#they were both really hurt in that conversation

[shouyuus]

─── Ⅵ FIGURE EIGHTS

violet; 28,888 words; fluff and smut (at the end), semi enemies to lovers, fake dating, hockey!vi x figure skater!reader, ice dancers!meljayce, miscommunication, smau-intermissions, toxic ex!cait, simpgirl!vi, slowburn, the gays r bad at feelings, lots of making out that almost leads to something, emotional edging (for YOU lol), fingering (both receiving), thigh riding, oral (r!receiving), slightly unhinged!reader, no "y/n"

summary: a hockey player and a figure skater kind of, sort of, not really, but then actually fall in love. what could possibly go wrong? (narrator: apparently, everything.)

a/n: YALL. yall. YOU. ALL. lmfao. i can't believe i finished this (i say, after writing any fic longer than 5k words). but i TRULY doubted for a second that i would bc as i kept writing, it kept... getting longer? i hope that this doesn't drag, and that you guys like it. it's really a fucking labor of love. like heavy emphasis on the labor. shoutout to @vifilms for being my emotional support, and to my irl bf for actually physically reading through like 90% of this fic out LOUD with me to make sure the dialogue doesn't sound awk. BUT ANYWAYS. pls enjoy and PLS tell me what u guys think!!!! the smau fake texts won't start till chapter three, but ! it's my first time making like.. fake texts so sldkfjsd.

TABLE OF CONTENTS ━

prologue: party people

chapter one: shut up and kiss me

chapter two: fists to a knife fight

chapter three: love's dream

chapter four: for cup's sake

chapter five: don't hate the player (suggestive)

chapter six: six (nsfw)

─── TAG YOU'RE IT .ᐟ.ᐟ

pls comment below if you'd like to be tagged for this series! :) if you're already on my vi-taglist via my normal taglist link, then you're all good. if you only wanna be tagged for this series, comment below! pls pls have your age visible somewhere on your blog as this will be an 18+ fic!!!! thank you!!!

prologue: party people

─── Ⅵ IT STARTS WITH A GAME of spin the bottle — a college party post-game, the home team the exhalant victors, the crowds of adoring fans the worshippers at their beer-tower altars, doing keg stands and shot-gunning cans of cheap bud lite for an approving grin or a wink.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” you ask, jerking back as a drunken guy nearly topples into you, the red solo cup in his hand sloshing over onto the already sticky linoleum floor.

Mel sighs, “Because, darling, you promised me that you’d come out at least once if me and Jayce made it through the Challenger Series this year.”

She tugs you behind her, weaving through the crush of bodies till the cramped living room area opens onto a much larger patio, the mid-autumn chill cooling your skin.

“It was a joke,” you say, whining slightly even as Mel grabs what looks like an unopened hard cider from the table and presses it into your hand.

“Yes, and one that hurt my feelings,” Mel sniffs, turning her nose up, though a grin teases at her lips, “so to make up for it, you now have to stay at this party and have some semblance of a good time.”

And that was three and a half drinks ago, because sometime between then and now, you’ve found yourself pulled into an unwitting game of spin the bottle with what seems like half the entire hockey team, sitting next to Mel, her boyfriend Jayce on your other side, chatting animatedly with one of the girls hockey girls. You overhear the words “creatin” and “Bulgarian Squat” and decided that it’s time for you to tune out of the conversation.

“Vi, it’s your turn!”

Vi, your thoughts linger over the sound.

It’s a pretty name.

You glance up at the girl sitting across from you, Number Six — you’ve always known her as that, what with the tattoo on her cheek (there were rumors that it’s actually not real and she just reapplies one of those temporary tattoos every two weeks) and the fact that it’s her jersey number, it’s really not too hard to remember.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, laughing as she reaches for the empty beer bottle in the middle of the circle. Her right hand’s bandaged up and you can’t help staring at it. When you look up next, it’s to catch her watching you, your eyes meeting in a startling clash of raw contact — the cacophonous noise of the party dulling out to a thin whine somewhere at the back of your head as you stare at her and she stares right back.

You’d never noticed that her eyes, even in the dark, beneath the dim, flickering patio lights, reads mourning-dove blue, so subtle it’s almost gray, so sharp as she takes you in that your stomach drops from inside you. She smirks and twists her fingers expertly around the bottle, setting it whizzing.

You tear your eyes away, your breath sent astray in your chest by just that look alone. You frown at the spinning bottle, your mind abuzz with fragmentary thoughts you can’t quite string along for long enough to form a full sentence — eyes… her lips are pretty… wasn’t she dating… someone? who??? what’s her name again? something pretty —

“— right, ice princess, you ready?”

“Huh?” you jerk your eyes up from the bottle to find everyone watching you. From your left, Mel nudges you with a sanctimonious grin, her eyes flickering down to the bottle and back up towards —

“Go on!” she hisses, even as you blink uncomprehendingly down at the bottle pointing right at you.

Across the circle, Vi’s questioning smirk is all the answer you need as your alcohol-addled brain finally puts together the pieces.

“R-right…” you push up onto your knees, but something holds you back, a niggling feeling in the back of your brain as Vi’s smirk grows wide and she jerks her head towards the living room.

“Want a bit of privacy? Or… would you prefer an audience?”

Half the circle wolf-whistles at the insinuation, the other half roll their eyes, leaning back on their elbows as if to settle in for a long night.

You lick your lips, feeling your mouth scald dry.

“Privacy. Please.”

You follow Vi stiffly from the patio back into the stuffy house, her fingers closing around your wrist as she tugs you behind her through a long hallway splitting off from the main living room, branching into a series of what look like bedrooms. Half the doors are closed, illicit sounds echoing out from behind them, but Vi finds an empty one near the end of the hallway and pushes it open, leading you inside.

“Oh wow,” you say, looking around the room. It’s a typical fratboy’s room, full of suggestive posters, the floor littered with questionably laundered clothes.

“What, not your ideal setting for a makeout-sesh with a stranger?”

You frown as your eyes slingshot back to Vi, her standing feet from you, hands tucked loosely into her pockets, watching you with dark, firefly eyes.

“Thought we were just supposed to kiss once.”

Vi chuckles, closing the distance between you in a few quick strides, crowding you up against the closed door.

“Sure. We can do that. Or…” she makes no effort to hide the way her eyes flicker down to your lips, trailing back up in a line of fire that sizzles against your skin. “I could show you what a real good time looks like.”

Your breath crystalizes in your chest, and the strange, tickling feeling traces down the back of your head till it gathers, hot and unconscionable at the nape of your neck — a spin-click wheel of half-formed thoughts and images ticking by behind your eyelids as you try to remember why the hell this feels so wrong.

And then, it clicks, and you press a hand to Vi’s chest just as she’s leaning down to graze her lips against yours, the friction so delicious you almost lose your train of thought.

“A-are you sure this is a good idea? Didn’t you just break up with that track and field girl? Caitlyn?” you blurt out, a culmination of all the snippets of whispered conversations and half-caught glances of the pair of them across campus. The It-Girl Couple, people called them, the hockey team star and the track and field genius. They were hard to miss, and even harder to forget.

A moth-wing-flicker of emotions crosses Vi’s face as she takes half a step back, her expression morphing into one of shock, and then hurt, and finally, hard-lined disgust as she looks down at you with a thin-lipped grimace.

“Oh fuck you.”

She yanks you from the door, storming out without a backwards glance. You catch yourself against the half-made bed, your breath coming in heaving pants as your head spins. Guilt curdles in the bed of your stomach like spoilt milk, and it only takes you half a second to realize that of all the things to say, that probably was the worst possible choice.

You’d heard mention of the breakup, even if you didn’t have any stakes in this so-called game. It was harsh and messy and loud, and it had spilled across campus like a backed-up toilet, oozing foulness and stank across the grounds till not a single person was left unstained in the aftermath.

“Wait —” you stumble after Vi, but it’s too late. By the time you reach the patio doors, she’s already settling back into her place in the circle, an easy grin slung across her lips.

You swallow, pushing through the door to scurry over to Mel’s side. Mel beams at the flush in your cheeks, convinced (just like the rest of the circle) that it’d been one hell of a kiss, judging by how entirely breathless you are.

“Damn Vi, you gotta learn how to go easy on them figure skaters, hm?” Margot smirks, her eyes glittering as she looks you over, “look at the poor darling — she can barely breathe!”

Everyone laughs, and Vi flashes a convincingly satisfied smirk, shrugging up a shoulder. You glance at her, only to shiver at the arctic ice behind her gaze as your eyes catch once more.

“What can I say? Easy isn’t a setting I come programmed with.”

You duck your head as Vi casts you one more frigid look before turning to laugh at something a teammate has just said, and the circle devolves into good-natured banter and pocket conversations. You gulp around your too-dry throat and pluck Mel’s drink from her hand, tossing the rest of it back in a single gulp. She blinks at you, eyes wide.

“Darling, are you —”

“I — I’m fine just — it’s — I think I’m gonna head back.”

Mel frowns, “Are you sure? I mean —” she looks towards where Vi’s been pulled into an impromptu arm-wrestling match with some dude from the football team, “you could try and —”

You shake your head, “No, I — I think I’m good. I had a good time, I just —” you run a hand through your hair, “I’ve got practice tomorrow and Amara’s gonna murder me if I get there late.”

Mel stares for a second before relenting, a soft sigh on her lips.

“Alright, alright — go on then. I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow at practice, yes?”

You give her a tight-lipped smile, reaching out for a quick hug before ducking out of the party, skirting the edges of the growing mosh pit forming in the living room till you finally find yourself out on the front steps again.

You close your eyes for a second, pressing your back to the frat house door, feeling the dull thump of the music inside reverberating through the thin wooden frame as you breathe in and out.

You can still taste the heat of Vi’s breath on your lips, feel harsh sting of ice as she’d caught your eyes after. The chill air, once refreshing, pebbles your skin and an involuntary shiver shakes down your spine. You wrap your arms around yourself and give your head a good shake.

Whatever, you think, stepping off the porch, casting your eyes up at the star-strewn sky, a whisp of warm breath fogging up the air before you.

Not like it’ll matter. Bet she won’t even remember me after tonight.

taglist: @traiitorjoe @rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly @drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22 @lipsent @lewd_alien @jack-frost-2010 @starsfortaylor @onesockcat @lesbian-useless @armins-slvt

[wcnderlnds]

battlefield | choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: running into your ex boyfriend during the squid games was the last thing you expected ・❥・word count: 719 ・❥・warnings: uh... usual squid game stuff. ・❥・ authors note: this is a short one just to test the waters but im obsessed with this man after watching squid game 2 <333

There he was. The last person you’d ever expected to see in this place. Player 230. Choi Su-Bong or, as the world knew him as, Thanos. The bright purple hair had been easy to spot. The last few months had been spent avoiding him so why did fate want to throw you together in this place? Wherever the hell this place was. You still weren’t even sure but as you walked up the stairs to the first game, you didn’t really care. All you wanted to do was lay low and make sure that Thanos didn’t see you. A conversation with your ex boyfriend was the last thing you wanted.

Things had ended badly between the two of you when he’d lost all his money thanks to the crypto scam. It had changed him, turned him into someone you didn’t recognise anymore so when the arguments started and his behaviour became erratic, you knew you had to get out of there. So, you did. You left and had never looked back. All you wanted was enough money to get out of the city and far, far away. There was nothing here for you anymore. If you could win the games then you could finally start fresh somewhere.

Walking through the doors onto a floor of sand and brightly coloured walls, you heard the voice of Thanos talking to his friend. Instantly, you looked down at the ground, hoping he didn’t see you. Unfortunately for you, he had stood next to you. His eyes scanned your face before recognition lit his eyes up.

“Senorita!” He said in a sing-song voice, wide grin on his face as he outstretched his arms. “What are you doing here? Come on, give me a hug.”

“None of your business and no thanks,” you rolled your eyes.

“I’m hurt,” he splayed his hand on his chest over his heart. As much as he was using his confident swagger to irritate you, deep inside he couldn’t be more glad to see you. “Not even going to give me a chance to talk, huh? That’s stone cold.”

As the rules of the game echoed through the speakers, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. His hand had raised to his friend to stop him from talking to him so he could get a proper look at you. When you had left, that had been the breaking point for him. Everything had gone downhill from there. For so long he’d been trying to seek you out, to apologise but he knew you’d been avoiding him. Your friends wouldn’t tell him where you were, your family had chewed him out the second he had showed up on their doorstep so, eventually, he’d given up. But, here you were.

As Player 456 shouted out about the game being a lie and that you were going to die, your head shot up. Surely he couldn’t be telling the truth, right? Red Light, Green Light was a children’s game. At most you were probably going to be out of the running for the cash if you were caught moving.

“He’s crazy,” Thanos said. It was his way of trying to comfort you. He had instantly noticed the slight panic in your eyes, the way you were rubbing your hands against your thighs. “Don’t listen to him.”

All you could do was nod but there was a gut feeling inside you telling you that maybe it wasn’t entirely all crazy talk. Something about this whole thing felt off. Your eyes caught some girl talking, her hands waving around then suddenly she was on the ground. Instantly, fear gripped you, your stomach dropping. The room around you started to spin – you were really going to die here.

“Hey, hey,” Thanos had reached out, his hand gripping yours as he stood in front of you, back to you. “Stay behind me. I won’t let anything happen to you. You hear me? Stay behind me.”

“But… what if…” The sheer panic in your voice made his heart clench.

“No. We’re both getting out of here alive, okay? Now, stay behind me.” His protective instinct had kicked in. Right now, he didn’t care if you hated him. All he cared about was making sure you survived this so maybe, just maybe, he could finally make things right.

[mono-dot-jpeg]

big sister - hyun ju

summary; a big sister will always protect, but when will she be able to relax?

genre/extra tags; one shot, found family, fluff, hurt/comfort?, canon typical violence, i dont like the second season writing, but i can not deny myself this diva, that's mother !!, teen! reader, hyun ju is the only reason i decided to watch this season, slight canon divergence bc i have the mind of a goldfish, canon typical sad heavy conversations, big sister is written to be seen as the korean honorific "unnie", older sister moments written in the point of view of a younger sibling, unintentional love letter for my appreciation to my sister, reader is implied to be some form of lgbt but not out (im projecting)

[platonic] [gender-neutral reader]

[warning; mentions of transphobic ideas]

a/n; before people ask, no, im not doing requests for this show. i just don't feel fully comfortable writing for squid game. i just really wanted to write this because, believe it or not, i write for my enjoyment. even i do switch off here every few months or every other month.

dinner had rolled around after an intense "game" of life or death. how you managed to survive this long is beyond you. but you might have a strong idea of why you're living so long, and it was the strong woman who was sitting beside you with some of the other women who were surviving so far.

the old lady had pointed out that hyun ju was not like other people. and it really was odd to her. but hyun ju was used to that. more than used to it. she lived through it since she decided to come out.

you listen to the conversation, not really putting your two cents in as it seemed like there was no right time to butt in. but as the conversation continued, the mood was just a little lighter. and that was more than enough morale. the old lady seemed to slowly understand hyun ju and her struggle.

you've zoned out so much, you almost fail to notice hyun ju sneaking an egg onto your shabby given lunch box meal. you look up at her as she gives you a warm look before pretending that she didn't just do that.

you mix the rice with not much thought, spilling some bits of rice and egg over its metal container before you slowly eat. unbeknownst to you, hyun ju glances back at you as if to make sure you're actually eating and not staring off with a tired look that no teen or child should have. you've seen everything, you're part of this sick game, she may not know your story, but she knows you don't deserve any of the bad you've been through.

you're the youngest in the entire room, a room filled with people with insurmountable debt and issues. hyun ju can only imagine your worry, your anxiety, the burden.

when the first game got serious, you were trying your damned hardest to keep your fear contained under the watchful eye of that robot scanning every movement. she was right in front of you, keeping you safe along with the rest of the people who lined up with her. you look like you wanted to cry the moment you got to the finish line. if she wasn't full of adrenaline at the time, she probably would've heard how hard your heart was beating.

somehow, she had taken two people under her care. you and young-mi. how could she not care about a young woman like young-mi and a teen like yourself? two anxious people forced to live a life full of debt and pain when you both deserved nothing but comfort and love.

people start lining up in their beds for nighttime. gi-hun was very insistent on being careful at night. it was dangerous. some people were not behind just killing others at night to sweeten the pot of money that loomed over everyone's head like a golden sun.

as most of the adults started to climb in their beds, you stand awkwardly. you weren't a stranger to sleeping a room full of people, but you were definitely a little paranoid after what gi-hun was talking about.

you find yourself naturally gravitating to hyun ju. her presence was just so calming, and she was so caring for others. it was hard not to get attached. young-mi had taken to calling her big sister. and you found yourself doing the same when you call out to her softly.

"big sister?" you gently tap at her arm as she turns to look at you. she silently urges you to continue speaking with a gentle look. you can see the tired in her eyes, but she looks at you, unwilling to say no. "this is embarrassing..." you mutter.

"it's okay. i'm here." she reassures you.

"can i stay with you tonight? i'm-" you choke a little bit on your words, not only out of embarrassment but fear. "i'm really scared. i don't wanna be alone." you confess.

she softens, "i would love to let you, but it's too risky. if people come for us, it would be very hard to fight back. i'm so sorry, kid." she opens her arm out for a hug, and you take the comfort you can get in this shitty place. "i will do my best to keep you safe, alright? when we get out of here, i'm going to find you again, and we can help each other, yeah? i'll protect you."

you nodded with her words, not finding the heart to say anything. she takes this as a sign to start guiding you into your bunk bed on top. at least the top bunks would be somewhat safer for you. you hesitantly climb into bed. "if a fight breaks out, hide. run. just be safe. i will find you, and you'll be safe." she continues to reassure you the best she can.

"okay. goodnight big sister." you whispered. "please be safe."

"i will." she said with a calm confidence that only she could pull off that didn't make you feel worried for her.

you hope that you get out of here, so you don't have to see the worried exhaustion in her eyes anymore.

she was a big sister by heart and soul. you just hoped her big heart wouldn't lead her to her doom. she protects and gives, but when will she relax?

[crookedteethed]

ᡣ𐭩 the good girl . • ° 　 .　 *　:.　the engagement (2)

synopsis -- when a drunken kiss leads to rejection, Rafe's possessive nature takes a darker turn. Between mounting debts, your engagement to his rival, and a trip to Morocco looming, Rafe manipulates his way into getting what he wants - you, isolated and far from home.

warnings -- 18+- mdni, cursing, mentions of murder, dark!rafe, stalker!rafe, stalking, unwanted touch, angst/hurt, rafe's daddy issues. mention of suicide (not literal)

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | word count: 3.5k

The fluorescent lights of Roots' private bathroom cast harsh shadows across Rafe's tear-streaked face. Your palm cradled his cheek, feeling the slight tremor in his jaw, the expensive cologne mixing with the lingering scent of vodka. This was Rafe Cameron stripped bare – no arrogance, no power plays, just raw vulnerability that made your heart ache, all to your belief.

"You're the only one who sees me," he whispered, his cerulean eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide with something more dangerous than just desire. "The only one who really sees me."

Time suspended itself in that sterile bathroom, reality shrinking to a single point: your thumb gentle against his tear-stained cheek, his hand finding your wrist – not to dominate, for once, but to steady his shaking world.

Then Rafe lunged forward, capturing your lips with a hunger that bordered on violent. The deep red lipstick he'd been watching all day smeared between your mouths like fresh blood. He kissed you as if he was starving, as if you held all the oxygen in the room, as if you were simultaneously his salvation and his damnation.

Just as his tongue sought to deepen the kiss, survival instinct kicked in. Your hand flew up, connecting with his cheek in a sharp crack that echoed off the bathroom walls.

"MR. CAMERON, THIS isn't appropriate!" The words tore from your throat, your voice bouncing off cold tile. "I don't know what you thought this is, but no, I'm not that type of girl--I'm your secretary." The last word tasted bitter on your tongue, like a reminder of all the boundaries you'd both just shattered.

His cerulean eyes darkened dangerously as you fled, watching your retreat with the focused intensity of a predator marking its prey. One hand touched the red mark blooming on his cheek – the same shade as your lipstick now smeared across his mouth like evidence of a crime.

Alone in the bathroom, Rafe's embarrassment quickly morphed into something darker. No witnesses meant no proof – just his word against yours if you decided to talk. The thought made him laugh bitterly as he lined up another hit of cocaine on the porcelain sink. He'd learned long ago that money could make most problems disappear, and he was nothing if not generous with his money.

The bartender's eyes widened at the size of the tip Rafe dropped on his way out – because even in crisis, a Cameron never forgot their image. But his practiced smile faltered when he spotted you in the waiting limo, pressed as far into the corner as physically possible, like a trapped animal seeking escape.

Rafe slid into the opposite corner, the leather seat creaking under his weight. The space between you felt electric with unspoken threats and possibilities. This was it, he thought – the final straw. Tomorrow he'd have to have that dreaded conversation with Ward about finding yet another secretary. And worse, by sundown he'd be on the first flight to Morocco – his father's favorite form of punishment disguised as business opportunity. Cameron Boy banished to the desert again, all because he couldn't keep his hands off his secretary.

But as he watched you from the corner of his eye, noticed how your breath hitched every time he shifted, how your fingers nervously played with your skirt hem, Rafe realized something that made his blood run hot: you weren't disgusted by the kiss. You were afraid – not of him, but of how much you'd wanted it too.

Maybe he wouldn't need to call Ward after all. Maybe his good girl just needed a firmer hand to guide her toward what they both wanted.

"I'm engaged." The words burst from your lips like a shield, shattering the charged silence in the limo. You watch as Rafe's expression transforms – his previous predatory calculation morphing into something far more dangerous, far more unhinged.

"Well," you continue, words tumbling out faster as his cerulean eyes darken with each syllable. "I've been engaged for the past year, we're saving up for a ring, but he's already proposed. We're looking at houses too—" You're rambling now, knowing you should stop but unable to halt the nervous flood of words. "I'm getting off topic, but what I mean is—I'm taken. I'm sorry if I gave you any wrong impressions…"

Your voice trails into nothing as Rafe's gaze pins you to the leather seat. The look in his eyes screams danger, screams shut up, screams of violence barely contained beneath his expensive suit. The air in the limo grows thick with unspoken threats.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, though you're not sure why you're apologizing. Maybe for the slap that's still branded red across his tanned cheek. But then again, you wouldn't have had to mark him if he hadn't tried to claim what wasn't his to take.

Rafe's knuckles bleach white against his knee as his jaw works silently, grinding thoughts you're terrified to imagine. Your engagement revelation hangs in the air like smoke – not the shield you'd hoped for, but kindling for something darker stirring behind his cerulean eyes. To him, your engagement isn't a wall; it's a challenge. Another obstacle to destroy.

His fingers drum against his thigh in a rhythm that sounds like a death march. When he finally speaks, his voice comes out soft, gentle even – and that's what terrifies you most. A gentle Rafe Cameron is a deadly Rafe Cameron.

"Well, I sure hope I'm invited to the wedding?" The question slides from his lips alongside a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Then comes the laugh – a sound that erupts from deep in his chest, too loud, too sharp, too wrong. It fills the limo like poisoned honey.

You force yourself to laugh along, the sound brittle and false, counting the seconds until this ride through hell finally ends. But the way Rafe's eyes glitter in the passing streetlights tells you this isn't an ending at all – it's a beginning.

That night, Rafe sat in his home office, the blue light of his laptop screen illuminating his tormented expression as he attempted to craft an apology email. The words poured out, a mixture of manufactured remorse and raw truth: how inappropriate his actions had been, how the alcohol had loosened his careful control, how he couldn't stop replaying that kiss in his mind.

But with each sentence he typed, the apology transformed into something darker, more possessive. Professional phrases dissolved into dangerous confessions – how he'd been watching you for months, memorizing every detail, dreaming of claiming what he saw as his. The kiss had only intensified his obsession, giving him a taste of what he'd been denying himself.

Mid-paragraph, clarity struck like lightning. An email would be evidence – permanent proof of his transgression. One forward from you to HR, to Ward, to the board, and everything would unravel. The Cameron empire had weathered many storms, but a harassment scandal involving the youngest son and his secretary? That would be harder to bury.

Rafe deleted the draft, watching the cursor blink accusingly on the empty screen. No, he wouldn't apologize. Instead, he'd show you exactly why crossing lines with Rafe Cameron was both the best and worst decision of your life.

Instead of empty apologies, Rafe decided to speak in the language he knew best: money.

With practiced ease, he logged into the payroll system using his father's credentials – a trick he'd learned years ago for situations that required discrete handling. An extra $2,000 added to your next paycheck would look innocent enough:

"Performance Bonus - Approved by W. Cameron."

A satisfied smirk played across his lips as he authorized the payment. He could already picture your face when you opened the check this Friday – that delicate mix of surprise and pleasure he'd come to crave. Would you understand the message behind it? That everything had a price, even forgiveness?

But as the night wore on, Rafe's thoughts began their familiar spiral. His fingers drummed against his desk as his mind filled with questions about you. What were you doing right now, at this exact moment? Were you home? Alone? Had you told your "fiancé" about the kiss? Were you touching your lips, remembering the taste of him like he couldn't stop remembering the taste of you?

He pulled up your employee file, eyes tracing over your address for the hundredth time. The logical part of his brain knew driving past your apartment at 2 AM would be crossing yet another line, but then again – hadn't he already crossed the biggest one in that bathroom? His car keys felt heavy in his pocket as his OCD thoughts circled like hungry wolves: check on her, make sure she's safe, make sure she's alone, make sure she's still his.

Rafe navigated the familiar streets with practiced precision, taking the curved bend that led to your apartment complex. He knew this route by heart now – the figure-eight loop that ended where The Cut began, a middle-class neighborhood that he deemed barely acceptable for someone who belonged to him.

He'd planned this carefully, dressed head-to-toe in black like a predator preparing for the hunt. Instead of his usual gleaming Mercedes, he'd chosen his older BMW – a car he despised for its squealing brakes and dated interior, but perfect for remaining anonymous. No one would expect Rafe Cameron, heir to the development empire, to be caught dead in last decade's model, which made it the perfect vehicle for nights like these.

The parking garage across from your complex offered the perfect vantage point. He eased into a space on the third level, ignoring the protesting squeal of those damned brakes. From here, he could see directly into your living room window, where a soft light still burned despite the late hour.

Rafe's fingers drummed against the steering wheel, a rhythm matching his racing pulse. How many nights had he watched your shadows dance across those curtains? The count blurred in his mind, each evening melting into the next. But tonight felt different. That kiss in the bathroom had changed everything – had turned his careful observation into raw hunger. Watching from afar no longer satisfied the growing obsession that consumed his thoughts.

His breath hitched sharply as you emerged from the distant hallway, wrapped only in a white towel that made his vision blur at the edges. The sight of you, casual and unguarded in your private space, sent a dangerous thrill through his body.

Then he saw it – you were talking, gesturing with a toothbrush in your mouth, clearly addressing someone just out of view. In all his previous surveillance – only twice from this particular spot, he reminded himself – he'd never caught a glimpse of this mysterious fiancé you'd mentioned. The thought of finally seeing his rival, the man who dared claim what Rafe considered his, made his blood simmer with anticipation and rage.

His cerulean eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, focused entirely on your apartment window. Tonight might finally reveal the face of the man he needed to remove from your life.

Then the moment Rafe had been waiting for arrived with all the subtlety of a knife to the gut. Rising from behind the low couch, partially obscured by the jungle of decorative plants crowding your window, stood a figure Rafe knew all too well. His worst suspicions crystallized into a reality far more infuriating than he'd imagined.

Pope fucking Hayward.

What was it with these Pogues like Hayward – always trying to claim what they couldn't afford? No ring, no house, just empty promises to girls who deserved better. To his girl. The thought made Rafe's blood boil. A Cameron would have already crowned you in diamonds, marked you with luxury. Not these pathetic Pouges from a man playing at success.

Rafe's hands clenched the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, a string of violent curses hissing through his teeth. Of all the men in Charleston, you were engaged to Pope Hayward – his childhood rival, his professional thorn, and now, apparently, the thief who'd dared to stake a claim on what belonged to Rafe.

The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity: those whispered conversations in meetings, Hayward's constant proximity to you, that smug smile he wore whenever Rafe watched you two interact. For a year, right under his nose, Pope had been marking his territory.

A dark laugh bubbled up from Rafe's chest, edged with something dangerous. This wasn't just about desire anymore – this was about revenge. Pope Hayward had just made the biggest mistake of his life, and Rafe would make sure he learned exactly what it meant to take something from a Cameron.

"I want Hayward gone." Rafe's voice cut through the pretentious lunch crowd at Charleston's finest bistro. You were safely tucked away at the office, working on his Cut property reports – exactly where he needed you while he handled this particular conversation.

The Italian sub in front of him bore the brunt of his aggression as he stabbed it with his knife, imagining a different target entirely. Ward Cameron watched his son's violence toward the innocent sandwich with growing concern.

"Are you kidding me, Rafe?" Ward's laugh held all the warmth of a shark's smile. "Pope Hayward is the smartest asset we've got. The deals he's closed for R&P alone—"

"I don't give a fuck about his deals," Rafe snarled, his cerulean eyes flashing with that familiar Cameron rage – the kind that had built their empire and destroyed countless lives along the way.

Ward set down his wine glass, studying his son with calculated precision. "This tantrum wouldn't have anything to do with your pretty new secretary, would it?" He leaned forward, voice dropping. "The one I caught you staring at during yesterday's meeting. The one who happens to be engaged to Pope."

"You knew?" Rafe said. "I thought work relationships weren't permitted."

"Pope works for R\&P, not for us," Ward replied simply, his tone suggesting Rafe was being deliberately obtuse. "Different company, different rules. Though I'm sure if he did work here, he'd manage to maintain professional boundaries better than some."

Rafe's knuckles whitened around his knife. The restaurant's ambient noise faded away, leaving only the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

"He works for our collaborators, son. I can't touch him without raising questions we don't want asked. Without damaging relationships we can't afford to lose." Ward's tone carried a warning. "Let it go."

Rafe pushed his plate away, appetite destroyed by the taste of his father's refusal. Fine. If Ward wouldn't handle this through official channels, there were other ways to solve the Pope Hayward problem. More permanent ways.

His mind drifted to the Morocco trip – to deep waters and convenient accidents, to bodies that never resurface and questions that never get answered. His lips curved into a smile that made Ward's blood run cold.

"You're right, Dad," Rafe said, his voice eerily calm. "I'll let it go."

But they both knew that was a lie. A Cameron never lets go of what they consider theirs.

Rafe's mind wandered to darker possibilities as Ward droned on about Morocco. How easy it would be to eliminate the Pope Hayward problem permanently. One push down the right stairwell, one "accident" at a construction site – problems had a way of solving themselves when you had Cameron resources.

You'd grieve, of course. But Rafe would be there, watching, waiting. He'd comfort you with gentle touches and understanding smiles, show you what real power felt like, what real wealth could offer. Soon enough, "Pope who?" would become your mantra as you fell deeper into Rafe's world.

But reality crashed through his murderous fantasy like ice water. The mounting debt to Barry and his other creditors was already a noose around his neck – adding a homicide investigation would be suicide. Besides, Pope's disappearance would raise too many questions, bring too much attention. Rafe Cameron might be unhinged, but he wasn't stupid.

As if the universe was mocking his thoughts, Ward cleared his throat and said those dreaded words: "I spoke with Dennis Rutherford the other day." His father stirred his soup with deliberate slowness, steam rising like a warning sign.

"Great." Rafe rolled his eyes, launching his napkin into the air with theatrical disdain. Just what he needed – another reminder of his mounting debts while plotting the removal of his rival.

The napkin floated down like a surrender flag, but surrender wasn't in Rafe's vocabulary.( Not when it came to you, anyway).

"Rafe," Ward's voice dropped to that familiar tone of paternal disappointment, the one that made his son's blood boil. "When will you realize that all of 'your' men were first my men? Every contact, every connection you think you own – I built those relationships decades ago." He paused to take another spoonful of soup, letting the words sink in like poison. "I went to prep school with these people, built this empire alongside them while you were still learning to walk."

Ward's eyes hardened as he set down his spoon with precise control. "Rutherford called me yesterday. Not you – me. Do you know how that feels? To have your son's creditor reach out because he doesn't trust said son to make good on his debts?" His laugh was bitter, cutting. "A quarter million in loans, Rafe. What am I supposed to do with that?"

The restaurant seemed to shrink around them as Ward leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes I lie awake at night, wondering where I went wrong with you. Sarah and Wheezie turned out perfect, but you…" He shook his head. "Maybe I gave you too much. Maybe I didn't give you enough. But watching you spiral like this – the drugs, the debts, this obsession with your secretaries – I have to ask myself: what did I do wrong in raising you?"

The worst part wasn't the words themselves – Rafe had grown numb to his father's disappointment years ago. No, it was the way Ward maintained that perfect Cameron smile throughout his entire diatribe, nodding pleasantly to passing socialites while he gutted his son. Ever the performer, keeping up appearances for the Charleston elite who dined around them, pretending they were just another father and son enjoying an expensive lunch.

The casual cruelty of it all made Rafe's stomach turn. How Ward could slice him to pieces with that benevolent patriarch smile plastered across his face, how he could destroy his son while shaking hands with the banker two tables over. But it was that throwaway line – "Sarah turned out perfect" – that confirmed what Rafe had always known: Ward Cameron didn't just disapprove of his son's choices. He hated the very man Rafe had become.

The comparison to Sarah twisted like a knife. Perfect Sarah. Golden Sarah. The daughter who could do no wrong, even in her absence. While Rafe sat here, drowning in debt and obsession, wearing his father's contempt like a brand.

Ward's smile never faltered as he took another sip of wine, but his eyes held all the warmth of a shark's. The message was clear: Rafe would never be the son Ward wanted – but by God, he'd keep up appearances while reminding him of that fact.

"Listen, Rafe," Ward's voice dripped with false sympathy, that shark smile still firmly in place. "I'll cut you some slack. After all, it must be…" he paused, savoring the cruelty of his next words, "…absolutely exhausting being as incompetent as you are sometimes.

He dabbed his mouth with his napkin, every movement calculated for their audience of lunching socialites. "So I'm going to make you an offer. You handle the Morocco situation – properly, no mistakes, no distractions involving pretty secretaries – and I'll personally clear your $250,000 debt. Hell, I'll even throw in a bonus." His eyes glittered with dark amusement. "Consider it hazard pay for finally doing something right."

The offer hung between them like a noose, and they both knew it. Ward wasn't offering salvation – he was buying compliance, demanding submission. The money came with strings, each one designed to puppet his son exactly where he wanted him: away from Charleston, away from you, and firmly under his control.

But Rafe couldn't stomach the thought of leaving you behind. Not with Pope Hayward circling what belonged to him, planning to put a ring on the finger Rafe had already marked as his territory. Every second away would be another moment for Pope to play house with his property.

A plan crystallized in his mind, dark and perfect.

"You have yourself a deal, father," Rafe purred, his cerulean eyes glinting with something that made Ward's smile falter for the first time. "On one condition – my secretary comes with me. To keep me focused, you understand. To ensure everything goes… according to plan."

Ward studied his son's expression, finally recognizing the dangerous Cameron obsession he himself had passed down. In that moment, he realized his mistake – he hadn't just given Rafe an escape route from his debts. He'd handed his unhinged son the perfect opportunity to isolate his prey.

Morocco suddenly seemed very far away, and very, very dark.

a/n: thanks for making it to the end of this chapter!! as always all likes comments, and reblog keeps me motivated! 💕🫶🏾

Taglist -

@trapistani @alexxavicry @rafestoothbrush @ttrinity @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4rafey @Itristessedureratoujours @hittmeandtellmeyouremine @yoongling @lilithblackkk @yootvi @alyisdead @littlelamy @skel-skell

[unacknowledgeable]

Serial killer reader x yan!Batfam (bc who doesn’t like seeing reader finally go batshit crazy?)

This idea has been bouncing around my head for a while, so Imma toss it out here. A slim layout of it and testing the waters ig lol

 WARNING for disturbing imagery, animal abuse, broken bones, mentions of child neglect (obviously)

Reader arrives at the manor at the ripe ol’ age of 8, near fresh off the crime scene of their mothers murder

None of the transition is handled well, which, its Gotham so what do you expect really, so no real systems are put in place to help this child not only deal with a brand new environment, but also having just watched your mom brutally murdered in front of you

Bruce is already  5 years deep into batmanning shenanigans, with Dick 4 years into being robin

Since you weren't as obviously volatile as Dick was when his parents were murdered, Bruce didn't really see letting you in on the nightly activities as necessary

You never really pushed hard for a relationship with Bruce, believing that he was distant because you were not a choice, unlike Dick.

Your mom used to get like that, sometimes. she’d always been truthful about you being an accident, would close herself off for awhile, but at least she always came back, or she use too

You had Alfred, sure, but his experience with grieving children mostly involved allowing them to swear vengeance on all crime sooo, he’s more of a “I'll try to solve your problem, even though what you're needing is someone to comfort and listen to you” 

But you can't really fix the problem of a very dead mother

So you’re never really given a space to process, and it definitely festers

So what is a small child left to do with no real outlet for the terrible things they've witnessed? Well… recreation is a start.

You were left to your own devices quite often, and the manors grounds are so so big, so it's easy to see how you got away with your… activities, for awhile

Squirrels, birds, frogs, any animal small enough to fit into your tiny little hands, all met their end by them

It isn't until you’re a few years into your new school, that you catch a bird and show your classmates just how fragile and “cute” its bones were, and the funny little tweets it made when you snapped them

And your friends try to stop you, saying its wrong and mean, that the tight grip you have on the bird is "hurting” it, that you’re crazy and horrible

So you decide to just show your friends how wrong they are, that it's just a game

Soon, the teacher comes running over at the sounds of shouts and screaming, and finds a child with a broken arm, and a robin with a broken neck

With the reader stood above them, yelling that their friends aren't playing the game right

……………………………………

Alfred is the one who comes to get you, as Bruce is busy with something and he’s just absolutely beside himself, how did this happen? How hadn't he noticed anything?

He rushes through the necessities, assuring that all damages will be paid for, agrees to have you transferred to a different class then the boys whose arm you broke instead of being expelled (the wonders of unimaginable wealth)

The drive back to the manor (manor, not home, never home) is quiet, the silence is suffocating, for both of you, 

You’re mostly confused, you never really hid your “games” while at the manor, at least not on purpose, you'd just always wash up before going inside, not wanting to get anything dirty

And Alfred is angry, mostly at himself, he prided himself on his ability to see everything, to always know, but this? He was completely blindsided.

So yes he's angry, not really at you, but you don't know that, you can only see the slight shake of his shoulders, the white knuckled grip on the wheel, the frown pulling his wrinkled face and the furrow of his brow

And all you hear is the quiet, ”Never do such a thing again”, as the car pulled up the driveway to the manor

That very night, Bruce brings Jason to the manor

And the urgent conversation Alfred planned on having with Bruce fell to the wayside

That's some of what I’ve got so far lol, there's… a lot more honestly. The brain worms are hard at work. Hope you enjoyed!

[nothorses]

a transmasc only discord server is kind of fucking weird tbh. you call transfems seperationists for voicing their unique oppressions and then get pissy and make a server where you can just circle jerk and pat each other on the back, never questioning your transmisogyny? i think people can see who the true “seperationists” are.

About a year ago the queer black woman leading the organization we were working to start asked me and the other white people working with her to lead an affinity group that white families joining the org would be required to participate in, and which would read and discuss anti-racist/anti-white supremacist literature together, as a way of protecting space for black & brown staff, families, and program participants.

She stressed that it was important for this to be specific to white people, and explained that she wanted to start a parallel one for people of color involved in the org, because those conversations are really different between those groups. Importantly, the kind of honesty and vulnerability required to effectively unpack white supremacy culture is, well, generally not safe (or often possible) for people of color to embody in a space where white people are unpacking their own white supremacist ways of thinking and acting- even if they're doing it in an explicitly anti-racist context.

This is derived from the idea of "affinity groups", often specifically "identity affinity groups", which are commonly used in activist spaces and workplaces seeking to dismantle oppressive systems and culture from within. The idea is that creating spaces specific to identities allows for conversations about personal experiences with oppression that would be difficult to hold otherwise; both for those who have been harmed, and those who have done harm. It's not an end-all be-all kind of tool, but it can definitely be helpful.

In the context of marginalized identities, these kinds of spaces can also be a really great way of facilitating community-building, especially where there is a capacity for establishing positive cultural norms in the process (like not tolerating certain kinds of bigotry, especially if you also make space to express, challenge, and unpack bigoted ideas).

Transmascs, as a group, historically struggle to connect with community. Invisibility coupled with the isolating nature of queerness (as a marginalized identity that emerges later in life, and generally not through genetics), and in particular the way transness tends to funnel into a desire to "pass" & further isolates folks by preventing them from even identifying one another, contributes to this naturally. There's also a phenomena in which feminist and queer community spaces tend to be hostile towards anyone they perceive as "masculine", and therefore threatening. This includes transmascs (esp. those who are or have transitioned) and transfems (esp. those who are pre-transition/non-transitioning or butch), along with plenty of other groups (black people especially).

Thus, a transmasc-specific server serves a few purposes:

It acts as a space for transmascs to discuss our unique experiences with lessened anxiety around accidentally phrasing something in a way that does harm to others in the space

It acts as a space for transmascs to challenge one another on bigoted or harmful ideas, which may be better received coming from someone who shares some of those personal experiences- and is often easier given from a person who is not personally hurt by what was said/done.

It acts as a space for transmascs to build community with other transmascs

It establishes positive community norms early in that process, which often carry outside of that space and into others.

Among lots of other things!

Identity affinity groups aren't the end-all be-all; it's important for folks to interact, connect, and build community with people from a diversity of backgrounds, experiences, and perspectives. That's how we grow, and it's part of how we make sure the ideas we have about the world include and account for everyone.

Trans experiences have been absent from a huge portion of feminist theory; earlier theory especially. That- and the exclusion of black & brown experiences- is how we got radfeminism. Also known as second wave feminism, which preceded the inclusion of intersectionality that defined the third wave.

Transmasc experiences have been absent from a huge portion of trans theory; this isn't a conspiracy or anything, it's something Julia Serano acknowledges in the opening pages of Whipping Girl (even though she also goes on to make assumptions about experiences not her own anyway).

My opinion is that community-building is an essential step in promoting the inclusion of transmasc perspectives on a larger scale: it gives transmascs a space to identify patterns in their experiences. We can then take our observations into diverse communities, where we can identify similarities and differences in how others are treated, learn from one another, and cultivate a more complete understanding of oppression across all demographics.

Your ask makes me think you're not really interested in all of this- and you were instead just looking to make me feel or look bad (or perhaps just make yourself feel good)- but maybe I'm wrong! I would love to be wrong. Or maybe someone else will learn from this instead.

[rottenstawberrygirl]

My, my, a game? I would be happy to participate. Thank you for tagging me. ^^

Last Song: Ruler of My Heart (SUA.ver) | Alien Stage

(Sua's version of this song sounds very passionate and intimate in my opinion. I imagined for a second that this song could have been seeing Fyodor through the reader's point of view hahaha. Would have been mine personally. > <⸝⸝)

Favorite Color: Pastel colors like light pink, baby blue, lilac, etc. are my favorite.

Last Book: I'm still reading the book Republic by Plato. Additionally, I have seen Quality's new fanfic (a cult Fyodor series!! 🥹), but I haven't read it yet. I plan on reading that very soon too and share my thoughts about it with her!

Last Movie: Interview with the Vampire (1994)

Last TV Show: I have recently finished watching the second season of Squid Game, but on the other hand, I am continuing to watch The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. during my free time.

Sweet/Savory/Spicy: Sweet till the end ! I have a really big sweet tooth. >:}

Relationship Status: Single, unfortunately. 💔 (But if a guy were to make a move on me, I would cry. I'm terrified of men. Gimme Fyodor.)

Last Thing I Googled: white chrysanthemum flower symbolism

Current Obsession: Fyodor Dostoevsky from Bungou Stray Dogs as if I haven't mentioned him enough here and make it clear as day. 😭 I also think it’s worth mentioning Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun. (I've been active in this fandom now for 5 years. And after reading the recent chapters my obsession only gotten worse. I have an emotional attachment to this manga. The second season of the anime is about to be aired too.)

Looking Forward To: Responding to the messages. Lately, I've been feeling blue both because I've been busy with my studies and because I've received some unfortunate news (which I can’t share with anyone, sorry) so I couldn't find the energy to reply to anyone. My thoughts were completely focused on these. I hope no one felt ignored as I certainly read everything you wrote and I'm glad that you guys want to engage in a conversation with me. I do intend to get back to you all as soon as I can, I need more time. I need to process things and pull myself together. I'm sorry if I hurt the feelings of any of you. I'm just struggling.

Tags (no pressure! 🤍): @lowertaste-heart @sunnxyzs @ruby0rrp @theonlyqualitytrash @tiramisuandlove @literatureloverx @staysincoma @suwihesp @mellsbell @strawberryisokaj @merriclo @fedyasolnishka @melou008 @sochai13

I want to extend my warmest wishes to each of you for a truly lovely day ahead. Remember to take care of yourselves and stay safe. Kisses and more kisses! <3

thank you @slashsleuth for the tag 😁 i havent done a little game in a long time

last song: fruit roll ups by waterparks

fav color: purple 💜😈💟🪻

last book: the absinthe underground by jamie pacton (it was ok)

last movie: wicked

last tv show: abbott elementary

sweet/savory/spicy: sweet usually

relationship status: single 😊

last thing i googled: the absinthe underground (needed the author lmao) before that it was turbulent waterparks chords

current obsession: ive been watching a lottt of jet lag lately!!! super fun travel show!!

looking forward to: signed parx print coming in the mail today 🫶🏼

tagging: @bergoozter @trashworldblog @outer-space-face @22psyduck :-)

[devsblurbs]

I would like to request 🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️ (bellamy x reader)

Okay, hear me out. Best friends to lovers..I’m thinking something along the lines of either the reader gets hurt or Bell gets jealous somehow and it ends in smut ✨

Not picky ab plot or what season (prolly 1-4 tho ngl) but just those tropes pretty please 🩷

Jealousy, Jealousy—B. Blake

A/n: I love this idea yes yes yes, Bellamy getting jealous and finally having enough and just snapping and giving in to what he really wants? Yes please.

Summary - Bellamy and reader have been best friends since coming to the ground, and for a while that was enough for him. Until she starts hanging around Murphy a little too much, he gets jealous and finally snaps.

Warnings - 18+ MDNI , smut , unprotected sex , strong language , choking , cowgirl , use of praise , degrading

Word count - 5.5k

Bellamy Blake should’ve lost his mind a long time ago, from the moment he’d arrived on the ground he’d been met with one hardship after another. Constantly dealing with a battle in his mind against what was right, or what was wrong. The responsibilities he held should’ve crushed him, but they didn’t, because of her.

Y/n, she’d been the steady hand, the voice of reason, the one who kept his mind held together when the chaos of survival threatened to tear him apart. She was his anchor, keeping him grounded when he needed it most. She was never afraid of speaking her mind to him, keeping him in check, steering him on the right path, always assuring him he was doing his best. She was the one person who could keep up with his plans, challenge him when needed, and still make him laugh after a long day.

In return, Bellamy was the reason she felt safe. She found comfort in knowing he was around, she knew if it came to it he’d do whatever he could to protect her. It wasn’t a one sided thing, they were both there for each other however they could be. They weren’t just best friends, they were two halves of the same whole.

While he carried the weight of leadership and responsibility, she carried light–a warmth that reminded him why survival mattered at all. They had built a life together on this unpredictable earth, keeping each other grounded as they navigated its relentless dangers of the unseen terrain before them.

They were always together, and neither of them would have it any other way. Their friendship was an unbreakable bond, so strong not even the toughest of knives could splice it. They shared everything with each other– Meals, secrets they dare not tell anyone else, long late night conversations by the fire just relishing in each other's company. He trusted her in a way that he gave to no one else, just her. She was his rock, his person, the one he could count on no matter what happened. For a long time, that was enough.

But then came Murphy.

He had always been a huge thorn in Bellamy’s side– Sarcastic, selfish, and unpredictable. Murphy always found a way to cause some sort of problem that Bellamy would have to remedy, and he only ever thought of himself when making decisions.

When Murphy started spending more time around, Y/n, Bellamy simply brushed it off. She was kind to everyone, even to people who didn’t deserve it, it’s just who she was as a person. That was one of things he had always admired about her, and who was he to stop her from making friends?

But aside from all that, he couldn’t help the way his stomach churned when he saw them together. He began noticing every little subtle thing, the way she laughed a little louder when Murphy was around, the way they stood too close for comfort, their heads bent together in whispered conversations, and the way her smile would linger just a fraction of a second too long while looking at him for Bellamy’s liking.

He was supposed to be the one making her smile like that, not him. He hated the way they were with each other, always laughing as if they knew something no one else did. Constantly going off with each other for hours at a time, to scout or collect supplies. Why didn’t she just ask him? Why did it have to be Murphy, it made his blood boil. The more these little interactions happened the harder it got for him to keep his mouth shut, he’d just watch from a distance, a scowl painting his freckled face as he kept his jaw clenched shut.

Tonight was no different.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, the camp was alive with the distant hum of chatter, the crackling of the evening fire, and the rhythmic clinking of tools as the last of the day's chores wrapped up. Bellamy leaned against a makeshift table, his dark brown eyes scanning the camp for her–Y/n. She was late, something that had become a regular occurrence over the past few days, she would come back late, with Murphy, which he assumed would be the case tonight.

Sure enough, his gaze locked on her familiar silhouette near the supply tent. Her laughter rang out, soft and melodic, a sound that usually brought him peace. But right now in this very moment, it grated his nerves, that laugh was meant for his ears and his ears alone. Murphy stood beside her, his trademark smirk plastered across his face as he said something that made her throw her head back in laughter.

His jaw tightened, his fists clenching around the corners of the table. He didn’t know why her being with him angered him so much, or why it made him so jealous, but he couldn’t stop the rage that bubbled up inside of him. She was his person, they’d been through everything together–landing on the ground, fighting to survive, building this new fragile life, defending him when no one else would. She was the one person who knew him better than anyone else, one that could see past his rough, commanding facade to the man beneath. And now, she was spending all her freetime with Murphy?

“Hey, you good?” Raven spoke out, he was a bit startled at first, so lost in his jealous thoughts he hadn’t even noticed her approaching him.

“Fine.” He muttered, his gaze still locked onto Y/n and Murphy, afraid that if he’d look away something would happen.

Raven followed his line of sight, and smirked at him almost as if she knew something he didn’t. “Uh-huh, sure.. You look like you’re about to rip his throat out.”

She could clearly tell why Bellamy was upset, even if he was too naive to realize it himself. Anyone with a brain could see the way he pined after her, but his mind was too stubborn and clouded to realize it, he was simply just stuck in a jealous haze.

He simply grunted, pushing off the table to get away from Raven, he wasn’t in the mood. Before he could even think, he was striding over to the supply tent where the two were standing. There was just something in the air tonight, something strong, he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer.

Y/n noticed him first, her eyes lighting up in a way that always made his chest tighten. “Bells!” She waved at him, “Where've you been? Murphy and I were just–”

“I see that,” He interrupted, his voice sharp. His eyes flickered towards Murphy, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Her smile faltered, clearly confused at where this sudden attitude had come from, to her knowledge she hadn’t done anything wrong. But the jealousy that clouded his mind told him otherwise.

“What’s your problem?” She asked skeptically, wanting to know why he was so upset.

“My problem?” He finally snapped, stepping closer, finally not able to hold back how he’d been feeling, “My problem is you spending all your time with him.” He gestured to Murphy, who let out a low whistle.

“Well, this just got interesting. I’ll leave you two to sort out whatever this is.” With a mock salute, he sauntered away, not wanting to get involved in whatever heated argument that was to follow.

Y/n and Bellamy stood there, a tense silence covering the air around them.She crossed her arms, her expression sifting from confusion to annoyance. “What the hell, Bellamy? What’s your deal?”

“My deal? He’s not exactly the most trustworthy person to be hanging around.” He said, truth be told though even if he was, he’d probably still be just as pissed.

She simply rolled her eyes, “Oh come on, he’s trying. You of all people should understand that people can change.”

“That’s not the goddamn point!” He barked.

“Then what is?” She shot back, her voice rising, “Because from where I’m standing, it just looks like you're pissed I’m spending time with someone else, you can’t expect me to spend all my time with you!”

He froze, the words hit him like a punch to the gut, settling uneasily into his stomach. She wasn’t wrong, but he couldn’t admit that–not to her, not to himself. But deep down, he wanted to snap out that she was his girl, not Murphy’s. He wanted her to spend all her time with him and him alone, he wanted her to himself.

He didn’t say anything else, his chest heaved, his emotions teetering on a razor’s edge as he stared at her. Her words echoing in his head, his fists clenched, the raw swirl of jealousy and fear consuming him like a raging out of control fire. Without thinking, without weighing the consequences, something inside of him snapped.

He reached for her, grabbing her arm tightly with one singular fluid motion.

“Bellamy–” She began, but her words were cut short as he pulled her towards his tent with determined strides. His grip was tight, but not enough to hurt her, though the intensity and fire in his eyes was enough to send a shock through her.

“What are you doing?” She practically demanded, her voice tinged with confusion, and touch of anger still blistering within her, but he didn’t answer.

He shoved open the flap of his tent, yanking her inside, before releasing her wrist. For a moment, there was silence, the kind that was thick and suffocating, weighing both of them down heavily.

“Bells, talk to me,” She tried again, her voice slightly softer now, almost pleading. But instead of talking, he closed the space between them, in a single step, his dark eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch in her throat.

His voice of reason went out of the window, he didn’t care about anything anymore, not what would happen after this, not about Murphy, he just wanted her. His lips crashed onto hers, it wasn’t gentle, nor hesitant. It was raw, unrestrained, and desperate, as if he’d been holding himself back for far too long. His hands framed her face, his fingers threading into her hair as he poured every ounce of frustration, jealousy, and something deeper- something terrifying real, some unspoken emotion he’d been hiding away–into that kiss.

She froze, her mind reeling. This was Bellamy, her best friend, the person she trusted more than anyone, and he was kissing her. Her mind ran wild with thoughts, was this why he had been so jealous?

She felt the tension in his grip, the way his body seemed to hold hers as if to say, ‘You’re mind.’ It wasn’t just passion– there was a hint of fear there too, a fear of losing her, of being left behind. Slowly her hands trailed up his chest, not to push him away, but to steady herself as her lips met his slowly beginning to show the same yearning back.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, forehead resting against hers as he struggled to find the right words. The kiss had conveyed all the emotions his voice never could, and now he struggled to get them out.

“I can’t do this anymore,” He murmured, his voice hoarse, “I can’t stand watching you with him, Y/n. I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with it.”

Her eyes stared up into his, “Bellamy..”

“I know I’m being selfish,” He continued, “But I don’t give a fuck anymore, I can’t keep trying to tell myself that I don’t want you all to myself.”

She swallowed at that, her heart beat picking up as he spoke to her, his voice raw with emotion. His hand was on her hip, his grip possessively screaming that she was his, and he looked down at her with a type of fire that had her stomach doing somersaults. Her mind was racing, her heart pounding her chest so hard she was certain he could hear it. The intensity of his words, the raw emotion in his voice, and the lingering taste of his lips on hers had shattered the delicate walls built between them. She had told herself for so long that they were just friends, trying so hard to convince herself of that. She had no idea until now that he was in turn doing the same thing, they both yearned for each other deep down but locked it away.

“Bell,” She whispered, her voice soft, and smooth.

His hand still possessively held her hip, as his other came up to hold her face in a way that sent shivers down her spine. His eyes searched hers, waiting for her to speak, waiting for her to say something, anything.

But words didn’t come out of her throat, instead she surged forward, closing the distance between them once more. Her lips met his in another kiss, this one more heated than the last. It was rough, and passionate–a release of all the pent up emotions the two had. Her hands clutched his shirt, gripping it tightly, almost afraid that if she were to let go he’d disappear.

He was stunned by her sudden move for a moment, before a low guttural sound escaped his lips. His arms wrapped around her tightly, pulling her against her as closely as he could, anchoring her to him as though she might slip away.

She pressed closer to him, her body molding into hers like a puzzle piece, her heart racing as she poured everything she couldn’t say into the kiss. Every stolen glance, every moment she had pretended to not care for him like this–it was all there, laid out bare within the kiss.

When they finally broke apart for the second time, both of them were breathing hard, foreheads resting against each other, the air thick with the tension and heat between them.

“Y/n..” He rasped, his voice low and unsteady.

She looked up at him, her eyes blazing with emotion, “You’re not the only one who’s been bottling up emotions.” She finally admitted, the words leaving her lips almost lifted a weight off her shoulders that she didn’t know was there.

His hands cupped her face once more, the pad of his thumb brushing against her now swollen bottom lip, a type of heat stirring inside of her stomach as he did this, “And now?”

“I don’t care anymore, I’m tired of pretending, tired of holding back..I want this Bell, I want you.” Her voice soft, like a melody to his ears.

His breath hitched, the tension around them electric, all of their feelings laid out in the open now. Unspoken hunger aired out around them that neither of them could deny any longer. Her hands lingered on his chest, her fingers tracing lines of his muscles through his shirt, igniting his skin with sparks. She felt his heartbeat–strong, steady, and quick beneath her slander fingertips.

He lightly gripped her chin, leaning in, his lips captured hers again in another deep feverish kiss. She melted into him, her hands sliding up to tangle into his messy curls, pulling him closer as the kiss grew more desperate.

Without breaking their lips apart, his hands slid to her waist, his strong grip lifting her effortlessly. She gasped softly against his lips as he guided her onto his lap, her legs straddling him as he settled her against him on the small bed.

Her breath hitched as her knees sank down into the bed on either side of him, feeling him through his jeans against her. His hands found her hips, gripping them roughly, holding her down onto him. His lips found hers again, more urgent this time, one of his hands sliding up the small of her back, and under her shirt onto her bare skin, causing a shiver to radiate through her body. The other slid into her hair, tilting her head back slightly to deepen the kiss, his fingers digging into her like he couldn’t get enough of her.

She let out a small moan, the sound muffled against his lips, and he groaned back in response, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. The world outside the tent faded away, the jealousy faded away, all that mattered was he had her in his lap now, she was all his.

His lips left hers to trail along her jawline, pressing hot, open-mouthed kissing down the column her neck. She tilted her head back, her fingers tightening in his fair as his lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear, drawing soft whines from her lips.

“Bell,” She whispered, a slight tremble in her breathless voice.

He pulled back a bit, his dark eyes meeting hers, blazing with a lustful fire. “Say it again,” He murmured, his voice like a low growl, laced with a possessiveness that had her knees going weak.

“Bell.” She repeated, in a small whimper, her cheeks flushed.

His hands slid down to her hips, gripping them tightly, the fire between them growing hotter. It consumed every lingering doubt, and every ounce of hesitation.

His hands moved, sliding them under her shirt, feeling the warmth of her soft skin on his calloused fingers. Her breath hitched at the contact, her body arching into him instinctively. His lips found her neck again, trailing soft kisses and bites down her collar bone.

His hands gripped the hem of her shirt, tugging it upward in one swift motion. She lifted her arms up, letting him pull it off fully. He tossed it aside without a second thought, his eyesing trailing up and down her bare torso. The way he looked at her–hungry, reverent, possessive–made her heart race, a fierce pool of heat pooling in her stomach.

“You’re so beautiful,” He murmured against her neck, his breath hot against her skin.

Her lips parted to respond, but before she could speak, his hands gripped her waist again, pulling her close as his lips crashed against hers again. The kiss was desperate, fierce, as if trying to claim her completely as his.

His lips left hers, trailing down her jawline, her neck, her shoulders, and in between her breasts. He kissed every inch of skin that he could reach, his teeth grazing against her occasionally, leaving small marks to stake his claim. Her head was tilted back, soft moans leaving her lips relishing in the pleasure that just his lips left her with.

“You’re mine,” He growled against her chest, his voice low and fierce. His hands tightened around her, holding her as if he never wanted to let her go.

Her breath caught in her throat at his words, the intensity of his voice sending a thrill through her. The way her chest heaved, and she stared at him with a type of need seemed to ignite something inside of him. His lips crashed against hers again with a new found urgency, his kisses were demanding, rough, leaving her breathless in his arms.

She felt his hands exploring her body, tracing the curve of her waist, down the line of her spine. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she matched his passion, her own desire overwhelming her.

His lips left hers to trail hot kisses down her chest, his hands going up to knead her breasts in between his fingers.Each touch of his lips sent a shiver up her spine, and she could feel the tension in his body, the sheer force of his restraint as tried to hold himself back.

“Bell..” His name left her lips again, a soft whine, almost like a prayer, her voice barely audible.

He pulled back a little, his hands framing her face as he stared into her eyes, a sheer dark force of lust behind them, “Tell me you’re mine, love.” He demanded, his voice low, and commanding. He wasn’t asking her, he was telling her.

“ ‘m yours, always.” Her gaze met his with half lidded eyes as she spoke.

He bit his lip, hearing her say that she was setting off something almost primal within him. A low growl caught in his throat, as his fingers gripped her and held her close on his lap. She in turn reached for his shirt, her fingers gripping the fabric tightly. She tugged at it, her breath catching her throat as he pulled back just enough to help her. In one motion, he threw it off, revealing the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders.

Her gaze lingered, taking in every detail–the taut muscles, the faint scars etched into his skin, and the way his chest rose and fell with every heavy breath. Tentatively, her fingers traced down from his chest, to his shoulders, right to his defined v-line just for a moment, before going back up to rest on his chest.

His eyes burned into hers, his lips quirking into a small, almost smug smile at her touch. “Like what you see, princess?” He teased, his voice a low rumble.

She rolled her eyes playfully, humming a yes, fingers trailing over his skin as she did so. He smirked, leaning in to capture her lips again, but this time his hands moved up, brushing her sides before settling on her chest. Taking her nipples in between his fingers, and toying with them. She couldn’t stop the breathy sound that escaped her lips, or the way her hips instinctively ground against his needily.

He pulled away from the kiss, groaning softly, his fingers gripping her softly from the friction of her hips. He chuckled low in his throat, the sound deep and teasing.

“So sensitive.” He mumbled, clearly amused.

She didn’t have time to respond before he shifted his grip, hands sliding to grab her hips. With a deliberate slowness, he guided her movements, pressing her down against his hard on. The friction caused another gasp from her, and a low moan to come from his throat.

“Fuck–” She cursed under her breath, the feeling of him grinding against her was driving her mad, it was slow and teasing. Giving her a little bit of pleasure, but not truly giving her what she wanted or rather what she needed.

He grinned, his hands tightening against her hips, pushing her down against him a little more. His eyes sparkling mischievously as she seemed to get a bit frustrated, “What’s the matter hm? Someones a little worked up.”

She let out a soft whine, trying to move against him more, but his firm grip prevented her from doing so. She was getting needy, and impatient, “Quit teasing.”

He chuckled again, rolling his hips against hers a bit, “But where's the fun in that?”

She huffed out, her eyes meeting his in a silent plea.

“Tell me what you want.” He leaned in whispering into her ear, his voice low and gravely in her ear.

She swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing even deeper, “You.. I want you, please Bell.” She pleaded with him, her chest heaving.

His smirk only grew darker as her breathless pleas filled the air, the way her voice trembled, the way she was all needy for him. “That’s all I needed to hear,” He murmured, satisfied with her begging.

With one last lingering kiss, he gently shifted her off his lap, his hands sliding down her sides as he did. She whimpered softly at the loss of contact, her hands instinctively reaching for him. But he only smirked, standing to his full height as he looked down at her, the dim candle light casting shadows across his broad, muscular frame.

Her lips went to open to say something, but the words caught in her throat as he reached for the button of his jeans. He popped it open, dragging down the zipper slowly, teasingly, his eyes never leaving hers. She swallowed, her heart pounding as she watched him push the fabric down his hips, tossing them to the side.

He stood there for a moment, letting her take him in, his toned body practically glowing in the soft light. Her gaze swept over him, her breathing erratic, her cheeks painted a deep shade of red.

“Someone's drooling over there,” He teased, “Practically over there eye fucking me.” A low chuckle left his lips, clearly amused with the way she stared at him like he was some kind of Greek god.

She rolled her eyes despite her obvious flustered state, but she just couldn’t tear her eyes away from this god-like man in front of him. The way sweat dripped down his toned chest, the way his hard length was right in front of her, “You’re insufferable.” She muttered playfully, her voice lacking any real heat.

He chuckled, his lips leaning down to capture hers in a quick but heated kiss, “And you’re staring.” He shot back, tone laced with amusement.

Before she could retort, his hands moved down to the waistband of her pants. His rough thick fingers brushing against her skin, pulling a soft whine from her lips as he hooked them under the fabric pulling them down, hands grazing her thighs as he did. He then tossed them to the side with the rest of their discarded clothes.

He straightened back up, taking his turn in looking her over. His eyes holding a mixture of hunger and reverence in them as he drank in her appearance, “So fuckin’ perfect.” He said softly, voice filled with awe.

He didn’t say anything else, climbing back onto the bed, he settled himself down. His arms reached out to guide her back onto his lap, his cock resting against her stomach, not giving it to her just yet. He could tell just how desperate she was, how needy she was for him. The way she clung to him, the quiet needy whimpers falling from her lips, the way her heavy-lidded eyes stared at his.

“You want my cock that bad hm?” He asked, his voice low and rough.

She whimpered in response, gripping his shoulders tightly, her chest heaving, her swollen lips parted slightly, her mind clouded over with need, and desperation.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk, “Tell me how bad you want this dick.” He mused, finger swiping over her bottom lip.

She flushed, her cheeks burning as she squirmed against him, desperate for him, “Want you so bad..” Her voice barely above a whisper.

“Not good enough,” He murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against her ear, “Beg for it, show me how badly you need me.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she hesitated, her pride waiting with the overwhelming desire to feel him inside of her. But with the way he was looking at her, the way his hands held down, the way his cock rested against her stomach so close to her but not inside of her was driving her insane.

“Please, Bell,” She broke, her voice trembling, “I need you, please–just fuck me please.” She stammered out.

He groaned softly, her words hitting him like a tidal wave. He leaned back, his dark eyes fixated onto hers, “That’s my good girl,” He said, his fingers sliding into her mouth. She took the hint, swirling her tongue around them, making popping sounds as he pulled them out.

“Such a needy slut for me aren’t you?” He mumbled, he had heard everything he needed to hear and he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

With a swift move, he lifted her hips up, sliding her down onto his cock slowly, bringing a sharp moan from her lips. The way he stretched her, and filled her already had her eyes rolling back. For a moment, he held her in place, making her savor it, savor him. But it didn’t last long, the way she was gripping him was driving him wild, gripping her hips she helped her start moving up and down at a slow steady pace.

“Gripping me so hard love, this pussys so greedy for me huh?” He mumbled, his head tilting back a little, a soft groan leaving her lips.

The slow pace didn’t last long though, his control snapping with the soft whimpers and whines that left her lips. The sight of her already completely undone even with the slow pace had him losing his mind, he did that to her, she was this much of a mess on his cock already.

His grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging into her skin as he pulled her down onto him sharply, roughly. Her hands holding onto his shoulders to steady herself as he drilled up into her, her head falling into the crook of his neck, unrestrained cries of his name falling from her lips.

“That feel good?” He growled, his voice low and possessive as he held her firmly, moving her hips up and down onto his cock, “You’re all fucking mine, princess. Every. Single. Part.”

Her fingers clung to his shoulders, her body trembling under his touch, her mind fogged over, she was a mess of moans and whines.

“This pussy? All fuckin’ mine, it was made for this cock.” He mumbled, thrusting up into her fiercely.

His eyes burned with an almost feral intensity as he watched her, completely intrapped with the way she looked bouncing up and down on his cock, the way her hair was a mess, the way her breasts bounced. He was completely lost in her, and she was lost in him.

“Say it,” He demanded, his hand going up to grip her throat roughly, “Tell me this pussy is mine.” His voice commanded as he snapped his hips into her roughly, making her cry out again.

“Fuck– all yours, pussys all yours!” She stammered out breathlessly.

His lips crashed against hers, silencing her cries, kissing her with such ferocity. One hand tangled into her hair, tilting her head back to deepen the kiss, while the other stayed on her hips helping guide her movements with a roughness that left no doubts of her claim over her.

“You drive me insane,” He muttered against her lips, “No one else gets to touch you like this, you hear me? Just me.”

She nodded quickly, eyes squeezed shut as crores continued to spill from her lips, “Just–you.”

Her words sent a wave of satisfaction through him, and he groaned, burying his face into her neck, each motion of his hips drawing more and more cries from he lips. “That’s my girl,” He growled, “Taking me so well.”

Their bodies moved in perfect sync with each other, driven by an overwhelming need. His hands were everywhere–gripping, guiding, pulling her closer as she melted into him. Sweat dripped down their bodies, her breasts bouncing with every move.

Her breaths were shallow, each one coming out in a gasp or a sharp whine as she bounced her hips on him, desperate for more.Her fingers scratched at his skin, leaving red marks in their wake. Her legs trembled, and his movements got sloppier.

“I can’t–can’t hold on much longer.” She whined out, throwing her head back.

He kept snapping his hips into hers, “I’ve got you love.”

His hands held her, pulling her up and pushing her down as he rutted his hips up, panting, desperately chasing his own release.

“Wanna cum for me, pretty girl?” He whispered in his ear, his movements still at their relentless pace, “Go on, make a mess for me.”

She did, her eyes rolling back, sharp cries of his name falling from her lips like a prayer, as her whole body tightened and trembled against him. He wasn’t long after, groans falling from his lips, pulling out and shooting hot ropes of cum all over her stomach.

Both of them panting, foreheads pressed together as they collected themselves.

“You’re so beautiful..” He murmured, taking her disheveled appearance in. Purple bruises, swollen lips, messy hair, he claimed her in every way that he could.

She chuckled softly, her body still trembling a bit as he cleaned off her stomach. After he was done, he laid them both down onto the bed, his arm protectively wrapped around her.

“You’re mine, and I’m not letting you go anywhere.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, holding her head against his bare chest.

“All yours, though if getting you jealous means you’re gonna fuck me like this maybe I’ll have to do it more often.” She joked, and he only playfully rolled his eyes.

Things were different now, all of those unsaid emotions were out. There was no need for jealousy anymore, he made sure she knew that she was his and his alone.

[eyelessfaces]

ahead, ahead

poe dameron x reader

summary: “We– You’ll never settle down, Poe. We both know this. And neither will I, as long as we’re in this.” Your eyes rake over his face, his eyes softly fluttering with hurt when he averts his gaze from you. “It'll never work.”

or; your fear of the future forces you to reject the man you love.

warnings: rejecting poe but we're not actually truly rejecting him (who, in their right mind would reject this man), talks of the war, of being scared of the future, extremely brief mentions of an injury, death and grief

tags: gn!reader, idiots in love, angst, fluff, celebration, kissing, idk man I hate tagging this stuff you'll see

word count: 2.9k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

lmao hey I'm back ig if this fic doesn't hit ten thousand notes in 48hrs I'm dipping again

The night is fairly quiet, save for the occasional crackle over the comms. You and Poe are tucked away in an observation post, overlooking a seemingly endless empty desert; it feels like you've been here for hours, time blending now that the only light around is the shining stars and the small dots of your devices. 

Poe lightly clears his throat, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “You can't go away from any conversation right now, so,” 

You shouldn’t even be surprised that he can not keep his mouth shut for longer than three minutes. “Why won't you let me take you out on a date?”

You sigh. “Poe, not now.” 

You can feel his eyes burning holes through you, knowing exactly what gaze he’s using on you, knowing his big, warm, pleading brown eyes will have the exact effect he intends to cast over you if you happen to turn to him.

You keep watching ahead, trying your best to ignore his too obvious firm gaze over you in your peripheral vision, feigning focus on trying to notice anything unusual in the broad land of sand ahead of you. He makes it really hard.

“What? Perfect situation to talk about this” he says, his gaze on you unwavering. “For me” he shrugs with a teasing smile.

You bite the inside of your cheek, hoping that your silence will make him drop it. But he’s Poe Dameron. 

“Tell me. Tell me why. I genuinely want to know your reasons.” he says, leaning back into his seat. “Hurt my feelings if you have to. I just wanna know”

You can feel the pressure starting to pull down on you. You know he won’t let it go, but you also don’t want to hurt your friend while you’re stuck with him for what could be hours.

“So what, because no one ever says no to you you can’t take someone rejecting you?” you scoff, turning to him before you check the comms again though you know there’s nothing new. 

He laughs, a choked, startled laugh. “We both know it’s not that. You kissed me”

You sigh, tension coiling tight and your heart leaping in your chest as you set the comms down again, at this point begging the maker for something to happen, maybe even for a First Order ambush just to get you out of this conversation. “Maybe I was just pitying you.” you mutter under your breath, busying yourself out of it by picking the underside of your nails.

“Oh, you were shitting your pants at the idea of losing me. That's why you kissed me. You were so scared I might be dead you ran to kiss me when you found out I wasn't.” 

Your eyes close wearily. He’s on point. 

“And you almost could have chipped my teeth with how hard our mouths clashed, so,” he trails off. “Come on. Why won’t you tell me? I really just wanna know. I can handle it.” he murmurs, more softly this time. Your head shakes as you tut impatiently. His gentle tone doesn’t make it less painful to be in this situation. “I promise you won’t hurt my feelings, you already kinda did anyway, so I guess I’m not really–” Poe stops when you suddenly grab his arm and hold a finger up, your eyes widening as you freeze.

“Listen”

Poe halts and goes silent, alert to any sound around, any faint wind breeze, any footstep, anything. 

“...I’m not hearing anything” he declares after a while, eyebrows furrowed.

You recline into your seat, releasing your grip on him. “Exactly. How peaceful”

He lets out a soft, bitter chuckle and looks away, into the waves of sand, pretending to get his focus back onto the task at hand. 

He finally, as you wished, lets the tight space be silent again, but after a while, you come to admit that the heavy silence is arguably more agonizing than having Poe run his mouth about something you don’t really want to talk about.

“You'll always care about the Resistance more than you could care about me.”

“What?” Poe scoffs and glances back over you, eyebrows raised. You give him a small shrug. “That’s not true. You know that’s not true.”

Your gaze darts to him before you look back out the window at your side. “It’s not even a bad thing, it’s who you are, and that’s why people follow you, that’s why I follow you, but–”

He stares at you, his gaze burning through you again, caught somewhere between confusion and frustration. “But what? What makes you think that?” 

You can hear the startled hurt in his tone, the clear bewilderment, the clear need and urge in him to argue.

“You're a busy man. You're always on the run–” 

“So are you” he cuts you off.

“That's what I mean. We’re both so busy with this– this endless fight. We barely have time to sleep, let alone,” you gesture vaguely between the both of you, catching the pleading gaze you were desperately trying to avoid earlier, hoping he will get what you mean without you having to say it out loud, without having to stab him right through the heart once again.

“So what?” he insists, his tone firmer. “We both know that. That’s part of the deal. But that doesn’t mean we couldn’t make it work”

You shake your head, sensing it will only keep going down from there. “We– You’ll never settle down, Poe. We both know this. And neither will I, as long as we’re in this.” Your eyes rake over his face, his eyes softly fluttering with hurt when he averts his gaze from you. “It'll never work.”

The thick silence painfully grips at your throat, and just when it feels Poe might start to speak again, the comms crackle with a signal, alerting a presence on the grounds. 

You stand up and gather the stuff you need, the mission you let aside needing your full focus again, and as you take your blaster out of your holster, you can still feel Poe’s lingering gaze over you, your chest tightening in a sense of guilt you’ve never felt before.

—

It’s spontaneous and unconstrained when you fall into Poe’s embrace, but you do, and it’s like nothing ever happened in that observation post a few weeks ago. Your hands fist tightly into the fabric of his flight suit while you're still careful not to press yourself too close against his wounded arm. The general hubbub of celebration is rumbling on the ground of Ajan Kloss, thrumming through the air, and you can only feel relief as Poe’s hand cups the back of your head, pulling you closer into the embrace. For a brief moment, you just stay here, mingling with each other, breathing him in like you didn't completely push him away the last time you faced him.

“Are you okay?” he asks when you pull back slightly, looking you up and down, eyes raking through as he searches for any sign of injury.

“Are you?” you ask back, eyeing his arm wrapped in a cloth and held against his chest by a sling. 

He shrugs, grimacing as he quickly waves it off, trying to downplay it. “That's fine. Nothing I've never seen before. I got things to celebrate before I start whining about this” he grins. 

He smiles wider when he sees your smile, your cheeks warming up as his gaze lingers over you, taking in every detail of your face. You have barely been able to catch each other for longer than two minutes outside of missions these past few weeks, so knowing he will now be able to see you for maybe three minutes longer now that the galaxy isn’t at stake anymore brings another layer to the wider sense of relief of this war being over. “I’m glad you made it out alright” he says quietly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the noise. 

“Couldn’t have done it without such an amazing leader” you tease, and he lets out a genuine laugh, shaking his head, but your own laughter fades as he gets cornered by his fellow squadron pilots, pulling him away from you.

You smile when you see his eyes crinkle as they cheer with him, and you give him another smile and nod when he mouths you a quick apology as they drag him away.

—

You stare off into the distance, a small smile tugging at your lips when from afar, you notice Finn being swirled around by Rose, all smiles. 

There’s a bittersweet feeling to this, all of this. It’s supposedly all over, but you also have no idea what to expect for tomorrow, and the next day, and all the ones after that, and the idea is terrifying. 

You put your glass down beside you on the crate that serves you as a bench, turning when you feel a presence approaching.

“Hey” Poe smiles, sitting by your side on the wide crate.

“Hey,” you reply, a hint of tiredness in your voice though his presence lifts you up a little.

“Overwhelmed?” 

You scoff, giving him a half nod, barely a tilt of the head. “Yeah, you could say that”

He gives you a nod of comprehension, staring off at the loud, joyful celebration in the distance. 

Puffs of dirt are flowing off the ground from being beaten by dancing feet, the particles visible from the strings and poles of lanterns set up for the occasion, revealing the figures of people overflowing with energy though that layer will peel off and reveal the true exhaustion stemming from the battle soon enough.

The night is warm, making sweat cling to skins, making tears of all kinds short-lived, visual proofs of joy and grief drying and disappearing quickly.

Poe’s gaze turns back to you, his hand settling over yours. “You should join us. You shouldn’t be staying by yourself at a time like this” he prompts, lightly nudging your side, a gentle smile on his face.

“I will, eventually” you nod, glancing at a couple linking foreheads, swaying side by side. “Just having a moment,” you chuckle softly, bringing your glass back to your lips.

“Ouh, okay” he teases, begrudgingly removing his hand. “Mind if I have this moment with you?”

“Sure,” you scoff, silently offering to share your glass with Poe, disposing of it again when he silently declines.

“So, what now?” he questions, a renewed brightness filling his voice. “What are your plans now that this war’s over?” he asks, eyes roaming along your figure.

You take a deep breath, clearing yourself of a discomfort you barely realized had been smothering your chest. “I don’t know. That’s what’s terrifying” you admit. He hums in agreement, nodding. “But maybe I’m gonna apologize to a certain pilot I pushed away first” you grin, glancing at him, meeting his eyes that crinkle in the corners as he smiles. “I wanted to apologize earlier. Before they snatched you away to worship you for your feats” you tease.

He scoffs. “Sorry. Busy man as you said”

“Yeah” you exhale, taking a sip of your drink. You lick the liquid off your lips, before looking back at Poe. “I was too harsh on you. I didn’t mean to hurt you” 

He gives you a single nod and a forgiving smile. “I know. We don’t have to talk about that”

You shrug softly, averting your gaze from him again. All those people cheering and laughing and kissing could have been you and Poe instead of that slightly awkward tension between you, in a parallel reality where you hadn’t pushed your pride to the first plan, leaving your feelings behind. 

You glance at him, at the way his brown eyes catch the warm glow of the lanterns. “I wanted to kiss you again” you admit, in a faint murmur. “When we came back winning.”

Your gaze falls to your lap, your fingers drumming against your glass as you feel the weight of Poe’s gaze over you, attentive to your every word. “But I didn’t want you to think I was playing with your feelings and being cruel again, just the way I was in the observation post”

Poe’s gaze softens, his hand closing as he tries to keep himself from reaching for you again. He nods in understanding, unsure how to go on from this admission. 

“It’s not about cruelty,” he mutters, still looking at you. “It hurt because I knew you were scared. And I didn’t know how to make you not be.”

Your heart tightens inside your ribcage, your eyes briefly closing at his words. You nod, having to admit he is probably right. Scared of losing any more people you love, for the cause that has already taken so much from you.

Scared of losing him when your feelings already weighed enough on you.

“Hey,” he calls, tearing you out of your knot of blooming thoughts, nudging your knee with his own. “That’s why we’re here tonight. Because we made it” he nods. “We're all supposed to be less scared now, to enjoy the celebration and to properly take time to process our griefs.”

A faint smile grows over his face when you rest your head against his shoulder. You try to ignore the tears threatening your eyes.

“So things are supposed to be quieter now, right?” you question quietly, feeling his arm wrap around your back.

He hums in reflection. “There’s still a lot to do but, yeah, supposedly”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Always”

You let out a small, vulnerable sigh. “I never thought this day would actually happen. It was just a distant vision” you confess. “And now that it’s here I don’t know what to do”

He slightly tilts his head, glancing at you without dislodging your head from his shoulder. “You’ve never fantasized about what your life would be like after the war?”

You stay quiet for a bit, thinking about it. “Not really. Not seriously. Mostly because it didn’t really feel like this day would come, and now everyone knows what they want for themselves and I feel completely lost”

He nods. “You don't have to figure it all out now. The Resistance still has lots to sort out” he affirms, his thumb idly caressing your arm. “But you can think about it differently. You have every option now. You can start again” You pull your head away from his shoulder, considering this point of view as you grab your drink to finish it. You hum softly, rubbing your eyes when you let go of your drink, trying to chase the lingering doubts away.

“Come on, we should join the others” he clutches your shoulder before standing up. “And you need a refill”

You nod, looking back at your empty glass, propping yourself onto your feet. “Poe, wait” he turns back to you, an expectant curiosity painted over his face, watching as you step closer to him. 

“If you asked me out again,” you say, a playful smirk forming on your lips. “I’d say yes. It’d be part of my new life”

His grin widens as he fully turns to you. “Oh yeah?” he asks, an eyebrow raised and a teasing edge to his voice. 

His eyes roam over your face, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you nod. “Yeah”

He steps closer, the space between you shrinking as his hand brushes yours before he holds it again, this time more deliberately and more confidently. “You should have. Kissed me” he murmurs as your gaze darts to your linked hands then back to him, unable to repress the smile growing onto your face.

“I know,” you chuckle, watching him let his fingers intertwine with yours when you don’t pull away, his touch firm, grounding you with a peacefulness you haven’t felt in what seems to be ages. “But who says it's too late?”

“If I was that petty, I would” he grins, a teasing glint in his eyes, but the warmth in them conveys the playfulness of his words. 

You lean in to kiss him before either of you can overthink it, your free hand instinctively grabbing at the back of his neck like he can somehow still slip away from you, your fingers burying in his mass of hair damp from the heavy atmosphere.

His hand slides out of yours to cup your face and the kiss lingers, warm and unhurried, neither of you caring about the laughter and music of the celebration in the background. When you finally pull back, your foreheads touch, and you see the playful grin on his face that makes your chest ache with fondness. “Took you long enough” he teases.

“You’re so desperate” you shoot back, your tone lacking any real bite, significantly softened by the smile that refuses to leave your face. 

“You were hard to get.”

“Alright, okay” you scoff, your hand sliding to rest against his torso, adjusting the collar of his shirt on the way. 

The teasing slowly fades from his face, his hand reaching up to cover yours over the rise and fall of his torso, gently closing around your fingers

“I’ll make time for you.” he says, his voice low and sincere. “Between work, flying, building everything we’ve lost and our lives again… I’ll make time for us. I promise”

You find yourself nodding, swallowing his every word, blindly trusting him; because if there is one thing you know for sure, it is that Poe Dameron never makes empty promises.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding, and for the first time in what feels forever, moving forward doesn’t seem as terrifying.

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and keeps authors going!!

star wars taglist:

@lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift

@whatthefishh @dameronshandholder @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @spider-starry 

@jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @friedwings @luxisluxurious 

@stvnnie @dowbastan @il0vebeingdelulu @hammerhead96 @unear7hly 

@pigeonmama @c-losur3 @klillaah @Spicydonut25

[leeknot]

Chapter 6: A Step Toward Trust

masterlist

Previous | Next

Dinner was an awkward affair. You had debated not going at all, but the idea of being alone in your room again seemed worse. So, you forced yourself to push through the anxiety and made your way down to the dining room.

When you stepped inside, the pack was already gathered around a large wooden table. The atmosphere was surprisingly casual, filled with soft laughter and quiet conversation. They all turned to look at you when you entered, the same warm expressions you’d seen earlier greeting you.

"Hey, you're here!" Felix said, his voice filled with light excitement. His smile was wide, but not in a way that felt overwhelming. It was as though he was simply happy to have you in the same space.

You hesitated, standing by the doorway for a moment, before slowly making your way toward an empty seat at the table. The others watched you with a quiet patience, letting you take the lead on how close you wanted to sit, how much you wanted to engage.

The food in front of you smelled delicious, but you weren’t sure if you had the appetite to eat. Still, you picked up your utensils and began to eat, silently grateful for the fact that the pack didn’t press you for conversation.

“So, how was the flight?” Chan asked casually, his voice soft and unassuming.

You glanced at him, catching the sincerity in his eyes. It made something flutter uncomfortably in your chest. “Fine,” you muttered, taking a bite of your food. “Long.”

“Yeah, it’s a long haul,” Changbin added, nodding sympathetically. “I think it was worth it though.”

You could feel the weight of his words, the underlying meaning: They wanted you here. But no matter how kind they were, you couldn’t shake the fear. You weren’t sure if they understood how much you had to fight with yourself to even show up. How hard it was for you to not run away the moment you walked through the door.

“So, tell us about yourself.” Hyunjin said, breaking the silence that hung in the air. His voice was smooth, but there was a gentleness to it, like he was trying to coax you out of your shell.

Your stomach clenched. The thought of opening up made you want to crawl into a hole and disappear.

“I’m not really… much to tell,” you said quietly, focusing on your plate. “I’ve mostly been on my own. Not much of a story.”

There was a long pause. You could feel their eyes on you, but no one pressed. It was like they understood that opening up would take time.

“I get that,” Seungmin said after a while, his voice unexpectedly soft. “You don’t have to share anything you’re not ready to. But if you ever want to talk, we’re here for you.”

His words were simple, but they hit harder than anything else. He wasn’t pushing you. He was offering you an open space, one where you didn’t have to rush to fill the silence with your past.

“You’ve got a good crew here.” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else.

“We do,” Chan said with a gentle smile, his tone laced with pride. “But the crew gets even better with you in it.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. The truth was, part of you wanted to believe him. Part of you wanted to believe that this was real—that they really did want you here, that they would be patient, that they wouldn’t hurt you like the others had. But the other part of you, the part that had spent so long alone, remained guarded, unwilling to fully trust again.

Dinner ended without any major breakthroughs. The pack didn’t ask for more than you were willing to give, and that was both comforting and unsettling. They were giving you space. Too much space.

Afterward, you excused yourself quietly, retreating back to your room. The door clicked shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stood there, leaning against it with a sigh.

You wanted to believe in them. You wanted to let them in. But how could you? How could you open up when you were still so afraid of being hurt?

The bed called to you, offering a small semblance of safety. You crawled beneath the soft covers, curling up into a ball, and tried to block out the growing anxiety that threatened to consume you.

For now, though, you couldn’t let go. You couldn’t trust.

To be continued...

taglist: @thatgirlangelb @eastjonowhere @babygirlskz98 @realrintaro @piscesrising01 @astro-des @justiceforvillains

[polaroidpascal]

this series… this fucking series… i can’t even begin to describe the ride you’ve taken me on with this.

from the very moment they met, i knew i was gonna be completely obsessed. and each chapter really drove it home for me.

[spoilers under the cut, sorry but i just have so much to say]

chapter three fucking destroyed me, jo. i think about it so fucking often it’s not even funny. i’m dead serious it plagues my mind. if it wasn’t clear by my user, i kinda like polaroids (“kinda” lol biggest understatement of the century). the ending specifically makes my heart ache and yearn and i just want him so fucking bad.

chapter six??? THAT WAS A SPECIFIC CALL OUT JO. THAT ONE WAS PERSONAL. i’m pretty sure when you posted that one, i had been daydreaming in my classes about how ways i think frankie would help me study not two days before. that one was a personal attack really and truly.

and chapter seven… chapter fucking seven… good god. there’s something about a somno kink that will always get me… and to mix lingerie in there too i just— 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!!

the first date bonus chapter was so sickly sweet, it made my stomach hurt. the secret yearning from livvie in this part… they’re perfect they’re just perfect. your honor i love them.

chapter nine being called “blindfolded birthday” was enough to put me into a coma by itself, let alone the actual chapter itself. jesus christ 😵‍💫

when i saw the title of chapter ten, i was absolutely obsessed. but i didn’t know what kind of heartbreak you were about to put me through and god…

and then the final chapter… my god the final chapter… i cried. actually, i fully sobbed. i don’t know how you managed to dig into the deepest grooves of my brain matter and pull out something so specifically damaging to my psyche, both the actual act itself and the aftercare that followed.

his smile at the end of chapter three… when she showed up to the airport for him… when they remembered little things about each other… the slow tender romance of the make-up sex… when he hooked his leg over her hip and finally fucking said those three words they each wanted to say so badly…

jo. im serious. my chest hurts typing all of this and remembering their journey because i love them so much. i’m so beyond excited for more of them, i couldn’t possibly begin to describe it to you.

from a conversation at a diner one fateful night to the most tender and most fitting love confession i’ve ever fucking read… my god. this series is just beautiful.

bravo, my love. bravo. 💜

with no strings attached masterlist

francisco "frankie" morales x ofc!reader*

summary: stumbling into a diner in the dead of the night, frankie morales doesn't expect to find anyone there. then he meets you. what begins as a one-night-stand-turned-weekend becomes a no-strings-attached arrangement.

pairing: pre-tf/delta squad francisco morales x ofc!reader* rating: smut. 18+ for all chapters. series warnings: smut. (OFC has a name - and a nickname from frankie: blue - has a personality and backstory, but is physically a blank slate). nickname is given to reader by frankie: blue. other details are blank. "friends" with benefits/fuck buddy arrangement. we explore kinks in this (specified on individual pieces). pre-TF. dual POV.

i. THE MEETING - WARNINGS: ONE NIGHT STAND. P IN V. SMUT.

ii. LET ME WORSHIP - WARNINGS: PUSSY WORSHIP

iii. TAKE MY PICTURE - PHOTO EXHIBITIONISM

iv. SAY PRETTY PLEASE - ORGASM DENIAL

v. LEMME WATCH YOU - SEX TOYS

vi. ANYTIME, ANYPLACE - COCKWARMING / EDGING

vii. CAUGHT IN A DAZE - SOMNOPHILIA / LINGERIE

— PICK ME PUMPKIN - BONUS CHAPTER: FLUFF/FIRST DATE

viii. TIE ME UP, LIKE - LIGHT BONDAGE (ZIPTIES)

ix. BLINDFOLDED BIRTHDAY - BLINDFOLD, COCK PRAISE

x. WHEN THE STRINGS ATTACH - NO KINK, ALL ANGST 

xi. THE MORNING AFTER THE NIGHT BEFORE - NO KINK, FEELINGS, SMUT, final chapter of this season.

-

<- THE SEQUEL FOR THIS SERIES IS HERE ->

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST

GIFTS & THINGS

x the prettiest by @almostfoxglove

x marriage by me

x hallow-ghosts by me

an: this has been previously posted on my old account, but copied it here. this was supposed to be a kink collection but has now become a series...   @goodwithcheese who let me ask her insane questions about the us army, kinks and "can i run this past you" and to the gorgeous @luxurychristmaspudding who checks the spice is spicy.

[whatwooshkai]

Lucky Number 7!

"Designation?"

"Chase."

Chase keeps his finials pinned flat against his helm, doorwings wide and fanned to keep the bot behind him from getting too close, which they have been for the past five minutes.

He has a vibroknife in his subspace. He'd rather not use it- you can only make a first impression once.

The femme flips through a datapad until her optics go wide. "Oh," she murmurs, the dangling jewelry from her finials making a loud ting! when they flatten to her helm. "Oh, you're one of those. Hang on."

Chase's optic twitches. He is normally very good at keeping his emotions in check, and no one who knows him has ever seen his temper, and that's the way he wants to keep it.

But if one more bot refers to him as "one of those" he's going to do something stupid.

Chase hates doing stupid things.

"Okay, I got you right here!" The femme gives him a sheepish smile as she hands over a pair of keycards. "There was an issue with organizing the dorms this year. Normally you'd be put with other bots in your track but you ended up in the randomized group, so you'll be staying with a few bots from other tracks. That's not a problem, is it?"

Chase's finials lift slightly away from his helm. "That is fine," he says, accepting the cards. That is... probably for the best, actually. "Thank you."

"No problem!" the femme says brightly. "So you're in room 704. Elevators are on your left. Next!"

Chase shuffles away from the table, readjusting the bag he has slung over his shoulder, eyeing the key cards in his hand.

Primus, when was the last time he met new people?

The elevator is blessedly empty when he steps inside, and so is the hallway as he follows it down to his room. Well, he was in one of the last groups to check in, so that's expected.

The door has four slots for name tags, as all of the ones in this hallway do. Only two have been filled in so far, for mechs "Boulder" and "Heatwave". Both have little drawings on them, one better than the other's. However, both seem to have identical handwriting... interesting.

So it seems only two have checked in. Maybe he'll have a choice of berth, then.

Chase swipes the key card and gently opens the door.

There's two sets of bunk berths, a desk in front and behind each one. None seem to have been claimed, but on the left, there's a bag tossed on the top bunk and a few posters plastered up already, and some blankets and pillows piled up. And on the left, there's a bag on the bottom bunk, and-

Oh. He's being glared at.

"Another one?" the mech mutters, green optics narrowed at Chase. He's orange a white, with a scar cutting down through one optic. He looks about Chase's age. "'Oh, we'll get you your own room, Blades'! my aft. Mechs walking in every five minutes," he huffs.

Chase frowns. "The attitude is hardly appropriate," he says, and the mech's optics suddenly go wide, as if he thought Chase couldn't hear him.

He mutters something unintelligible and then turns over on his side, revealing a pair of rotors. A flight frame, then.

Blades. His name wasn't on the door.

Chase looks around at the other bags. So his choice has been made for him, then. As usual.

He sets his bag down on the berth to the left, projecting his calendar up on the wall. And then he sits.

He's not really sure what to do now. Conversation is not really an option, what with the less-than-warm welcome, and he has no need to explore the city he grew up in.

Well, that’s a bit of a stretch. He mostly grew up in various facilities around the city, but he spent enough time out on the streets to know it.

Besides… he’d really rather not risk running into his batch. Not alone, at least.

Even though his coding cries for them, his frame hurts without them, he couldn’t get out of berth for several days after they were officially separated-

He’s better now. He has to be better.

He’s never had to try and make new friends. He’s never had to make friends, period. Chase can’t remember the last time he met someone new before this week.

But it can’t be that hard, can it? Sure, this Blades is… hostile… but maybe the others are a little more friendly!

Speaking of- someone decides to kick the door open at that very moment.

Blades looks up, and slight relief teeks through his field as he lies back down. So one of the mechs on the door, then.

Heatwave, he imagines- only because the mech is hot.

He stops a few feet from Chase once he lays optics on him, but Chase can feel the heat he gives off from here. That has to be unnatural, surely. Even Ultra Magnus, the largest mech he’s ever met, did not give off that much heat.

Beyond the odd temperature, the mech looks friendly enough. He’s red, with bright and warm yellow optics, and twin scars cutting up one cheek. In his arms are a plethora of cubes and energon sweets, several shoved in his mouth as well.

He mumbles something Chase can’t make out around the food in his mouth, then tosses a cube at Blades. The flight frame mutters some kind of thanks, and the mech turns back to Chase.

He shuffles his items into one arm and offers a hand to Chase. He once again speaks, presumably introducing himself, but Chase can’t understand a word he says.

He takes his hand and shakes it. “You really shouldn’t speak with your mouth full,” he says.

Yellow optics narrow at him. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” he snaps. There’s a thick accent there that the universal translator is doing its best to suppress. “I asked for your name.”

Chase’s doorwings flick and the mech’s optics only follow them for a second before training on Chase’s face again. “Chase,” he says. “I will have to ask you for yours again, I did not understand you. Also, please let go of my hand.”

“Heatwave.” A correct guess, then. Chase’s doorwings raise slightly, but Heatwave’s gaze doesn’t shift to them again. Instead, he keeps his optics trained on Chase’s face, who looks away from the optic contact. He does release Chase’s hand, though. “You should check out the mess hall,” he says, moving his quarry back to both arms. “Never seen so much fuel in my life.”

Chase watches him in mild fascination as he figures out how to climb the ladder of the bunk without dropping any of the cubes, and from there Chase can’t see what he does with them.

So he’s expected to go collect his own ration. Good to know.

…He should be trying to make more conversation, right? Blades might be a lost cause but Heatwave at least introduced himself.

He just… doesn’t know what to do from here. Should he ask what track Heatwave is in? He can guess, from the paint job, but would Heatwave even entertain that? He’s sure he knows what Chase is here for, and has thankfully not said anything derogatory about it… yet.

It’s not wrong to expect it to happen eventually, right?

Then he realizes something. “Where are the washracks?”

Heatwave leans out over the top of the bunk. “Hallway.”

Chase frowns. “Why?”

“What, never been in a communal wash rack before?” Heatwave asks, an oddly aggressive tone to his voice. “This ain’t no prissy enforcer academy, Chase. You’ll hafta get used to other mechs in your space.”

Oh, that accent is really coming out now. Chase wishes he could place it. “It is not a problem,” he growls, though it is… not ideal. The idea of sharing washracks with anyone other than his batch makes his plating crawl. He doesn’t appreciate the attitude, though.

“Whatever you say.” Heatwave leans back.

Okay. So far, his roommates are violently antisocial and rude. Wonderful.

It is now that the fourth roommate decides to show themselves, and Chase braces himself for the worst.

They gently push the door open, holding a datapad. They’re green and far more heavyset than any of the others, though Heatwave comes close. Blue optics widen at him. “Hello,” they say, in very thickly accented Common.

No universal translator, then. Interesting.

“Hello,” Chase says back, offering his hand. “Chase.”

“Boulder.” So that’s all four. Good. “I am… stop by for my datapad. Good to meet you.”

“And you.” Primus almighty, Chase wishes he’d met someone who wasn’t Iaconian before today, because all these new accents, and he can’t place a single one. Maybe if he knew what their mother language is, he could speak to them better? “If you speak in your native language, I can still understand it,” Chase says, tapping his throat.

“I know,” Boulder says. “But I like to make the effort.”

“Okay.”

Boulder turns away from him and grabs the datapad from their bag, before offering everyone a wave and leaving again.

Chase sits down on his berth again. Boulder seems nice.

…This might not be so bad.

[pixelatedsticks]

omg i love this au so much dude😞

how did the other freight and coaches originally react to hydra's blindness when he arrived at the yard? did him being blind change the way they would've treated him if he wasnt? im so interested omg

Hi, thank you for the ask!

When hydra was found by momma in the yard none of the others freights and Rusty knew what being blind meant. They all were still kids at the time. It was after momma plopped hydra down in a bed that she explained.

Lumber and Porter originally got really worried over hydra. Not being able to see? They couldn’t imagine life without sight. They both did that thing where they closed their eyes and tried to navigate around and ended up smacking into several objects and walls in the process. It was pretty common to see hydra getting flanked by one of them or Rusty, to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. Lumber and Porter are usually the ones standing near him during any of the songs to tell him when to move or get him out of the way so he doesn’t get hit by other trains.

Slick after learning what being blind meant took to bullying him, nobody saw that coming. She’d constantly replace what he was reaching for with something else and purposefully move objects in front of him. She got reprimanded a lot by momma and Rusty for this. Eventually she grew out of it though and while might not show it she still cares deeply for hydra. Rusty got an ear full from her after race 4 about uncoupling from him. Slick is very much the sibling type of ‘no one bullies them except me’. She will tease hydra endlessly and bully him for not being able to guess how many fingers she’s holding up but she does not tolerate that kind of behavior from anyone else.

Rusty took hydra being blind the best out of any of the freight fam. He was still worried for hydra and helped him as much as he could, staying with him, leading him around, helping him find stuff. Rusty and hydra became attached at the hip to say the least. In fact in the actual show most of hydras entrances are being carried out by Rusty leading him on stage. Rusty was one of the hardest trains to convince to let hydra race. He didn’t think it was safe for hydra with how he crashed earlier. The decision to uncouple from hydra was one Rusty made thinking it would be better for hydra to wait off track than be dragged somewhere along with pearl. The others didn’t agree with this though unfortunately. 

The coaches are a different story. Being in a completely new area where everything was different was, a little overwhelming to say the least for hydra. The first few weeks he was at the yard he stayed in mommas shed getting the bearings and layout of it before going out. Meanwhile while the other trains knew that momma had found another trainlet to take in, the detail of hydra being blind was heavily kept under raps, mostly in fear that hydra would be bombarded with trains making comments about him. The coaches were some of the first few trains to get introduced to hydra when he started going out.

Belle was the very first with hydra and lumber accidentally stumbling onto her when she was napping out by a tree. At first belle didn’t notice and lumber didn’t make any comments about it. It was only the third encounter they had that belle fully realized hydra was blind. Not much changed though. Belle saw that hydra was being cared for and she really didn’t have the energy to be a guide train. They do have nice conversations when they accidentally stumble into each other here and there.

Tassita was the next. Tassita originally avoided hydra and the freights, because they were extremely loud in describing what places looked like or mindless conversations between them. He didn’t know hydra was blind, however, as it just seemed like to him the freights got another fuel truck who had never been in a yard before. But eventually in a hurry to get away from slick and lumber he ended up running headfirst into hydra and porter. Which ended in him and Porter having a squabble about ‘not watching where you’re going’. Tassita after turning to hydra to get his side in the argument took a look at him and realized he was blind. Tassita hoped that the quiet nature of hydra when he first came would stay as he got older but unfortunately as hydra became more comfortable in the yard the louder her got. Tassita still keeps and eye out for him though.

Dinah was the third and was told about hydra from Tassita. Dinah was already a racing partner with greaseball and she didn’t interact with hydra much because Rusty did his best to keep him away from the C-engines and greaseball because he knew that it would only lead to trouble. Dinah got formally introduced to him when the freights came over for a play date which momma insisted hydra tag along for. Dinah at first was incredibly nervous about hydra constantly worrying about him being blind. She may have smothered him a bit with all the worrying, constantly checking in on him, helping him with every little thing. Even if the other freights tried to tell her hydra was fine it didn’t stop her. Like slick she toned down as she got older and now she likes to let hydra taste test different things she makes.

Pearl was the last coach and was introduced to hydra during the show. She started as being weirded out by him during race 2 when he was with momma. She gave him some encouragement and hydra didn’t look at her when responding. It clicked with her during the rap when she saw him with the other freights and asked Rusty about it. They didn’t really have a lot of time to interact until after the races when she apologized to him for making Rusty uncouple from him to get her to safety. Lucky there were no hard feelings. Pearl likes to go to hydra when she needs someone to talk to who isn’t the coaches. They gossip a lot.

In regard to being treated differently not much would change. The freights would still bully him but it would be more from telling him he can’t race rather than just hating hydrogen. The coaches would still be annoyed by his antics and they would mock him behind his back because they know he can’t see. But they would never hold that fact over him.

[1toreyouapart]

Right Through Me

***FANFICTION THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE. DON’T READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE THAT. 18+ MDNI***

Rae arrives on her former best friend’s doorstep, asking only for a place to stay while she gets back on her feet after moving across the country to escape her ex. Nick gladly opens his door to her, quickly pulling her into the fold with his friends and band mates.

Noah is just trying to survive. He wants to make it. Needs it. He has no time for anything other than the band. He’s got a point to prove. Nick’s friend challenges that and upends his entire world. She drives him crazy with her laid back, carefree ways.

Everyone can see the collision coming from a mile away, and nobody can stop it. Much less the two of them. Who will make it out in the end?

CW/TW: domestic violence, miscarriage, alcohol use, swearing, smoking, smut, more to come as story is written.

Pour Concrete On It

Noah watched as Rae loosened up. All it took was them all making her sing. Sure, she had freaked out when he put his hand over her throat, but that was to be expected. Folio had been talking about her and the relationship she was in the entire time he had known him. How Folio just knew he was beating her, and how upset Folio was when she didn’t show up to the airport to come out here with him. How Folio went off the deep end for a bit when he couldn’t get a hold of her anymore right after they came out here.

Others may not have noticed, but he had when she moved to refill Folio’s drink without a question. The way she blushed and avoided looking at anyone when Folio filled both their drinks instead. The way those bright ass eyes of hers went dark the second his hand briefly touched her throat earlier. All of that was all he needed to know why Folio’s best friend was suddenly around.

Rae was running from someone. Someone that had hurt her. His own memories of his mother being beaten surfaced, and he had to swallow it down. They were having a good time tonight. If Rae could swallow it, as he had watched her do, being a victim herself, he could do it to keep things normal for her.

Watching her now, a few shots and a few drinks in her, he could see why Folio was enthralled with her. Her real self was shining through. Gone was the shy and reserved girl who had first walked in with him. She was singing and having a blast. And she could fucking sing. He was blown away earlier. Maybe when they were all a bit more sober he would convince her to sing with him on a song.

“Cut deep like a switchblade prophet”

“It all went radioactive”

“You put the nail in the coffin”

“Now pour concrete on it!”

He watched Rae and Folio sing together, something in him tightening when Folio sang “you put the nail in the coffin” and she screamed “now pour concrete on it.” The juxtaposition of Folio singing versus her screaming so beautifully was incredible. He couldn’t help but watch the two of them and feel almost like he was witnessing a conversation he shouldn’t be a part of it. Watching her head bang. The way her hair flowed. How the two of them screamed in each others faces. It was incredible to watch. He made a note to put Folio on vocals more.

More importantly he wanted her on a song. An artist nobody had heard of because she wasn’t part of the scene. Just somebody who could sing and scream. Everyone would go nuts trying to find her. But she would have no music there for them to listen to. He could almost taste the fanbase going insane. He himself back, though. The memory of her freaking out when he had barely put his hand over her throat, totally flat, still fresh in his mind.

“Hey. Jolly?” He nodded in Jolly’s direction, not daring to take his eyes off of her. “She’s good, yeah?”

“Really good.” Jolly settled beside him, leaning in. “Feels a little like Folio’s been keeping a secret all these years.”

Noah watched her, taking a long drag off his cigarette. He wanted to agree with Jolly. He really did. But something about the way Folio had spoken of her. The way she was right now. She was definitely a talent he needed to lock down before someone else out there in California found her. But there was something about her he couldn’t put his finger on.

Folio hadn’t been keeping her a secret. She had kept herself hidden. And judging by how she reacted earlier he knew the exact reason why. A pitiful man had kept her hidden and silent. Kept her trapped. Some pitiful man had made her smaller than she was. The thought of it made him made him fist his hands in his lap. How anyone could make such a big voice feel so small was beyond him.

The thought of someone hurting her made him irrationally angry. She was so gentle. Even when angry. Defensive. He shouldn’t want to curb stomp someone, but for her he did. Whoever made her feel so small? He wanted to curb stomp them into oblivion.

“Do you remember how it felt each time you looked at me? The way you hated what you see?”

Her voice as she sang with all the heartbreak and anger he could imagine rang out, and he was drawn back into her. The way she sang, the emotion in her voice was breathtaking. Like she was experiencing every word on real time.

“Let me go I can’t take this…Let me leave you in pieces.”

Noah was enthralled. The way she sang. How she had stopped caring about any of them being around to hear it. She was singing with every fiber of her being. He looked over at Jolly, not bothering to hide how taken he was.

“We need her on a song, at least.”

“She’s good. Great, honestly. Untapped talent. However…” he trailed off, glancing between her and him. “Are you sure you’re appreciating the talent, or do you just want to fuck her?”

Noah sat back, watching her. Jolly could be right. She was cute. Beautiful. The way her eyes lit up every time he mentioned making music. The processes within it. How she looked at him every time he spoke, like he had the answers to everything. A similar way that she looked at Folio. Her bright eyes. The way she smiled when she found something just slightly amusing. How she was losing herself in the music right this moment.

“Maybe both. Can’t deny she’s got some pipes on her, though,” he quipped, watching intently as she sang and danced.

Maybe getting her to work on a song with him was a good idea. Or maybe it was a terrible idea. He didn’t know and wasn’t fully sure what he was thinking. All he knew was every option led to more time around her. His little enigma.

Tag: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

[apollos-boyfriend]

i’ve talked a lot before how quackity and purpled are foils and how they have what the other can’t/doesn’t. purpled has the strength and detached persona quackity fakes, and quackity has the personal connection and legacy that purpled wants

so, i always interpreted their reactions to their deaths to be similarly contrasted. quackity died realizing how his actions hurt others (slime) as well as himself. with the additional info ccq mentioned about the scrapped stream of him and slime making up (running away together? running las nevadas together? i can’t quite recall the details), it read a lot like him growing and learning to let go of a physical legacy, having realized the only “true” legacy is your connection to others

conversely, i always thought purpled’s reaction would end with him not learning from his mistakes. he, after all, didn’t have the human connection that changed slime (and q). all he knew is he was, once again, bested by his worst enemy and something he didn’t even consider able to think for himself. at the point of las nevadas, purpled is really bad at understanding both his own feelings and those of others. i always presumed that if we were to see him again, he’d only have spiraled further into self-destruction, especially because he was being enabled by punz and dream.

but if quackity kills himself. if he chooses a tragedy, if he can’t move forward like the other quackities, then by the same logic i’ve been subconsciously applying for like. a few years now. then purpled’s future/end has to be one of growth, or at least finally letting go of his fixation on quackity/a “legacy” in the way he thought a legacy should be

honestly thinking about it the reason i really saw cpurpled’s future as being one of him spiraling and getting worse. is because it created a parallel with how i perceived cq’s original ending. which is all to say cpurpled healing arc starts now

[electric-friend]

i’ve got so many unfinished fics in my drive and maybe even one published one where someone calls stede strong and brave for maintaining his softness even when life pushes back.

recently i feel like stede made a choice ed and izzy have both made in the past that they’ve always wished they never did, and stede could have been spared from. at the very least i think it hurt ed to see the version of himself he hates in stede. he probably thinks stede wanted to become that man for reasons other than stede has been bullied his entire life for being inadequate and told a man a bit like blackbeard is a real man.

call me crazy or whatever but i actually think a major thing that should be communicated between ed and stede is something on stede’s end. his trauma and his feelings and his issues. as it stands now, i don’t think ed understands what’s going on with stede. i don’t think he understands the person stede really wants to be. i don’t think he understands stede’s own issues of self-doubt and stede’s insecurities. hell i don’t think ed even has that much of a grasp of how unpopular and disliked stede has always been his entire life. and i think maybe if stede explained himself better, ed would understand more of what was going on. that he wouldn’t be seeing stede as manifesting something he wants to escape from, he would see stede as someone he needs to help escape with him.