bedroom, but you do. 

You slip inside a room shrouded in darkness, and no matter how it strains your eyes to look around, you don’t dare turn on the light. 

It’s a modestly-sized bedroom with hardwood flooring, fairy lights along one wall, and an adjoining bathroom just opposite the entrance. There’s a tall, wooden dresser pressed up against the wall directly across from a large, king-sized bed. That’s pretty much all the detail you can manage to make out in the darkness.

Well, either way, you suppose it isn’t really your business. 

Wanda gave you specific instructions, and you intend to follow them. 

Not for the first time tonight, you’re quite happy about the babydoll dress you’re wearing—particularly for how easy it is to pull it up over your head and off, leaving you in panties and a strapless bra in a matter of moments. 

You fold the dress neatly in your hands, then leave it atop the dresser. Your panties and bra come next. In seconds, you’ve formed a small, tidy pile. 

As you step out of your heels and approach the neatly-made bed, you’re struck with the strangest sense of déjà vu… like you’ve done this before.

It lingers in the forefront of your mind as you crawl up onto the bed, biting back a groan at how easily the plush mattress gives way under your hands and knees. 

God, you’d kill to have a nice nap in this absolute cloud of a bed.

You shake the thought off, simultaneously willing the haze of intoxication fogging up your brain to abate.

You’re not here to nap. 

You settle face-down onto the bed, just like Wanda said. You’re careful not to rest your face on the pillows, though, since you have the distinct feeling that’s not something Wanda would want you doing without permission.

Instead, you fold your arms and rest your head atop your forearm, staring straight down into nothing. You scrunch up your features and let out a quiet huff as the black duvet tickles the tip of your nose. 

It smells like her—all of it does. Cinnamon, vanilla, and something indefinable; something that belongs to Wanda, and Wanda alone. 

You feel your body stiffen as a familiar set of footsteps draw near, approaching the room where you lie—naked and vulnerable atop Wanda’s bed.

The patter of Wanda’s gait becomes almost soundless as she enters, circling around the bed over towards the nightstand. You don’t dare to turn your head and watch as she pulls out one of the drawers, rummaging through it until she finds… well, whatever it is she’s looking for, you suppose. 

A moment later, there’s the telltale chk! of a match being struck, and a hiss as the phosphorous tip lights itself aflame. 

It’s quiet for a minute... then two. The only sounds you can hear are your breathing and the strike of a match every time Wanda lights another. 

Gradually, gentle flares of light grow in your periphery, bathing the room in a dim, yellow-y glow. She’s lighting candles—a lot of them. 

You’ve always loved candles. 

A couple minutes later, she’s finished, and she returns to tuck the matchbox safely back in the drawer. 

You lose track of her as she retreats once more, and your mounting curiosity is more than piqued when you hear her rummaging through the dresser near the foot of the bed; still, you don’t dare turn and look. 

Instead, you wait, fetid nausea churning low in your gut, pinpricks of apprehension dancing across every inch of exposed skin. Your heart thuds painfully against your ribcage as she takes something out from the dresser drawer, then shuts it with an audible thud!

You swallow the lump in your throat and urge yourself to focus on your breathing. 

In, out. 

In, out. 

In… out.

“I’m disappointed in you, Y/N,” Wanda’s voice comes from somewhere behind you, genuine hurt coloring her hushed tone. 

You have to fight the urge to shudder as a chill runs down your spine. “I… I’m sorry, Wanda,” you say meekly, pathetically, cheeks hot with shame. 

And the worst part? You’re not lying. 

You listen carefully for the sounds of her bare feet padding across the floor as she circles the bed once more, crouching down right beside you in the very corner of your periphery. 

“Look at me,” she orders, gentle yet firm. 

You do. 

The moment you meet her gaze, you can’t help the errant thought entering your mind that she looks so pretty like this—face bare of makeup; long brown hair piled into a messy bun atop her head; dainty features cast into darkened shadows by the low, yellow light of burning candles clustered together atop the nightstand. 

The muted light seems to soften her anger, her pain… allowing her to really look her age for the very first time since you’ve known her. 

“You think too loudly, Y/N.” Wanda’s words are dry, almost teasing as they jolt you back into reality. “Focus on me, please.”

You do. 

“You belong to me,” she asserts after a beat of silence, an uncharacteristically intent and almost solemn look splayed across her dimly-lit features. “I thought you understood that.”

The words confuse you even as they seem to resonate poignantly with some fundamental part of you… a part of you that categorically refuses to be ignored. 

“Wanda…” you trail off, bewilderment and contrition warring violently within your chest until it aches to draw breath. “I’m confused, Wanda,” you whimper out finally, overwhelmed tears burning in your eyes. “I-I-I don’t understand what’s happening—” 

Wanda cuts you off with a derisive snort. “Yes, clearly,” she agrees, her tone ripe with sardonic ire. “You’ve forgotten yourself. You’ve forgotten who owns you.”

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, desperately trying to make sense of it all. “Is that why…” You search Wanda’s eyes intently. “... I-I felt sick, an-and… guilty about dancing with Des.”

Something like anger flares in her gaze, hot and bitter, and you have to resist the urge to shrivel beneath it. “That boy had no right to touch what’s rightfully mine.”

“B-But then… why didn’t I remember?” you ask, utterly forlorn. “I-I felt it last weekend, too, but I… I didn’t—” 

“Last weekend?” Wanda repeats, features hardening.

Oh, shit. You feel your cheeks get hot again. “I… I shouldn’t have brought it up, Wan’, I’m sorry—”

“What happened last weekend?” she interjects, her tone cold and hard like a double-edged blade. “You can tell me yourself, or I can start looking.”

You shiver. “I… I went on a-a… a date with a girl that I met online,” you admit, tears welling in your eyes even as Wanda’s jaw visibly tightens. “I-It was just the one time! A-And nothing happened; we didn’t even k-kiss! I just… I didn’t… I didn’t know—”

“Yes. You’re right; you didn’t know.” Wanda stands abruptly, then, and it’s at that moment that you see the folded belt in her hands—thick, worn leather with a sterling silver buckle. 

An icy sense of dread blossoms in your chest, chilling you from the inside out. 

Is she going to—? 

“I was indulgent before… I let you get away with far too much. I will not make the same mistake again.”

With that, she turns to circle back around the bed, the belt buckle audibly jangling in her hands with every step. 

“I have to punish you, принцеса,” she continues, her voice scarcely more than a whisper as she comes to stand near the foot of the bed—and somehow, you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there’s no convincing her otherwise. 

She’s going to punish you, and it’s going to hurt. Bad. 

All at once, panic seizes you. You squirm, writhing in an effort to get up and off the bed—

Only to be stopped by tendrils of lurid crimson curling around either wrist, forcing them together just over your head like magic—glowing crimson cuffs holding both arms fast to the headboard. On a whim, you test your legs—tensing and pulling, only to be met with iron-clad resistance encircling either ankle in a tight, unrelenting grip. 

Well, fuck.

“W-Wanda,” you plead, hardly paying any mind to the way your voice trembles. “Please, I—I don’t want—”

“I do not enjoy punishing you, мила,” she laments, almost sounding genuinely apologetic. It tugs at your heartstrings in a curious way—something you really don’t have time to examine right now. “But you did something bad. And when you do bad things, there are consequences. You understand that, don’t you?”

A tear trickles down your cheek, warm and wet as you steel yourself for the first hit. “Y-Yes.”

“Good girl,” Wanda lauds, and you can’t help the surge of warmth that washes over you at the simple praise—the pride that blooms in your chest at knowing you’ve finally done something right. “Now—try and relax, принцеса, okay?”

It’s all the warning you get before the first blow comes down upon your bare arse with a resounding Crack!

White-hot pain flares across your bottom, racing up your spine like wildfire and tearing a strangled whimper from your throat. 

Jesus fucking Christ, that hurt—

Crack!

Crack!

Holy fuck. 

The impact of the leather against your naked cheeks leaves strips of fire burning in its wake, expelling all the air from your lungs in a choked-out rush. 

“P-Please, no, Wan’,” you beg breathlessly, struggling in vain even as coils of vibrant scarlet hold you fast, “it hurts, please—”

Crack!

“This is for your own good, baby,” Wanda coos, sounding for all the world as though she truly believes every word of it. 

Crack! This one lands directly across your sit spot, ripping a shriek from your lips as molten agony rocks you to your core. 

“Wan’—Fuck, please, no—”

Crack!

“G—God, fuck, pleasestop, please—”

Crack!

“P—Please, hurtssobad, I’m—”

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

“FUCK !”

Tears stream down your cheeks, wetting the black duvet beneath your face. You’re absolutely beside yourself with torment, your bare ass aflame with a pain unlike any you’ve ever known. 

Crack!

Crack!

… And the hits just keep coming—raining down stripes of blistering heat across your sore, bruised buttocks; pummeling your throbbing, exposed rear until it feels as though the entire area has just become one puffy, pulsating bruise. 

Crack!

All the fight has completely gone out of you; now, your body completely slack—devoid of any resistance even as every hit seems to sear itself into your impossibly tender bottom like a third-degree burn… The pain is absolutely incredible, unlike any else you’ve ever known.

You’ll do anything—and you really do mean anything—to make it stop. 

“P-P-Please, stop it, Wanda, PLEASE—”

Crack! Another hit directly across your burning sit spot rips a watery sob from your throat, followed by—  

Crack!

Crack!

It’s all you can do to keep yourself from hyperventilating until you pass out. 

Crack!

Agony blackens the edge of your vision, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks as you await another strike… 

But it doesn’t come. 

Wh—?

“Have you learned your lesson, мила?” Wanda asks, and this time, her voice comes from closer… like she’s right beside you. 

You don’t have it in you to be startled when a feather-light kiss lands itself between your shoulder blades, nor when one hand begins stroking up and down your heaving torso in soothing motions. 

“Y-Yes! I—please, God, yes,” you babble, overwhelmed by the sensation of unadulterated pain branding every inch of your battered arse. “I promise I’ll never, ever, ever do it again, Wan’—Won’t ever be with anyone else—jus-just please stop hurting me—I’ll be so good, please—”

“Shh,” Wanda shushes you tenderly. You feel yourself twitch as the mattress suddenly dips beside you. “It’s okay, любима,” she soothes, coming to rest beside you. “Just breathe, okay? Breathe.”

‘Breathe’...

Your pulse thunders in your ears; your ass is on fire with an anguish far beyond your years; and yet, there’s something undoubtedly soothing about her words as they wash over you in gentle waves… something that tells you you’re safe.  

Were you a little more lucid, you might’ve found that quite the nonsensical paradox—this feeling of safety and security with the woman who’d just beaten your arse raw without mercy no matter how you wailed and sobbed and begged for her to stop. 

But as it is, you’re not. 

Instead, you’re just broken and teary-eyed and in pain, and Wanda’s tenderness is a most welcome respite to alleviate that excruciating ache. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath, even if it burns your lungs something awful, and force yourself to let it out slowly. 

In, out. 

In, out.

In… out.

“That’s it, мила,” Wanda praises gently, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You’re doing so well… Just like that.” Her fingers come to rest beneath your chin, urging you to turn and face her…

And you do, far too exhausted to even think of doing anything other than what she tells you to. Your lungs burn; your nose runs; and the pain in your bottom hasn’t abated any—if anything, it’s intensified.

You’re more than happy to be given something else to focus on.  

When you look at her, her blue-green eyes are wet—glossy with tears.

“Wanda?” you manage weakly, feeling your brow crease with worry. “You ‘kay?”

Wanda sniffles, huffs out a watery-sounding laugh. “Yes, Y/N, I’m alright,” she whispers, then leans forth to plant a gentle kiss upon the tip of your nose. “I’m just so very, very proud of you.”

Despite yourself, you feel a pleased flush spread throughout your body at that. “Really?” you mumble, exhaustion drooping your eyelids until it’s a challenge just to keep them open. 

Wanda nods, a tear sliding out of her eye that you yearn to reach forth and catch with your thumb—but alas, you’re far too weak. “Really.” 

You hum, burrowing your face further into the duvet beneath your cheek—even if it is still damp with your tears. “‘M sorry I was bad, Wan’,” you murmur, feeling darkness near on every side. “Didn’t mean’ta make you upset.”

“I don’t like punishing you, принцеса,” she says once more, and this time, you have no reason to doubt that she means it. Honestly, you don’t know how you ever could. “It hurts me just as much as it hurts you.”

You hum again. Your eyelids feel too heavy to open. “‘M sorry,” you say. “Gonna do better… make you proud… I promise.”

Wanda chuckles. The sound of it makes your chest feel loose and warm and happy. “You already do, darling girl,” she murmurs. You don’t know if it’s because she’s whispering, or you’re fading into sleep, but you can barely hear her when she repeats it once more: “You already do.”

Sleep descends upon you, then, and you succumb to it willingly, feeling safer and more at peace than you have in a very long time. 

— —

tagging:

[marvel]: @normanijauregui​

— —

end notes: yeah i don’t know what this is either. i was only aiming for maybe 1,000 words or something, but things happened and...

look. i haven’t been to therapy in a hot minute, ok?

link to masterlist

[kanerallels]

happy one-eleven!! four words: kanera, lost a bet.

Oh, heck yes!! Here it is, I hope you like it!!!

Pairing: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla

Word Count: 3,269

Tags/Warning: rated G (for a grotesque amount of Kanera jk there's no such thing)

This was why Hera didn’t typically get involved in bets. They rarely ended well, and she’d seen some bets her friends made go in some very crazy directions.

But this one had seemed relatively safe-- her friend, Ahsoka, had been racing against her brother Anakin to see who could drink the most shots of chocolate milk in sixty seconds. Hera had bet on Ahsoka, because she usually won this kind of thing.

However, halfway through, Anakin had started stealing the shot glasses Ahsoka had been about to drink out of, which resulted in Ahsoka throwing other shot glasses at Anakin, which resulted in him drenched in chocolate milk but victorious all the same.

And now Hera owed Omega, her best friend and roommate, a dare of some kind, and she was getting an increasingly bad feeling about what it would be.

“So what does this have to do with our bet?” she asked as Omega led her towards a nearby building. Even from a distance, Hera could tell it was some kind of bar. That, combined with the fact that Omega had convinced her to get dressed up in a dark blue dress (which she almost never wore). She had refused to wear high heels, however, or let down her hair, which she almost always wore woven into two braids. That was a bridge too far for her.

“You’ll see,” Omega said, her voice way too innocent for comfort. Hera flashed an inquisitive look at their other three companions, Ahsoka, and Merrin. Ahsoka gave a shrug.

“Search me. I’m just here to see the fruits of my loss.”

Hera let out a sigh as she followed Omega and the others into the bar. This is definitely not going to end well.

The bar was dimly lit, but fairly generic-looking, with tables scattered across the room and the bar to Hera’s right. The room was about half full, and there were four people working the bar.

One was an older man who was almost bald, with a neatly trimmed white beard, who was taking a customer’s order. A young woman a little older than Hera, with short dark hair, heavy eyeliner, and tan skin was wiping down the bar, ignoring the two men bickering at the end of the bar.

Hera’s gaze paused on the two men for a moment. One had short dark hair, combed neatly, and a seriously annoyed expression. The other man, on the other hand, had longer brown hair, his skin a light brown, and wore an easy smirk.

His eyes flicked up from his work and locked on her, and Hera realized she’d been staring, Feeling a flush working it’s way across her cheeks, she looked away as the older man finished with his order and caught sight of them. “Ah, Omega!” he said, his smile kind. “A pleasure to see you as always. How are your brothers?”

“Still unaware of the fact I came here on a date, thanks to you,” Omega said, giving him a grin. “By the way, these are my friends-- Ahsoka and Hera.”

“Lovely to meet you, madams,” Okadiah said, giving them a bow. “We’ll have someone to serve you in a moment-- is there anything any of us can get you for the time being?”

“I think we’ll be fine,” Hera said.

Okadiah nodded just as there was a crash on the far end of the bar, where the two men had been. Hera looked to see the short haired man doubled over with laughter as the one she’d caught herself staring at got to his feet, rubbing his head and directing a glare at his friend.

“You alright, Kanan?” Okadiah asked, a look of mild interest on his face.

Waving a hand, the man said, “Fine-- it’s not that funny, Dark!”

Dark didn’t seem to agree, judging by how hard he was laughing, but Omega was already looping her arm around Hera’s and leading her and the others over to a table before Hera could see what happened next.

They settled at a table, and the female bartender, who turned out to be named Trilla, came over and took their orders. No sooner had she returned to the bar than Omega turned to Hera.

“Good news-- I know what I’m daring you to do.”

“Reassuring,” Hera said, letting out a sigh. “Okay, let’s get it over with. What do you want me to do?”

“You know that bartender you were staring at? The one with the ponytail?”

“Wha-- I wasn’t staring at anyone.”

Merrin shook her head. “No, Omega’s right. You were staring.”

“Unhelpful,” Hera muttered, her face heating up again.

“Regardless,” Omega said, waving a hand airily. “I’m daring you to get his number.”

Hera’s jaw dropped. “WHAT?”

Ahsoka’s eyes widened. “Oh, this is SO worth losing to Skyguy for. You want Hera to ask out the bartender she thinks is hot?”

“I don’t!”

“You do,” Omega said.

Merrin let out a thoughtful noise. “He’s okay. I like Cal better.”

“Cal is literally your boyfriend, it would be weird if you didn’t,” Ahsoka pointed out. “Hera, you absolutely HAVE to do this. I’ve literally never seen you show interest in a guy before, and I’ve known you for three years now.”

“I agree,” Merrin said, nodding.

Hera let out a groan. “I-- you’re not letting me get out of this, are you?”

“Sorry,” Omega said, patting her on the arm. “But you owe me. These are just the cards you’ve been dealt.”

Sighing, Hera muttered, “You sound like one of your brothers.”

“Not a bad thing.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.”

Clearing her throat, Ahsoka said, “Not to be the Skyguy, but stop stalling and get moving.”

“Fine.” Reluctantly, Hera got to her feet and headed over to the bar, determinedly trying not to think about the three other women watching her, or what she was about to do.

When she arrived at the bar, she realized that the other bartenders were gone, leaving only the guy with the ponytail-- Kanan?-- there. I’m not sure if this is better or worse. “Hi,” she said.

His gaze flicked to her, and his eyes widened a little at the sight of her. For a moment, he looked incapable of speech, and Hera frowned. “You okay?”

A very slight smile tugged at the corner of the man’s mouth. “Words fail me.”

This was… definitely not what Hera had been expecting. Before she could respond, the man said, “I’m Kanan.”

“I heard. Hera.” Hera offered her hand, and Kanan clasped it. His grip was firm, and something about the feeling of his skin against hers… Hera tried very hard not to turn red again.

“Nice to meet you, Hera,” he said with a smile. Releasing her hand, he leaned against the bar, propping his elbows on the surface as he faced her. “So. Be honest-- your friends dared you to come over here, did they?”

“What-- how--?” Hera stared at him, stunned.

Kanan shrugged lightly. “I have mad skills. Plus, I spotted Omega pointing over at us, and there were a lot of covert looks in our direction. Also, I recall her saying last time she was here that she had a friend she wanted to, uh, introduce me to.”

“You’re kidding,” Hera said, and Kanan shook his head. “Ugh, that is so typical-- how long has she been planning this?”

“Aren’t all of her brothers either currently or previously military?” Kanan pointed out. “Cause that’s definitely a yes.”

Letting out a long sigh, Hera muttered, “I can’t believe this.” Glancing at Kanan, she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to involve you in all this.”

“I’ve been involved in way worse,” Kanan said breezily. “Give me the details. I’m invested at this point.”

Grimacing, Hera said, “Long story short, I lost a bet with Omega, and she gets to dare me to do whatever she wants. And in this case, that’s… getting your number.”

“High stakes,” Kanan said with a totally straight face, and Hera rolled her eyes at him.

“Don’t mock me, alright? I don’t usually do this kind of thing.”

“It makes sense,” Kanan said, holding up his hands. “I mean, I doubt you usually need to, all things considered.”

Hera’s eyebrows shot up. “What exactly does that mean?”

She saw Kanan pause and look briefly embarrassed. “Oh. Well, I mean, you’re pretty… wow. I assume you have to fight off guys with a stick.”

A wave of heat swept over Hera, and she glanced down, feeling an absurd smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Pretty wow, huh?”

“Now who’s mocking?” Kanan grumbled, a grin crossing his face nonetheless. “I’m usually a lot smoother than this, you know.”

Rolling her eyes, Hera said, “Oh, I’m sure. But-- no, actually. I don’t date a lot. From what I’ve heard, my strong personality and ability to actually do things for myself tends to scare some men off.”

“Only idiots,” Kanan said, shooting her a grin that shouldn’t have made Hera’s heart skip a beat. But here they were, and she couldn’t help but notice how little space was between them. He was close enough that she could clearly see the bright teal of his eyes as they caught hers for a long moment.

“I’ve got an idea,” he told her, and moved back and away from her. Hera felt a moment of unreasonable disappointment, and hastily brushed it away. Don’t be stupid, Hera. Turning her attention back to Kanan, she saw him grab a pen and a paper coaster and scribble something on the back of it. “Here’s my number-- but I propose a bet.”

“I’ve already been tricked into one bet,” Hera pointed out, folding her arms. “Why on earth would I agree to this one?”

“Because I’ll give you my number either way,” Kanan said, sliding her the coaster. “Rules are simple. We stay here and talk for as long as possible. Whoever’s friends get curious and come to nose into our business first, wins. If you win, you obviously get my number, and I’ll pay for your whole group’s drinks and meals.”

“And if you win?” Hera asked, intrigued despite herself.

“I get to take you out to dinner,” Kanan said, a satisfied grin stretching across his face. “Somewhere a lot nicer than here, I promise you. Deal?”

Hera hesitated. Last time she'd gotten involved in a bet, it had gone badly. Getting involved in another one seemed really stupid.

But as her father liked to say, no risk, no reward. Besides, the worst that could happen would be her ending up on a date with Kanan. And would that be the worst thing in the world?

Brushing off the thought, Hera gave Kanan a nod. “Deal.”

“Excellent,” Kanan said. “Okay, in order to do this-- you might have to tell me about yourself.”

“Very funny,” Hera said, lifting an eyebrow at her. “But you've got a point. Where do you want to start?”

Kanan frowned, knitting his eyebrows thoughtfully. “Let's see. Favorite color?”

“I like blue,,” Hera said.

Nodding, Kanan said, “I can see why. It’s a good color for you.”

“Are you going to spend this whole time flirting?” Hera asked, narrowing her arms at him.

“Maybe,” Kanan said, a grin pulling at the corner of his lips-- and why was Hera looking at his lips?

Hastily redirecting her attention, she said, “How about you?”

“Green. Which reminds me, I like your hair.” He gestured to her braids, his fingers brushing one of them. “What made you decide to dye them?”

Flicking one of her deep green braids over her shoulder, Hera said, “It’s… for my mom. I lost her when I was thirteen, and she actually did something very similar with her hair. After a while, it just kind of stuck. My brother did the same thing-- it’s kind of our thing at this point.”

“I’m sorry about your mom.” Kanan’s deep voice was unusually serious, and Hera glanced up to meet his eyes again. They held a sort of raw conviction, a sadness that almost made Hera think he knew what she was feeling. He gently touched her hand, but pulled back again a few seconds later, giving her space.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice irritatingly shaky. Clearing her throat, she said, “Um, let’s see. What else?”

“I’ve got a good one-- what’s your dream job?” Kanan asked.

“Well, I’m going to school to be a mechanic,” Hera replied. “But ever since I was a little girl, I’ve liked the idea of being a pilot.”

“Like for a commercial airline or something?”

Shaking her head adamantely, Hera said, “Definitely not. No, just… being able to fly. It appeals to me, the idea of being up there. Anyway, I’m working on getting my pilot’s license. If I’ll be able to do anything with it is another story entirely.”

“I get the feeling you’ll figure something out,” Kanan said with stunning certainty. “You’ve got this general air of confidence, like you can handle anything. I admire it.”

“Hmm. I appreciate the support. Well, how about you? Dream job?”

“I’ve never really had one,” Kanan said, grimacing. “Let’s just say that my future hasn’t ever been something that’s been set in stone. I don’t really have your confidence, shall we say.”

“I haven’t always been confident,” Hera said, making a face. “I guess you’ve just got to find what you’re passionate about and figure out how to make a living off of it.”

“I don’t know how well that’ll go in my case,” Kanan said wryly. “But it’s not a bad idea. Next question?”

Accepting the change in subject, Hera said, “Well, I don’t even know your last name. Shall we start there?”

“Easily fixed-- Jarrus,” Kanan said, his smile returning. “You?”

“Syndulla.”

Hera regretted answering the minute Kanan’s eyebrows shot up. “Syndulla? As in the prosecutor?”

Letting out a sigh, Hera said, “Yep. Consider that another nail in my social life coffin.”

“Well, you do have a couple friends over there,” Kanan pointed out.

“Yeah, well, most people I meet are pretty convinced that I’m as rich and stuck up as they’re convinced my dad is. Omega and I grew up together, and she’d introduced me to Merrin. Ahsoka is… technically in the police academy, so she wasn’t very intimidated by my dad.” Hera rubbed a hand over her forehead. “And my dating life is… frustrating. I’m a little particular as it is, though--” she stopped abruptly, grimacing. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to dump all of this on you at all, it’s just--”

“It sounds to me like you need to talk about it,” Kanan said, his voice matter of fact. “And I’m happy to listen. I’ve been the object of many a drunken ramble-- and trust me, I’d rather listen to you.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Hera’s mouth. “Thanks. I think.”

“No problem. And for the record, the right people will stay friends with you regardless of who your family is,” Kanan told her. “I’ve been in a pretty similar situation, so I know what I’m talking about.”

Frowning, Hera said, “How so?”

Kanan hesitated, his expression clearly torn. “Uh. Do you know Mace Windu?”

“The deputy commissioner of the police department?” Hera said incredulously. “Yeah, my father has dinner with him and his daughter sometimes-- wait.” She stopped and squinted at Kanan. “Are you--?”

“His grandson,” Kanan said, offering what could be either a smile or a grimace. “Surprise. I don’t really talk about it a lot, but--” he shrugged. “We’ve all got family that’s not super easy to deal with.”

“Hmm.” Hera nodded thoughtfully. “Who would have thought our families would actually be so… entwined, I guess?”

A real smile started on Kanan’s face. “One could even call it fate.”

“Very smooth,” Hera said, and he laughed.

“Oh, just let me have this one.”

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Hera told him.

Leaning forward, Kanan locked eyes with her, their faces inches apart. Hera felt her breath catch as he said quietly, “Challenge accepted.”

Before Hera could respond, she heard a voice from behind them. “Hey, Hera?”

Kanan pulled back smoothly as Hera turned to see Ahsoka, whose expression was calm and blank, with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Are you busy? I can come back later--”

“You’re fine,” Kanan cut in lightly. “Although, Miss Syndulla, I believe this belongs to you.”

Hera glanced back at him to see him holding out the coaster with his number scribbled on it-- and she remembered the bet. Right. And I won. So why didn’t she feel excited?

“I’ll see you back at the table, Hera,” Ahsoka said quietly, turning and heading back to where their friends were waiting.

Taking the coaster from Kanan, Hera said, “Thank you. For-- all of this, really.”

“Not a problem,” Kanan said, but Hera could read the slight disappointment in his eyes. And she was startled to realize she felt the same way. It wasn’t every day she met a guy she might be interested in, let alone one who wasn’t intimidated by her and her father. “Consider your tab covered.”

“Actually,” Hera said as he started to move away, “I’ve changed my mind.”

Surprise flashed across Kanan’s face. “Uh, what?”

“For my end of the bet. I’m changing the deal.”

“Okay,” Kanan said, folding his arms as a slow smile started to grow across his face. “What exactly did you have in mind? Obviously I won’t accept just anything, since you’re changing the deal after the bet is over.”

“Coffee,” Hera said calmly. “Tomorrow morning, you and me. I’m buying. There’s a place two blocks south of here that sells the best bear claws. It’s called, unfortunately, Bake It Til You Make It.”

“That’s… kind of the best name I’ve ever heard,” Kanan said.

“The guy who owns it thinks he’s hilarious. But he’s a good baker.” Holding Kanan’s gaze, Hera lifted an eyebrow. “What do you say?”

“Yes,” Kanan said, giving her a crooked grin. “I’d love to.”

“Good.” Hera sent him a smile that she knew was different from her usual one. But there was something about this guy that was different. Maybe it was his easy humor or the seriousness and respect that was just underneath, or maybe even the fact that he was seriously good looking.

It could also be the way he was looking at her right now-- soft and kind, with a hint of curiosity in his eyes. It took Hera a moment to regain her ability to speak. “What?”

“Why’d you change your mind about the bet?”

Hera pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I guess I don’t want to miss out on what could turn out to be something… good. If you know what I mean.”

“I definitely do,” Kanan said, his deep voice holding something that sent a shiver up Hera’s spine. “See you at eight-thirty, in that case?”

“I’ll meet you there,” Hera said. Shooting him a grin, she added, “And don’t be late.”

“Well, you have my number if I am.”

“Very true,” Hera agreed. She held his gaze for another second, feeling her heart speed up as he looked back. Then she got to her feet and headed over to the table where her friends were waiting, grinning like a pack of hyenas.

But. She had a really good feeling about tomorrow all of a sudden. And a fluttery feeling in her stomach that hadn’t been there in a long time. Maybe it was a good thing I lost that bet after all, Hera mused.

[sunjaesol]

i’m getting old, it makes me reckless

canon compliant juke | angst | title: when we were young // adele

The band ended their last song in a clash of instruments and vocals, roaring above the audience yelling the lyrics right back. It was the biggest venue yet, the arena stretching far and wide and holding more people than Julie could imagine. Her throat was aching, but it was all worth it. Every note savoured. Every lyric tasted till it staled on her tongue.

It was the gig before she left for college, leaving a whole lot more behind than this arena with the thousands of adoring strangers.

All four were drenched in sweat. Alex, with his hands red from an insanely elaborate three minute drum solo. Luke, with his callouses aching and slick, barely holding on to the strings. Reggie, no longer wearing his leather jacket and hair come undone. Julie, glitter on her cheeks mixed with the sweat and hair like a raging lion. They looked and felt maniacal. They played the concert of the year. The absolute euphoria they experienced wouldn’t be gone for a while, though her blush would quickly fade.

Now, she could still pretend Luke and her were still together. Now, even Alex and Reggie were kept in the dark from their long dreaded decision. Now, the idea that she stood on stage with the loves of her life was enough for a satisfied smile to bloom on her lips.

“Thank you!”, she bellowed into the mic. The audience didn’t stop. Screaming, whistling, asking for more. Encore, encore, encore! They were all out of songs though, having played their anthem again when they asked for it the first time. Covers seemed like a lackluster ending to the night, the band members shooting each other doubtful looks. The finality of it all ached her.

Luke’s gaze caught hers; troubled, unable to keep the sorrow at bay. Had this been any other concert, she would’ve kissed him backstage and remind him that feeling empty after giving it his all was normal. That she felt that too. She wouldn’t do that though. And she also had an inkling his expression wasn’t about that.

Words pushed themselves out of her throat before she thought about it. “I have something. It’s a cover though. Do you guys like covers?”

Another salvo of applause and shrieks, a sea of phones getting whipped out to capture every move. Reggie approached her with a slight frown.

“What’re you thinking, Julie?”

She moved away from the mic. “Is it alright if I do a solo cover?”

His casual nod caused nerves to coil in her stomach, only now realising what she did. What she was about to do to herself. The bassist made a sign at the boys to get off stage, Luke’s fingers ghosting her back (not entirely, never entirely, she has never truly felt the atoms of his hands touch her) and following the boys into the wings.

Curiosity buzzed around the concert hall, Julie making her way to the grand piano on the left of the stage and attaching her mic in the designated stand. When she looked into void, it instantly quieted down. Her timid voice was like a sharp thread slicing the air.

“This next song, uh…” Swallowing back the feeling of loss that simmered right beneath her skin, she took a deep breath. A needle could drop, so silent everyone heard her pained intake. “I’ve taught it myself a while ago. It’s quite melancholic, but I’ve always been a bit like that, I guess.”

Her feet found the pedals, fingers the well-loved keys. The lights were hot on her skin, yet a certain person’s stare felt more fiery than anything else.

Julie took another steadier breath. “Thank you once more for a beautiful night, LA. This is ‘When We Were Young’.”          

The beginning notes caused another uproar from people recognising the song, lighters and phone flashlights flickering up one by one like stars. She sunk into the notes, let her hands find the familiar path as all she could think about was Luke. Every word would be laced with the memory of him.

He wasn’t gone, but he might as well had stolen her heart and vanished into the night with it.  

With her eyes shut, the first lyrics uttered melodically from her lips.

Everybody loves the things you do From the way you talk, to the way you move

(A fifteen year old Julie watched as the crowd ate up Luke’s guitar solo, the riff an electrifying ensemble of unique sounds that shouldn’t work but somehow did. He played it for them, but his torso was twisted her way, like his body couldn’t decide who he preferred. Back then, Julie presumed it was the crowd, obviously. Music was everything for Luke. Music and nothing more. Sure, that included her and the boys, but she had accepted quickly on she’d never claim that top spot in his heart. And she was fine with that. It hurt a little, except then she’d remind herself of her own love for music and what a gift it was playing in a band like theirs. To be the name people sought out online.

Luke shot some winks to the first row, dropping to his knees to get him even closer to the fans. Alex caught her eye when she turned around, rolling his good-naturedly. Luke being Luke, it meant.

“It doesn’t inflate your ego, does it?”, she teased hours later, slumped on opposite sides of the couch.

He scoffed, a smile edging his lips. “Are you jealous?”

“It is-” she pulled herself upright, brown peering into the curious green. “-merely an observation.”

“An observation.” He mimicked her, all of a sudden not so far away. Their legs were brushing and if she leaned in, she could kiss him. His head tilted, never one to stop teasing. “Right.”

The high of a good performance made her say it. “Do you want me to be?”

When he kissed her, she expected his lips to be cold. Ghost-cold. Instead, they were warm and soft, like in her dreams, and he smiled when she kissed him back - also like in her dreams. It had been short, the way his nose brushed hers a promise for more.)      

Everybody here is watching you 'Cause you feel like home, you're like a dream come true

(They quickly found an escape from the hysteria in Griffith Park. It was closeby Julie’s house and its sweeping nature left enough places for Julie and Luke to hide and be with each other without disturbances. It was a bit unorthodox for a teenage couple to burrow themselves in the forest, but she supposed she threw normality out the window the moment she decided she wanted to date a ghost.

Luke sighed, body dropping on the soft grass and pulling her with him. His beanie fell off, a pleased smile quirking on her lips as she raked a hand through his locks. It was always a cause for celebration whenever he got rid of the hat, the impending doom of baldness something she’d warn him about had he still been alive. Julie pushed the thought back. She couldn’t think that way. A finger curled around a soft strand of hair.  

His nose pressed in her cheek, coaxing her closer until she snugly fit in the curve of his body. Lips moved against her skin. “Can I keep you here? Screw homework.”

Julie chuckled. Her meandering hand sloped to his chest, circling the soft fabric of his sweater. “Unfortunately, calculus and I have a date tonight.”

“You’re seeing someone else?”, he gasped. “Julie!”

“I know.” His laugh reverberated, the sound melting into her skin as she pushed herself impossibly close. Adding, her voice was muffled: “Very sneaky of me.”

Luke’s arms fully wrapped around her, humming contently at their new position of having her half-sprawled on top of him. If it wasn’t for the slight flush on his cheeks, she’d think he completely cool about this. It made her smile. He may act all tough sometimes, but he was just as new to this as she was.

She tapped against the red. “The macho is gone.”

He rolled his eyes, though it held a glimmer of fondness. It was for her, she giddily remembered. The way he faltered in quiet awe, soft and timid, was for her. Reaching to kiss him, the blaring declaration that he was home rang in her head.

She didn’t tell him that. Ever.)    

But if by chance you're here alone Can I have a moment before I go? 'Cause I've been by myself all night long Hoping you're someone I used to know

(“Sixteen,” he bellowed. “Is there a song about being sixteen?!”

She laughed. “Ellie Goulding has one, I think. You wanna sing me a song about being sixteen-”

“Cause you are sixteen!” He hoisted himself on the grand piano, grinning at her from across the studio. She tried as best as she could to match it.

Birthdays have felt like taboo ever since the boys came into her life. She aged, they didn’t, and eventually they would have to disband. Eventually, everyone would notice how they were frozen in time. Eventually, she and Luke would be too far apart in ages.

Julie has dreaded her birthday since the first time her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

Sensing something was off, the frown replaced the grin. “You okay, Jules?”

“Yeah,” she dismissed, waving him off with an air of nonchalance. It was easy for her, something she became an expert in after her mom passed. “Just tired from school.”

He poofed in front of her, hands massaging into her shoulders. She couldn’t look at him. And then she said it anyway.

“Are you okay?”

The unsaid was clear, him stilling as his jaw locked in place. It was then that something cracked between them. Unnoticeable, like a small line in a ceramic cup. They were fine after, but never before had they stamped an expiration date on their relationship. Her simple question changed everything.

He coughed, struggling with the smile. It felt rehearsed. “Course,” he muttered. “I’m good.”)  

You look like a movie You sound like a song My God, this reminds me of when we were young

(He breathed into the kiss like she himself gave him life, hot and open-mouthed and tongues caressing to feel more. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, legs straddling his waist in the safety of her bedroom. He left no space between them. Flush together, fingers pressing into her back, breaths and grins mingling when they parted for air. How she got him breathless, she wouldn’t ask. The fact that he did, was enough for her. He never felt like a ghost to her. Not before they started dating and certainly not now.

Each kiss was like music to her ears. Each touch alighting her skin with sparks of affection and need.

“God, I love you,” he whispered.

Her dazzling smile stretched against his jaw, halting in place. She giggled. “You love me?”

Their eyes met, his hooded from passion as he slowly tracked her face. “It’s not obvious?”

“It is.” A tender kiss brushed his lips, thumbs swiping his cheekbones with that boundless devotion she never wanted to let go of. It was the most blissful feeling in the world.

Julie uttered it right back. “I love you too.”)    

Her voice exploded into an anguished belt, head rolling back as the lyrics flew into the sky. If she hit her notes, if she was making any sense, if the audience was worried - it didn’t matter. Julie needed this. This was her goodbye.

Let me photograph you in this light In case it is the last time that we might Be exactly like we were before we realised We were sad of getting old, it made us restless It was just like a movie It was just like a song

(Julie jumped on top of him in a sneak attack. Armed with her Polaroid camera, she swerved out the way from his grabby hands as she took shot after shot. Her laughing boyfriend snatched her by her side, fingers like spider tickling her until she relented with tears in her eyes. Strewn around them were the pictures, still processing.

“What’re you doing?”, he chuckled.

Julie plucked a Polaroid from her mattress and began waving it around. “You look so cute,” was her simple answer. His grin widened at that.

“Only now?”

“I wanted to capture you just like this. When-” When we’re like this, so goddamn happy and in love. “When you look all…” While Julie mimicked his face, Luke planted his hands on the mattress to pull himself up and give her a chaste kiss.

His smirk eradicated her previous thoughts. “Can’t make a silly face after I have sex with my beautiful girlfriend?”

She hummed, all mushy from his actions. “You can. That’s why I’m taking a picture.”

Luke kissed her again, letting that ‘silly face’ run free and craning his neck to watch the picture develop.

He cried when he didn’t appear. Another crack in the cup.)

I was so scared to face my fears Nobody told me that you'd be here

(An outsider looking into the Molina household would think there was funeral going on. An insider would be even more confused, as Julie Molina just got accepted into USC and rather felt like crying for three full days then celebrate with her friends.

It settled then. She’d go to college, like she always wanted, and have her life radically change once more - not like she wanted. The band was solid, she and Luke were solid. College would change everything. Alex assured her that it’d be fine, that minor adjustments wouldn’t ruin them, but Julie had her doubts.)

And I swear you’d moved overseas That's what you said, when you left me

(He hardly looked at her when she turned seventeen. She couldn’t blame him. Her doubts, fears stacking on top of one another at rapid pace, surged to the forefront. They were the same age. Tomorrow, she’d be 364 days closer to eighteen. Closer to being older, to surpassing him, to hitting their expiration date.

His troubled expression resolved a little later. Back to his bouncy, enthusiastic self, he showered her in kisses and dedicated all the songs at their gig in Raven’s Nest to her. The boys even sang her ��Dancing Queen’ by ABBA, her appropriately dressed in sparkly flared trousers and matching top. Her fears were forgotten then. Later too, when she giggled as he pulled her into a laughing kiss, the glitter of her clothes staining his own.

Luke was so alive in that moment. Sweat brimming his forehead and buzzing with adrenaline and each kiss rougher than the next. He was real, real, real, real, real, real.

The lie brought her temporary comfort.)

Julie repeated the chorus, body trembling from all the memories hitting her at once. Soon, the numbing final strike would bring her ease. For her sake, for his, for the band. The refrain flowed through.

When we were young When we were young When we were young When we were young

(“What about ‘when we were young’?”, Julie proposed, blue pen pressed into her songbook. Luke sat next to her, slouched against the front of the couch as his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, mustering for the muses to gift them genius lyrics.

“When we were young?” He chuckled. “That’s a joke, right?”

She paused, pen clenching between her fingers as her head turned to look at him. “What?”

He caught her tone, straightening his back with a shrug. “Nothing.”

“No, why do you think that was a joke?”

They’ve been on edge ever since her dad bought her all the USC merch the online store offered. The sea of red draped across her room got him upset, once his favourite colour now his biggest enemy. It wasn’t like they were trying to hurt each other, but…

Julie didn’t know what to do anymore. Songwriting was their usual remedy and even that didn’t diffuse the tension. She wished her mom was here, for advice, except would she be able to give proper words of wisdom when a relationship with a ghost was unprecedented?

All she wanted was go back to the start, when flirtatious jabs were thrown around and they danced around each other. To kiss him for the first time again. She wanted to go back and then continue to go back every time they hit this point. To love him in a loop; to not age.  

He sighed, scribbling an annotation in the margin. “Do you really want me to answer that, Jules?”

Her lips thinned. “No.”

She taught herself the song she was singing right now that night, after he and the boys went off with Willie to some obscure concert. When she woke up the next day, he apologised for his shitty behaviour. It became harder to let love lead when cracks met them at every corner.)

It's hard to admit that everything just takes me back To when you were there, to when you were there And a part of me keeps holding on just in case it hasn't gone

A choked breath caught the fragile note, barely audible for anyone but her.

‘Cause I still care, do you still care?

(“Jules, you’re going to college in a week. You’re gonna turn eighteen and you’re gonna meet other people and you will not wanna tell them you’re dating a hologram that doesn’t fucking age!”

The raging spiel left him in one breath, face red and tears spilling with each hitting word. His shouts were heavy and tinged with devastation. The studio, once a safe haven, was now a warzone. He’s been sitting on those ugly truths for a while, Julie realised, willing herself to not cry. They had the biggest gig of their lives in a few hours and she couldn’t fuck up her face.

Luke didn’t mean to do it either. Both were hyper-focused the day of a gig. Normally, at least. It was simply a cardboard box too many in her bedroom, another proud comment from Ray, another nostalgic remark from Reggie. The fears stacked up for him as well; she should’ve known he’d explode sooner than later.

Her quivering lip gulped back the nausea edging her throat. She couldn’t breath. “You don’t think I know that? I was just- I just-” A traitorous tear slipped out. “I was hoping we’d have more time. Why did it go so fast?” Why did our expiration date race us to the finish line?

Her boyfriend she loved with all her heart stood right in front of her, yet it felt like they were oceans apart.

Trembling hands slid up her arms to her shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug. Tearless sobs wracked her body, jaw slack in agony as his action was enough confirmation. This is the end, it meant. They have reached their last chapter. He made up his mind and she wasn’t allowed to change it.

If she did, they’d burn the band with them too.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, face wet with tears pressed into her neck. “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Julie gasped for air. “Don’t. Don’t apologise.”

He shook his head, blotched and with a look she never wanted to see again. “If I could change anything, it’s this, Julie. I want to be alive for you so badly - feeling it isn’t enough anymore. You deserve better.”

Furiously blinking, she felt moisture cling to her lashes. “I deserve you,” she warbled. “I love you.”

When he didn’t say it back right away, another tear smeared across her cheek. Her mouth shaped into a please, but he shook his head, shuddering with remorse. “You deserve to be loved out in the open, Julie. Not just in the dark.”

“Please, Luke,” it barely came out, pain squeezing her lungs. “Please. You’re real to me, you’ve always- it was never in the dark.”

He let go of her. The loss of contact made her freeze. His arms hung limp by his sides. Time, for one singular moment, stood still. Her wish came true. Why did it feel like he just disappeared right then and there? Julie bit her lip, waiting for it to happen. It didn’t, but she didn’t dare touching him in case the magic was lost. Luke seemed fearful too, his shivering breaths like knives on her ears. She left before he could say anything else.

Julie wailed and redid her make-up in the backseat of her car until it was time to go.)

The rough vibrato pinched her throat once more, pushing through for the final chorus.

We were sad of getting old, it made us restless Oh, I'm so mad I'm getting old, it makes me reckless

(The year prior, Julie plucked his maroon henley from her bedroom floor as Luke was sound asleep behind her. She shrugged it on and examined herself in the mirror. If she could have it all, she’d wish to never age, to never surpass seventeen and be with Luke forever.

If she could have even more, she’d wish to grow old with him. It was a scary thought to feel so confident about at sixteen, but Julie knew. She just knew. A gut feeling should always be allowed, her mom used to say. This was it.

Julie wished she could do this every day. Stealing his shirt and seeing it fray over time. She wanted stains and holes and fabric thinning from washing it so much. She wanted messy. She wanted real.

Crawling back in his embrace and placing a soft kiss on whatever skin she found that early in the morning, she wished for him to be real until she fell back asleep.)  

It was just like a movie It was just like a song When we were young

The last note settled into arena like a heavy blanket, everyone watching with baited breath as the wrecked singer stumbled out of her seat and muttered another thank you. Her shaky smile didn’t waver while the deafening applause washed over her. It was when she reached the wings and noted the horrified looks of Reggie and Alex, that she realised Luke wasn’t with them.  

“He just…” Alex’ foot swiped across the floor where Luke once stood, aghast. “He crossed over.”

They were always selfish loving one another. To fall, to love, to be in love. The inevitable never stopped being inevitable, and yet they trucked on. Maybe they had become cocky, thinking their hearts were stronger that they actually were. It was all too apparent now. Her heart wasn’t this spiritual thing. It wasn’t made of fairy dust and magical ghost powers. It was made of flesh and blood and it was bleeding.

Luke’s never would.

The arena lights dimmed.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

@blush-and-books @willexx @bluefirewrites @ourstarscollided @sophiphi

[kumkaniudaku]

Simple Syrup

You asked for Daveed smut and I tried to deliver. At least this one time. Enjoy!

Warning: Sexual Content. 18+. 

Daveed Diggs x Black!OC (Olivia Jenkins)(Yes, the MC/ OC is black. Representation is important.)

"Yo, open up!" Heavy fists beat against the door of Olivia's downtown apartment, making her roll her eyes. "I know you can hear me, girl! It's your favorite pop-up roommate!"

"You've been evicted, Diggs!"  

"I paid you rent, though!"

Turning the stove on low, Olivia shook her head as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel. Daveed always found a way to surprise her with his presence. He never texted before showing up at her door but frequently sported a backpack or suitcase full of clothes or Rafael for an extended stay. He and all his baggage were welcome anytime, with or without notice.

Stepping to the door, Olivia bit back a smile before responding. "I didn't receive any payments this month."

"I got it in my bag."

"Bag or bags?"

"Open the door to find out."

Daveed took a step back as the locks began to turn, waiting for Olivia's face to greet him with faux anger the way she did the last time he showed up out of nowhere and stayed for three weeks. Despite stopping by six months ago, it felt like a lifetime since he'd been in her company. Bi-weekly phone conversations weren't enough. He needed to be near Olivia while she watched whatever Housewives franchise had her attention for the month.

When the door opened to reveal the long hallway leading to her living area, Olivia stood with a hand on her hips and a grin on her face.

"Where is my money," she asked, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Just as she expected, he stood in the hallway with a suitcase that she knew cost a fortune to check at the airport and his worn Jansport full of junk and work.

Daveed laughed and bent to rifle through his backpack for a crumpled white envelope that he handed over with exaggerated purpose. "Here you go, Miss Jenkins. Sorry to be late on rent for, what, 8 months? I hope this is enough."

"Boy, you didn't really need to pay me. You're not on the lease."

"Good," he answered as he pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. "Because those are just Chick Fil A coupons."

Olivia stood with her mouth open as Daveed brushed her to roll his luggage to the first bedroom on the right.

He listened to her insult his "stupid face" and instruct him to hurry up while he scanned the room he had called home more times than he could count. All of Daveed's belongings were in the same place, with almost unnoticeable shifts to show that Olivia had cleaned once or twice. His favorite throw blanket was folded at the edge of the bed with his initials elegantly embroidered in the corner. The air smelled of the vanilla candle she kept on the nightstand next to a framed photo of the crew enjoying a roller coaster at Six Flags. His favorite trinket, Olivia's homecoming crown from undergrad, sat next to a single gold medal from Daveed's days competing in track and field. To him, it symbolized their bond from the beginning. To her, it was probably just a space to hide old items.

"Daveed, get in here! I need you to cut!"

All at once, Daveed's sense of self returned to center him in reality. He quickly kicked off his shoes once he remembered Olivia's rules and started off toward the kitchen to answer the call for his help.

Even with the windows open, he could smell savory and sweet aromas combining for a smell that reminded him of the holidays. However, the calendar placed them square in the middle of an excruciatingly hot summer. He could see the open bottle of BBQ sauce on the center island next to a mixing bowl full of things he couldn't recognize but knew they would taste great. Bushels of greens sat in a pot on the stove, boiling amid smoked meat and seasonings to complement the food cooking in the oven. Daveed felt excitement take hold of his face and forced the apples of his cheeks up toward his eyes. Olivia looked up from her task at the cutting board and smirked.

"I thought you were vegan now."

"My business is my business, Liv. We talked about this last week."

"We also talked about you heading directly to Toronto after your job in Atlanta and, yet, here you are." She studied Daveed's face for answers but found nothing but a growing smile. "Come over here and cut up these strawberries while I sauce the ribs."

Daveed followed directions without complaint, lazily strolling to the island and nudging Olivia away. He'd been her help in the kitchen before to open pesky jars or stir while she tended to the more time-intensive parts of the meal. On more than one occasion, he had fucked up, and each time she invited him back into her safe space with open arms.

"How's Rafa and the family," Olivia asked with her back turned while she bent to take a peek into the oven.

Daveed kept his eyes on her backside for a moment too long before answering. "Rafa's good. Amy sends her love and says that you are more than welcome for Friendsgiving this year. She volunteered you for pies."

"You volunteered me for pies, Daveed," Olivia corrected, knowing how much her friend loved her desserts. "What about my babies? Is Santiago the best big brother to Emelia?"

"He's...trying. But he did send a gift for the lady with the bald head. His words, not mine."

Olivia ran a hand across her tapered fade and chuckled. "I feel like he heard Rafael say that."

"No, Rafa calls you Thick Mr. Clean."

"Yeah, because that's what you said when you were drunk on New Years," Olivia accused as she gestured toward the cabinet housing her wine glasses. Daveed nodded before answering.

"I said it with love!"

"Mhmm, I'm sure."

Together they watched half a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc be transferred into the separate glasses, waiting for the moment they could take a sip. The last time they shared a drink, they ran through two 12- packs of beer with Rafael and ended up dancing with street performers in Times Square. She hadn't been able to stomach the smell of a Budweiser since then and fully transitioned to fruity notes and sparkling Rosé with Daveed occasionally coming along for the ride.

Taking another long sip from his glass, Daveed leaned against the island counter to watch Olivia stir a mixture for skillet cornbread.

"What's got you so stressed?"

Olivia shrugged but didn't look away from the bowl. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"The last time you cooked like this, you were writing your dissertation. And the time before that, it was your mom."

The room fell quiet outside of the spoon, ricocheting off the sides of the mixing bowl. After several seconds, Olivia took a deep breath and looked up at Daveed.

"Daddy's getting remarried. Omari and I are his best-kids," she laughed. "I'm not stressed. Just a bit...sad, I guess?"

Daveed understood the issue without needing more context. Five years ago, he was the one sitting beside Olivia on the floor of her brother's home office after the news came that their mother had in the hospital. He was there for the saddest funeral he'd ever experienced and the months of reconciliation that the family struggled through on the way to some sense of normalcy. The idea that her father had found love again was heartwarming, but Daveed knew the occasion was bringing up old feelings.

"Wanna talk about it?"

She shrugged again and moved the skillet to the oven. "There's nothing to talk about. I said I'm fine. I wish she was here, ya know, but I know she isn't upset. She always told us to move on once she's gone. She sure as hell would."

Daveed chuckled at the idea of Mrs. Jenkin's moving on in the afterlife. "She was funny like that. I remember when she met me for the first time and kept calling me Devante."

"Yes," Olvia exclaimed, a spark of joy returning to her eyes. "She'd call me and be like, that boy Devante is smart! Ask him if he can put me in a movie one day!"

Olivia's voice warped to imitate her mother as best as possible before she burst into laughter with Daveed.

"One of the last things she said to me was that I need to make sure you keep having fun. She didn't want you to stop enjoying life on account of her."

"Yeah…" Daveed watched Olivia down the wine in her glass with her eyes closed, waiting for her to continue her thought. "Well, you're doing a good job. We could work on your definition of fun, but solid effort so far."

"How can I do better? I'm open to criticism."  

Daveed kept his eyes on Olivia while he reached across her body to grab the wine bottle for the final drink. Her breath hitched while alcohol buzzed through her system, creating the perfect storm for sudden arousal. She fought her thoughts by shaking her head to recover.

"You can start by grabbing those strawberries and bringing them over to the stove."

"Don't skip the question." Daveed's smirk as he followed her to the other side of the counter made Oliva hot with embarrassment, but she kept a calm exterior. "Are you still having fun with me?"

"I always have fun with you, D, you know that. Who else is gonna play Bop It with me at 2 AM on a Wednesday? The question is, are you still having fun with me, superstar?"

"Don't start that. I come and stay at your house because I miss you, not because I can't find somewhere else to sleep. You're my person."

"For now," Olivia added as a rebuttal, ignoring the way her stomach flipped at hearing the way Daveed felt. "What happens when you get married? You're gonna have to go be a family man like Rafa. Then we'll only see each other on Friendsgiving and Christmas."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"Hm." Olivia's short but skeptical laugh effectively ended the conversation. Still, Daveed had already made up his mind to return to the discussion later in the week. "So, how long are you here this time?"

Daveed used one of his large palms to push a few curls off his forehead in search of relief from the heat in the kitchen. "I was thinking a couple weeks. Three or four."

"That's longer than normal! I get to have my favorite guy here long enough to help me put wallpaper up in the guest bathroom?"

"Am I only muscle to you?"

"Of course, not," she answered with a sweet smile, making Daveed mirror her expression. "You're also a taste tester. Open up."

Before Daveed could object, Olivia swiped barbecue sauce across his bottom lip for his opinion. The tip of his tongue appeared to taste the tangy brown sauce, finding an explosion of flavor that reminded him how much he missed Olivia's cooking.

"What's the verdict," Olivia asked over her shoulder as she turned off the eye under her simple syrup mixture.

"Tangy and sweet. I'm not sure why you don't bottle this up for sale. My dad would love some."

"Meh, I like having it as a treat for the people I love. All my hobbies aren't for profit, my friend."

Daveed dramatically threw a hand across his chest and gasped. "Did Mean Ole Liv just imply that she loves me? I-I'm gobsmacked. Utterly shocked and eternally grateful."

"Diggs, you're pushing it," she laughed. "Come taste this syrup before I start on the lemonade."

From experience, Daveed knew what to expect. But he humored Olivia anyway if only to see pride light up her face when he told her how amazing the sweet mixture tasted. After washing his hands in the sink, he skimmed his middle and pointer fingers across the top of the syrup to pick up enough to coat his fingertips.

He eyed the liquid for a moment, watching it slowly trickle down the side of his long fingers while he thought of his next move. Olivia stood at the refrigerator with her back turned, humming a song from The Wiz. At the same time, she gathered ingredients for the beverage.

"Hey...hey, Liv." Daveed had already started to close the short gap between them and stood waiting for Olivia to respond to his call.

"Wha -" A sudden swipe of syrup across her bottom lip confused Olivia. "D, what is your problem?"

Stepping forward, Daveed took her chin in his to bring their lips inches apart. "Is it still cool if I taste?"

Olivia stared at Daveed without blinking, fighting her brain for a competent answer to his question. Instead, she nodded in a daze with her jaw slack. His fingers took gentle meandering paths across the peaks and valleys of her face before using his thumb to part her lips.

Daveed's first kiss was a tentative peck to test the waters. When he received no resistance, he pulled Olivia closer for full access to her mouth.

Neither of them expected to fall into the kiss so easily. Olivia didn't expect to melt into Daveed's body while he dictated the pace and intensity. Daveed didn't expect to feel an overwhelming desire to consume the one person that always felt so close but far away. He wanted to feel and taste every part of Olivia while he had the green light. She reveled in Daveed's attention, even if it was only for a moment.

Taking a step backward, Daveed used his knowledge of the kitchen to guide them back toward the stove. Their lips remained connected to taste the last bits of each other. Olivia was the first to break the lip lock and move her head upward, directing Daveed to choose a spot on her neck to explore.

The cold, sticky simple syrup came next, the thick glob landing on the center of her chest and sliding to her cleavage.

"I've thought about this a lot," Daveed spoke barely above a whisper as he used a finger to spread simple syrup across Olivia's chest. "Kinda wild to say, but I have."

"How long?"

"A year. Maybe two."

Olivia released a shaky gasp once Daveed's tongue began licking from the space between her breast to the base of her neck to catch the simple syrup. As quickly as it disappeared, he replaced the sugar mixture with another round at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He groaned as the tart strawberry flavor mixed with the sweetness of the sugar and Olivia's skin. She grasped the back of his head for stability, allowing her eyes to flutter closed for a few seconds.

"How does it turn out? In your thoughts, I mean?"

Daveed paused to kiss Olivia's lips again and run his hands down her back. "Doesn't matter. We're here now, and I can't think of anything outside of how good you taste drenched in strawberry sauce."

"Simple syrup," Olivia answered, smiling as she sneakily dipped her finger into the pot behind Daveed. "It's simple syrup, and I haven't gotten a taste yet. Open your mouth."

They kept their eyes on each other while Daveed opened his mouth, waiting for whatever came next. Olivia took her time to coat his tongue in syrup, imagining how it would feel to experience the concoction from his mouth.

There started the mad scramble to get closer, taste more and touch longer. Separate but equal desires to completely consume the other person had the pair maneuvering around the kitchen. They remained attached at the lips until they reached the solid wood breakfast table near the large casement window. Daveed was the first to remove clothing, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind him. A split-second decision had him rushing back to the stove to retrieve the syrup pot. He carefully placed it on the table while Olivia slid the straps of her summer dress down her arms to let the fabric pool at her waist. Daveed watched with a flirtatious smile, marveling at the expanse of her warm brown skin. Olivia returned the sentiment, letting her eyes rake over his broad chest and toned midsection.

One after the other, Daveed and Olivia added bits of syrup to different body parts to lick and suck the skin clean. A handful mistakenly dripped onto Olivia's thigh, and they watched the sticky liquid carry small chunks of strawberries to the inner portion of her leg.

Daveed regarded the sight with wonder before carefully dropping to one knee for a better look. He maintained eye contact with Olivia as he kissed his way to the sweetest spot, lingering in places that earned the most desirable response. The scratch of facial hair combined with his lips and tongue's soft, silkiness made Olivia keen for more. She could feel the blood rushing to pool at her inner thigh for a bruise that would leave evidence of a dream achieved. She smiled at the thought of seeing it when she was getting dressed and how her stomach might feel with butterflies from the memories.

Daveed mumbled praise after praise into the supple skin of Olivia's thigh before starting a journey back to her lips. When he returned, he slowly pushed the waistband of his sweats down his hips and legs.

"Oh," Olivia spoke, eyes wide while she fought the natural desire to let her gaze travel. "I...wow, okay. I feel like I'm violating you."

"I'm kind of asking you to," Daveed laughed as he stepped closer.

"This is so fucking weird. Are we really about to do this?"

"Only if you want. I mean, I want to, but we can stop whenever you say the word."

He was closer now, dropping kisses on her shoulders while he pressed their chests together to reduce the space between him.

Olivia's legs naturally hooked themselves around his waist at the same time that her arms circled his neck.

She leaned forward to speak against Daveed's lips with her eyes hooded in lust, "I want this."

Passion and the hint of strawberry coating their lips intensified the moment between Olivia and Daveed. He held her writhing hips steady while he stood on his toes to push forward. Simultaneous moans of pleasure rang out in the kitchen, surely gaining the attention of nearby neighbors.

Their hips bucked an even pace, repeatedly meeting to build tension in their bellies. Daveed felt the strain of each stroke in his thighs and calves but found the desire to fuck his friend on her kitchen table to override any other immediate discomfort.

"Are you a talker," Daveed asked randomly, making Olivia's eyes snap up from the action below her waist to focus her attention on him.

"What?"

"A talker. Do you like to talk during sex?" His question came between labored breaths and grunts holding a mixture of exertion and indescribable pleasure.

"Daveed, are you trying to have a conversation with me right now?"

"I mean, I like to - fuck - I...I like to talk sometimes. Is that cool?"

A high-pitched moan ripped through Olivia's throat before she could gather her senses to respond. "It's your c-call, Diggs. Just don't stop."

He followed directions without skipping a beat, digging into his strength to pick up speed when he sensed they could move to the next level. He peppered in filthy statements that stimulate Olivia's mind while driving into her with expert precision.

They held on to each other as they reached separate peaks with no regard for the climbing noise level.

"I wanna do this forever," Daveed whispered into Olivia's ear before nipping at the lobe.

"Not look into my eyes lovingly and write songs about me?"

Daveed chuckled and snapped his hips forward, earning a near-silent moan. "Can I use you calling me daddy on the hook?"

"You got a lot of work to do before that happens."

"I'll put in overtime."

Splaying his hand across Olivia's torso, Daveed pushed her to lay flat on the table before leaning to hover over her body. He used his waning energy to give her all the power in his hips, searching for a climax. When she thought she couldn't come anymore, Olivia felt her body jolt off the table once the pad of Daveed's thumb began rubbing tight circles on her clit. Daveed smiled at the reaction but felt it disappear as soon as his hips falter mid-stroke. He rushed to pull out of Olivia, fearing that if he stayed inside for a moment longer, he would expedite his journey to fatherhood.

Olivia helped his cause by curling her fingers around his length and joining his pumping effort while she propped her body up on her elbow. He came with a choppy moan and heavy breathing on her belly, his chest rising and falling rapidly in time with the stove's timer beeping for attention.

Both Olivia and Daveed dissolved into laughter.

"Please, don't let this dry on me. It's sexy now but a pain to get off later."

Daveed's laughter climbed to hysterics at Olivia's mention of the mess on her stomach before reaching across the table to grab napkins out of the centerpiece component.

"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly as he helped wipe her clean. "Condoms next time?" 

"Or my mouth."

Daveed stood shocked for a split second while Olivia worked to readjust her clothing and hurry to the stove. He followed her lead and pulled up his sweats before clearing the syrup pot and grabbing wipes to disinfect the surface.

The room was silent while they arranged hot dishes on the counter and privately grappled with having sex for the first time. A sense of "now what" hung in the air, which made Daveed more and more uncomfortable.

After plates were fixed, they chose opposite ends of the table to enjoy the meal.

"You know," Olivia started, laughing as she swallowed the last piece of cornbread on her plate. "That simple syrup recipe is my mom's. This whole meal was her favorite thing to cook, and I made it because I was really fuckin' sad and needed her nearby. Then you showed up."

Daveed's eyes snapped up from his plate. He wasn't sure what to say and remained silent in hopes that Olivia would elaborate.

"A couple weeks before she died, she told me that she would still be directing my love life from Heaven. She grabbed my hand and said, 'Dammit, Bean, I'm gone get you a man even if I gotta do it during bingo with the good Lord.'"

"You think she's up there winning the grand prize?"

Olivia shook her head. "I think she forfeited it to send you to me."

Her answer made Daveed still to watch Olivia's eyes meet his set from across the table. She reached a hand across the table with her palms facing upward, beckoning Daveed to place his palm in the center of hers.

"We have three weeks to figure this shit out," Daveed said, smiling before bringing Olivia's palm to rest on his cheek.

She looked at him for a minute to take in the way his eyes reflected the sun before using her head to gesture toward the pot still resting on the counter.

"And all night to finish off mama's recipe."

[j-wont-stop]

The Scarred (Chapter Five)

Title - The Scarred (Chapter Five)

Word Count - 2156

Fandom - Batman: The Dark Knight

Pairing - Ledger!Joker x OC

Summary - Penelope Bishop works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by therapy and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

Warning(s) - Panic attack, murder, cussing

Inspiration - Cold (Aqualung & Lucy Schwartz)

Masterlist

The vase fell from her hands, the shattering glass echoing through the hall. Penelope’s mind grew petrified as she stared at the card sitting in the mess of glass, water and flowers. She fell back against her door frame, her breathing sharp and fast as she began to hyperventilate. She gripped onto the front of her bra to pull it away from her chest, looking for any kind of relief, any way to find space for her to breathe properly. Yet it did nothing. She knew she was making a scene, and she wanted so badly to hide away in her apartment. But what about the mess? She asked herself amid the chaos. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the ambience around her.

“’Scuse me-?” Penelope shot straight up, eye frantically darting towards the new voice. A tall, slim man stood before her, hands held out in front of him as an offering of peace. “Apologies, I didn’ mean to alarm ye. Are ye alrigh’?” His bright eyes held a gentleness in them, the same as his voice. It was soothing in a way she had never before experienced. It was hardly able to calm her, however, in her panicked state. “Righ’, dumb question…” He mumbled to himself, glancing between Penelope and her welcome mat. “I’ll clean this up righ’ quick fer ye, tha’ alrigh’?” She gave the smallest nod, letting go of her bra to wipe the tears from her face as he disappeared.

She closed her eye, grounding in an attempt to compose herself. Never had she broken down in front of a stranger. And never had she felt more humiliated by it. Her eye snapped back open when she heard the sound of a plastic bag, eyeing the man warily as he walked back to start picking up the glass shards. He noticed how her breathing had only slightly improved, but it was progress.

“Why are you helping me?” The sound of her voice caught him off guard as he continued picking up the pieces.

“Juss doin’ my duty.”

“In Gotham?” The man sighed and looked up at her from where he was crouched on the floor.

“‘Ard as it is to believe, miss, not erryone in this city is a crook.” It wasn’t until then that she noticed his thick accent. It was a surprise to her, however one she greatly accepted. She felt childish for it, but she was excited as it was her first time meeting someone with one. “Ye wann’ keep this?” He asked, holding the Joker card between his index and middle fingers. She hesitated before reaching to grab it. “Now, I’m not all tha’ superstitious,” He stood up with a huff. “But if tha’ is a genuine Joker card, I’d watch out if I were ye. Yer either really lucky, er ‘bout to be really dead.” He noticed the growing fright in her eyes. “Or! Some guy is juss actin’ the maggot and playin’ wit’ ye.”

“People were scared enough to impersonate Batman, I don’t think they’d dare to impersonate The Joker himself.”

“Then pray yer juss really lucky.” He spoke in a softer tone. He began to tie the bag as she continued to carefully watch him. “I don’t believe I’ve caught yer name yet?”

“Penelope.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “Bishop.”

“Penelope?” The name left his lips in curiosity. “Tha’s a new one.” Her eye shifted to the ground. “Bu’ it’s refreshin’.” The man offered her a friendly smile, but her expression remained constant. “Liam Garson. Juss moved in couple a doors down.” He pointed off to his left.

“Why?” He threw her a confused look. “I mean, why Gotham?”

“Oh!” Liam chuckled. “Well, why not? Barely any restrictions with the mob and cops runnin’ ‘round lie’ chickens wit’ their ’eds cut off. Sure, muggers an’ the lie’ crawl abou’, but tha’s the price ye pay fer freedom, righ’?” He contained himself from beaming when she gave the ghost of a smile.

“Well, I see where your morals lie, Mr. Garson.”

“Liam.” He jested. “An’ I may lack some, but I’m better off than over ‘alf the boyos ‘ere.”

“’Boyos’?” Penelope gave a small chuckle.

“Males, juveniles, youngins.” She nodded in understanding. “Well, I’ll let ye be. Juss wanted to check on ye and make sure ye were alrigh’.” He started to back away. “If ye need anythin’, I’m in 329.” With a final salute, he disappeared into his own apartment. Penelope slowly turned around to head into her own, closing her door softly.

She looked down at the card caught in her nimble fingers. She couldn’t help the jolt that rushed through her body when she realized that if it was his card, he knew where she was. He knew who she was. She was somebody to him and she wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or terrified. It made her start to question her own morals. Any other person wouldn’t even think to be flattered, so why would she?

He was a murderer, a psychopath who wanted nothing more than to watch the city burn. And yet she had half a mind to consider being flattered. Really lucky or really dead. Why would she be dead? Had she angered someone without her knowing?

She froze.

“The boss.” She whispered to herself in realization. The bald man worked for The Joker. Which meant he knew where she worked. How much else did he know? Who all knew? How many people were following her? Question after question ran through her head and it was almost unbearable. She didn’t know what she even did to be on his radar in the first place.

“-patrolling the streets trying to trace his whereabouts for the time being, but so far-“ The news anchor’s voice hummed softly from her TV and she practically ran over to it, snatching the remote from the coffee table to turn up the volume.

“Well, John, I think it’s safe to say that The Joker’s escape is truly devastating for the people of Gotham. Not only in the sense that he has escaped, but it gives the chance for other criminals to wreak havoc on the city knowing that Batman will once again be busy with him.” The woman on the other line spoke. Penelope scoffed at her words.

“Way to give them ideas.” She mumbled to herself with a wide eye.

“Let’s just hope that Batman is able to do what he does best, and fast. Cause-“ Penelope switched the TV off, having heard enough of it. It upset her that the city was putting their faith in a masked man, that none of them had the nerve to do something themselves. That they couldn’t even rely on their own first responders. That she couldn’t rely on first responders.

She began to peel off her bandages, dragging her feet towards her bathroom. So much had happened in only a week and it all started to catch up to her, her head starting to pound from it all. The note. The glass. The bald man offering her a large sum of money for just a vase of flowers, finding out he worked for The Joker, finding out The Joker had been tracking her for who knows how long.

Penelope reached into her medicine cabinet for pain killers, deciding on taking two with a glass of water. Finally she laid down on her bed, snuggling up to her great fuzzy blanket with her eyes closed in an attempt to fall asleep. She briefly thought about telling Emma, but if she truly was dealing with The Joker, she wanted her involved as little as possible. For her safety. She thought to herself in reassurance before sleep took over.

———————————————————————

The sounds of rushing water and seagulls filled the air around her, the occasional pair of footsteps passing by that she grew wary of from time to time. The sun began to disappear in the horizon, painting the sky with breathtaking shades of pink and orange on the rare cloudless evening. Music played softly from her phone that sat on one side of her, her dinner left half eaten on the other. Her short legs dangled lightly over the ledge as she watched from the pier. It was almost tradition on warmer nights, seeing it as a rarity. It would’ve been perfect if it wasn’t for the littered concrete and occasional plastic bag that floated by as a reminder of where she was. Along with the gun that clicked from behind her.

“I’d say just jump and save me the work, but then I wouldn’t get your money.” A gruff voice spoke. She didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare turn her head or flinch a finger. Her heart rate picked up, stomach churning. “Well?” The man urged, losing patience.

“I-I don’t have any.”

“How’d you get that nice dinner, then, huh?”

“Been saving up for it.” A lie. The man just chuckled.

“Alright. How about you get off of there, put your hands up, and then face me. Slow.”

“I-I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“I can’t raise my hands.” She told him as she awkwardly turned around on the ledge.

“Alright, enough talking-“ The man halted, red quickly seeping through his jacket. Blood dribbled down his chin. She watched in horror as he collapsed.

“I agree.” Penelope looked up to see the man who had helped her the day before. He walked around the mugger towards her, bloodied switchblade in hand. When he saw her flinch he slowed his pace, tucking away the weapon to make her more comfortable.

“Y-you just-“ She spoke frantically, pointing towards the now dead body with a shaky hand.

“Killed a man?” She nodded quickly. He tilted his head dismissively. “Aye. The bastard ‘ad it comin’.” She shied away from him as he took a seat next to her, arms folded. “Relax, miss. I juss saved yer life, did I not?” He looked over at her to see her chewing on her cheek.

“Why?”

“‘Why’ what? Why did I do it-?”

“Yes.” He hesitated for a moment.

“Why not?” The man shrugged. “Was either he killed you or I killed ‘im, an’ I wouldn’t dare let such a beautiful woman go to waste lie’ tha’.” Penelope scrunched her nose and scoffed.

“Beautiful woman…” She mumbled to herself. “If you think I’m easily won over by flattery, you’re wrong.”

“With all due respect, miss, I wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout fer meself.” The brunette noticed her eye take on a more gentle stare. He sighed, scratching at his beard.

“Why’re you here?” She asked, rubbing her left arm.

“I could ask ye the same question.” Penelope looked at him quizzically.

“Dinner.” Liam nodded.

“Was on a walk. ‘Eard the ruckus. Came to see what was ‘appenin’.”

“That’s quite a coincidence.”

“Aye. It sure is. A damn good one, if I do say so meself.” Silence fell between the two of them, however it was peaceful. Penelope quite enjoyed it. “If ye don’t mind me askin’,” Liam broke in. “What do ye plan on doin’ wit’ this Joker business? Assumin’ it’s not too late already. I mean, ‘ave ye told anybody?” She shook her head, focusing on her breathing.

“I haven’t.” Penelope swallowed as Liam raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Ye ‘aven’t? Well, why not? Not even the cops?”

“What’ll they do?” She finally looked up at him. “What will they do? You’re the one that was saying yesterday that they’re all running around like chickens with their heads cut off.“ She began to rant, everything starting to catch up to her. Her eye began to glisten as it watered over. “And if they can’t help me, who can? Certainly not Batman!“ She spit the masked man’s name with venom. “They couldn’t even keep him behind bars to keep the city safe! Why the hell would they care to keep The Joker from coming for just a single person, a nobody, from coming for me-!”

“Miss!” Liam held onto her shoulders, keeping her steady. In a moment of desperation, she clung to him, and once again she caught him off guard as she started to break down for the second time. He began to gently stroke her back and sighed. “Ye’ve been dealing wit’ this a while now, ‘aven’t ye?” He spoke just above a whisper and he felt a shift in her head, a confirmation. A van sat in the distance, tinted windows making it impossible to see through. It was cracked enough for him to see who was in it and he made eye contact with a pair of almost pure black eyes, giving them a faint nod.

[swan-of-sunrise]

The Winter Soldier (Chapter Six)

Summary: (Y/N) and the others successfully abduct a high-level Hydra operative, who provides them with information on Hydra’s bone-chilling plan.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Brief description of a panic attack

A/N: Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Six (Previous Chapter)

“How in the hell did you come up with this plan?”

(Y/N) and Natasha were using binoculars to stare out the window of an abandoned apartment at a small courtyard situated between a tall building and a crowded outdoor café, where Sam was currently sitting and enjoying an iced tea; Steve was sitting in Sam’s car and parked around the corner, at the ready just in case the plan didn’t work. Once (Y/N) told the others her plan to abduct Sitwell and they’d taken a quick trip to Fort Meade for the EXO-7 Falcon pack, Natasha had hacked into the Hydra operative’s digital planner; she discovered in his itinerary that he’d be in a meeting with Senator Stern all morning in the building across the street, and then she’d managed to remotely clone Director Pierce’s cell phone.

Glancing away from her binoculars, (Y/N) flashed Natasha a bright smile. “It wasn’t that hard; part of it’s from a scene in my novel, actually. This is how Amelia – she’s the main character, by the way – tricks an enemy agent into giving her important information on her case.” She pulled the laser pointer integral to their plan out of her pocket and twirled it around her fingers. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“You’re in the wrong line of work, (Y/L/N). You’d make a good spy.”

(Y/N) chuckled bashfully and turned back to her binoculars. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick to writing. Less of a risk of being shot at, you know.”

“Well, not many writers would just up and volunteer to try and take down a covert terrorist organization.” Although she said it in an off-hand manner, (Y/N) could tell that Natasha was genuinely curious about her off-the-cuff decision.

“I’m not usually an impulsive person, but what I said earlier was true: I have no right to do any less than what the three of you are doing. I won’t sit by and watch as Hydra destroys everything we know, especially knowing that there are ways I could help stop them. Besides, Sam and I are a team, have been for over a year now. I can’t let my best friend put himself in danger without being by his side.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes at herself and gave the spy an embarrassed smile. “But please don’t tell him I said that, Nat, it would only inflate his already-enormous ego.”

“Secret’s safe with me, hot-shot.” Natasha paused for a moment. “You remind me a lot of Rogers. To tell you the truth, I think that’s half the reason why he let you onto the team.”

(Y/N) frowned at her comment, her eyes still looking through her binoculars. “What’s the other half-?” Just then, a group of men walked out of the building across the street. “Wait, is that Sitwell?”

Natasha looked through her own binoculars and nodded. “Yeah, the bald guy with the glasses.” She quickly set down the binoculars and typed out a quick text on her phone. “Time to see if your plan works, 007.”

Through the binoculars, (Y/N) saw Sam glance down at his phone and dial a number from his seat at the café. The group of men headed towards the parking lot, leaving Sitwell alone on the building’s steps. (Y/N) smiled to herself as she watched him pull out his phone and press it to his ear; he became skittish as he listened to Sam talk. Watching Sitwell’s lips, she carefully aimed her laser pointer and pressed the button just as he asked, “And why would I do that?”

She let out a triumphant laugh when Sitwell glanced at the red light on his tie and looked around in fear before hanging up the phone and walking towards Sam. “Yes!” She punched the air and put down her laser pointer and binoculars. “Dynamite with a laser beam!”

“‘Killer Queen,’ yeah?” Natasha grinned and nodded appreciatively. “Steve was right, you’ve got a great taste in music. C’mon, we’d better head down to the car…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fifteen minutes later, Steve was throwing Sitwell across the rooftop of an apartment building; Natasha strode confidently after him, and (Y/N) tried her best to hide her unease as she trailed behind them. Although she’d thoroughly researched torture methods for her novel, she wasn’t quite sure she could stomach seeing them performed in real life. Stay calm, Captain America wouldn’t do those things to someone else, she thought to herself, fiddling with the edge of her grey leather jacket, although he did mention that they might do that one thing if Sitwell doesn’t talk. She looked up from her combat boots in time to see Steve say, “Tell me about Zola’s algorithm.”

“Never heard of it.”

“What were you doing on the Lemurian Star?”

“I was throwing up, I get seasick.” Steve grabbed Sitwell roughly by the collar and forced him to the edge of the rooftop, but the man only smiled condescendingly up at the super-soldier. “Is this little display meant to insinuate that you’re gonna throw me off the roof? Because that’s not really your style, Rogers.”

(Y/N) couldn’t see Steve’s face, but she assumed that he was smiling as he smoothed out the crumpled lapels of Sitwell’s jacket. “You’re right. It’s not. It’s hers.” After quickly stepping aside, Steve watched calmly as Natasha kicked Sitwell directly in the chest and he toppled off the roof, screaming the whole way down. Despite (Y/N) knowing what their plan was, she still felt her stomach lurch uncomfortably as the man’s screams grew fainter the longer he fell; she’d never mentioned her extreme fear of heights to any of them, but in that moment she wished she had.

Natasha turned to Steve. “Oh wait, what about that girl from Accounting, Laura…?”

“Lilian. Lip piercing, right?”

“Yeah, she’s cute.”

Steve shook his head and looked down. “Yeah, I’m not ready for that.”

(Y/N)’s confusion and slight jealousy at their conversation shifted to awe as Sam suddenly flew up and threw Sitwell back onto the roof while he landed gracefully on his feet. (Y/N) rolled her eyes in amusement as her best friend flashed her a wink, his wings quickly folding back into his pack as he approached them.

Sitwell, no longer composed and condescending, was shaking with fear on the rooftop as he held his hands up. “Zola’s algorithm is a program for choosing Insight’s targets!”

“What targets?” (Y/N) asked, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of her stomach.

To her surprise, Sitwell sneered. “And who the hell are you? The personal assistant?”

Steve grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and squeezed until he began wincing. “What targets?”

“You! A TV anchor in Cairo, the Undersecretary of Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa City, a first-time novelist writing about the Cold War in D.C…” Everyone’s eyes snapped to (Y/N)’s, and she could feel the blood leaving her face as she fully registered his words. “Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, anyone who’s a threat to Hydra! Now, or in the future.”

Natasha, her face grim, drew closer to Sitwell. “The future? How could it know?”

“How could it not? The twenty-first century is a digital book. Zola taught Hydra how to read it. Your bank records, medical histories, voting patterns, e-mails, phone calls, your damn SAT scores. Zola’s algorithm evaluates people’s past to predict their future.”

“And what then?”

Sitwell rubbed his temple agitatedly. “Oh my God, Pierce is gonna kill me.”

Steve shook him again. “What then?”

“…then the Insight helicarriers scratch people off the list. A few million at a time.”

A heavy silence hung over the group as they all absorbed what Sitwell had said; millions of people around the world are going to be killed by Hydra if we don’t stop them, (Y/N) realized in horror. She tried to avoid thinking about it, but she couldn’t help but replay Sitwell’s words over and over in her head: A first-time novelist writing about the Cold War in D.C., a first-time novelist writing about the Cold War in D.C., a first-time novelist writing about the Cold War in D.C…

“Okay, time to head out.” After yanking Sitwell roughly to his feet, Steve turned to Natasha and Sam. “You two mind escorting him back to the car?”

“’Course not, Cap,” Natasha smirked as she and Sam grabbed Sitwell’s arms and dragged him towards the rooftop doorway, Sam throwing a concerned glance at (Y/N) as he went.

“You okay, (Y/N)?”

As Steve’s words left his mouth, (Y/N) registered the ringing in her ears and that she was taking rapid and shallow breaths; her heart hammered in her chest and through her clouded vision, she could barely make out Steve’s worried face right before her. “Can’t…can’t breathe…”

“Okay, it’s okay, um, here,” Stepping forward, he reached for her hand but stopped himself short. “Is it okay if I hold your hand?” (Y/N) gave a short nod and he took her hand, gently placing her palm against his chest so she could feel his strong heartbeat. “You’re okay, just try and slow your heartbeat to match mine. Can you do that for me? Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth, like this.��� He began doing the breathing exercise, and she shakily began copying him. “You’re doing great, (Y/N), just keep breathing.” To her surprise, he stopped the breathing exercise and began quietly humming a familiar tune; it was so faint beneath the dim ringing in her ears that she could’ve dismissed it as her mind tricking her if not for the feeling of reverberation in his chest. (Y/N) gradually felt her body responding positively; her breathing began to even out and as her heartbeat returned to normal, her vision cleared and the ringing faded away into nothing.

Once his humming came to an end, she looked up at him with an insecure smile. “‘Smoke Gets In Your Eyes,’ The Platters. Thank you. I-I don’t know what came over me, I was fine until…well, you know. All at once, everything suddenly became very…real for me.”

Steve nodded solemnly. “No one will think any less of you if you decide to go home. You’ll be safer, and-”

“No, no way.” She firmly shook her head, her mouth set in a determined line. “I’m staying. Just because I found out I’m a possible Insight target and had a panic attack doesn’t mean that I’m suddenly okay with sitting back while Hydra plans to kill millions; if anything, I’m even more invested in this fight than I was before.” She felt the corners of her mouth lift into a smirk. “If you’re trying to get rid of me, Rogers, then you’re going to have to try a little harder than that.”

When she finally stopped talking, she registered something akin to admiration in Steve’s small smile, and she willed herself not to blush. They stared into each other’s eyes for a few more moments, and that’s when (Y/N) realized that one of Steve’s hands was still resting on her waist and the other was gently holding her hand against his chest, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing small circles over her knuckles.

Steve seemed to realize the same thing because a moment later, he quickly let go of her and took a couple of steps back. With a pinkish tint to his cheeks, he glanced toward the rooftop doorway and replied, “Well, if you’re sure that you’re okay then let’s go. We’ve got a launch to stop.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy! 

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4BenknAqQQnOWY8NmSa23V

Tagging: @mrs-obrien @lahoete @awkward117​ @cminr​ @momc95​ @awkwardnesshabitat​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @khuang3​ @supersouthy​ @benakenalove​ @brooke0297​ @hufflepeople​ @becausewelie​​ @outoftheregular @supreme-tantrum​

Chapter Seven

“The Winter Soldier” Masterlist

[introvertguide]

Influential Directors of the Silent Film Era

Upon hearing that I am a fan of silent era film, people will ask if I have a favorite actor or movie from the time period. However, when I am asked about my favorites from other fans of silent film, it tends to involve my favorite director. This is because silent film actors had to over gesticulate and performed in an unrealistic way and could not use their tone or words to convey emotion. The directors also did not have a way to review as they shot and would have to use editing skills and strategic cover shots to make sure that everything was done properly and come out the way they imagined it. It was up to the director to be creative and they were forced to be innovative and create ways to convey their vision. Luckily for many average or poor directors of the time, audiences were easily impressed. However, today's more demanding and sophisticated audiences can look back at some of the genius behind the films of silent era Hollywood.

Alice Guy-Blache: Matrimony's Speed Limit (1913) and The Fairy of the Cabbages (1896)

Art director of the film studio The Solax Company, the largest pre-Hollywood movie studio, and camera operator for the France based Gaumont Studio headed up by Louis Lemiere, this woman was a director before any kind of gender expectations were even established. She was a pioneer of the use of audio recordings in conjunction with images and the first filmmaker to systematically develop narrative filming. Guy-Blanche didn't just record an image but used editing and juxtaposition to reveal a story behind the moving pictures. In 1914, when Hollywood studios hired almost exclusively upper class white men as directors, she famously said that there was nothing involved in the staging of a movie that a woman could not do just as easily as a man.

Charlie Chaplin: The Kid (1921), The Gold Rush (1923), City Lights (1931), Modern Times (1936), and The Great Dictator (1940)

It is unfortunate that many people today think of Chaplin as silly or for screwball comedy when, in fact, he was a great satirist of the time. He created his comedy through the eyes of the lower economic class that suffered indignities over which they had no control. He traversed the world as his "Tramp" character who found his fortune by being amiable and lucky. The idea that a good attitude and a turn of luck could result in happiness was all that many Americans had during the World Wars and the Great Depression. He played the part of the sad clown and he was eventually kicked out of the country for poking fun at American society. Today he is beloved for his work, but he was more infamous than famous during a large part of his life.

Buster Keaton: Sherlock Jr. (1924), The General (1926), and The Cameraman (1928).

That man that performed the most dangerous of stunts with a deadpan expression, Buster Keaton was a great actor, athlete, stuntman, writer, producer, and director. It is amazing that you could get so much emotion out of a silent actor who does not emote, but Keaton managed to do it. He was also never afraid to go big, often putting his own well being at risk to capture a good shot. Not as well known for his cinematography or editing as many of the other directors of the time, he instead captured performances that were amazing no matter how they were filmed. Famous stunts include the side of a house falling down around him, standing on the front of a moving train, sitting on the side rail of a moving train, and grabbing on to a speeding car with one hand to hitch a ride. If you like films by Jackie Chan, know that he models his films after the work of Buster Keaton: high action and high comedy.

Cecil B. Demille: The Cheat (1915), Male and Female (1919), and The Ten Commandments (1923)

Known as the father of the Hollywood motion picture industry, Demille was the first director to make a real box office hit. He is likely best known for making The Ten Commandments in 1923 and then remaking it again in 1956. If not that, he was also known for his scandalous dramas that depicted women in the nude. This was pre-Code silent film so the rules about what could be shown had not been established. Demille made 30 large production successful films in the silent era and was the most famous director of the time which gave him a lot of freedom. His trademarks were Roman orgies, battles with large wild animals, and large bath scenes. His films are not what most modern film watchers think of when they are considering silent films. That famous quote from the movie Sunset Boulevard in 1950 in which the fading silent actress says "All right, Mr. Demille. I'm ready for my close-up," is referring to this director.

D.W. Griffith: Birth of a Nation (1915) and Intolerance (1916)

Griffith started making films in 1908 and put out just about everything that he recorded. He made 482 films between 1908 and 1914, although most of these were shorts. His most famous film today is absolutely Birth of a Nation and it is one of the most outlandishly racist films of the time. The depiction of black Americans as evil and the Klu Klux Klan as heroes who are protecting the nation didn't even really go over well at that time. Some believe that his follow up the next year called Intolerance was an apology, but the film actually addresses religious and class intolerance and avoids the topic of racism. At the time, Griffith films were known for the massive sets and casts of thousands of extras, but today he is known for his racist social commentary.

Sergei Eisenstein: Battleship Potemkin (1925)

This eccentric Russian director was a pioneer of film theory and the use of montage to show the passage of time. His reputation at the time would probably be similar to Tim Burton or maybe David Lynch. He had a very specific strange style that made his films different from any others. The film Battleship Potemkin is considered to be one of the best movies of all time as rated by Sight and Sound, and generally considered as a great experimental film that found fame in Hollywood as well as Russia.

F.W. Murnau: Nosferatu (1922), Faust (1926), and Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans (1927)

I think that most people would know the bald-headed long-nailed vampire Nosferatu that was a silent era phenomena. It was so iconic that the German film studio that produced the movie was sued by the estate of Bram Stoker and had to close. Faust was his last big budget German film and has an iconic shot of the demon Mephisto raining plague down on a town that was the inspiration for the Demon Mountain in Fantasia (1940). Also, Sunrise is considered one of the best movies of all time by the AFI and by Sight and Sound as well as my favorite silent film. Fun facts: 1) more of Murnau's films have been lost then are still watchable and 2) he died in a car wreck at only 40 when he hired a car to drive up the California coast and the driver was only 14.

Erich von Stroheim: Greed (1924)

Maker of very strange German Expressionist films, Stroheim films are often listed as Horror or Mystery even though he considered himself a dramatic film maker. His most famous movie Greed was supposed to be amazing with an 8 hour run time but it was cut drastically to the point that it makes no sense and was both critically and publicly panned when an extremely abridged version was released in the U.S. Over half the film was lost and a complete version no longer exists. Besides this film, Stroheim was even better known for being the butler in the film Sunset Boulevard as a former director who retired to be with an aging silent film star. He also made a movie called Between Two Women (1937) that told the story of a female burn victim that was inspired by the story of his wife being burned in an explosion in a shop on the actual Sunset Boulevard.

Victor Fleming: The Wizard of Oz (1939) and Gone With the Wind (1939)

Although not known for his silent films, Fleming did get his start during the silent era. He was a cinematographer for D.W. Griffith and then Fleming directed his first film in 1919. Most of his silent films were swashbuckling action movies with Douglas Fairbanks or formulaic westerns. He is the only director to have two films on the AFI top 10 and they happened to have come out the same year.

Hal Roach: Lonesome Luke films starring Harold Lloyd, Our Gang shorts, Laurel and Hardy shorts, and Of Mice and Men (1939)

It is not really fair to put Hal Roach in the silent era directors because he was influential at the time but he had a 75 year career. He was a producer and film studio head and even had a studio named after himself. His biggest contribution to the silent era was his production of Harold Lloyd short comedies and he continued to produce films in the early talkies including Laurel and Hardy shorts, Our Gang shorts, and Wil Rogers films. Roach was the inspiration for the film Sullivan's Travels, in which a famous director who only did frivolous comedies goes out into the world to find inspiration to find a serious drama. Roach did direct a single serious drama, Of Mice and Men, but it came out in 1939 and was buried underneath the works of Victor Fleming. The wealthy cigar smoking studio head that many people think of when they picture a film studio suit is based on this guy. The man would not quit and stayed in the business into his 90s and lived to the ripe old age of 100.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Pity in Short Supply (baon)

Summary:    In the aftermath of the kidnapping, Red has a few thoughts. There's a reason he's always called 'em liabilities.

Tags:  Kustard, Domestic, Established Relationship, Sans/Underfell Sans, Aftermath of a kidnapping, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Underfell Papyrus/Underswap Papyrus, Background Spicyhoney, A Touch of Lemon Goodness

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

By the time the sun was thinking about hopping over the horizon and getting started on its daily workout, the warehouse parking lot was starting to clear out. All the ambulances were long since gone, the only one of ‘em with a person in the back was the guy who was still stuck in that weird foam shit.

Red didn’t believe in karma; he’d spent much too long eating shit himself for that, but if there was any lingering threads of justice still clinging stubbornly in the air, it’d take a long, painful time to get that fucker loose.

Most of the Embassy Security teams were heading back with all the evidence stacked in their backseats and Red was standing in a shadowed corner away from the streetlights watching them pack it in. Some of ‘em would start working on interviewing the kidnappers who didn’t need a few hours to cut them loose from a little chemical warfare, along with the agents the FBI shipped their way. Some were gonna work on getting shit together for the inevitable interviews with the kidnappees sometime this afternoon. Red had some pull and plenty of strings to yank, but even he wasn’t gonna be able to hold back the tide of questions much longer than that.

There was probably gonna be a fit pitched somewhere along the line that he’d sent his trouble twins home to sleep before getting much info, but Red would have to hula that hoop when it rolled in. Wasn’t only about Stretch, it was about his bro; there was only so much the boss could take before he slammed face-first into his breaking point and he’d been skating a little too fucking close tonight for Red’s taste. Better to let him take his pretty little liability home, clean him up, spend a li’l time rubbing his scent all over him again like a dog in heat and wasn’t it a damn good thing none of ‘em could piss.

The last thing any of ‘em needed was his bro snapping and hauling his honey away like a shorter, skinnier, bald version fucking King Kong.

(and was the memory of his brother's bleak face as he sat there waiting for answers while Red lied out promises about getting his liability back in one piece gonna haunt his nightmares, fuck yes, 'course it was, gotta balance those books somehow, there was always a price, he'd learned that lesson fast while he was still carrying his baby bro on the streets. always a price, fucking always)

Red wasn’t too worried about losing any info, anyway. Wasn’t much chance of Stretch forgetting much, not with that eidetic memory of his. Not being able to forget was half of his fucking problems to begin with.

Out in the mostly deserted parking lot, the last couple agents were finished packing up their car, not even seeming to give him a second glance as they climbed in. ‘Seeming’ was the real shit there, to anyone who wasn’t used to watching. The driver, a deceptively slender deer Monster, their antlers cut stylishly down, paused just long enough for their eyes to flick his way. The subtlest of looks, but that was it. They didn’t make a show of asking if Red wanted a ride, didn’t play any ego trips over spotting him, just hopped into the car and sped off.

Good instincts. Red made a mental note to keep an eye on that one. Good, not great, ‘cause they didn’t notice the one standing further back behind him, the guy who took up the best shadows before Red even showed up.

He stepped up now, hands stuffed into his pockets as he shuffled his way to stand next to Red, untied shoelaces dragging on the damp asphalt. They stood there together while the first unbearable rim of sunlight crested and took the shadows with it, bathing them in painful, golden light.

Red pulled out a cigar and bit off the end, spitting it to the ground. He lit a match with a flick of his thumb and held the tip in the wavering flame. When the end was smoldering, he flicked the match into the puddle, the faint hiss of it extinguishing unheard as he asked in a cloud of exhaled smoke, “how’s it going, sansy?”

Red was looking at the empty parking lot, the puddles dotting it like a scattering of miniature lakes across a land of broken asphalt, so he didn’t see Sans shrug, but he could feel it, a ripple in the still air around them. “went like clockwork. we planned for this sort of shit, you know, planned it out for years. worked out possible sceneries with fuzzybuns, toriel, all the diplomats.” Sans’s ever-present smile widened humorousness, “even had a few for edge and stretch, guess we shoulda brainstormed on those ones a little more. don’t know if we coulda come up with that one, though. drugging him was always a contingency, but no one guessed they’d strip his ass down and lose every damn tracker on him.” Another tight shrug, one quick. cramped motion, “we’ll know better next time.”

The plume of smoke rising from Red’s cigar curled in the air, drifting like a mist in the dawn light. Red watched it and nothing else, letting his sockets fall half-closed as he followed the wispy path with his eye lights. “ain’t asking about the fucking ops. how’s it going, sansy.”

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the rough scrape of gravel shifting under Sans’s feet as he rocked on his heels. “you know, i took up with the security department for paps,” Sans said conversationally. “wanted to keep a close eye on him when he went traipsing around the big bad world to spread the good word. back underground, that whole sentry schtick was an excuse for a paycheck, i wasn’t guarding anything but my own g and a nap.”

“yeah?” Red stuck his cigar between his teeth and bit down, tasting the scatter of soggy, bitter tobacco on his tongue as the jagged tips tore through the fragile wrapper. “that so, sweetheart?”

“yeah, that’s so, dollface,” Sans chuckled mirthlessly. “little ironic, ain’t it, that it turns out i’m good at this shit. who would’ve thought.”

“yeah, never woulda guessed a judge might not be bad at the whole diggin’ up covert info,” Red shook his head sadly, “a shock, really, that ya could put that empty skull of yers to some good use.”

“sweet talker. gonna end up sleeping downstairs with the cat you keep that shit up.”

“fuck, don’t do that,” Red shuddered. “already worried if i don’t get up fast enough to feed that bitch, she’d gnaw off my pinky toe before i wake up.”

“that picky little shit wouldn’t eat you if you rolled yourself up like sushi and slathered on caviar.” Sans hesitated, then asked, softer, “how’s stretch doing?”

“like shit.” Red didn’t bother to cushion it; his pity came sparingly and Sans could take it. “he’s got his judge all cranked up to eleven. caught a helluva glimpse of me when i got here, thought he was gonna puke on my shoes.”

Sans let out a long, ragged exhale. “that’s my fault,” he said bleakly, “i got him to hit his on switch to look for that lost kid, should’ve known he’d have a hard time shutting it down again.”

“maybe.” Red wasn’t too concerned about it. If Stretch wanted to retire and shove all that down into the dark, wasn’t any dust off his ass, but the only way he’d lose it entirely would be if someone ripped it out of him by way of a dustpan. “if those fuckers hadn’t tried to pull a limburger baby on the kid, then it woulda died back down on its own.”

This time Sans chuckle was more real, a little honest humor creeping in. “don’t let stretch hear you call him kid, he’s already got his panties twisted halfway up his spine.”

Red scoffed, tapping away the ash gathering at the tip of his cigar. “honey bun might be the same age as us, but he ain’t as old as we are. don’t matter how the universe tried to age him up.”

The sound Sans made might’ve been a hum of agreement or the juicy, hawking prelude to spitting. The sun hadn’t had a chance to chase away the evening chill and Sans’s jacket was zipped up against it. Over the tab of his zipper, nearly concealed by neckline of his hood, Red could see the glossy rim of well-oiled dark leather, the slightest glint of metal. He let himself look at it for a long moment, take a sip of dark satisfaction at seeing his collar right where it was supposed to be. Then he looked away, back across the empty, crumbling parking lot.

Sans didn’t try to touch him, only shifted his stance until their fingers brushed in a way that could pretend to be accidental, bone lightly scraping bone.

“we should get going,” Red said. The sun was climbing higher, the stars giving way to gauzy, useless clouds. At least stars were interesting, a reminder there was another Aboveground than this one, another path upward that might someday be reached. “we got a lot of shit to do downtown.”

“we do,” Sans agreed. He tipped his head in Red’s direction, slanting him a glance out of the corner of his socket. His eye lights were tinted golden by the sunrise, sly and knowing in a way that had nothing to do with magic. “want me to blow you in the stairwell before we take off?”

Red didn’t wait for him to finish, tossing his half-burned cigar into a puddle, dousing it and sending a splash of ripples through the still water. “fuck, yes.”

He followed Sans into the warehouse and in moments he was braced against the rusty handrail with his shorts around his ankles in the dust, shuddering at the feel of that hot, wet mouth around him, worshiping his cock with lovingly sinful familiarity. Every inch of his focus was taken up by that and there wasn’t room to think about a single other thing. Not even the phantom sensation of metaphorically getting flayed alive by a wild orange gaze, the unexpected, needle-sharp feel of every one of his sins digging in their spidery claws as they crawled up his spine.

He didn’t think about it at all.

-fin

[captainkappa]

Fanfic:: Sunday Run

Like many people, I fell hard and fast for Din/Luke and ended up writing this fic surprisingly fast for my standards. 

Luke goes for his Sunday run. He’s just not expecting to be passed by such a large group of people

Modern AU, Meet Cute

Link to AO3

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

As sunlight streamed in from the edges of the window shade, Luke had to remind himself that even if it hardwired his body to wake up at 6 a.m. on a weekend, teaching was a fulfilling career.

He stared at his phone’s clock as if it’d personally offended him before dropping it on the floor and turned back over to hopefully catch some more sleep.

When he next opened his eyes, he was aware of the scratching at his door. He groped around on the floor, annoyed that his half-asleep self hadn’t thought to use the perfectly good nightstand that was right there. His fingers found purchase and squinted against the bright flash of the screen.

7:19 a.m.

Good enough.

Luke pulled himself out of bed, scrubbing a hand over his face before going about his morning routine on autopilot. He opened the door to start making breakfast and was unsurprised to find a put-out Artoo sitting just outside his door, tail flicking as angrily as a cat could.

“What?”

Artoo continued to stare at him. Luke walked over to the cat’s food dish, finding it a quarter of the way full, with a small spot in the center with no food.

“Oh, come on, that’s not empty. You were not about to starve last night.”

The cat did not look convinced but happily munched when Luke refreshed it with new food and water.

He started breakfast, only pausing to answer a text, to reassure Leia that he’d be over at her place for dinner. He leaned against the counter as he ate, glancing over to Artoo who looked very keen on stealing some.

“It’s not eggs today, buddy. I got too much shell in it last time.”

He’d wanted to try cracking an egg one handed, not wanting to get his prosthetic dirty. It hadn’t gone well.

Artoo didn’t look impressed then, and he didn’t look impressed now, letting out a meow.

Luke rested his elbows down. “Do you think I should actually go on a run today, buddy?”

Sunday runs were a fickle part of his schedule. If he was at his best, he’d do five miles every Sunday morning before enjoying the rest of his day off, but sometimes the looming threat of the work week or the effects of last week made him skip. The past couple of weeks, though, he’d been on a streak, but he was just getting tired of looking at the same buildings in his neighborhood.

Artoo said nothing, shifting in his spot to lick his leg.

He sighed, “You’re right, I should.”

He left the plate in the sink to clean up later and finished getting ready for his run. He slipped a sock on his elbow and attached one of his cosmetic prosthetic arms, not needing to be interrupted by someone wanting to know his life story just to tell him he’s “so brave.”

(If the person was an asshole about feeling entitled to his life, Luke made up an increasingly incredulous story involving sharks or killer bees or both in the case of one annoying woman in a checkout lane. If they were nice, they got the condensed version, car accident. Very few people knew of the argument beforehand he’d had with his father, how he’d gotten in the car furious, how that blinded him to the drunk driver swerving into his lane.)

Slipping on his shoes and gave Artoo a passing scritch on the head. The cold, early spring air was a shock, but he resisted the urge to go back to swap out his shorts for sweatpants. He’d warm up as he ran. When he got into his car, the check engine light flashed as it had for the past two weeks and like he’d done for the past two weeks, he ignored it, muttering about how he’d get it checked when he had the funds. Teaching was emotionally fulfilling; it just wasn’t monetarily fulfilling.

The car rumbled to life and he turned out of his neighborhood. As he’d gotten dressed for the day, he’d landed on a park he’d gone to a couple of times before, hoping a change of scenery would help in keeping the motivation to run.

For a Sunday morning, it was pretty quiet. The park had only opened a half hour before and there were maybe five other cars in the lot. Once there, he stretched in the parking lot and picked a trail in the wooded area. He hoped he’d be avoiding most of the runners picking pathed paths rather than the more natural ones.

Luke went for his phone and sighed, realizing he’d forgotten his earbuds. He shrugged to himself before jogging his way over the path. Hopefully nature would give him something to look at. Maybe he’d even practice some of that mindfulness Uncle Ben kept talking about.

Asphalt gave way to packed earth as he arrived at the start of the path. He gave himself one last quick stretch before starting to run in earnest. Trees surrounded him on all sides, growing thicker as the path leaned to the right. The trees were still bare from winter, allowing more sunlight through the branches. The path was firm packed earth, with some tree roots poking out of the ground.

To his right, the forest gave way to a lake and then a river, the earth slowly sloping downward until he was running beside a sharp decline, nothing so dangerous as to need a fence, but noticeable that Luke made sure to be aware of where his feet landed. If he couldn’t afford a major car repair, he certainly couldn’t afford to trip and fall down that hill.

Luke took in a purposeful breath, pushing away thoughts of money. Maybe mindfulness could be the goal of today. He thought back to how Uncle Ben had described it. Start from the bottom. Focus on your feet, keeping light steps as-

“On your left!”

He glanced over at the woman passing him and gave her a polite nod, which she returned. Her black hair was pulled into a ponytail, bouncing as she jogged past.

That was okay, other runners were a normal part of going to parks. He’d just have to recenter himself, start again. Focus on the feeling of running shoes on ground-

“Make way!”

He looked over to see a bald man passing him, gaining speed as he yelled something to the woman ahead. Luke couldn’t make out the specifics, but he could hear her laugh.

Okay, not everyone can be a considerate runner, but that wouldn’t damper his spirit.

He found his rhythm again, focusing on the trees around him, the purpose in each step he took, how running made him feel. It almost a decent replacement for music.

“Incoming!”

Almost.

Luke nearly stumbled at that loud introduction as a short woman with wild curly hair grinned at him and passed him.

He didn’t have time to process that when he heard a man with a soft Southern accent say from behind him, “Pardon me.”

Luke looked up and damn near blushed when the man gave him a wink as he passed. Any ability to practice mindfulness went out the window as he watched the man jog ahead in front of him. But who could blame him for having his thoughts wander, who jogged in a cowboy hat?

He took a deep breath. It was fine. So what if he was used to peaceful runs with little interruption? So what if his thoughts were turning to annoyance as this trail was more crowded and loud than he was used to? Luke could handle that.

Luke was just getting in the mind when there was a cough and he turned to see two women power walking behind him. They paused their conversation to give him a look that forced him to step off the path to let them by, some dirt and rocks coming loose and falling the short ways down the hill. He gave a polite hello that neither of them returned.

He busied himself with stretching, ready to get back to running when-

“On your left.”

An annoyed comment was on the tip of his tongue, but the steely gaze of the woman in all black made him clam up.

He checked his phone briefly, the app he used informing him he was nearly halfway to his target. A satisfied thrum filled his body and he got back on the trail, focusing on getting the burn back in his legs, how he knew it’d feel good later to know he’d gotten out early and was able to jog amongst nature.

There, it wasn’t that hard to get back in the jogging mood.

“Passing.”

Luke didn’t even have time to register why that voice sounded familiar as the man accidentally clipped his shoulder. He stumbled, his shoe catching a root sticking out of the ground and pitching himself sideways off the side of the hill. His life flashed before his eyes as he blindly reached out for a branch, a twig, anything to keep him from tumbling down. For a moment he was surprised when his hand grabbed onto something soft before he was quickly righted, a hand on his shoulder and prosthetic.

Heart pounding in his ears, he could only barely make out the man in front of him – who saved him – asking if he was okay. He just nodded, only aware he was being led to sit until there was firm ground underneath him.

As his pulse calmed, he looked at the man who was now kneeling in front of him and, wow, way he handsome. Dark brown curls slightly matted by sweat, light brown skin showing beneath a gray shirt, sunglasses perched on his nose, but most noticeable was the baby carrier on his chest. The child, who couldn’t be more than 18 months old, was looking at Luke with wide eyes, arms outstretched.

“Are you alright?” the man asked again, voice low with concern.

Luke swallowed before finding his voice, “Yeah, just got tripped up by that one guy.”

The other man nodded and stood up. He offered a hand to Luke and Luke, still buzzing with adrenaline, falling on habits he thought he’d forgotten since the accident, offered his right hand, not realizing his mistake until the man pulled with more force than expected and pulled off Luke’s prosthetic with a soft ‘pop.’

The sunglasses hide the man’s face, but Luke can see the man’s growing confusion and embarrassment. Not wanting to put the poor guy through that, Luke surged up to his feet, gently taking the arm from the man and gave him a slight smile.

Luke knew he should something along the lines of “it’s fine, don’t worry about it!’ but that’s not what comes out.

Instead, Luke looked to the man (and when had he gotten this close to realize there’s a slight stubble on his chin) and said, “Guess you don’t know your own strength, huh?”

Before the man can react, Luke turned and continued running in the direction he was going, passing the group of people who had passed him minutes before. A couple of them nod, some shout out to him “Where’re you going in a hurry?” and “What happened to your arm?”

(The bald guy said the last one. It just pushes him harder.)

Thankfully, a branch in the path opened up and even though he hadn’t run a full five miles, he banked to the left, closer toward the parking lot. He didn’t stop until his car came into view, trying to catch his breath as the adrenaline passes through him. He reattached his hand, flexing the other one that had cramped up from holding it so tightly.

“Don’t know your own strength.” Who the hell are you, Skywalker? Han wouldn’t even pull a line like that… okay maybe he would.

He shook his head, trying to put the man out of his mind. He halfheartedly stretched in front of his car, a bone-weariness setting in after everything that just makes him want to already be home in front of the TV.

Opening the car door, he fell into his seat. He pressed the keys into the ignition and turned the car on. It rumbled more than it usually did before making a noise like defeat and falling still.

“No, no, no!” he mumbled, trying the key again. Nothing.

The check engine light blinked as if to say. “I told you so.”

With a groan, his head fell onto the steering wheel, startling him as he accidentally hit the horn. He readjusted so he could wallow without informing everyone in a 500-yard radius how fucked he was. He didn’t know how long he sat like that, the logistics of repair crews and carpooling to work making his mind run overtime.

There was a crick forming in his neck and back when a familiar, high pitched voice called out.

“You good – oh it’s you!”

Luke looked up and saw the short woman with the wild curly hair standing close by.

He cleared his throat, not wanting to add ‘crying in front of strangers’ on his list of things he did today.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“You havin’ engine trouble?”

“Yeah, I-” and before he could say more, the lady had moved to the front of his car, popped open the hood, and was waist deep in his car.

“Not bad condition,” she said, “considering it’s an X-Wing. Don’t see too many of these older models out here.” She leaned around the hood, “I’ll need to get underneath to see how bad it really is.”

“Do you… work at a repair shop?”

She waved a hand. “Kid, I own a repair shop!” And before he could dispute being called a “kid” at the age of 28, there was a slightly sweaty business card for Motto’s Motors in his hand. It was close by his neighborhood, closer to the one he normally went to.

He was about to ask about prices, when the woman with her hair in a ponytail walked over.

“Everything okay here, Peli?”

The woman elbows deep in his car, Peli apparently, started explaining the car situation and then Cara turned to him with a glint of recognition.

“Hey there!”

Luke nodded a hello, and somehow, that led to the rest of their group (they were all a group, who jogged with this many people?) surrounding the car and introducing themselves to Luke, first Cara, then Mayfeld, Cobb, Bo-Katan, Koska, Fennec, Boba, Din and Grogu in the carrier. He’s surprised when, instead of going back to their own cars, they stay and talk around his, dragging him into conversations and asking his opinion on matters that seem like they have history. Luke glanced about, trying to follow everything, when his eyes catch on Din hanging off awkwardly to the side.

Finally, Peli shut the hood with a thunk and wiped her hands on her sweatpants. “I’ll give the boys a call, they can get a tow truck out here. I’m sure one of us can give you a drive down.”

Any arguments against accepting die on his tongue as she gives him a look that could melt icecaps. And there are no protests from her friends as they all start talking over each other once again, this time about car organization. Before he can comprehend, he’s handed his keys over to Peli, a loud call has been sent to Peli’s “boys,” and he and Din have been left in the parking lot. Standing together, Luke can better tell that he’s only a few inches shorter than the other man, but that doesn’t help him feel any less intimidated in the silence. Still wearing the sunglasses, Din doesn’t look all too happy, but it’s hard to tell.

“You know the um, arm thing? It’s fine, it’s just cosmetic, you didn’t rip any wires out or anything. I don’t even know how those fancy robotic prosthetics work anyhow, they were always out of my budget…” Too late, Luke realized he was rambling.

“So, it’s fine,” he finished lamely. Din nodded, but the air between them hasn’t seem to have cleared.

“You really don’t have to do this,” Luke said. “I can just grab an Uber.”

“No, it’s fine,” Din said, pulling out his keys.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, just… not a fan of being volunteered for stuff.”

He couldn’t tell if that made him feel better or not. Of course Din wasn’t a fan of being Luke’s chauffer for the morning, he had a kid. Luke slipped in the front passenger seat as Din spent his time buckling up the kid in the backseat, whispering to him. He couldn’t help but sneak a peak at the two through the rearview mirror, heart melting a little at the sight of how Din seemed to relax around the kid.

Having heard far weirder names among his kindergarten classes, Luke just nodded. Soon, Din was in the front seat, turning the car on.

“You ready?”

Luke nodded again and Din put the car in reverse, resting his hand on the back of Luke’s seat to back out of the parking spot. The car filled with an awkward silence as they exited the park, but Luke hadn’t expected much else, content to stare out the window and watch the familiar landscape pass them.

They had barely made it onto the highway where Peli’s shop was when Luke could hear Grogu fussing in the back. Without taking his eyes off the road, Din placed a free hand on top of the baby seat.

“It’ll be okay, don’t worry,” he said quietly, but Grogu continued to fuss.

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he- he just doesn’t like being alone back there. I had picked up some of my friends, so he was fine in the way in, but they managed to pack themselves into two cars so-”

He was cut off by a cry from Grogu that filled up the car. Din leaned further to the side, tapping his hand on the seat. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m still here.”

That calms the cry, but Luke can still sense that Grogu wasn’t fully pleased.

Luke barely had to think about it when he spoke up. “Pull over.”

Din briefly broke eye contact with the road to glance at Luke. “What?”

“Pull over, I’ll sit in the back.”

“It’s fine, he’ll be-”

“Din.”

Din glanced over to him again.

“I’m the reason your friends aren’t able to in the car with him. I’ll be fine sitting in the backseat.”

He looked like he was going to say something, but instead he pulled his arm back, flipping on the turn signal to merge with the right shoulder. Another cry bubbled up from Grogu as they came to a stop, and Luke barely waited for the car to go into park before he’s out of his seat and in the backseat. It’s sort of a tight squeeze with the baby seat in the middle, but Luke doesn’t say anything.

Grogu looked up at him as he sat down. There were still some tears down his face and Luke carefully wiped them away.

“Hey buddy,” he said with a smile. “It’s alright.”

The kid babbled happily and reached out for him. Luke chuckled and held out a finger for Grogu to grab. The kid has a firm grasp, strong enough Luke knows he’s not getting his finger back anytime soon.

He lifted his head to tell Din they were ready to start moving again, but he paused, taken aback by the look Din is giving him. The sunglasses were still on, but he can tell something had shifted. Din is looking right through him, almost like when he was kneeled in front of him on the trail.

Luke swallowed down his shock. “We’re ready.”

Din just nodded and turned back in his seat, merging back into the early afternoon traffic. Now the car was filled with Grogu’s happy baby talk and Luke felt comfortable making small talk. He offered that he was a kindergarten teacher, which he could tell made Din relax even more. All he got from Din was he worked security, but Luke had never been one to mind talking, and it felt like no time has passed until they were turning into a garage with “Motto’s Motors” spray painted above.

Peli was already there, under his car, surrounded by the people Luke can only assume are “her boys.” Before he was fully out of the car, still extracting his finger from Grogu’s vice like grip, Peli was chewing him out for not taking the car in earlier. Thankfully, it was expected to be a small fix and she should be able to get it back to him tomorrow. They talked price as Din wrestled Grogu out of the baby seat. The cost was more than he wanted to hear, but not as bad it could have been, so he took solace that he won’t have to sacrifice too much of his wallet.

Luke was about to turn back to ask Din if he could trouble him for a ride home, when Peli called out, “Mando, tell everyone they can start brunch without me!”

Din nodded as Luke’s stomach sank.

“Am I forcing you to miss out on something?” he asked, looking from Peli to Din.

Din looked like he was going to say something before getting cut off by her, “Don’t worry about it! We do this every Sunday; we can afford to be a little late!”

“You do this every week? That’s nice,” he said with a smile to Din.

“Yeah,” Peli added, like she’d suddenly gotten an idea. “You know what, we probably have room in the carpool for one more, if you want to join?”

“What, me? I couldn’t-”

“It’d be okay,” Din said. “My friends all seem to like you… as does Grogu.”

Grogu cooed in his arms. Luke looked up to Din, holding eye contact for a minute before breaking into a smile.

“Alright then, I’ll come next week.”

[gobayern16]

This is my gift work for @bad-batch-of-fics for the Star Wars Valentines Exchange! I hope you enjoy!!! And thank you so much @lilhawkeye3 for hosting @starwarsfandomfests !

Tags: Reader/Fives, Enemies to Lovers, Modern AU, Fives being annoying gym bro, but he has a good reason!, Gender Neutral Reader

The loud clang of weights hitting the floor startles you so badly you nearly hit yourself in the face with your dumbbell. You whirl around to glare at the culprit, getting your first good look at the two loudmouths.

They’re both incredibly fit, skin tight shirts highlighting well-defined muscles. And incredibly handsome, your mind unhelpfully points out.

Or: Your morning gym routine, and your life, gets interrupted by the appearance of a well-intentioned nuisance.

No Y/N used.

There’s a bird outside your bedroom window, singing the song of its people as loudly as it can. You blink blearily at the ceiling, mind hazy with sleep. A quick glance at the alarm clock indicates five minutes until it rings, so with a sigh you roll out of bed, shutting the alarm off as you go. 

The bright light of the bathroom does an excellent job of waking you up, and you hum under your breath as you go about your morning routine. 

Dressed in workout clothes, you double check you have your keys, phone, and a towel before leaving your apartment. You take the stairs down to the complex gym, jumping the last four steps in a sudden burst of energy.

You don’t see anyone on the short walk to the entrance, 630am being apparently too early for many of the residents of your complex to be awake. The sun is barely peeking in through the windows, and the snow piled on the sidewalk makes you glad everything is indoors. 

There are a handful of people already there, but not so many that you have to worry about getting adequate time on the various machines.

You’re almost done with your last set of bicep curls when they walk in. You pay just enough attention to check which equipment the two men are going to use, just a quick glance in the mirror, as you couldn’t care less about the other patrons, before concentrating on your workout again. 

But then the talking starts. 

It’s easy to tune out at first, focused as you are on counting your reps.

The loud clang of weights hitting the floor startles you so badly you nearly hit yourself in the face with your dumbbell. You whirl around to glare at the culprit, getting your first good look at the two loudmouths.

They’re both incredibly fit, skin tight shirts highlighting well-defined muscles. And incredibly handsome, your mind unhelpfully points out.

The bald one with the huge facial tattoo smacks the other on the arm with a loud “Watch it, dipshit! If you break it, they’re gonna kick us out!”

His friend just laughs, a warm, vibrant sound that makes you flush. His eyes crinkle, drawing attention to the blocky ‘5’ tattooed on the side of his forehead. Who the hell tattoos their face?

“It’s fine, Jesse.” He dismisses the other man’s concerns with a wave of his hand. “Now, you gonna try and beat my number? Or you just gonna stand there, complaining and stalling?”

Jesse squawks in outrage, immediately reaching for the discarded weights.

You huff, turning back to your own weights as the bickering picks up volume again. You hurry through your set, all the while mentally cursing the handsome nuisances with their powerful arms and thick thighs for cutting your workout short. It’d be too distracting to finish on the rowing machine like you usually do — the machine is across the room and it’d only give you a better view of their shifting muscles and gorgeous tan skin on display. 

You glance at the stranger with the ‘5’ tattoo one last time as you walk past them to the exit, blushing but staring back in challenge when you accidentally make eye contact. You pick up your pace to the exit, hearing laughter and a smack behind you.

You never notice the third man sitting on a nearby bench, prosthetics gleaming in the light.

🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️

Pushing through the gym doors, you groan at the sounds that greet you. The loudmouth and his equally aggravating friend were here again. This was the sixth time in two weeks! Your coworkers were even starting to ask if something was wrong, since you were coming in grumpy so often, mood soured by an unenjoyable workout.

You make your way over to the mats that are unfortunately right next to them, grabbing a resistance band on the way. Settling into the first of your stretches, you try to ignore the running commentary and aggressive grunting. You would not injure yourself because one disgustingly handsome tattooed stranger caused you to cut your stretching short!

You shake out all your limbs, checking for any soreness or tight muscles. Feeling loose and limber, you replace the resistance band and move to the treadmill slightly further away.

The only upside to those two clowns, you think as you program the treadmill, is that I’ve become stronger, faster because I try to spend as little time here as possible. Working out at a different time isn’t an option; work is too demanding for you to exercise after you get home in the evenings and you refuse to skip mornings just to avoid them.

So your only option is early morning and dealing with the Terrible Twosome.

You take a deep breath, centering yourself, before turning on the treadmill.

As the bickering behind you turns into an argument, you think you might set a personal best just to get away from them. 

🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️

The clack of billiard balls colliding recedes into the background as you lean against the bar counter, patiently waiting for the bartender to finish with their current customer. It’s pretty empty for a Wednesday evening, so you don’t mind watching them as they mix the drinks with quick, efficient movements, placing them on the bar counter with little fanfare. Transaction completed, they wipe their hands on a towel and move towards you.

“What can I get you?”

“Could I please get a Manhattan, a Rum Collins, a Tequila Sunrise, and a Diet Coke?” You pause, trying to remember what else your friends had requested.  “Oh, and three shots of your best tequila, please.” The bartender nods, pulling down the requisite glasses for the drinks, starting with the shot glasses.

“That’s gonna be a lot to carry for one person,” a voice interjects from your left. “Need a hand?”

“No thanks, I can—” You turn, breaking off as you get a good look at the stranger next to you. At the blocky ‘5’ tattooed on the side of his forehead. “YOU!” You’d laugh at his look of shock if you weren’t overcome with sudden anger. “Do you know how hard it is to concentrate with the racket you’re always making?”

He gapes, helpless in the face of the outburst a month in the making.

“Mornings are supposed to be calm and peaceful! And your grunting and smack talking ruin it!”

“Is everything alright here?” The bartender’s stern interruption makes you abruptly aware of how you’ve gotten up in the stranger’s face, finger poking his chest. You flush in shame at making a scene, ducking your head and opening your mouth to apologize when the stranger beats you to it.

“We’re fine. I was just leaving actually. I don’t want to cause any trouble.” The reasonable voice cuts you, deepens your shame, and you reach out to catch the stranger’s arm before he can leave.

“Wait! I’m sorry. That was incredibly rude of me.” You lift your head, determined to make eye contact and fully own up to your behavior. “I’ve needed to get that off my chest for a while, but that doesn’t mean you deserved to be ranted at. Can I buy your next drink to make up for it?”

He regards you for several long moments, dark eyes intense before brightening with humor, one side of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile. “Sure, why not. Never turn down a free drink, huh?”

His full attention is enough to leave you tongue-tied, and you barely manage a nod. Glad I tried to stay away from him at the gym. I’d have definitely hurt myself if he looked at me like this. 

He stares at you, lifting an eyebrow as he glances down at his arm. You follow his gaze, choking on your breath as you realize you’re still clutching his arm. You hurriedly let go, cheeks heating as you mumble another apology.

“No harm done,” he chuckles, relaxing to slouch against the bar counter. “I’ll have the IPA on tap, please.” 

At his order, you’re reminded the bartender witnessed everything and you cringe, hoping they don’t throw you out for yelling at another patron for no apparent reason. But to your relief they simply move to fill the beer.

“So.” 

You look up at your companion (you should really ask him for his name). “Mind telling me what I’ve done that warranted getting ranted at?” He cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. It serves to make him even cuter and you have to look away, face burning.

“Well, you see, um…” Just spit it out, can’t embarrass yourself any worse. “We go to the same gym at the same time, and you’re always talking and being loud, and it’s really annoying and distracting.” 

When several seconds tick by with no reply, you look up to find him grimacing.

“Oh, that. Ah,” he pauses, rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “I promise I’m not trying to be an asshole and that I have a really good reason for it.” 

Really? There’s a good reason for dropping weights and getting into arguments with your gym partner? 

Your disbelief must be obvious, because he straightens up from his slouch, fire kindling in his eyes. “I draw attention to myself so people ignore my twin. He’s there every morning too, and if you haven’t noticed him, then what I’m doing seems to be working.”

“You mean the guy with the huge, questionable face tattoo?” you interrupt, eyebrow raised. “I hate to break it to you, but he’s just as noticeable as you are.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, Jesse’s my friend. He comes with me so it’s easier. Echo has prosthetics from a really bad car accident that left him a triple amputee. He doesn’t want people to stare at them while he works out, so I act up so people focus on me. ”

Shit. You laugh awkwardly. “Uh, congrats then. It definitely worked. I only remember ever seeing you and Jesse.” You lapse into silence, not sure how to continue the conversation.

Eventually, the stranger huffs. “Look, let’s start over, okay? Clearly neither of us is good at first impressions.”

That’s a massive understatement. You snort, ruefully shaking your head. “Sure. Let me take these drinks back to my friends, and then we can find somewhere to talk?” The last part drifts up in a question. 

“Sounds like a plan.” He grins crookedly. You ignore the butterflies in your stomach, inclining your head at him in a short goodbye before turning to grab the now full tray of drinks. You head back to your friends, the weight of his eyes on your back making something inside you shiver in anticipation. You hope your friends didn’t notice how long it took you to come back, but that hope is dashed immediately.

“What was that all about? You got kind of up in that guy’s face. Mirage was about to check on you when the bartender interrupted you guys.” Their palpable concern brings your shame rushing back. You squash it down, reminding yourself that not only had you already apologized, but you were going to reintroduce yourself. 

“Nah, it was just a misunderstanding. I’m actually going to sit down and talk with him.” That sets the wolf among the hens, and you do your best to ignore their questions and suggestions as you grab your jacket. 

Diet Coke in hand, you gaze around the bar until you find the stranger. You slide into the booth across from him and smile nervously, butterflies making a reappearance. He smiles back at you, and you sit in silence for a moment, neither of you sure how to restart the conversation. Gathering your courage, you take a deep breath.

“So, I gotta ask.”

He visibly tenses, smile growing a little strained.

“What’s with the tattoo? Does it have some special meaning?”

He relaxes at the question, clearly having expected something else. In fact, if he wasn’t so tan, you would say he was blushing. 

“It has to do with my name.” He coughs. “Well, my nickname.”

“Oh?” Now you’re really intrigued.

“Yeah. I’m the fifth of five kids, fifth with the name Felix, and part of the fifth set of twins to be born in my extended family that year. I heard it a lot, and at some point decided my name was gonna be Fives.”

You raise your eyebrows, amusement coloring your voice. “Really? You decided to name yourself after a number?” 

“In my defense, I was four and Great Uncle Felix spent the whole party counting all the Felixes, and always pointed at me when he said five.” 

You don’t try to stop the laugh bubbling up in your chest, Fives joining in with a rueful chuckle of his own. “Not my finest moment. What about you? Does your name have any “special” meaning?” 

“Not really,” you shrug. “It’s kind of the opposite of yours, actually. My parents had two names in mind for me and went with the one that wasn’t shared with five of their immediate relatives.” 

The ice properly broken between you two, the conversation flows easily. Fives is full of interesting stories, having led a very interesting and action-packed life, and you get lost in his passionate retellings, sucked in by his expressions and gestures. 

You’re so absorbed in your conversation that it’s a shock when the bartender comes over to inform you the bar is closing in half an hour. 

“Time flies when you’re having fun.” Fives winks at you, grinning roguishly. You laugh, shaking your head in amusement at his antics. 

Putting on your jacket, you call a goodbye to the bartender before leaving, Fives gallantly accompanying you to your car. 

“Don’t want anything to happen to you.” He shrugs, suddenly bashful.

Your heart warms at his thoughtfulness. Hours ago, you would have never considered thoughtfulness and Fives in the same sentence, but you knew better now. The regrettably short walk to your car passes in comfortable silence, the beep of unlocking startlingly loud in the late night quiet.  

“So…” 

You turn to Fives, head tilted in a silent question. He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, seemingly gathering his courage before making eye contact.

“I had a really good time tonight, and I was wondering if I could get your number so we could meet up again.”

Your smile feels like it splits your face. “I’d love that.” 

Numbers exchanged, you pause, debating with yourself, before thinking fuck it and stepping close to press a kiss to Fives’ cheek.

“Thanks for a wonderful evening. I’m sure I’ll see you around, Fives.” You get into your car, Fives standing stockstill with a dopey smile on his face. He moves out of the way when you start your car, but he’s still grinning the whole time he’s visible in your rearview mirror.

(Next time turns into a coffee date, turns into lunch, turns into dinner, and pretty soon you’ve been dating for 6 months. He introduces you to Echo and Jesse, and they both question your taste in men. Fives’ feigned outrage (“I am a catch, thank you!”) hides his relief at all of you getting along. The gym routine doesn't get any less annoying.)

[flowerbeom]

Double Pepperoni | LJB

Part of The Pleasure Chest | A GOT7 Cringe Collaboration

Lim Jaebeom x Female!Reader Genre: College AU, Crackhead Comedy Smut Rating: Mature. So very mature. Warnings: Bad puns, Swearing & Explicit smut scenes. Word Count: 4k

Concept:  to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass, its me. your best friend. or what’s left of her. remember that kinda hot but kinda gross pizza delivery guy? the one with the nose ring and always smelt of cheetos? yeh, he’s looking less gross these days. what?! don’t judge me. desperate times call for desperate measures. it has been 154 days since i’ve had sex. shit’s dire here man.

A/N: If you lean into how bad this is purposefully meant to be, you’ll really enjoy it. 

All GIF credits for this series go to @defsenses.

Day 97 

📧 to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass!  yes my phone is still broken, and i have no idea when im going to get a new one cause im broke from visiting you in another goddamn country - so just suck it up and reply to my emails like the good best friend you are.  fuck i miss you already! why the hell did you have to be smart and shit and get into that international program and go to college in Seoul of all places!  do you know how far away that is?! 16 hours cassandra! 16 fucking hours on a plane with no leg room, subpar food and a middle aged balding man snoring next to you the entire time so you get no sleep on a 16 hour flight AWAY FROM YOUR BEST FRIEND.  it was really good to see you though, can you thank mrs kim again for me - you really struck gold with that housing sitch you got - especially your roommate! that fine ass college freshman you DID NOT allow me to fuck!  yeh yeh whatever, i get it - how the hell are you meant to look mrs kim in the eye again when your childhood best friend who you talked up to be an angel fucked her only son on the fold out couch. yes i get it, stop rolling your eyes at me.  either way, its still the dry season down here. miss you, love you. bye. 

It’s funny how jet lag after coming home from a holiday feels almost identical to a hangover; it’s a painful reminder that something that was quite enjoyable is over. The headache feels almost the same, along with the cotton mouth, hunger, dehydration and utter disappointment and resentful emptiness that the fun you were having is completely done - but only one makes you hurl your guts out at the smell of orange juice. Condolences to those who are unlucky enough to hurl in both instances. 

Either way, that’s where you found yourself - Thursday night, half unpacked suitcase lay in the middle of your living room, eyes bloodshot and staring blankly at the television; an all consuming headache pounding between your temples. Lucky for you, you knew a sure fire way to get rid of it without painkillers. Insert Mr. Pene Falso. No literally, insert it. You didn’t call your vibrator Fake Penis in Spanish not to insert it. And in case anyone hasn’t caught on yet, an orgasm legitimately helps get rid of a headache. Try it next time. 

As ever, positioning is important - preparation is key. Sweatpants pushed down to your ankles, one leg completely fished out. Sideways lean, cushion under one elbow, completely bare leg propped up onto the couch; allow for maximum spread when those pre-orgasm hip rolls start. Set Mr. Pene Falso on one, there is no need to go hard straight away - ease into the session, let the endorphins build. You have been deprived of a real penis for a while, so you know you’re eager; but a little self control will yield the most delicious of results. 

You will run the long race to Destination Stimulation and you will bite that bottom lip as your eyes roll back into their sockets as your long awaited, slow built, easy increase of settings on Mr. Pene Falso brings home the most delectable of orgams. It will not be a dry night, no sir. So lower that beautiful vibrating, bright pink silicone wand onto your clit-- 

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK 

Who the fuck..? Your eyes snapped to the front door, your hand clenched around your vibrator just millimetres away from your clit. A small loosening of your grip dropped the angle and the tip of your vibrator dipped against your clit, sending shockwaves through your body. A gravely moan escaped you; your focus immediately brought back to the task at hand. Literally. 

Ignore it, it’s probably no one important. That’s what you told yourself, shaking your head and leaning back against the couch once again. You licked your bottom lip at the enticing notion of self-induced euphoria. Spreading your legs further than before, you corrected your grip and pushed Mr. Pene Falso into you. Your head dropped back involuntarily, your teeth marked your bottom lip and those pre-orgasm hip rolls started slowly. It felt devine, finally some release; a little bit of pleasu--

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK 

“Who the fuck?!” 

“Pal’s Pizza!” 

Tossing Mr. Pene Falso aside, you yanked on your sweatpants, wiped the one bead of sweat off your brow and stampeded to your door. 

“You got the wrong house, buddy!” Ripping it open, your rage was greeted with a face you had not seen in a long time. Your eyes blew wide, as the eyes of the man before you narrowed; complimenting the smirk etching across his face. The ever familiar smell of cheetos, weed and pepperoni of years passed filled your nostrils and nostalgia wasn’t a word you wanted to use in that instance, but repressed memories were being dug up nevertheless. 

A few moments of stone-cold silence passed before a subtle hum started to invade your auditory peripherals. Leaving your eye-line, Mr. Pal’s Pizza leaned sideways, throwing his smirk into the apartment behind you and directly onto the bright pink silicone wand still vibrating on your couch. All colour drained from your obviously stiffened face. 

He scoffed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your alone time. Mind if I join you instead?” 

Day 106

📧 to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass did you know that there’s a woman in Georgia, who due to a rare disorder, experiences hundreds of orgasms a day? she’s just persistently aroused and will climax any time, anywhere - even in the most obscure of places. whereas I cannot even have one, in my own goddamn apartment.  because you will never guess who delivered a pizza to the wrong house last week. Crusty Jae. Yyu heard me. Fucking Lim Jaebeom from high school! Who by the way, still looks like a tryhard 2006 Skaterboi with his stupidly baggy jeans, Stussy t-shirt and bad haircut - or lack thereof who fucking knows.  AND he still smells like damp. No no, he doesn’t smell damp. He smells like damp. Like the idea of damp. but istg i could still cut myself on that jawline of his. and come to think of it, I haven’t had pizza in ages.  miss you. love you, bye. 

Day 114 

“Seriously dude, you need to stop ‘delivering pizza to the wrong house’. It’s getting pathetic.” You feigned irritation despite taking the box out of Jaebeom’s outstretched hand.

“Bruh, I am not. The guy’s next door never answered. So you--” He shook back his overgrown fringe and shifted all his weight back, angling his pelvis towards you. His eyes traipsed up and down your frame, saliva clearly pooling under his tongue. “-- get a free pizza delivered by this handsome mug.” 

You didn’t even try to bury the scoff that escaped you as Jaebeom dug two thumbs into his chest; a pungent smugness wafting from his stained Pal’s Pizza t-shirt. You practically laughed in his face. Yet he didn’t waver. 

“You’re still the same overconfident creep from highschool, Jae.” Jaebeom faked offense, a hand slapped on his heart - leaving a faint damp hand print. 

“And I still managed to nab all the ladies.” Sliding his tongue over his top teeth, he winked and you almost gagged. The fact that Crusty Jae, the school’s resident stoner, managed to have the highest body count by graduation is something that still baffled you. Something must have been seriously wrong with the girls who let that inside them. There were rumours of course, but you weren’t willing to explore any of them to prove if fact or not. 

Lifting the lid, you inhaled a glorious whiff of mozzarella and pepperoni but caught Jaebeom scratching his head from the corner of your eye; little flecks of dead skin floated to the ground and you couldn’t help but focus on the flakes of what looked like parmesan on the top of your pizza. Horror ensued, visible in the quiver in your voice. 

“You.. you don’t make the pizzas do you?” 

Jaebeom smirked, and ran a clammy hand through his greasy hair. 

“Nuh babe, I just deliver them.” He punctuated his statement with a wink and pucker of his lips. You were not comforted and turned away before he could see the grimace on your face. You dropped the pizza box onto your couch and fished a twenty-dollar-bill from your wallet and returned to the door to slap it into Jaebeom’s hand. 

“Nuh baby, it’s free.” He insisted with a stupid slanted grin. You shook your head, pushing the money harder into his hand and away from your door. 

“Keep the change.”

“Damn, thanks for the tip.” He smiled softly. Maybe he isn’t so much of a creep anymore. 

“Want a taste of mine?” 

You couldn’t have slammed the door in his face any harder.  

Day 129 

European. What about Lebanese? Kirby? No, too short. Continental? Way too long. But then again Kirby cucumbers have girth, and it’s not all about length. It’s how you use it. Would you go raw? Or would you wrap it? How sturdy are Kirby cucumbers? You’d obviously have to wash it first. Oh shit, could they poison you if it smooshes up while inside you? No, well you eat them so they can’t be too dangerous. How much lubrication would you need? 

“Little to none if you’re warmed up enough.” 

Cutting off your mental ramblings and ripping you back into reality, your head snapped towards the voice. Jaebeom’s voice. Of course it had to be Jaebeom. Why is he suddenly everywhere? 

“Excuse me, what?!” 

“Lubrication. You wouldn’t need any if you’re warmed up. Cucumbers just slide right in.” He said with total confidence as if speaking from absolute experience. If anything, the pompous smile was enough to tell you what he was saying was true. You tried to swallow and gasp at the same time, causing you to start choking in the grocery store. 

“Wh-wait-what, I was saying all of that out loud?!” You prayed it didn’t say all of it out loud. 

Are you really that delirious from lack of sex that your pathetically curious and completely comedic wonderings about cucumbers as dildos was said out loud in the grocery store?! Have you become that incapable of controlling yourself that you can’t even keep being a horny bitch on the inside?! Must you zone out in full stereo?! 

Jaebeom giggled. 

“Maybe. I heard from about ‘What about Lebanese?’.”

You froze, the hand gripping your shopping basket growing dangerously limp.

“So pretty much all of it.” Jaebeom laughed again and reached across you to pick up the thickest Kirby cucumber from the pile and dropped it into your basket. 

“Think of me.”

“What!?” 

His smirk thawed you completely, leaving you standing in a lukewarm puddle of distaste. “Later babe.” 

Seriously, you needed to find every girl who fucked him in highschool and just ask them “WHY?!” 

Day 147

📧 to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass he ran out of battery I have no spares I live in a wasteland of despair miss you love you bye

Day 165

ring-ring-ring

“Pal’s Pizza, can I take your order?” 

“Hey Jae, it’s me. The usual please.” 

“Stuffed Crust?” 

“No thanks.” 

“No probs. How about I stuff you?”

“Bye.” 

“See you in twenty minutes!” 

Day 167 

📧 to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass I think I’m living in a permanent fever dream today in my tech drawing class my professor told me if I lick the tip I’ll get better results so I asked him, if i let him lick my tip would I get extra credit? HE MEANT MY PENCIL CASSANDRA, HE MEANT TO LICK THE TIP OF MY PENCIL SO I GET THICKER LINES what the fuck is wrong with me?!  oh I know.  it has been 167 days since I’ve had sex ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY SEVEN DAYS and Mr Pene Falso still does not have new batteries.  miss you love you bye

Day 175

You had never felt more accomplished in your life. In one hand rested your brand new phone, shiny and in-built with all the things to keep your easily distracted brain entertained. No longer did you have to make calls from the decrepit pay phone outside your apartment building. No longer did you have to sit on buses and pretend to like reading. No, you were reunited with the technology of your generation and you were ecstatic. Full time college and part time employment didn’t always meet the needs of your demanding lifestyle, but you saved enough to finally get a brand new phone.

And in the other hand lay two beautiful AA batteries. You know perfectly well what they were for. You were equally as ecstatic. But for some reason there was one person you wanted to talk to about it. 

Your fingers dialed the number almost on their own; muscle memory taking over. It rang six times. 

“Hello?”

“CASS!” So excited to hear your best friend’s voice you tripped on the corner of your rug; your body colliding with the couch. 

“Holy shit, you finally got a phone. Took you long enough.” 

“Shut up, I’ve been busy.” Rubbing the part of your shoulder that managed to miss abundant cushioning on the couch and hit the tiny piece of wooden framework beneath it all. 

“Sure. Busy trying to get yourself off every chance you get.” 

The fingers trying to unscrew the bottom of your vibrator halted; your bottom lip folded between your teeth - a pout formed in your silence. 

“I--” Lost for words you resumed unscrewing the cap, placing one battery into each slot. 

“You’re probably gonna go masturbate after you get off this call.” 

The last battery dropped in with a clang, albeit muffled by Cass’s muffled laughter. 

“You know I’m messing with you right?”

“..Yes.” 

“Good. So how’s Crusty Jae?” She continued to laugh as you groaned.

“Dude, can you please explain how he managed to pull so much in high school?! Please! Am I the only one who doesn’t get it?!” Suddenly incredibly frustrated, you screwed on the vibrator cap with so much gusto that your grip accidentally turned it on; the abrupt buzzing ripping out a quiet yelp. 

“You know his nickname used to be Double Pepperoni.” You scoffed so hard, you felt it in your ribs. “Nuh apparently he was packing.”

“What? Like what, like he always had slices stuffed in his pockets?”

“No, like p-a-c-k-i-n-g.” 

“I highly doubt that flat-ass McGee is huge.” You smirked while Cass tried to stop herself from choking on laughter. “And even if he was, dude, I still don’t understand how that seemingly unhygienic mess can score so much.” 

“Bro, I don’t know either. But from all the girls I’ve ever talked to about him, they all say that whatever he did to seduce them or whatever - their reactions were purely carnal.” You made a pathetic noise, like a dying car horn to highlight your skepticism. “Like apparently, he would do something or they would see him do something and they’d just snap. Fuck him once, have a great time but then refuse to ever bring it up again. Except to me.. Cause after all, it was Crusty Jae.. But that’s beside the point.”

“They’d just ‘snap’?” 

“Yup. Like a fresh green bean.”

“Weird metaphor.” 

“But you got it.”

“Sadly. I’m going to go now.” 

“Happy Orgasm!” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Miss you.”

“Love you.”

“Bye!” 

From putting down one electronic device to picking up the other, you settled into the couch cushions with Mr Pene Falso in hand - recharged and ready to go. Yes, you were obviously going to prove your best friend painfully correct by getting off as soon as you hung up that call, but honestly - fuck it. You deserved it. 

Remember, preparation is key. Sweatpants pushed down your ankles, one leg completely bare. Hair pulled up into an overeager and messy as ever bun. Sideways lean. Mr Pene Falso, setting one. 

It’s not meant to be pretty, the faces you pull while masturbating. And the sounds one makes, equally as carnal. But who the fuck cares. You’re doing this for you. And as those pre-orgasm hip rolls get more and more intense as your clit is vibrated right down to Destination Stimulation, you moan in pleasure for you know you are finally getting what you’ve wanted for so lon-- 

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK 

“Hey it’s me!” Your head snapped so fast to the door it cracked every bone in your neck. 

“Jae!?” 

“Yeh, can I come in please?”

“Oh come on, what the fuck!?” Fury swallowed you whole, Mr Pene Falso slamming into the ground in a fit of rage. “What do you fucking want, Jaebeom?!” 

“Please, I need--” Jerking your pants back on, you charged at the door; ripping it open. 

“Need what?!”

“-- to use your bathroom.” Sheepish eyes met your own; blown wide and shaking. Jaebeom stood before you, pizza delivery bag hung loosely in his hand; completely soaked from head to toe. 

“Sorry, it’s fucking pouring outside and I delivered next door and I just want to dry off a little, that cool?” 

His usually loose shirt clung to his body, every inch of his torso outlined. His hair, normally shaggy and overgrown, was completely pushed back off his face; slick and saturated to show every carved line of his face. Was his eyes always this piercing? Or was it only because it was in context with the rest of his beautiful face? 

“So..?” Jaebeom reeled you back from your slow descent and you shook it off violently. 

“Uhh yeh, that-that way.” Throwing a thumb over your shoulder to show him the way, Jaebeom slinked past you; a marginal waft of damp weed followed behind. 

What has gotten into you? This is Crusty Jae we’re talking about here. You are not meant to find him attractive. Nothing about him is meant to be attractive. But there you were - standing in your hallway, dumbfounded as you watched Jaebeom take off his shirt and wring it into your sink. You tried to tear your eyes away from how broad his shoulders were, or how all the muscles around his waist tensed as he squeezed all the water out of his shirt. You couldn’t even fight off the shiver that crawled down your spine when you watched his triceps flex when he pushed his hair off his face. You swallowed hard when that shiver landed right between your legs. 

“Like apparently, he would do something or they would see him do something and they’d just snap.” 

He didn’t see you come up behind him but he felt the hand you placed in the middle of his back. Turning to face you, his eyes were as dark as yours were crazed.  

“Sup.” His cheeto breath didn’t deter you.  

“You’re a pal, right?” You swore you couldn’t sound any more desperate. 

“Says so on my shirt.” You couldn’t quite figure out if it was Chipotle or Flamin’ Hot cheetos. But it wasn’t the time or the place. You had needs. 

“Be a pal then.” Jaebeom quirked a lewd and curious brow. “Get me off.” 

The speed of which he had his hands under your arms and lifting you onto the benchtop was frighteningly fast. Your shirt was pulled hastily over your head and thrown aside, your pants were torn down your legs equally as fast. You had no time to question, no time to doubt - not when Jaebeom’s mouth was on yours, his tongue rolling over your teeth as if searching for hidden cheetos in your cheeks. But with the way his thumb circled over your clit through your underwear, you weren’t going to complain. Go on, fish for those cheetos baby. 

Through wet and messy kisses, your hands tracked down his chest; stopping at his belt buckle. Of course, you thought, it was one of those snap closure canvas belts - ridiculously too long and matched his ridiculously baggy jeans. Nevertheless, you snapped open the buckle, fished it out of the loops and his pants fell instantly to the ground. 

Jaebeom broke away from your mouth, leaning back to make room for his hands to pull off your underwear; just to have his lips crash back into yours the moment the lace garment hit the floor. 

“Conmg-do. Cone--. Con-” You mumbled against his mouth. Strong hands pushed against his chest; disappointed eyes flashed for a moment, before turning devious at the sight of your naked breasts. 

“Condom.” He nodded and you swung around to grab one from the medicine cabinet. Rounding back to face him, you saw his underwear was on the ground, his very erect penis greeting you fully. Double Pepperoni…  

He ripped the wrapper open with his teeth, slid the condom expertly onto his length and caged you against the mirror in one fluid movement. He waited, paused for effect if you will and you weren’t having any of it. One hand scratched into his hair, the other pulled on the chain around his neck.

“Oh, you want me to stuff you do you?” Said with total hubris. 

“Like cheesy crust.” Who have you become?! 

Jabeom’s heavy hands found themselves on your hips, pulling you down onto his dick. He filled you wholly, deliciously; throbbing against your walls so achingly good that you didn’t even care that you could feel crumbs of garlic bread that did not belong to you in your mouth. 

He pounded you roughly; each thrust making you bounce on your porcelain sink. His hair, still wet, dripped onto your shoulder and down your back as his teeth marked your neck. Your bathroom began to fill with lewd and erotic noises, squelches and squeaks of wet flesh against wet flesh and some against hard surfaces. 

Jaebeom snapped his hips harder and harder into you, moans tumbled from your mouth as the orgasm you have craved for finally rounded the horizon. He was merciless, relentless, completely determined to drive you home. 

You yanked harder on the fist full of hair in your hand, ripping a loud and gravely groan from Jaebeom. Not one to be upstaged, Jaebeom shoved his hand into your hair, tangling his fingers into your bun and pulling down to expose more of your neck to him. His pace had not slowed down at all. 

He marked your neck, sucking and biting on your flesh so gloriously that you began to mewl - high pitched and needy, and it’s what sent Jaebeom over the edge. His hips snapped harder, forcing his dick deep into you; hitting spots you had forgotten about completely. 

Different colours were flashing behind your eyelids and you were close, so close. 

And as Jaebeom neared climax, he tore his hand out of your hair. Though in his earlier fervour, got so much of it tangled around his fingers and stuck under his ring, that your whole body was torn sideways and off the bench. 

Landing on the floor, shocked eyes watched Jaebeom ejaculate all over your sink as your own orgasm retreated away; shrivelling up into dust and blown away in the wind - his hand still stuck in your hair. How the fuck, wasn’t he wearing a condom, you thought, only for you to reach down and find it stuck inside your vagina, half hanging out. There was literally nowhere lower you could go. This, this is rock bottom. 

“Haha, holy fuck. Sorry babe.” Jaebeom leaned down and carefully untangled his fingers out of your hair. Towels were passed around for hygiene purposes and you almost vomited when you saw cheeto crumbs wedged between Jaebeom’s butt-cheeks. 

You weren’t really sure what happened after. You think Jaebeom said something crass. Or maybe he said thank you. In a crass way. Either way, he eventually left and the two hour shower you took still didn’t make you feel clean. Especially not after finding a half-dried pearl of cum on your toothbrush. 

But there was one thing you knew for sure. You totally snapped. 

Day 0

📧 to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass in the interest of our friendship and for the purposes of full transparency it has been 1 day since ive had sex and we will never speak of it again

[prettyboybarzal]

i like us like this // jamie benn x reader

summary: jamie benn is the worst blind date you’ve ever been on, and yet he somehow manages to redeem himself.

word count: 5k

author’s note: please enjoy!! (kinda got writers block in the middle of this and had to power through so i hope it’s still as good as i wanted it to be🥴) as always i would love some feedback <3333 

“I want to set you up on a blind date,” Gab said, settling down onto the couch with you. Your groan and the exasperated sigh of her boyfriend, Tyler, in the kitchen sounded simultaneously. “Enough of that,” she grumbled, “and that.” She pointed a warning finger at Tyler. “Let me set you up, pleeeeease.”

“Gab, I’m going to be honest,” you sighed. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

“But how do you know?” she asked. “It’s been over a month.”

“It’s been a month and three days,” you argued. “That’s hardly over a month.”

Gab grunted, turning her back to pout in the direction of the television.

The room went silent again as Tyler settled onto the couch beside Gab and tugged her under his arm. You enjoyed the few minutes of silence as the movie she threw on started. You knew that it wouldn’t last long. Gab didn’t go down without a fight, so you were just waiting for her to start pushing for the date again.

It took all of twenty minutes.

“One date,” Gab pushed. Tyler laughed. “It’s with Ty’s best friend, too!”

You looked at her, then over at Tyler. He shrugged.

“Fine.”

If Tyler was friends with this guy, he was probably okay.

The plans were made for the following Friday night. Jamie texted you to confirm that picking you up around 5 would work, which you agreed to, and then he sent the restaurant’s website. That’s when you started freaking out.

“Gab, I do not belong at a restaurant like this!” you yelled as you stormed across the apartment and into her room. She was already smiling when you entered the room. “It’s a five-star restaurant. I eat in our university’s dining hall when I want to eat out! I don’t have clothes for this!”

“Sure, you do,” Gab said. She stood up and tugged you back to your bedroom. As she sifted through the closet, you watched in dismay. It took her all of five minutes to locate the slip dress she was in search of. A little red thing that you’d worn during undergrad once to a date party with your ex.

“The odds of me fitting into that are slim,” you mumbled. Gab rolled her eyes, throwing the garment at you anyway. She tossed herself onto the bed and motioned for you to put it on. And, once the dress was on, you were proved wrong.

“You look hot.”

“I do,” you admitted, staring at yourself in the mirror. Gab laughed. “Time check?”

“You have an hour.” 

Jamie showed up right on time with a knock at your front door. He was wearing a white button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and your eyes immediately found their way to the definition of his muscles and the tattoos on his skin. He was handsome. Certainly your type in the way of looks. You made a mental note to tell Gab she definitely knew your taste in men.

“Nice to meet you, YN,” he said as he leaned in to place a kiss to your cheek. His hand rested against your hip, and you tried not to think about how large he was compared to you. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m starving.” 

Jamie offered one more smile before taking your hand in his and leading you out of the building to his car. You took one peek at the way his hand engulfed yours and decided that unless his personality really sucked, you just might invite him in for a night cap at the end of the night.

The restaurant was incredible. Each table had a pristine white tablecloth across it with candles beside a small arrangement of flowers. Jamie pulled out your chair as soon as you got to the table and, when the waitress came over for drink orders, he ordered the most expensive red wine on the menu.

The date started out great. But, as soon as the food came out, the conversation fell flat.

He asked about school, prompting you to explain your graduate degree program in a total of fifteen minutes. So, naturally, you asked about his career. What you weren’t expecting was the rant that came after.

At the mention of the upcoming season, Jamie’s shoulders seemed to tense up and you couldn’t quite understand why. And, after he grumbled about how frustrated he’s been with the preseason games and practices, he tried his best to move on and talk about something else. It just didn’t happen.

Jamie felt horrible. He hadn’t meant to let it all out like that, but he’d been so busy preparing for the season that he couldn’t think about much else, despite the beautiful woman across from him. He wasn’t an idiot. He caught on to your non-verbal cues that this wasn’t going quite as well as expected. He knew he wasn’t going to get a second date, and he was never going to hear the end of it from Tyler and Gab.

After dinner, Jamie dropped you off at your apartment. He got out of the car, swinging your door open for you in an attempt to salvage the disaster of a date you’d just been on. You smiled at him and fell right into step as you walked up to the building.

“Can we be honest with each other?” You had come to a full stop in front of the building. He nodded at your question, brown eyes studying your face as he waited for you to speak again. “I think you’re really great, and we get along well. But, I don’t think this could work right now.”

Jamie let out a soft tuft of breath and said, “Agreed.”

You had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Was he always this short and terse? Did he have a personality outside of his career? It was getting harder and harder to understand why Gab would set you up with this guy.

“Okay, well,” you murmured. “It was nice meeting you, Jamie. Thank you so much for dinner.”

“It was no problem,” Jamie answered. He nodded towards your apartment building. “You sure you don’t want me to walk you up?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

Jamie nodded, a faint smile gracing his lips only for a moment, before he turned away and began the walk back to his car. You turned your back as well and began to mentally prepare for the onslaught of questions from Gab.

“How’d it go?” she asked as soon as you walked through the door. “Will there be a second date?”

“No,” you answered, dropping your sweater over the hook near the door. Gab pouted, looking upset with herself for not picking a better match. You reached out and tugged her into a hug. “It was an okay date, but we both agreed that it just won’t work.”

“What is it? Was he mean to you?” she asked, eyes wide. “Tyler said sometimes he can get a little bitchy.”

“No, it wasn’t that,” you responded, giggly at the thought of Tyler calling his captain ‘bitchy’. “I don’t know, Gab. He just seemed a little on the edge, cranky, serious. He talked about hockey the entire time, which is fine but he just sounded miserable. Also, I didn’t laugh… At all.”

“Seriously?” she asked. She seemed surprised, which shocked you. “I really thought he’d be a good match because his sense of humor is a bit like yours.”

“He really had me in the first half,” you admitted. “Like, Gab, he’s cute as hell. But, the conversation was a downer.”

“Yikes.” That voice didn’t belong to Gab. It belonged to Tyler who had just rounded the corner from Gab’s bedroom. He leaned up against the wall, arms crossed in front of him, and said, “Chubbs is never gonna live this one down.”

“Tyler, if you say one word to him of what I said,” you began. “I��ll kill you.” He laughed. “I know which shampoo and conditioner bottles are yours in the shower. Don’t tempt me.”

Tyler put his hands up in defeat.

“You have my word.”

You saw Jamie a few more times after that date, and each time you exchanged nothing more than ‘hello’, ‘goodbye’, and some polite conversation in between. You were thankful that the date didn’t create an awkward tension between the two of you, and you were super thankful Tyler had kept his promise to keep his mouth shut.

About a week before their season officially began, Tyler planned a party at his house. One last hoorah before the season started to get really busy for him and the boys. You went along with Gab, as usual, excited to see some of the girls you’d gotten to know through her and Tyler.

Tyler’s house was almost filled to capacity, and you’d lost Gab hours ago to the dancefloor or Tyler’s bedroom. It didn’t really matter. You were about three drinks in and feeling yourself.

You slipped into the kitchen to make your fourth drink a little after eleven. It was empty, which was surprising, but you didn’t question it and immediately went in for the liquor. You were pouring a vodka Sprite for yourself, with a heavy hand on the liquor when Jamie’s voice spoke up from the entrance.

“I heard you don’t think I’m funny.”

You spun on your heel, nearly knocking the Vodka over behind you as you did so.

“I told Tyler no to say anything,” you grumbled. Jamie raised an eyebrow at you as he settled into a stool at the kitchen counter. “If he shows up to practice bald next week, don’t be surprised.”

“Actually, Gab told me.”

“What?” you asked. “Why did she tell you I said that?”

“She yelled at me,” he said. “Told me that I fucked up.”

“Jesus.”

“S’okay,” he murmured. He walked over to where you were standing, and grabbed a cup from beside you. “I think maybe I did. I spent way too much of that date talking about myself.” Your cheeks warmed at his admission, and the tension seemed to roll off his shoulders. Suddenly, he was grinning from ear-to-ear. “What are you drinking?”

“Vodka Sprite,” you answered, turning to face the drinks with him. He nodded, eyes scanning the counter filled with liquor. He grabbed the Vodka, then the Sprite with a satisfied smirk. You laughed. “Copycat.”

“Where’ve you been all night?” he asked. “I saw Gab a while ago before her and Ty slipped down the hallway, but I haven’t seen you.”

“I was with Roope for a while,” you answered, eyes glancing toward the doorway. Jamie put the Vodka down and glanced at you with a raised brow. You returned his gaze.

“He’s a little young for you, no?” he asked. You stared at him, blank faced and shocked that he’d said that. And then he grinned. “I’m kidding!”

“Oh! He can joke!”

“Here we go,” he mumbled. He finished up his drink and took a sip from it. He leaned his hip against the counter, jabbing a finger in your direction. “I’ll have you know that I’m actually very funny. I think I was just having an off night.”

“Well, then, how’s tonight looking for you?”

“Good, I think,” Jamie answered. He looked down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Why don’t you hang around me and find out?”

For some reason, you chose to do as he asked. You spent the night by his side, being tugged from the beer pong table to the living room couch, back to the beer pong table. And, much to your surprise, Jamie was making you belly laugh almost the entire time. He seemed looser, happier that night. The weight of prepping for the season had finally been pushed aside, and he was ready to start the season off on a good foot.

Maybe Gab was right about setting the two of you up.

A little after midnight, you stepped out onto the porch with a water bottle in hand. The sliding glass door opened behind you and Jamie stepped out to join. He walked over to where you stood by the railing and leaned his back against it. He turned his face to the stars.

“I like you like this,” you murmured. Jamie looked back at you, his facial expression unreadable for only a moment before a smirk split his face. “You’re a lot more relaxed. Some might even go as far as saying you’re kinda funny.”

“Thank you,” he said with a laugh. You giggled, looking back out at Tyler’s backyard. Jamie turned as well, bumping your shoulder as he did so. “I’m sorry about our date, by the way.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you murmured. He shook his head.

“It’s really not, YN,” he urged. “I was a complete dick. I couldn’t put my stress away long enough to get to know you, and I was mad at myself for days after.”

“Mad at yourself?”

“So mad,” he repeated. You laughed, dropping your face into your hands to stop him from seeing your blush. He kept talking. “You looked so good in that red dress. And you were so sweet, and funny. And, oh my God, I couldn’t get over how cute you looked when you were admiring the restaurant.”

“I don’t go to five-star restaurants often!” you exclaimed. Jamie barked out a laugh. “It was such a nice restaurant.”

“Yeah, it’s my favorite,” he murmured. He took another sip of his drink. “Did you like the wine, though?”

“Yeah, Jamie,” you answered. “I loved that wine.”

You stood out on the deck with him for a little longer, chatting about everything but hockey. He asked you questions about your degree and your family and how you ended up living with Gab. He told dumb stories about Tyler that made tears come out of your eyes.

“I like your laugh,” Jamie whispered after you managed to stop laughing. You looked up at him, heart pounding in your chest, and smirked.

“Yeah, I bet you like it now that you’re the reason for it.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed. And then you were laughing again, and he made a promise to himself to keep getting you to laugh like that. “Would this Jamie get a second date?”

“I mean, he could definitely try,” you said, playful smile still on your lips.

“What are you doing this Tuesday?”

And, so, you went on a second date with Jamie. And then a third, and a fourth.

Each date was a date. Like, dinner reservations at fancy Dallas restaurants that you’d never even batted an eye at on your graduate student budget. Jamie remembered what you said about how you’d never been to a five-star restaurant, and he decided to make that a thing of the past. Gone were the Netflix dates you used to have with your ex. Jamie made sure to treat you right.

But he was also taking things way too slow.

He kissed you goodnight after your second date, and then both hello and goodbye on the third.

It wasn’t until the fourth date, and an entire bottle of wine, that you got that goodbye make out. In your past experiences, it never took this long to get a guy in bed. And, yet, Jamie hadn’t even tried.

So, on your fifth date and after about three weeks of talking every day, you had to ask.

“You’re not seeing anyone else, right?” you asked, coming to a stop three steps away from your front door. The question had been at the forefront of your mind all night. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping with you because he was getting it somewhere else.

“No,” he answered. His eyebrows drew together in concern as he thought over your question. And then his eyes widened. “Are you seeing anyone else?”

“No!”

Jamie smiled and reached out to tug you into him. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you up against his chest. His free hand wrapped around the back of your neck and pulled your lips to his. Just before kissing you, he murmured against your lips, “Good.”

You reveled in the feeling of his fingers when they laced through the hair at the back of your neck and the way his other hand slid down the curve of your ass without a care for who could see. And, when he sucked on your lower lip, Jamie nearly lost it at the soft moan that fell from your lips.

He swore he would have kept kissing you in that hallway for hours, not a care in the world. And you felt the same.

When you finally pulled away, mostly for a breath of fresh air, you leaned your forehead against his with a sigh. Jamie chuckled, tilting his head to place a kiss against your cheek.

“Remember when you didn’t want to go on another date with me?” he asked, pulling away completely. You nodded, the redness of your cheeks giving away your embarrassment about not seeing what was right in front of you that night. He took your hand in his and walked toward your apartment door.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Benn,” you warned teasingly. “My midterm exams are coming up. I’m about to be swamped, so our next date might have to wait.”

“We don’t have to do dinner, you know,” he said, leaning against the wall beside your door. “If you’re grabbing coffee and studying somewhere, I’d come by to see you for a little impromptu date.”

You eyed him skeptically, doubting that it was something he’d want to do. In your eyes, Jamie was still too good to be true, and he was a professional athlete. Once he saw you in your natural, stressed out student habitat, the glimmer was going to fade. You had yourself convinced.

“Maybe,” you said before leaning forward and kissing him goodnight. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

It took all of one week for you to cave. You spoke to Jamie almost every day, and even that wasn’t enough. You wanted him near you, close, and he wanted the same. He made it known every single day. So, you caved. You invited him to meet you at the Starbucks around the block from your apartment building with one rule. He couldn’t distract you while you studied.

That morning, you shuffled around your room looking for something that was comfortable enough for studying but also cute enough to impress the new man in your life. But, you were quickly reminded that you haven’t had to impress any guys in a while. Damn long-term relationships.

You ended up throwing on joggers and an over-sized t-shirt with a pair of slip-on Vans before slipping out your apartment door with your backpack.

Studying started out okay, but you could feel Jamie watching you from the opposite side of the booth. You wished you could read his mind, figure out what he was looking at you for. Did he think you looked too much like a bum? What did he think of your glasses? They weren’t exactly trendy anymore.

You were trying your best to ignore him, and the questions in your head, despite the overwhelming desire to lean over and kiss his smirk off his face. But, when you saw him reach across the booth and felt him tug the earbud from your ear, you knew your concentration was going to go down the drain.

“What?”

“I like you like this,” Jamie said. Your heart skipped a beat, and then you remembered saying those words to him just a month prior. Your cheeks turned a light pink beneath his gaze.

“You like me like this?” you asked, motioning to the lazy day outfit you were in. “Stressed out?”

“No, not stressed out,” he answered with a chuckle. “You look good, even if you are stressed.”

“Jamie, I haven’t showered in two days,” you admitted. He barked out a laugh. “Dry shampoo is my best friend.”

“That’s what that smell is?” he teased. You ripped a piece of paper out of your notebook to crumple it up and throw at him. He shifted out of its way. “I’m kidding, YN.”

“I know,” you mumbled. You redirected your attention to the textbook in front of you, and began reading again. Jamie stayed for another forty minutes, alternating between reading his book and watching you.

He did really like the way you looked sitting across from him in that coffee shop. He liked that you weren’t as put together as he usually saw you, and to him it meant you finally had your guard down. He liked the way your hair was gathered in a bun on top of your head and he thought you looked cute as hell in those glasses that sat on the bridge of your nose.

He might’ve even said he liked this look more than those slip dresses and heels you wore out to dinner. But, then again, those were sexy as hell too.

Jamie was beginning to wonder if he’d ever find a side to you that he didn’t like.

When it hit noon, he decided it was time to go and grabbed your hand from where it rested on your books. You looked up at him, tugging one of your earbuds out as you did.

“I’m leaving,” he said. You couldn’t stop yourself from pouting in response. He let out a soft groan and leaned forward to place a kiss against that pout. When he pulled away, he stood to leave, grabbing his things with him. “When you’re done with these exams, we’re going to celebrate.”

“96!” you exclaimed into the phone as you fell back onto your bed. “I got a 96 on my last midterm exam.”

“That’s awesome, babe,” Jamie murmured into the phone. “And right on time, too.”

It had been a week and a half since the last time you saw Jamie at the coffee shop. Between your midterm schedule and his game schedule, time didn’t allow for date nights. You kept each other off the ledge through texts and quick phone calls, chatting about the plans you wanted to make when your schedules freed up again.

Jamie promised to celebrate as soon as your exams were done, and he pulled through. He’d planned for everyone to come by his place that Friday night. The fact that your last grade came back before the pregame began made his plans just a little bit sweeter.

He picked you up not long after your phone call, and brought you back to his place where some of your friends were already waiting. Gab and Tyler showed up not too long after your arrival and the pregame was in full swing.

After making your rounds, you found Jamie in the kitchen. He was pouring himself another drink when you approached, wrapping your arms around his waist to pull his back into your chest. He chuckled softly.

“You know you didn’t have to get everyone together for this occasion, right?” you asked. Jamie nodded as he turned to face you. “Like, it was just my midterms. The semester isn’t even close to over.”

He reached up to cup your cheeks, and leaned in to place a kiss against your lips. When he pulled away, he said, “Doesn’t matter to me. I’ll celebrate you like this during finals, too.” 

Your heart fluttered at his tone of voice, and the way he was looking at you. You felt like the only girl in the world with the party in the other room was momentarily forgotten.

About an hour later, you were in the VIP section of a club and wrapped up in Jamie’s arms, literally. He went all out, as usual. You were quick to tell him he didn’t need to do things like this, and he was quick to kiss you quiet.

“I want to do these things for you,” he murmured against your lips as he walked you backwards towards the dancefloor. He spun you in his arms, and you happily pressed your back against him as you danced to the music blasting from the DJ booth.

This was the closest you’d ever been, save for the few make-outs in his car after dinner but even then, the center console was always in the way. Right then, there was nothing preventing Jamie from touching you, holding you close. Except maybe all the people in the club, and that damn dress you were wearing. He wanted it off.

His fingers slid down your thigh, brushing along the hem of your dress, and you were putty in his hands. You turned, taking his chin in your hand to pull him in. You kissed him like you were the only people in the club, even with Tyler and Gab’s hollering beside you.

You hardly made it back to your apartment that night. You were both so giggly drunk when you stumbled into the cab. As soon as the cab’s door closed to the outside world, Jamie’s hands were all over you. He tugged your legs over his lap and pulled you close to kiss you, one hand resting between your thighs just above your knees.

His touch lit your skin on fire.

You made out the entire way home, the entire way up the elevator, only stopping when you had to open the door to your apartment. Even then, Jamie’s hands rested on your stomach and his lips pressed up against your neck and your shoulders, any inch of skin it could touch.

“I’m proud of you,” he murmured against the shell of your ear. You sighed happily, turning the key in the door’s lock and pushing the door open. “Even if it was just midterms.”

You laughed at the way he mimicked your voice, then slipped out of his grip. Your heart was pounding from nerves and excitement. This moment felt all too real. You’d been wanting to go farther, wanted him in bed the first night you met him. But now, right as it was about to happen, you were a bundle of nerves.

“You hungry?”

“Little bit,” he answered, following you into the kitchen. He leaned up against the counter as you sifted through the frozen foods you’d stocked up on for drunken nights like these. “The team nutritionist is going to hate me this season after spending all this time with you.”

“Well, then, you should stock my fridge up with healthy things then,” you stated. Jamie chuckled and took a step forward to wrap his arms around your waist. Your search for late-night snacks was momentarily forgotten as he brushed the hair from your neck and placed a kiss against your skin.

“Why don’t we,” he started. He kissed the space just below your ear before continuing, “just look for snacks later?”

You turned in his arms, dropping your own arms around his shoulders. He smiled down at you as his eyes studied every bit of your face. You sighed softly, lifting one hand to run through his hair.

“I like you,” you whispered. He grinned. “A lot.”

“I’m crazy about you,” he responded. Jamie picked you up, and your legs wrapped around his waist immediately. He asked again, “Snacks later?”

“Sure.”

Jamie carried you to your bedroom, dropping you onto the mattress with a laugh before his lips were back on yours and his hands were sliding up your thighs. Your dress was gone in seconds, and then you helped him out of his own clothes.

Jamie took his time, admired every bit of your body. He didn’t want to forget any of this moment. He was crazy about you, every piece of you, and he was thanking his lucky stars that you agreed to go on a second date with him after the dumpster fire of a first one.

“I like us like this,” you whispered into his ear a few minutes after you finished. Jamie’s lips ghosted the skin of your collarbone as he peppered kisses along your skin to your shoulder. He looked up at you, brushing the hair out of your face before placing a kiss against your lips.

“God, me too,” he sighed. “I really like us like this.”

You burst out giggling as you laced your fingers in his hair, and Jamie watched you. He was completely enamored with you, everything about you. And then he started laughing with you because who wouldn’t?

“Do you want a snack now?”

“Did I not just have one?” he asked, glancing down at your naked body still pressed up against him. You laughed.

“That was awful,” you told him through giggles. Jamie chuckled, nuzzling his face into your neck as you continued to make fun of him. “I’m not just a snack. I’m a damn meal, Jamie Benn.”

“Don’t I know it!” Jamie exclaimed, rolling onto his back. You laughed. “Alright, let’s get snacks.”

“Okay, okay,” you mumbled. You stood up and grabbed his shirt, throwing it on like a dress. “I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Jamie was sitting on the counter with two pints of ice cream in his hands, waiting for you. You nudged yourself between his legs, sighing happily when he handed one of the pints to you. The apartment was silent and Jamie had wrapped his legs around your body to keep you close to him.

After a few minutes, Jamie spoke up, “I like us like this, too.” You smiled up at him. “Just for the record.”

“Me too,” you agreed. He leaned down and pressed a kiss against your lips. “I like us all the time.”

[aetm-malereaderimagines]

Can I request one for Haikyuu where Hinata shows up to practice disheveled and late...even more than usual so the team decides to follow him to see that he has a boyfriend (who’s actually shorter than him). Sorry if this doesn’t seem that good but thanks anyway for reading this. :)

Howcould you even think your request isn’t good?! It’s perfect! Itwas so fun for me to write since I myself am taller than most ofKarasuno guys – itwas something I would have never thought about writing myself :D I’msorry if it isn’t as good as you expected, I’m having kind of aslump right now. That’s why I closed the requests for now—I’llprobably open them again once I finish writing all the request I havein my inbox now. Anyways, I hope you’ll still enjoy this shortscenario and maybe send in another interesting request sometime inthe future!

Pairing: Hinata Shōyō x Male Reader

Word count: 1865

隠しきれぬもの — What You Can Never Hide

 “Where the hell is Hinata?!”

The atmosphere in the gym was heavy as a mountain. If you found yourself anywhere in the five-meter radius of Daichi, you would probably feel the dark miasma seep into your lungs and penetrate your veins. That is probably why no one even tried to approach Daichi, keeping their distance from the angry captain.

As much as Daichi looked angry on the outside, on the inside, he was actually more surprised than angry. Everyone was surprised, truth be told. It wasn’t uncommon for Hinata to be late to classes. It wasn’t uncommon for him to forget his homework. It wasn’t uncommon for him to get lost on his way home. But he never skipped practice—not without notifying anyone about it.

It was all the stranger that it wasn’t even the morning practice—in that case, Daichi would be worried that he had gotten lost in the mountains or something. But it was the afternoon practice and Hinata was perfectly fine just about half an hour ago in class. According to Kageyama, he had rushed out of the classroom as soon as the bell had rung and had been nowhere to be found afterwards.

“Calm down, Daichi, he’ll be here in no time!” said Suga, the only person bold enough to get close enough to Daichi to pat him on the shoulder. Besides, it turned out he was right.

Just as Suga finished saying those words, the door to the gym was smashed open and a ball of flaring orange rushed in.

“I’m… sorry… I’m… late…” Hinata promptly apologized, panting.

The panting wasn’t the only thing the team noticed about Hinata, though. There definitely was something off.

Hinata’s hair was always in disarray but this time, it somehow managed to be even more tousled than usually. The belt in his pants was barely buckled, his shirt wasn’t even properly buttoned up and his face was all red—a little bit too red, even if he had run all the way here.

“What took you so long?” asked Daichi, trying to keep his cool—which wasn’t actually that hard. He felt strangely relieved. If Hinata hadn’t come to the practice, Daichi felt like his world would have been turned upside down. Hinata foregoing his training was something that just didn’t fit in Daichi’s world anymore.

“I, uhm, I got stuck in the toilet,” Hinata answered looking away to the side, not meeting Daichi’s eyes. Daichi wasn’t exactly satisfied with Hinata’s answer but before he could inquire anymore, the second-years arrived.

“Your stomach acting up again?” Nishinoya asked, bumping his shoulder against Hinata’s.

“What the hell did you eat this time?” Tanaka followed with a smirk, his hands on his hips, leaning in to see Hinata’s face while Hinata was doing his best to avert his gaze.

“I don’t know… Might have been something I ate yesterday… I don’t remember…” he mumbled.

Daichi frowned. Hinata clearly wasn’t acting weird. He was late to practice, he wasn’t being his usual cheery self, he was all disheveled and dodgy about what he’d been doing… This needed further investigation.

But not now.

“Just leave him be,” Daichi said to Tanaka and Nishinoya. “We’ve already lost too much time. Let’s start the practice. And you,” he turned to Hinata, “go get changed. Why the hell would you come to the gym in your school uniform?”

“Roger!” Hinata exclaimed, happy to get out of the interrogation. He rushed out of the gym to grab his training clothes from the club room while everyone started warming up.

Daichi was curious. But his curiosity had to wait.

It turned out Daichi wasn’t the only one curious.

The moment the practice came to its end, Hinata excused himself and rushed out of the gym without any additional training or even helping to clean up. No one tried to stop him—everyone was just too suspicious of his unusual behavior to say a word.

Daichi was looking at Hinata go when Tanaka came up to him.

“Daichi-san, Daichi-san! Don’t you think Hinata’s been acting strange today? Don’t you wanna find out what’s going on?” Tanak said with a smirk on his face. He was clearly onto something.

“I am. But if Hinata doesn’t want to talk, how else can we find out what’s going on?” answered Daichi, his arms crossed on his chest.

“It’s simple! We’ll tail him!” Nishinoya cut in with a smirk to match Tanaka’s and Daichi let out a sigh.

“Normally, I would never agree but in this situation…” he trailed off, looking around, finally lying his eyes on Sugawara. “Suga! Go with them and keep an eye on them!”

“Roger!” Suga, who had been listening to Tanaka, Nishinoya, and Daichi’s conversation anyways, agreed right away. “I was going to tag along anyways!” He admitted.

And so they dispatched. They managed to catch up to Hinata by the school gate and followed him from there, keeping their distance. Hinata was in a hurry and looked straight ahead most of the time so they didn’t really have to hide even once on their way but they had to be careful not to lose sight of him.

“Where do you think he’s going?” Tanaka asked, watching Hinata go past Sakanoshita Store without stopping even once, trotting down the hill.

“Well, he’s certainly not going home,” Sugawara answered, giving a small bow to Ukai Coach’s mother as they passed the store themselves. “He left his bike at school and I doubt he’d try to cross the mountains on foot. He’s not that stupid.”

They went by Tama Mart and Takinoue Electronics, leaving the town center behind and arriving at the foot of the mountains surrounding Karasuno but Hinata kept walking. A few more minutes went by before a torii gate came into their view. At this sight, Hinata quickened his pace, running up to the gate as fast as he could. It was then that Suga noticed there was someone standing by the gate. He gestured toward Tanaka and Nishinoya to hide around the corner.

There was a boy standing by the torii, at the foot of the stairs leading to the shrine. He was fiddling with his hair although he stopped and his face lit up when he saw Hinata running up to him. He was even shorter than Shōyō and if he wasn’t wearing Karasuno’s uniform Suga would think he was a middle school student at best.

Hinata ran up to the boy, visibly exhilarated, although Suga couldn’t hear what they were talking about from this distance. He could, however, see that Hinata, after quickly looking around to make sure there was no one in the vicinity, greeted him with a kiss.

A lot of things ran through Suga’s head at that moment but what made his heart skip a beat was the fear of Tanaka and Nishinoya’s reaction. He quickly shook the shock off and looked to the side where the two second-years had been standing but they weren’t already there. He jumped out from behind the corner and saw Tanaka and Nishinoya running up to Hinata and his boyfriend with an ungodly speed. He followed them immediately.

“Tanaka, Nishinoya, don’t you dare…” But he was already too late.

“Why the hell do you have a boyfriend and I don’t?!” Tanaka charged into Hinata and crushed the poor boy with his arm, wrapping it around his shoulder and pulling him towards himself, ruffling Hinata’s hair playfully with the other. Nishinoya quickly followed the example set by his friend jumping onto Hinata with a loud “Why didn’t you introduce him to us earlier?!”

Sugawara was pleasantly surprised. Given the second-years’ rowdy personalities, he wouldn’t be surprised if they said something they shouldn’t.

Relieved, he turned to the shorter boy.

“It’s the first time we’ve met, right? I’m Sugawara Kōshi, vice-captain of the volleyball club. These two rascals are also our members, Tanaka and Nishinoya. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.” Hinata’s boyfriend seemed a little surprised but he gathered himself together quite quickly. “I’m Y/N, Hinata’s boyfriend.”

Meanwhile, Hinata was screaming internally in dismay.

“Why are you telling them, Y/N-kun?! I’m not gonna hear the end of it now!” cried Hinata.

You shrugged.

“It’s you who kissed me in public. I mean, I don’t mind it, I’m just saying it’s not my fault.”

“I’m really sorry for these two,” continued Suga, pointing to Tanaka and Nishinoya. “We didn’t mean to disrupt your… date?” he adding questioningly.

“Yeah, we were going to pray at the shrine so we can win the next match and then go for a date,” Hinata said dejectedly, deciding it was pointless to lie at this point. His teammates didn’t seem to mind anyways.

“Why are you making your boyfriend pray for you?!” Tanaka elbowed Hinata, making him flinch.

“Y/N said he wanted to pray for me too!” Hinata excused himself.

“I did,” you confirmed. And you really did. If there was anything you could do to help your boyfriend, you wanted to do it, even if it was just praying at a small shrine in the mountains.

“Why don’t we go together then?” Nishinoya suggested and everyone’s eyes turned to him. Tanaka’s face lit up.

“Let’s do this!” the bald boy exclaimed. “Nice idea, Noya! I mean, it’s not like we need gods’ help but it won’t hurt, right?”

“You’re gonna come with us?!” Your face lit up and Hinata felt a clutch in his chest. To him, you were the cutest in this world and he couldn’t help but melt whenever he saw you smile. “I’ve been wanting to meet Hinata’s teammates for ages but he just wouldn’t let me!” You added.

“That’s right, Shōyō! Why didn’t you introduce us?!” Noya asked.

“I… I didn’t know how you’d react…” Hinata said sheepishly.

“What are you talking about?” Tanaka tilted his head, genuinely bewildered. “Oh, you mean that he’s shorter than you? I was surprised at first, like, how can anyone be shorter than Hinata! You know? But jeez, who cares! Let’s just go and pray!” he added and started climbing the stairs; Nishinoya followed him, gesturing to Sugawara to do the same.

You smiled to yourself. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t at all worried about how Hinata’s teammates would react to you two dating. But now that it all actually got out, it turned out you hadn’t had anything to worry about in the first place.

Hinata pulled your hand.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this. I wanted to spend some time alone with you,” he whispered into your ear.

You smiled and pulled him into a hug.

“I don’t mind it. I’m sure it’ll be fun. Those Tanaka and Nishinoya seem like fun people and Sugawara-san looks really kind. Besides, we can spend some time alone together at night.”

Hinata pulled away.

“Anyways! Let’s go! The sempais are waiting for us!” he said and started climbing the stairs. You decided to follow him. Nishinoya was waving at you from up the stairs.

You couldn’t see Hinata’s face from behind but you could tell he was blushing. He was red up to the tips of his ears.

[wonnoy]

comfort berry

some fluff for yamaguchi <3 i don't know much about him but i think i'm gonna make this super aged up. like mid thirties or something but it also has some sort of angst in it (not really, because it's not towards you)

so that means it may be a little longer than what i normally write for a fluff.

___

warnings: fluff, some angst (sorta)

volleyball team reunion, round 4!

____

"I wish I was a teenager again," Tanaka wailed from across the room. He was on his seventh beer and becoming an emotional wreck again. Gathered around the tiny brown table in the middle of the room was the Karasuno volleyball team - original.

Everyone was drinking, even their old professor and volleyball coach. The fact of the matter is - everyone has had at least 3 beers in their system. No one was on par with Tanaka though, Kiyoko sat next to him with a small smile on her face ready to be his designated driver home.

You guys were, by far, the loudest in the tiny bar. But you were also the largest party there. Nearly everyone showed up, excluding Kageyama, so it was bound to be a boisterous party. You laughed as Tanaka began his little bumblings about his job and swished your drink around in the bottle.

Maybe it would have been best to have this party at home, you looked around as you took a swig, people have started to look annoyed at you guys for a while now. But then again, you looked around your group, you never know when it might be the last time that you guys experience something like this. All together in a large group?

You guys were old, there's no denying it now.

Ukai had long had the fine lines on his face before any of you did, but now faint smile lines were showing up on everybody's face. Including yours, small little wrinkles were finding themselves in the crinkles of your eyes when you squinted. Shit, you were nearly 34 with no husband, or even a boyfriend, working a job that was as monotonous as your daily routine. It was damn boring.

You glanced over to the vegetable head across from you, Yamaguchi was probably the only one who has yet to suffer the appearance of age. He still looked as if he was fresh out of college back when he was 22.

He was really ready to tackle the world with a girlfriend, who seem to be more than devoted to him, and a thirst to become an even better person. Not without Tsukishima by his side though. Occasionally you would be there, cheering him on for achievements and helping him when he was down about his studies.

But you were sadly not the biggest thing apart of his life, no matter how much you wished you were.

Yes, you've had a crush on him for only god knows how long. But it felt wrong, seeing as he was in a healthy relationship. Maybe even now, his relationship is going on 14 years. You can't help but be jealous of his girlfriend, you looked down at his hand and there was a ring, well wife. She gets to wakeup to him every morning. You sure as hell wished you did.

Yamaguchi was smiling and looking around at everyone as well before his face went straight and he pulled out his phone. You watched with curious eyes and small buzz as he went to quickly exit the room.

Did he get a text or was someone calling him? His face looked so serious despite looking so young for a man his age.

You took another swig of your bottle, feeling it becoming increasingly lighter in your hands. It's not your business anyway, what are you supposed to do. You aren't a close friend so you can't just bug into his life and wonder what is going on with him. Only Tsukishima had the right to that and maybe Hinata, you looked over at the orange who now just barely surpassed your height, if he was lucky.

He was in a no better state than Tanaka, swinging his arms around like no tomorrow and being one of the main contributors to the noise coming from their group. God, what idiots.

Idiots that you loved.

Yamaguchi came back, but only after ten minutes of disappearing. Tsukishima gave him a small glance but nonetheless continued on silently watching the chaos of his former volleyball team. You shrugged, if Tsukishima wasn't that bothered by it, then it shouldn't concern you even more. He knows him the best right?

You focused your attention on to Yamaguchi. Well, he certainly looked alright. Wait a minute. His eyes were puffy and his nose was tainted red. His brows were furrowed so badly that the wrinkles on his face just magically appeared. Something happened, but should you go and ask if he's okay?

Do you have the right to do that?

You bit back a burp and went to stand. It's a good thing you didn't wear a skirt today, you wouldn't have half a mind to smooth it back down right now. Yamaguchi was only a few strides away, you should be able to make it over to him just fine. Or would the nerves finish you off before you make it?

No one seemed to be paying much attention to you just suddenly standing, but you swore you saw Tsukishima smirk when he saw you rise. But then again, you were buzzed. You could have imagined it.

You made your way over, dodging the legs of Sugawara as his back was resting against the table as he spoke to Daichi and Asahi. Sugawara saw you coming over and stepping over his legs and so he purposefully (well at least you think so) tried to trip you up. You sent a glare his way after securing your feet and kept walking over to Yamaguchi.

"Hey?" he looked up at you. He looked confused. Well anyone would have been confused, why would you suddenly approach him and then proceed to just stare at him in the face.

"Want to get some air, it's getting stuffy in here," you fanned your face to cool down the nerves bundling under your skin. You felt like you were back in high school again. Nervous as hell because you were speaking to Yamaguchi without the help of Tsukishima at your side to guide the conversation.

You two both walked outside, but not the exit Yamaguchi used. A different one.

"Yea this feels much better," you slumped down onto the curb right next to the desolate road. The moon was barely out but damn were the stars bright tonight. Yamaguchi sat carefully next to you, keeping an ample amount of distance from you. Was he scared of you or something? You gave a weird look his way but he didn't seem to pick up on it and just continued to sit there looking contemplative.

How were you supposed to break this thin ice? You bit your lip and sucked down your pride, ready to blame your boldness on the buzz that was steadily fading away out of your system.

"Why do you look like that, are you constipated?" it seemed to catch him off guard, your question that is. He blinked once or twice before bursting in a small fit of giggles that made your stomach flutter. It really felt like you were back in high school. You felt all girlish and even just sitting next to him set your brain to haywire mode.

After his laughter died down, he replied with a quiet 'no' and that it was 'something else' and then the silence resumed. But it wasn't choking like it was in the beginning. It was more welcome than before and you enjoyed it, taking deep breaths of the fresh night air. Letting it revitalize you and even sober you up some more.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you broke the silence again. It's nice just to enjoy each other's company but you could hear the tiny sniffles that were coming from him as the two of you sat there.

Yamaguchi didn't reply to you at first so you looked over at him. His eyes looked tired as they stared at you. It was dark out, there was a street lamp in the distance that was no where near enough to lighten up his face so you could see his facial expressions more clearly.

But you could tell that he could really use a hug.

No exchange of words for permission before you slung your arm over onto his shoulder and roughly drew him in with whatever strength your body had in it.

It really wasn't much strength but Yamaguchi let himself be pulled into your embrace. The sniffling increased and he slowly wrapped his arms around your waist and snuggled into the warmth of your body. You were sure he could hear it, the hammering in your chest had increased tenfold when you hugged him. But at this point, it only worried you even more and you were wondering what could have made him this way. You worked your fingers through his short hair, after graduation he chopped nearly all of it off which gave you a heart attack after seeing his near bald head. But now it has grown back into a hairstyle that fit him better (thank the gods).

He rubbed his head into your chest and your face heated to a million degrees and beyond. It felt innocent but Jesus, is he aiming for your death?

You rest your cheek on the top of his head and let out the big sigh you were holding in.

"She wants a divorce, and I-I, I really want one too," he heaved into your body. You bit your lip. It was terrible news, but it wasn't like you couldn't be slightly happy because now it means you might have a chance with him.

You rubbed his back as he shuddered into you, your heart was being sent out to him. He was hurting bad because he truly did love his wife and to be leaving her?

It hurt you to see him hurt, so you tugged him in even closer so now you guys were sat right next to each other. Then you hugged him even harder.

"It's okay Tadashi,"

][][][

this was a lil sad but heres some weird angst fluff going on here

[darth-mendax]

Mendax and the Wolffe: One-shot Fic

A/N: Yes, I made this a while ago, yes it’s dirty, and yes I did it for my enjoyment. I am sorry for making this.

WARNING: It’s a dirty fic, man. You know what you gotta watch for. Stay safe bois. Also, the clones are being nasty lil boys, especially Wolffe being feral

Word Count: 5k-ish

Pairing: Darth Mendax x Commander Wolffe, OC x Wolffe

Ahsoka, Maul and his new, previously Jedi love Eli, weren’t resting on the random forest planet when evening was approaching. Eli had decided to try and save a few new clones from the wrath of this new Empire born from Sidious. Cody was their first target, and were going to supposedly deliver him to Kenobi. I felt it wasn’t wise to bring Maul on that adventure, but Eli argued against my opinion. Wherever Eli went, Maul followed. Now, I was stuck sitting near a growing campfire and surrounded by a couple clones and their downed ships acting more as shelter. I’d only learned their names when we first got here a few days ago.

The clones were relatively easy to tell apart, thank the Maker. The only blonde there was Rex, formerly Captain of the 501st. He had a blonde buzzcut, a clean shave but stubble was close to growing in, and his legs looked like they could kick her head clean off.

 Next was a brash clone of the 501st named Fives, easy to pick out from the tattoo of the number five on his temple. He had short hair like Rex, only he had black hair, as well and a goatee like beard. He’d been injured badly, but he was healing relatively fast.

 Jesse was next, almost like a child of the 501st group (based on personality). He was playfully flirty to me at times, but overall, was like sunshine after rain. He had a large tattoo of the previous Galactic Republic on his bald head, and a 5 o'clock shadow. Like Fives, he was injured badly but was healing. 

Gregor, one of the few who survived relatively unscathed and a republic commando, was a bit shorter than his brothers. He had longer black hair that was neatly styled, and stubble growing in like Jesse. Rumor had it that his hair was much longer once. He was built like a boulder though, with large shoulders and seeming a bit thicker in build than his other brothers. His gentle nature contrasted his look greatly. 

Kix was probably the most average looking of all the clones, and their medic. Once in cryo after some mystery mission, got rescued by pirates a good while ago, now helping the injured that survived the Order. He had a short sort of haircut with black hair, and friendly brown eyes like the rest of his brothers. Only, his eyes seemed to be able to comfort anyone and managed to speak in the calmest voices possible. 

Echo had a messy sort of story, and his appearance made that possible. His skin was slightly lighter than the deep tan of his brothers, and he had darkened eye sockets, like he was constantly sick (though he was perfectly healthy). Multiple scars could be seen on his head in a particular pattern, and black hair was coming in like the crew cuts of Rex and Fives. He had a handprint on his armor, which made him stand out. He was also practically stuck by Fives’ side at all times, including around the campfire. 

The last one was Wolffe, the one clone I knew before the mess Order 66 had caused. He was very different from his brothers. He had a pink scar going over right eye, and in the eye socket was a white cybernetic eye (it made him almost seem like he was blind on that side). He had short black hair like many of his brothers there, but it looked most similar to Kix. He was probably the tallest, even if it was by little over an inch. He had a stubble shadow, like Jesse and Gregor. Like the wolves on Lothal, he was built to fight and it showed. His biceps were certainly the second largest, outranked by Gregor, and thighs able to crush skulls (if he wanted). Without his top half of armor on and relaxing in his blacks, there was the clear outline of abs on his waist. I wasn’t sure I picked that detail up. He nearly killed me when I first arrived with Maul, Eli, and Ahsoka. My eyes remained focused on the fire in front of me, memories flooding my brain.

It was done, the Order initiated and finished in only what seemed like an hour. My clothes were dirtied by dust and almost ratty. Maul was in his usual sith robe attire, minus the usual cloak that hid away his features. We were sitting at a small table in what was like a casual living room. Eli and Ahsoka were whispering to each other nearby, wiping away a few stray tears. This Order had killed many of their friends, and clones alike. Families were shattered and Sidious was to blame, me and Maul knew that for sure. Ahsoka nodded to Eli, and then walked up to the bridge of the ship. Eli fixed her neutral colored Jedi robes and turned to Maul. 

“Lucky for us, our ship is arriving at the safety rendezvous soon. I’d be wary of a few clones, they may think you’re against them so. . . don’t act too aggressive.” Maul leaned on the heel of his hand and gave an expression similar to someone raising an eyebrow. “Eli my dear, I’m constantly fueled by anger, driven by spite and revenge for years. Being aggressive is my personality.” I didn’t care to speak or include themselves in conversation. I simply hid in the hood of my Sith robe and remained silent. Eli turned to me, “Hey Mendax, there’s one guy who you’ll know once we arrive. Though I’m not sure he’d be the most happy to see you. Not the biggest fan of Sith still.”

“Don’t humor me. I’m not looking to make friends.” 

Eli scoffed, then rolled their eyes. “Alright, fine, sit and brood. But you better not say anything that will make you end up with blaster holes.” I chuckled, then looked Eli in the eye, “If that were to happen, I’d consider it a mercy.” The Jedi turned away and went to join Ahsoka Tano on the bridge. Maul sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I know you’re still hurting, I can sense it. . .”

“I just don’t understand. . . It feels cruel to live. To live in such darkness as overpowering as this. All the death he brought, to us, to the Jedi-”

“I know that’s not the real reason you’re upset, Mendax. . . Savage would want you to live on. He loved you, so dearly.” I was silent, then leaned on Maul’s shoulder. Maul slowly placed a gloved hand on my head. He wasn’t one to regularly give comforting touch, but this. . . this was nice. 

“Things will change now, and we’ll move past Sidious’ plans.”

When we were introduced, almost all the clones had aimed their guns at us. Wolffe seemed a bit hesitant to aim at me though, instead aiming at Maul. A few good sassy remarks were thrown, but we all agreed no more killing was needed. Wolffe still kept a close eye on me as days went on, however.

Jesse’s laughter tore me from my thoughts and into his conversation. All of the clones seemed happy, or amused. I glared at them and asked, “What’s so funny, boys?”

“Oh, nothing Mendax. We’re comparing body count and the comments made about us.” Body count? Was this a sick count of all the enemies killed? Fives made an impression of what sounded like a moan, then said, “Oh Fives, you know just how to please me!”

“No way! There’s no way you can please a woman with as rough as a hand like yours!” Nope, definitely not an enemy body count. 

My face felt a little hot once I’d realized. I guess I should’ve known that soldiers like clones had needs. They weren’t Jedi so sexual acts were more. . . allowed? Wolffe was the only one who wasn’t talking about who fucked the best or how many men or women they spent a night of pleasure with. Feeling a little bothered plus warmed by the fire, I removed the cloak from around my body. 

Fives was the first to try and get Wolffe to join in. “Hey, Wolffe! What’s your body count, hmm? I bet it’s a high one, what with the ‘rugged charm’ I’ve heard some women say about you.”

 Wolffe grunted, taking a drink from a small cup he held in one of his hands. Fives went on, “Grunting is not usually an acceptable answer to a question, Wolffe.” 

“It is now,” Wolffe replied, eyes landing on me as I sat across from him by the firepit. His gaze seemed to soften, and then he went back to staring at the contents in his cup. Fives decided not to push further, but rather turn to me. “And what about you, Mendax? Did the great Sith lord ever get any love?~”

“As much as I admire the Sith and their passions, we never really see many who use passion in a sense that they fight for someone. Most use passion more as ambition, seeking power and their way.”

“I asked if you had a boyfriend once, not your philosophies,” Fives said, rolling his eyes. I scoffed, and glared at him, “No, does that satisfy your curiosity? I had no one. All I had was Maul to oversee my progress and Savage to. . . to make me feel less lonely.”

“Define less lonely. . .” 

Jesse shoved Fives, “Shut up. She’s obviously never had a boyfriend.” Wolffe turned his gaze to me again; I couldn’t tell what emotion was behind his eyes. A few of the brothers muttered to each other, then turned to Wolffe. He caught on to the staring and sneered, “What?”

“So are you going to tell her, or. . .?” Wolffe gave a low growl at Kix. He practically barked at him, “Know your place, soldier. And stop your insane claims.” Kix held his arms up in surrender, and smiled, “Just saying, Commander.” Rex rolled his eyes, then lightly shook his head. Clearly, the captain was getting just as annoyed as Wolffe was at his men. I couldn’t really blame him. Darkness was swallowing the forest around us; Rex added more logs to keep the fire burning. 

“So, what’s the sleeping situation, boys? Since the generals and Maul are gone?” Gregor had asked, his meek voice coming through with the brief silence. Echo wrapped an arm around his shoulders, “I already figured it out for you.” He pointed at one of the ships, the largest one of them all. “That one will hold me, Fives, and Rex,” he said. Echo then pointed to the smaller ship next to it, saying, “That one there will be for you, Jesse, and Kix.” The smallest ship there was a simple cruiser, but good enough for a few people to live on, and it was the one Echo pointed to next. “That ship there is where Wolffe and Mendax will be,” he concluded. Rex started to snicker to himself, and tried to cover it with one of his gloved hands. “Something funny, Captain?” Wolffe asked. Rex replied, “No no, it’s nothing. Just laughing at the arrangements.”

“And why is that?”

“You’ll have a ship alone with Mendax. And I don’t want to ruin the moment for the two virgins.” 

Wolffe growled loudly at Rex’s comment, clenching the cup tightly in his hand. His voice lowered dangerously low, “How about you shut it, Captain? I’m sure you men would hate to see their leader suddenly get a black eye and busted lip.” Rex squinted at Wolffe, “You think your strength could save you there? You believe that you can take on the Captain of the 501st in a fist fight?” 

“Oh, I know it would. My squadron regularly fights in the dirt, so what makes you think this will end with you winning against me.” The two brothers got up and stood in front of each other, Wolffe glaring slightly down at Rex and teeth bared. Rex seemed relatively calm, but a sneer was forming on his features. “How about you prove it, Commander?” Rex challenged. Wolffe stiffened and clenched his fists tight. The two of them raised their fits, ready to fight then and there. Hearing enough banter, I got up and decided to stop the impending fight.

“SILENCE! If you keep bickering, I’ll give you all a good reason to shut up!” The flames of the fire flared, and burned bright for a few moments. Silence followed my shout, besides the cracking of the firewood.

 All the clones looked at me in shock, Jesse’s, Kix’s and Fives’ faces all slowly turned to smiles as they looked at Wolffe. He was staring at me, eyes wide and blinking as if he was processing what had happened. I could only imagine that my eyes changed, a little side effect of being Sith. If I was angry enough, they looked just like Maul’s. Rex sat down next to his men, “Sorry Sir.” I huffed, calming down and rubbing the back of my neck. Wolffe made a rumbly noise in the back of his throat, before stomping off. Gregor called out to him, “Where are you going, Wolffe?!” 

“To relax! And hit the refresher!” The rest of the clones made attempts to bring Wolffe back, but it was in vain. He’d already entered the ship, and disappeared from view. I sat back down by the fire, hearing the clones burst into some sort of shanty, and had their arms around each other’s shoulders. It was touching, to see them still act like family even after everything. It was almost like Order 66 didn’t happen. But it did. 

The moons of the planet were well in the sky, and it’d been nearly an hour since Wolffe went into the ship he and I would supposedly share. The fire was dying, as was the nightly commotion. There was less energy, less blood flowing through the clones’ veins. Growing restless of being quiet while the clones talked amongst themselves, I got up and put my cloak on. I mumbled, “Heading in for the night. . .” before trudging over to the shared ship. I stretched my limbs and back, beginning my walk towards the beds. There were at least five rooms, each one with a decently sized space and bed. Making my way down the hall, I passed by the way leading to the refresher. I paused, hearing that it was still on. “Wolffe must like long hot showers,” I thought to myself. I was about to walk on, when I heard quiet grunting, then what sounded like mumbling. 

“Mendax-” I heard, barely heard over the water running in the refresher. A few curses followed, and I felt a bit of panic. Did he hurt himself? Did he know I was here? I slowly walked through the small locker room, seeing Wolffe’s armor and blacks resting on a bench. Moving past them, I peeked into the refresher room.

 It was a line of refreshers in glass stalls on the opposite wall from the entrance. The floor was tile, leading into the locker room. Only one of the refreshers had their door closed, somewhat clouded up with steam. The amount of steam in the room made the air humid, and I was sure that my hair was starting to puff up with it. There was a towel on a hook nearby said refresher. Moving closer, but out of view, my face heated up as I looked at what was in front of me. 

Wolffe was still in the refresher, but certainly not injured. His eyes were screwed shut, brow furrowed and biting his bottom lip. He was naked of course, water washing over him and moving down his body. Leaning against one of the tile walls of the refresher, one of his arms rested against the wall he leaned against, and his other was in front of him. He had hair on his chest, leading down to a nice trimmed happy trail leading down to his cock, where his hand was a bit. . . busy. He groaned again, his hand wrapped around his cock and moving faster. Wolffe’s head leaned back against the tile, his mouth slightly open now as a soft moan past his lips. He was close, very close.

“Fuck- Mendax~, I want you so bad~. . . Make me feel so good.” Wolffe’s voice was lower by an octave or two, rumbling and lustful. 

I’d be lying if that didn’t cause some sort of feeling between my legs. He was so vulnerable, and definitely not bad to look at. We had had our differences before and were becoming something of friends, but this? It was a little unexpected. 

Scrambling to get away, I made the mistake of kicking his helmet. It made a clatter that echoed through the whole of the locker room. Ashamed that I’d be caught. I hid behind the small wall of lockers in the middle of the changing room. The noise of the refresher being on stopped, and there was silence. Very tense silence. I heard the sound of bare feet walking on the tile, moving to where Wolffe’s armor was. They stopped, and the silence returned. He was behind the lockers, where I was hiding. Suddenly the footsteps sounded like they moved away and out to the hallway. I quietly breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. Slowly, I moved around closer to the refresher room and towards the edge of the locker wall. I peeked around, and looked for Wolffe. He wasn’t there, but his armor was still on the bench. That was odd. . . I turned back and collided with something solid and damp. 

I pulled away and found myself staring into a pair of eyes, one an amber like brown, and the other a pale cybernetic white. I froze, and felt immensely flustered. Wolffe had a towel wrapped low around his hips, the happy trail disappearing under the soft white cloth. A few droplets were still moving down Wolffe’s body, and he felt very warm, even just by being so close to him. His cheeks were reddened, and a blank expression on his face. I gulped, swallowing down my nervousness and composing myself. 

“What are you doing in here?” Wolffe asked, his voice low and rumbly like he was in the refresher. I cleared my throat and crossed my arms, “Was wondering why you were taking so long in the refresher.” Wolffe didn’t seem to buy my reasoning. He leaned down, trapping me with his hands on either side of my head. 

“Really? And you didn’t hear anything?” I shook my head, not bearing to look Wolffe in the eyes. “Liar,” he growled out. He knew, of course he knew. One of his hands grabbed my jaw and forced me to face him. 

“Look at me in the eye.” My eyes moved back to lock on Wolffe’s. His human eye was blown with lust, brown being swallowed by inky, hungry black. I found myself looking at his lips, and the feeling between my legs returned. Wolffe tilted my chin up, “I’ll be honest with you. When you said you’d give us a reason to shut up, my mind went to. ..  less than innocent ideas. And I couldn’t sit with them all when you were right there and looking so . . . delicious.” I let out an exhale through my nose, and dared to ask, “Like what? Hmm?”

Wolffe let out a guttural growl, and the hand holding my chin moved down to my neck. He gave a light squeeze as his lips moved to whisper in my ear. “I want you to shut me up and kiss me until I forget my fucking name. . . I want to swallow all of your moans into my mouth, know the taste of your lips. I want to feel your tongue, and maybe stop your snark for once.” My thighs were twitching with his words; he didn’t even stutter. My hands found their way on his back, and I raked my nails down the muscle. “Would you like that? Would you like to have me?” he asked. I quietly replied, “I’ve never wanted anything more than that right now. . . but I don’t know what to do. . .” 

“Then I’ll show you. . .” Wolffe’s hands found their way to my thighs and he picked me up with ease. He carried me down into the hallway and opened one of the doors leading to a bedroom. I was carried right to the bed, and the door closed behind him. It was doubtful that anyone would come barging in, so there was not much reason to lock it. He was already trying to take off my robes as he carried me, rushed kisses being pressed to my jawline. Wolffe was desperate, and the desire coursing through him was infectious.

His lips crashed against mine once my back hit the bed, and my legs were wrapped around his hips. They were softer than I anticipated, and much more intoxicating than I believed kisses should be. I felt drunk, limp as Wolffe pushed his tongue into my mouth and hands explored under my now messy robes. He made quick work of the top half of my clothing, almost ripped them in the process. Wolffe’s lips moved down to my neck; my head moved to the side so he had better access. A rumbling noise went through his chest like a building growl and  he bit down into the flesh of my neck. He bit hard enough that I whined at the pinching pain. My feeble attempts of squirming were stopped by the weight of Wolffe moving on top of me: one of his thighs between mine, and hands pinning my wrists down. The gesture of biting and leaving dark bruises on my neck was repeated until my neck and collarbones were littered with the marks like a night sky, varying in size and color. Taking his time and kissing back up to my mouth, Wolffe gave me a tender, sweet kiss.

When he pulled away, I felt cold and my lips felt like they were buzzing.  “I’ve wanted to do this for a while, in honesty. . .” Wolffe muttered, eyes looking over my face and his handiwork. His hands cradled my face lightly, like a feather caressing my skin. The innocence and purity of the gesture was lost when his thumb brushed over my lips and lightly tugged my bottom lip down. I opened my mouth and he pushed his thumb in, groaning as it was coated in my saliva. “Such a pretty little mouth,” he mumbled. 

Wolffe pulled his hand away, then moved to pull off my pants. He started breathing heavily once he had a glance at the mess between my legs. “Fuck, you’re soaking,” was what he said. Without another word, he pulled me to the edge of the bed and knelt between my legs. Moving them so they rested on his shoulders, Wolffe began to mark up my thighs just like my neck. The feeling between my legs was starting to become unbearable, and I was aching to be touched. “You know, you could stop teasing and get to the point,” I grumbled. Wolffe responded by a smack on my thigh, looking up at me. The scene in front of me was sinful, and I thought it was all a dream since it seemed too good to be true. 

“You want me to get to the point?” I nodded. 

“Then I won’t stop til you’re begging,” he replied before moving his head down. 

The feeling was heavenly, Wolffe’s tongue working through my folds and up to my clit. My hands found their way into his thick hair, tugging on his short black locks. He groaned at the action, then focused on working my clit. My body was twitching, and my back began to arch off of the bed. “Fuck- Oh Maker- Wolffe~!” were just a few of the words that spilled from my mouth out of pleasure. I tried to push him even closer, digging my heels into his muscular back and my thighs squeezing his head. It was almost embarrassingly fast how close I got in a matter of seconds, and my orgasm came with little warning. The pleasure was white hot, I felt like I was floating and my moans filled the room. Wolffe worked through it, and even a moment after I’d come down from the blissful high. My legs were twitching, and in the pale dim lights that were on in the room, I saw Wolffe look up at me with a smug look and my wetness on his chin. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, and hummed, “My assumption was correct, you do taste delicious.” I sighed and flopped back against the bed to catch my breath. 

“Maker above, that was nice. . .” Wolffe chuckled at my comment.

“It’ll get better.”

“Hm?” I looked down to see Wolffe taking off his towel and his cock ready for attention. He was big, as far as I could tell. Moving himself closer, Wolffe held onto my legs and I felt him nudge my core. “I’ll go slow, ok?” His voice was quiet and gentle again. I pulled him down into a quick kiss, and gave a soft smile. “I know you won’t hurt me,” I said. Wolffe gave a short nod and held onto my waist. He pushed himself in slowly, and his jaw clenched tightly as he did. A struggling groan came from his mouth, and was joined by a weak moan of mine. Once fully in, he was panting and practically laying on top of me. Wolffe was cursing under his breath, resting his forehead against mine. “This feels- mm fuck- way better than I imagined. . . Fuck me, you’re killing me over here,” he managed to rasp out. As if I wasn’t aroused enough, his praise pushed me even further. 

I held his face in my hands, watching as he looked at me with a half-lidded, dazed gaze. “You can move now,” I said. He didn’t move at first, and I was about to tell him again until he interrupted me. 

With a voice lowering a good few octaves, he asked, “You want me to move, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes.” My impatience was getting to me.

Wolffe gave a grin, “Then beg.” 

I could only assume I made a somewhat amusing shocked expression, because Wolffe chuckled. “You heard me, beg for me to move,” he said. I didn’t want to, at first. After all, I was a Sith and he was just a clone. I could’ve overpowered him and take control easily, yet I didn’t. My desire was getting the best of me, and I could barely move from underneath him. So I begged for Wolffe.

“Please- Please move, I need you.”

“Please who? What do you call me, sweetheart?” This was near torture at this point, but I went along.

“Please Sir. . . Please move~.” He smiled again, and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek.

“There’s my good girl~.”

 Wolffe moved slowly, but Maker did it feel great. The slow drag of him against my walls was enough to make me start digging my nails into his shoulders. He wasn’t patient though; soon he was sitting up and setting a brutal pace. I was moaning, loud enough to probably end up being heard from the hallway. Wolffe’s brow was furrowed, but the smug grin on his face told me that he was enjoying having power over me. “Moaning like a bitch for me, and I’m the only one who can do that, right?~ Only I can make you moan and desperately beg~.” I tried to growl at him, to try and show that I didn’t like the degradation. My body betrayed me, and I could only moan and try to move in response instead. He was growling and panting, keeping his pace and his gaze staying on me. “Look at you, covered in my marks and bites. Kriffing beautiful and all mine to look at~. All fucking mine~.” Given that biting seemed to be the way he showed his affection, it was no surprise that it came with possessiveness as well. When one of his hands came down to rub my clit, I was already close again.

“Maker- Wolffe, Sir- I’m so fucking close-”

“You close? You wanna make a mess all over my cock? You wanna beg for me to make you finish?” 

All of the pride and dignity I had was long gone by then, and of course I begged. Of course I said, “Yes, please! Please, Sir!” I was glad he was so merciful. He replied, “Now, you can finish.” And I did, shaking and grabbing at the sheets. I heard myself almost yelling, and I’m pretty sure I screamed out Wolffe’s name too. Wolffe’s pace stuttered, and began to get sloppy. Not a few moments later, he finished as well, spilling himself inside of me and throwing his head back in bliss. He made what sounded like a groan, or maybe he was biting back a moan. Either way, we were both very satisfied by the end. 

In a dazed and half awake state, we managed to fix ourselves under the sheets and get comfortable. I found myself clinging to Wolffe’s side, resting my head on his chest as his arm was wrapped around me. His thumb traced small circles into my back. A realization came to me that night; I’d fallen for him. Badly. I didn’t have the heart to tell him then, but I knew I would when the time was right. With fatigue pulling at my eyelids, I curled up next to Wolffe and slept soundly for the first time in a good while. 

Bonus:

The clones were heading to their ships for the night, but they made a decision to just crowd the ship farthest away from Mendax and Wolffe. In a crowded and simple room with bunks, the clones whispered to each other. “I told you it would happen, now pay up!” Fives whisper-yelled to Echo. Echo begrudgingly handed him a few credits, and huffed. Jesse was also passing credits in the dimness. Rex sat up slightly and rubbed his eyes, “Men, what are you doing?” Fives gave a half-hearted laugh, “I’m surprised you slept through it. Wolffe and Mendax just did the deed. I made a bet that they would do it tonight, so now the boys owe me. Well, except you and Gregor.” Fives looked over to Gregor, who was busy hiding his head under his pillow. “I think he’s scarred for life,” Jesse added. Kix interrupted, “Yeah yeah, you won. Now can we sleep?” “They should be done now,” Fives replied. Rex rolled his eyes and went back to sleep. 

“Go to bed, boys.”

“. . . Yes Sir.” 

There was a brief silence, and a moment of peace.

“. . . Should we tell them we heard?”

“No way, Jesse. They’d kill us.”

“. . . What if we told Maul and Eli when they get back, Fives?”

“They’d kill them, well, Maul would.”

Another silence.

“. . . Who do you think started it?”

“GO TO BED, BOYS!”

“Sorry, Rex. . .”