#when your eyes crinkle at the corner but can still be somewhat relaxed around that area...that is a GENUINE genuine smile.

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

For some reason I didn't think it would be this difficult to find a reference photo of this man smiling, considering how many people think he had just "the most beautiful smile" - okay, for real? WHERE. Because in the majority of the photos that Google is showing me of him smiling, he's not genuinely smiling, and I am trying to draw him genuinely smiling! So, omg. This is way harder than I thought it'd be.

[sunblockbabe]

Lighthouse keeperJohn! x mermaid reader pt.2

4.4k words

Pt. 1

Contents: nudity (non-sexual), semi-graphic descriptions of wounds/wound care, cuddling w/ John (mostly non-sexual)

A/N: This is roughly edited so forgive any mistakes please. For some reason this took forever to write and I just wanted to get it posted so I could work on the next part!

Your eyes are kept firmly on John as he carries you back to the house. Looking up at him from where he carries you in his arms you stare unblinkingly, making it abundantly clear that despite your exhaustion, nothing he does will escape your notice. While you were yet still alive, years of survival in the ocean meant you wouldn’t relax so easily. 

Frequently, John looks down at your form, examining your injuries. The bleeding that had somewhat abated had started anew from your struggle to get away, and John watches as the rain, rapturous as it was, was washing away the blood slower than it dripped from you. 

Every so often, John’s eyes flicker up to meet your gaze, and you stubbornly refuse to look away. 

“Don’t worry, lovie.” He tells you, a warm smile breaks out over his face as you cross the threshold back into his home. “We’ll get you all fixed up.” 

You scowl, intent on making your displeasure known.

The scowl remains through the climb up the stairs, across the hallway, and only deepens when he places you on a wooden stool dragged from the corner of the bathroom. The water had become dingy from when you had transfigured and crawled from the bathtub, dyed a dark red from your blood. Stray scales and membranes float around in the tepid water. The rays that had been nestled between your fingers and within your tail lie dormant on the floor of the bathtub. 

You sit perched on the stool, and you watch as John bends over the tub to drain the water and collect the scraps, placing them in a trash bin. He tugs some knobs, and water begins to fill the tub again. You try to watch the process impassively, but can’t help but marvel a little at the strange setting, like you had been transported to a different world.

Intently watching the water fill the bathtub, you almost don’t notice John reaching for you. Whirling towards him, you hold your hands out warningly, teeth bared just the slightest. The sight pauses John in his steps, though he appears almost enlivened rather than afraid, eyes twinkling. 

Holding his own hands up in a placating mirror to your own, he crouches down so that you’re level.

“Easy now. Just going to get you back into the bathtub.” He soothes, voice low and steady.

You study his face intensely. Along with his soft-spoken tone, his eyes are crinkled with friendliness, face calm. Nothing about his behavior indicates to you that he means to harm you. And with you bleeding all over the bathroom tile, feeling woozier by the second, there’s not much you can do to resist the urge to just let your guard down, if only for a bit. 

Your hands fall into your lap as your head droops slightly, caving in.

John lifts you off the stool, mindful to not touch any of your injuries, and maneuvers you into the bathtub. 

The warm, clean water rises to your hips, and you swish your fingers through the water as you watch John reach under the bathroom sink, retrieving a first aid kit.

You turn onto your side, head resting atop the back of your hand where you’ve placed it against the tub. Watching him rifle through the kit stuffed to the brim, you try your best to examine the various tools and ointments spilling from the case.

When John has gathered everything he needs, he starts his work.

John cleans the wound on your abdomen, pouring a saline mix to wash away the blood and debris. 

Sitting patiently, you watch him, resisting the urge to push at his hands whenever a shock of pain or discomfort ripples through you.

“My name is John.” He tells you as he smooths a bandage across your stomach.

You look up at him, not understanding. Has he not yet realized you don’t understand?

Human language was not something you had ever extensively learned, or ever used. In a constant state of travel below the waves, the need to communicate rarely arising at all, your kind had their own versatile methods and language for interactions.

What spoken words you had picked up, you had solely heard them from the chattering of those that dwelled in warm-water reefs. Their proximity to land made them more inclined to transfigure into a human form to explore the coast, the bravest of them even choosing to mingle with humans. Those that returned to the reefs would share their experiences and travels, and others were always eager to hear. Talk of the spoken languages they had heard was common, and frequently a small group would perch atop rocks, enthusiastically soaking up the strange sounds, practicing making the noises themselves.

You never took much interest in the lessons, only at times passively listening while you’d gnaw on a particularly stubborn clam shell, picking up only the simplest of words. You never had any intention of interacting with a human. And, with how infrequently you were ever exposed in the air asides for your occasional trips to shallow waters, had no need to learn a method of communication that could only be used above the waves.

You tilt your head at him, mouth fixed into a frown. You make a questioning sound.

“My name, it’s John.” He repeats, this time pointing to himself.

You extend a claw to him.

“Name?” You ask, trying to repeat the foreign word, tongue tripping over the sounds.

He shakes his head, mirth spilling across his face.

“John.” He tells you, hand still pointing to himself.

You realize that must be what he calls himself. You try the name out yourself, feeling the way your mouth opens around the ‘J’ and comes to a close at the end of the syllable. You repeat it again, this time more confident.

He smiles in satisfaction, then points to you.

“What’s your name?” He asks.

You sit, unsure.

You weren’t given a name at birth. Born to a solitary mother, you had been left on your own nearly as soon as your independent survival was viable. Like many other roving mermaids, you lived a nomadic and independent lifestyle, rarely witnessing community apart from rare instances in reefs and shallow oceans, or traveling pods of your kind. And what you had experienced, you had mainly viewed on the fringe, unwilling to overcome the caution within you. With that life lived you never had received a name, nor had needed one.

One reef you visited more commonly than others, the mermaids living there had come to accept you, even as an outsider. While skittish and afraid during your first visits, they had warmed to your presence, particularly so after you had chased off a predator larger than yourself who had been intently preying on the denizens of the colorful reef.

During one of your visits, a mermaid had asked you what you call yourself in the shared native tongue. When you had replied that you had no way you referred to yourself, you had been gifted a name, a pretty series of underwater chirps and clicks that had danced across the waves. Ever since then, that is how you referred to yourself.

John begins to clean the wound torn across your shoulder as you continue to think, pondering his question like a wonder of the earth.

You had been given a human name, you remember. Laying atop a sun-bleached rock, soaking up the warmth on a sunny day, a particularly chattery mermaid had been sitting next to you. She and you were surrounded by other mermaids, some lounging on rocks and others floating in the water on their backs. She had just returned from her latest escapade to humanity, chirping and humming, telling her stories in excitement. You had been captive to her talking. You had just been trying to take a midday nap in warmth when she had pulled herself up next to you, and other mermaids had followed suit. Where originally they had given you a wide berth, their caution has seemingly been replaced by a safety they now found in your presence. With how much the mermaid next to you was talking now, you weren’t sure if you preferred the change.

Still, while your eyes were closed as you persistently chased rest, you couldn’t help but listen as she shared stories of exciting and exotic cultures and experiences. While you had no intention of witnessing any of it yourself, you still couldn’t help but get swept up in the enchant of it. 

She had shared the names of many people she had both met and reunited with in her latest excursion, and after another mermaid had inquired about the name she had picked for herself, it had kicked off a rapid-fire sharing of the names mermaids had chosen, and those that had not picked a human name for themselves were gifted their own by those more experienced with human languages. While curiosity prickled at your skin, you swatted away the sensation in favor of rolling onto your side, cracking an eye open to examine the bright blue water, pondering if it was worth it to surrender your spot on the rock to seek out a quieter place to nap. 

You’re pulled out of your reverie as John plucks free a piece of coral stuck deep in your flesh, and you watch him for a moment before sinking back down into your thoughts.

A hand on your shoulder tugged at you, and you begrudgingly rolled onto your back again. The mermaid pointed a finger in your face, her shell bracelet threaded with plant fiber clacking as she waved her finger in a circle.

The name she had given you fell from her lips, breathed across your face as you scrunched your nose. 

The other mermaids had cheered in concurrence, your name relayed like a chant. You had rolled off the rock in exasperation, grumbling your complaints about being given such a useless thing before diving into the chilled water to find a different napping spot.

If you had murmured the name to yourself later, lying under a beautiful moon and stars, water lapping at your tail from where you lay on a different rock further from the reef, then that was nobody’s business but your own. 

You mull the human name over in your mind, poring over each sound within.

When you tell John your name, your voice is uncertain, unpracticed.

John repeats your name, satisfied. It sounds better coming from him, you think.

From there, John continues his work in silence, seemingly pleased by the brief and stilted conversation. You try your best not to wriggle away when you catch a glimpse of John holding a suture thread and needle, suspicion gripping you. Your claws clench the side of the bathtub as he stitches the wound across your shoulder. From there, it’s smoother sailing, John cleaning and tending to the smaller scraps and cuts that litter the rest of your body, finally cleaning the damaged sections of scales on your tail as best as he could. By the time you feel tweezers prodding at the dead scales and pieces of ocean grit, your head has leaned back against the lip of the bathtub, eyelids dipping closed.

Finished with his work, John tends to his own wounds before he begins a vigil. Resting in his own bed for short periods, drifting off before blinking awake, he traverses to the bathroom to check on you before retreating back to bed. The cycle continues late into the night.

Each time he checks on you, you are roused slightly by the noise and movement, but not enough to fully wake. Hour by hour, however, your body recovers and your mind recoups. The next time John paces back through the doorway into the hallway, your eyes squint open, now fully awake.

For a while, you keep yourself occupied. The water has cooled, though it’s nowhere near as chilling as the ocean water in which you live. You twitch your hands absently, watching the disruption ripple across the water.

You try to consider what you’ll do next, where you’ll go from here. You could try to leave again, return to the ocean. Though you know, while the sea would embrace you once again, you would not be able to embrace her back in return. Your body has been damaged, your mettle still shaken. Throwing yourself back into the ocean unprepared would be unwise, so for now you must wait.

You lie in the tub, growing more and more horribly antsy with each passing second.

You turn your head onto your side, and look at the door left slightly cracked. The bathroom lights had been dimmed to give you some rest, and you can see where the hallway is dark, lights shut off even before your first arrival.

You turn your gaze back onto the ceilings, picking apart the peeling paint with your gaze. 

You look down at your tail. John had cleaned it and removed dead scales, leaving it unbandaged as it rests submerged in the bath water. You flick your tail idly, sending weak ripples skimming across the water’s surface.

Contemplating for a moment, but with your restlessness overwhelming, it’s not long before you're leaning forward, finding a deciduous scale to pluck.

The transition this time is less jarring, though surreal all the same. You feel your flesh stretch and tear, taking on new shape as old is transformed and discarded. The process is no more clean than last time, and the water becomes bloodied and dirty.

You flex your feet and stretch your legs. Getting out of the bathtub is an easier task this time, you’re able to swing both legs over the side, bracing your hands on the tub to carefully rise to your feet. Always keeping your hand on something, whether it’s the bathtub, tile countertop, or the bathroom wall, you manage to keep your balance and shuffle towards the door, leaving a trail of wet and bloody footprints behind you. Nudging the door open with a hand, you peer into the dark hall. Cold tile turns to a fuzzy carpet beneath your feet as you trek along the narrow persian runner.

You take in the hallway, old paintings and photographs of the lighthouse and surrounding seascape adorn the walls. Keeping one hand gripped on the bannister, you stare at the console table settled against the wall, stacked with dying plants and more old photos of strangers set in tarnished-gold frames.

Pacing through the first of the unexplored rooms on the top floor, the cold floorboards creak their quiet protests. It’s John’s office, a mahogany desk in the center of the room. Large windows on all walls, the light from the lighthouse cascades in near-blindingly, making you squint and stumble. The large desk is nearly not enough to accommodate the scores of papers and equipment atop it. You stare down at the pages, tracing a finger over the ink, but can’t make heads or tails of what it means, written in a language you don’t understand with tables and charts that make your head spin. 

Another blinding spin of light irritates you, and you retreat from the room back into the hallway.

You blindly creak open the next of the doors, this one long and skinny, nearly hidden against the faded wallpaper as only the brass doorknob you grasp sticks out from the wall. You’re puzzled as you stare at the shelves stacked high with blankets, sheets, and towels. You run a hand against each neatly folded cotton pile, feeling the textures beneath your fingers.

Walking quietly despite the old wooden floor, you eventually trek into his bedroom. You eye where he’s laid on the bed, lying on his back and a hand folded neatly across his chest, blankets tucked around his waist. He’s asleep, even if he doesn’t necessarily look peaceful.

Venturing through the doorway, your eyes wander around the sparse bedroom. A bookshelf crammed into a dusty corner, just beside a white-curtained window sill, was entirely vacant save for a stack of cloth-bound books and a dusty Coleman lantern. You trace your finger along the books, feeling the rough binding against the pad of your forefinger. 

Curiosity then wanders you over to his dresser. Grasping the worn knobs of a drawer, much similar to the door knobs, you give an experimental pull. You peer inside the drawer finding more neatly folded piles of fabric. You pull one out and unravel it, holding a cotton sleep-shirt between your claws. It bears a resemblance to the one John now wears, and when you toss a glance over your shoulder you confirm that, yes, it’s nearly the exact same. 

Folding the shirt back up as best you could, you tuck it back into the drawer, hoping your folding was good enough to hide the displacement of his belonging. You slide the drawer shut with a soft click, your attention turning elsewhere.

You wander over to his bedside table, crouching onto your hands and knees, you prod at the items scattered across. You nudge a drinking glass filled with water, breaking the surface of the tepid liquid with one claw before grasping the glass, tilting the water forward to take a drink. When you set the glass down your attention is drawn to another book, this one half open on the table, pages worn and innumerably dogeared. 

You grab the book, moving back on your haunches as you set the book on the ground and lean over it. Using two hands, you carefully separate and flip through the yellowed and delicate pages. The book is dense, filled with long paragraphs and extensive footnotes. It’s nothing you can make sense of as you study the old thing, and a bit of disappointment pricks at your heart as you set the book back on the table, a quiet sigh escaping your chest.

With your antsy curiosity waning, you finally turn your attention to where John sleeps.

His snoring has remained constant, chest rising and falling in an endless pattern. When you lean in closer, you can see that his sleep is restless. Fingertips twitching at nothing, jaw clenching and unclenching at random, a fitfulness having overtaken him. You can relate of course, resting in the open sea often meant you needed to stay on edge even as you slept in a light and permeable sleep. But you don’t understand what you see now. He sleeps on an isolated and naturally fortified island, is nearly untouchable in his size as a predator, what does he have to be wary of? 

You pace to the opposite side of the bed, footsteps as quiet as you can make them. You press your knuckles against the quilt, feeling the softness of the fabric and the generous give of the mattress.

Tiredness and a renewed curiosity mesh as you now fist the quilt, tugging at it slightly. You glance over at John again, the quilt and a blanket tangled around his waist, and pull the quilt down.

Climbing into the bed without waking John is a gambit. You know that you shouldn’t be encroaching in his space. If he were half as territorial as many of those living in the ocean could be, he would be much less than pleased at the way you pull the quilt up and over your shoulders once you manage to lie down without waking him.

The bed is warm, and you greedily soak up the heat, the coldness of the house affecting you more than you had anticipated. You rest your head on a pillow, mirroring John and laying flat on your back, arms crossed over your chest like a mummy. 

You stare up at the ceiling a moment, relishing the comfort of the bed, before closing your eyes. You count each of John’s snores that becomes a metronome to put you to sleep.

When an arm is suddenly thrown over your waist, you awake with an undignified squawk of alarm, bolting upright as best you can with the mushiness of the mattress. 

It turns out, while John was very surprised to find you in his bed, blinking briefly into consciousness to turn on his side and stretch an arm out only to find it around your waist, he wasn’t angry like you had fretted. 

He did however, shoo you out of the bed to re-check your bandages, afraid you had jostled them in your wakefulness. Once you were medically cleared, he had herded you back into the bathroom where you thought he was going to make you go back into the bathtub to wait. Instead, he had drained the water from the bathtub and grabbed a washcloth, dampening it in the sink. You stood there awkwardly as he scrubbed down your legs, washing away the dry leftover blood from your transformation.

You followed him where he retreated from the bathroom and to the linen closet you had explored, where he drew sheets and a quilt from the space.

When he throws on the light in the bedroom, your eyes squint as you cast a hand across your face to shield them. But the time you recover, John has pulled a shirt from the dresser and approaches you as you take half a step back in worry.

He grasps an elbow to anchor you in place and tugs the oversized shirt over your head, even as you try to wriggle away like a miffed cat. 

When he manages to draw your arms through the correct holes, he steps out of your space while you tug at the hem of the shirt. Engulfing you, John’s worn cotton shirt comes to rest at your thighs. 

When John returns to you, this time there is less resistance as John helps you into a pair of his boxers. You brace one hand against a broad shoulder as he kneels on the ground, guiding your legs into the shorts.

Now fully clothed, you’re better shielded from the frigidness of the room.

John then begins to strip the bed, pulling the now-messy and bloody sheets from the mattress and piling the quilt along with it. You watch curiously until you watch him unfold the sheets from the linen closet, when it clicks.

Chagrined, you cautiously step forward, ignoring his inquiring expression in favor of trying to mirror his actions as he makes the bed.

You do what you can to help, feeling a bit guilty. Isolated as you were, you know better than to shun or drive away a companion, far and few as they come. You focus intensely as you try to tuck the fitted cotton sheet against the aged mattress, frowning as your claws get caught in the fabric as you try to copy John’s movements. Despite your clumsiness, you hope John understands your good intentions.

When the bed is made he takes a step back, and you follow suit.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He tells you, voice warm.

You hum, his tone relieving you as you know now that, yes, all seems to be forgotten.

John shuts off the bedroom light. When he lets you back into the bed, he lies flat on his back. You curl into bed next to him, his weight creating a depression in the mattress, and with the springs being shot, you're drawn closer into his side like a whirlpool.

You have few complaints, warm as he is. The clothes and blanket are soft against your skin, the pillow you half-commandeered that John now shares with you cradling your head. 

Swaddled in comfort, sleep finds you easily.

When you wake in the morning, you’re half on top of John. Legs straddling his brawny thigh, your chest is pressed to his abdomen as your head is nestled against his chest, cheek pressed into a pectoral.

His breathing is deep and steady, reverberating through you. With each rise and fall of his chest your body moves too as you’re rocked with him. 

Every part of you feels warm, and despite your injuries twinging a little as soreness settles in with disuse, you don’t think you’ve ever slept so soundly in your life.

Light is just barely seeping through the closed curtains, and you take the opportunity to stretch, relishing in the sensation. You stretch like a cat, pushing your hips back and pressing your chest down, arms stretching in front of you. You stretch your legs a second time, this time coming to straddle the entirety of his hips. 

You stay like that. His hips are wide and strong, the stretch to accommodate him is a pleasant one in your own hips. Now fully on top of him, though mindful not to put weight on his own injury, you rest both hands on either shoulder, head tucked into his collar bone.

A big hand comes down to rest across your back, caressing up to your shoulder blades and down to the small of your back, back and forth. Uncaring of whether or not it means John is awake, you drift off again.

You’re roused only slightly when John wraps his other hand under a thigh, moving your leg so that you’re only atop one thigh once more so that you don’t feel the hardness aching between his legs. 

John lets you rest another half hour, warm hand in constant motion across your back. When the light strengthens he grasps your hips in both hands, lifting you up and off of him to lay you gently on your side. 

This time, John moving you rouses you fully from sleep, and you peer up at him curiously as he props himself up on an elbow, overlooking you. 

He reaches to press the back of his hand to your forehead, feeling for something. You look at his face where it’s concentrated on the contact, eyes squinted slightly in focus. Whatever he feels or notices, it apparently satisfies him, the tension dripping from his face as he gives you a warm smile, eyes crinkling.

“No fever.” He tells you, voice rough with sleep.

“No fever.” You echo, even if you didn’t share the same relief as him, not having the same burden of worry as him in the first place.

“You hungry for food?” He asks.

There were few human words you understood, but the word ‘food’ was one you knew well.

“Food.” You affirm.

[lovingseventeen]

casual i love yous: vocal unit edition 💕

a/n: i promise i see the requests,, this idea just popped into mind and it came out a lot faster for some reason. i hope y’all enjoy this as i try to finish up requests!

edit: WoW seungkwan’s unexpectedly got really long but i feel like i should write for him in more detail

jeonghan:

✿ of course it has the slightest air of teasing

✿ you were scoffing at him for getting you flustered so badly

✿ damn yoon jeonghan and his damn smirk and pretty face !

✿ you’re avoiding eye contact when his face follows yours to tell you ever so relaxed, “i love you, you know”

✿ how could you ever be annoyed with this man for long (he’s annoying for that)

joshua:

✿ he doesn’t hesitate to tell you how he feels

✿ sometimes he just gets these urges that oh y/n is looking extra pretty today or oh! my heart is swelling for no reason

✿ you could be doing nothing special but for joshua, you don’t have to

✿ he’s sitting on the couch and you’re getting up to get a glass of water when he gently reaches for your wrist, stopping you in your tracks

✿ “josh?”

✿ “i love you”

woozi:

✿ i don’t think he’s the type to say these three words often because he treasures them

✿ but occasionally he finds himself wanting to say it to you for the smallest reasons

✿ you sent him a text at work, knowing he was staying at the studio late

✿ this is your reminder to drink a little water and eat at least a snack if you haven’t had dinner yet >:(

✿ i will i will, he assures you, do you wanna hear what i’m working on?

✿ and of course you do, but what you don’t expect is the little whisper of “i love you” in the little recording before he starts singing

dokyeom:

✿ one of the best parts of being with dokyeom was that he made you laugh, so so much

✿ life quite literally brighter with him and his contagious smile

✿ it was one of those moments that the two of you were howling with laughter, tears about to spill from the corners of both of your eyes

✿ you’re trying to cover your mouth with a hand, but you can barely do so as you wheeze

✿ you somewhat calm down to small hiccups and exhales going “hooo” as you try to control yourself, he’s calmed down too, wiping tears from his eyes

✿ when you finally look back at him, you catch dokyeom looking at you with the warmest smile with crinkles at the corners of his eyes

✿ “i love you” he smiles, and it’s so sudden in the moment that you fall for him a little more too

seungkwan:

✿ he was busy as usual with his schedule, but he did have some breaks in between learning choreo or recording some songs

✿ you posted a story on instagram with your friends. for some reason you guys were at a basketball court, knowing that none of you played

✿ as he clicked to see the next story, he was surprised to see you talking to the camera (assuming your best friend was recording) from the three point line

✿ “boo seungkwan this is for you!” you holler, pointing at the camera and this alone already makes him smile

✿ what makes him laugh out loud is when you absolutely miss the rim, horrendously air balling

✿ the video ends with an awkward thumbs up at the end (he definitely screen records this)

✿ he gets the urge to video call you, hoping you pick up within the next few minutes before he has to get back to work

✿ “hello” you greet, pleasantly surprised. you’re still at the park, but just sitting to the side as your friends shuffle around in the background

✿ “i saw your story” he tells you, “and your shot for me” he’s unable to fight a smile by now too

✿ “oh yeah? i was pretty close right?” you grinned, knowing you were anything but

✿ “i love you” he smiles, “even if you’re bad at basketball

✿ “hey!” you playfully exclaimed, but you registered his following words too. “did you call just to say that?”

✿ “maybe i did”

✿ you pout but nonetheless tell him you love him too

[disgustingtwitches]

got tagged by the one and only @stellewriites for WIP Wednesday (it is not Wednesday anymore, IDC, take it) so uh,. Here's my Nikto/bimbo!reader except bimbo!reader is only aesthetically a bimbo if uh you feel me.

This is picking up from the middle of the first part:

---

He approaches slowly, making sure you can see him like you are some wild horse that'd take off if he moved too fast.

“How could I turn down such a gentleman?”

You blink coyly and take on the most dulcet tone. He blinks oddly, kind of like a frog. It's endearing in a strange way. He points to the chair next to you; you nod, giving him your blessing.

He settles into the chair, and you watch as he methodically tugs at his mask, then sleeves, and then the hem of his hoodie. You've seen the whole ‘I'm not like other men’ act, but this was different. He tried to make himself smaller, his tone wasn't lined with a hint of deceit or arrogance. It would be somewhat refreshing if you didn't know it was all a game.

“Your friends send you my way?”

You ask softly, trying to sound as innocent as possible,

“Really nice of them to get me my drinks.”

You raise your glass while he makes a sound that's kind of wheezy and raspy. You think that's a laugh, but aren't too sure.

“Your company is coveted around here it seems.”

You raise an eyebrow,

“What do you mean?”

He stares for a beat too long before answering,

“These men would happily empty their wallets just to stand next to you.”

You take in the words, trying not to break the character of a clueless barfly,

“You think so? I just thought they were being nice.”

You notice he doesn't blink a lot; he just stares at you. Taking you in. Doesn't ogle, just looks. Was this man gonna buy you a drink or what?

“Natalia.”

He finally says. You cock your head,

“Huh?”

“Or is it Santana? You seem to have many names, according to my friends.”

His voice wasn't accusatory. Actually, you think you see a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“I'd like to call you Kotyonok tonight if that pleases you.”

You can't help but scrunch your nose for a second, trying to remember the few Russian words you know. He then points to where your hands rest.

“Your nails. They are like a cat.”

Right, that's the word you were looking for. You smile and put your hand out to show off your set.

“Thanks! Just got them done!”

You wiggle your fingers while he leans over, so close to your hand you can feel his breath tickle your skin.

“Pretty.”

Was all that came from him before he pulled away. You wrap your fingers daintily around the two tiny straws in your mixed drink and take a sip while looking straight at him. You can see his jaw tense through the fabric. A small smile dances across your lips,

“At least you appreciate them. Your friend told me they were too long last week.”

“He is…an idiot.”

You notice how his breath catches when you laugh at that. You both relax, and the tension dissipates when he realizes you're comfortable with his company. You study him for a moment before turning to him,

“You still have that bet going?”

He scans your face, and suddenly, you think you've made a mistake.

“I told them you understood, they didn't want to believe.”

He looks around before leaning towards you and whispering,

“Our little secret, hm?”

You nod and briefly get a whiff of whatever he's wearing. You didn't take him as a man who wore cologne, but whatever he had on was delicious. It was woody, smoky, leathery, with a warm spice that you couldn't quite put your finger on—nothing like whatever cheap or banal scents his buddies wore. You're pretty sure that König and Krueger shared the same cologne you loathe: Dior Sauvage. What a God awful cologne-

“Kotyonok is a good name for you.”

His voice snaps you back to reality. You apparently were spacing out and looking right at him the whole time. He seemed to enjoy that though. You clear your throat,

“Because of my nails?”

“Yes, and you are clever. I like clever.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he cocks his head.

“Gonna get the lady a drink?”

John's voice cuts in, reminding you you're not alone with your new barmate. Your new barmate's gaze never shifts, content to take in your face for eternity it seems.

[techs-goggles9902]

request for a Fox meets Fives in Clone Heaven and apologizes and they talk

Clone Heaven

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! SEE MASTERLIST FOR DETAILS!

Warnings: death, broken necks

Word count: 650

A/N: YES OMG I LOVE THIS I LOVE YOU ANON. I was walking home from graduation practice and I read this and I was over joyed!!

NOT A CLONE SHIPPING FIC. DO NOT TAKE IT THAT WAY, PLEASE.

The last thing he heard was a snap.

The last thing he felt was pain.

The last thing he saw was the mask. His eyes never left the visor that covered Lord Vader’s face.

Krk. That was the sound his neck made when his superior snapped it in front of his troops. His friends. Brothers.

“Fox…” A familiar voice calls out to him, rousing him from his… slumber? Fox cracks open his eyes with a low groan. With a couple slow blinks, he remembers what happened.

Vader.

Fox shoots up, his shaking hands clawing at his neck. The neck that should be snapped in half. Yet, here he is… somewhere between life and death.

He looks around, taking in everything. Soft grass is just barely illuminated by a setting sun, painting the sky a medley of colors. He’s still in full armor, minus his helmet, which is resting in the grass beside him.

A figure sits several yards away, overlooking the sunset, sitting on a somewhat flat rock. The man wears armor just like Fox’s, but it's plain white. He turns his shaven head so Fox can see his profile. An aurebesh 5 is tattooed to his right temple, accompanied with a Kaminoan medpatch on his head.

“Hey,” he says.

“Fives…” Fox’s eyes widen, his breath picks up, his hands get clammy. He killed him. Shot him square in the chest.

How is this possible…

“Relax, Fox… we’re both dead here. You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Fives grins, patting the empty space on the rock beside him.

“I-I…”

Fives’ gaze softens, the sun hitting his amber eyes just right. “C’mere.”

Fox slowly gets to his feet, his hands shaking at his sides. He lowers himself down on the rock beside Fives.

“What… What is this place?”

“I don’t know… It’s pretty, though, isn’t it?” Fox nods, trying to keep from locking eyes with his brother.

“I’ve been here since… you know,” Fives continues. Fox knows. He knows all too well, having to live with the guilt of shooting your own comrade. In front of his squad, General Skywalker, and Rex. “You know… Echo’s alive. I don’t think you know him, but he’s one of my batchmates. He and I were the last survivors of Domino Squad, Fox. We all thought he died… but he’s not here. He’s down there… Everyone else is up here…”

“I… I’ve heard of Echo. Rex talked about you guys… all good things, ‘course.”

“I’d hope so,” Fives chuckles.

A few moments of silence follows.

“So… Ponds is up here? And Keeli?” Fox looks away from the sky, fidgeting with his gloves.

Fives looks at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners in sympathy. “Yeah… They’re here…”

Fox gnaws on his lower lip nervously. “Listen… about what happened, Fives-”

“Don’t worry about it, Fox. You didn’t have a choice. Good soldiers follow orders.” Fives puts his gloved hand on Fox’s knee, giving it a little squeeze.

“No.”

Fives gives him a confused look, about to pull his hand away when Fox grabs it and holds it tightly.

“Let me apologize. Please…”

“Fox, it’s not your fault.”

“I… I could’ve…”

“What? Refused the order, leading to a court martial? Fox, you had no choice.”

Fox’s jaw works, trying to find something to say. His grip on his brother goes slack and he drops his hand.

“I’m sorry, though…”

“If I accept your apology, will you finally rest in peace?” Fives sighs.

“Yes,” Fox says with no hesitation present.

“Fine… I forgive you for killing me. You’re dead, Fox, you shouldn’t be so tense. We get to be free of… everything.”

“Yeah but… I’m sorry.”

“You know what you should be sorry for? That haircut.

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Fox runs his hand through his graying curls.

“You could’ve done anything with it and you got a mullet?”

“But it’s a good mullet.”

“Whatever.”

Taglist: @will-is-silly @dangraccoon @fionajames @sevdidntdie @skellymom @hellhound5925

Dividers by @ saradika

Let me know if you want to be added/taken off the taglist!

[swanqueenfeathers]

Jason opens his eyes to the inky blackness of his darkened bedroom, his body on high alert. He’s not alone - a sixth sense picking up what his ears can’t. He stands without so much of a rustle of the sheets and grabs the fully loaded .22 Beretta from his nightstand, switches off the safety and stalks towards the open doorway with silent footsteps. 

From the hallway, he can see the faint outline of someone standing in the kitchen. He points the gun at the silhouette of their head and flicks on the lights, flooding the apartment in a warm, yellow glow.

“Wrong move, motherfu– Dude, the fuck?” 

Tim, who was just elbows deep in the snack cabinet - Jason’s snack cabinet - turns slowly to face him, looking like a deer in the headlights.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” He says sheepishly, but he’s stuffing a pack of Oreos into the pocket of his oversized hoodie which voids his half-assed apology, in Jason’s opinion. 

Jason tucks the gun into the waistband of his sweats with an incredulous scoff. “I was gonna shoot you.” 

“You didn’t, though, so it’s cool.” 

Jason shakes his head, somewhat aghast at Tim’s nonchalant reaction to nearly being shot. Fuckin’ psycho. “So you came here because…?”

“Uh,” Tim averts his gaze and fidgets with the corner of the cookie pack in his pocket, crinkling the plastic. He mumbles something, too fast and low for Jason to make out. 

“Tim, I can’t hear you,” Jason says, exasperation making the words come out sharper than he intended, which he immediately and uncharacteristically regrets when the line of Tim’s shoulders tense.

“Sorry,” Tim says stiffly, “I’ll just go.” 

“Whoa, man. Hold up.” Jason quickly steps in front of Tim and places his hands on his shoulders, placating. “What’s up with you? Is it Bruce? You know he can’t help being an asshole, it’s a condition.” 

“It’s not Bruce,” Tim says, and he’s still not meeting Jason’s eyes, but his lips twitch into a ghost of a smile that Jason counts as a win. “I just… I didn’t want to be by myself.” 

“So you came here? Why?” Jason asks, taken aback. He and Tim hadn’t started out on the greatest of terms, but time heals most wounds, and he likes to think that they could be considered friends now. Tim was one of the few people he could stand to be around for more than five minutes - he was incredibly brilliant, and witty to boot. Their back and forth banter during the occasional team-up was something that Jason sometimes found himself looking forward to, which he would never admit to anyone, ever.

“I don’t know,” Tim shrugs uncomfortably, “Because your place is the closest? I wasn’t really thinking about it, I guess.”  

An unfamiliar albeit not unpleasant feeling settles in the pit of Jason’s stomach. Pride, maybe? For some reason, Tim had sought him out. Not Dick, or Bruce - him. The thought fills him with a strange warmth that he’d rather not dissect at the moment. 

“You can stay,” He says instead, moving his hands from Tim’s shoulders to flick his forehead. “Just don’t expect any coddling, and next time? Bring your own fucking snacks.”

“But it tastes better when I don’t have to buy it,” Tim says, and he’s finally looking up at Jason, smiling as the tension in his frame visibly melts away. It’s weird, seeing Tim relax around him, because of him. It’s new, kind of unnerving, and yet - he still feels warm. 

They spend the next hour camped out in the kitchen, talking about everything and nothing. Tim sits on the counter, legs swinging back and forth as he happily inhales Jason’s only tub of orange sherbet, the bastard. Jason sits across from him, munching on the Oreos that Tim so kindly offered, as if they were his in the first place. 

Eventually, the lack of sleep starts to catch up to them. Jason can’t stop yawning, blinking slower and slower as the seconds tick away. Tim has dark circles under his eyes, but says nothing, like he’s worried Jason might make him leave if he acknowledges the time.

“I’m calling it a night,” Jason says at some point. Then, he adds, “The couch converts to a bed.” An invitation to stay without putting it into exact words. “S’already got a blanket and whatever.”

“Thanks,” Tim says, genuinely enough that Jason feels a little embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck before he stands and pads towards his bedroom. He throws a wave over his shoulder.

“G’night, Tim.”

“Night, Jason.” 

[duskamethyst]

mistakes.

a/n: totally for self indulgence... don’t know how is this gonna do though since i’m not sure if a lot of people has caught up with the manga but i’m pretty sure the fandom has seen him at least once and instantly thirst for him. so, idk what colour his eyes are (i can see blue but fanwiki says green so i stuck with that and in between). this comes with a package of me pointing out how big and buff he is and idc if you’ll get annoyed over it.

word count: 6.1k

genre: AU, nsfw, smut, angst if you squint

warnings: DARK – NONCON, coercion, corruption kink, daddy kink, size kink, choking, mind break, breeding, face fucking, slight dacryphilia, spitting, age gap, degradation, virgin reader, dilf toji manhandling reader

pairing: toji x f!reader

languages available: vietnamese.

summary: you want to surprise your bestie, megumi upon his arrival home from college but things take a terrible turn.

one.

heavy rain starts pouring as soon as you’ve reached the front doorstep of the fushiguro’s household. it was a dumb idea to not bring an umbrella with you despite the sky already starting to get dark when you left home earlier, but you were willing to push your luck and started sprinting once you felt prickles of droplets landing on your skin. with a stroke of luck, you managed to escape the heavy downpour from soaking your clothes.

drawing a deep and relieved sigh, you take a moment to regain control over your breathing before knocking the big front door. aware of the aftermath of the run, you fix your hair with your hands as you wait for megumi to come and greet you. 

college made you and the male to part ways until phones were the only thing that kept you both up to date with each other’s lives. ironically enough, that’s the thing you forgot to bring when you left home in a rush and excitement to surprise your dear friend since he’s coming home today. you can vividly remember the last text you read; he was at the train station and you had to estimate the time of his arrival and the time he would be at home instead of asking him.

however, you’re caught slightly off guard when a different man opens the door for you instead. nonetheless, your lips curl to a sweet smile and there’s a brief of awkward silence before he speaks. you know him, but he doesn’t seem to remember you at all.

“you’re..?” with a tilt of his head, he looks down at you with a curious brow. 

“it’s me, mr. fushiguro!” you offer your name, scrutinizing the expression on his face as his forehead crinkles while he jogs through his memories. then he glances at you and away in thought and back at you again with wide eyes when he finally recalls.

“oh, it’s you!” he ruffles your hair, a bit too enthusiastic in spite of his usual character that you were always familiar with. “i haven’t seen you in a while.”

you let out a little laugh, “yeah. i think i was fourteen the last time i saw you, mr. fushiguro. but it’s nice to see you again.”

“ah, yes. i had to go out of town and overseas for business a lot.” toji explains, rubbing the back of his neck, slightly bashful that he didn’t recognize the girl– no, woman before him even when you both have met plenty of times back when you often came to play with his son since you both were still little. 

but can anyone blame him? time works wonders and now the little girl he used to know has grown to be much more mature and gorgeous and so... demure.

“yeah, megumi told me. speaking of him, is he home?” you finally inquire, bringing up the reason why you’re here in the first place. 

two.

“why don’t you come in first? it’s cold outside.” he says before immediately turning around without answering your question. you close the door behind you and follow him closely, also somewhat intimidated when you realize how tall and huge he is– the tight fitting shirt stretches over his wide back and accentuating his physique even more. his arms are toned and popping with veins, not the way you used to remember at least, but you’ve never cared to notice. you’re not certain of his age either, but you’re pretty sure you’d be surprised if you find out.

“do you want coffee or tea?” toji suddenly breaks the silence as you nervously stand in the middle of the room to take a glimpse around the kitchen like it’s your first time being there, completely heedless over his gaze lingering up and down your curves, observing the figure of a girl who just freshly went through her womanhood and your lascivious beauty before he quickly turns around to grab two mugs from the cabinet. 

“anything is fine.” you politely reply, fear of sounding somewhat demanding if you choose your preference despite being offered with choices. 

“come on, you’re giving a man a hard time.” he jokes. “and sit down.”

he’s trying to extend his invitation though intentionally sounding assertive, but when he sees that you are quick to comply and scramble to your seat, he finds it to be... stimulating. at least he knows that you’re docile and he wonders if he could put it to the test. well, doesn’t matter. he will.

“coffee is good.” you smile, interrupting his train of thoughts and he pours the coffee from the pot before walking over to hand you your mug. 

“unfortunately,” he sits down on the chair next to you. “megumi isn’t home right now.” toji puts his lips between the warm mug and softly blows before sipping his coffee. “he wanted to take a short trip to the store but i think he’s going to be stuck there for a while.” he looks out the window to only see pitch black staring back at him along with roaring thunder from the skies.

“oh.” you mutter, taking a careful sip of the hot brew. a little disappointed that you couldn’t see megumi yet, but his dad is right– it’s nearly a disaster outside but you find no point hanging around any longer either.

“is it too bitter? you don’t like it?” his voice laces with concern when he notices your face involuntarily scrunches up at the bitter taste. 

you quickly shake your head, “no, no. it’s fine!” you reassure, afraid that he’ll take offense from the coffee he personally made. “besides, if megumi isn’t here, i–”

three.

“oh, it’s fine if you wait here for him.” he cuts you off. “unfortunately, we don’t have an extra umbrella.” the corners of his lips tug into a comforting smile and you are quick to relax into it. 

you’ve always found toji to be quite frightening when you were young. he seemed like someone who never smiled, always had a sombre and intense vibe to him that no child would be too fond of.  there was no exchange of words between you two, except for your constant brief hello and a smile that you did out of courtesy whenever you bump into him inside his house, even though he never replied anything back. not even a crack on the lips to return the smile. 

but today is different. probably because he finds it easier for him to talk to an adult than a child and you’re relieved that you’re able to humor him in some way.

“so, are you and megumi a thing?” he abruptly asks and glances at you as he sips his coffee.

“no, we’re not!” you titter, waving a hand in dismissal as you bring up the mug to hide your face from embarrassment.

“oh?” a glint of amusement and surprise shines in his green eyes. “are you sure?”

you blink at the question as heat warms your cheeks from the thought of dating your best friend. “yes, megumi and i are just friends. really.” 

“why? because you have a boyfriend?” toji pries, uncaring if he sounds intrusive to you and you only assume that he’s trying to strike up a conversation in some old fashioned way.

you just shake your head and laugh, “it’s not that, either.” 

“hmm,” he props his elbow on the table leisurely, head resting on his fist as he looks at you intently, as if in search of something. “you’re pretty hard to figure out.” 

“what do you mean? i don’t think so.” you smile, bringing up the mug to cover your face again so you can shy away from his intense gaze yet he thinks that it’s endearing and he finds himself grinning unwillingly. 

toji notices how you always try to look away when you get so shy over some simple questions. you’re just oozing with purity and innocence of a maiden and something dark and twisted inside him is craving to violate every part of it. 

“for a start, i can’t figure out why you don’t have one.” he says, tapping his fingertips on the table as his mind is running with sinful thoughts. 

“hmm, maybe because i haven’t found anyone interesting yet.” you finally lock your eyes with his as you answer, not wanting to come off as rude if you keep on talking without looking directly at the man.

“isn’t my son good for you?” he couldn’t care less to be honest; he only plans to test the waters and is even more aroused to learn that you’ve never been touched by a man before and he feels like a wolf that’s just ready to pounce on a lost, little lamb.

“oh, no, no!” why do you have to get so bashful? he’ll fuck you on this table if you don’t stop. “we just don’t see each other that way.”

he’s so lost in his thoughts and carnal desires that whatever you’re babbling seems to go in one ear and out the other.

“then, what do you think of me?” he asks nonchalantly with a smirk plastered across his face.

you blink at him once, twice. “uhh, what?” is he suddenly getting self-conscious? 

“you heard me. what do you think of me?” yet he doesn’t seem like it either.

“umm,” you ponder for a moment as you think of every adjective you can find in your head that wouldn’t come out offensive if you’re going to be honest with him. why would he even ask you such a thing anyways? and why would it matter to him? there’s nothing nice about him that you could exactly pinpoint from the past except for ‘scary’, ‘serious’ and some other things revolving around those.

“i thought that you were kinda... scary?” you blurt unsurely, mentally slapping yourself for even daring to say such a thing to him. unless it’s a vibe that he was going for, then you’d be relieved. 

it isn’t exactly what toji wants to hear but he laughs heartily, “really?” a shiver runs down your spine when he looks at you again, his eyes glimmering with daunt. “but are you still scared of me?”

“uh, no.” you laugh. “you’re actually really nice, mr. fushiguro.” 

“oh, that makes me feel better.” another grin etches on his scarred lips as he draws his gaze to your hands that are tensing and fiddling with your sleeves and your leg is bouncing; a perfect depiction of a trembling lamb cornered in his den– and he’s fucking starving. 

has he got you on edge? are you nervous? good. “but i think you should.”

a lump catches in your throat and your heart drops, “i- what?”

the chair emits a screeching sound and it stumbles backwards as toji abruptly stands up from his seat. sheer panic causes you to rise on your feet too, and your eyes dart to the chair, and the male, back and forth as your mind tries to get a grasp on the situation.

“mr. fushiguro..?” you whisper meekly, taking a step away and around the table as you notice him taking a careful yet threatening inch closer. 

“no, no. i’m not gonna hurt you.” toji (barely) reassures you as he continues creeping on his feet. but the sinister smile on his lips takes out every last bit of faith you had in him and the loud voice in your head keeps telling you to run for the door and never look back– fuck the rain.

 as if he can read through your thoughts, he warns. “but i will, if you run.” 

the smile on toji’s face turns smug when he sees you freeze in place upon his threat. being trapped under the unpleasant situation triggers your fight or flight responses and rapid heartbeat drums in your ears as you stand in trance and trepidation.

“that’s a good girl.” he coos, taking another step forward before you decide to throw a mug at him and dash towards the door as fast as you can. you assume that toji has pushed the table to the floor when you hear a loud thud, followed by his hasty footsteps as he catches up quickly behind you. 

the door that is finally within arm’s reach suddenly changes into a mirage when a strong pair of arms grabs you by the waist and your body floats as it lifts onto his shoulder. the huge contrast between the size of your body and his should let you know; no matter how much you try to resist, he will never budge. yet, your arms and legs still flail around in an attempt to punch and kick him and you’re screaming for him to let you down and just hope that anyone is able to hear your cries in spite of the thunderstorm. 

well, so much for luck.

“ah, ah. you don’t wanna do that.” there’s a mocking and amusing tone in his voice as he advises you. “you should save that energy later. juuust in a bit.” 

“mr. fushiguro– stop–!” you sob, watching your only escape slowly disappears out of sight when he turns to a corner and into a dark room. your body bounces onto a mattress before toji’s huge, ripped figure swiftly looms above yours and ties your hands together with a belt and onto the headboard. at this point, the illuminating lights through the windows are the only thing that aids your vision and you have to rely more on your senses.

“shh,” he shushes you with a finger against your trembling lips. “the neighbors will hear. and if they do, i want it to be because you’re getting fucked so good. so be a good little girl for daddy, okay?”

regardless of being terrified, you find yourself cringing over the nickname he refers to himself. hopefully, he won’t ask you to call him that either. “mr. fushiguro– i– please don’t do this. i- i won’t tell anyone.” 

toji tsks, taking his sweet time to admire your smaller body underneath his– the exposed, soft skin on your neck waiting to be bruised, chest heaving as your breath comes deep and short, and legs pressing together to secure your modesty; though will prove to be futile later. 

“i know you won’t.” his thumb grazes against your lips, mesmerized by its plushness as he imagines it wrapped prettily around his throbbing cock. “are you a virgin?”

you only nod your head, eyes wavering as you look at his darker ones before catching it shine with interest. 

“never had anything inside here?” he asks again, pressing your cunt against the fabric of your pants with his fingers. the dark room makes it hard to see, but your cheeks are turning red from humiliation and you look away before shaking your head no.

“are you sure?” toji’s thumb presses down on your clit and causes your body to shudder apprehensively.

“o-only my finger.” you audibly whisper through the white noise outside. 

oh, how exhilarating. guess the innocent looking ones can be lewd too. don’t you know that a cock would make you feel better? a big cock like his is definitely what you need. just a finger wouldn’t be enough to satisfy you! poor little thing. 

“then i got to teach you a few things, right? it’ll come handy later. boys love girls with experiences.” he promptly strips you off from your pants before carelessly throws it to the ground and kneels between your legs to keep you wide and open for him.

“you like to be touched here?” his finger reaches down to ghost over your clothed clit, observing you with lust filled eyes while you turn away from his gaze and remain unresponsive. “daddy is a very impatient person so i suggest you answer me.”

toji pinches your clit, and your body squirms with an elicited yelp. you can only guess (and hope) that he wasn’t referring to him touching you there but you answer anyway, “y-yes.”

he hums in satisfaction, moving down until his head stops between your thighs and in front of your sex. toji grabs your thigh and spreads them apart before flattening his warm tongue against your clothed bud, causing a shiver to run down your spine and it quickly draws your attention to him.

your face heats up in embarrassment when you see toji’s head dipped in front of your pussy, but he’s only calm and teasing as his jade eyes stare up to lock with yours to look for a reaction.

“you’ve never felt a tongue over here either, hm?” he sneers, rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb and you mentally curse yourself for feeling slightly aroused over his ministrations. 

“just let me go, please.” you try to close your legs, but to no avail when his rough hands push them away.

“you know, if you keep asking for ridiculous things,” toji tuts and grasps your supple thighs hard, nails digging painfully on your skin. “i might have to get rough on you. but you’re a smart girl and you wouldn’t like that, right?” 

“n-no.” you choke and fidget.

“good. because i only want you to feel good.” he offers a gentle smile and kisses the dented mark on your thigh. “so, let’s start over. you haven’t answered me.”

you nibble your lip hesitantly and look anywhere but him, “no.”

“see? all the more reason for me to show you what you’ve been missing out.” he chuckles, tugging your underwear to the side impatiently.

“fuck. such a pretty pussy.” he growls at the sight of your bare cunt. there isn’t a lot of slick yet, but it’s fine, he’ll make you get there. that’s the point of this whole ordeal, right?

your body quivers naturally once you feel the foreign sensation; wet, warm muscle prodding your puffy folds up to your clit and circling on it with the tip of his tongue teasingly as he observes you from below. 

your eyes are screwed shut and your lips are caught between your teeth as you try to restrict your whines from the undeniable pleasure rushing in your veins and he doesn’t stop– your pathetic attempt to deny him and your sentiments only drives him to push you over the edge even more. 

with a harsh suck on your clit, he manages to get you to squeal and you can feel him smirking underneath you. toji flattens his tongue and laps off your juices again before he takes you by surprise when he suddenly slides a finger inside your tight, wet cunt. 

“shh. it’ll feel good, baby girl.” he comforts when he hears you whimper at the pain inflicted and true enough, it soon begins to feel good. you’ve fingered yourself plenty of times before, but it feels different when he does it for you– his finger is thick and long that it reaches deeper than you’ve ever been able to.

toji notices you start to become quiet so he slides in another digit, eliciting yet another sob from you. the warm and moist cunny makes his cock twitch and he finds himself getting eager. your back arches from the bed when toji curls his fingers to stroke the bumpy tissues of your g-spot with every drag.

“feels good, yeah?” he grins arrogantly as your legs tremble under his hold. your breathing has turned erratic and your toes are curling as your mouth gapes in pitiful, broken cries that are just music to his ears. 

“answer me, sweetheart.” he presses down a thumb on your neglected clit, reminding you that he is not keen on being ignored and disputed. 

“y-yes.” you finally choke through pants and shame. though the answer comes out in hesitance, your body is more honest– pussy sopping and eliciting obscene squelches and it’s enough to satisfy him for now. 

your head thrashes side to side as you feel yourself about to tip over but you still refuse to beg toji for a release. 

“hah– fuck!” you whimper loudly when toji oh-so-generously sucks your clit again, fingers pumping faster inside your cunt, making your body feel even more tense with overbearing stimulation before finally pushing you over the edge and you break into a silent scream.

toji laps off your slick before he pulls out his finger into his mouth and licks them clean. 

“that’s a good girl. why don’t you taste yourself?” he climbs on top of you while you gasp for air from the intense orgasm and he easily pulls you into a fervour, sloppy kiss. you can feel the wet slick on his chin and you can taste yourself at the same time as he intertwines his tongue with yours. 

four.

out of spite and vexation, you found courage to bite his tongue hard and toji instantly pushes himself from you, his dark eyes express astonishment and agitation.

“fucking bitch.” he curses as his eyes narrow at you displeasingly before he takes off his pants and briefs to release his cock from its confinements. his cock is throbbing and thick, and you can almost see a trickle of precum on its head. you crumple at the sight as regret and anxiety washes over you.

“don’t worry, it’ll fit.” he says cockily upon the worrisome look on your face. “but since you like it rough, i’m sure you want to choke on it first.” 

“no– i’m sorry!” you shake your head but toji only lets out a scornful laugh as he disregards your pleas and props himself on the knees and over your neck.

toji slaps the tip of his cock on your lips, gesturing you to open your mouth but you purse them into a flat, thin line and refuse to obey. 

“open up. it’s a part of your lesson after all.” he snaps before squeezing your cheeks together. “it’ll get worse if you don’t listen to me.” 

“d-don’t wa-ant to– flea-shh.” you whimper and toji emits a long, deep sigh as he releases his grip. 

“i don’t like repeating myself.” his voice is laced with malice and chills crawls up your spine as his eyes look down at you demeaningly before you slowly open your mouth trepidatiously and wait for his next order. 

“no teeth. i think you’d know that much.” he patronizes before sliding his cock inside your mouth and he hisses as the warmth engulfs his throbbing cock. “that’s it. now, suck.”

and you have no choice but to obey submissively. you slightly lift your head and struggle to take his length as much as you can before running your tongue around to feel each prominent vein.

“i said suck, whore.” he commands through gritted teeth. you hollow your cheeks, compressing his fat cock tight between them as you bop your head up and down. 

“fuuuck, just like that.” toji groans as his hand reaches the top of your head and caresses you softly. you start to pick up the pace, slobbering his dick with so much saliva that it begins to seep from the corners of your mouth and it’s so wet and obscene– just the way he likes it. 

“it almost makes me think that this isn’t your first time.” his head falls back and hips begin to jerk until the tip hits the back of your throat, forcing you to take more than you could. you choke as tears start to well up in your eyes and the bedhead shakes when you try to tug your wrists. 

“what’s wrong? can’t take my fat cock?” he scoffs arrogantly. “you gotta work on your gag reflex, sweetheart.”

the muffles from your throat vibrate against his dick and toji groans in pleasure that he subconsciously rocks his hips, slapping your chin with his balls. your vision has become blurry and breathing becomes harder as you let him abuse your throat and your jaws ache before he abruptly pulls out and you can finally gasp for precious air.

“look at you,” his cock twitches with excitement when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks from your doe eyes and he wipes them away with his thumb, making you flinch slightly, “are you sorry for making daddy mad?” 

toji always tries to articulate each word with appease. it’s never soothing per se when you can sense the threat entwining in his voice and it’s fucking you psychologically.

and it deems to be successful when you’re already trembling in fear underneath him. 

you’re uncertain whether he prefers you to speak or not, but your throat is sore so you meekly nod your head in response. it’s better than nothing, to be honest.

“good. open your mouth.”

your mouth is already parted for air but you assume that he wants to put his cock in again. submissively, yet dreadfully, you open your mouth wider and await for him to shove his cock back in but you’re surprised when toji spits in your mouth instead. 

it’s warm and disgusting; you’re just left gaping and repelled, and you want to spit it out but toji squeezes your cheeks together.

“swallow.” he orders. you quickly brace yourself and close your eyes before cringing as you gulp down the mix of saliva in your mouth and toji releases his grip once he’s certain that you’ve ingested. 

“i could’ve made you swallow my cum but i’d feel bad,” he chuckles sardonically. “what do you have to say?” 

“t-thank you.” you whisper vaguely and he accustoms his face to a simper. 

“good girl.” toji smashes his lips onto yours, yet his eyes are locked with yours ominously for a brief second– a telltale that he expects you not to pull up another stunt before they close as he deepens the kiss. 

obviously, nothing would benefit you whether you comply or defy, not until you’ve catered for his insatiable lechery. but you’ve learned your lesson and although you’re compelled, you finally relent as every ounce of resistance begins to drift from you. 

toji breaks the kiss and shifts lower, peppering greedy kisses on your neck before he catches the soft, chaste skin between his teeth to suck and form purplish bruising marks. he lifts up your shirt over your head and hastily unclasps your bra, causing you to shudder once the cold air hits your exposed breasts. 

large, calloused hands press your mounds before his mouth latches on one perky tit, while the other is tweaked with his fingers. experienced tongue draws circles and sucks punishingly, alternating with the other nipple. the headboard rattles as you keen over the stimulation and your eyes open in dismay when you feel something hard prodding your clit. 

he moves lower and spits on your cunt before propping on his knees to take off his tight shirt– through subdued glow, you can make out the outline of his toned abs and broad chest as his large build towers menacingly in front of you; even when he’s not standing on his feet.

“listen. daddy is going to release the binds, but do you promise to be good?” he asks, smearing the saliva with his cockhead and against your slit.

“yes. i- i promise.” you murmur appallingly; as if you have a choice in the matter.

toji leans over to unrestrain you then he observes you, expecting you to put up a fight but instead, you just remain still underneath him. 

he grins in satisfaction, getting off to the fact that you���ve fallen into submission before he shifts back into his prior position and bends your knees up to line his cock with your hole. a feeling of triumph stirs inside him when he’s reminded that he’s the ‘chosen’ one to defile your innocence.

“stop! it hurts–!” you wail and your hands clench the sheets when you feel toji’s thick cock stretching your virgin cunt slowly, but he ignores you, groaning at the warmth that engulfs him and the tight walls that clenches him as he selfishly pushes through. 

it burns. so bad. your chest heaves rapidly and you screw your eyes shut as your face twists to express pain and uncomfort. “please, please–! i can’t–”

“yes, you can.” his tone is indifferent as he holds you down since your body keeps on wincing until he finally fills you to the brim and he can see a bulge poking on your tummy. 

“fuck. haven’t been inside a virgin cunt for a while.” he mutters under his breath. “now, i know it hurts but i promise you’ll enjoy it. it’s just too bad that you get to have a big cock as your first.” he snickers nonchalantly and leans down closer to your face, making you jolt when you feel it inching deeper.

“if it makes you feel better– you’re fucking tight. just the way daddy likes it.” toji whispers in your ear but you can only freeze in fear and agony.

toji hovers above you, his hands firmly grip the headboard in front of him and he begins to move his hips; thrusting in and out of your pussy. 

your fists clench the sheets harder as a loud cry rips from your throat, “no! it hurts! please!”

but toji doesn’t seem to mind, his cyan orbs stare down at you coldly yet in focus as he relishes over the plush walls clamping down on his cock. 

“stop! stop– i- i don’t want–!” you continuously wail as you writhe in anguish before he suddenly stops pounding and he wraps his hand around your neck instead, instantly drawing your attention to him as he applies pressure in his hold. 

“if you don’t stop whining like a bitch in heat, i will fucking breed you like one.” he warns through gritted teeth, clearly agitated over your act of defiance. 

“you want this. you’re going to love this.” his words are sick endeavours to coerce you into another round of complete submission. 

but what else can you do? toji’s hand is so large that his middle finger and thumb almost reach each other as it clasps around your frail neck and you know he can easily crush your windpipes if he wants to.

“say it. you. want. this.” he seethes.

“i. want. this.” you barely croak each word and they’re slowly influencing your cloudy mind. as soon as he releases you, you soothe the pain around your throat with your hand as you gasp for air.

“fuck. don’t think i didn’t feel you clenching around my cock just now.” he sneers and situates himself again before ruthlessly and steadily continuing where he left off. 

you only close your eyes and bite your lips hard to stop whimpering as you mentally comfort yourself and dissolve every inch of your sanity; i’m going to enjoy it, it’s going to feel good soon, i want this, i want this.

soon enough, toji notices that your muscles have relaxed– suggesting that you’ve finally caved in as pleasure overtakes you so he fucks you deeper and faster before he falls on his elbows and you can feel his bangs tickling your face.

“that’s it, baby. you make daddy feel so fucking good.” he praises between grunts. you can feel the veins on his cock dragging against your walls and he’s right, it feels so good and your lips open in breathless pants.

you find your arms to loosely wrap around his neck and your legs around his waist as if clinging onto him for dear life as toji ruts into your cunny like a feral beast. 

“you like it, yeah? this is what you want, isn’t it?” 

through hazy mind, you can only manage to whimper an audible ‘yes’ as you feel an odd, yet almost familiar knot twisting in your lower stomach begging to snap and your nails dig into the skin of his broad back upon the intense sensation shooting through your body. 

a low, deep guttural sound leaves his throat when he feels your nails sinking and scratching his back– it prompts him to quicken his pace and you can feel the tip of his cock kissing your cervix over and over, causing your back to arch simultaneously. 

“i’m– i’m gonna–!” you keen as your body trembles in anticipation and your sopping cunt is clenching on his throbbing cock like a vice. 

“fuck yeah. cum on daddy’s cock.” toji urges and nips on the sensitive skin of your neck to tip you over the edge and your pupils blow wide as you break into a scream. despite being your second orgasm for the night, an overwhelming euphoria washes over you for the first time of your life; is this what it feels like? you don’t know, you’ve never had one (at least not from a cock) and your pussy is just fluttering, pulsing and creaming around his cock. 

“hah– fuck. good girl.” 

toji remains to snap his hips, fucking you through your high as you’re left in daze from your orgasm. toji can feel his balls tensing and his thrusts are turning sporadic as he inches closer to his climax. your whines and nonsense babbles are drowned by the feeling of pleasure that’s enveloping him and he doesn’t even have the resolution to listen to you gibbering when your cunny is just milking him, sucking him in like it doesn’t want to let go and he just wants to give what your greedy pussy asks for; to fill it up with his thick load until it’s full and leaking out of you. 

and daddy knows best, after all.

“shit– i won’t be able to hold it any longer. say you want daddy’s cum.” he grunts.

you’ve partly snapped out of your daze when you hear his voice again, and though you can’t see his face that’s already buried next to your head, you’re petrified and it’s making you feel dizzy and suffocated. 

“i– n-no. please not–” you sob through your raw throat.

but toji doesn’t listen and you don’t know if you’re relieved or not because if he does, you know that it’ll tick him off and it’s going to do you more harm than good– but you’re scared and it hurts, that you unwillingly start to snivel again.

“shut up. you’re gonna take it like a good cumslut.” he shoves two long fingers in your mouth, causing you to choke on them.

“daddy’s gonna cum in this pretty pussy and you’re gonna fucking take it.” 

toji’s grunts ring in your ears and you’re able to feel his cock twitching inside you before he finally releases hot ropes of cum– filling up and defiling your womb.

“y-you came inside..” you mumble once he takes out his fingers as you’re left entirely devastated and stupefied. 

“fucking did.” he pants, lifting his body up from you and pulls out his cock to shove back the dribbling cum that’s leaking from your abused cunny with his finger. you would wince but your mind is already numb and your body is sore that you can do nothing but burn holes through the ceiling above.

“don’t look so sad.” the room resonates with his chuckles and he gets off the bed to put back on his pants. toji walks over to the nightstand where a pack of cigarettes await him and he puts one between his lips and you can hear the flicking sounds of a lighter as he tries to burn the tip. 

“i can promise you that other guys wouldn’t be rough as me but one thing’s for sure,” he inhales the tobacco and exhales in a gratifying manner, “that will stay as the best fuck of your life.”

fat tears stream down your cheeks and you curl on your side, protecting your now-ruined-body as you quietly sob and your mind takes you back from how the ordeal even started and causes you to end up where you are right now– and it only makes you cry harder.

toji only lets out an exasperated sigh. he grabs his shirt from the floor and throws it on his shoulder before reaching the door.

“megumi won’t be coming home ‘til tomorrow. he said something about the train and the weather, so you can leave when you’re done. you know your way out.”

you hear the door close shut behind him and you’re left in the dark with nothing but the smell of his tobacco and the sounds of the drizzling rain accompanying you as you drown in your thoughts and griefs. 

how many mistakes have you made today? four? five? or more? 

you’ve lost count and you question yourself over again until you’re no longer able to care.

what’s done is done.

duskamethyst © 2020 • do not modify, translate or repost anywhere.

enjoyed this work? wanna buy me coffee? :)

[myaimistrue]

my gift for the wonderful @lotsofquestionslimitedanswers as part of the @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! i hope you love this sweet bit of fluff as much as i loved writing it <3

also available on ao3

Cas has fought celestial battles. He has seen the rise and fall of human civilizations, he has razed cities and healed kings, and he has been the only thing outside of God’s control. Yet somehow, someway, he is being bested by a pan of scrambled eggs.

He lets out a string of curses he would never have even dreamed of fifteen years prior, and carefully carries the smoking pan to the trash can. He dumps as much of the blackened lump as he can unceremoniously into the trash can and sticks the pan, still coated in bits of burned eggs, back on the stove.

Cas is trying to make breakfast to bring to Dean in bed. He’s doing okay, he thinks, except now there just won’t be any eggs. Or pancakes. (Cas actually thought the batter turned out pretty nicely, but when he went to pour the first bit into the pan, his hand slipped—he spent a good twenty minutes cleaning all of that up.) At least there’s still bacon. Shit, the bacon!

Cas rips the oven open, still cursing, and just barely remembers to put an oven mitt on before he pulls the pan out. Thank God, the bacon is on just the right side of burnt, sizzling and crispy but not blackened yet. He breathes a sigh of relief, and sets the pan down carefully beside the other on the stove. Well, Dean’s always enjoyed bacon the most—if breakfast is just that, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Cas figures he can at least make some toast to go with it. Unfortunately, he forgot to buy more bread at the store yesterday, so there are only three pieces left, two of which are end pieces. He toasts them all, gnawing on a thumbnail and trying to convince himself that Dean won’t hate all of this.

Cas has only been back, free from the Empty and fully human, for a month. It’s been a good month, mostly, full of reunions and laughter and slowly but surely figuring things out. He and Dean share a bed now, share a life in a way they never did before, and it’s good. Cas is learning to be human again, and every step of the way, Dean is with him, endlessly patient and gentle with all of it, seemingly happy just to be with him at all. And Cas gets to kiss Dean when he wants, gets to hold his hand and brush his fingertips along the crinkles at the corners of Dean’s eyes, and every day, he gets to tell Dean he loves him. 

The only problem, really, is that Dean hasn’t said it back yet.

Cas knows Dean loves him. It’s clear now—it was clear from the moment he stumbled out of the Empty and into Dean’s trembling arms—and Cas understands that Dean shows it in different ways than words. He shows it in the way he sat with Cas for an hour helping him learn to tie his shoes, the way he makes PB&Js without complaint whenever Cas requests them, the way he slides his hand into Cas’s while driving and runs his thumb back and forth along Cas’s palm. Regardless of whether he says it out loud, Dean loves Cas with such ferocity that Cas sometimes worries he can’t match it. 

So Cas is doing what he can: he’s making breakfast in bed.

He arranges the limited food on an old wooden tray, along with two mugs of steaming coffee and a jar of Dean’s favorite apricot jelly that he did remember at the store. Cas studies his handiwork critically, then adds a few napkins (amidst all the change, Dean remains a very messy eater). The end result looks nice, Cas thinks. Better than he worried it might, at least.

Slowly, carefully, Cas makes his way out of the kitchen, and to the bedroom he now shares with Dean. The door is cracked from when Cas left earlier, and he can see the corner of the bed, the way Dean’s pulled all the blankets over to his side. Cas smiles at how familiar that’s become lately—it seems that with the luxury of his own bed, Dean is loath to share the covers; Cas steals them back all night long, but it works out because Dean puts up with his kicking. 

He creeps in and sets the tray down on his bedside table. Then, unable to resist, he slips back under the covers and wraps his arms around Dean. Dean stirs somewhat awake, and wiggles back into Cas with a satisfied hum. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean says sleepily. “Where’ve you been? ’S early.”

“Uh, I was…” Cas glances back at breakfast, and he thinks it looks measly now, small and poorly put together. “I made breakfast. For you to eat in bed.”

“...You made me breakfast in bed?”

“Yeah,” Cas says quietly, tucking his face in Dean’s neck, enjoying the closeness but also trying to hide his embarrassment. “Is that okay?”

“What? ‘Course it is.” Dean sounds like he’s smiling, and Cas can see it in his mind’s eye, that dreamy thing that only comes out when Dean is extremely relaxed. “It’s sweet.”

“Sweet,” Cas says, testing the way the word feels in his mouth.

“Yeah.” Dean’s still half-asleep, unfiltered and unencumbered in a way he rarely is, even now. “You’re real sweet to me, Cas. Always are.”

“Even though the breakfast isn’t good?”

“What?”

Cas sighs. “I messed up the pancakes and the eggs, and there wasn’t enough bread. It doesn’t look good like it does when you make breakfast.”

“I don’t care about that,” Dean says, a little more awake, his voice sure and strong. “I’d eat concrete if you made it for me.”

At that, Cas feels the knots in his stomach begin to unwind, feels his heartbeat slow to match Dean’s. He kisses the back of Dean’s neck, lips lingering on sleep-warm skin. Dean shifts closer.

“We’d better get up,” Dean murmurs. “Don’t want the coffee to get cold.”

“Or the bacon.”

“You made bacon?” Dean sits straight up in bed, sniffing around in the air like a bloodhound and apparently completely awake. Cas rolls his eyes and flops over into the warm spot he left behind, pulling the covers up and over himself again. “I can’t believe I didn’t smell that. Damn, Cas. You outdid yourself.”

“I don’t know about that,” Cas says. He peeks around the blankets as Dean grabs the tray and settles it over his legs eagerly. “It’s not—”

“Oh hell yeah!” Dean looks down at him with a brilliant smile that seems to make everything else around them go dim. “You got the apricot jelly stuff?”

“Yeah.” One thing Cas had done right. “I picked some up at the store the other day. I know it’s your favorite.”

Inexplicably, Dean’s ears go red. “Thanks, Cas.”

“Of course.” Cas sits up and studies Dean’s face like he has for years. Dean’s expression is a little difficult to read, but he’s still smiling. Cas feels himself start to smile, too. “So this is okay? You like it?”

“Dude.” Dean looks at him incredulously, but it’s good-natured, fond. “You’re as bad as me. I’m telling you, this is great. I don’t think I’ve ever had breakfast in bed before. And it’s…” Dean goes red again, this time all the way to the apples of his cheeks, but he continues on valiantly. “Nobody’s ever done the shit you do for me. And I’m so fucking lucky, it’s ridiculous, and I…” The hush of their bedroom seems to grow, to expand, as Dean glances at the tray then back at Cas with some huge emotion behind his eyes. “I love you.”

Cas blinks. “You—”

“I love you.” Dean says again.

“You love me,” Cas repeats breathlessly. He knew it would come eventually, he did, but this—this is worth the wait.

“I love you.” Dean laughs like he can’t quite believe it, like he’s so happy it’s ridiculous, it’s impossible. “Holy shit, there it is. I said it. I love you. You made me breakfast in bed, and I fucking love you.”

Cas surges up, unable to hold himself back any longer. He takes Dean’s face in his hands and kisses him as deeply as he can, as deeply as he’s ever wanted to. Dean is surprised at first, but meets Cas in the middle like he always does, takes what Cas gives him and then takes some more. They only separate when the tray is in danger of tipping all of their breakfast over onto the floor.

“Let’s eat first?” Dean says sheepishly. “And drink the coffee?”

Cas’s face hurts from how hard he’s smiling. “Yeah. Okay.”

So they sit side-by-side in bed on top of the covers, sharing bacon and toast, sipping coffee between secret little smiles, and Cas relishes every bit of it, every human moment. He watches Dean chew, enraptured by the image he makes: the sunlight behind his head a halo, the holiness of his soft grey shirt and sleep-mussed hair, and all of it, eclipsed the golden shine of a soul Cas can no longer see but can feel—even in his humanity, he knows he can feel it. 

“I love you,” Cas says.

And when Dean says it back, his face is more beautiful than anything in heaven.

[meg-moira]

A short story based on this writing prompt.

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The woman sloshed from the water, waves frothing about her knees as if the cold ocean was straining to keep her. Once on land, her soft toes sunk into wet sand as her legs wobbled with disuse. Lush black hair hung over her shoulders and back in sodden, twisting ringlets, and she crossed her arms against the cold as she stumbled toward a rocky outcropping in the distance. Goosebumps rose along dark skin as her eyes, black as the sea-depths, searched the beach for movement.

Save for the scuttling of a gray crab, all was still.

Naia was the name she had chosen, and when she emerged from the rocks, Naia wore a thick shawl, cotton breeches, and boots which made her toes feel warm but terribly constricted. Standing on the sand, she brushed her fingers along the fabric, hands tracing down the sides of her legs. With an eager, if not somewhat ungainly skip, she set out toward the white bluffs which stretched above the beach - and the red-roofed buildings which piled atop them.

In the city’s streets, Naia was treated to a series of friendly nods. She’d visited the city a handful of times over the past year, and it seemed that at least a few of the residents recognized her. The thought warmed her, and Naia made the rest of the journey to the tea shop with a delighted spring in her admittedly, still wobbly steps.

She was jittery with an energy which was both excited and nervous, for she had made a friend. A human friend. Her friend’s name was Saoirse, and Naia had met her after unknowingly venturing into town on a market day. Saoirse was selling bracelets made of pretty ocean polished stones, and though Naia had no money at the time, she’d stopped to admire the jewelry all the same. Touched by Naia’s admiration of her work, Saoirse slipped a bracelet over Naia’s hand, and the only payment she asked for was to meet for tea a month from that day.

And now, a month later, Naia stood at the tea shop entrance, stone bracelet cool against her wrist.

Saoirse sat at a round wooden table in a tucked-away corner, beneath a window trimmed in emerald curtains. Her pale hands were folded together atop the table, and chestnut brown hair, cropped short, curled about her ears. She had a narrow face, a strong, high bridged nose, and large dark eyes. As soon as Naia stepped into the shop, wooden floorboards creaking beneath her, those large eyes flickered up. Instantly, Saoirse was smiling, the kind which filled her face, dimpling her cheeks.

When Naia sat, it took her a moment to figure out how to fold her legs comfortably between the chair and table. Fortunately, Saoirse seemed not to notice, and when Saoirse reached across the table, squeezing Naia’s hands, Naia squeezed back. She was determined to avoid scaring her new friend away with the truth - that it was a mermaid who’d joined her for tea.

“It’s good to see you, friend,” Saoirse said, smiling brightly.

“And you,” Naia replied.

“I hope you don’t mind - I ordered tea for us both.”

“I don’t mind.”

Saoirse’s smile widened, and up close, Naia noticed that the teeth at the corners of her mouth looked surprisingly sharp. If humans hunted for fish in the sea like merfolk, Saoirse’s sharp teeth would be particularly useful, Naia thought - before forcing it out of her mind. She was meant to be making human conversation, not discussing the best methods for catching fish in one’s mouth.

Naia cleared her throat. She’d practiced this. Granted, the practice had been with a particularly talkative gannet. But practice was still practice, and Naia was determined to make a good, very human, impression.

“So,” Naia said, folding her hands in a mimicry of Saoirse’s posture. “Is selling jewelry your means of collecting coins?”

Saoirse’s chin dipped in a hurried nod. “Oh yes. I collect many beautiful coins from my jewelry sales.”

“Wow,” Naia said, a little breathlessly, as she imagined what it would be like to hold so many pretty, gleaming coins in her hands.

“What of you?” Saoirse asked.

“Oh, I-” Naia stammered. “I - um, find my coins. In the sand.” There really was no way to explain that she collected the stray coins which dropped like fallen stars to the sea floor.

“The sand,” Saoirse breathed, black eyes growing wide. “How marvelous.”

Naia grinned, pleased that her answer had been satisfactory. Breathing easier, she relaxed back into her chair.

A young man delivered their tea. He carried a teapot and two earthen mugs. As he bent over the table, nimble fingers deposited the teapot and then the two mugs before them. He had long black hair that fell over his shoulder in a long braid and eyes as bright as a kelp forest in shallow water. Dipping his head, he said, “Please enjoy,” before hurrying away.

Naia stared for a moment at the pot in silent consideration, and when she looked up, saw Saoirse doing the same. However, when Saoirse saw Naia looking, she straightened up, grabbing for the teapot. Pulling it in front of her, she plucked the lid from the top and peered down at the liquid inside. Her nostrils flared as she eyed it critically.

“Is it...okay?”

Saoirse paused before nodding. “Yes. You’ve got to check beforehand to be sure, though.”

Naia nodded as if this made perfect sense. In truth, she knew little of tea, and had yet to consume any in her visits to land.

Wordlessly, Saoirse plucked a spoon from a tray at the table and set about scooping sodden leaves into each of the mugs. Tilting her head, Naia watched the process, utterly fascinated. She had always assumed tea referred to the liquid - but clearly it was meant to describe these leaves once they were soaked in water.

When Saoirse slid her a mug, Naia grabbed a spoon of her own. Before eating however, Naia paused. She recalled a ritual she’d observed humans practicing at meals. Meeting Saoirse’s eyes, she dipped her head down and said, “I pray to you my thanks for this meal.”

Saoirse blinked, and then she was nodding. Dipping her head, she repeated Naia’s words, “I pray to you my thanks for this meal.”

And then, lifting their spoons, they scooped the wet leaves into their mouths.

The taste was...bitter. But no more bitter than a bite of an urchin not yet matured. Naia turned the leaf over in her mouth before grinding it between her teeth and swallowing.

“A delicacy,” Naia said, licking her lips.

“Yes,” Saoirse replied, poking at the other leaves in her cup.

Naia watched as she spooned another glob of leaves into her mouth. As she leaned forward over the cup, Naia noticed, for the first time, the thick pelt that wrapped around her shoulders. It was odd. The pelt was dark - almost oily in appearance, and it certainly should have been one of the first things she noticed - but until now, Naia’s eyes had slid right over it. It was pretty, she reflected, admiring the sheen.

“I like your shawl.”

When Saoirse stiffened, Naia froze, wracking her brain to determine the human social norm she had violated. Perhaps Saoirse thought she wanted it? Because that was what had happened with the bracelet, wasn’t it? But it was one thing to give away a trinket and quite another to give away the pelt which kept you warm.

“I do not want it,” Naia hurried to explain. “Your bracelet was gift enough for me.”

Saoirse’s tight expression relaxed, and she lifted a hand, running her fingers along the pelt. “It is special to me.”

“It is lovely.”

“Thank you,” the corners of Saoirse’s eyes crinkled with her smile.

When the waiter returned, he glanced a little oddly at the teapot and mugs. When he asked them if the tea was satisfactory, both women assured him it was. Before returning to the back, he turned a dark, contemplative look upon them both.

Both Naia and Saoirse watched him go.

“Perhaps I should have given him shinier coins,” Saoirse mused in a thoughtful whisper.

Naia swallowed, nodding, for that must have been what offended him. “We humans love our shiny things.”

“That we do,” Saoirse agreed, and promptly dug a gleaming coin from the pouch at her waist. Holding it triumphantly up, she set it on the table with a click. “I’m sure this will please him.”

“If it doesn’t, he’s a fool,” Naia said a little haughtily. “It’s very shiny.”

Both women gazed a little wistfully at the coin.

“So,” Saoirse said at last. “Tell me more about yourself. What do you like to do?”

Naia didn’t hesitate with this answer. It was one she had prepared. “I walk. Everywhere. All of the time. Walking. It burns my muscles most pleasantly.”

“Walking is wonderful, isn’t it?” Saoirse agreed, an excited flush crossing her pale cheeks. “Not always convenient. But it’s always an adventure.”

Naia nodded in eager agreement. She was overjoyed to have so much in common with this human.

“Perhaps we can walk after our tea,” Naia ventured. “Where the cliffs overlook the sea.”

Before Saoirse could answer, the waiter returned. His hands slammed the table, and Naia and Saoirse both jumped in their seats as the teapot and cups rattled on the shaking wood. Saoirse’s lips curled back, and her white teeth gleamed. From Naia’s mouth, there escaped a hiss.

Gone was the waiter’s easy cordiality. His fine-boned cheeks were pale, and those green eyes were sharp as the broken glass which collected beneath the shipyard waters. His elegant fingers curled around the edges of the table as he glared.

“I know,” he said, and his voice was trembling. Whether with rage or fear, Naia couldn’t be sure.

Naia’s heart was a rock in her chest. Mouth dry, she could only stare as her toes curled helplessly in her boots.

It was Saoirse who spoke. “Know what?” she snapped.

“You can stop hiding. I know what you are.”

Naia heaved a shuddering breath. Swallowing, she looked across the table. Saoirse, her gaze filled with inexplicable terror, stared back.

“I don’t understand why you fae hunters won’t just leave me alone.” The waiter’s voice hitched, and he sounded near to tears.

Naia’s head whipped around so fast that her neck gave a twinge. “What?”

At once, the waiter's rage fled, melting instead into an exhausted sort of grief. Green eyes welling with bright, inhuman tears, he bitterly shook his head. “I saw that you refused the tea. Not a drop of it was drunk! It’s a myth you know. I can’t bespell folk with just any food or drink.”

“Oh,” Naia said, drawing a wondering breath. “You’re meant to drink it.”

“Yes of course you drink-” the waiter’s mouth snapped closed. “Wait what?”

“What?” Saoirse exclaimed, looking at Naia.

“Wait...” Naia said looking back at Saoirse, taking in her dark eyes and the pelt around her shoulders.

“What?!” the waiter said, throwing his hands up as he looked between them.

“You’re not human,” Naia and Saoirse said in unison.

For a long moment, all three were silent.

And then Saoirse was laughing, and it was a sharp, barking sound.

Naia pressed a hand over her mouth as she looked at Saoirse. “You’re a selkie,” she said between her fingers.

“Well of course I am. And you’re merfolk,” Saoirse said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

“Yes well you’re both responsible for the couple hundred years that stress probably took from my life,” the waiter said, tossing his braid over his shoulder and crossing his arms against his chest.

“Is leaf water good?” Naia asked, looking at him doubtfully.

“Of course it is,” the waiter said with a sigh and pulled up a chair. “Here, let me pour it.”

Steam rose from the mugs, and Naia watched as it softened Saoirse’s sharp features. “I thought you were my first human friend,” Naia admitted.

Saoirse bit her lip, and Naia again glimpsed those sharp teeth. “Maybe instead I’ll be your first Selkie friend?”

Wrapping her fingers around the hot mug, Naia smiled. “I think I’d like that.”

“And we can still take that walk. I do so like moving these legs,” Saoirse said. Gaze sliding to her right, she studied the waiter. “Would you like to join us, faerie?”

“It’s Adam,” he said with a sniff. “And yes, alright.”

“I’ll give you a bracelet to make up for scaring you,” Saoirse said.

“And I will not eat you should you slip and fall into my waters,” Naia generously offered.

“...thanks.”

Naia grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Tea was good, as it turned out. And once the teapot was empty, the mermaid, selkie, and faerie left the shop to walk together.

If any should have turned their gaze toward the ocean that day, they would have observed three windswept silhouettes trailing along the pale bluffs. And should the watcher have persisted in watching, they would have seen the figures’ outlines shifting, becoming something beautiful and other when faced with the vast blue of sky and sea.

[marvellovegalore]

Death in the Afternoon

Chris Evans

Parte trois - Breaking You

Synopsis: You're having what seems to be withdrawal symptoms and you're dying to see the love of your life - and be with him once and for all.

Word Count: 4,416

Warning: Explicit Language, Extremely Sensitive Issues, Gore, Sexual Content

Author's Note: Refer to previous parts before reading this one. Thanks for making writing so enjoyable - I really love + appreciate reading your comments + opinions! I really hope you guys enjoy this and let me know what you think!

Finale

His letter sits crumpled in your desk drawer, your glance stains its words, the page yellowed by its exposure to the sun.

Every single day that has passed since you last saw him, you have cried.

You forced yourself back to work just to finish the film that you were filming for the past five months; now that it is done you have all the time in the world to stay lying down on your cold bathroom floor - until tomorrow. The contents of your stomach lying at the bottom of the toilet bowl. The world is spinning, and your breathing is ragged and deep.

The email you sent him is still open on your laptop screen, the screen now dim from being inactive for twenty minutes. You can barely see the words you typed out to him through the tears in your eyes.

You hesitantly lift yourself from the tiled floor, your shaky legs threaten to collapse beneath you and leave you in a heap on the ground. The walk back to your bed is tremulous and slow. Your heavy eyes are stuck to the bed, willing your brain to lead you there. You lose track of the time it takes you get to your bed.

The notification sound comes from your laptop, you slowly sit up towards your laptop. You summon the strength to open your eyes wider, he’s replied.

‘I’ll be there soon.’

Your body feels lighter, his acknowledgement and acceptance makes your body float softly.

You don’t know how you’ll go on without him, the sensation makes you sick. You’ve never wanted to depend on another person for your happiness. You’ve been okay being alone as long as you can remember.

The day he left you made you spiral. You sought help from a hotel guest that managed to hear your small pleas for help from the other side of the door. You begged her not to call an ambulance, you asked for her to help to get you into a taxi and you were on your way to a private doctor. You needed utmost privacy. Your doctor saw some small health concerns that affected your heart, he requested you majorly decrease your cigarette and alcohol intake and that you visit him once a month so he could come to a certain conclusion.

On your second visit you received your earth-shattering news.

Pregnant, four weeks along.

It had been four weeks exactly since you had seen him. The devastation that afflicted you made you sick all over again. You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t go back to your doctor. You chose to let life go on as normal for three weeks, but the agony was breaking your heart further the more you did that. You considered several things before emailing him. You could go on to give birth and never tell him that it is his and it could grow without a father; or you could abort it. The last option makes you feel unsettled, though you don’t know why. It’s what your brain immediately went to when you learnt about it.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?

He just read that you really need him, and you miss him in your email. He didn’t have to read it, let alone let you know he’ll be here.

The tightness in your chest is back. Your fingers flit against your tender breasts and you touch the part where your heart is, it beats lightly.

He doesn’t come that night. You spend the whole night watching the dark, rainy streets of New York, alone. You fall asleep to the sounds of sirens and cars, alone.

You wake up on the floor of your room, in front of the floor to ceiling windows.

Your body feels like it’s made out of limestone and that your tears have caused the material on your face to deteriorate. It takes you half an hour to get the strength to stand up from the floor. You try to stretch but every joint feels like it’s screaming. You manage to walk into your bathroom without swaying, the sight of your vomit and its stench greets you as you walk through the glass door. You hold your breath as you pee, and then brush your teeth. You think about the fact that he stood you up once you’ve found the courage to shower. The water feels like its scalding your skin as you let it water you.

You lay on your bed naked, waiting for an hour for a notification from him. He’s forgotten you.

Your brain loops around the image of him laughing at you with the brunette as they sit on the bed you bought for him; their eyes crinkling in mockery, disbelief lacing their laughter. A tear slips from your eye, you barely manage to wipe it away. You can smell the scent of your decaying heart through your skin, its stench burning a hole in your chest, rotting your ribs in the process.

You need to get up, you have stuff to do. Though you feel numbed, you will yourself to get up.

You forgo eating, simply choosing to indulge in an espresso and two cigarettes for breakfast. You allow the tiniest desire you have to simply let it be repulsed by your body and expel itself from inside - come to the forefront of your mind.

You spend the day working like a dog, you push yourself to limits that make your assistant raise her eyebrows high and ask you to calm down. You ignore any concerned glances as you push yourself ten times more than usual at the gym, drawing praise from your companions. You take a moment to yourself in the gym toilet and check your stomach, you glare at the slightest bump on the bottom of your torso. As you fight the temptation to punch your stomach, your phone brightens with a new notification - from him.

‘Meet you at the restaurant round the corner from your place. Booked a table for 9pm.’

You gulp, an uneasy feeling setting into the depths of your stomach. You’d rather be sent an anonymous letter to meet at a hotel restaurant, it had a touch of romance to it. Exchanging emails is what you’ve had to resort to, you are both blocked from contacting each other in any other manner; sometimes you think to yourself that you’re like forbidden lovers - by choice.

You finish working around eight o’clock, you ready yourself by half eight and you hang around the restaurant. Suddenly having picked up the habit of biting at your nail, you watch the patrons of the restaurants and recognise some television big wigs and political journalists. You breathe in deeply, your eyes flitting around the somewhat busy street, you can feel your bladder ready to give way. You rush into the restaurant at nine on the dot and are escorted by the restaurant manager to a toilet. You ease yourself and wash your hands, your morose face plastered with magazine worthy makeup stares back you. Your pupils are shrunken and your eyes that are practically unresponsive to the light stare at you, the sight of yourself makes them well with tears of disappointment.

You leave the toilets; you saunter back to the door and spot him being led to the table by a waiter. Your feet lead you back outside to the street.

You feel like vomiting, your breaths become shallow and limited. Pressing a hand to your chest you feel your heart hammering mercilessly against your ribs. It feels like death. You shakily reach into your bag and pull out a cigarette pack, you stare at it and your mind wanders to the feeling in the pit of your abdomen. You decide you’re not strong enough to fight the temptation, you pull a cigarette to your lips and go to light it. Your phone vibrates in your hand.

‘Where are you?’

It’s been five minutes, you exhale. You put the unlit cigarette with a lipstick mark back in your bag and take two deep breaths. You slowly walk into the restaurant, you raise your head, desperately trying to find the assurance you’re so well known for. You’re an actress, you’re an expert at façades.

You’re led to his table, your strut attracting the attention of most everyone in the room.

His hair is grown out, his stubble creating a flattering shadow on his lower face. You sit wordlessly, the waiter asks for your drink order and you ask for a ‘Death in the Afternoon’. The waiter smiles, you hear him sigh. You turn to him, avoiding his eyes.

You’re pregnant - with his baby. You’re both having a baby.

The sobering thought almost makes your voice shake. “Thanks for meeting with me. Even though you vowed to never see me again.” Your tone is almost mocking, a tinge of pride filling you. The bitter memory of writing that letter stings him - more so because he’s succumbed to seeing you after having written it.

He tries to sense any revealing signs that you miss him, had he not received your email he would have been hurt to believe that you were thriving without him. You’re still so put together, too beautiful for you to be needing him. Your makeup is done flawlessly, you’re dressed perfectly elegantly. He can’t understand why you would send him an email at ten in the night asking for him if you seem to be good. It made him joyful to receive it, and he hates that. Why do you have this hold over him? Why can’t he just leave you and forget you.

“I couldn’t ignore the possibility that you weren’t okay.” He takes a sip of his cold beer; the taste of wheat makes him relax somewhat.

“You said you’d be there soon, what happened last night?” The embarrassment immediately clambers up your system and makes you avert your eyes to one table over. You hate seeking answers from others that make you feel dependent and make you more human - you despise it.

How can he begin to explain that he stood in the lobby of your building for forty-five minutes trying to fight his anxiety? How can he begin to explain that his fingers trembled so badly that he couldn’t get his phone out of his pocket to let you know that you couldn’t be there for you? How can he begin to explain to you that he loves you so much that the thought of going up to your apartment and failing to comfort you filled him with unending fright? What could he possibly say that wouldn’t allow you to ridicule him? He’s failed you twice now.

He can’t really put himself in the mindset he was in when he left you that letter, letting you know how much you let him down. He didn’t leave the hotel until after you did, he instantly regretted leaving you when he saw you doubled over in pain being helped into a taxi.

He’s got so many questions, why is it you need him? What happened to you in Portofino? “Got side-tracked with something.” He gives you a non-committal shrug and takes another swig of his drink, his leg shaking noticeably under the table.

Your heart falls to the bottom of your stomach, your entire torso feels like it made of limestone and your throat tightens. You feel like you’re choking, your drink couldn’t be here any sooner. “You in a rush to be somewhere?” You look at him questioningly, noticing his leg movements, you try to hide the sadness that’s padding your body like sponge.

He shrugs, “Kinda,” the disillusionment is almost impossible to disguise on your face, he feels some satisfaction from it. “But it can wait.” He watches the waiter approach with two glasses, he places your drink in front of you motions the beer towards him. Accepting it gratefully he continues once the waiter has left. “I thought we weren’t to speak to each other anymore, what made you contact me?” He narrows his eyes, the blue of his eyes twinkling with a glimmer of curiosity.

Your body shivers and you glance away from him, you attempt to will your waiter back towards you. “We can talk about that later, no?” You motion towards him and he rushes over, you ask for two dry martinis. You both wait in silence.

The words that could release all the tension from your body spindle over your tongue incessantly, they almost materialise but you choose to rope him into small talk and pull updates about his life from him. He lets slip that he’s considering the possibility of being serious with the brunette; you remember her sweet features that harshly contrast your own. You make a biting remark that he’s always liked a plain Jane over your third glass; it’s met with a biting remark regarding your character.

You refuse his request to eat dinner with him after his comment; but you do ask him to accompany you to your building.

“I’ll walk you to your elevator.” He mumbles as you exit the restaurant. You nod in agreement; he lights a cigarette and offers you a drag. You smother your temptation, “It’s okay, actually.” You shiver as light pelts of rain shower you. The city is vibrant and lively, but the small bubble you find yourself encased in with him is dark and tempestuous; an unspoken tragedy clouding your day.

The contemplation of being in your apartment alone another night stabs you deep in the back.

You reach the lift of your lobby and you turn to each other. “Please come up with me,” your lip trembles with the weight of the unspoken truth. His eyes flash with concern and surprise. You make your way up to your apartment wordlessly, his hand brushing against you every time you move next to him.

Finding yourself with him in your bedroom, you lay on your bed, taking your shoes off with him watching silently at the end of your bed. He’s highlighted by the setting sun, orange hues paint him golden and blush. He invites himself onto your bed, sensing the melancholy in the air. There’s an odour of cigarettes that permeates the air near your bedside table.

Your back is to him, you feel his arms slink themselves around your waist. His chest presses against your back and you melt slightly into his touch. You missed him so much and the smell of him hauls you to the doors of paradise. How could you have possibly messed this up so much? Two tears slip from your eyes and you sniffle, his arms tighten around you and he comes impossibly closer. His face inches on top of yours, “Tell me what’s wrong?” His whisper is as tender as the wind and the soft touch of his voice makes you moan quietly.

You stare of into the horizon, your eyes being overwhelmed by the rays of sun. “I—” you hesitate. Your breath leaving your body, you pay attention to the movements of his hands, they stroke your stomach making you tremble. You stop in your tracks, alarm setting into your bones.

You turn to him; you can see the questioning look in his eyes. He doesn’t know.

You crash your lips into his, he barely has time to register your passion before he’s responding with his own heated response. His hands mould around your body with a newfound purpose. You want deep down to breathe him in and keep him with you forever. You roll on top of him, and your hands memorise every fibre of his face, his skin is smooth underneath your palms. He slips your dress off of your body, his fingers dance with your skin as he caresses your back.

He wants to stay like this forever. You tear his clothes off of him with an eager gentleness, his hands enclose your hips as you begin to ride him, your hips dance over him, your fingers slip in between his lips and he sucks on them. He pulls you closer to him, hugging you as you ride him. He thrusts into you from beneath and you almost crumble in his arms. “I love you so much—” you hear the words slip from in between his ajar lips, you lift your head and kiss him. Your martini saturated tongues waltz with each other in a feverish heat that leaves you both lightheaded.

You two play with each other’s bodies slowly, untangling each layer of each other’s guard. He slips on top of you with the grace of a gymnast. He nestles himself inside and you your noses rub together as he drives into you slowly, and deeply, with his hand clutching at your throat. You feel your insides liquifying with pleasure, your hands clasp onto his arms for help to grip onto reality. He’s here. Just here - with you.

“I love you, so, so much, Christopher.” You cry out as he increases his speed, the intensity of his movements making his hips meld with your clitoris. His spare hand moves from your breast to your face, he grips onto your throat with more firmness and you let out a sigh of content. Your eyes don’t leave his and he refuses to slow down, you feel yourself go into sensory overload. You feel waves of pleasure shower your body, stars ripple in between your fingers and toes and your eyes roll back into your skull. Your body is floating above your bed.

Chris pants as he maintains his speed, chasing his own maddening orgasm. “You’re so beautiful when you cum.” He breathes out as he lets go of himself inside you. His thumb traces over your bottom lip, he lowers himself down and plants a kiss on your lips. He breathes in your air and gives you a tight hug.

“I have to tell you something.” You whisper into the room. He’s laying next you, his arm draped over your waist. His lack of response for ten seconds is explained by the soft snores leaving him. You purse your lips, “I’m pregnant.” You utter into the atmosphere and turn away from him, you pray that maybe he can hear you; you pray in vain.

A newfound determination settles into your aching chest. You’ll let him know, for real - you’ll work something out; you’ll have your baby and be parents. You’ll be better than your own parents, you’re sure of it. Your hands settle over your stomach, you give your baby a silent apology for mistreating your body - your baby’s temple.

You’re lulled to sleep by the silence.

You wake with a start; the world is dark outside. You can’t feel his arm anymore, dread fills you to the brim as you sit up, your back towards the side he was sleeping on. You feel your heart hurting, you feel weak. You swallow your tears as you look out at the skyscrapers outside your room. Taking a deep breath, you turn slowly to the other side.

He’s still there.

You let out a deep sigh of relief, tears welling into your eyes and dropping out without caution. You let out a soft sob, you throw your arms around him and hold him tightly. He stirs as your tears fall onto his pectoral.

“Hey, everything okay?” He grumbles, worry saturating his voice. “Yes,” you breathe out slowly. He pulls you up to him and his eyes caress yours. You refuse to let him know what’s bothering you, there’s a silent understanding that you need him more than anything right now. You cover yourselves in a blanket, your half naked bodies are melded together as you walk across your apartment towards your terrace.

Chris lights the fire pit, you let your eyes roam his body freely. He sits down next you and you cover yourselves with the large blanket, his hand rests on your thigh.

“Why did you just leave me in Portofino?” Your whisper is carried by the wind and the noise of the three am traffic.

Chris sighs, his eyes lowering down to the fire pit in front of you. “I couldn’t bare the fact that after what you did to me, I still reached out to you, I invited you back into my life.” Your eyes well up with tears again, you want to be swallowed into the ground and dragged to the pits of hell. He looks back at you, his eyes searching for what’s in your own. “I know you’re sorry. But I just couldn’t understand why you did what you did; until I came across this quote that reminded me that hurt people, hurt people. I figured some digging into your past couldn’t hurt at that point. I’m sorry about what you had to go through.” His fingers leave whispered touches on your thigh.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You interject tearfully, he pulls you in, your head resting on his chest. The sound of his fast-beating heart grounds you into this moment.

“I know, I know.” He coos softly. His fingers stroke your cheek, simultaneously wiping away your tears. “I just wish you trusted me enough to let me into your little world. I wanted to know all of you, even the tiniest parts you didn’t even know, I guess you sensed it and you left me. So, I’m sorry for that, too.” You sniffle and let your head fall onto his lap. You look up at him with tears flowing out of your eyes slowly.

“You’re my everything. You’re— you’re my moon and my stars, I—, I—, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to live without you.” He chokes over his own unshed tears.

“I love you.” Your words make a tear slip out of his eye.

“I love you too.” He thumb traces your lips softly, his touch gentle as if he were afraid you would turn into mist if he were not tender enough.

You slip into a dreamless sleep, the noise of the world encasing you into carnival of relaxation.

You open your eyes to the ceiling of your bedroom, illuminated by the afternoon sun. A cramp numbs the bottom half of your body. You clench your teeth and sit up, the sharp agony whirling around your system. Something’s not right. You clasp weakly at your stomach; you fail to ignore the pool you feel forming underneath your legs. You lower your fingers slowly, dread thickening in your heart, red darkens your fingertips. You choke back on a sob as another cramp solidifies itself in your stomach, you crumple over, tears streaming out of your eyes. “Chris…” you choke out. Fear paralyses you in your bed.

Chris is nowhere in sight. You gather the little strength you have left in your arms and will yourself towards your bathroom. You drag your bleeding body towards your toilet, blood smears trailing behind you. Small whimpers leave your body as you finally reach the toilet, you pull some tissue towards you and pat the blood away. More leaves you, a heavy flow that makes your insides feel like they’re being pulverised. You’ve gone and done it; you have killed your baby.

You sob loudly, blood smearing over your half-covered body, “My baby—". Your body is racked with the undulating guilt that attacks your system. Tears pour uncontrollably from your eyes; you fight to take in breaths. Your heart feels like it’s breaking - literally. The stiffness in your chest spreads across your ribs and constricts your airflow.

You desperately clutch at your chest, wanting your fingers to tear into your skin and fix your heart. It feels like you’re on fire.

You’re dying.

Darkness blankets your vision; spots of clarity allow you to merely reach the door of your bathroom.

Chris sits at your desk, his phone pressed to your ear. Your doctor’s words feeling like stones in his stomach - he’s diagnosed you with severe depression and fears that a mildly stressful event may be enough to cause an onset of more severe physical problems. You entrusted Chris as your next of kin, in case your doctor believed something awful had happened to you. He listens intently to the information that is relayed to him - you have an inflamed artery. It could lead to your death. The doctor’s words make his stomach sink.

The call ends with Chris promising to accompany you to your appointments and he notes down the number of the referred psychiatrist.

A small wail comes from far away in the apartment, Chris sighs and stands up. He strides quickly to your room, the sight that greets him almost makes him retch. Your blood soils the room. Your body is still, your breaths are shallow and fast. Your hand is clutched over chest, your face distorted with pain riddled in the pores of your skin.

“Baby,” he calls out immediately and crouches down towards you. He feels for your pulse and panic lines his stomach; he grabs for your phone quickly and calls for help. He barely registers what he does in the next two minutes but all he can do is clutch onto you with all his might.

“Tell me what’s wrong, huh?” he whimpers, he pulls you onto his arm. He cradles you, his face pressed against yours. “Come on, you’re supposed to be my favourite girl, you can’t play with me like this…” he chokes out a frantic chuckle.

You’re barely responsive. “B—Baby, stay with me. Stay with me, okay,” he taps your face as his tears roll onto your skin, “don’t leave me.” He begs as his hands tremble. “What am I going to do without my moon and my stars, huh? How can my world go on without you?” His sobs shaking you lightly, your eyes flicker. “Don’t leave me.” He implores, sobs ripping his throat apart.

He can hear the door opening, the flurry of movements that happens around you two separates your bodies away from each other. He grips onto your limp hand desperately, tears blinding him as the paramedics rush you away from him.

He can’t feel his body as he falls to ground, watching your limp hand hanging from the side of the gurney.

The lift doors shut behind the paramedics.

He never sees you again.

Nevertheless, he still loves you, he'll always love you.

Fin.

--

@chvntelle-99,@harrysthiccthighss,@tessa-bl

[luminouspoes]

safe in the morning light

pairing: poe x gen!reader

summary: reader wakes up first in the morning and decides to wake poe up nicely

word count: 2k+

warning: n/a just soft kisses and fluff

You wake up first, which is unusual. Typically, Poe is the first one up: he’s a light sleeper, quick to alertness from years of being a pilot. Typically, by the time the D’Qar sun is fully up in the sky, Poe has already finished most of his morning routine of having caf, checking the messages on the console across from his bed, and reviewing logs from the various squadrons under his command.

Instead, you’re delighted to find he’s still in bed next to you. It’s still early, so you decide to take the time to appreciate the quiet peace in your home. You shift closer to Poe, smoothing the duvet down as it twists around you at your movement. It strikes you how peaceful he looks: the tension in his face is smoothed out for once, and your eyes roam over his handsome face, trying to commit to memory what he looks like now. 

The war is still a phantom on the horizon, haunting everyone on the base. There’s no doubt in anyone’s minds that war will eventually, finally break out, but it’s only a matter of predicting when. It’s Poe’s defiance and kindness that led you to falling in love with him, but his urgent need to protect what his parents fought for, to stop the First Order from hurting anyone else the way it’s already hurt him, weighs him down in a way few seem to notice.

He hides it too well, for someone who can’t lie to save his life. Besides yourself, General Organa seems to be the only one to realize how much he pretends things are easy for him. He’s the one who offers encouragement and help to people, and you adore him for it. You just wish he’d realize that he deserves to have that, too.

You place your hand over his chest. There’s dozens of scars littered across it, each with their own story. By now, you’re familiar with each story, each scar, and you’ve loved them gently with both your fingertips and lips more times than you can count. 

As much as you’d love to let him sleep in, to keep that relaxed expression on his face, you also know it’s only a matter of time before a message beeps on the console that will wake him, or someone will turn up at your door needing something, and you’d rather he wake up to something sweet than a rude interruption. 

You lean forward, pausing for a fraction of a second to appreciate how his eyelashes brush the tips of his cheekbones with his eyes closed. You press a kiss to his forehead (usually, when you did this, it would be to smooth out the worry lines there), then move to press one to the tip of his nose. You continue to map out the planes of his face, from his cheek bones, to the side of his temple, the corner of his mouth.

Although he keeps his eyes close, you feel him stir slightly underneath you. He’s pretending to be asleep, so with a grin, you decide to up the ante so to speak. You throw a leg over his hip so straddle him before closing the distance again, smiling against his skin as you kiss along his jawline. You can feel his hand twitching at his side, wanting to hold you, but he seems determined to make this last as long as he can.

He can try to keep up the ruse for as long as he wants, but there’s no denying the slight flush to his cheeks, and the fast thrum of his heart underneath your palm. You slide your lips down from his jawline, down to the crook of his neck and - 

Get exactly the reaction you were seeking.

Poe yelps, his eyes flying open as he squirms away from your mouth, shoulders tucking up around his chin as a burst of laughter falls from your lips. He glares up at you without any venom, “That’s playing dirty.” 

“Is it?” You ask, a mischievous glint lighting up your eyes. 

Poe’s eyes widen slightly in alarm as you move back in, a firm “no, wait -” falling from his lips and quickly turning into another round of bright, brilliant laughter as you ghost your nose along the side of his neck, featherlight. He writhes beneath you, trying to move away, as his laughter continues to rumble through his chest against your own. 

He was terribly ticklish around his neck, something you’d been delighted to discover early on into your relationship (you’d been tucked away in a supply closet, trying to catch a moment to yourselves to catch up on your day, when you’d leaned in to kiss down his neck, and promptly found out how sensitive he was there). You twist your head to look at him as you continue to nuzzle your nose against him, drawing light circles to keep him laughing. Your heart seizes with something indefinable as his face scrunches up with mirth, eyes crinkling softly with joy. 

He continues to wriggle underneath you and it’s not long before you’re both wrestling around, legs tangling together as he continues to try and evade your attacks. But you can’t help but chase after him, enjoying the way your quarters fill with the sound of his hearty laugh as you roll around the mattress. 

Distracted as you are by how happy he looks, Poe takes your momentary slip up and uses it to his advantage, grabbing your wrists in one hand and effortlessly flipping you under him with one smooth movement. You bounce slightly against the mattress as he comes to hover over you, balancing on one arm. Your breath stalls in your chest from how easily he pinned you underneath him - it’s easy to forget how strong he actually is - and the way his eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you. 

Poe leans down, his nose nuzzling against yours for a second, before he tilts his head for better access to your mouth. You close your eyes, heart racing in anticipation - 

And then he ghosts his fingertips over the rolls on your waist, wiggling his fingers like spider legs, and you nearly fly off the mattress, his name falling from your lips in an affronted squeal, and you’re quickly losing your breath for a very different reason than the moment before, as he continues to tickle your side, eager to draw out as much laughter from you as you had him. He’s practically glowing as he tells you with a self-satisfied smile, “Two can play at this game, sweetheart.”

As you continue to squirm and giggle beneath him, the automatic light sconces in his room slowly activate, leaving the room in a golden glow that’s indicative of the sunrise happening outside. It only makes this moment seem even more like a slice of heaven, your shared delight spanning simultaneously an eternity and only a few minutes. 

Finally, Poe concedes, opting instead to splay his hand on your waist, fingers tucking around the fabric of your shirt (one of his shirts, actually) so you can catch your breath. His and your chests rise and fall rapidly with pants, but neither of you have lost your somewhat manic grins.

“Morning flyboy.” You run your hand down his chest again, ghosting along the scars there. Poe’s eyes slip shut at your gentle touch: it never fails to make his chest tight with emotion, the way you always touch and hold him like he’s something precious. He isn’t sure what he’s done in his life to deserve someone as incredible and loving as you, but he’s glad he has you.

When he’s able to open his eyes again, he pokes your chest lightly, teasingly with his index finger, “Was tickling me really necessary?”

You roll your lips as you mull over his question, shifting beneath him slightly. Judging from the expression on his face, he’s expecting you to make a joke, but your mind is still too groggy from sleep to come up with one, so you opt for the truth instead. “To hear that beautiful laugh? Absolutely.”

He leans back slightly, his gaze softening from your words. Then he grins, a brilliant lopsided one that makes your heart glow, and he’s shifting your body closer to his so your legs tangle together again.  “Could say the same about yours,” he tells you as you slide your hand back up his chest to snake around the back of his neck. Your palm brushes against the cold chain of his necklace as you move your hand into his curls, scraping lightly at his scalp with your fingernails. 

Poe’s gaze grows heated as he searches your face. In a rough voice that has nothing to do with the fact that he just woke up and everything to do with how you’re holding him, he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

You respond by burrowing your fingers further into his curls to pull his face down to your own, his mouth crashing against yours. His hand skims down to your hip, drawing you up so your bodies are flush together. The warmth of his bare chest seeps through the thin fabric of your shirt, as his other hand moves from propping him up to ghost down the side of your head, coming to a rest at your neck, his fingers spreading out so that they brush against the edges of your jawline as he pulls your top lip into his mouth, drawing out a low hum from the back of your throat. 

While you tug at his curls with one hand, you let the other wander down the expanse of his back. His muscles move beneath your palm as he pushes against you, but you’re delighted to find that his body is relaxed under your touch, and holds none of the tension you’ve unfortunately come to be so familiar with. Your hand ends its journey at the small of his back, as he deepens the kiss and cradles your jaw reverently. 

“You know,” Poe muses against your lips, rubbing his nose against yours, “I’ve forgotten something very important.”

Still caught up in the bliss of the moment and the feeling of his lips and body moving against yours, it takes a second for you to register what he’s said, let alone reply. “Yeah? What’s that?” 

Poe grins, his eyes sparkling as he presses your foreheads together, “Forgot to tell you I love you.”

“You didn’t have to, you showed me.” You tell him before you crack a yawn. Poe hums in acknowledgement, then rolls onto his back, pulling you with him so you’re on top of his chest. “What are you doing?” you ask him as he shifts on his pillows, quite obviously getting ready to go back to sleep, especially since he closes his eyes. “We have to get up.”

“You’re tired,” Poe answers, like that’s going to change the fact that you both probably have very busy schedules ahead of you. His arms snake around you, holding you closely but not tightly - just firm enough that you feel safe and content. He peers open one eye at you, his lips twitching up into a smile, “and we actually have the morning off.”

“What?” 

“Yeah, no drills today. There’s supposed to be a storm.” Poe grins up at you. “I was up first by, like, three hours.” He swipes his thumb across your cheek. “Cancelled all the drills on account of the weather, crawled back into bed with you. I was planning on letting you sleep in, I know how you feel about storms so -”

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his in a sweet, languid kiss, your lips sliding against his. Every little thing he does only endears him more to you: this ridiculous, sweet, considerate, rebellious, dashing man is everything you’re fighting for, and you hope he knows it.

When you pull back to find him staring moonstruck at you, you think he might feel the same. “What was that for?” he asks. 

“Because I love you too,” you tell him and he brightens. You relax in his arms, pressing your cheek to his chest as he tucks his chin over the crown of your head. Sleep tugs at your bones, warm and content, and it’s not long before you’re both dozing off again, the sound of rain echoing lightly through the base as the storm begins outside.

[kamotoshi]

intent [kamo noritoshi x reader]

pairing: kamo noritoshi (the good one) x sorcerer! fem reader 

genre: fluff, comfort

warnings: the whole story revolves around the reader being injured so there are brief mentions of medication, pain, and injuries; toshi bein a headass

word count: 3.7k

overview: you have to wonder what your best friend’s intentions are when he’s gone out of his way to visit you during every day of your recovery, no matter how busy he is

On one of the walls surrounding you, the clock’s hand shifts from one minute to the next. Through the speakers of your laptop, the movie you’ve stopped paying attention to long ago drones on in the background. Instead of focusing on the plot, you’ve taken to gazing out the window, watching the lush foliage outside painted vivid oranges and blues by the sunlight breaking through dark clouds dance in the breeze, as if celebrating the end of yet another spring shower. It feels hard to remember the last time you went for a walk outside—or anywhere, for that matter—and the more you think about how painful it is to be bedridden and out of action, the more you start to feel the dull, seemingly constant aches laying siege to your exhausted body.

Thankfully, the sound of the door to your temporary living quarters opening and closing again distracts you from your depressing thoughts, and, instead, makes your heart flutter with hope. Plastic crinkling, fabric shifting, and footsteps padding along the floor reach your ears next before a tall and familiar figure appears in the doorway to the bedroom. There’s a moment’s hesitation on his journey into the room, as if he’d been worried about disturbing you, but he continues with confidence when he sees you’re awake and expecting him.

With a small smile, you greet him, “Hey, ‘Toshi.”

“Hey,” he replies, “how are you feeling?” The long sleeves of his loose-fitting robes flutter behind him like a butterfly’s wings as he wanders over to the chair beside the bed you’ve been confined to for the past few days.

You shrug, glancing down at the bandages peeking out from beneath the sleeves of your sweater. “I’m alright, I guess.”

His eyes dart from the screen of your laptop to your own gaze, then back again. With furrowed brows, he adds, “What are you watching?”

“I wish I could tell you.”

“What’s the point of putting something on if you’re not gonna watch it? What else were you even doing?” he questions.

A scoff echoes from your throat at the fact that you’ve become the sudden subject of an unnecessary interrogation over such a trivial topic, but you can’t help the wry chuckle that follows upon noticing his unfazed expression. As usual, he doesn’t see the issue in such small debates. “I always could leave it to you to argue about the most irrelevant things.” In spite of the dull, warning pain that pangs in the side of your torso, you reach over to move your fingers over your laptop’s trackpad, but Noritoshi quickly stops you and does the job for you.

“Has everyone here been taking care of you while I’ve been gone?” is his next, surprisingly relevant question.

Leaning back against the pillows propped up behind you should give your body a sense of ease, but after spending so much time in one spot, you’re desperate to do the opposite instead. “Yeah. They’ve been checking in on me and bringing me food and painkillers, so I can’t complain.” Your lips curl into a small, devious grin when you mention, “You know, I went on a walk around the place with one of your servants and he told me all these funny stories about you when you were little, including the one where you accidentally gave yourself an awful haircut and refused to leave home without a hat.”

Self-consciously, he fingers the wrappings holding his dark strands of hair together, mindlessly beginning to unravel them. Though his attention is conveniently directed at the computer screen, you can see the blush that dusts his cheeks before his hair falls in front of his face when he removes its bindings. As much as you want to tease him over the event that had happened during his childhood, you find yourself at a brief loss for words at how he looks now. The way your heart thrums just a bit faster and harder is undeniable and fills your body with a different kind of pain, since you wonder if he’s ever looked at you the same way you’re looking at him.

Tracing over the handsome features of his face with your gaze, resisting the urge to separate the kinks in his hair from being held together so tightly all day, hoping you become the center of his attention again.

“You know we have movies here, right?”

His comment abruptly interrupts your thoughts, and you clear your throat before shooting back a, “What?”

“The one you’re watching is horrible.”

“Oh? And how would you know?”

He purses his lips and glances over at you out of the corner of his eye. There’s a somewhat uncomfortable pause before he blurts out, “A friend.”

“You’re a horrible liar,” you retort with a snicker.

You swear you see a hint of a smile playing at his lips as he sits back in his chair and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I’ll bring back a better one from my room for us to watch after I go and change.” When his dark eyes meet with yours, there’s a tinge of something indiscernible in them. Sadnesss, regret, maybe a bittersweet kind of relief? It reminds you of how he’d first looked at you when he’d helped you into the bed in which you lie now.

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” You shake your head. “Alright. I picked some stuff up from the store. I’ll be back to cook in ten minutes.” He frowns at the shocked expression that appears across your face at the mention of him cooking, since it’s such a rare occasion—due mostly to his lack of skill in the area—and rises to his feet once more. He does, however, extend his hand toward you and say, “Come on, I’ll help you into the other room since I know you’d be too worried sitting in here while I make us something to eat.”

A coy smile forms across your lips as you shove the covers aside, exposing your legs clad in sweatpants to the cool air in the room. “You know me so well, don’t you?” is the remark you send his way in a facetious manner that only fuels Noritoshi’s chagrin. His hand feels incredibly warm against yours when he grabs it to help you out of your confinement in the shape of a memory foam mattress, and you tighten your grip around it as your legs tremble with fatigue. Moving closer to you, he allows you to wrap your arms around one of his to support yourself, bringing your body flush against his

“Eight years.”

“Huh?” Your eyes, which had been formerly directed at the floor to mask the effects of your racing heart, shoot upwards toward him.

His eyebrows furrow in that judgmental, what do you mean ‘huh’? type of look he always made and wondered why others recoiled at the sight of it. “That’s how long we’ve known each other, so it’s no wonder why I know you so well.”

Giving his arm a playful squeeze, you shoot back, “Didn’t know you’d been keeping count.”

“It’s basic math.”

“’Toshi… you’re so, brutally honest. No wonder I’m, like, your only friend.”

“So?” he murmurs, arm dipping to support you, then lifting once more when your leg nearly gives out on you, “I’d rather have you than anyone else.”

The way he lets what he’s just said be known in his unabashedly straightforward manner of speaking, without tacking any other comments on to verify his intentions are purely platonic sends a wave of comforting warmth washing over you. Over the years, you’ve known him for his sometimes abrasively candid nature, but you’ve always appreciated that he’s never left you to question the value he places on your friendship. In spite of his shy tendencies that seemed to be limited mostly to interactions with you when the two of you had first become friends, he’d never been one to beat around the bush—and he still didn’t now.

Though you’ve always assumed his comments like the one he’d just made were meant in a friendly way, you can’t help but wonder if maybe there is something he’s not being forthcoming about. If maybe his more relaxed pace while walking with you accompanied by his lingering touch as he helps you onto the couch is his way of prolonging the time during which he gets to be closer to you. If maybe the subtle softness to his expression while he watches you settle is a result of love rather than just a superficial level of concern. If maybe him opening his clan’s estate to you as a refuge where you could safely recover had been done out of a deeper affection he harbored for you instead of his own guilt at not being able to protect you in the situation that had led to your injury.

But these are speculations you force into the back of your mind out of the fear you’re being imaginative and presumptuous. Surely, if he’d felt anything more than friendship towards you, he would’ve said something by now… right? It’s getting harder to believe with each visit he spends at your bedside, falling asleep with his head on your shoulder while he’s sitting beside you or resting by your legs as he slumps over onto the bed from where he sits in his chair. Seeing him go out of his way to support you, as he’s doing now while he stands in front of the stove—glaring at all the ingredients before him like he’s attempting to intimidate them into making a meal out of themselves—doesn’t help rid you of your persistent thoughts either.

Thankfully, you’re able to find a bit of distraction through conversation with him about his day. Between your glances over at him, you take to staring out the window, watching the rain come pounding down against the earth once more. Unbeknownst to you, Noritoshi finds his eyes on your form each time he looks up from what he’s doing, but they flicker back to the task at hand upon noticing your head turn back to keep a careful watch on him. Unfortunately, the moment you smell good food is when you let your guard down, and it’s not until there’s a haze in the room that you realize you’ve had too much faith in him.

Tearing your gaze away from the flowers Tōdō had brought you earlier in the morning, you shoot a pointed look over your shoulder at where Noritoshi stands in the kitchen. “Noritoshi, the food’s burning.”

“No, it’s still cooking,” is his swift response laced with confidence, as is usual for him. There’s a loud sizzle when he nudges whatever’s in the skillet onto the other side, sending another plume of smoke upwards

“It’s literally smoking.”

With a sigh, he turns on the fan above the oven and quells the flame beneath the pan with a turn of one of the knobs. Rolling up the sleeves of his sweater, he prods rather cautiously at what you can only assume is a lump of coal with a fork. You don’t need to see his face to know that he’s realized the error of his ways, since his broad shoulders slump ever so slightly. You’re sure part of him wants desperately to say that it’s not that bad, but you only hear the grating sound of him chipping away at the scorched food.

It’s hard to keep a straight face, especially when he turns away from the disastrous attempt at cooking to face you and ask:

“So, what do you want to eat for dinner?”

Your answer to his question finds a box of your favorite food in your lap about a half hour later, and him close by your side as the two of you eat and watch one of the movies he’d brought over from his room. With the darkness of the sky outside and the warmth residing inside you both at having enjoyed a meal much more pleasant than the one he’d tried and failed to make, it’s no wonder you find him dozing off. And it’s only a matter of time before his head comes to rest against your shoulder—an action you can only assume was done unintentionally in his sleep, but that sends heat rising up to your face anyway.

As much as you enjoy having him close and feeling his deep breaths tickle your collarbone, you decide to nudge him back into consciousness after about fifteen minutes of letting him snooze in case he wants to go back to his own room.

“’Toshi…?”

“Hey,” he murmurs nearly unintelligibly, “are you okay? Do you need anything?” The level of concern in his voice and the questions he asks before his eyes have even fluttered open make it challenging to hide the grin that threatens to spread across your lips. Your noses nearly brush when he lifts his head, and the small squeak you nearly let out soon morphs into a gentle chuckle at the way he blinks slowly and knits his brows together with confusion as he tries to regain his bearings.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, you assure him, “I’m fine. I was just wondering if you wanted to go to bed.”

He frowns. “Maybe,” is his reply exhaled in a deep sigh as he stands so he can offer you his hand once more. “C’mon, I’ll help you back to the bedroom.”

There’s a somewhat heavy silence in the air after you thank him and latch onto his arm to steady yourself. Whereas his lack of chattiness is most likely from his own fatigue weighing heavily on him, yours stems from one of the many questions that’s been lingering in your mind. With the way he’d been going out of his way to assist you and keep you company between his missions, you can’t help but wonder what his true intentions are—and if he’ll tell you when asked. You don’t know if you can bring yourself to ask, however, and your own self-consciousness keeps you quiet while he helps you back into your temporary bed yet again.

He lingers, though, almost as if he can sense you have something on your mind with the way you’ve gone silent. So, he takes a seat beside you on the plush mattress and places his hands in his lap. The flash of lightning that brings a slow, rumbling roar of thunder along with it distracts him for a moment and his fingers grip each other tightly. He hates thunderstorms, and you’re one of the only people who know. In a movement that feels instinctual, you reach for his hand, sending a soft smile his way when he slides his clammy palm between your warm ones.

Maybe it’s because you know he’s feeling just as vulnerable as you are—which is a rare occasion with the walls he’s built up around his more personal thoughts and feelings—but words start rolling off your tongue before you can stop them.

“Say, ‘Toshi?” you ask. He hums in response, the low tone of his voice nearly lost beneath the rhythmic thrumming of rain crashing down against the roof. “Can I ask you something?”

“What is it?” Though his words were laced with exhaustion not that long ago, he seems much more alert now. Whether it’s his fear or his intrigue, you’re unsure, but his eyes meeting yours makes your breath hitch in your throat for a moment. The way you’re acting now brings a question you don’t intend on voicing to the forefront of your mind: How did I manage to deny my feelings for so long?

But the one you ask is: “Why are you doing all this for me?”

His brow raises. “What do you mean?” In a manner that’s comedic to you, he glances around the room, looking for whatever it is you’re referencing.

“I mean everything. Letting me stay here, taking care of me when you’re here, baking me dessert; hell, you even tried to cook me dinner.” Another clap of thunder gives you pause, and his fingers tighten around one of your hands. “So, what’s all this for?”

Brushing a few strands of raven-colored hair away from his face with his unoccupied fingers, he states, “I wanted to be the one to take care of you.”

Your face tingles with prickles of heat at his comment, but the sensation fades slightly when you notice his gaze has dropped to his lap and he’s allowed his bangs to shroud his expression. He doesn’t have the look of determination or even adoration in his eyes of someone who’s ready to confess their feelings. No, he looks guilty.

“Why?”

He fills his lungs with a deep breath that he releases in a drawn-out sigh before answering, “Because if I hadn’t suggested we split up during that mission, then this wouldn’t have happened to you.” The warm feeling of hope that had been swelling in your heart grows cold, like a flame extinguished by an icy gust of wind. “I needed to be the one to take care of you since I got you into this mess. This whole thing was my fault.”

“Oh, I see.” The biting undertones of your words don’t go unnoticed by him like they might normally would, since he lifts his head to look at you. With a shrug, you snap, “So you’re only doing all this to clear your guilty conscience, then?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” is his rebuttal spoken with brows furrowed.

“What the hell else was that supposed to mean, then? How was I meant to take that? Because to me it just sounds like you’re doing this to make yourself feel better.”

He shakes his head in an act of irritation toward himself. “Yes, I feel guilty, but that’s not the main reason why I’m doing this.”

“What, did you do it to be seen as a hero? An amazing sorcerer who’s also an admirable friend? Someone capable of doing the right thing?” you retort sarcastically, the sting of rejection parading as rage tainting your tongue.

“I’m doing it because I love you!”

In the long, somewhat awkward silence that follows his confession, you almost expect his face to fall. For him to realize that he’d revealed something that he hadn’t meant to. Or, worse, for him to tack the condition, “as a friend,” onto the end of it.

But the honesty in his dark eyes doesn’t waver. He doesn’t turn away and mutter about wishing he hadn’t said what he did. He doesn’t backtrack to revise his confession in a way that would keep you safely in the friend zone.

Instead, he says it again with the same level of confidence: “I love you.”

And adds, “More than I think you understand.”

His grip around your hand tightens in a gentle manner different to the fear with which he’d clutched it before with each flash of lightning outside. “You… do?” you whisper as your heart begins to ache in the tight vise of regret you now feel at your outburst. He nods without hesitation in response, and a small tug on his sleeve beckons him closer to you, driving away the chill in the air between your bodies.

For a moment, neither of you move, and, instead, gaze at each other as if your eyes are speaking silent reassurances. Despite the confident nature of his words, his actions are somewhat timid, since you don’t feel his breath fan across your face until you cup his in your hands. But, as soon as you utter those same words in return and press your lips to his, he kisses away any lingering doubts or worries, as well as your quiet apologies. While the storm rages on outside, you can only hear your own heartbeat and the short breaths you take between each tender yet passionate meeting of your lips. It feels as if a great deal of time has passed before you pull away, and you’re grateful for every second of it.

Without so much as a second thought, you make yourself at home in his arms already wrapped around you, resting your head in the crook of his neck. His warmth envelops you when he carefully tightens his grip around you to avoid hurting you, and any pain you’d felt earlier seems to dissipate in the glow of happiness and overwhelming relief that have taken its place. Noritoshi nestles his face against the side of yours, and his body steadily becomes heavier against yours until the peace is disturbed by another roar sounding from the skies above.

“This storm’s not letting up anytime soon,” he sighs, “Want me to stay here with you?”

Before you can even answer, he starts peeling back the covers and settling himself down in bed beside you. And in spite of your heart fluttering with joy at the thought of him spending the night with you, the opportunity to tease him is too enticing for you to let it slip away. “Why would I need you to stay here with me, huh?”

As usual, however, he’s unnerved by your attempt at catching him off-guard, and calmly replies, “In case the power goes out or you can’t sleep because of all the noise, obviously.”

A wry chuckle bubbles in your throat as you lie down beside him and move the side of your head onto his chest. “Obviously. Where would I be without you here to take care of me? I’m very lucky to have someone as diligent as you are by my side, aren’t I?” you simper.

His fingers interlace with the ones you have resting on his torso running absentmindedly along the soft fabric of his sweater. Giving your hand a tender squeeze and pausing a moment to admire the way your palm fits into his, he murmurs, “I think I’m the lucky one.”

Your last statement had been delivered somewhat facetiously but seeing the way his cheek comes to rest against the pillow so he can look over at you with only pure, unwavering honesty makes you add, in a more serious tone, “That makes two of us, then.”

[watermelonlipstick]

Back

School has been kicking my ass lately, but I found some time to write this little warm and fuzzy nothing. I’d love any advice or critiques!

Title: Back

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1915

Summary: Getting back to find the reader has been waiting for the Winchesters to get home from a hunt, Sam is a little nervous and more than a little happy.

Warnings: mutual pining fluff only!

           Sam and Dean walked down bunker stairs slowly, their bones aching with the work of the last week. They had changed into clean clothes to drive through the night back to Kansas, but their hands and hair bore the telltale mud and blood of a hunt, and they badly needed to shower. Walking into the library, Sam took his duffel bag off his shoulder and dropped it unceremoniously but quietly.

           Curled up in a chair on the other end of the table, you slept wrapped in a blanket and draped over the old wood. Your hair ground into your folded arms and the huge book you had been reading, and the pressure of your head on your cheek pouched your lips out a touch. Sam brushed his palms on his jeans somewhat fruitlessly in an effort not to dirty your face as he brushed a chunk of hair back from your temple.

           “Hey,” he whispered in a low voice, his hand hovering over your shoulder. “We’re home.”

           You woke with a small jolt, peeking open one eye to look up at Sam. A sleepy smile spread across your eyes as you arched back to stretch. “Hey, handsome,” you answered in the croaky voice of a nap. “How’d it go?”

           “All good, no major injuries. You should be in bed,” he said, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

           “Carry me?” you asked. The shy smile on your face betrayed you as only half joking.

           Sam chuckled as Dean came over to them. “He smells like sweat and swamp monster ass,” Dean offered.

           “Thanks Dean,” Sam said sarcastically, his voice still low. “He’s right though. Still want me to?”

           You nodded with closed eyes, your contented smile showing through even as you yawned. “Dean, there’s lasagna in the fridge if you want it.” As an aside to Sam you mouthed, “vegetarian.” Sam’s eyes crinkled at the edges as he offered his arms out to you. You got up and put your arms around Sam’s neck, letting him ease you up into his chest. Your calves and socked feet dangled over his forearm.

           “You’re the best,” Dean insisted, gripping an invisible fist of victory. He gathered up the blanket and stacked it on top of your stomach.

           “Don’t stay up too late,” you hummed to Dean while nuzzling your head into the crook of Sam’s neck.

           “I won’t, kid. I promise.” He leaned over and kissed you on the cheek. “Goodnight.”

           Sam nodded to Dean over you, jerking his head toward the kitchen to show he’d meet his brother in a minute. He carried you back to your room and lowered you down onto your bed before spreading the blanket out on top of you.

           “You didn’t need to wait up for us,” Sam said.

           “I know, but I wanted to see you.”

           “Well I won’t lie, it feels a lot more like home to come back to you than an empty bunker,” he smiled.

           “Oh yeah?” you asked with a sly grin.

           “Definitely.”

           “Will you come sleep here?” Your eyebrow crooked up in question. It was loaded, definitely a pretty big step further down the tightrope you and Sam had been walking. But it had felt right to ask, and you fought back the impulse to take it back or turn it into a joke. Sam’s eyebrows lifted in soft, hopeful surprise, and it changed his whole face.

           “I can if you want me to,” he answered, running a hand through his hair. “Are you sure?”

           “Yeah, I think so.” The hesitation in your voice made his pulse race despite his fatigue.

           “Uh, ok, yeah. Just let me eat something and shower and I’ll be here, I promise. Don’t wait up though.”

           You nodded, trying to fight a smile by biting your lip, then pulled the blanket up under your chin and closed your eyes. Sam lingered in the doorframe for a moment, watching the light from the hallway fall on the swells and angles of your body before going to the kitchen with Dean.

           Dean was already halfway into a plate of lasagna by the time Sam got there and took off his jacket.

           “Dude, she’s outdone herself. This is awesome,” Dean said through the last third of a mouthful before swallowing.

           “Yeah, she’s pretty great, isn’t she?” Sam asked as he walked to the fridge.

           Dean looked up smugly over his fork. “What’s going on with that anyway?”

           Sam closed the microwave door on a plate of lasagna and turned toward Dean. “Uh, I mean, I don’t know. She asked me to sleep with her.” Dean half-choked on a bite, coughing and grabbing at his beer bottle. His brother realized his mistake, making an exasperated face before correcting himself. “Not like that, Jesus. Like literally sleep in her room.” Dean pounded his chest with a closed fist and fought through a hoarse throat.

           “Are you going to?”

           “I mean, yeah. Why, should I not?” Sam’s eyes widened.

           “I don’t know what you should or shouldn’t do, man. Just seems awfully boyfriend-experience to me,” Dean said, his hands up in faux surrender.

           “Well, yeah,” Sam conceded, getting his plate out of the microwave.

           “So you’re her boyfriend?” Dean looked incredulous.

           “Dean, I don’t know,” Sam whined as he sat down across from his brother.

           “Fine, whatever, I’ll leave you alone about it. But know that I’m going to be pissed if things get weird between you two and she leaves. Aside from the extra backup, I can’t go back to Marie Calendar and beef jerky after this.”

           Sam nodded placatingly.  

           You had dozed off, waking up when some lizard part of your brain realized the light had shifted in the room. Sam filled the doorway in an old t-shirt and flannel pajama pants slung low enough on his hips to expose a little sliver of skin when he walked. The smell of shampoo crossed the room as if being unfurled from his still-damp hair, the clean familiarity of it making your joints relax even further than they had in sleep. He saw the heavy lids of your eyes for the second time that night, and felt a pang of nervous affection.

           “Do you still want me to, ah..?” Sam whispered like a gravel road at dusk.

           You nodded, folding back the comforter next to you. He walked over, messing with the hem of his shirt like a shy teenager before crawling gently into bed. He didn’t know what to do. It felt like the first time he’d ever slow-danced with a girl at some stupid school formal—Mandy Jacobsen, freshman year of high school, wearing a shirt Dean had outgrown but was still too loose to be tucked in properly and his dad’s shoes—not knowing where to put his hands or whether it was better or worse to press against you. You waited a beat before rolling to your back to mirror him.

           “Is this too weird?” you asked.

           “No, no. Sorry, I just—I’m just a little keyed up from the hunt I guess.” Sam cursed himself in his head; you knew they’d driven over 7 hours to get back, it made no sense that he’d still be on an adrenaline rush. He was grateful when you didn’t say anything.

           “Was it gross? When you guys had me look up bunyips I was so glad I didn’t come with on the stomp-around-in-the-swamp job.”

           He chuckled quietly. “You would’ve hated it. We had to change before Dean would even unlock the car.”

           “How’d you get back to the motel to change if he wouldn’t unlock it?”

           “No, like out on the side of the road.”

           “So you and Dean were naked on the side of the road in—where was it?”

           “Stringtown, Oklahoma.”

           “In Stringtown, Oklahoma, and didn’t get arrested?”

           “It’s pretty rural.”

           “Well thank God for that,” you giggled, turning onto your side to face him. “I would’ve had to take that stupid little Volkswagen to come and get you. You’d have needed a double knee replacement by the time we crossed the state line.”

            “Then I’m even more glad.” Sam’s profile was fuzzy in the dark but you could hear his smile. When he turned to face you the tiny amount of ambient light glinted off his teeth. “I missed you,” he added, so quietly you almost couldn’t hear him from inches away.

           “I missed you too,” you breathed.

           Sam shifted to his side and tentatively reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “I didn’t mean to wake you up, you should go back to sleep.”

           “Are you going to leave if I do?”

           “Not if you don’t want me to.” His thumb was gentle and callused against your cheek, brushing absentmindedly.

           “I don’t want you to.” You twisted away from him to curl back against his chest. Sam got those same heart-thumping sweaty palms he had with Mandy Jacobsen and hoped you couldn’t feel the thrum of his pulse against you, suddenly aware of how thin the fabric separating you two was. He felt gangly and awkward in his filled-out 32 year old body, and kind of stupid for it; less than an hour ago he’d held you in his arms and he couldn’t even estimate the amount of times his hands had roamed your skin, feeling for broken bones and shards of glass or stitching up a gash. He was trying to remember what the natural thing to do here was when you reached behind to his side and pulled his arm over you, laying his palm out below your sternum and lacing your fingers in his. His hand spanned a wide swath of your torso and made you feel delicate, like something precious. After a moment, Sam let the weight of his arm settle over top of you like a cloak, the pressure soothing and protective.

           You smelled like warm skin, fresh sheets, and the orange blossom soap you loved from the farmer’s market in the next town over. Sam inhaled deeply, nestling his face against your hair and feeling the heat from you and your body-warmed comforter seep into him, so opposite from the freezing bog water he’d been up to his thighs in earlier that day. He was having a hard time coming up with something that would be better than this and thought it might actually be ramping up his nerves, comfortable as it was. Instinctively he pressed his lips to your hair, feeling a jolt in his chest when it made you lean back into him.

           Seems awfully ‘boyfriend-experience’ to me ran through his head and he felt an overwhelming ache. If this was the boyfriend experience, he wanted nothing else in the world. He felt your breath deepen under his palm and the weight of your body began to sink a bit in that telltale way that told him you were falling back asleep. Sam listened for a long minute to the rhythm of it.

           “I love you,” he breathed, just to hear what it sounded like.

           “I love you too, Sam,” you murmured, barely opening your mouth.

           Sam had no time to feel embarrassed you’d heard him, hadn’t been fully asleep, as his chest swelled with helium. He shifted his calf to cover your cold feet and smiled, all to himself, into the darkness. It took him hours to drift off, but he didn’t care. There was no place he’d rather be.

-

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[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 3,208 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: None really! A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Y/N and Daryl hide from the world for a day.

Your name: submit What is this?

Surprisingly, you were the first to wake up again. Daryl was still wrapped around you, deeply asleep and you laid there for a little while, appreciating his weight, his warmth, his smell, before you began to stir. He shifted a little as you turned over so you were facing him. You smiled at the peaceful expression on his face and couldn’t help pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Mmm.” He responded with a sleepy noise and by more tightly pulling you into him. You pressed another kiss to his lips and his strong arms pulled you over on top of him as he rolled onto his back, holding you firmly against him, his eyes still closed.

“G’morning,” you whispered. You ran your fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face and he leaned into the contact and sighed again. “I’ve never seen you this sleepy or relaxed,” you commented softly.

His hands ran down from your shoulder blades and pressed into the small of your back. “Mhm. Well, I ain’t ever had ya layin’ on top of me,” he said, the realization striking him suddenly as he said it aloud. He held you more tightly and you grinned. He still hadn’t opened his eyes.

“No,” you agreed, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “You haven’t.” You pressed another one closer to his jawline and then noticed that his eyes were wide open now. You grinned at the reaction.

He glanced at you and met your eyes, which were crinkled at the corners in a smile.

“What’re ya doin’?” he drawled, eyeing you carefully.

“Nothing,” you said innocently, gently moving aside his shirt just a tiny bit to expose some of the skin next to his collarbone. You pressed a kiss there, too.

He let out an exhale that had the edge of a growl to it and you laughed.

“I’m just trying to wake you up,” you said sweetly.

He playfully flung you off him, down onto the bed beside him and leaned up on his elbow. “I’m awake, woman. Trust me.”

You bit your bottom lip and grinned at him again. You reached out pushed his hair out of his face again, giving him a fond and somewhat disbelieving look. “Daryl Dixon,” you said, shaking your head.

He nervously pressed his lips together and shrugged, relishing the feeling of your hand now resting gently on the side of his neck. He looked suddenly insecure and boyish. He hummed a vague, questioning noise and you sat up and peered down at him. “You drive me crazy. In the best ways,” you said. You climbed out of bed, grabbed some clothes, and went into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Daryl was left, anxiously drumming his fingers against his stomach where they rested, thinking about the feeling when you had just kissed up his neck, along his collarbone. He felt that familiar swell of warmth and pushed a frustrated hand back into his hair. He wanted that. He wanted more than that… but opening up in that way was hard… and this was all so new—at least in reality. In truth and despite his previous best efforts, he had fantasized about you doing just that and a lot more for so long, but he found that now it was happening he was worried about doing or saying the wrong thing or—or you discovering that he wasn’t enough for you or wasn’t who you thought he was—or any number of stupid things his brain insisted on fixating on.

You emerged from the bathroom, bright-eyed and content, as he was struggling through these thoughts and he sat up abruptly, drawing a smile from you. But you noticed he looked worried and you paused.

“What is it?” you asked him, starting back toward him on the bed.

He ducked his head and shook it, his mouth twitching to one side as he was thinking. “S’nothin’,” he drawled.

You crossed the space to him and sank back down on the bed beside him. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Nah,” he said dismissively. “S’nothin’.” You were inclined to still worry, except that he reached out and rested his hand on your knee gently, his thumb tracing circles on the denim of your jeans so lightly it was like a whisper or a breeze.

You smiled at him and rested your hand on top of his, giving him a warm smile that always startled him, the way it went through him to his core. “I wish we could just have a day,” you said. “One day. Where we don’t have to think about The Saviors, or talk about them, or have nightmares about them… or worry about what’s coming.”

“We can,” he said. “Of course we can.”

You gave him a skeptical look and let out a wry laugh. “But—everyone is here. And the whole reason they came—”

“Ya. I know. But we can have a day. You of all people deserves one,” he said.

You shrugged and sighed, your eyes turning down toward the floor. “You do.”

“Because I was a dumbass and didn’t listen to ya and got taken? Nah.”

“Hey—” You quickly reached out for him, your hands landing on his sides. “Quit that. You had your reasons,” you soothed.

He avoided your eyes for a moment, struggling again with regret and guilt. You saw it in his eyes as the turmoil crested in them, and you decided to break it off before he tumbled too far down that deep, dark well. You sat up on your knees and clasped his face, gently turning it so he would look at you. Your eyes flickered between his. “Kiss me,” you said softly.

Daryl felt a burst of electricity in his chest and there was no way he could or would ever want to deny that request. His arm snaked around your lower back and he easily pulled you into him, loving the way your arms naturally looped around his neck and how the smile on your lips grew the closer you got to him. He flattened his hand out on your lower back, the gentle pressure secure and comforting, and with the other he smoothed your hair away from your face before gently clasping it.

He watched with amazement as your eyes closed and your lips were already parting softly in anticipation, even before he leaned in and pressed his to them. Each time your lips met his it felt like the first time all over again, goosebumps and tingles raising on your arms and running up your back, electricity sparking on your tongue. And you moved so easily together, like you were one. You kissed each other hungrily, the way you should when you had been waiting so long. Daryl’s fingers tangled in the ends of your hair and he could feel you smiling into the kiss. He still found it bewildering that this was even happening, that you wanted this, and his heart ached with how much he wanted you too. It was so easy for him to get lost in you, and that scared him, but at the same time it told him this was right where he should be.

When you finally broke apart you were smiling at him still and you bit your bottom lip as you looked at him, your fingers grazing along the stubble on his strong jaw, the light in your eyes staggering. Daryl looked back at you like you were something precious to him, and you were.

“What are we doing with our one day, then?” you asked him, running your fingers through his wavy hair, twisting a strand around one finger.

Daryl’s mouth curved in a small smile. “I say not a damn thing,” he drawled. You grinned at him.

“That sounds perfect.”

The next instant you let out a surprised squeak and laughed as he pulled you back down on top of him on the bed. His arms wrapped around you and you settled in against the crook of his neck. His fingers traced up the gentle curve of your spine and followed the edge of your shoulder blade, drawing light circles around your back.

“What’d you do? Before all of this,” he asked you. You could feel the reverberation of his deep voice in his chest.

“Does it matter?” you asked quietly.

“Mmm. I dunno. Sometimes it does.”

“I don’t think it matters anymore,” you said quietly. “I’m not the same person.”

Daryl’s hand ran down your spine. He let his fingers memorize the curve of your back as he thought about his past. Somehow just holding you made remembering the worst parts of it more bearable. “Ya. I guess thas true. I ain’t either.”

You leaned up so you could look down at him. “I have a question,” you said. Daryl’s eyes caught yours and he took in the sparking light in them.

“Alright,” he said, feeling a little nervous, but not entirely sure why. You never pressed him for anything.

“When did you know?”

One of his eyebrows quirked up in a question.

“That—that you had feelings for me beyond friendship,” you said.

“Mmm,” Daryl hummed thoughtfully. He absently chewed his bottom-lip as he thought about the history of all your interactions together. “I dunno. Part of me knew right away I think. When I watched you punch Spencer out,” he said, glancing back over at you, one corner of his mouth turning up in amusement.

“Oh, God,” you said, putting a hand over your face and laughing.

“But then it was like… I don’t know. It felt like—like every time I saw you it was more. That damn dress ya had on at Aaron and Eric’s. When ya walked over when neither of us could sleep, always with a book in your hand. Feeling almost frantic when ya went outside the walls and came back with that gash in your arm. Even when ya wouldn’t stop drinking outta that damn whiskey bottle and ya pushed me in the pond.” You grinned, and he took it in. “The hospital run when ya saved both our asses. When ya finally came and had dinner with our group. I don’t know. Was like it happened gradually and all at once at the same time.” He gulped a little nervously. “But when they took me and threw me in that cell, the worst thing about it was the thought that I might never see ya again and thinkin’ he was gonna get to ya, or maybe already had ya. Never even crossed my mind that ya’d come back on your own, put yourself back there with him. And seein’ ya open that door—” Daryl broke off and shook his head, avoiding your eyes now.

Your heart ached and you clasped his face and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Daryl smoothed a hand from your shoulder down your arm gently and looked back over at you. “What about you? When’d ya know?” he asked. It still felt impossible.

You smiled at the archer and bit your bottom lip. “When you fell through that rotten floor,” you said.

His blue eyes narrowed in a classic Daryl Dixon stare. “Ya serious?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, grinning at him.

“…Can ya pick a different time?” he asked, drawing laughter from you.

“No!” You laughed and ran your fingers back through his hair, loving how he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. “It was being stuck out there in that house with you. Just—passing the time together. And then, of course… those assholes showed up. And you just—you were so worried about me.”

Daryl’s eyes were open again and fixed on your face. He nodded. “Ya. I was. I am.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But we’re okay.”

He nodded and grabbed your hand, flattening his palm out against yours, looking at how small yours looked compared to his before lacing his fingers with yours. “Mhm. S’weird. Even though we’re about to kick a fuckin’ hornet nest with those Saviors… I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been,” he said, almost realizing it himself just as he said it.

You grinned at him again. “Me too.”

Daryl pulled you in for a deep kiss that left you breathless.

You spent the day wandering from nothing to nothing, content just to be with each other, talking and laughing, questioning one another about anything that popped in your mind, pretending that everything looming ahead simply wasn’t. That evening, Daryl had his feet up on the coffee table in front of the couch and you were laying with your head in his lap, a book in your hands. He was simply leaning back and enjoying the weight of you close to him, his hand resting on the bare skin of your upper arm, tracing the long scar he had stitched for you as was becoming a habit.

You lowered your book suddenly and marked the page, tossing it down onto the table. You turned and took in Daryl’s relaxed shoulders, his head resting gently back against the couch. He cocked one eye open at you as you shifted and straddled over his lap with a warm smile on your face, running your hands down his sides and letting out a satisfied and content hum of a sigh.

His blue eyes opened and fixated on your face. He straightened up, his hands flying to gently rest on your hips. He was studying you and you saw him turning something over in his mind. You waited patiently. He loved that about you. You didn’t pressure him and yet you could always sense when he had something on his mind.

He nervously chewed his lip for a moment, which always killed you. “Listen—this mornin’…”

You gave him a questioning look. “Mhm?”

“It’s not like—It ain’t that I didn’t want—I do want—” He broke off, his eyes guarded just a little, and you just gave him time.

You suddenly realized what he was struggling with, the intimacy of your kisses. “Hey. It’s okay,” you said softly. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Daryl.”

He looked up at you, surprise on his countenance. This was uncharted territory for him. Bringing it up again, he’d almost expected you to be angry or upset or sad or to needle him, to think he had rejected the intimacy—but why? Had you ever been unreasonable with him or treated him unkindly? Never. Not once. You were constantly patient, supportive, caring, tender… When he’d first met you, he recognized your standoffish and disconnected attitude was a guard. He knew it immediately because he did it himself. But underneath that, with patience and time he was happy to put in, he realized you were soft underneath. You gave a shit about him, and really about everyone else. For all your talk about hating people, your actions seemed to constantly affirm the opposite. And you were especially thoughtful, sweet, tender to him. Just him.

But Daryl’s whole life he had been taught that being treated nicely was conditional—and it was conditional on him and his behavior. He was trained to expect blowback at every turn. But being with you was never like that, and now that you were trying to be more together, he was discovering how much he still needed to unlearn.

He seemed lost in his thoughts for a long moment, struggling to process everything. You slipped your fingers into his hair and his eyes closed at your touch. “I’m right here. Still here. And I’m not going anywhere,” you said. “This goes at whatever pace you need it to go. And it goes wherever you want it to.”

He gulped and his eyes flitted open again. He studied your expression. “I just—it’s hard for me to—” He broke off again, giving you a look eyes that seemed fill with uncertainty. “There are some things I haven’t told ya yet.”

You considered him carefully and nodded. “I know.” You sighed and looped your arms around his neck. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about any of that. This is just you and me,” you said.

Daryl’s heart raced from your words and your touch and he shook his head just a little, giving you a puzzled look. “How the hell—how’d I pull this off?” he asked, his fingers finding your hair again.

You laughed and peered back at him earnestly. “I’ve been asking myself the same damn thing since you grabbed me and kissed me back. To think I’d find someone like you now, in this world, and after purposely closing myself off the way I did… Doesn’t seem to make any sense.”

Daryl’s lips crashed back down onto yours and you were lost in each other again. The heat between the two of you was building and you were reeling with the sensation of him when there was obnoxiously a knock at the door.

Daryl’s lips left yours and you let out a small disappointed noise. “Noooo…” You sighed. “Ugh.” You shut your eyes and leaned your forehead against his. “Who the hell is that?”

Daryl’s hands were on your waist. “I dunno, but I’m gonna kill ‘em,” he joked, eliciting a laugh from you before he slipped out from underneath you, placing you gently down on the couch. He grabbed his bow, and went to the door.

He pulled it open to see Maggie on the top step. “Hi,” she said. “Sorry. Just—didn’t see you or Y/N today and just wanted to make sure everything was alright. Especially after last night,” she said, referring to the nightmare you had. “Sorry again about breakin’ the door in… and the guns…”

“S’alright. We’re all good,” Daryl said.

“Good,” she said, her smile widening. She gave him a knowing look and the archer felt his cheeks growing pink. “Well, I think tomorrow mornin’ we’re all gonna meet again and then I think Rick and the others are planning to head back to Alexandria. Get things goin’.”

“Alright. We’ll be there,” Daryl said. “Your trailer?” Maggie nodded. “Alright.”

“Night,” Maggie said, giving him a fond look, absently smoothing her hand over her stomach.

Daryl shut the door behind her and you laughed as he rushed back to the couch and playfully sunk down over you. You grinned up at him as he smoothed the hair away from your face, his body hovering over yours.

“Today was a good day,” you said through your smile.

He nudged his nose up in a nod to you. “One of the best,” he agreed. Then he captured your lips in a deep kiss again.

[bookishofalder]

Night Changes [Six]

Summary: In which Poe and the reader recover, and feelings intensify. A mission brings them closer, and memories give us insight into their pasts.

Warnings: Language, violence, smut, fluff, emotions, angst. Everything you came for.

Poe was wandering aimlessly, his feet scuffing along the dirt road as he kept his eyes focused downward, his cheeks stained with tracks of dried tears. His unruly curls were falling into his face, somewhat shielding his eyes from the lowering sun as he ventured around his neighbourhood. When another sniffle threatened, he cleared his throat aggressively and choked it back.

His father told Poe that it was more than okay to cry, as much as he wanted and for as long as he needed. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of crying and showing his emotions, nor was it why he hadn’t yet gone back home. It was just...he was tired; of crying, of feeling so enormously miserable. And now that the funeral and life celebration was over, it felt suddenly very final. Like the second he walked through the door tonight, it would hit him that she was never coming back.

That she was lost to the stars, forever.

It still didn’t feel real, not fully, and so when they were making their way home a short while ago, Poe froze up when they turned the corner onto their lonely stretch of road. He couldn’t bring himself to continue walking, and after a few moments, his father had glanced around to find Poe standing several feet back. A look of sorrow and understanding had crossed his face before he pulled him in for a tight hug and suggested that he take a walk. Told Poe to take his time and come home when he felt ready, that he’d be waiting up no matter the time. Dad was good like that, never pushed but always seemed to understand, to tell Poe he was seen.

He was on a street not too far from home now, the sun low and golden and the temperature easing just enough, though Poe was still sweating a little. He was considering removing his sweater when a voice to his left cut through the air very suddenly.

“Duck!”

He did, not needing to be told twice even though he wasn’t sure what he was avoiding. Glancing up, Poe saw a large red ball fly over his head and instinctively reached up and caught it before it could get too far. When he looked around, standing back up, a boy that looked to be his age was running toward him, his eyes crinkled in a friendly way as he pulled a face that conveyed his apologies.

“Wow, sorry!” The boy said, coming to a halt in front of Poe and panting. He pointed at the ball, “I was aiming for my sister’s head, but I’m not the best kicker.” He admitted, and Poe smiled at the boy’s candour.

“That’s okay, you missed me too,” He held the ball out for the boy, but before he could hand it over a girl, who looked to be a couple of years younger, came barreling over. Her face scrunched in anger that Poe wanted to think was adorable, but it was also kind of scary.

That was the first time Poe saw you.

“Charlie mommy said not to do that anymore!” You shouted, ripping the ball from Poe’s hands and then aggressively tossing it toward your house. It bounced until it hit the duracrete side, rolling to a stop. “You’re a massive-“

“Hey, don’t swear in front of-oh,” The boy paused and looked back over at Poe, who was standing somewhat awkwardly as he watched the siblings exchange. “Sorry, what’s your name?”

You were both looking at him now, your faces friendly and open. “I’m...Poe. Dameron. Poe Dameron.” He mumbled nervously, suddenly feeling too tired and hot. His face flushed a little from the heat and embarrassment, and he just knew you were both going to think he was a real loser.

“Poe Dameron, nice to meet you, buddy! I’m Charlie and this pipsqueak-“ The boy-Charlie- broke off to ruffle your hair as you rolled your eyes, “Is my sister (y/n). We’ve seen you around before, you must live close.”

Poe nodded, “Yeah, just over by-“

“Why are you dressed like that?” You asked suddenly, a hand shooting out to pluck at his black sweater.

Poe hesitated, unsure of how to explain without immediately scaring both of you off. You were surprisingly serious for a little kid, your big eyes sweeping over his face and taking in his red eyes, before again taking in his outfit.

But when you looked back up at met Poe’s nervous gaze, your lips tugged up ever so slightly in a way that...well, it made him trust you. He didn’t know why, but he looked between you and the equally friendly face of your brother and didn’t sense a shred of hostility or insincerity.

“My mom just died, today was,” He took in a shuddering breath, the words heavier to admit than he ever could have imagined, and yet just saying it out loud was surprisingly freeing, “The funeral. I was just...I wasn’t ready to go home yet, I guess.”

Poe had stared at your bare feet as he spoke, focusing on the wiggling toes because he didn’t want to see the pity on your faces after spending the last few days receiving nothing but pitying looks from everyone he’d ever known. He was entirely caught off guard when he heard you give a little gasp, then launched yourself into him, your arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him into an unexpected, firm hug.

“Poe that’s awful,” You whimpered, peering up at him with tears eyes.

Poe felt it then, the shift inside of him that he wouldn’t realize for a very long time was his universe colliding with yours, the staggering sensation of his soul meeting your soul for the very first time. He was too young to know this, of course, but the intensity of his feelings was felt nonetheless. The first thing he did recognize was that he really, really wanted to prevent you from looking so sad.

Charlie’s hand clapped down on his shoulder as Poe gazed down at you in surprise, only seconds had passed, “We’re really sorry about your mom, Poe,” He smiled sadly as he spoke, shaking his head a little. After a moment his gaze shifted to you, “Kid, he’s already warm! Give him some space!”

You almost seemed surprised at your reaction to Poe’s news, though upon hearing Charlie’s admonishment, you quite suddenly jumped away from him, as though you had been electrocuted, all while furiously apologizing to Poe.

You were so adorable and sincere that Poe laughed. For the first time since his father had come into his room and kneeled next to the bed with the most heartbreaking expression to tell him his mother had died, he laughed. Full bellied, the muscles in his face stretching upward into a wide grin, Poe Dameron laughed. There was only a slight pause before you and Charlie joined in, your pealing giggles filling his ears as Charlie held his shoulder and stars, did it ever feel good.

Poe was still just a kid, even though his mom had died and he’d had to suffer through heartbreak that no child ever should, he was at heart still only ten years old. Yet as he stood on the front lawn laughing with the Horn children he was overwhelmed by the feeling of home he found in you both. He knew this was the start of something incredible.

Charlie gestured toward the ball once the laughter began to fade, “Do you have to go home yet, or do you want to play with us for a bit, Poe?” Charlie asked, gesturing toward the ball.

You were nodding eagerly next to him, and with a glance at the sun to confirm it wasn’t yet too late to stay, Poe smiled at his new friends, his eyes meet yours as he answered. “I’d love to.”

————-

Your hips swayed lazily to the music as you eased your way through the evening crowd gathered at Maz Kanata’s cantina. Poe kept close behind you, his face relaxed but his eyes flicking carefully around the room, watching for signs of trouble, his senses on high alert. He kept his face neutral, holding back the frown he found himself tempted to make as strangers' eyes fell down your body when you passed them, drinking in your curves.

You found an empty booth and sat, propping your legs on the seat across from you, the picture of ease and comfort when you smiled up at Poe. He tried to mimic your relaxation, but you’d always been much better at acting a part than him when it came to the cause you both fought for. He had trouble pretending to not be on edge, and so he kept close to you. Not just for safety, but also to be considered a protective partner, rather than an undercover Rebel.

With a small wink, you patted the seat next to you to give Poe permission, that you knew he needed, to sit close to you. He flung an arm behind you, resting against the booth seat, and spread his legs wide in hopes of appearing at ease. Your hand patted his knee briefly and he had to actively work at not tensing under the heat of your touch.

You sat in silence together for a few minutes before Jess Pava cut through the crowd to join you, her hands holding four drinks carefully that you jumped up to help her with. Your body leaned over Poe’s as you plucked two drinks from the fellow pilot’s hands, and he had to take a small breath to steady himself due to your proximity. Stars.

‘Your system is entirely flushed of the pollen, Commander. We ran the extra tests you requested and they came up the same as the previous.’

‘But I feel so...you know what, never mind. If you say it’s gone, then I believe you.’

You handed him his drink and he raised it in thanks, then pretended to take a sip. None of you would be drinking this evening, because you were working but it would have looked suspicious if you’d all sat down in the cantina without them.

“Thanks, Jess,” You sat back down, your thigh only inches from Poe’s. He watched Jess toss you a flirtatious wink and rolled his eyes in amusement as you flushed in response. She had always loved to flirt with you.

“Well, I’m not sure when exactly our friend will arrive but he can usually be counted on to be on time when there are free drinks.” Jess rapped her knuckles on the table, her eyes drifting around the room casually. She’d been based at an outpost nearby Takodana and was the lead on the current intel handoff that required Poe and you.

You scoffed, “I don’t care if he’s late. But if his intel isn’t as good as he claims, I’m shooting him before I ask questions.” Out of the corner of his eye, Poe saw your fingers twitch on your shooting arm; as though you were tempted to pull the hidden blaster from your backpack.

Poe nodded in agreement, “Not that it isn’t lovely to see you, Jess.”

She laughed as Poe grinned, sitting back into her seat to get more comfortable while waiting for the contact to show up. Each of you was dressed to look like casual, tired travellers. In various shades of khaki, Poe wore a light linen shirt tucked into his pants, his blaster hidden in the waistband at his lower back, his regular boots exchanged for a worn pair of travelling boots that were anything but comfortable. You were wearing the same light linen, though the tunic you wore was tighter fitting, tucking into loose-fitting shorts that hit mid-thigh, the look revealing a lot more skin than he was used to seeing.

It was distracting, you were distracting to him, especially as you sat so close to him that he could feel your body heat, smell your shampoo.

Poe and you had been released from the med bay two days before this mission on Takodana. He’d returned twice to demand further testing, unbeknownst to you because he wanted to be certain he would never hurt you again. He’d woken up feeling pretty spectacular, that first day after receiving what Tahla told him had been special transfusions to clear out the pollen. His friend had said it would feel intense, the new clarity in his mind, because he’d spent nearly a month unknowingly gripped by a fog that only increased each time Poe and you touched.

And stars, it was true how free and open his mind felt now. It was like losing a large amount of weight all at once, and with his newfound clarity, he thought there would be a substantial decrease in his attraction to you-enough, that is, to stop his thoughts from wondering and his heart rate to increase every time he so much as looked at you, but that hadn’t happened. Instead, it was like the exact opposite had occurred; free of the effects of the pollen, Poe was no longer confused or overwhelmed by his feelings, rather they had all seemed to be glaringly obvious.

Now, instead of looking at you and remembering what had happened after the pollen exposure, Poe simply became distracted because you were beautiful. Equal parts protectiveness, adoration and attraction surged within him anytime he glanced your way now, and it didn’t feel wrong or confusing any longer. There had been a few times now where you’d looked at him similarly, and he wondered, or rather, hoped, that maybe you were feeling the same.

With a low sigh, you shifted next to Poe, recrossing your legs as your feet rested on the seat opposite, and Poe’s eyes automatically swept over your form. He sensed your apprehension and impatience and let his hand fall forward slightly, sweeping some of your loose hair away from your neck. His belly warmed when he saw you shiver a little.

Pulling his gaze away from you, he glanced around the room once again. Maz Kanata’s was a neutral territory, which meant that coming in disguise was as important as it was to keep your blaster nearby. The place was filled with a mixed bag of smugglers, spies, travellers and more. There was no telling who could be in the room and with you at his side, Poe was hyper-aware of the risks that being members of the Resistance held and he was as eager to leave, with the intel, as he knew you were.

“Oh, here’s our green friend now,” Jess’s voice pulled Poe from his thoughts and he glanced around, spotting the Twi’lek man approaching their table with an easy-going smile.

“Fucking finally,” You murmured to Poe, your warm breath brushing against his neck and raising goosebumps along his skin.

He was starting to wonder if you were doing these things on purpose, now.

-

Medical Bay Two Days Prior

You awoke somewhat rapidly with a gasp, almost sitting up as you came to, only a hand on your shoulder that seemed to be expecting the reaction cautioned you to remain laying down. You allowed your body to relax, your eyes still shut.

A distant and possibly familiar voice was speaking to you quietly, though you couldn’t make out the words yet.

To wake yourself up properly, you pulled in a deep breath and focused on yourself for a moment, noticing how good you felt, your body light and pain-free. And your head...it felt so clear.

The memories came back, then, of walking down the hallway toward the hangar with Poe, his hands touching you more and more like he couldn’t help himself. How good those hands felt until each of you was falling to the ground in twisted versions of ecstasy. It had been painful, terrifying, and you remembered clinging to him both in panic and for safety as you screamed, Temmin appearing and then it all slips away, the last thing you could recall was the stinging sensation in your arm. It must have been a quick dose of bacta, enough to keep you from dying even though you still passed out from the overstimulation of everything.

As you thought of Poe, panic began to rise within you and you heard the resulting increase in your nearby heart rate monitor. Had they been able to save him, too? Or had he...oh, what if he-

“Major, relax, you need to calm yourself. You are alright. Commander Dameron is safe as well-yes, that’s right, breath for me, Poe is safe, good, good.” The voice next to you was soothing, the firm hand on your arm rubbing up and down gently as your heart rate decreased.

Poe was safe. Your Poe.

And then the clarity hit, no longer blurred by your panic over Poe’s condition, and the monitor picked up the brief spike as your mind caught you up. It was like...the pollen had mangled and warped your feelings, pushing back everything that mattered most to focus on what your body wanted, what it wanted your bodies to do. It left you both in need, even after you worked through the initial exposure, and you hadn’t even realized it. It was like a filter on your brain, not blocking out the real stuff, but keeping you more and more focused on Poe in a sexual way the more you touched, until it all became too much.

But now you could feel everything real and it was almost too much to suddenly bear. You knew you’d forgiven him, that you’d each begun repairs on your broken friendship, falling back into a comfortable pattern...but stars, it was so much fucking more, wasn’t it? You were completely-

With another gasp, you opened your eyes before the realization could send you into a panic, and the Healer next to you prevented you from sitting up again, coming into focus now as you adjusted to the sunny medical room. You saw a privacy curtain around your bed, then looked at the person standing over you.

You blinked in surprise as you gazed at the Healer because you knew him.

“Tahla!” You cried out in delight, and he let you move finally so that you could pull him down to you for a bone-crushing hug. He laughed, a rich baritone he definitely hadn’t had when you last saw him on Yavin-4 years ago.

“Hey kid,” He said, pulling back to gaze down at you with a wide smile, “Welcome back. How do you feel?” He searched your face in a way that told he was there in a professional capacity as much as a friendly one.

“I...well, shit,” You stammered, struggling to sit up. He helped you, adjusting your pillow behind your shoulders and then pulling your blanket up a little. “My head feels so clear, I can’t believe it.” He nodded knowingly as you gazed up at him, looking at his Healer uniform, then to the medical droid next to him waiting for instructions.

Noticing your shift in focus, Tahla pointed in question to the edge of your bed and you nodded, scooting your legs out of the way so that he could sit. He settled, then took one of your hands into his own. “It’s been a few years, hasn’t it?” He asked you softly, “I’m sorry about that. And for not being able to make it to Charlie’s funeral, either.”

“You don’t owe me any apologies, Tahla Martell, you should know that,” You replied quietly, squeezing his hand, “Not after everything you’ve done for me.”

He sighed, nodding his understanding as you both remember your last few months on Yavin-4. He then glanced back at you and despite the faint laugh lines around his eyes, the more dense peppering of facial stubble, you thought he looked much the same as he had all those years ago. Based on how his eyes were roving over your face, you believe he was thinking the same thing.

“I suppose it goes without saying, but I am a Healer now, a specialist actually. In foreign contaminants. My team was responding to the General’s request for assistance, but when I saw your name and Poe’s name on the patient files, I decided to come myself,” He explained, tossing you a little smile that told you he just knew you’d get yourself into trouble someday. You grinned back at him. “The Healer’s here put you both into temporary medical comas, and once I arrived yesterday I was able to complete the transfusions required to clear your system of any and all lingering toxins.”

Frowning now at the memories of the last month, you shook your head, “Tahla, I really fucked up on this-”

“No,” He interrupted softly, and you felt yourself flush a little from the sincerity of the look he was giving you. “You didn’t. That pollen is one of the more lethal ones known to us in the field. The fact that you were both able to survive this long...and once you were exposed, you were both technically compromised. The pollen didn’t want you to report the exposure, that wasn’t a lapse on your part,” He paused, thinking over his next words carefully as you waited patiently with your guilt-ridden heart sitting in your throat. “One could argue that had there not been a delay in your return to base, meaning the three-day travel, it could have been more likely you’d have reported what happened. But because you and Poe were exposed together, worked out the initial effects together, and subsequently remained within close proximity during the travels home, there was absolutely no chance of either of you making that correct call.”

You let that linger for a moment, closing your eyes as the build-up of emotion swelled. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t fuck up. Though, you couldn’t help but wonder how far-reaching the pollen’s hold on you was. When you opened your eyes, Tahla was watching you closely with an expectant expression, as though he sensed the direction of your thoughts.

“Did-did it affect everything I did and said? That P-Poe-?”

“No, just the more, shall we say, primal parts,” He said thoughtfully, “I read the report you did submit, and I found it interesting. You stated the trip home was fairly uneventful. Was that true, to your recollection?”

“Oh,” You thought back to those three days after you’d made up with Poe. “It really was.”

Tahla bobbed his head in thought, “It’s unique, I think, that exposure happened to two people who had a pre-existing friendship beyond being mere teammates. At least in our reports over the years. Do you recall wanting to touch Poe, but not allowing yourself to do so?”

You stared at Tahla in surprise, “Yes, right after we rolled through the bush that they were growing from. Why?”

He ran a hand over his jaw, brows furrowed in thought. “I think the pollen had its work cut out for it, getting you both to ignore your instincts to protect one another. If you were fighting it that early, well, that’s the first time I’ve heard of such a thing,” He tapped over his lips now and you could practically hear his scientific brain whirring away. “Even the timeline here is beyond anything I’ve ever come across. You were both able to resist initially, then worked the first dose out of your system. But when you came back to base, you were still fighting against the urges and that is...something else. The more you touched, the harder it was not to touch, am I right?”

You wanted to feel more embarrassed at the questions, but you were too caught up in what he might be getting at to give a damn. So instead, you nodded, “Harder not too, but felt more dangerous to continue.”

“I think the preexisting friendship played a major role here, it allowed you both to walk around nearly for a month when you should have been succumbing within a day after the initial-hold on, what symptoms have you had since you’ve been back, other than what we’ve discussed?”

He gave you an intense look then, and now you flushed a lot because you were hoping not to have to talk about the dreams. “I was uh, having dreams. Nightly, or like really early in the mornings. They woke me up.” You bit nervously at your cheek.

Tahla, ever the Healer at heart, got straight to the point. “You were having sexual dreams that woke you up because you orgasmed?”

You pulled your hand from him, covering your face, “Yeah, but it was like only a second or two of relief. And then I’d be worked up all day...tried, you know, before bed to see if it helped, but nothing did.”

“Huh,” Tahla grunted, going quiet for a few minutes as he thought. You suddenly felt very grateful you were having this conversation with him and not any other Healer’s. Stars. “Remarkable.”

You peeked out from behind your hands, “Tahla, are you saying that because Poe and I care for each other so much, we were able to fight against the pollen to a degree? That what happened the other day was the result of too much touching after so much time resisting?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, or theorizing at this point,” He replied, and you huffed out a breath. This was too much to think about. He seemed to sense your exhaustion and reached out to grip your shoulder. “Back to the initial question, though, you were both still yourselves underneath the underlying desire to, well, you know.”

He laughed a little shyly then and you smirked, quirking a brow in surprise. “Oh now he gets shy,” You giggled, “Stars, Tahla.”

“I know,” He agreed, laughing along with you, “I suppose it doesn’t make sense for us, considering our history. It was my poor attempt at being delicate after asking such personal questions.” He blushed a little and you couldn’t help but grin at him.

You shrugged, “Honestly, I’m glad you’re asking. I want to understand it all, and I’m sure Poe will want to as well. Have you spoken to him at all? Is he awake?” You wanted to see him, tell him everything was okay now.

Tahla opened his mouth to reply, only another voice cut in from the other side of the curtain. “I’m awake, sweetheart.” Your friend stood then and walked around to the other side of your bed, pulling the curtain along as he did. You watched Poe come into view, sitting on his bed with his legs over the side, and you knew straight away he’d heard everything. Meeting his gaze, you felt your stomach flutter in a sudden wave of nerves, because there he was.

Your Poe.

Tahla was saying something to him, but you couldn’t focus on what because you were lost in his eyes, drinking in his features, the soft expression on his face as he gazed at you, and you realized that whatever Tahla had done to cure you of the pollen, it had worked. Because you were looking at Poe now without any barriers-no pollen, no grief, no anger-and you felt like you were back on Gold team, the night before Charlie died, walking across the cantina as Poe watched you and you started to realize how you felt...

He pulled his gaze away, meeting Tahla’s outstretched hand and you looked to your hands where they sat in your lap. You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry, though the hovering medical droid passed you a cup of water moments later and provided a nice distraction from your thoughts.

“Well, you’ll both remain here for a few more hours just for observation, but I’m releasing you at dinner time. You’re cleared for duty, so I’m sure you’ll be in the field as of tomorrow.”

“And we...you’re sure, one hundred percent sure, that nothing else can happen? That I-we-“ Poe broke off awkwardly, and you kept your eyes on the drink in your hand.

“I’m completely, entirely sure, Commander.” Tahla assured you both, “Listen, I’ll be off by dinner time so I’d love to catch up if you’re both up to it?”

You glanced up, meeting Tahla’s warm eyes, “That sounds great, Tahla.”

You saw Poe nod out of the corner of your eye, “Yeah man, see you then.”

He left you then, not before reminding you both to relax, and throwing a wink your way that you knew Poe hadn’t seen. When the door shut behind him, you were both silent for a long minute, though you could sense Poe looking at you. And you felt...nervous, under his gaze now, though you wanted to look at him as well, you were afraid of what he might read from your expression. He’d always been able to read you well, and you him.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” He finally broke the silence, his voice low.

You clasped your hands in your lap, then looked up and met Poe’s eyes. The heart rate monitor gave you away, gave you both away. Each of you gazed at one another, hearts racing, and you thought it felt really good to be looking at Poe, no pollen making it about sex. Instead, you looked over at your best friend and realized how much you cared for him. How much you missed him. How scared you had been to lose him again.

Before you could overthink it, you were out of your bed. It was only a few steps to his, just enough time for Poe to sit up straight, eyes bright, before catching you in his arms. You flung yours around his shoulders and pulled him close, stepping between his legs as you did. “Poe,” You murmured, and his arms tightened around you in response.

You slid one hand into the curls at the nape of his neck, smiling to yourself when you heard him give a low sigh in response. He pressed his face into your neck, making you feel safer than you’d ever felt in your life, wrapped there in his arms. You think you were both putting a lot of things left unsaid into the hug, neither of you quite ready to talk it all out, but silently agreeing all was forgiven.

And as clear as you realized your feelings were for Poe Dameron, you also knew that you weren’t ready to voice them aloud, no longer because you denied them, but rather because you feared they wouldn’t be reciprocated.

-

Poe didn’t trust the contact, despite the Twi’lek’s easy smile and friendly banter. His opinion was possibly coloured by the fact that Dario had first greeted Jess, whom he’d met several times, before promptly and very obviously dropping his gaze to check you out and then making a show of shaking your hand as Poe glowered at him. He would have remained angrier had he not noticed you shift a little closer to him once Dario looked away to take his seat.

“Listen, I think considering the shit I’ve gone through to give you this information, the least you can all do is enjoy another drink with me,” Dario stated, tapping his glass with a long green finger. “At least make me feel like we’re friendly, Jess.”

Jess rolled her eyes, her jaw tight, “Don’t pretend to suffer more than you do, Dario, it’s unbecoming.” The Twi’lek barked laughter in response. Jess sighed, “We can stay a little longer, and then we’re giving you your credits and you are giving us our intel and we’re leaving, got it?”

“Fine, fine,” He relented, glancing around at the three of you, “Well, who's buying this round?”

Poe wasn’t about to let the man out of his sight, something that you understood just from the set of his shoulders because you sat forward instantly, “I’ll go,” You shot Poe a look that said you were just as annoyed as him before standing up and stepped past him carefully.

Dario noticed the way Poe’s eyes determinedly stared at the table when you stepped over his lap. And he didn’t let it go unmentioned, either, “So are you two a thing or do you just enjoy the heavy sexual tension you carry for one another?”

Jess tried to hide her laughter in her drink, giving Poe an apologetic sort of look when he glared at her. “You said friendly, not friends. I’m not going to let you braid my hair and ask about feelings and shit.” He huffed, to which Dario simply chuckled, raising his glass at Poe.

“Sorry, sorry. Just wanted to be prepared if you suddenly started going at it on the table.”

“You know what man,” Poe growled through clenched teeth, leaning forward, “You suck at making friends.”

Dario raised his green hands in mock surrender, “Then you won’t mind that a smuggler just pinched her ass?” He jerked his chin toward the bar and Poe whipped his head around, seeking you out in the crowd.

Sure enough, you were leaning against the bar and a large, unruly-looking man was standing way too fucking close. Poe was out of his seat in an instant, catching your eye as he approached. The thing about places like Maz’s was that if a little traveller woman like you suddenly pulled out highly skilled hand-to-hand combat moves, it would draw a lot of attention, which your group was rather eager to avoid. Poe, on the other hand, could easily get away with what he decided to do the moment he saw you flinch, the smuggler having pinched you again.

Wordlessly, he pulled you close with one hand and grabbed the back of the smuggler's neck at the same time. Before he could react to Poe’s sudden appearance, his face was smacking off of the bar. He folded somewhat comically, unconscious on the floor. Poe looked at the bartender now placing the drinks on the counter.

“Here’s a few extra credits for the trouble, man.” He passed them over, and the gruff-looking man merely grumbled his thanks, pocketing the credits and then directing a nearby droid to drag the man outside.

“That was satisfying,” You quipped at his side, drawing Poe’s gaze. You pitched your voice lower to prevent anyone from overhearing you, “I think you broke his nose, flyboy.”

Poe laughed, releasing his hold on you but moving his hand to rest on your lower back, just in case anyone else thought they could come near you. “You good? I can go outside and finish him off, you know.” He was only half-joking, and you arched a brow at him before reaching out to pick up the drinks, passing two to him to carry.

“If I can resist the urge to kill him, then you can too,” You replied, leading the way back to the table. “But thank you all the same.”

Before he could reply, Poe met the amused expression on Dario’s face and frowned at him over your shoulder. Jess was determinedly looking anywhere but Poe, which told him enough about where her loyalties were. And while you’d been all smiles for him moments ago, evidently your patience had been torn to shreds from your interaction with the smuggler.

“Alright, here’s your fucking drink,” You growled, slamming the glass on the table in front of Dario, “Now hand over the intel or I’m kicking your ass.” Poe had to bite back a proud smile.

Dario exhaled as he gave you a weary look, “Wow, you’re kind of scary when you get all worked up,” He admitted, shooting back his drink in one go, “Since I don’t think you really want to be my friend now, I’ll give up on the attempt here at civility.”

You gave a cold laugh as Jess leaned toward Dario, “Look, you promised me good intel, good enough that I called in these two to get it straight from you rather than risk it hopping between squadrons. Hand it over and you get your credits and a continued pass from our people to remain on Takodana peacefully.”

With a roll of his icy blue eyes, the Twi-lek man reached into an inner front pocket of his jacket and pulled out a data stick, passing it to you. You grabbed for it but Dario didn’t let go straight away, instead leaning forward to meet your eyes levelly as you both held the intel. “Probably should mention one thing,” He began, and Poe felt himself go rigid, eyes on Dario.

“Oh yeah?” You replied coldly, giving another tug on the intel.

Dario let go of it, “The man I stole that from has a lot of people working for him and I may have been made a few minutes ago. More than likely there are First Order officers on their way, which is why you’ll be happy to hear I no longer want your money. Just sneak me out the back with you and I’ll be on my merry way, deal?”

Poe’s eyes flicked around the room, seeing no immediate threats but fully aware that sneaking out was going to be an issue with so little warning. You had stiffened, then quickly pushed the data stick down the front of your shirt into your chest band before reaching across the table and grabbing Dario’s shirt roughly, tugging him close. “You motherfuck-“

Jess was already typing into her comm as you let loose on Dario, unleashing the fury of your words in place of kicking the shit out of him and Poe continued to survey the room. “Poe,” Jess said, and he glanced toward her, “I’ve got back up coming in for a distraction in two. You’ll have to go out the doorway to the south, take a long way around to your ship.”

“Well, it was great seeing you again, Jess,” He replied lightly, “We’ll have to do this again sometime. Everything, the bad drinks, the toxic masculinity, our idiot Twi’lek the Major is currently teaching a new language. Really, it’s been wonderful.” With a final laugh, Jess reached over and patted your head in farewell, winked at Poe, and then sprinted away from the table to meet her backup outside. The distant sounds of shouting and a sudden loud bang was all the warning Poe needed a minute later.

Grabbing you by the arm, Poe quickly stood and began toward the exit, hearing rather than seeing that Dario was still there because he was cursing as he stumbled along in your angry grip. Pushing through the doorway, he heard Dario cry out in pain and glanced around to see him reaching for his shin. You had kicked him. “Sweetheart, need you to-“

You were on your wrist comm before he finished, “On it,” You said, running a scan of the immediate area, which thankfully came up clean, “It’s your lucky day, Dario, you get to live to see another. I’d say farewell, but I wouldn’t mean it!”

Poe laughed, then pointed into the tree line, “Go that way as long as you can before circling back to your ride, they’ll be gone pretty soon.” He told the Twi’lek, who grunted his thanks and tore off in the direction Poe had indicated. “Which way?” He asked you, knowing you had the entire area memorized in preparation for this mission.

You nodded to his right, adjusting the bag on your shoulders, “That way, there’s some water we can lose them in. Unless you’ll let me go and kill Dario-“

“I’ll let you kill him if we ever bump into him again, I promise,” Poe grabbed your hand and started running, neither of you unaware of the danger you were in with First Order troops nearby. Once safely in the cover of the trees, he continued between breaths, “Though I think it’s safe to say he’s going to be in hiding for a while.”

“He won’t be able to hide from me if this intel is anything but as good as he claimed,” You grumbled, your grip on Poe’s hand tightening as you jumped over thick roots, “You think Jess is alright?”

“Of course,” And he wasn’t lying, he knew she would be long gone by now, seeing as this was more her territory than anything. “You should really be more worried about us, sweetheart.”

You giggled, “I am! Listen, I know we said we’d go straight around to our ship but with Dario out there knowing that it’s probably best we hide for a while.” You left it unspoken, but it meant that you’d be camping in the dense wilderness as you hid from the First Order with highly sought-after intel that they didn’t want in the hands of the Resistance.

“All in a day’s work, eh?”

You sighed heavily in response. Jumping into the ankle-deep stream, you began walking in the opposite direction of the ship, further into the forest. Poe felt the water soak through his socks in seconds and couldn’t help but agree with your angry reaction back in the Cantina. Careless or intentional, Dario had all but ensured Poe and you would be on the run until you could get off of this planet and escape in hyperspace. And he had wet socks to top it all off.

“It’s open!” You called out, glancing up from the dining table where you were sealing the last few boxes of your mothers' things, to see Tahla Martell standing in your doorway. “Hey, Tahla.” You said warmly, moving to greet him in the hallway.

“Hi kid,” He replied, pulling you in for a hug, “I know you’re leaving first thing and you already said your goodbyes to us all, but I didn’t want you to be alone on your last night on Yavin-4.” He held up a covered dish that you caught the scent of, his mother's lasagna.

Warmth spread through you at his kind gesture, “Tahla, that’s so sweet of you,” You had to clear your throat, blinking back tears.

It had been a rough few months since your mother had passed, the house you’d lived in with her for over a year without Charlie and Poe seeming far too big now with just you wondering the lonely hallways. Packing things into storage was at least somewhat therapeutic, and you were keeping the house, but you knew you wouldn’t be visiting anytime soon. It just felt wrong to sell it until you saw Charlie in person and discussed the options.

And you felt a little guilty too, with how excited you were to be headed to the Resistance base the next morning. You’d be seeing your brother and Poe again after two years apart and you couldn’t wait. The fact that your friend understood your mixed emotions and shown up with dinner was...beyond appreciated. Tahla had always been good to you, even when you were younger and Poe had caught you kissing and punched him for it. He hadn’t done anything other than saying he’d prefer to be friends and a friend he’d remained all of this time.

“Are you hungry now?” He asked, and you nodded before moving to the kitchen and realizing you packed up all the plates. Tahla followed you, placing the food onto the table.

“Uh, you okay with eating straight from the dish? I think I have some forks...” You glanced around and spotted the box with cutlery, popping it open and pulling out utensils. Tahla laughed and sat at the kitchen table, taking the cover off of the food. You joined him, moving your chair close and passing him a fork before you both dug in.

You ate in comfortable silence, eating your fill and then sitting back in your seat and pushing the rest toward Tahla while you held your full stomach in content. You looked around the bare kitchen, another wave of nostalgia and emotion bubbling up.

“It feels sadder because it’s not how you pictured it,” Tahla said, breaking into your thoughts. You looked up at him, confused, and he clarified. “You were supposed to be leaving while your mom fussed over you and promised you she’d spend all of her free time with my mom, that she wouldn’t be lonely. She was supposed to take you to the flight dock and wave at you when you boarded, tell you to give Charlie and Poe hugs from her. It’s okay to be sad about how it is instead.”

Emotion swelled again and you nodded because he was right. Your mother was supposed to be here, you were the one that was leaving her, it shouldn’t have been this twisted version, where she left you by way of a sudden and fatal heart attack as you shopped the market together one morning several months before. Tahla and his mother had been at the market as well, a few booths away haggling when they’d heard you screaming, and Tahla had had to pull you away from your mother’s still, peaceful-looking body as his mother checked her pulse and called for Healers. He’d held you for hours, eventually bringing you home, only leaving when you insisted he could come back first thing in the morning.

You ducked your head down as tears spilled onto your cheeks, ashamed to be crying in front of Tahla. He put down his fork and shuffled closer, pulling you in for a gentle hug, patting your back, “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to upset you, I could just tell-”

“No, you’re right,” You interrupted, pulling back only slightly and wiping a hand across your face, “Y-you understand, and I’m grateful. You’ve always been an amazing friend. I’m going to miss you, you know.” You tried for a small smile, and he returned it with his warm one. You sighed, “I just wish I was leaving this place...my home, with better memories. Alone for the last few months, packing things up, sorting out mom’s will, it’s not how I pictured it.”

Tahla nodded in understanding, “I’d tell you to focus on the fact you’re seeing Charlie and Poe, but I know it doesn’t help with this part.”

“I appreciate it all the same, Tahla,” And you leaned back in to hug him again, knowing he’d probably be leaving in a few minutes and wanting to enjoy the last moments of peace before you were alone in this whole house again. “This is a good memory, though, so thank you.”

He chuckled, the vibrations moving you as you leaned into his chest, “I know the lasagna makes it seem like mom sent me over, but I was planning on stopping by either way,” He admitted, his eyes finding yours again when you leaned back. “Didn’t seem right to let (y/n) Horn fly away from home without a proper goodbye, and by that I mean I selfishly wanted to be the last person you saw.”

You quirked a brow at his joke, Tahla was always ready to flirt with you, “Oh yeah? Well, I’m glad you did.” And while your words were light, the tone of voice you used surprised even you, coming out a little more sultry than either of you expected.

You saw Tahla swallow in surprise, his wide eyes flicking from yours, then down to your lips as you wet them. Boldly deciding to go for it because he was your friend and it was your last night at home and he was handsome and kind and sweet-

Tahla closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours and you moaned in response, gripping his shirt. Opening your mouth to deepen the kiss, you smiled because you both tasted like lasagna. Beneath that, though, you could taste the warm, masculine undertones of Tahla Martell, and based on the low rumble in his chest and the way his hands tightened on your waist, he could taste you as well.

It was kind of like one of your books, how you ended up in your bedroom down the hall, clothing stripped as you moved together until you were hitting the bed and he was pulling away from your mouth to move his lips down your bare body. The sun was low now, casting your room in a gentle golden glow and for the first time in some time, you were feeling something other than grief and loneliness in your bed.

The fact that it was with your friend Tahla...while you’d admit you had always imagined your first time with someone different, you had accepted a long time ago that it wouldn’t happen that way. He was older and more experienced and had spent two years worlds away and free to do whatever he wanted. And Tahla had always been your close and trusted friend, he’d been there for you before your mother died and since, and now he was moving his lips and tongue across your most sensitive areas like he couldn’t imagine a better way to be spending his time.

The empty house was filled with your cries and moans as Tahla, who admitted it wasn’t his first time, brought you to the edge and over several times with just his mouth and fingers before he climbed up your body and kissed you again. You moaned, tasting yourself on him, surprised at how turned on that made you, and then almost cried when he moved back and told you that you could stop here if you wanted, that it didn’t need to go any further but he would still stay the night, wouldn’t leave you alone.

You had intended to go all the way the moment he’d literally lifted you from your chair in the kitchen, but now you pulled him to you with a renewed sense of longing, telling him you trusted him, that you needed him. He didn’t to be told twice, his eyes searching yours one moment, then dropping down between your bodies as he glided his cock through your wet folds. He sighed your name when he pushed in, filling you slowly but entirely before stopping and allowing you to adjust to his considerable size. It hadn’t hurt as much as you’d feared, but the sharp sting was still enough to have your eyes pricking, and he leaned forward and peppered you with soft kisses and kind words, encouraging you to voice what you needed and tell him if anything was too much.

It had surprised you both when the pain had ebbed away and you were suddenly rolling your hips eagerly. Tahla recovered and braced his elbows on the bed and began a hard pace that had you practically begging for more, unrelenting even as you came around him. He grunted as he neared his orgasm, his pace slowing to draw the pleasure out as long as you both could stand. He let you roll him onto his back and ride him at an almost lazy pace, his eyes never shutting, even when you found just the right angle to draw the deepest groans from him, intent on watching your face. He’d seemed almost in awe of you like he couldn’t believe what was happening even though it had been...well, the sun had set so going on just over an hour, you had realized.

When you came again as you rode him and his name tore from your lips, Tahla went over the edge with you. He had grabbed your hips and held you down when he came, your name mixing with curses as he filled you.

And then you’d let yourself fall forward and shift, felt him slide out of you before cuddling in and realizing that he meant what he said, that he wasn't going anywhere. He even kissed you again between whispering his promises to remain, his praise over how good it felt to be with you.

You think you loved him a little then, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but think of how he’d done a good job replacing the man you’d pictured having your first time with and you knew that it was a good thing this had happened on the eve of your departure. You could love Tahla Martell but never fall in love with him.

Tahla woke with you in the morning, helped you gather your things, promised to check in on the place occasionally. And then he drove you to the flight dock, where he waved you off with a promise to see you again someday. His smile a little sadder but genuine and filled with enough affection to have you run back for one last hug goodbye, one last kiss on the cheek and a final thank you for being everything you had needed without even knowing.

-

“This is cozy, really very cozy,” Poe grumbled from where he sat on the cold ground of a small-make that, minuscule, cave that you’d found after several hours of hiking through the forest stream. “Just enough room to stretch out and feel the ache in every part of my body.”

You hummed in reply, rifling through the backpack you’d had strapped on during the journey. “I can only feel the blisters on my feet, everything else is nothing compared to those.”

Poe grunted in agreement, glancing down at his now bare feet. They were reddened and bloody from sloshing through the water for so long in cheap boots. “Think I’ll be fighting you on who gets to take out Dario now, sweetheart.” You laughed tiredly in response.

You were settled on the ground in front of him, pulling out items from the pack now; food rations, water, and a medical kit. He’d put a small light on, the glow barely casting, just enough to see each other. Poe watched you kick off your shoes and then peel off your socks, setting them aside with Poe’s to dry, before tearing open your ration and taking a bite. Plucking his ration from your extended hand, Poe copied you and together you ate in silence, the meal brief but filling. His eyes were already starting to droop, the busy day catching up to him.

You pulled out some small bacta patches from the medical kit and pointed to his feet, “I’ll do yours if you do mine,” You smiled, and he chuckled lowly, nodding.

You held out your hand for his feet and he carefully adjusted his legs to plop them into your lap, reclining back on his hands. He watched you work, tugging the light closer to see his blisters better and place patches over each one, which instantly eased the discomfort. When you finished, you squeezed his leg before pulling out a cleaning wipe and working it over your hands. You glanced up very suddenly, catching Poe as he watched you.

He held your gaze, wishing he could read your mind. He could tell you were equally as annoyed with the way the mission had turned out as he was, that you were relaxed over the current predicament because you’d both escaped the close reach of the First Order plenty of times before. You were tired, too, but there was something else about the way you looked at him that sent heat up his back, and he felt grateful again for the freedom from the pollen-now he knew his reactions to you were genuine, and he felt the depths for which they went, the intensity, the rightness of it all.

“I feel like we’re thinking the same thing right now,” You surprised him by saying, passing him a package of patches, then switching places to rest your feet in his lap instead. Poe caught your feet in his hands deftly.

“What’s that?”

You tilted your head, a small smile tugging your lips upward, “That it’s nice to be around each other without any other bullshit affecting us-pollen or anger, I mean.” Poe wasn’t sure if it was your intent or not, but something about the tone of your voice had him flushing, and he returned your smile quickly before dropping his gaze to your feet.

He set to work, wanting to laugh at how small your feet were, before replying, “I was thinking that, yes,” He admitted, carefully placing the patches on your blisters. “It’s nice...nice to know what I’m feeling is real, now.”

“Yeah, it sure does,” You agreed softly, sighing a little when he placed the final patch over a particularly nasty-looking wound. You tossed him a wipe and he cleaned off his hands as he moved his eyes from your feet to your face. “Thank you.” You added, wiggling your toes happily.

Pulling your feet from his lap, you returned to rummaging in your backpack, first finding a couple of pairs of clean, dry socks for you each to put on. You then pulled out two thin, rolled-up blankets. Poe sighed, “I’m guessing you don’t have a couple of comfortable fold-out cots in there, Major?” He teased, and you giggled while shaking your head.

“Just some lovely, extra scratchy cameo blankets, Commander,” You passed him one of the pitiful little blankets. They were made of a material mixture that worked to confuse heat signature detection more than they provided any warmth or comfort, but they were better than nothing. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

It took no time at all to prepare to sleep, though as Poe shifted around on the hard ground he wondered exactly how he would achieve it. Usually, he was content to pop a jacket under his head, but the planet was warm enough this time of year that you’d only packed a couple of very thin raincoats as a precaution. You clicked off the light and laid next to him, a few inches separating your bodies as you tucked yourselves into your blankets and tried to get comfortable.

It was maybe three minutes later, staring into the pitch black, the Poe gathered the courage to throw out a suggestion. “Proposal...” He spoke softly into the darkness and heard your head turn toward him.

“Go on then,” You replied, though he could sense you had probably guessed what he was going to say, seeing as you were no doubt as uncomfortable laying flat on the rocky ground.

“How about we roll your blanket into a makeshift pillow, you come here and share mine, and we actually get some rest?”

Instead of replying he heard you sit up and felt a brush of air across his face from you lifting your blanket to straighten it and roll. Now that he’d offered up the idea, however, Poe tensed slightly at the realization that he was moments away from holding you in his arms. He felt his face grow warm and felt grateful for the impenetrable darkness the cramped cave provided.

“Lift,” You said at the same moment your hand found his head, tapping. He raised his head and you slid the rolled blanket underneath, providing immediate relief. Poe slowly reached out for you, hesitating when he found your back, then curling it around you when you shuffled into his side and laid against him. After a moment, your head dropped down onto his chest, though your body was almost rigid against his. Another instance where the ability to read your mind would come in handy.

“Relax, sweetheart,” He murmured, turning his head and pressing his lips to your hair. He adjusted the blanket, ensuring it covered you both, then rested his hand on your hip. He thought you might not listen, you still seemed frozen against him, but Poe was smiling a moment later when he felt your entire body melt into the side of his before your hand came to rest over his heart. The position was so familiar, a lifetime of nights together growing up just like this, that he almost couldn’t bear it. “That’s it, sweet girl, get some sleep.”

He couldn’t have said what happened after that, because you both very promptly fell asleep, warm and safe in one another’s arms. Despite being on the cool, hard ground in a cave in the forests of Takodana, hiding from the First Order, Poe had one hell of a good sleep that night.

—

You were staring through a gap in the trees towards the shipyard outside of Maz Kanata’s castle, sitting entirely still in the morning light that filtered through the trees as you surveilled for any sign of First Order troops. You’d bee on watch for twenty minutes while Poe ran around the perimeter, and you were on edge. You didn’t like having to separate, afraid if one of you was captured you’d be less likely to get away without backup, but there was nothing to be done for it.

You might also be a little worked up from spending the night wrapped in Poe’s arms, but you weren’t focusing on the right now. You definitely weren’t fixating on the way he’d spoken to you to encourage you to relax, nor of how he’d called you ‘sweet girl’ and seemed unaware of the effect that had on you. And you certainly were not remembering how, upon waking up at dawn and enough light came into the cave, you had realized how wrapped around one another you were. At some point in the night, you’d both shifted, legs tangled and Poe’s head nuzzled into your neck, an arm wrapped over your body in a way that made you feel safe at the same time revealing how small you felt compared to his broad, muscular frame.

But most of all, you were absolutely not thinking about how Poe had woken up moments after you, lifted his head to peer down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, and then just held your gaze with an unreadable expression on his face that had left you breathless. It was like he’d pinned you to the floor with that fucking look, and you weren’t sure if it was a minute or an hour before your comm alarm went off, indicating an incoming message, and you tore your eyes away to read the message from Jess, who’d managed to send through that it was safe to return to your ship.

In fact, you were so focused on your mission, so completely not obsessing over the last twenty hours, that you were not at all surprised when Poe suddenly appeared at your side, panting slightly from his run.

He saw you jump in surprise. “Did I scare you?” He joked, and you grumbled in response, though this was worse than denying it outright and he started to laugh, before pointing ahead to the pathway “We can take that, head straight for the ship, everything is clear ahead.”

Click.

All it took was the sound of a blaster’s safety clicking off for Poe to grab you and whirl, shielding you completely from the enemy who had snuck up on your six. It took a second for you to steady yourself, then you had to peer carefully around his shoulder to see who it was. The familiar green form stood a few feet away with a grimace, pointing a fairly old-looking blaster directly at you and Poe.

“Dario, you fucking-“ You snarled, attempting to move around Poe but his arm shot back and held you behind him with surprising strength, and you stilled.

“I know, I know,” Dario drawled, unmoving, “Honestly, I had no plans to do this but the First Order put a pretty decent reward out for whoever manages to capture you two. Figured I could get back into their good graces, clear my ledger, you know how it is honey.”

Poe had left his hand resting at your hip, and at Dario’s words, his grip tightened. You were pressed against his back and could feel the tension, the coil in his muscles ready to snap. “Buddy, you do not want to try this. Handing us over to the First Order only puts a massive target on your head-and the Resistance doesn’t play games when it comes to betrayal.” His words were laced with venom, his voice low.

You’d seen Poe like this only a few times in your life because usually when it came to being cornered by enemies he was cocky, mouthing off to distract until he could come up with a plan. Today, however, Poe was almost frightening to you, his focused rage as intense as it was. You pressed a hand into his back, just to do something to calm him-this was one Twi’lek, surely you could take him before he called for back up, when your hand brushed over something hard.

His blaster.

Yours was at your hip, and you knew it was too risky to go for it with Dario pointing his own at Poe’s heart. You wouldn’t even attempt it, however, the blaster tucked into the back of his pants, hidden beneath his shirt, was more than ideal. You just had to time it right.

“Look, I’m more sorry than anyone that it’s come to this. But you two are valuable, did you know that? I certainly didn’t,” Dario took a half step closer, his eyes moving from yours, where you were still peeking from around Poe, and then up to Poe’s, “I will do you one favour though. I won’t tell them how close you are; hopefully, that’ll keep them from torturing you in front of one another-“

Your temper flared again, “They wouldn’t get anything out of us regardless, Dario, that’s why this is fruitless. You hand us over and you’re only letting us die!” As you spoke, you dropped your hand to pull Poe’s shirt from his pants, sliding your hand underneath to grip the blaster.

“Don’t,” Poe said firmly, his eyes still on Dario. You knew it was a command for you, and you hesitated.

Dario sighed, “I have to, and I’m sorry about this but I’ll have to shoot you, big guy because I can’t risk things getting physical,” He lowered the blaster to aim for Poe’s leg, “I hear the First Order have excellent medical staff, so-“

You felt Poe’s grip on your arm adjust, and realized he was going to try and throw you out of harm’s way and take the shot. Now, you didn’t hesitate, pulling the blaster out, clicking the safety off and aiming it at Dario’s head before he realized what was happening. With no other choice, Poe let you go as you stepped from behind him.

“That’s good, you’re going to need them.” You seethed, watching in amusement as Dario tightened his hold on his blaster, gritting his teeth to outgun you. He didn’t stand a chance. You shot his arm first, forcing him to drop his weapon, and then fired two more shots; one to the opposite shoulder, and one to the leg. He cried out in agony and you marched forward, flipping the blaster in your hand to grip the heated shaft, and drove the blunt end into the side of his head.

Dario sagged to the ground, unconscious.

“Well, I’ll hand that one to you,” Poe spoke from behind you, and you glanced around to find him watching you, hands on his hips, smirking in a way that didn’t meet his eyes. “Even if you did ignore my order.”

With a sigh, you held out his blaster for him, watching his jaw clench as he took it from you. “You put that in the report. And I’ll put in the part where you shoved me behind you,” You quipped, quirking a brow at him. He knew it wasn’t protocol for him to have protected you like that, and as much as you were touched and your heart was racing over how instantaneously he had reacted to ensure you were safe, you weren’t going to let him chew you out for doing the same. “Now can we leave this fucking forest, flyboy, or do you want to punish me first?”

You hadn’t meant the words to come out so...charged. You were worked up, still reeling a little over the fact that Poe was almost shot, and you wanted to leave before anything else happened. He had been watching you like he expected your initial remarks calling him out for the break in protocol, seemingly amused. You weren’t sure what he was going to shoot back at you, and you didn’t find out because the moment you tacked on the last line, his expression went blank and he simply stared at you for a very long moment.

You couldn’t look away from him, despite the heat crawling up your neck from embarrassment. You weren’t even sure where the words had come from, because they were enormously similar to how you and Poe used to speak to one another, teasingly, but you’d said it with so much more attitude. Like you were flirting without caution, and it caught him entirely off guard. You wished you could read his mind, as his eyes, now brighter than you’d seen them in a while, searchd your face.

“Let’s...let’s go,” He finally looked away, his eyes flicking around the forest, then to the still unconscious Dario, and then to his blaster. You weren’t sure, but you thought his voice came out a little more husky than usual, and heat pooled in your core as you briefly wondered what being punished by Poe Dameron would feel like.

-

Poe stood under the hot water, eyes closed, replaying the last few days in his head. His fresher was one of the few places he could be completely alone and he was taking advantage of a quiet afternoon to himself.

After returning from Takodana that morning, he had taken the intel from you to give to BB8 to begin decryption, and you had gone off to begin working on your mission report. Usually, you did this right in the hangar, but today you’d given him a shy smile, and then marched off. He hadn’t seen you since, though he was sure he would find you in the dining hall for dinner.

He was worked up from the mission, that much he knew for sure. It hadn’t gone as planned-when did they ever?-but he was, well, fucking impressed with you. You’d always been something else when it came to being pinned in a corner, though thankfully he’d only seen it a couple of times. But today you had been like a warrior goddess, shooting Dario without even a tremble in your finger and then knocking him unconscious like it was an afterthought. You made it all look easy.

He tried to admonish you just a little for ignoring him, but you had been right that he wasn’t one to talk about breaking protocol. And then you hit him with that flirtatious little line, wetting your fucking lips as you said it, appearing a little shocked at your boldness. He’d had to force himself to go blank, fearing your ability to read him like a book, while he watched you squirm under his gaze.

That pollen had nothing, nothing, on you. An innocent remark from you and he was bulldozed, ready to drop to his knees and tell you he’d give you whatever you wanted, needed, even if he had to fly across the galaxy for it. And you had no idea, he could see that you just didn’t know how much of a hold you had on him, on his heart. Poe had gone back to the med bay the other day, before the mission, and confirmed twice over with Tahla and his team that he was clear of all toxins because his feelings were so intense.

And he’d realized that what he was feeling was so much more real and right compared to the foggy desire that the pollen had caused. And he knew now, after watching you in action in the cantina, and then as you found a safe spot to hide for the night, and certainly in the morning when he’d woken up wrapped around you and gazed into your sleepy eyes, that he loved you.

That he was in love with you.

There was no one else.

And there never would be, because you were his soulmate.

Stepping out of the shower, Poe dried off and began dressing. His mind was flipping through old memories, some from when you were kids, others from after you’d joined the Resistance, each of them evidence to support his realization. He was fastening his trousers when a knock sounded at his door, and he wandered over and hit the release button without thinking, so lost in thought as he was.

“Hey, Poe, sorry I...uh...” You faltered, wide eyes falling comically down his bare torso before snapping up to look somewhere above his eyebrows. Your voice came out almost in a squeak, “Just seeing if you wanted to get dinner.”

Seeing you get flustered looking at him made Poe sweat. He stepped away from you and went to his dresser, pulling out a black tee. “Sounds good,” He replied slowly, then glanced back over at you and grinned. “You want me to throw some cold water on you, sweetheart?”

His joking had the desired effect, instantly clearing the tension from the room. You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’ll be fine, flyboy.”

“I don’t know, I recall a day at the river a long time ago, pulling off my shirt and then you falling out of a tree...”

You scoffed, then stuttered, stepping into Poe’s room, “I-that’s not, I was talking to someone. It wasn’t because of-Uhg!” You flipped him the bird then, unable to form a clear sentence in Basic. Poe was laughing, enjoying the teasing banter as he walked over to his desk and picked up his wrist comm, glancing at the time.

When he looked back up, expecting to see you still laughing shyly, he was surprised to find you frozen, eyes glued onto something over his shoulder. His brows came together in concern, “What’s up?” He looked around, following your sightline.

At first, he was momentarily confused because you were looking at his corkboard. But when his eyes fell to the picture of you, Charlie and him he realized you didn’t know he had it. He’d seen it in your room a while ago and had almost started sobbing on the spot. But you hadn’t come to Poe’s room before this.

Poe turned around to find you with a watery smile, your gaze fixed on him in an intensely affectionate way. “You kept that all these years?” You sounded winded, eyes locked on his. Poe swallowed, nodding, and felt himself blush.

He couldn’t look away if he wanted to.

He didn’t want to, though. He was pretty certain he could remain on this spot in his room as he burned under your gaze for the rest of his life. A million questions formed in his mind and he didn’t know where to start, what to say first.

The silence was broken by the sounds of footsteps in the hall. Pulling both of you out of the moment to look around at Poe’s still open door. Tahla appeared then, breaking into a grin when he saw you both. “Hi! Glad I caught you both, I was hoping to join you for dinner?” He stopped in the doorway politely.

As disappointment washed through him, Poe relaxed his stance and tossed Tahla a grin, “And here (y/n) was asking me to dinner too, I’m more popular than I thought!” You giggled, shaking your head in amusement, but Poe could see you bite your lip when you glanced back at him.

He thought maybe Tahla was giving you both a knowing look, but it slid off his face when you turned to walk out of Poe’s room. Grateful for his lack of comment, Poe clapped Tahla’s shoulder once in step with him in the hallway, and his old friend winked at him in response.

—

34 ABY

Poe knocked on the door of General Organa’s private quarters, repeating the motion desperately until it finally slid open and he burst through, eyes searching until they landed on Leia. She gave him a knowing look like she’d been expecting him. Of course, she was, she knew what was at stake now.

“General,” He glanced around, confirming they were alone. “You know what I know. Please help me.” He didn’t care how desperate he sounded.

Leia sighed, nodding kindly, “Of course I will...but Commander, Poe, it’s not going to be easy. There’s always going to be danger-“

Poe rubbed a hand over his face, “I know, I know but I have to do something. Tell me the safest planet, and then I’ll go to Jakku, I’ll find Lor San Tekka. I’ll complete my mission.”

The General stood, her expression soft, “You won’t be able to-“

Poe shook his head, “I know.” His voice broke.

“Then I know just the place.”

Did you enjoy this chapter? Consider leaving a comment or reblogging to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Taglist

@mermaidxatxheart @foxilayde @eleinemk @paintballkid711 @mylifeisactuallyamess @20th-centu-fairy-girl @deitysnips @cannedsoupsucks @ubri812 @poedameronloverx @hoeforthefictional @astrological-bitch @itsnottilly @itsdameron @alex-sulli @generousrunawaydonut @wildmoonflower @onlyferorder66 @afootnoteinyourhappiness

[mandoalorian]

Red Carpet [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader]

Summary: you attend an awards ceremony with your fiancée, Maxwell Lord. It’s nerve-wracking, but he knows how to comfort you, and you even meet a few celebrities along the way.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: alcohol mention, allusions to sex

Word count: 2000

A/N: I wrote this while watching the BAFTAs and got inspired! Pedro looked so cute. Anyways there’s nothing better than some tooth-rotting fluff on a Sunday night. REBLOGS APPRECIATED.

Your heart was racing. You weren’t sure how he did it, or where he got the confidence from, but when you see him all suited up in his tuxedo and hair perfectly coiffed, you feel nothing but pride swell in your chest. You bite down on your lower lip and wrap your arms around him as he stands in the mirror and adjusts his black bow tie.

“You look amazing,” you coo, nuzzling your head into the crook of your neck but being extra careful not to rub your makeup on him. “Smell good too.” you hum, taking in the notes of sweet honey musk with a hint of spice.

He spins around and his hands immediately find your waist as his dark eyes rake your figure. You’re wearing a silver glittering gown that hugs your body in all the right places. “You look… breathtaking,” he murmurs, his warm breath fanning over your neck. When he pulls away from you, he sees the way you happily scrunch up your nose and his entire face lights up. “How did I ever get so lucky?” he asks.

You feel your cheeks flush with heat and you look down at the floor. You and Maxwell have been together for years now, but you still get a little shy whenever he compliments you. He finds it endearing though and his fingers tap at your chin, pushing it upwards so he can look you in the eyes again. He’s completely enamoured by you. You could do absolutely anything and it would capture him into a trance. 

Not once did he ever believe that he was someone capable of falling in love. That was, until, he met you.

“Are you nervous?” you ask, swaying your hips slightly. You’re nervous. You don’t want to say anything to worry him, but he can probably tell none-the-less.

“Not really.” he replies, checking his hair one final time. You’re glad he’s feeling okay. He’s always been good at talking to big audiences. You’re proud of him too. Knowing just how far he’s come.

“If there was a category for best infomercial, you would win.” You assure him and he lets out a laugh.

“Oh I agree,” He cheekily grins, linking his arm with yours. He’s not been nominated for an award, but he was hosting a category. Maxwell wasn’t exactly a A List Hollywood celebrity, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t famous. Everyone in the world knew his face and he was most certainly a household name. If it wasn’t from his commercials or speeches, it was from the lavish parties he held and all the reality TV guest appearances he starred in. “The limo is waiting. Are you ready?”

You grab your purse and nod your head. When you make your way downstairs to the car, his hand doesn’t leave yours once. You’re lucky enough to live in a pretty private enclosed neighbourhood with him, but the second you’re both in the city, there are flashing cameras everywhere.

The bright lights are overwhelming, and you wince as they blind you. He’s used to it though, and he makes full effort to shelter you from it. 

First thing on the checklist was to complete the red carpet. Knowing that there were so many cameras on you, and that your photographs would most likely be in the tabloids tomorrow, makes you feel uneasy. But Maxwell always knows how to calm you down. His hand rests on the small of your back and he whispers a few jokes in your ear now and again which force your lips to curl into a genuine smile.

If it was up to him, he’d spend every moment relishing the limelight and garnering attention. However, he knows you aren’t the biggest fan of it, so as you duck your head down, he makes it his goal to get you inside as fast as possible.

They’re all shouting his name and he politely waves. But once you’re inside, he makes sure you’re okay, and gives your arm a little squeeze. You can see him though, trying to take a peek outside. There are cameras and press waiting for him, you know that, and it was a big night for him. You’d hate to be the thing keeping him from enjoying himself.

“They want to see you,” you tell him. “You should go out and see them.”

“No,” he firmly states, shaking his head. “No. C’mon, I’ll take you to the bar.” He slips his hand into yours and goes to take you across the lobby. You dig your heel into the floor, refusing to move. When he looks at you, you’re smirking playfully.

“Just go. It’ll be good press for Black Gold. I’ll be fine.” you insist, flattening the palm of your hand against his chest. The material of his white shirt is soft and feels so luxurious.

He hesitates slightly, not wanting to leave your side, but he knows that there is no point in arguing. Besides, you have point. “I won’t be long.” he promises before kissing you. When he pulls away, you can’t help but grin, seeing your red gloss smudged against his own soft lips.

“Oh wait!” you laugh, licking your finger and wiping it off for him. “Okay, now you can go.”

When he heads back outside, they go wild for him. They’re asking him all these questions about what charities he’s considering donating to at his next fundraiser, or what his own personal thoughts are on the latest celebrity gossip. But, all he can think about is you.

“I always love chatting to you,” Maxwell flashes his charismatic television smile as he charms the journalist. “But my fiancée is inside waiting for me so I must be heading off.”

Maxwell realises what he’s done immediately after the words leave his mouth. Neither of you had come out and announced your engagement yet. Of course there had been rumours, when the paparazzi had caught shots of the enormous diamond rock on your finger, but nothing had ever been confirmed. The journalist looks overjoyed when he realises he’s the first to learn this information.

“Oh Mr. Lord!” he cries. “Congratulations. This is just terrific news. Do you have a wedding date yet?”

A pink blush crosses Maxwell’s cheeks at the thought of you on his wedding day. “Uh, no,” he answers. “But she wants a summer wedding.”

Maxwell finds himself gushing about you for a little longer than he intended, but he’s really not out there for too long. He’s inpatient to get back inside with you, and grab a drink. You already have a glass of whiskey waiting for him. 

You’re waiting at the high rise bar, your feet dangling from the stool you’re sat on as you sheepishly eye up all the famous guests who are waiting in the lobby. Maxwell jumps up from behind you and you almost fall off your chair, but in one swift movement, he steadies you and holds you tight.

“Maxie,” you mumble, thankful that he’s back with you. “I think I just saw Elton John.”

Maxwell gasps and looks around. “Where?”

You shyly point your finger into the corner, where a Elton John is standing, nursing a cocktail and speaking to--

“Is that Madonna?!” you practically yelp. 

Maxwell adores how excitable you get. “Why don’t we go say hello?”

You look at him as if he’s crazy.

“Max… that is Elton John and Madonna. I can’t--, we can’t… I’m--”

He shushes you and takes your hand. “But imagine how amazing it would be if we could get them to play at our wedding?” 

You feel your heart blossom at the thought but you’re still unsure. “I don’t know…” you trail off but he pouts and you take a deep breath. “Okay. Okay fine.” you sigh, giving in to his puppy dog eyes.

As it turns out, Elton John and Madonna were lovely people.

The awards ceremony is about to begin and you sit around a table which is relatively close to the stage. The seats are warm and made out of crushed velvet, and each guest is given a glass of the finest champagne. Around the table sit other celebrities.

Sure, being around Max means that you’ve met a lot of famous people in your time, but being in such close proximity to them would never not be scary. You weren’t born into wealth or success like the majority of people here were. As someone with a habit of being clumsy and easily flustered, you knew this lifestyle wasn’t for you, and you didn’t think it ever would be. But Maxwell was a natural and he fit in so well around these people. You’d always be there to support him.

You anxiously twist the engagement ring on your finger when he stands up and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“I won’t be long,” he utters under the music. “Will you be okay?”

He’s due to go on stage in fifteen minutes and the crew has requested that he goes behind the curtains to prepare. You wish you could go with him. As long as you’re with him, you’re fine. You silently nod and he brings his hand down to your cheek, gazing at you with sparkling brown eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Go,” you laugh, swatting his arm playfully and then quickly rubbing out any crinkles you might’ve put in his suit. “I’ll be fine.”

He grins and kisses you one final time before disappearing into the crowd. When he’s out of sight, you decide to take a sip of your champagne, hoping the alcohol would relax you just a little bit. But then George Michael from WHAM! taps you on the shoulder, and you feel like your heart is in your ass.

“May I sit here?” He asks, pointing at the chair next to you. It’s unoccupied, other than your purse which was sitting on it.

“Oh! Sure!” you blurt out, doing your best to stay calm. The two of you sit in silence as you wait for the lights to go down.

“Do I know you?” George asks eventually, folding his arms across his chest. He looks somewhat bemused. “I feel like I recognise you.”

“Um, no. I mean-- you probably don’t know me. But I’m here with my fiancee, Max Lord,” you explain. “He’s presenting the ‘Best Actor’ category.”

“Oh!” George grins, slapping his thigh. “Of course I know Maxwell! He’s the oil guy!” George clears his throat before pointing his finger. “Life is good, but it can be better!” He impersonates one of Max’s most famous one-liners, and you laugh, nodding your head.

“Yep, that’s him.” you confirm.

“I actually invest in his business.” George tells you and you smile politely.

“Oh, well he’d be thrilled to know that.” you tell the star.

Not long after your brief conversation with George, the event begins. You’re so nervous for Max, but you know he’s going to do great. When he comes on stage, he’s just as bold and charming as you anticipate, and you have no doubt he’s swooning audiences all around the world. He winks at you before announcing the nominees, and you feel a flurry of butterflies erupt in your stomach. He’s in his element and you love nothing more than to see him do the thing he was best at.

Max announces the winner and offers her a hug when she comes to collect the award, but all he can think about is heading back to the table so he can be with you for the rest of the night. Sure, he enjoyed all of this. But he loved being with you even more.

When he sits back down next to you, his hand travels under the hem of your dress and up your thigh. His fingers trace loving patterns into your skin. “I was thinking…” he hums quietly, the vibrations of his low voice enough to make a shiver run down your spine. “What if we just skip the after-party and go straight home?”

You’re baffled by his suggestion and shoot him a bewildered look.

“What? But you love parties.”

“But I love you even more,” he reveals, grinning at you dork-ishly. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to get that dress off you from the moment I saw you in it.”

You giggle and lean your head on his shoulder. Events like this were always nerve wracking, but as long as you were with Maxwell, you were in your happy place. Still, the thought of getting out of here and spending some one on one time with your soon to be husband was more than appealing.

“Let’s ditch.” you tell him, and you live for the smile he gives you.

You couldn’t wait to marry Max and be with him for the rest of your life.

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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