#I fully imagine him not even looking like himself when he's flying through the Zone

[akela-nakamura]

Alone In A Room, for the title game

send me a made-up fic title and I’ll tell you what i would write to go with it:

Okay, okay. I see this two different ways:

First: When a ghost is first formed, it's Lair in the GZ is a single room behind a plain door. It builds itself as the ghost gains strength and younger ghosts have to spend time in their Lairs to regain ectoplasm and "rest" as it were.

Second: When a ghost is forced into it's core, it's like being locked in a room. When they're first forced in, there isn't much around but it doesn't really matter, 'cause they're too tired to be bored. As they regain their strength (and how fast this happens depends on if their core is cared for or is simply left on its own), it builds up. And a ghost can start to feel what's around it. A ghost's ectoplasm is also really malleable when they're in their core, so if they want to change how they look they can do so in their core.

I like the first one better, so this is what I'm thinking:

Danny's only been a halfa for a few weeks when he starts feeling weak. The ghosts he's fighting aren't terrible powerful in the grand scheme of things, but for a young halfa who's still trying to figure out their powers, it's a lot.

Danny also can't understand why he feels so ill, he had been getting stronger, gaining more control but it's like he's hit a wall. Tucker and Sam try to help but they're just as in the dark as Danny is about ghosts and their needs. Sam suggestion hanging out near the portal, Tucker wonders if Danny has to actually eat ectoplasm or something.

At this point, they don't even know what cores are. They're running blind and they're starting to get scared. Maybe there isn't a cure for this, maybe the energy that blasted into Danny during the accident was temporary and it's running out.

Maybe Danny's going to die fully after all. Maybe that's why all the ghosts are gunning for him, he's not supposed to exist.

One night, Danny goes to bed early. He's so tired. There's a weight in his chest and he can feel something stuttering. It's not his heart, but it feels just as important. He feels a little hollow, like he hasn't eaten despite having dinner.

He can't sleep. He's so freaking tired but he can't sleep. It's not enough, it's not what he needs. He works his way down stairs and goes to the lab and it's a little better next to the portal. But it's still not right.

He paces outside the portal for a bit, tired, frustrated, and so so confused. There's something tugging at him, something calling him and he doesn't understand. There's instincts buzzing under his skin and he doesn't know how to interpret them. There's something that has to be found but he has no idea what.

He tries to stick to logic: Fact, going into the GZ alone is dumb, especially when he's this weak. Fact, not telling anyone where he's going is dumber and Jazz will freak. Fact, he doesn't know his way around the Zone, he can't go in without backup. He could run into someone he simply can't fight right now.

As the night drags on, logic--his human logic--slowly starts to lose meaning.

In the end, he's barely able to scribble a note out to Jazz and his friends before he dives into the portal, chasing after something he doesn't understand.

He transforms just before he hits the portal and it's like all thought vanishes. School, Amity, his family, his Obsession--all pale in comparison to what he has to find here, in the Zone.

He's seen the Zone before in brief bursts, but he hasn't ventured very deep yet. He's been too nervous to explore alone and Sam and Tucker can't exactly fly.

None of that matters now, though. He doesn't register anything, his mind is firmly locked on his Lair. There's a beating in his chest that can't be his heart and he feels...driven. There is only one goal and he cannot be distracted.

(He doesn't know it, but no one could find him right now if they wanted to. He's not exactly Phantom right now, he's a baby ghost in need of their Lair.)

He navigates by instinct, feeling the ectoplasmic currants that flow through the Zone and the feel of the larger lairs and kingdoms that dot the Zone.

He finds it and it's like joy. It's like home. It's like belonging.

The door is nondescript but he knows.

It opens for him. When he enters, all the tension in him eases. The pulse in his chest slows and the cycle lengthens, like whatever lies in his chest is slowly drawing energy in. The ectoplasm feels different here, less purposeful, less formed. It's not a fight to pull it in, to use it.

He curls on the floor and finally finally sleeps.

#DP #Prompt #Prompt ish #Akela's Antics #Akela's Asks #Ask Games #Danny Fenton #Danny Phantom #I fully imagine him not even looking like himself when he's flying through the Zone #Like he's just a ball of mostly formed ectoplasm on the hunt #I also think he'd have to visit his Lair often #He starts bringing his homework with him #The first thing that forms in his lair is a desk lmao #As he gets stronger he'd have to visit it less #But when he needs it he *needs* it #I couldn't get across in this how *visceral* the need to find his Lair is #But I imagine if someone had tried to stop him from jumping into the Zone he'd have pretty much gone feral #Human Logic Vs Ghost Instincts #FIGHT

[spacesquidlings]

The Babysitter Is A Vampire Chapter 1: Prelude

Summary: With his lover by his side, Astarion had anticipated spending days adventuring, on the hunt for excitement and fun. What he had not anticipated was their adventuring put on pause by an orphanage looking for aid, nor was it spending their precious time together keeping watch over a group of troublesome children. Yet in the face of his lover's sweetest pout, how could he ever say no?

Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (Aspen)

Warnings: None

Notes: Hello!!! Forgive my self-indulgence, I just thought that the dynamic Astarion would have with some smaller children was something worth testing out!!! This is fluff mainly, featuring a post-game Astarion who has discovered he very much likes to do even the most mundane things with his partner.

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There were many things Astarion had imagined spending his time doing now that he was free, of Cazador, of the tadpole, of so much heaviness that had weighed him down throughout the centuries. His lover, his partner in all things, had helped to shoulder his burden, and he felt a lightness with her that he never remembered feeling before.

He had imagined fighting through hordes of monsters while they hunted for a cure for his condition, searching for magical wellsprings, slipping through cracks between the planes and finding themselves in entirely new worlds.

What he had not imagined was being waylaid by the director of some orphanage on the outskirts of a city they were headed to, all but begging for aid. Something about flooding and all of the children needing to be kept out of the building and supervised for a while. He wasn’t really paying attention, zoning out as Aspen nodded along to whatever the director was saying.

While he adored the sound of his lover’s voice, the voice of the director turned into little more than a buzz in his ear, like an annoying insect flying around his head.

He sighed inwardly, staring off into the distance, wondering how close they were to the city. He would have liked to lie in a warm bed that night, perhaps visit some of the finer establishments before turning in. Maybe even better than that, Aspen would find somewhere with food she enjoyed, and some drinks she enjoyed.

Her cheeks always flushed a bright cherry red when she drank, and she was always giggling, and she somehow became even more clingy than usual. It was endearing, and he would often end up carrying her in his arms to wherever they were staying, stroking her hair and listening to her chatter until she finally fell asleep.

He’d never thought himself someone who would look forward to holding his lover through the night, doing nothing but listening to her voice and letting the steady beat of her heart soothe him, yet here he was. But he’d never thought himself someone who could be happy, either, and yet he tasted happiness each day, like spun sugar melting on his tongue.

Fingertips dancing over his wrist drew his attention back to the present moment, to whatever the orphanage director was prattling on about. Aspen looked up at him expectantly, her eyes seeming to glow in the fading light of the sun.

With the tadpole gone he could not venture out during the daylight, and the earliest they were able to travel was dusk, when the light became hazy as shadows began knitting themselves across the world. They were always careful to walk under the cover of trees if they could help it, sticking to heavily forested paths to stay safe. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of burning up in the sun, and Aspen seemed even less keen, all tense nerves until the sun had fully set and there was only the silver of the moon to light their way.

“Forgive me, darling,” he murmured, not that he much cared for whatever the director was talking about. “I’m just a bit tired today. Could you repeat that?”

“She wanted to know if we’d be willing to help out with some of the kids,” she said, arching a brow. It was clear she didn’t believe his little lie about being tired in the least. “Just taking care of them and keeping them occupied while most of the staff are attending to the main building and the damages from the flood.”

He sighed, an excuse on his lips. Although he knew Aspen was fond of children, and he didn’t exactly hate them, he had his heart set on a quiet room in an inn and a warm bed while they planned their next move. He wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of spending the evening watching over children he did not know.

Seeming to sense his reluctance, Aspen pulled out her secret weapon. Her eyes widened, her bottom lip popping out into the saddest, most adorable pout. Her hands clutched his, her lip quivering. He might have been biased, but he was certain there was no one in the world quite as cute as she was.

“Fine,” he relented. Once she’d learned how to make such an expression she’d used it against him ceaselessly, and he hadn’t been able to say no to her yet. He doubted he would ever be able to say no to her, especially not when what followed her pout was a smile so sweet that it outshone the sun.

He didn’t need sunlight, not when he had her beside him.

“Oh wonderful,” she sang, leaning against him as she turned back to the director. “We’d be happy to help! Just show us where we need to go.”

“We’re so grateful to you both,” the director gushed. “Just follow me and I’ll show you to where the children are. We’ve had a few volunteers, but it’s so late in the day it’s been almost impossible to recruit the amount of people we need for these poor children.”

Astarion could already feel himself zoning out again as the director rambled on and on. The only difference was this time Aspen was holding his hand, pressing her lips to his cheek, drawing him from his reverie.

“What was that for?” He arched a brow, suspicious as she grinned.

“You didn’t like it?” She sounded almost hurt, and he would have believed her if he hadn’t caught on to her little tells. The corner of her lip was twitching, fighting against a smile.

“I didn’t say that.” He took her chin in his hand, holding her head steady as he leaned close, so close that their lips brushed as he spoke. “In fact I quite liked it.”

“Then why do you sound so suspicious?”

He chuckled, dropping a kiss to her lips before letting her go. “I’m just wondering what brought it on, my darling. This task is not exactly the most romantic.”

She shrugged. “I know you’re not always fond of these kinds of tasks. Your preference tends to lie in…” She trailed off, grinning wryly. “Well, bloodier pursuits.”

It was true, he did tend to prefer much gorier activities, preferring to be elbow deep in blood and viscera as opposed to glorified babysitting. But Aspen was partial to playing hero, and she had a fondness for children that was beginning to rub off on him. If spending a few hours keeping an eye on a few children made her happy, then he was not about to get in the way of it, not when she had become his guiding light, warmer and kinder than the sun had ever been.

“Well who am I to try and curb your proclivity for heroics?” He threw his hands up in surrender, omitting from his words how he only wanted to see her happy, and how he was beginning to find the sticky little creatures endearing. “So long as I have your attention when all this is over, and so long as you make it up to me later I see no reason why we can’t.”

She tipped her head to the side, her hair spilling over her shoulder. “And how would you like me to make it up to you?”

He did not say that what he really craved was holding her close, listening to her even breaths as she lost herself in her dreams. Instead, he only gave her the most mischievous grin he could muster, taking her hand in his and lifting it so he murmured against her fingertips. “That’s a surprise for later, my dear.”

Colour bloomed across her cheeks, soft as the sky at dawn, deepening to a rich vermillion he was growing increasingly fond of. “When you say it like that, it makes me nervous.”

“Nothing to be nervous about, my darling.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her fingers before he dropped her hand. “You can trust me.”

The glare she gave him was sharp enough to cut through bone, and Astarion could feel the corners of his lips twitching, a genuine smile threatening to curve across his face. He tried to match her glare, but it was no use, and he quickly gave up as laughter bubbled from his lips.

They were quickly escorted down a forested path, the hazy light of the setting sun melting away as the sky deepened to ultramarine, the first seeds of starlight quivering in the sky. The trees soon fell away, and they were ushered along a well-manicured field, past a crumbling building Astarion assumed was the orphanage.

“I think they’re going to need to do a lot more repairs if they want to keep that thing functional,” he whispered, dropping his lips to her ear. “It looks like it’ll fall apart against a light breeze.”

“Oh hush,” she chastised, drawing the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. She was fighting against a smile, he could tell, and he was tempted to coax it out of her. “It might be really nice inside.”

“Or it might be filled with rats.”

“Astarion!” He shrugged. “All I’m saying is they should invest in some renovations.”

Before Aspen could whisper back a reply, the orphanage’s director stopped short before a building that could only be described as a decrepit cottage.

“This is normally the groundskeeper’s home,” she said by way of explanation, clasping her hands in front of her as she turned towards them. “We were able to take some of the older children into town and leave them with some families, but it’s been more difficult with the younger ones. We’ll just need you both to help tend to them until we can get in contact with the staff at our sister orphanage and bring them over.”

Astarion found whenever the director spoke he only half paid attention, her words turning to a dull drone that was relegated to the back of his mind. He inspected the building, noting the cracked bricks and the ivy that had nearly overtaken the structure. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it was mouldering on the inside, weeds poking up from between the floorboards, birds alighting on whatever was left of staircases and shelves, the carpet replaced by grass and decaying plants.

However he was pleasantly surprised when the director formally invited him in, and he stepped through the doorway. It was much cozier than he had expected, although if he were being honest it was rather bland. The walls were painted the brown of freshly churned soil, and sconces had been hung from the ceiling and attached to the walls to allow flickering fire to illuminate the space now that the sun had set.

The floor was made of hardwood, and it creaked as they were led down a neatly kept hallway. Paintings of strangers followed them as they made their way through the house. Shivers raced down Astarion’s spine, and he shot the paintings a glance as he passed, certain that their eyes were following them as they moved.

It was only the sharp sound of high-pitched shrieking that tore him away from inspecting the creepy art any further. He was immediately reminded of why he was here, in this aging little cottage.

The orphanage director turned, buttery light spilling across the floor as she pushed open a heavy wooden door. Its hinges squealed, followed by more shouts and the sound of crying reverberating down the hallway.

“I’ll get right down to it,” she said, ushering them into the room. Astarion winced, pressing close to Aspen on reflex. There was too much movement, and the room was far brighter than he had anticipated. He wanted to tuck himself behind her, take her hand and convince her to flee. But it was far too late for that, and they were already trapped in the eye of what was very clearly a vicious storm.

She leaned close, perching her chin on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” Her brow was furrowed, her mouth pressed into a thin line. She looked worried, well and truly worried about whether he was okay.

“I’m fine darling.” He really was not. It was very loud in here and while he was partial to a raucous party, he did not think the occupants would be interested in his preferred methods of carousing. “It’s just a bit bright in here is all.”

She looked unconvinced, worrying her bottom lip as if trying to decide how to pry the truth from him.

There was no chance for her to ruminate much longer as the director cleared her throat, gesturing to the maniacs they were now trapped with.

They were moving too fast for him to count, but he suspected there were about ten of them. There were about three of them chasing each other around, and he was certain there was one that kept popping out of different hiding places, although he could have sworn there were two. No, three. But they all looked identical.

And that wasn’t counting the much smaller children, practically piled on top of each other in a corner of the room. There was a little gate around them, like they’d been thrown in prison for very small, very round people, and they were all in varying states of annoyance and misery.

“I thought you would have more volunteers,” Aspen said, her brow creasing as she took in the chaos. One of the children raced past her leg, knocking into her and careening towards the wall with a shriek.

The director shrugged. “All of our staff are currently focused on dealing with the after effects of the flood. We’re waiting to hear back from a few staff who had the day off, and to see if we can borrow anyone from the sister orphanage.”

Astarion clicked his tongue, fighting against the urge to swear. He very  much doubted that would go over particularly well in the midst of this tempest.

“If the children get hungry, you’re both welcome to use whatever you find in the kitchen. They should probably go to bed in the next few hours, and there’s bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs that they can use.” She folded her hands serenely in front of her, as if the child that had fallen against the wall wasn’t screaming like she’d only just discovered her lungs. “There are cribs in one of the rooms for the youngest ones, and you’ll find all the diaper supplies you need in the bathroom just down the hall.”

Aspen blinked and Astarion wrinkled his nose. “Diapers?”

The director shrugged. “Not all of them are fully potty trained, you understand, they’re only little.”

Aspen looked on the verge of demanding further explanation for the exact extent of what they were expected to do, but the director swiftly opened the door and vanished back the way they had come, the sound of her heels clicking against the hardwood floors as she retreated.

“Hm.” Aspen cast her gaze around the room, frowning. “She made it seem like there were other volunteers here. I hadn’t realized it would just be us.”

“I’ll be honest I wasn’t really paying that much attention.”

She frowned, looking on the verge of knocking him over the head with one of the dolls that were scattered around the floor.

He held his hands up in surrender. “I was too busy getting lost in your eyes, darling.”

Her eyes narrowed, and it was clear she didn’t believe him in the slightest, but she didn’t argue, instead wilting against him. “I’m sorry, Astarion. I’m sure I’ve made a mess of things.”

“Well now that we’re here, we might as well see this endeavour to its end,” he said, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “Perhaps relief will come quickly, and we’ll only be here for an hour.”

“That’s awfully hopeful, coming from you.”

He chuckled, kissing her head again. The children were starting to take notice of them, watching them with wide, wary eyes. “And you’re sounding awfully pessimistic, not at all like my sweet lover.”

“This is more kids than I’d thought,” she muttered, anxiety flickering in her eyes. “Are you upset with me?”

“Why would I ever be upset with you, darling?” He frowned, narrowly dodging another ankle-biter skidding far too close for comfort.

She sighed, sounding tired and forlorn. “For getting you into this mess. I should have asked you first.”

“I’m not upset in the least.” He smiled, hoping to waylay her concerns. Despite all the things they’d been through, she always seemed concerned about whether she would anger him, whether she was hurting him or upsetting him. He knew where the fear came from, some dark part of her that felt she was not worthy enough to be loved. It was something he was all too familiar with himself. But there was no one like her, no one who came even close. She had no match, no one that could even hope to compare.

“Are you sure?”

“I can promise you that I’m very sure.” He pressed his hand to his heart, smirking. She still looked uneasy, but her brow was not nearly as drawn. “On my honour, I swear to you that I’m not upset.”

Her shoulders slumped and she swayed towards him, her body relaxing. He was glad for it, that she believed him so easily, that she trusted he would not lie. At least, that he would not lie to her.

“We might even have a fun time of it,” he continued, although he was doubting it strongly. “I mean, look at all the chaos they’ve created already, and none of them are even that tall!”

Astarion was too focused on Aspen, lost to bringing the light back into her eyes. He was not skilled at this, at anything beyond manipulation and seduction. But he was trying, and he wanted to continue to try, to keep trying for eternity. He wanted to remain at her side, he wanted to continue to love her for as long as the gods allowed.

So it was that he was lost trying to brighten her mood. Which meant he was not paying any attention to the child that was creeping up behind him, only to kick him furiously in the shin.

“Shit!” He didn’t think to censor himself, whirling around to glare down at whoever had assaulted him.

His attacker, a little girl with dark brown braids and eyes so blue he thought he was staring at the sky, glared right back at him. She had her small, chubby arms crossed, her freckled face scrunched up in a spectacular scowl.

“And what, exactly, do you think you’re doing?” He leaned down, matching the child’s glare. “You’re not supposed to go around kicking people, you know.”

Well, he’d rather no one went around kicking him. Especially since he was giving up his valuable rest time to watch these little monsters.

“I’m not short,” she announced, tipping her head back so she was staring down her nose at him. She was an imperious little thing, and Astarion was sure he would have laughed had he not been the one she’d attacked. “I’m the tallest one here!”

He blinked. “What?”

She jabbed an accusatory finger at him. “YOU said no one was tall! Well I’m tall!”

Astarion spun around to stare at Aspen, dumbfounded. “Has something happened to my hearing?”

Aspen covered her mouth with her hands in a spectacularly failed attempt at stifling her laughter. The corners of her eyes creased, and the sound of snorts slipped through from between her fingers as her shoulders shook.

“And what exactly is so funny, darling?” He was smiling now too, if only because the sound of her laughter was infectious.

She shook her head furiously. “Nothing, nothing! Only that-”

“HEY!”

Their attentions were briefly diverted back to the little girl that had kicked Astarion. She was stomping her feet now, looking ready to tackle them both. “Pay attention to me!”

Aspen snorted again, looking like she might fall over from her laughter. “I’m sorry, love. What’s wrong?”

The child rolled her eyes. “I’m tall!”

“Yes, yes, you’re very tall.”

Astarion was both surprised and delighted by how she was trying to placate the child, nodding along as the child told her that she was tall, that she was going to be a very powerful princess one day, that she had been planning a tea party but it was ruined because of the flooding.

“I’m sure one of us can help you with the tea party,” Aspen said, her smile soft, like the feel of feather-down against his skin. “Although we’re not professionals at it, not like you.”

The little girl huffed, glaring at the floor. “I’ll think about it.”

“Well you let us know when you’re done thinking, okay?”

She gave a petulant nod before stalking away, to where some of the children had grouped around an open chest of toys.

“That was marvellous, my love,” Astarion said, eying the children warily. “I’m very pleased you were able to get her to stop kicking me.”

She huffed a laugh. “I can’t make any promises for later, but it is getting late, so we’ll only have to make sure no one kicks you for a few hours before they go to bed.” She smirked then. “Although some of them might bite.”

Wincing, Astarion took a step back. “I’d much rather be the only one biting, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Well try telling them that.”

He snorted. “You know you’re being awfully pessimistic, darling. For all you know they all have impeccable manners.”

“Right,” she drawled. “Sure. And those headless dolls just came that way, right?”

“Wait. What?” Astarion spun around, searching for the headless dolls in question. His eyes landed a pile of dolls, their heads rolled a few feet away, a macabre recreation of beheadings he’d witnessed a century ago. “Oh my.”

“To be fair, how else do you play dolls?” The corner of her lip was quirked up, her eyes glassy, lost in memories he couldn’t see.

“Well I am in favour of decapitation,” he mused. “It’s one of my favourite methods of murder.”

Aspen looked on the verge of saying something, her mouth opened, the corners of her eyes crinkling. But she was, very rudely, interrupted by an ear-piercing shrieking. They both turned towards the source of the scream, whatever Aspen had been about to say now lost.

One of the children in the little playpen was clutching the mesh gate, sobbing uncontrollably. Snot was dripping down the child’s face, her cheeks an angry, splotchy red.

“Oh dear,” Aspen murmured. She crossed the room quickly, plucking the offending child from her small prison. “What’s wrong, little one?”

Astarion winced as the child screamed louder, rubbing her snotty face on Aspen’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I think she needs a diaper change,” Aspen said, nose wrinkling as the child’s tiny fists began smacking against her shoulder and chest. She sniffed, her face screwing up even further, and she shook her head. “Oh yeah, she definitely needs a diaper change.”

He was about to shout out that he categorically could not be the one responsible for changing any diapers, but Aspen was already rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. It’s been a while but I do know how to handle this. You deal with the older kids.”

He was about to argue against that too, needing someone with him lest the children attack him once more. But Aspen was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving him alone with the kids.

Most of the older ones had stopped racing around, all huddling together around the mangled remains of the toy box. They were eying him up like he was prey, their faces mirrored expressions of suspicion.

Now that they’d stopped moving, he could clearly see that there were actually only five of them. A few moments of silence passed, their staring contest stretching on, when two more crawled out from beneath a chair and from inside of a sun-bleached cabinet.

“Oh. Wonderful,” he muttered, watching them join the crowd of children. “That’s not creepy at all.”

“Who are you?” A little tiefling girl glowered at him, much the same way as the one with the braids had. Her tail swished, her golden eyes bright as sunfire as she stared him down.

Tried to stare him down, anyways. He wasn’t exactly in the habit of being intimidated by five year olds.

“That was awfully rude,” he said, staring down his nose at the children. Most of them looked skeptical about him at best, with only the tiefling girl and the girl with the braids seeming to regard him with indignation. “But I’ll indulge you since you’re all so short. My name is Astarion.”

The girl with the braids wrinkled her nose. “Your shirt is stupid.”

He gaped, staring down. “It is not! I’ll have you know it’s brand new.” He ran his hand over his shirt, feeling suddenly very self conscious. “My partner bought it for me.”

The group of them tittered, a few of them whispering behind their hands.

“Your name is stupid!” Cried the tiefling girl. Her comment earned a snicker from the girl with the braids, but the rest of them looked bored, one of the twins even rolling their eyes.

“That’s so lame, Glory,” one of them muttered.

One of the girls took a step towards him, clutching a ragdoll in her arms. “I think it’s a pretty name.”

He offered her a grin, earning another small wave of giggles. “Thank you. I’m glad someone amongst you has taste.”

“Has taste?” The girl with the ragdoll frowned. “I can taste!”

He shook his head, struggling not to laugh. He doubted that would endear him much to the children. “No, my dear, it means that you like very nice things.”

One of the twins stamped her foot, waving her hands in the air until he looked at her. “I like nice things!”

“Oh yes? Like what?”

She didn’t respond, instead racing back to the cabinet she had crawled out of, producing a doll with hair the colour of verdant fields and button eyes that looked like they’d been made of sapphires.

“Oh my,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say. What did you say when a child was showing you their most precious possession? “That is quite nice.”

The child looked delighted, her shoulders wiggling as she gave him a gap-toothed grin. “Her name is Blue!”

He nodded, widening his eyes to feign surprise. “Oh my, that is such a pretty name.”

“And my name is Rose!”

Her twin piped up next, throwing herself against her sister. “And I’m Marie!”

“Rose and Marie,” he nodded his head as he said their names, smirking. “And Blue, of course.”

“Of course!”

The other children followed suit. Clearly he was no longer a threat, which meant that they needed to introduce him to all of their favourite toys immediately.

“This is Lucy!”

“Hey, hey! Do you wanna see my horse! She flies, see?”

Astarion crouched, although as they flocked around him he found himself buffeted as they shoved toys into his face before scurrying away. He ended up falling back, crossing his legs and nodding along to the stream of babbling that came from them.

From the corner of his eye he thought he spied Aspen returning, scooping the younger children up to play or to feed them. He wanted to turn and call out to her, feeling overwhelmed, but there were too many little hands waving in his face, and he couldn’t pry himself away from the ankle-biters long enough to escape and ask Aspen for help.

“Here’s an idea!” He sang, clapping his hands together as a stuffed wolf was tossed into his face. “Why don’t we all start by telling me their names and your most favourite toy.”

He lifted the toy wolf, pinching its tail as he dangled it in midair. “Starting with whoever tossed this at me.”

It was an elven child that approached him, wringing her hands, her dirty blonde hair falling limply down to her waist. “He’s mine.”

“And what’s his name?” Astarion settled the wolf in the girl’s hands, keeping his voice soft as her blue eyes flicked to the floor. She looked nervous, like she wanted to run and hide now that she’d been singled out.

“His name is Rigel,” she muttered, clutching him to her chest. “He was a gift from my mama. He keeps me safe.”

Astarion’s heart twisted, feeling strange. Like his chest was too small, or perhaps his heart was too big, the bones of his ribs cracking from the pressure. “Then you’d better take very good care of him.”

She nodded, looking somber. “You have ears like mine.”

Astarion lifted a hand to his ear on reflex, running the pad of his thumb along the curve of his ear. “I do. Although yours are much prettier than mine.”

She giggled, covering her face with her toy.

“And what’s your name?”

She hesitated, still holding the wolf against her face.

“We can’t be friends if I don’t even know your name, can we?” He was not normally patient, and yet he did not feel the usual twinge of annoyance that followed needing to wait for anything or anyone. He felt strangely calm, inclining his head as the little girl stared at him, sky-blue eyes wide as saucers.

“Willow.” She stared down at her feet, shuffling them awkwardly as she murmured against the fluff of her toy.

“Well that is an adorable name for a very adorable young lady.” Astarion didn’t quite understand what he was doing, why he was trying to make the child smile, and yet he felt like he needed to. Like it was imperative that he try to make her smile, to replace the solemness of her expression to one of joy.

Children were young, they were supposed to be happy and loud and messy and sticky. They were not supposed to look so grave, their shoulders were not supposed to be so tense, like the weight of the world was on them.

He was tempted to ask why she’d chosen to throw her wolf at him, when it was clearly such a precious possession, when one of the children shot forward, the tiefling girl, Glory. She tugged at the wolf’s tail, trying to yank it from Willow’s hand.

“Give him to me! I was playing with him first!” She was much stronger than Willow, and was successful in yanking her precious toy from her arms with a victorious whoop.

But Astarion was stronger, and taller, than the child, and he plucked her up, standing as she kicked out her legs furiously, trying to escape. “Put me down!”

He cocked his head to the side, smirking. “No, I don’t think I will.”

“You stupid meanie!”

“Oh I’m absolutely trembling from being called such wretched names. Although you’re only partially wrong.”

Glory continued to kick, although it was truly in vain. Astarion had never been that strong, but he was certainly stronger than a five year old. Even if that five year old was particularly adept at kicking his arms and chest.

“I can be quite a meanie,” he mused, lifting her higher, searching for somewhere to settle her for a while. Didn’t misbehaving children get put in timeout? Was he allowed to do that? “Although my partner thinks I’m quite nice.”

Glory stuck out her tongue, raspberrying ferociously. Her cheeks were puffed out, much like a squirrel, earning a chuckle from Astarion’s lips before he could stop himself. “You’re the worst! I hate you!”

He hummed, searching for Aspen. “Yes, I am deeply wounded by your insult. I don’t believe I will ever recover.”

Glory started kicking ferociously, and Astarion held her further from him, narrowly avoiding getting smacked in the chest by her tiny legs.

He must have been allowed to put the child in a timeout at least for a while. Attempted bodily harm constituted some sort of consequence, didn’t it?

Aspen appeared from a door on the far side of the room, half-crouching as she held the hands of two little toddlers stumbling on fat legs.

“My darling,” he called, holding Glory up higher as she squirmed in his grip. “Might I have some advice?”

She whispered something to the toddlers, guiding them over to a corner with a pile of plush toys before making her way to him. Her brow was lifted first in curiosity, but lines quickly appeared as she took in the state of things and the violent child in his arms.

“What’s happened?” She started reaching for the girl, but Astarion shook his head, jerking her away before her foot could connect with Aspen’s hand.

“I was merely wondering what the best course of action would be for a child who’s been misbehaving?” He did his best to sound casual, despite the burning ache in his arms.

Aspen’s brow only furrowed more. “Why? What did she do?”

“For starters-”

“He’s a stupid meanie!” Glory cut him off before he could continue, trying and failing to wrench herself free. He was really going to have to put her down if she kept struggling, but he feared the damage she would cause once she was free.

“Hey now,” Aspen frowned, settling a hand on Astarion’s shoulder. Disapproval did not suit her, and he wanted to resolve this quickly, if only to see the return of the soft smile she’d had when she’d thought he wasn’t looking. “He is neither stupid or a meanie, and we can’t go around calling people names like this.”

Glory shrieked, both Astarion and Aspen wincing. Something tugged at his trousers, and when he looked down he found Willow clutching his leg, her wide green eyes watched him from beneath the messy fringe of her hair, her tiny fingers digging so hard into his leg he could feel her nails.

“Glory always calls people names,” Marie grumbled. “All of the nannies let her do whatever she wants.”

“I’m starting to wonder if maybe the staff started the flood,” Astarion murmured, voice low so it only reached Aspen’s ears. “To escape this hellion.”

“Astarion,” she hissed. “She’s a child.”

“She’s feral!”

He didn’t get a chance to argue much further, the little one with the braids kicking him once more.

“Hey! Leave him alone!” Willow clutched his leg tighter, as if that would somehow protect him from the assault on his other side, but he appreciated the effort on his behalf nonetheless.

“Hey now.” Aspen plucked the second child from where she was attacking Astarion, frowning as the child started beating her fists against Aspen’s shoulder. “Hey. No, no we do not hit people!”

Aspen’s voice was rising, her face crumpling in pain as blows connected with her cheek. Still, she held the child tightly as her cheeks turned red and she shrieked, unable to wrest herself free.

“My darling, are you alright?” Astarion’s chest grew tight, squeezing his heart like a vice. He could already tell bruises would form on the delicate skin of her cheeks, and across her collarbone in a motley of plum and dandelion and olive.

All she did was shake her head, grunting when she was smacked across the bridge of her nose. “I’ll be alright.”

He suspected she would not, and he had half a mind to abandon the children without supervision so he could take her somewhere quiet, somewhere he could brush gentle kisses against her bruises until she felt at ease.

Not that Aspen would let him. She would probably put up a fight, insisting on staying until there were more hands to watch the children.

So Astarion stayed, ignoring the burn in his arms as Glory finally gave up her fight, slumping like a ragdoll, all fabric and fluff. He didn’t dare draw her against his chest, despite how much his arms screamed at him to do so, lest she try and bite him or begin fighting anew.

They waited quietly until the girl Aspen held was no longer fighting, her eyes wide, her cheeks tearstained as she glowered at the both of them.

“You’re both the worst.”

“Well you hardly know us,” Aspen said, her tone light, almost teasing. She didn’t smile, and Astarion caught the quiver of her bottom lip, the wrinkle of her nose, everything that told him she was trying very hard not to swear and burst into tears. “But even if you don’t like someone, you cannot hit them. Do you understand?”

The girl only sighed, wilting much like Glory, her head lolling to the side.

“What’s your name?” Aspen was being awfully patient, fixing her gaze on the child.

“Aisling,” she muttered, staring at the floor.

“Thank you.” Aspen met Astarion’s gaze, fatigue clouding her eyes for a moment. “I think the two of them need a timeout, so they can reflect on what’s happened here.”

“Wait! No, I don’t want that, I want to play!” Glory was practically shrieking, and Astarion was thankful he’d had the forethought not to hold her closer, even at the expense of his arms. She would have surely shattered his ears with how loud she was shouting.

“It’s not forever,” Aspen said, voice growing firm. “But you both need some space. You were both very rude and mean, to both me and Astarion.”

“And she was quite rude to Willow and Rigel,” he added, smirking as Glory glowered at him.

Aspen’s brows drew together. “Who?”

He tipped his head, eyes flicking down to where Willow still clutched him, her precious wolf in her arms. “This is Willow, and her little wolf is Rigel.”

Aspen’s eyes widened, her lips parting in a small O. Something flitted across her eyes, brightening her entire face like she was made of sunshine. “I see you’ve made a friend.”

He arched a brow. “It seems I have.”

“Well, I think that only furthers my point,” Aspen said, turning her attention back to the two girls. “You both need to take some time. I would say maybe thirty minutes to reflect, alright? And once you’re done, you can come back and play again.”

Both children whimpered, but had the good sense not to say anything more.

Aspen directed Astarion on where to place Glory, sending him upstairs into one of the empty rooms. There were a few worn chairs with plush cushions and fluffy blankets strewn across them in a crescent around an aging bookshelf leaning dangerously to one side. He settled Glory in one of the chairs, huffing as she curled into a ball, glaring silently to the side.

“You heard what Aspen said.” He crossed his arms, trying not to laugh at the petulant look on her face. One minute she’d been fighting him like a feral cat, and now here she was pouting as she stared out the window.

Children were such strange, hilarious creatures.

“You have to stay here for thirty minutes. One of us will come and get you when the time is up.”

She huffed, crocodile tears in the corners of her eyes. “Where’s Aisling?”

“In a different room. So the two of you don’t get into any shenanigans.” Although he was curious as to what the two of them might do when they were put together.

Glory didn’t say much else, and so Astarion left, heading through the house back into the chaotic playroom. He would have liked to take a few moments, let himself be held in Aspen’s arms for a while. He was sure he deserved some manner of praise, and copious affections after handling being attacked by two assailants so responsibly.

But it was not to be, one of the toddlers shrieking before he could snag Aspen’s hand. She shot him an apologetic look, as if she were still able to read his thoughts even now that the tadpoles were gone. As if she knew what he had wanted, and she was sorry that she could not take the few moments needed to heap affection onto him.

Sighing, Astarion slumped to the ground, crossing his legs as the remaining children circled around him.

“I believe we were still in the midst of introductions, were we not?”

There were only two children remaining, another tiefling and a gnome, Cadence and Ellie. They were an odd duo, Cadence seeming hesitant to get too close to Astarion, her tail swishing around her legs, while Ellie could not stop bouncing around him, asking him so many questions he could not keep track.

It seemed without the other two girls present, the remaining five were much more lively. The twins continued trying to introduce him to all of the toys in the room all while Ellie badgered him with even more questions.

“What’s your job?” She bounced around him, nearly knocking into Willow as she sidled up beside him, reaching for his arm.

“I’m a…” He considered for a moment what children would think sounded interesting. “An adventurer.”

“Ooo.” She perched on his knee, her eyes a deep brown that reminded him of the forest, of soil, of warmth and life. “What kind of adventures?”

“Ellie, we want to play!”

“Hold on!” She cried, waving her hands at the twins. “I have questions! For my stories!”

Cadence rolled her eyes. “We want to play tea party!”

She was beginning to warm up to Astarion, although she still gave him space. She seemed equally as wary of Aspen, who she regarded with skepticism when she brought over some evening snacks for the children. But despite that, her manners were immaculate, and she thanked Aspen quietly, still watching her warily until Aspen sprinted over to where a toddler had just taken a tumble against a tower of colourful blocks.

“Just five more minutes,” Ellie whined, her eyes round as saucers as she swept her gaze over the small group of them. “Please?”

Cadence sighed, beckoning the twins over a few steps, all their toys clutched in their arms.

“So what kind of adventures did you do?!” She demanded, just as fervently as before she’d been interrupted.

“Well, um…” He narrowed his eyes, trying to come up with something else the child would find interesting. “I had to fight aliens.”

She gasped. “Aliens?!”

He nodded, feigning solemnity. “Yes, aliens. They were in a huge ship that flew in the sky.”

“It flew?! Was it magic?!”

He chuckled. “I’m not really sure, I didn’t understand what was happening.”

Beside him, Willow gasped, clutching his arm. His heart twinged, and he found himself reaching over, ruffling her hair. “It’s alright, I made it out.”

With a mindflayer tadpole burrowed in his brain, but he wasn’t about to mention that.

Willow spoke in a hushed whisper, her eyes wide. “Were you scared?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Of course not.”

He had been terrified, but that was something he would keep to himself.

“Why not?”

He hummed, smoothing her mussed hair. “I was with someone who made me feel brave, who made me feel safe.”

Willow smiled then, tentative at first, but quickly blooming into sunshine and light, colour creeping into her cheeks. “You had someone like Rigel!”

“A little.” He tipped his head to the side, looking up to find Aspen bottle-feeding one of the youngest children. “I had her, my love.”

Willow gaped while Ellie gagged, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Is she your wife?”

Snorting, Astarion patted her cheek. “Not quite.”

The question remained in the back of his mind, pinging like stones bouncing across the surface of a lake. It was like a spark, an ember catching on kindling, an old desire, something he had long ago tucked away, flitting upwards like smoke reaching towards the sky.

“Ew, I don’t care about that,” Ellie whined, snapping him back to the present. “Did you kill any of the aliens?”

Willow gasped, pressing her face against his arm to hide her face. Something in the way she clung to him made his heart ache, although he could not pinpoint exactly what it was, or even why. Only that he did not wish to see her afraid, this small gentle child who kept her beloved toy tucked under her arm at all times.

He did, however, still give Ellie a sharp nod, earning a delighted shriek from her as she leapt to her feet, running laps around him.

“That’s so cool!” She squealed, nearly falling on her face as she came to a sudden stop. Her arms pinwheeled, and she collided with Marie, sending her careening to the ground.

“Hey,” he said, taking hold of Ellie’s hand to steady her. He didn’t even think to question his actions, to wonder about why he did not laugh, or jest at the display. It was funny, at least he should have noted that it was funny, but he was preoccupied with making sure Ellie did not fall into any of the other children, especially not the little ones Aspen was trying to corral on the other side of the room.

“You need to watch where you’re going,” he chided. Later he would look back and cringe, thinking about how responsible and annoying he sounded, but in the moment it didn’t even occur to him. “You don’t want to hurt someone here.”

Ellie shrugged. “Marie is fine!”

“You knocked her over! You knocked her dollie over!” Cadence cried, tail lashing. There were tears in her eyes, like Marie’s pain and frustration was all her own. “That’s not okay!”

“Yes it is!” Ellie seemed completely unbothered, swishing her arm through the air like she was holding an invisible sword. “We all need to practice so we can be adventurers!”

“I want to have a tea party!”

Astarion’s tenuous control of the children was quickly unravelling, and his mind reeled as he tried to think of something that would calm them all down.

“You know a tea party does sound rather fun,” he suggested, patting Willow’s shoulder as she peeked up from where she was hiding. “I could rather go for some refreshments right now.”

“I don’t want a tea party! Look, I can show you how good an adventurer I can be!” She raised her hands, her eyes narrowing, completely ignoring Astarion. “I’ll cast a fireball to show you!”

He saw his life flashing before his eyes in the half second it took for her to begin channeling her magic. His body moved of its own accord, snatching her up and squeezing her arms down to her sides so she could not cast a fireball in the middle of the room.

“Woah!” He shouted, shaking his head. Her eyes had widened once more, confusion and shock turning her slack-jawed, silent for the first time since she’d introduced herself. “We do not cast fireball indoors, my dear. We don’t want to burn everyone to a crisp, do we?”

It took a long moment for her to respond, her lashes fluttering as she stared at him. Seconds turned to minutes, and suddenly her baffled expression morphed into a petulant pout, and she gave a halfhearted wiggle in his arms. “It was only going to be a small one.”

“It doesn’t matter how big it is,” he said, fighting against the urge to shout, to swear. “We do not set fires when we are inside. Understood?”

She grumbled her reply, glaring at the floor. “Understood.”

“Good. Now that we have all agreed to be civilized,” he set her down, heaving a long sigh as she scampered away. “Why don’t we have that tea party all your friends have been talking about?”

Cadence and Willow both brightened, and the twins quickly gathered up their favourite toys, chattering over each other as they asked if their toys could be included, if they could have their favourite snacks.

“Excuse me…”

Astarion turned, the cacophony of the five children turning to a buzz in his ears as he found both Aisling and Glory standing in front of him, fidgeting awkwardly, refusing to meet his eyes. Aspen must have fetched them from their respective timeouts, and they had returned to wreak more havoc.

It was Aisling that stepped forward, wringing the fabric of her patchwork skirt. “Could we join the tea party too?”

He crossed his arms, regarding them quietly for a moment, trying not to smirk as they continued to fidget, looking uncomfortable. “Don’t you two have something to say first?”

They looked at each other before staring at the floor once more.

“We’re sorry.”

“Yeah… We’re sorry.”

He let another moment pass, at least until Aspen gave him a dry look, as if trying to tell him to put them out of their misery.

They were, after all, not even ten.

“Alright,” he announced, clapping his hands together. “You two are invited. I think we should get this tea party started.”

Next Chapter

#astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #astarion x reader #astarion x female tav #honey the sweeter the sun

[no-droids]

Rumors, Freebies, and a Race for Last Place

Part Two of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 22.5K DONT say shit alright just don’t

Warnings: Okay. There is degradation in this, some name calling and heated interactions. There is a LOT of smut, dirty talk and rough sex. If these things offend you, please do not continue reading.

***

It’s recommended to read part one first.

***

Getting into the x-wings is always fun.

It actually might be your favorite part.  Granted, alarm bells ringing and thousands of jumpsuits scrambling in all directions is never typically a good thing, but there’s also an inherent rush about it, a thrill in launching up the metal paneling as quick as you can and suiting up to provide aid.  It’s a side-effect of camaraderie, of being surrounded by like-minded individuals willing to do everything they can to help.  You never feel like you’re going to your death, even though that’s often the grim reality for at least one of you on a good day.  There’s always a roaring in your ears while you do it, adrenaline sharpening your senses and preparing yourself for conflict, not thinking anything beyond gogogogogo—

But getting out of the x-wing is… not great.  At least for you.  It’s sluggish.  Your body is always completely drained and you never come out of it feeling the same way you went in.  Even in times of victory, there’s a somberness inside you after battle.  As much as you tell yourself you’re fighting for good, for prosperity against an evil machine hellbent on enslaving the galaxy, there’s only so many explosions lighting up in front of your eyes and screams cutting out through your comms you can take before winning just doesn’t really feel like winning anymore.  Most pilots are able to handle it better than you are, but since you joined the Resistance, you’ve never truly felt the desire to celebrate.  Not even when you serve a massive, glaring defeat to the other side.  There’ll always be at least one missing x-wing, one empty seat at the table, one person not here to celebrate with you.

You came back in one piece this time.  Barely.

The whole mission went sideways—literally.  You’d purposefully stationed the tandem just outside the coordinates you were meant to be surveilling so that you’d be hidden from sight and dead to the scanners should the fleet arrive, but something must’ve happened.  You must’ve powered down a few seconds too early after he turned the thrusters off, because apparently the ship drifted in dead space for close to eight hours without either of you noticing, having no working computers to actively read your location and correct it.  You were sitting ducks right in the hyperspace drop zone by the time the First Order showed up, and by that point you had no choice but to engage.

“Gold-Ten,” a voice murmurs from behind you, and you blink, suddenly seeing the base landing platform stretching out long in front of you, hundreds of docking ships and boisterous pilots scrambling out of them to hug their comrades and congratulate them even as medics rush past with white coats and gurneys.  They’re never for the pilots, but they dispatch healers anyways whenever a convoy returns in case a straggler gets picked up.  There’s an unspoken understanding in space battle—pilots never get injured.  They either come back unharmed, or they don’t come back at all.

Dameron.

You turn around and watch him slowly approach you with an unreadable expression, his jumpsuit still bunched halfway down his torso.  The once bright white sleeveless undershirt is now greasy and damp with sweat,  his dark curls sticking to his forehead.  He winces with every bow-legged step—you know the feeling—before he’s standing directly in front of you and something is carefully being pulled out of your hands.  You didn’t even realize you were holding onto anything.

Your helmet.  You forgot to leave it in the x-wing, and you’ve been carrying it around under your arm aimlessly while mentally checking off the squadrons as they return, counting the numbers you lost today while everybody else hugs and whoops and claps each other on the back.

It’s not as bad as you were expecting it was going to be, not as bad as it seemed just an hour earlier when you were listening to Dameron bellow out evasive flight maneuvers a millisecond before he enacted them and you adjusted your firing at the TIEs accordingly.  You used to think you were quick with how rapidly you could suit up and fly out, drop in to assist and engage, but on the other side, it felt like your reinforcements lollygagged for ages before arriving.  You were left to defend against an entire fleet in one stupid ship, more lines of TIEs sinking like flies from launch decks every second.

“Gold-Ten,” you hear again, and you blink a few times, needing to focus your vision before you can find his gaze.

Dameron’s palm, previously hovering a few inches above your shoulder, suddenly drops to spread along the curve of it and you take a deep breath, almost wanting to shudder at the feeling of something touching you.  You channel all your focus into it, feel his fingers branch out strong along the tight muscles in your neck, giving you an anchor you automatically lean into.

You and him are no strangers to touching.  Before today it was mostly reserved to poking and prodding and flicking and light slapping in an effort to piss each other off, but now… you can’t even think about it right now, your body will just fucking glitch out on you.  After everything that just happened, you cannot think about where else that hand has been recently, not right now.

“You did… you did really fucking good today,” he tells you quietly, slowly trailing his hand down the length of your entire arm until he catches your wrist and a few of your fingers in his loose grip.  “Seriously.  That was… we were…”

His touch is so present, so reassuring.  Grounding, when all your mind wants is to just float away.  You glance down at where his fingers are gently tangled with yours and you feel your hand tighten just slightly, the smallest squeeze while he blinks down at you.

“We almost died, like… every single second,” you barely manage to croak, not really having the words to express it right now.  You always need at least an hour or two after missions like this to just sit in one place and regroup.  Usually you find yourself wandering back to your room to lay on the bed and stare up at the ceiling while you consider your own mortality, but Dameron interrupted you this time before you could process it by yourself.  “We…”  Your voice sounds absolutely shredded.  “W-We shouldn’t even be alive right now.”

“I know,” he nods in soft agreement, taking a small step closer to you.  “But we are alive.  Hey.”  He dips his head as soon as your gaze starts to drift, catching your eyes once more and drawing your attention back to the present with a squeeze of your hand.  “We’re alive, right?  Be alive with me.”

You take a big breath in and close your eyes, feeling the oxygen fill your lungs once more, but this time, it’s… restorative.  A wonderful, beautiful reminder of your existence.  You’re alive.  Usually the word just feels like a synonym for persevering.  Pushing onwards despite trials and tribulations, not looking back.  But the way he says it, especially with his hand in yours and a quiet invitation to tag along, it sounds… breathtaking.  Full of light, and hope.  It suddenly leaves the dim shadows and slides into a completely different category of feelings, feelings you’d never imagine being able to conjure so quickly after such a close brush with death.  Alive—it slots right in next to words like colorful, radiant, sunshine, and butterflies.  Enchanting words, ones you’d like to hear again and again.

Your eyes slowly open and there he is, the man you were sure was going to accompany you to the afterlife.  You were stuck with Poe Dameron in one of the closest calls you can remember, and strangely, his presence was nothing if not… a comfort.  For the first time in your life, you were grateful he was there.

You open your mouth, suddenly feeling the needy, unfounded urge to tell him that.  “I’m gla—”

“Dameron!”  You hear a series of voices call from somewhere to your left, and he immediately drops your hand to whip his body around and place himself directly between you and the approaching onlookers, using his large frame to hide you from their sight.

“What’s up, Briggs?”  Dameron projects to one pilot in particular that seems to be leading the group, his back oddly close to you in this position.  Your fingers still feel tingly from where he was holding onto them.

A chorus of congratulatory, “Nice flying, Captain!” and the like can be heard floating through the air from beyond his shoulders, before the leader speaks loudly over them.  “Hey—me, Seven, Six, and Twelve were gonna grab some drinks in the mess hall with a few of the Blue girls,” he tells Dameron, slowing to a stop as soon as he sees you standing awkwardly behind him.  “Oh hey, Goldie.”

You lift a hand and clear the remainder of the dissociation from your throat, not knowing him well enough beyond the squadron he and his group fly with.  “Greenies.”

“Anyways, I guess they wanted to know if you’d come too.  These idiots are convinced they’re never gonna give us the time of day unless you—”

“Uh—fine, whatever, just give me a few minutes alright?”  Dameron quickly assures him with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “I’ll meet up with you guys later.”

A few of them take turns giving him heavy claps on the shoulder and acclamatory words before the group eventually disperses, and he waits a few more seconds for their attention to fully scatter in another direction before turning back to you.

Shit, he’s standing really close.  Why is he so close to you?  You take a step back and blink up at him, the noises of the landing deck gradually amplifying back up to normal volume as you retreat back into your own space.  Since when did he have that effect on you?  You suddenly feel wide awake, and the chorus of happy chaos surrounding you is something you’re finally able to take in.  You knew it was happening before, but it was like it just existed outside of the creeping numbness.  Now, the knot of internal turmoil has untied itself a bit and you feel your surroundings start to fight for your direct attention.

Dameron continues to look at you the same exact way, though.  Like you’re still the only one here.

You look down at his half-suited figure and blink at the helmet loosely held in one of his hands.  Hey.  Hey, that’s yours—

“Give me that,” you hiss, suddenly snatching it from his fingertips.  “You have people waiting.”

The cutting words serve to snap him out of whatever spell he’s under.  Dameron quickly lifts his head and looks around a few times with sharp eyes, before hooking your elbow and twisting you into a complete 180 until your back faces most of the excitement.  You resist, immediately trying to push him off you and worried he’s going to confront you about… things, but he’s determined.

He doesn’t say anything to you at all, though.  His fingers quickly grasp the baggy fabric of your jumpsuit even as you sputter and start to ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, and you glance down just in time to see him yanking the gaping velcro closed at your crotch.

Your cheeks instantly start burning as he tugs and smooths the fabric down until it’s seamless once more, especially when his eyes flick up to yours without moving his head.  Fuck, you’re instantly hot with some wicked emotion, a mixture of embarrassment and outrage and… something else.  Maker, you almost wish you were numb and disoriented again, if only so you could avoid feeling whatever the fuck this is.

You quite suddenly shove your helmet back into his stomach with an infuriated sound even as he doubles over with a shocked whoosh of air, changing your mind about returning it to the ship yourself before storming off without another word.

*** 

Okay, so you’ve done some thinking, and.  Well.  Fuck him, that’s what you’ve decided.

No—not… fuck him.  But like, fuck him.  You know.  In the negative sense of the word.  The bad fuck.

There’s a full tray of food sitting in front of you but you’ve so far been unable to touch it.  Mostly you’re just wondering why the fuck you’re even here.  Well, you know why you’re here—you should eat, it’s dinnertime and this is the mess hall.  You’ve been known to skip out on meals after heavy missions, secluding yourself away and just wallowing for a bit, but you… strangely didn’t feel like doing that today.  You don’t want to self-isolate when you feel okay enough to avoid it, not again.  So you’re here, because the clock says your tummy should want food, but you can’t bring yourself to even look at it.

No, you’re looking at him.  Glaring, actually.

Across the mess hall and beyond the transparisteel divider that separates the cafeteria from the bar area, Dameron is all eyebrows and smiles and side nudges and winks right now.  You can’t hear him—the sound won’t travel this far, but you can see him situated in the middle of a rowdy group of pilots.  He laughs in that disgustingly charming way of his, where his stupidly cute nose scrunches up all cute and stupid and you want to just ask the Maker why he’s doing this shit to you.  What have you done to deserve this torture?  Sure, you may have willingly agreed to it, even… conceived and propositioned the idea, and sure, absolutely nothing is stopping you from forfeiting and walking away at this exact second, but does that make it okay?  No, you’ve decided.  It’s not okay.  He’s not allowed to… to make you feel like this, so fuck him.  In the bad way.

“Just fuck him already,” a voice suddenly grumbles as someone plops down into the seat to your right, plastic trays of food clattering loudly on the table and snapping you out of your reverie.  Gold-Sixteen blocks your view as he silently drops into the seat in front of you and wraps his green lekku around his neck a few times before immediately beginning to shovel food into his mouth, while Gold-Three opens her box of blue milk next to you and continues.  “The Blues never fucking shut up about it, it’s getting annoying.”

“Don’t listen to her, Dime,” Gold-Eleven tells you, quickly occupying the seat on your left and biting into a crunchy piece of fruit, talking loudly over the chatter even as he chomps.  “Rossi just knows her pool is up tomorrow, she doesn’t want to lose any of her precious credits.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Gold-Three immediately snaps, leaning forward and around you to point the prongs of her fork at Eleven threateningly.  “Zhang’s pool starts on Sunday.”

“Oh fuck off, you guys are betting on this now?”  You groan, shoving your plate away with a flick of your fingers now that you’re certain you’ve completely lost your appetite.  Sixteen immediately snatches up one of your bread rolls while Zhang swipes your juice and Rossi goes for a packet of glockaw sauce.

“You’re the one who announced it in front of everybody, we’re just being active spectators,” Rossi returns, ripping the packet and pouring the sauce on her vegetables with a shrug.  “How the fuck do you bet against fucking each other though, that’s my question?  It’s a paradox, wouldn’t you both just lose at the same time?”

“Dameron and I aren’t going to fuck,” you tell her very slowly and clearly, starting to get a headache.  Why is it impossible to avoid this conversation topic, even with an entire Resistance base to roam around in?  “Ever.  The bet never had anything to do with fucking each other, it’s about not fucking other people.”

“Literally what is the difference?”  You hear Rossi ask with her mouth full, but Zhang speaks over her.

“Somebody should probably tell Nine that, she’s the bookie,” he tosses out carelessly, dropping the core of his piece of fruit to his tray before wiping his hands on his jumpsuit.  You bury your face in your hands and let out a loud, exhausted sound into your palms, not knowing which response serves to aggravate your already emotionally overloaded ass even more.  Nine is the bookie, of fucking course she is.  “But hey, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think any of it actually goes outside of Gold, so.”

“I’ve heard the Blues talking about it, but that’s it,” Rossi chimes in while chewing some of her veggies.  “Maybe some Reds.  Point is everybody else thinks it’s already happening, honestly.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper, using your knuckles to rub at the backs of your eyes until bright spots appear.  Where are stress headaches localized?  Are those the ones right under your brow bone?  Because stars, you feel it.  “Fucking… why?  Why do people think that me and Dameron are…?”

Nobody at the table immediately responds, and you drop your hands after a moment to look at each of their astounded faces in turn.

“You fucking serious, bitch?”  Rossi blurts first, her voice completely deadpan, and you growl in vexation.

“Have I not been vocal enough about my severe dislik—”

“And yet you kicked Nine out of your room to let him bunk with you,” Zhang immediately suggests.

“You request mission assignments together,” Rossi adds.

“Spend your off-days together,” Zhang continues.

“You’re both really weird about how long it takes the other person to shower,” Rossi tacks onto the list Zhang is now making on his fingers and you shake your head frantically.

“No—no, that’s so that we know neither one of us is cheating,” you try to explain, and you already know it sounds unconvincing without needing the two quick, lofty and sarcastic nods on either side of you.  “Showers and off-days are prime masturb—no, you know what?  No.  I’m tired of the assumptions, I don’t owe anyone shit.  This is super fucking uncool of you guys, you know that?  It’s insane that this is what counts as gossip in the Resistance nowada—”

“There’s only so much bad news people can take, Ten,” Gold-Sixteen grunts down at his almost finished plate, and all three of you snap your gazes across the table at him.  The forest-tinted twi’lek doesn’t speak much, it’s uncommon to hear his voice without distortion over the comms, but you blink as his sharp teeth continue to form words without looking at you.  “Quit being so sensitive.  Rather bet on this shit than which system is getting demolished next.”

And with that, Sixteen excuses himself with a silent nod, having gobbled down his full plate while you, Three, and Eleven were bickering.  You feel your cheeks flare with anger and shame—you didn’t deserve that, you immediately reassure yourself, but the hidden self-doubt the comment sows just further contributes to your upset.  You want to call out to his back that just because the First Order exists doesn’t mean you have to put up with your own fucking squadron turning you and your mortal enemy into glorified race fathiers, but he’s already leaving the mess hall while Rossi and Zhang have moved on to other topics, both of them continuing to grab more food from your tray as they talk.

You have a tough shell.  But today was… a lot.  You bite your lip down at the table against the sudden wave of emotion, blinking quickly to clear the weakness watering your vision.

See, this—this right here is why you use last names.  These people aren’t your friends.  Betting on who you fuck for laughs, using you as a source of entertainment without your consent just because they’re in the middle of a war, and then guilting you into feeling like you’re the one acting like a stuck up bitch about it?  You’re fighting in the same fucking war—you’re on the front lines just like everybody else and nobody gets to lecture you on the devastation of battle.  You almost died today.  You fought tooth and fucking nail to stay alive and by all accounts, you shouldn’t even be sitting here right now, much less dealing with this childish shit.  This is your squadron.  These people are supposed to be the ones closest to you out of everyone, the ones you’ve been flying into chaos in formation with for years, and yet not a single damn person has even mentioned your performance to you today, all anyone can ever seem to talk about is—ugh.

Unfortunately, your unobstructed view also allows you to look at the source of your bad mood once more, immediately noticing the way more people have crowded around him now, and the headache continues to throb painfully behind your eyeballs.  You were in the same ship, does nobody realize that?  You were gunning, he was flying—you were offense, he was defense—that’s the only fucking difference, and yet, it’s like that side of the mess hall is just completely lit up with hearty laughter and music playing from someone’s holopad and congratulatory drinks being passed around, while yours is… well.

You continue to fume inwardly, struggling somewhere between bitter and hurt, and you can see your reflection through the transparisteel giving him a death glare, wondering how many of the people surrounding him have made bets with Nine.  How many of his little entourage have their money wagered on Dameron getting in your pants by a specific dat—

You stop short while staring at his handsome face, an infuriating, horrifying thought suddenly striking you.  No… no, he wouldn’t…

“Does he know?”  You immediately interrupt the chitchat between Three and Eleven to ask with a deadly edge in your voice, tipping your forehead at pretty boy.  Ooh, you can already feel it burning.  It would be so fucking typical.  Oooooh, Maker, if he’s heard even a fucking whisper about this outside wagering going on amongst the pilots, you will fucking smother his ass in his sleep tonight.  How could he not know?  With as many friends as he has?  If you’re just being made aware of it, then it’s a given that somebody has to have told him by now, which just means that it’s all the more possible—shit, even more likely—that he’s… participating, too.  You do your best to keep your voice even, but you can hear the quiet fury shaking in it.  “The bet about when me and him are gonna fuck, does he know about it?”

“Who—Dameron?”  Zhang turns his head.  “No, I don’t think s—”

“Yeah,” Rossi says at the exact same time, and your blood instantly turns ice cold as Zhang leans around you to blink at her stupidly.

“No.  Yeah?  What?”  He says, sounding genuinely confused.

“Yeah, remember?”  Rossi confirms with a shrug.  “Nine was mad as all shit, came at me in the rec room a few weeks ag—fucking Maker, Eleven, you were there.”

“Oh,” Zhang suddenly exhales, “yeah, that’s right.  Oh, yeah, Dime, he knows.”

You’re—fuck, you’re about to rampage.  You’re burning a fucking hole through Dameron while he converses animatedly with his numerous buddies, waving an open hand and shaking his head at someone with a smile and then gesturing broadly to this side of the transparisteel.  His pool is probably up soon, you figure.  That’s why he came onto you so strong earlier today.  He was going to get two weeks of your pay, plus whatever he must’ve offered up to Nine that says he’d get it to happen within a certain amount of time.  Perfect, your old roomie and the arch nemesis you stupidly agreed to trade her for, two asshole peas in an asshole pod.

“—she thought I was the one who told him—”  You know Rossi is still talking but you’re not actually hearing any of it.  Nobody has any fucking idea.  Nobody has any idea what he did to you today, how unbelievably close you were to… to actually…  “—was all just for fun, but then he had a few choice words for her and told his squad that if any of them had made a—”  You don’t know why you’re so surprised honestly, you should’ve expected…

Wait.

“Wait,” you suddenly blurt, and while she shuts up immediately, your mind starts whirling even faster.  Dameron had some… what?  “Wait.  Explain.  You’re saying he didn’t…”  You slowly shake your head, furrowing your eyebrows and trying to piece it together.  “He didn’t… place a bet with her, or anything?”

“What?  No,” Rossi shakes her head a lot more forcefully than you, getting frustrated.  “No, fucking—didn’t you hear anything I just said, Ten?  He got all high and mighty for some stupid reason, totally reamed her ass out for it.”

“But…”  You blink, stunned.  “But… why?  Why would he…?”

Rossi shrugs.  “Fuck if I know.  All she said was that he ordered Black not to throw in, made her lose a fuckton of money from it.  Had no idea Dameron would be so touchy about his sex life, honestly.”

He… he isn’t.  He isn’t touchy about his sex life—you feel like he never shuts up about it.

Rossi continues talking, but you’re not listening again.  You stare stupidly at yourself in the clear transparisteel as Dameron’s voice comes back to you, repeating something you specifically remember him saying earlier today.  Something you thought was just a careless jab at the time, aimed blindly at one of your comrades with nothing more than the intent to piss you off.

…I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half… 

You blink beyond your own reflection to focus on him once more, still lost in his own little world, not paying a single lick of attention to you while you’re essentially having a fucking crisis over here.  You didn’t think the insult had any real substance to it at all.  You just naturally assumed that was the result of him wanting to lash out at anything or anyone remotely close to you, if only to get a reaction, so you never gave him one or paid it any mind.  

This is why he said that about Nine?  Because he knew she had organized this fucked up betting pool behind your back?

Stars, you need to get out of here, all these rumors are fucking with your head.  Your assumptions and the hairpin turnarounds are giving you worse whiplash than Dameron’s… well, admittedly spectacular flying today.  You were wrong about wanting to avoid isolating—in fact, that suddenly sounds like a phenomenal idea.

So, you just get up and leave right in the middle of Rossi’s sentence, needing some time alone.  Neither of them call out to you as you quickly walk around the table and through the barrier towards the exit, thank the Maker, and you’re just about to retreat with no interruptions until suddenly two Greenies step in front of you and block your path.

You halt immediately, looking up at them with a furrowed brow.  “What now?”  You grunt, not having the patience to even wait for a response before attempting to squeeze around them.

“Hey, so you really saved our asses out there today, Goldie,” the one on the left quickly sidesteps in front of you and rushes to say, and you settle your weight back on your heels with a huff.

“What are you talking about?”  You glance back and forth between them, not recalling a time you’ve ever spoken to either one, before jerking your head to gesture over your shoulder.  “Go congratulate trophy boy over there, he was the one flying.”

“We did,” the one on the right tips sideways to look at Dameron behind your shoulder, likely still laughing and joking with someone about something, something super fucking dumb probably.  “Well, uh.  We tried.”

“What?”  You let out a heavy sigh and rub your temples.  “The fuck is that supposed to mean?  I don’t have the time.”

“He won’t take any credit, just keeps saying that all he did was steer you around,” the other one shrugs as his companion straightens and looks down at you once more.  “Wouldn’t accept any drinks we offer him, nothing.  So we thought we’d buy you one instead.  Unless you’re… leaving?”

It takes you a few seconds to process that, even as he allows the open invitation to hang in the air.  You can’t stop the way your torso automatically twists around to study your copilot from across the mess hall in baffled silence, suddenly realizing that they’re… they’re right.  Dameron has no congratulatory drinks sitting in front of him even though more and more people have made their way into the bar.  He’s just sitting there grinning and nodding along to something someone else is saying, completely and blissfully unaware of the extent to which he’s fucked with you in the past twenty minutes.  The past… whole day.  Month and a half.  Or… fuck, how long have you known him?  Two years?

But then Dameron’s gaze gradually drifts this way, before suddenly locking with yours.  His eyes flick behind you to look at the two Greenies blocking your exit, and then back to the way you’re staring at him, wide-eyed and startled.

He suddenly stands up and starts to take a few steps towards you, and the sheer abruptness of the movement causes you to react immediately.  You stumble your way backwards through the two pilots, feeling a few hands reach out to steady you through the awkward fumbling, but you slap them away and announce loud enough for Dameron to hear beyond them that you’re taking a shower, and you don’t give a fuck how long it’s gonna be this time.

***

The knob squeaks as you turn the water on.  Usually you’d step back and wait the grueling five minutes or longer it takes for it to heat up with your arms crossed over your naked chest, but this time you move directly under the freezing spray, hoping to use the ice cold to shock your system.

You're finally alone.

Technically solitude doesn’t really exist within this base.  You’ve heard of others that are a little nicer, having a little more room for the ranks, but not here.  Housing assignments, showers and restrooms, mess and recreation halls—they’re all communal.  Everyone is given rotating shifts, so while that means there’s never any true quiet to be found, it also means that showers are spread out well throughout the day and night.

But, at least for this moment, there’s nobody else around.  At least in here, in the tiled chamber with multiple shower heads stationed around you—you’re sure there are a few girls lingering in the locker room and the entry area beyond it, but for right now, you’re blissfully by yourself.

And yet, you can’t seem to enjoy it.

You know you should be basking in the isolation.  You should be thrilled at the rarity of only hearing your own flipflops slap against the floor as you turn around and drench your hair with the icy spray, but the lack of an immediate distraction for your focus allows it to wander to things you don’t want it to.

Explosions, mostly.  Lighting up like fireworks in front of your eyes even as they flutter closed and let water drip down them.  Constant, never-ending.  Some of them small—TIEs you shot down, allies drawing fire away from you and then subsequently getting overwhelmed, zipping through dense debris from deadly collisions so quick that you had trouble distinguishing friend from foe.  Some of them were massive—star destroyers splitting apart, warp drives overloading, enormous casualty counts.  You don’t know how many lives you took today, not directly.

The beginning was the worst—when you were still slightly disoriented, when you were panicked and screaming into the comms for assistance.  Then the closest stationed tandem showed up first—Red-Two and Eight, you think it was.  Doesn’t matter now.  They took some heat off you before the cavalry arrived, but you remember Dameron barking out your name the second their left thruster got nicked and they started spiraling, a ferociously deep, “With me!” cutting through the white noise.  It was enough to snap you back, forcing you to instantly flick your eyes away and focus dead ahead without witnessing their demise.

It wouldn’t have normally been necessary.  You’ve been flying with the Resistance for years, you’ve seen way too much bloodshed by now.  But you’ve never been the catalyst of it—you’ve always been able to confront threats accompanied by your squadron, right between Nine and Eleven, the flight controls rumbling steady under your palms.  You’ve never faced down an entire fleet in one single ship.  You’ve never had to rely so directly on the skills of another pilot in order to stay alive.

The water slowly heats to a lukewarm while you reach for the shampoo.

Surprisingly, for as much as the two of you clash in normal interactions, it was like everything eventually became… synchronized.  Spectacularly so.  Dameron started off the enemy confrontation by calling out his flight patterns to give you a chance to adjust your firing in real time, but then at some point, it just stopped being necessary.  There was a moment where you both were able to suddenly… get it.  Get each other.  He didn’t have to say anything after that—you could predict each other without second guessing, react instantaneously, and work your way through the littered battlefield accordingly.  You never thought it would be possible to collaborate so well with someone you’ve spent ages despising.  Sure, you’d both die if you didn’t—shit, you’d probably still both die regardless—but this kind of teamwork extended beyond the need to survive.  It doesn’t matter how much you want to stay alive when reading someone else’s mind is physically impossible, but for some reason…  You have no idea why, but it apparently came naturally between you.  It fell to pure instinct, pure reaction, and remarkably, his would somehow match yours perfectly, every single time.

You lather the shampoo in your hair, remembering how his voice changed over the course of the mission.  How it gradually shifted from panicked roars and barked orders into ecstatic cheers and genuine praise after landing a difficult shot, how he just couldn’t seem to stop whooping.  

You smile softly as the tepid water rinses away the dirt and sweat from your body, until the temperature is brought up to a gentle, comfortable warmth raining down you and echoing in the empty shower room.

And, your first name.  Dameron kept calling you that, the whole time.  The one you’re now absolutely certain you’ve never personally given to him.  The one he would’ve had to have listened for specifically.  Remembered, or at least asked the right person about.  But why?  It’s not… it makes no sense, he doesn’t give a shit.  He’s notorious for not giving a shit.  He can’t even be bothered to remember the names of the girls he’s actually with—so why did he go to the trouble to figure out yours?  You’ve been nothing but a thorn in his side the same way he is to you, right?

Right?

Your mind starts recollecting more recent events, trying to work through and process it by yourself.  He was… singing your praises today.  He was openly giving you credit for the win while you pouted in the corner and assumed the absolute worst of him.  As much as you’re frustrated that nobody else seemed to give voice to your contributions, you’re even more surprised that he was the one who did.

And then even earlier.  Gold-Nine, holding wagers with members of your squad (and others, apparently) about when you’re going to fuck him.  Dameron, tearing her a new one for it, forbidding Black Squadron from throwing in and not attempting to hide his disdain for her from you.  He… he defended you.  Stood up for you when your own squad was being a bunch of dicks behind your back.  And nobody ever fucking mentioned it to you.  What did Rossi say—a few weeks ago?  He’s known all this time and only today, only after you… openly showed more interest in him than you ever have, after you worked up enough nerve to try in your own little way to flirt back this time instead of responding to his casual comments with contempt and disgust, only today is when he decided to make a real move on you.

…Your mind is completely blank and yet you still feel yourself start to heat up just a bit at even alluding to the events that took place earlier.  The way his fingers felt—

Steam begins to fill the open concept chamber while you shake your head against the train of thought and reach for the soap, beginning to circle the bar along your arms and shoulders with a sigh.  This is already the longest shower you’ve taken in almost two months, and your body slowly relaxes under the mist and heat as you take forever cleaning yourself, slowly and hypnotically rubbing the soap along your skin.

The second you let your eyelids dip shut at the feeling, you immediately shiver at a flash of Dameron dragging his finger out of his mouth and blinking dark eyes at you through the transparisteel.

Fuck.  The soap slips from your hand and you quickly catch it against your body before it falls to the ground completely, suddenly feeling the need to breathe in the misty air a bit harder.  Shower, you’re in the shower.  Come on.

The dirt and grime is scrubbed from your face and you tilt your head to move the bar of soap across your neck.  As it lathers, you can’t help but remember the way his lips felt against the skin right there, the scratch of his beard.  You keep working the soap against that same spot for a while, not knowing if you’re trying to wash away the sensation or simulate it, until you gradually slow and make it lighter, softer—yes, that’s closer to how it felt, that’s—

Soon the water is boiling hot and you’re trying not to boil along with it, remembering everything he said against this spot, the filth he whispered to you here.  Your pussy starts to throb between your legs as the memories play out in your mind, how close he got you to shattering bliss without even really working for it.  If you put it all together collectively, you don’t think he actually touched you for more than a minute or two total today.  Mostly he just talked to you, but stars, he hit buttons you didn’t even think you had, had you a split second away from cumming harder than Maker knows while his finger rested just above your clit and provided no stimulation whatsoever.

Fuck, you enjoyed it.  You did, you’ll admit it when there’s no one else here but you.  You enjoyed the fuck out of it.  You wish he’d do it again.  Force you to lose, force you to cum so you can at least blame him for it, remove your responsibility from the equation and allow you to put just one more thing on his shoulders, to taste ecstacy instead of expecting you to bear the weight of pretending you don’t need it any longer.  He was doing you a favor, you realize that now.  Your body is staging a fucking coup and you wish you could’ve called mercy before it got to this agonizing point.  He turns you on, you fucking admit it.  He inspires violent emotions in you—jealousy, arousal, anger, temptation—thoughts you don’t want to have and consolidating it all into various forms of hatred makes the finer details easier to ignore.  Your perception of him has always been skewed by your iron will, but he all but took a fucking sledgehammer to it today, dented it beyond all recognition.  You want him, you want to him to take it all away, you want him to fuck you—in the… fuck, in the good way.

You don’t have a thought beyond that.  Your hand quickly falls down the length of your body to wash your private parts, biting your lip as your hips slowly start to rock into it.  You’re getting clean, you’re getting clean, this is how you clean yourself, this is… yes, as long as you keep the bar of soap pressed between your palm and the top of your curls like this, you’re cleaning yourself and you can just… ease your finger down just a little bit and—

Flipflops suddenly echo from the twisting hallway leading to the tiled freshers, and you immediately snatch your hand back up again, not needing to turn around to know another girl is walking into the room.  A knob somewhere to your right eventually makes a dull squeak as you quickly finish washing up and turn your showerhead off, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around yourself.

Maker, you feel like your pussy is plotting your demise.  Fuck, you can’t believe you almost cheated in the fucking showers just now where literally anyone could walk in, you thought you would’ve had more self-control than that.  You make your way into the changing rooms and grab your pajamas, starting to tug them on without fully drying your body and having only one thought in mind.  

Dameron will probably be celebrating late tonight.  You can tuck in early, scurry back to your room and cheat there.

Well, no, not cheating, because you clearly remember making a very compelling argument about wet dreams earlier today.  Maker, a freebie, the word has never sounded so enticing.  What you’d say amounts to a… bye-week orgasm basically, since you know he’s already lost at least one match against his own body and you’re meant to be competing on the same level.  It’s only fair to let you persevere through the toughest part of the challenge if he was allowed to throw a game early on and still stay in the competition.  Maybe he threw multiple games, you never got a straight answer concerning that, so it’s still under review.  He could’ve thrown… three games, even.  Or four.

You dress as quickly as possible and then nearly bolt through the entrance area to the restrooms with all the sinks and stalls.  The balled up dirty clothes and wet towel in your arms allow you to hide the way your nipples are stiff and tender against your thin pajamas, and you can’t wait to climb into your bunk and take everything off under the covers.  You’ll be able to cum, at least once.  It’ll relieve so much stress, get rid of this nightmare headache, rip through your body like lightning and paralyze it until you can start over from square one and think like yourself again.

And, you’re just about to power walk your ass back to your quarters when a body nearly slams into yours as soon as you step foot outside the door, your shoulder jerking back just in time to avoid a collision.

A mechanic, you think.  You’re not exactly sure, you don’t hang out with too many of them—he’s Chiss and his glowing red eyes don’t even land on you as you gasp and sidestep him at the last second, but it’s not him that catches the majority of your attention.  He just exited the men’s room at the same time you left the women’s, and the door takes a moment to swing shut behind him.

You freeze.  It can’t be more than a few seconds—but it feels like everything slows down and it lasts a fucking eternity.

Dameron is standing at a sink in the far corner of the room, naked except for a towel identical to the one in your arms wrapped loosely around his waist.  He cradles the base of his own throat with one hand and gently drags a razor down the smooth contour of it with the other, his chin tilted up high and regal while his eyelids dip low to concentrate on his movements.  He glances down and holds the foamy blade under the running faucet, tapping it twice against porcelain before the door slides him out of frame.

I can shave, a low, silky murmur slowly fills your ears, heat swelling low and hot in your tummy.  Tonight, I’ll shave it off.  Make it nice and smooth for you.

You feel like your body is just a collection of rigid knots all tied together, and the one between your legs is the tightest it’s ever been.  Stars, on another day you’d say it feels like a bad cramp, even though you know your injection makes your period rare and like clockwork.  Regardless, the split second image makes you shudder and clamp up painfully, and you just stand there and stare at the closed door for a second, trying not to shake.

Fuck, this is so fucking… presumptuous of him.

Realistically, you know it could have absolutely nothing to do with you.  It’s his face—you’re not self-centered enough to have completely lost your concept of autonomy.  He can do whatever he wants to his body, and that includes facial hair, full stop.  You also know that he’s not being… obvious about it, no matter how much it feels that way to you.  He’s using the sink and mirror at the very end of the room, not any of the ones nearest to the door—but even if he was, it’s not like he could’ve planned for you to walk out at the exact moment the metal hinge was angled wide open.  He couldn’t possibly have intended for this, for you to see him doing this.  He wasn’t making a show, didn’t even notice you standing there.  You blame literally everything on him, or at least you always try your absolute best to—but this one…

It sends a hard shudder down your spine and you clutch the fabric in your arms tighter, trying not to drop it.  Fuck.  This is torture.  Fuck him.  Good and bad—both ways, all the ways he can be fucked, fuck him.  Your head is spinning, you’re sweating fresh out of the shower, you need to cum.  Maybe if you hurry, you can get that precious orgasm before he’s finished, because if Dameron is able to intercept you before you can tend to this, you’re… you’re not sure how you’re going to say no to him.

You don’t even think you want to anymore.  

You feel like you’re just… holding onto it on principle now.  Too stubborn and hardheaded to want change.  Too stuck in your own ways to recognize how much everything already has changed.

Somehow, you end up making your way back to your room, but the whole thing is a blur.  Your flipflops plap against your heels as you navigate through hallways as quick as you can, emptier than you’ve seen them in months.  You know most of the pilots are probably out celebrating in either the mess hall or rec room, but the thought doesn’t really presently register.  Almost nothing registers besides your continuous forward motion and the way you feel yourself throb with every step, aching for something you are going to get tonight.  Fuck, you are so attached to this orgasm now, it’s not going anywhere and neither are you.  You deserve this, you deserve some relief.  Come hell or highwater, it’s happening tonight.

As soon as you step into your room and slap your hand blindly against the wall panel to close the door behind you, you’re carelessly dropping the bundle of fabric to the floor and then shrugging out of your pajamas in the cool pitch darkness, having exactly one mission in mind.  You don’t bother with lights, with brushing your hair, with literally anything besides clamoring up the ladder to your top bunk and wiggling under the thin bedsheet, making sure to pull it up to your chin before your legs butterfly open.  The tip of your finger wets itself on your tongue and then you’re dropping it down and sliding it against your poor clit, the pleasure arcing and flaring so sharp and sensitive even from your touch that you have to give it just a second.

…No, no you don’t.  You don’t have to give it fucking anything.  You keep moving your finger hard and quick even as your hips naturally want to jerk away from it, shoving yourself through the sensitivity with gritted teeth and a ferocious will.

Fuck, how long do you think you have?  Was Dameron shaving pre or post-shower?  You can’t remember, all you know is he had a towel around his waist.  And that thin gold chain hanging down his neck.  Was his hair wet?  Fuck, why can’t you remember?  His chin and jaw were smooth as silk, you know that much.  Post-shower, then.  Probably.  Probably?

His chin and jaw were smooth as silk.  You keep getting stuck on that no matter how chaotically your thoughts whirl; they fling out in different directions at different velocities but all somehow manage to go in a perfect circle and end up at the same place you started.  His chin, his jaw, his mouth, his neck, his chin, his mouth, his jaw, his mouth, his mouth, his mouth—

You feel yourself start to clamp down and you speed up, chasing it.  The pleasure starts burning deep inside you, the fire slowly licking down your thighs and rising up into your abdomen, and then—

And then a series of quiet beeps from the hallway practically blare like alarm bells to your frantic mind.

You immediately stop moving your finger, snapping your legs tight together and flat to the mattress as soon as the door to your room shifts open and fluorescent light spills inside, and you feel like you could actually fucking cry right now.

All this edging is just a form of self-flagellation at this point.  You lay there and try not to make a sound, try not to tremble hard enough to shake the whole bunk with it, but even your breathing feels like it’s going to give you away.  Dameron, shirtless with his towel draped over his shoulder, slowly steps into the room and then pauses almost immediately, making your heart stutter for a second at what so blatantly caught his attention.

One quick glance down towards his feet confirms the simultaneous hope and fear—you left everything on the floor.  The towel, the dirty clothes, and your pajamas are strewn about haphazardly right where he needs to walk.

You know what it must look like to him.  A trail of clothes leading directly to an occupied bed isn’t exactly subtle, even though you didn’t necessarily intend it that way.  Still, what can you say?  Your hand is shoved in between your legs right now and you’re in your birthday suit under this thin sheet, what the fuck can you say to him?  Sorry Dameron, got too caught up with how stupid wet you get me that I left those there on accident on my way to cheat, but totally not because I lowkey want your help doing it.  Convincing, that’ll go over great.

Dameron slowly lifts his head to look at you.  Or, at least you think he does—the light from the open door behind him casts his body in a dark silhouette, but you know your face is perfectly illuminated for him right now.  Blinking down at him from the top bunk with your brows pulled up in the middle, wide-eyed and desperate and caught red-handed.  Fuck, you don’t know if he can see the way your knees are clamped tight together and your hand rests perfectly still against your pussy like this from the angle he’s at, but you know it has to be super fucking obvious either way.  You’re breaking the rules, you’re touching yourself, and you both know it.  You can’t lie, you can’t even sit up without confirming his very valid suspicion.  He can call the game at any point, but…

You watch his head fall back down to study the mess you left for him once more.  Fuck, are you positive that was an accident?  Normally you wouldn’t second guess anything about your own understanding of the interactions that occur between you and him, but—you’ve never done that before.  You’ve lived with roommates on this base for years, you don’t just… get naked before getting into bed, that’s bad form.  How are you going to get up in the morning without having your pajamas shoved near your feet while you sleep?  Wrap this thin bedsheet around yourself and scamper down the ladder until you can snatch them up from the floor, and then what?  Climb all the way back up just to wiggle the clothes on underneath the blanket before going back down again?  Maker, you fucked up, your pussy is plotting your fucking demise.

But then everything inside you pulls taut as Dameron suddenly decides to move.  Slowly, he leans down to catch your orange jumpsuit closest to his feet with a few fingers, before he stands upright and carefully begins folding the fabric without saying a single word to you.  Electricity buzzes through you as he very obviously takes his time with it, using nearly his whole armspan to lengthen and fold the sleeves while his chest and chin meet for support.  When he’s eventually satisfied with it, he takes a few steps toward the empty desk on your side of the room and then sets the neat rectangle of fabric atop it where you usually keep it.

You bite your lip and you can’t help it—you start to move your finger as he goes back to sort the pajamas you wore for barely two seconds from your dirty clothes, folding and putting away whatever is clean and then tossing the rest into the shared laundry basket that gets collected every week.  Somehow it makes you feel even more naked, seeing all your clothes be returned to their proper places, realizing that this is your base state now, this is what you’re going to wear tonight.  Nothing.  You left everything on the floor and trapped yourself up here, he’s simply shifting a pawn forward two spaces in kind now that you’ve made your first move.

You can feel yourself pulse threateningly against your own fingertip while he collects your wet towel and drapes it over your closet door to dry, and your breath comes louder through your nose while you bite back the noises you want to make, the way your movements so desperately want to speed up.  Your hand working the way you want it to under the white sheets would be too much, too revealing, but you don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to care.

But then of course, the asshole has to go and put away his towel and clothes, and you endure through the whole thing while pressing back and forth against your clit so hard and slow that your toes curl and pull the sheet tucked under your chin taut.  After that’s done, he makes his way over to the portshade above his desk and slowly slides it open a few inches, the light of three moons outside gradually filling the room.  However, when Dameron goes back to press a button on the wall panel and close the door to the hallway, you immediately see how much softer it is in here, how the artificial fluorescents have thankfully disappeared and the room illuminates more than it blinds, glows more than it beams.  He presses one more button as the lock inside the paneling slides into place.

You bite your bottom lip and try your best to hide the pleasure you’re building for yourself while he makes his way back to his desk, quietly swiping the radio off it and lowering the volume knob completely before he flips it on.  The noise slowly amplifies until you’re able to catch two distinct voices conversing in Huttese—it’s the only lingua franca that still broadcasts on this old technology in this part of the galaxy, but he’s already flipping through the stations in search of something specific.

If you were thinking straight, you may have actually recognized this for what it is, but you’re having trouble even processing the details of your general surroundings right now, your mind is lagging and too slow at reading between the lines.  Dameron’s doing exactly what he said he would do.  He laid it all out earlier for you in the x-wing, telling you exactly what he wanted plain as day, and now he’s checking the whole list off one by one.  The shade is open and the room is lit just enough to make him out, the door is locked, and he’s finding something to listen to.  Something quiet, and easy.

If you were thinking straight, you’d realize that there’s a much more obvious reason why he shaved his beard—you never told him the truth about how much you liked it.  You never tell him the truth.  You allow—even encourage him to think the sharp things you say to him are exactly how you feel.  He did it because he believed you.

Oh, but you’re not thinking straight.  Your thoughts are scattered and the only thing they can agree upon is how good this feels, even as your breathing starts to grow heavier, grow louder underneath the sound of the radio.  The thought stays right beneath your consciousness, tugging at your preoccupied mind.  You work your finger with just a little more verve now that he’s flipping through the stations, knowing he’s distracted by spinning the dial through intermittent white noise while different voices and songs fill the room for just a second at a time.

Your bed, his voice suddenly echoes through your thoughts, originating from your subconscious but almost sounding like it’s coming from the radio in your delirious mind.  I want you comfortable.

Fuck, the understanding finally clicks the second he flips to a slower song and you start to burn at the thought of what’s next.  The silent promise that his actions allude to.  You have the realization way too late but at least it still comes at all with the state you’re in.  Your hand slows down immediately, not even needing to consciously consider the choice between achieving orgasm through your finger or his mouth.  Still, it’s hard to stop touching yourself completely when it feels so fucking good to your deprived body.

Fuck, it’s barely been a few seconds since your realization and yet you immediately bristle in distress at how fucking long he’s taking.

So you open your mouth.  You’re desperate and needy and on the verge of something, and it comes out without thought.  You don’t think it’s loud enough for him to hear, but his head immediately lifts and looks unseeingly at the wall in front of him for a second, as if he’s questioning if he imagined it.  A soft melody plays on a bluesy guitar while you hiccup and wait, but he doesn’t move.

And then you say it again, higher and tighter in your throat, pitched up to an impatient, girlish whine.  “Poe…”

The radio is tossed onto the bottom bunk as soon as he spins around and walks towards the ladder, but it’s like your finger has a mind of its own the moment he disappears underneath your line of sight.  Your legs spasm against the mattress and you bite your lip, not caring about the frantic way your hand begins moving under the sheet as his muted footsteps climb up the rungs.

Your eyes snap to his as soon as you can see him beyond the railing at your feet, heaving himself up until everything above his waist is above you, too.  His pauses there and his lashes quickly dip to the shameless movements between your legs as you work yourself towards that approaching bliss, and then flick back to the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him so torn, wanting so badly to wait for it but not being able to right now.

Slowly, he begins to move forward, crawling his way up the mattress and over your body, noticeably careful with where he places his limbs.  You’re not hard to dodge, though—you’re like a rigid stick of desperation under him, knees and ankles still clamped tight together and your arms streamlined as close to your body as possible with tension as you keep rubbing your clit.  Not to mention the sheet is thin and shows your figure almost perfectly with how tight you’ve hooked it under your chin, only leaving the finest details to the imagination.

But then there starts to be a little strain against the fabric, an unspoken question he’s still bothering to ask even though you could’ve told him to fuck off ages ago.  Poe could yank the sheet down and flip your shit over and destroy you right now if he wanted—fuck, like you want him to do—but his face slowly appears in front of yours instead and his dark eyes search your features for answers.  The length of his chain dangles from his muscular neck and glows against his golden skin, his whole upper body stretched long and bare over you.

From the gradually increasing tightness pulling on the fabric, you expect the sheet to rip down your body as soon as you lift your chin and let that resistance go, but instead… stars, it’s slow.  Why is he going so fucking slow??  The bedsheet barely flutters down to your collarbone before he’s able to stop tugging on it so hard, and then he just gently inches the hem down from that point on.

Fuck—your eyes drop to his lips as he eventually reveals your shoulders and sternum to the room, and then lower to your cleavage while you let out a hushed whimper, praying he understands the extent of how vulnerable you’re allowing yourself to be.  You don’t do this often—and you definitely don’t do it with someone like him.  He’s the one who said you needed this, isn't he?  So why the fuck is he dragging out the anticipation?  Pretending like he doesn’t see the way you’re begging for help in the middle of another warzone that’s breaking out for the second time today?

Poe’s head drops down to give the contour of your neck a long drag of his tongue, slow and hot and wet, the sheet eventually dropping beneath your nipples and exposing them to the cool air.  You bite your lip and keep working yourself under the fabric even as it’s led down the length of your tummy, and you just get wetter and wetter feeling him mouth at your skin as the radio continues to play soft from the bottom bunk.  He follows the skin as it’s revealed, licking down from your collarbone and working with the increasing rate of your breathing.  His lips never feel like they vary in pressure, even as your chest heaves up and down and your lungs work hard for air.

His open mouth slowly drags down the curve of your breast and it makes your blood burn fire through your veins.  You nearly choke when your nipple is enveloped in soft heat, his tongue quickly fluttering up under the stiff peak and giving it to you so gently, contrasting so light and vernal with how brilliant and neon bright the need between your legs is.  Your hand starts to work quicker, and fuck—you can hear it now, your desperate movements audible over the shallow breaths and the sound of one song gradually fading into another below you.  You’re just too fucking wet and your pussy is smushed with how tight your legs are pressed together—the noise is unavoidable, and Poe’s knees are planted too close to either side of your thighs to spread them really at all.

Fuck, you knock against the resistance regardless to let him know what you want, but he doesn’t budge and it makes you just about lose your damn mind.  Does he have to make everything so fucking difficult?  You couldn’t close your legs earlier and now you can’t open them, and it’s like he’s able to take perfect advantage of each opposing position to prolong your torture.

But then his tongue leaves you even as his jaw opens just slightly, and that’s the only warning you get before his teeth graze your nipple with a sudden arc of sensation and you flare up all at once.

It’s a miracle and a curse that you’re able to stop at the very last second, your hand jerking away from your pussy and flexing into a fucking death claw on your thigh at how close you were, and you don’t know why.  Why did the fuck did you stop?  There’s nothing standing in your way right now, you’ve consciously given yourself express permission to cum, but still.  It must just be learned instinct at this point—hammered into your muscle memory for weeks on end to not allow the pleasure no matter what, especially when you’re this fucking close to it.

Nonetheless you garble out nonsense and cinch inwards on yourself to fight it off now that you’ve apparently decided against it.  There’s nothing worse than a half-assed orgasm, and you have to quickly summon the conviction behind your split second reaction before it’s too late and your body takes the pleasure any way it can get it.

Poe’s mouth releases your nipple at the way your whole spine suddenly hunches in and he drops his forehead to your chest, breathing heavy down the slope of your breast as you tremble and grapple for your sanity.

“Did you just cum?”  Is the first thing he says to you, his voice is so ragged and stony it’s practically gravel crunching as he speaks.

“N-n-no,” you quickly stammer at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe correctly.  Inhale, exhale—fuck, which one is inhale again, which one comes first?  Maker, does he need to call a fucking medic?  “Huhhhhalmost?”

Poe takes a deep breath and slowly releases it with a bassy and warm mmmm rumbling against your skin, so coarse but pleased enough to sound like melted chocolate dripping down your body.  The noise sends a violent shudder through you and it’s almost enough to knock you back to that edge again, even without your fingers assisting it.  

His head dips and the sheet pulls down even more, just below your belly button now, and you let out a quiet gasp in anticipation, nearly on the verge of begging him to keep moving downwards.  But when Poe’s eyes close and his mouth suddenly moves back up to open over your other nipple instead, your patience snaps.  

Fuck him, bad way.  This is your orgasm, you’re done waiting.

“I’m gonna cum,” you snarl furiously down at him, shoving your hand between your legs even as Poe’s lips quirk against your skin.  It’s not a warning, it’s a threat.  If he’s gonna be like this, he doesn’t get to share it with you.  It’s your orgasm, you’ll give it to yourself if he doesn’t give a shit about it.  “Thought you wanted it, guess not.”

You immediately feel his teeth again in response to your admittedly slightly bitchy comment and this time he lets your nipple roll just a bit between them, making you jerk at the sensation and quickly find your clit again.  Oh, you’re soaking fucking wet, you’re wet everywhere.  Slick and swollen and burning, and it’s not going to take much at all.  The sheet sticks to your overheated body and you can’t tell the difference between your sweat, his saliva, or wetness from between your legs—it all just feels damp and slippery as you gradually lose your bearings under his mouth.

“Fuck this, I’m gonna cum,” you breathe once more, possibly nothing more than a mindless reiteration but most likely just one last veiled plea for him to give you what you both want.  As if he can tell, Poe quickly lifts his mouth and suddenly the sheet is ripped the rest of the way down your naked body completely, sharp and frustrated, and then his lips brush against your elbow as it twitches, nipping the sensitive skin there.

“Brat,” he growls quietly against your forearm as he keeps dragging his lips down further, following the path it makes along your tummy.  “Just likes making shit difficult.”

“You’re the one—” you hiccup, trying to sound angry but just melting into a puddle at the tip of his tongue slowly trailing down your frantically moving wrist, “—you’re the… the o-one who… who…?”

But you’re already sprinting towards that edge, feeling him drop even lower and his hot breath fan against your fingers, and at this point you’re too far gone.  Poe gently kisses at your closed thighs, in perfect position and ready for you, but you can’t stop yourself anymore unless he makes you stop, and the longer he waits down there without grabbing your hand to replace it with something better the more you don’t give a shit about whether or not it’s going to happen.  You can feel the orgasm rising, you can feel your toes flex and everything start to lock down for the approaching tsunami.  You’re going to get it this time, you’re going to cum, you’re going to—

“This is—” you rasp, “—this is a f-free, a fffff-ffreeeeb—”

His tongue softly grazes your knuckle as it works.

And then there’s a moment.  A suspended moment that seems to go on forever, where you’re launched directly over that cliff and yet you still seem to be gaining altitude.  Where’s the drop?  You’re already cumming—you can feel it, there’s absolutely no fucking going back now, but it’s like your sheer desperation has so much momentum that your body tricks itself into believing there’s nothing to land on, no gravity to immediately rip you straight down to your demise.

You choke out his name and your back arches with it and that must be the signal, because Poe finally pulls your hand away and lets his chin dip, and then his jaw falls open and allows you just enough time to catch the glimmer of his pink tongue before it slides wet and slow through your swollen folds.

Heat.  It sears through your whole body with a wracked shudder, the slick glide over your clit as his eyes flutter closed, and within the very first second of feeling his mouth on you, you’re instantly cumming inside it.

There.  There’s the drop.

The burning erupts into molten chaos, crumpling your whole body on impact like an accordion, but he sinks all his weight down on your legs and forces you to endure it with everything below your waist pinned to the mattress.  It’s fucking mayhem.  You feel like your voice actually rips itself in half with the ragged cry of blinding relief, so enormous and soul wrenching in power that you couldn’t even hope to muffle it.  You can’t move your hips through it, you can’t stutter up to ride it out—you have to experience the whole thing with your lower body completely still while his tongue takes slow, gentle licks at your throbbing clit, only able to sit your shoulders up and slam them back down and grab his head as you endure.

You cum hard.  Fucking hard.  It’s daunting and explosive and utterly devastating in the havoc it wreaks, and just when you think you’ve seen the worst of it, it’s just so slow.  Creeping along and obliterating everything in its path, taking an eternity to pass because of how fucking big it is.

When you’re finally able to float back down into your own body again, the first thing you notice is how tight his hold is.  Poe’s arms are wrapped around your thighs to keep them pressed tight together and you can feel the wetness all the way down to your fucking knees as they tremble against each other.  Stars, what did he do to you?  You feel like you actually wet yourself, there’s way too much dampness on the mattress underneath you to feel anywhere close to normal for you.

His mouth eventually leaves you but his head doesn’t move, nothing else moves.  Even his hot breath feels like rough stimulation to your throbbing pussy.

And then Poe shifts and adjusts his body just enough, catching the backs of your knees and slowly spreading your legs up and apart like you wanted to do ages ago.  They feel like jelly, wobbly and unsteady even as his thumbs hook right under your knees and easily support most of their weight.  Your pussy is soon exposed completely, and his shoulders move down just before his head drops to lick the collection of wetness right from your entrance.  Fuck, he couldn’t get it from the previous angle your legs were at, just your clit at the very top—but this is deep and personal and you know he’s probably getting mouthfuls of how hard he just made you cum, using the tip of his tongue to scoop your arousal up and swallowing it quietly before going back for more.

“Poe,” you whisper, and he rumbles low in his throat in response without stopping.  This isn’t for you, this isn’t for your benefit right now.  Your pleasure receptors aren’t concentrated right here, just the physical evidence of them being overloaded just a few moments ago, but he stays for longer than necessary.  He keeps his mouth here far longer than you need to push past the throbbing sensitivity and start to crave the sensation again, forcing you to bite your lip to stop yourself from telling him to move back up just a couple inches.

So you seek it out instead, the lower part of your body clearly not listening to a damn thing your mind tells it right now.  Your hips drop and his velvet tongue catches your clit at the apex of its repetitive motion, and you gasp and rock upwards again as Poe groans and immediately rises with you to chase it.  He attaches to the swollen flesh and sucks at it gently for you, following your lead, letting your wet fingers comb his hair back from his face and clutch a good fistful of it as you plant your feet and slowly grind up into his mouth.

Fuck.  He was right.  You needed this.  Everything about it is heaven—endorphins pour off you in waves as you roll your hips against his face, and he lets you do it.  He’s not just pliant, he’s willing.  His tongue works diligently, his eyes close and he moans into your pussy, allowing you to tug his hair and fit to his mouth exactly how you want.

Oh, everything burns.  Everything smolders and sparks, because he’s always been so withholding and now he’s just going for it.  He’s reading your mind better than he did during the battle today, not necessarily submissive in his approach but… servicing.  Accommodating.  Finally giving in and putting real effort into helping you chase after another shot of ecstasy without being so stingy about it like before.

As soon as you feel another familiar swell of something deep down, your mouth is suddenly dropping open.

“How many—” your ragged voice comes out without thinking, and it takes so fucking long to actually attach the train of thought to its conduit of translation.  You swallow thickly and flex your fingers in his hair, tugging at him to ground yourself, trying to anchor yourself to the very thing that’s about to fling you into oblivion again.  “—fuck, how many times did you… how many fr-freebies do I—do I…”

Poe eases his chin back just enough to respond, and the slick sound his tongue makes leaving your clit makes you shudder and miss the wretched words at first.  “Mm.  Just the one.”

And then his tongue is already sliding back through your pussy by the time your eyes pop open in immediate panic, and your clit is in his mouth again as soon as yours drops to frantically contest.

But the words aren’t coming, it feels too fucking amazing.  Your jaw goes slack and your fingers tighten in his hair.  Maker almighty, the orgasm swells up so sharp and quick that you have to fucking kick him at the very last second to get away from it.  Thankfully Poe’s mouth abruptly leaves you with his oof of shock at your audacity, lifting his head as you snap your legs together and grit your teeth through your miserable retreat from ecstasy.  You don’t even notice the way your knee almost knocks into his jaw with it—you just focus on shamefully easing your way back down again from the platform overlooking bliss like you’re too afraid of the high-dive.  After a second, you actually have to turn on your side and rock yourself like a child as Poe slowly sits up with a grimace, lifting his arm to rub at his ribcage where your heel slammed into him.

You peek an eye open to watch him do it and oh no, it’s not a good plan.  He’s so… fucking hot.  Fuck.  He’s unbelievably good-looking—his hair curls and frames such handsome features, his body is lovely and warm and seeing his chest bare and up close like this makes you want to reach out and slowly drag your hand down the smooth curve of his side.  But then your gaze catches on the dark sweatpants tented shamelessly between his legs and how he’s glistening with perspiration, too, and how he tugs at the fabric covering his crotch and sighs softly, blinking down at you slow and intoxicated with lust.

You have to close your eyes and bury your face into the pillow because your body is latching onto anything to keep you within inches of that edge.  The mere sight of him is enough to make you worry for yourself.  You take deep breaths and do your best to tune his existence out entirely.  Just you, just you in your bed, trying desperately not to cum without even touching yourself.  You’re naked and curled up and there's no one here to look down at you with deep brown eyes, no one else breathing and especially not equally as loud as you are.  Just you, just you.

And, just when you think you might finally get to the point where you’re not teetering anymore, where you’re at least mostly certain that moving around and looking at things and just existing in general isn’t going to make you completely unravel hands-free at any moment, he has to fucking… go and be himself.

You peek up to see him staring down at you, dark and intimate and devouring, before his hand gently brushes down the curve of your hip.  “Maker, you are so fucking hot right now.  Was that a close one, pretty baby?”

Your hand snaps out to grab his wrist with a whimper and you don’t know if your intent is to stop him or just hang on for dear life, but your grip is weak and you shake and Poe takes the opportunity to grab a handful of your ass while you do absolutely fuck all to stop him.

“Mmmm.  Open your legs,” he murmurs, releasing your flesh just to give it a soft smack.  “You’re only making it worse like this.”

“What?  W-What do you—” you stammer, but Poe drags his hand down your thigh to catch one of your knees and pull it up without waiting for your babbled reply.  Both knees go with him, your pelvis wound too tight and frozen to do anything but rotate your whole entire body on your tailbone.

“You’re just adding more pressure by keeping them closed,” he explains, wiggling his fingers in between your knees to try and get enough of a grip to pry them apart.  “C’mon—open your legs, let yourself breathe.”

“Nnnnnnstop talking,” you groan, trying to slap at him, but he’s strong enough to force the movement regardless, levering your knees apart and then pushing them tight to the mattress.  And, though he would normally be right about it, you’re fighting your mind to get away from the orgasm just as much as you are your body.  The sudden exposure and the positioning and the way he automatically drops his gaze down at your needy pussy with his cock still hidden in his pants like that only serves to displace the cause instead of eliminating the effect.  Closing the door and opening a window, shifting the stimulation somewhere else but allowing it to throb steady and aching regardless.

“Much better,” he sighs lowly, digging his fingers into the sore muscles inside your thighs and you just keep your hands loosely attached to his wrists as he works.  “Fuck me, baby’s got such a pretty pussy doesn’t she?”

“Poe,” you wheeze up at him, hearing him rumble at the sight of your cunt contracting around nothing, probably shining and glistening with your desperation for him.  By this point, you’re worrying again.  You have no doubt whatsoever that he could talk you into cumming just like this, with your hands trembling and clutching at his wrists.  If he keeps murmuring filth while holding your legs open and staring at your pussy like this, you have no doubt you’ll find a way to get there somehow.

Thankfully, he seems to understand.  He goes quiet and just keeps massaging your sore muscles while you try not to writhe underneath him.  Stars, it’s like he’s genuinely doing what he can to take it easy on you and you’re still all kinds of fucked up about it, still frantic and desperate while all he’s doing is just squeezing your legs.

“Calm down,” he gruffs, but you can’t.  “You’re working yourself up, don’t—”

“Stop talki—” your ragged growl is cut off by your own hiccup as you quickly find the strength to shove at his hands, knowing they’re at least mostly to blame for your prolonged tightrope walk.  You can’t fucking think when he’s touching you, you become too hyper-aware of your own body, it feels too good in a way that’s hard to describe and impossible to explain.  Poe’s palms immediately listen and raise in front of him in surrender, his back lifting to give you space while you hide your face from him with shaky hands and gasp.  It’s pathetic and your legs are still held wide open and your fingers tremble hard enough to resemble a malfunction.

You just.  You need a hard reset.  You need that thirty seconds of complete idle, of figuring shit out on your own without an electric current running through you before you can start working properly again.  It can’t be rushed, it’s necessary when most people just want to power down and then right back up again.  The wires connecting your parts are all criss-crossed and tangled and sparks are lighting up at the slightest stimulus, you just need to experience absolutely nothing for thir—

“I’m sorry,” Poe murmurs, still staying in his own space but the gravelly voice shooting a bolt of lightning down your spine.  Thirty seconds, of course he couldn’t give you thirty fucking seconds.  “Fuck, you’re so hot, I’m sorry—”

“Please stop talking,” you beg him, your fingers curling against your face, “Maker, I—I don’t want to cum—”

“Fuck, I know, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucki—”

You go to kick him again and even though it collides wrong and does nothing more than get your message across, the jostle is enough to knock you back from the approaching oblivion just slightly.  It serves to wake you up way more than it remotely hurts him, the equivalent of someone just smacking a piece of machinery and fixing the problem temporarily.

You heave an enormous breath and blink your eyes open behind your fingers, immediately locking with his.  Poe’s teeth are digging into his bottom lip but he’s mercifully silent, even when you drop your shaky hands down to your spread thighs and stay equally silent another full minute while you make the effort to right yourself.  After awhile though, you realize he must be taking cues from you, waiting for you to speak.

Only, you suddenly don’t know what to say.  You’re at a complete loss, looking up at him through your eyelashes in uncertainty now.  Something you’ve never been around him, even as your pussy is wide open for him to look at.  He hasn’t recently, though, you don’t think.  He’s just keeping his eyes on your face, watching you bite your lip and blink up at him while your mind whirls, the only sound that can be heard is the radio continuing to lull from the bottom bunk.

You wish he’d say something.  How come he’s choosing right now to listen to what you tell him to do?  You don’t… you don’t know what to say to him.  Why can’t you figure out something?  You fidget but then suddenly feel your expression lose all its struggle and just look… innocent.  Needing his help.

“Do you want me to leave?”  Poe eventually asks after another moment, tentative of breaking the silence, and you frantically shake your head before he’s even finished speaking.  Fuck, something drops in your stomach at how desperate you’re probably coming off right now, but you’re so lost and you know that’s at least one question you know the immediate answer to.

Poe tilts his head thoughtfully, slowly reaching a hand towards your thigh without removing his eyes from yours.  “Want me to make you cum again?”

You shake your head again, wide-eyed and worried.  He immediately pulls his hand back and blinks slowly at you.

“You want to be edged more?”  He asks lowly, and you shake your head vehemently for the third time.  Poe sighs and sits back, planting his palms to his thighs and pulling at the fabric of his pants in budding frustration, clearly tired of playing twenty questions.  “Well what do you want, baby?  You wanna just hang out?  That’s fine, I don’t care, but you gotta tell me.”

Fuck, he’s right, what do you want?  The only thing that’s standing in your way of feeling better, you soon realize.

“Want you to cum first,” you mumble, cheeks warming at how childish you sound.

“Not a fucking chance,” Poe immediately scoffs, crossing his arms over his bare chest.  “And pouting at me isn’t gonna help.”

“Why not?”  You breathe, dipping your gaze down his body.  “I can use my mouth.”

“I don’t—” he stops short, suddenly registering what you said and switching gears.  “You can—?”  Poe narrows his eyebrows and looks suspicious.  “You’ll let me… cum in it?”

“Okay,” you whisper in breathless agreement, sitting up and reaching for him, but Poe groans and pushes you back down on the mattress with a flattened palm against your shoulder like you just aced a test he was hoping you’d fail.

“Fuck whoever’s idea this was,” he grits darkly to himself while you arch up against his hold, wanting him to grab your tits but knowing it’s not a good idea right now.  “Maker, I’m so fucking hard—fuck whoever’s idea this was, making me turn that down—”

“You said,” you pant, licking your dry lips and blinking up at the ceiling, trying to control yourself, “before, you said that you’re… you’re not doing this for a bet, right?  So why not?”  Your voice goes softer when you flutter your gaze back at him, even though the accusation feels like it should be sharper if anything, since it comes from a very real place of distrust.  “Were you just… lying to me about that?”

“Fuck, come on,” Poe groans, his voice starting to waver as he shakes his head and squints one eye at you, exasperated.  “You don’t get it.  You can’t think of a single fucking reason I don’t wanna blow my load just yet?  Really?”

The sentence coupled with his rock solid hold on you skitters a thrill through your body and you automatically reach up to run your hand along his forearm.  He looks down at the caress and then back to your face and fuck, even you feel like you’re sending mixed signals right now.

“You could… fuck me,” you whisper, and Poe’s dark eyebrows pull up as his gaze falls down your naked body, nodding and digging his teeth into his bottom lip.  An agreement backed by so much unspoken desire that it looks like it almost hurts him just to hear you say it out loud.  “And we can just… see who cums first.”

“Yeah?”  He croaks, his eyes pinned between your open legs.  “Just say fuck it all and race for last place?  Okay.”

Your heart pounds, having just enough wherewithal to preemptively establish a safety net for yourself.  “And—and we can’t finish at the same time or we both lose.”

“Fuck,” Poe groans, reaching down to catch the hem of his sweatpants with his thumb and lifting his hips until his cock is exposed to the dim room.  “We can’t stop once we start, then, we’ll have to see it through.”

Except you don’t catch any of the last part because, uh.  Well, to sum up.  May the Maker have mercy on you all.

Just like that, the only thought in your mind is… you get it.  Okay, you get it.  He told you before that girls were only interested in him for his cock, and it actually… stars, it makes so much fucking sense now, you totally get it.  You thought maybe he was just boasting as a form of overcompensation at first—or, to put it another way you’ve probably used in conversation with him before, talking big talk but walking small walk.  Only now, you’re… humbled.  By a fucking dick, you’re humbled.

You haven’t seen more than a few of them in this context, so you know you’re not necessarily qualified to give an informed opinion, but heavens it’s a sight.  It’s thick and swollen and just a shade darker than his complexion and everything inside you rockets to attention as soon as he wraps his hand around it.  It’s big.  It fills his whole palm without much room to spare.  Far larger than what you’re used to, and you know that no matter how he fucks you with it, you’re gonna feel it tomorrow.  Next weekend, probably.

Your eyes must betray you, because Poe suddenly loosens his grip and breathes your name softly, causing you to flick your eyes back up to his.  You didn’t realize you were staring so openly.

“I’ll go slow,” he reassures you quietly, voice gentle and knowing.  The complete lack of sarcasm or aggression in his tone is enough to snap you back to yourself, knowing that can’t possibly be right.  He’s talking to you like he did when you stumbled your ass out of the x-wing today, when you were barely responsive and lost in dumb shock.  He doesn’t have to… be nice to you right now, like you’re still only moments away from losing it.  It’s offensive.

“I can handle it,” you harumph, widening your legs while Poe immediately suppresses a grin.

“'Course you can,” he sighs with the slightest note of fondness creeping into his voice, dropping his hips as he lines up at your entrance.  “And I’ll go slow anyways.”

You open your mouth to respond but at the first push of his head inside, you inhale sharply and your palm immediately shoots out to press against his chest on complete instinct.  The stab of pain is impossible to mask from your features and Poe instantly stops with a shaky breath, watching how your jaw drops at the intrusion and your face contorts.

“Ahh.  Shit…” he whispers as his head tips down, dark eyes clamping shut and his hold on you tightening.  “What—shit, what the fuck…”

“Keep going,” you growl out, even though you know you’re just making it more difficult on yourself.  You can take Poe’s cock, you can take it, he has absolutely nothing to brag about, it’s completely normal-sized—

His hips inch forwards and you gasp at the excruciating arc of sensation, slapping at him harder.

“Keep going,” you babble while locking your elbows and shoving him back, “fuck, keep going, keep going—”

“Baby,” Poe groans, wrenching one of your hands from his chest and bringing your wrist up to his mouth to kiss and breathe hot air on it, “baby, you gotta let me—”

He moves a little more and you cry out, jerking your hand back from his lips and knocking it hard against his chest before you even realize it.  Oh shit, you can’t handle it, you haven’t been fucked in so long—

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, trying to be nicer by flattening your palm but then immediately digging your nails in, “fuck, I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s been awhile since I—”

“Shit, I can tell,” he pants brokenly, his fingers dropping back down to flex hard on your hip.  “Hoooolyfuck, I can te—ah, fuck, it’s alright, it’s alright, just—nnnnnnshit, okay, just relax, don’t tense up too muuuh… much—”

His cock pushes deeper even as he keeps rambling through it and you feel yourself being rearranged to make room for the slow movement, giving way to a rich pleasure even as the discomfort increases.

Poe stops once more when your hands shove up against him, somehow simultaneously shakier and firmer than all the other times put together and a little more than half of him inside you at this point.  You’re so slick and hot between your legs that there’s no resistance besides the stretch, nothing to stop him from slamming home besides your weak hands trembling at his collarbone, but everything about the way he stays completely frozen for ages says he’s controlled and patient.

Everything except his face, you soon realize.

When your body is finally able to come to terms with the sensation and you blink up at him, Poe isn’t looking at you anymore.  He’s staring directly over your head at the wall, tangible regret manifesting itself in seething frustration marring his expression.  His eyebrows furrow and he scowls but all of it is silent and directed at himself, as if he’s asking why the fuck he actually agreed to do this.  You know then that it must be really fucking wet.  You know then that you must be just blazing hot and tighter than sin and as if in rhythmic agreement, his cock jumps inside you with each pounding rush of blood through it.  You can see the sweat beading at his hairline as he continues to ignore you for the moment, choosing instead to silently lament at the wall like it did something to mortally betray him.

You could… make this a sprint, something devious suddenly whispers to you.  He’s struggling through the pleasure and you can outlast.  From the severity of that look alone, you can put an end to it before it even starts.

Admittedly, you don’t even let the devil finish his damn sentence before you decide to take your own initiative.  You clamp down around him as hard as you can and Poe whips his attention down to you and punches out a curse that sounds like you wrenched the word from his throat before he was anywhere near ready for it.  It comes from somewhere high and defenseless in register and then quickly falls down into a growly pit as his hips automatically lurch forwards the rest of the way inside, hard, smacking into yours as you squeeze wickedly around him.

You keep squeezing through the sudden upward shove of bliss, you keep tightening up even though you’re making agonizing noises and your eyes clamp shut and it hurts.  But stars, it feels good, why does it feel so good when it hurts so bad?  It makes your throat scrape and your face twist up, but you can hear his cursing getting louder and more desperate so you still don’t relax your viselike hold around him.

“Stop it—” he snarls down at you rabidly, “—oh fuck, stop or you’ll make us both cu—”

Shit, he’s right.  You know he’s never been more right about anything as soon as his hips stutter and kick up to a full blown gallop in the middle of his furious scolding, and the sudden build of ecstasy is so fast and intense that you sob his name, not being able to loosen your muscles anymore as soon as it overtakes you.  But it’s like a closed circuit, you’re both recycling the same pleasure without knowing how to shut it off.  The harder you bear down on him, the faster his hips work, the vicious cycle compounding and circling and manifesting in the perfect typhoon within just a few tumultuous seconds.

But then suddenly he rips himself out of you with a gasp and it’s not a moment too soon, because both of you have to scramble and grab onto things to brace yourselves through the worst of it.  You choose the mattress and he chooses the railing, and through the searing discomfort and settling of the chaos that’s becoming more and more familiar to you as this exhausting day passes, you know you fucked up.  You underestimate his self control, time and time again.  But, exactly like earlier today, you feel a thrill skitter up your spine at how he’s going to respond to your brazen treachery in the face of a newly established truce.

“Fuck,” he jerks his head to spit the obscenity at you, sounding more pissed off than you’ve ever heard him, the shredded anger in his voice starting to burn through you.  “Fuckfuckfuuuuck—you make me so mad.  You make me so mad.  I wish I could fuck you right now, on Maker, I’d ruin you.  I’d wreck your shit until you learn and you’d deserve every single fucking second of it, you—”

He stops short and growls jagged sharp in frustration, but you can’t help yourself.

“Say it,” you whimper on a dare, feeling your heart pound.  The words quiver with an inexplicable sort of excitement as you dig your fingers into the mattress, wanting to hear his voice snarl the mysterious profanity.  “Say it.  ‘You…’—what?  Say it.”

Shock suddenly paints his previously tense expression blank, even though his pupils blow out and his chest heaves.  Your voice is too breathless, it’s too needy to sound nearly as antagonistic as you want.  

And then Maker, it’s as if the sheer control he’s clinging to serves to spark his vexation even more.  Mad that you would ask for something so enticing at a moment like this.  Your heart thunders as Poe nearly flashes up close to you and points a threatening finger at you.

“You’re not going to get what you want from me,” he snaps, quiet and furious.  “Not tonight.  I don’t give a shit, I told you I’d slow fuck you and now I’m gonna do it until you act right.”

“You’re an asshole—” you move to lift up onto your elbows, but his hand suddenly plants against your clavicle and shoves you back down flat on the mattress.

“Not even ten minutes after I make you cum and you’ve already got a fucking attitude problem again,” he shoots back, positioning his cock at your entrance with his other hand once more, and Maker you’re drowning between your legs.  His sharp rebuttal and the firm hold on the upper part of your chest makes it that much wetter, knowing you can’t do much more than lift your legs the way you need when he eases his way back inside.  

“P-Poe—” you gasp breathlessly, but it's like he doesn’t hear you.

His expression tenses and he shudders out a low growl.  “Fuck.  Tight little baby.  Rude little baby, just wants everything her way but doesn’t know how to behave herself.”

You have to bite your lip hard to hold back a whine when he’s completely sheathed and his hips connect to yours, and… shit.  You already feel it.  You already feel that simmering starting to take hold deep down once more, that monstrous second orgasm you’ve been fighting now digging its claws into you and licking the base of your spine with fire.  And, as if he can tell, his demeanor instantly changes.

“Uh, oh,” Poe murmurs quietly, equal parts lilting and baiting, slowly dragging his cock out and then starting up the laziest pace you’ve ever experienced with his hand still planted high on your sternum right below your collarbone.  “Can you feel it coming?  Fuck, I can,” he shudders.  “Already.  Fuck, you’re so wet, you’re so wet—wish you had let me eat you out mor—”

“You can’t c—umm,” you hiccup, grasping his wrist and writhing through the building ecstasy, and you don’t know who you’re talking to at this point.  Your other palm slaps at his shoulder with increasing urgency—fuck, he’s been fucking you for barely ten seconds and you’re already struggling to hold everything back.  Only, his hand quickly grabs yours and pins it to the mattress, his face dropping closer as he rolls his hips achingly slow.  You feel his back working with the steady pace, you see his neck flex as his cock drags so thick inside you, and then your gaze starts to lose focus a bit.  It slides up his throat as lazily as he’s augmenting your pleasure, following the contour of his smooth skin until it reaches his face.

And mercy, Poe’s tongue comes out to wet his lips and a dark curl hangs down his forehead, concentrating hard on fucking you steadily without giving into the same creeping euphoria you’re feeling, and you have to turn away and bite back a whimper at the metal railing when the image starts to burn you alive.

“No,” Poe gruffs and his hand slides up a few inches to frame your jaw, twisting until you face him directly once more.  “Right here, you stay right here with me.”

Your eyebrows pull up weakly and your eyes flick across his stunning features, the way he’s so present, so focused and determined while you’re starting to drift.  His skin is so smooth, so golden when his jawline used to be dark, and—

“I—” you choke, starting to lose it, “—I-I…”

“What is it, baby?”  Poe growls, staring down at you with unwavering, intense concentration.  “Tell me.  You gonna cum?”

“I…” you whimper, blinking at him slowly, “I… liked your… b-beard…”

Poe’s eyes, previously hardened and steadfast, suddenly go a bit dumb, a bit dazed.  After a second, his eyebrows lose all strain, his gaze turns warmer and he rolls his hips deeper—

But the swell begins to become the only thing you can comprehend—that and the fact that you should be fighting it.  You should be revolting against it, but now he’s looking so softly down at you and you can’t remember what could possibly be so bad about letting him take away all this ache and desperation again.  Let him continue to take it away, over and over and over until it’s nowhere to be found at all.

And then Poe leans down and kisses you.  And it’s… nothing like you’d expect.

It’s gentle.  It’s tender.  It goes on forever while he rocks into your soaking wet cunt, easing his throbbing cock in and out of you with such a smooth, repetitive motion that sends sparks of ecstasy down your spine at the apex of each thrust.  

You handle it silently.  At first.  You don’t audibly react to any of it, you force your voice to at least keep quiet if you can’t hide the pleasure from your face or body, but then true to fucking form, he has to go and ruin it all.  Poe uses his knees to scoot up just the slightest bit, and then his moan breaks through the absence of the desperate sounds you’ve been holding back as his tongue slowly slides into your mouth.

Your pussy flares, contracting painfully around his cock as it hits a spot that makes your legs shake against his sides.  Your eyes roll back as his soft tongue dips into your mouth and everything just gets tighter, and tighter.  Poe moans again and his hips push a little bit harder into yours on the next thrust, and it’s almost like a domino effect, except that doesn’t do it justice.  It doesn’t topple one by one, it doesn’t take any time at all for the beginning to reach the finish—it’s a house of cards, the whole thing collapses and crashes down in on itself all at once.

You cum.

You lose.  Fair and square.

You make a long, anguished whine into his mouth as you just start spasming, clutching hard at his shoulders and drenching his cock with it, your eyes squeezing shut as you cum so slow and fucking helpless around him.  Oh Maker, it’s fucking devastating, it feels even more destructive and powerful than the first one.  You pull and shove and claw at him equally, mouth slack as Poe tightens his hold and keeps tasting your whimpering cries, fitting his hips snug to yours as he slowly pushes you down through the debilitating ecstasy.  You sob in euphoric defeat and a low, bone-shattering groan of satisfaction rumbles through his chest in response, grinding his cock into you and holding it deep as your pussy convulses.

All those weeks of holding out, just to lose.  You had a freebie, he gave you an orgasm already and it was like a massive dose of spice to your deprived system—all it did was make your body want it more.  Even worse, your orgasm doesn’t immediately inspire one in Poe like a part of you hoped it would, if only so you could reasonably contest the validity of the outcome.  He’s able to ride out every twitch and flex as you shudder your way through it, continuing to lazily slide his tongue into your mouth while it’s held open and slack.  He tastes like you.  He tastes hot and slick and everything about your body feels the same way, damp and unbearably warm from your nape to your elbows to your cunt to the backs of your knees.

You lay there for what feels like a lifetime afterwards, powerless to the way your thighs tremble violently against his hips and letting the tip of his tongue slowly trace the bottom edge of your teeth while he firmly keeps his cock buried inside you.  It pulses thickly and you know he wants to cum, you can feel the tension pulling at his shoulders as he keeps perfectly still.  But then Poe shuffles his arms up until they’re braced around your head, using himself to box you in completely without moving his lips from yours.  His teeth close on your bottom lip as he inches his hard cock out long and aching from your sensitive channel, and then groans and goes back to the same exact dragging pace from before.

Your expression furrows, even as he keeps kissing you and the movement lights up your oversensitive nerves.  Fuck, you want him to speed up, it’s all the more shattering and viseral when he takes his time.  What is he doing?  What is he waiting for?

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, demanding a quicker pace.  You don’t know why he isn’t just letting loose on you now, giving into his body’s need to cum.  He’s aching for it, still rock hard inside of you.  “Come on, I already l-lost, just fuck m—”

“Told you before,” Poe whispers back, refusing to speed up.  He keeps his pace dragging and steadfast, no matter how much you work to entice him.  “Never… fuck.  Never gave a fuck about that stupid bet.  Suffer though.”

The complete lack of harshness in his tone sears through your nerve endings even though what he said wasn’t exactly nice.  You never thought hearing him tell you to suck it up could be delivered in a way that inspires so much arousal in you, but then his tongue is in your mouth again as his hips work slow and easy, and your eyes roll back at how… overwhelming it feels.  So intimate.  You’re completely surrounded by him, his forearms propped next to your head and his mouth on yours, and… Maker, there it is again.  Your body is so deprived that it’s already gearing up to go again.  He’s being lazy and you can’t fucking stand how it’s breaking you down.  Gradually, with incredible stamina and a patience you never expected from him.  When you first feel that pull, part of you still wants to pick up the other end and start a tug-of-war with the sensation.  You’ve been fighting for so long that your body almost doesn’t know any different, its automatic reaction is to resist.

A distraction, that’s what you need.  That’s what guys do to stop themselves from cumming too soon, right?  Fuck, think of something, think of…

—Poe, you can't think of anything but Poe.  Fuck.  His cock sinking deep, the way he tastes, how his fingers thread into the damp hair at your crown so you can feel him that much more, how you can hook his biceps with both hands and swirl your tongue around his while he fucks you open.  Your hips roll up with the pace and almost immediately stutter back down again, not sure if you can handle the wicked shot of oversensitivity—but then Poe groans and shifts up until his thighs are under your ass and he can curl you in more, lift your feet a bit more and make you feel smaller.  And—stars, the next thrust in is enough to nearly make you bite him on complete accident, an unexpected sound ripped from your throat as he keeps that specific angle.

Poe keeps going.  He keeps kissing you, keeps rocking into you.  He lets you claw at him, lets you grapple helplessly while his cock shreds molten hot euphoria deep inside you, and then everything tightens up again.

“Ah, fuck,” Poe breaks away and curses a whole few seconds before you descend into mindless chaos once more, garbling out broken syllables with the absense of his mouth keeping yours occupied.  Your voice crescendos and breaks at the same time you do, the pleasure arcing through you over and over and wringing you out repeatedly around his throbbing cock.  Poe’s lips quickly move forward and give your whole cheek an open kiss while your expression crumples with it.  Teeth drag down your skin as he moans hot air across your skin, his hips slowing to a complete stop with an obscenely slick sound.

You throb and clench around him and his lips are suddenly on yours again, his tongue sinking deep and dominating.  Your mouth is slack and all you can do is squeeze him through the bliss, scrape your fingernails down his back and hope it leaves a mark.

Eventually the tremors pass and you’re dead in the aftermath, you don’t have energy.  Your body is starting to acclimate to the slow orgasms and just let them steamroll you flat, fully accepting now that you can cum but still putting everything you have into it like every single one might be your last for a while.  You come back to yourself enough to feel Poe’s cock solid and achingly hard inside you, and your bottom lip is being tugged between his teeth.

And then he eases out and goes back to fucking you.  Same speed, same control.  

Your eyes nearly fucking cross.  “P-Poe—”

He immediately makes a noise of disapproval with his mouth closed, a nuh-uh but kept tight in his throat.  He doesn’t want to hear it, he’s not even letting you finish your thought.

You can’t take it, though, you didn’t think he was capable of this.  This is torturous in an entirely different way, overstimulating and shattering you with every thrust.

So, you think back to the one thing that got him to nearly snap earlier, the one time you really got to see that fire you love playing with.  Only now, you need that fire, you need him to take everything out on you.  Your floor muscles clamp down without warning and squeeze him as tight as possible, squeeze squeeze squeeze until you feel his hips stutter to a halt once more.  Your breath catches—fuck, is this gonna work?—but then Poe breaks away from your lips to drop his head and sink his teeth into your neck.

You nearly squeal at how careless he is about it—an animal that bites you lazily even though it sends sharp agony rocketing through you.  Again, your attempt at sabotage backfires spectacularly as a subsequent flare of pleasure swells up, and oh, that’s what you want, you want him to be mean—

“Please,” you whimper, hooking your ankles behind his back and locking down hard enough to make your toes curl.  Poe groans as you grab a fistful of his hair and tug at the way your skin pinches between his teeth—you know you’re gonna have a bite mark for a few days and it thrills you.  “Fuck, please, Poe—please just fuck me, please, I want you to fuck me until it hurts, fuck me the way we both nee—”

“You and me almost died today,” Poe grits into your neck, cutting off your desperate whimpers with a short growl.  “Maker, it was so close, I don’t think anybody has any f-fucking…”  His hips pull out and then spear deep and you choke, tightening and tightening.  “But—shit, we didn’t, we lived and now—oh fuck, now baby’s finally letting me fuck her and I’m not cutting it short, no matter how pretty she sounds asking.”

His words sound slurred against your neck and you can’t tell if it’s his delivery or your perception that’s lagging.  But when you feel Poe inch his cock out and start to slowly fuck you through the tightness, you let out a weak little whine and feel yourself drifting… somewhere else.  

Things subtly lose their clarity, your eyelashes dip and you stop talking because words won’t come.  You can’t tell if you’re staring at the ceiling or your eyelids or the back of your head, but Poe’s voice abruptly breaking through the silence makes you realize you don’t have a concept for time anymore.  You couldn’t tell him how long you’ve been floating, but you almost don’t understand what he’s saying at all and it takes you a remarkable delay to fully comprehend.  But judging from what he says, it sounds like it hasn’t been long.

“Shit, are you cumming again?”  He suddenly gasps into the crook of your neck and grinds his hips achingly hard into yours,  “O-Oh—fuck yeah, you are—baby’s cumming again—”

“P-Poe?”  You stutter and smack your hand against something, him maybe, not knowing literally anything else.  Not knowing what he’s talking about, not knowing where you are, not knowing your own name, “Poe—oh m-my… God—”

“Whhh—W-What—?”  You hear him breathe a split second before everything compresses down tight, and then it all shoves forward at once.  All of the buildup makes itself known the very moment it becomes too much to control, like a flash flood but the downpour happened miles away.  You think you might actually squeak this time, helplessly cry out like it hurts because stars, it does.  It hurts so fucking good, it spiders pure plasma through your entire body with rhythmic jolts and wipes your mind completely vacant.  Your shoulders shoot you up and knock your chin into something and you think you might be crying?  You don’t know anymore.  Your spine comes back down to the mattress like the damp fitted sheet covering it is made of pure ice—your body is overheated and you keep tensing and jerking back up until Poe forcefully pins you tight against it, growling filth under his breath as he slow fucks you through it.

You feel his hand dropping down between your bodies and you sob pitifully at the ceiling when the tip of his calloused finger brushes your clit.

***

You lose count.

It’s just… constant, there isn’t a point in keeping track anymore even if there happened to be the ability—which, nope.  Not even close.

He ruins you slowly.  Meticulously, with nothing more than steady, unwavering determination.  Every structure you built, he takes apart by hand instead of bulldozing it the way you beg him to when you find the words.  You’re certain you find them—you must find them at some point, but they’re interspaced between babbled gibberish and breathy whispers of his name.

Even though it’s slow—Maker, it’s so slow—you’ve never been so fucking exhausted.  He makes you give him everything and then he drains the reserves, the hidden ones you weren’t even aware existed.  He never goes fast enough; in fact, you think he’s actually slowed down over the unknown amount of time it’s been since you first called out his name and asked for this.  If you were in a frame of mind to notice, you’d probably realize he’s trying harder and harder to not cum, but in your wild headspace, it just feels like a prolonged punishment for you.  It still feels like he’s depriving you for his own pleasure, even though he’s actually depriving himself for yours.  But you always do manage to find some way to read things wrong with him.

Eventually, he begins to waver.  He stops talking so much, stops chastising you when you plead with him.  He hasn’t looked at you since he first kissed you—he’s either hidden his face in your neck or closed his eyes as his soft tongue slides across your bottom lip before dipping inside.

But then there comes a point where even you realize he’s struggling not to let go now, and in your faded traces of sanity, you hear your broken voice cut through the sounds of the soft radio.

“Y-Y-You—” you gasp, trembling under him, “—youneedtocum.  You need to—”

“No,” Poe grits against your chin, sounding shaky and weak no matter how sharp he makes his consonants.  “Fuck, not yet, I—I-I don’t want to yet.”

“Oh no,” you wheeze out, feeling the swell begin again, the familiar flicker of warning you get as his cock slowly rocks into you.  Maker, the pleasure is getting raw and painful even as your pussy is drowning his cock with it, allowing him to glide slow and deep into your sensitive channel and letting the sheer tightness of it be the only resistance your body puts up.  You can feel the wetness on your cheeks though, the tears of frustration gathering as your body prepares itself for yet another wave of attack.  “Oh no, ohhhhhnononononono—”

“I don’t want—” Poe gasps, his hips stuttering just a bit and one of his hands coming down to smack the pillow next to your head as he chokes, “—don’t want this to… e-end yet, I—”

Your next orgasm suddenly slams through you and Poe immediately rips himself out of you before it’s too late.  He shushes you frantically while you sob in distress and writhe side to side through the contractions solo this time, having nothing to clamp down on, not even able to grind up into him because he keeps his leaking cock elevated far beyond your reach.

Oh, that’s it.  That is it.

“Fuck me!”  You wail up at him, water blurring your vision and tears streaming down your cheeks, “Stop fucking around and just fuck me, you asshole!  Fuck me and fuck me hard Dameron or I swear to every fucking star in the sk—”

You don’t get too far.  He’s immediately scrambling over top of you and a strong hand is clamping down tight over your mouth, muffling your high-pitched cries against his palm.  Your legs are shoved apart and one is caught under his arm and wedged back as far as it can go.  His head drops to your neck, and then he snarls a ragged, “Brat—“ under your ear before ramming his cock back inside you.

Stars.  Stars light up, it’s so much—the angle, the force, the speed, the sound his hips make as they start ruthlessly colliding with yours.  Your eyes screw shut and you dig your nails into the meat of his back, but he doesn’t slow down—he speeds up—

“Fuck, you still think that throwing your little fucking fits works on me?”  He hisses, drilling into your g-spot with such blinding hard precision that you can’t do anything more than just claw at his chest, gasping for air that just won’t come into your lungs.  “Huh?  Think you can just be a little bitch to me about it and it’s gonna change anything?  You still don’t have any fucking idea, do you?  Look at me—” he snarls, grabbing your face and shaking it to get you to respond, “—look at what you fucking do to me—”

But you can’t.  You already came countless times and he’s lurching you up the bed with every single rabid thrust into your blindingly sensitive cunt, fucking you into the railing and then the wall behind it.  You still feel his fingers grasping at your jaw, forcing you to address him, to look at him, and you can’t seem to focus your vision on his blurry features even when your eyes flutter open.  You’re too dumb with grinding pleasure to see anything besides blurs and stars, to say literally anything back to him.  But that’s not what he cares about.

“Oh fuck yes, there it is,” his voice whines, pitching up something vulnerable as his hips ram you into the corner hard and unyielding, “fuck, there’s those pretty eyes, that’s what I wanted, baby, that’s all I wanted—th-that’s—fuck, that’s—”

They must cross, or roll back, or something, because suddenly you can’t see him at all anymore.  You don’t know what happens—but you know it’s wet.  You know it bursts forth something fierce and you shriek his name with a hoarse and shredded voice like he steals the last part of your whole fucking soul with it.  Fuck, you’re not even there for most of it, you might actually black out.  

In your conscious moments, you can feel his whole body flexing over and over again on top of you.  He empties his load deep inside you and takes a fucking eternity doing it, so many breathless praises leaving his mouth so quickly that they slur together and you can’t understand any of it even if you could hear him.  All you can do is feel your cunt tighten and convulse in tandem with the throbbing of his cock, rhythmically working the cum out of him until Poe stops stuttering his hips, until he finally trails off into nothing but labored gasps and slumps down on top of you in exhaustion.

You both lay there for a while, dead weight breathing.

You want to hold him, your cum-struck mind quietly provides in the comedown.  You want to feel his body now that you can finally think straight and take a moment to enjoy this blissful relief.  He fucked you so good and you want to touch him, you want to run your fingers through his hair and massage the tight muscles at the base of his neck.

But then you just start giggling.

It’s stupid.  It’s so fucking stupid.  You smack your hand over your mouth but the garbled noise easily floats beyond it, completely elated and having absolutely no explanation at all.

Poe quickly pulls his head back to look at you and you try to twist sideways under him to hide it, but you can’t stop—like a complete loon, you snort and start to laugh harder at the ridiculous sound.  Oh, you don’t just float, you’re the air itself, so light with endorphins that you close your eyes and get lost in the fit until water wets the outside corners.

After a moment, a hand gently grasps your wrist and slowly pulls it down until he can see the way your mouth opens as you giggle, hear it unobstructed and let the sound bubble up at him and fill the room.  And you blink your eyes open just in time to see him slowly break into the most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen him bestow a person.

And… you’ve seen him grin a million times.  He’s almost always smiling, as long as you’re not right in front of him.  He smiles at his squadmates, he smiles at girls, he smiles at complete strangers, and you always thought it was pretty.  Always knew that he could light up a room with it, you always knew he could get anything he wanted with it, but this… this isn’t that kind of smile.  That one is practiced and alluring.  It wasn’t fake, necessarily, but that smile’s purpose always had more to do with making anyone who happens to witness it feel a certain way than it did about signifying his own emotional state.

This one is… goofy.  Amazed, and uncoordinated.  Thunderstruck in a way, except the clouds all part at the same time and let you see a rainbow.  It makes you feel… alive.  Colorful.  Radiant.  Sunshine.  Butterflies.

Poe quickly drops his lips to catch yours and you moan happily, sliding your tongue into his mouth this time.  You both adjust, you arch into him as he pushes your damp hair back and makes a deep noise of satisfaction, letting you explore while he wraps his arms around you and finds a way to make this atrocious position comfortable.  Every part of you is smushed up against him and there’s absolutely no space to be found, and you’ve never been happier.

“We made a mess,” he groans against your lips, rocking his hips into you with a disgustingly slick sound as if to illustrate, and his cock is soft but it’s still so thick that it stays buried inside your sloppy entrance.  “Shit, I—I think I might be bleeding.”

“What?”  You ask breathily, and he heaves himself up with his elbows just enough to reveal his chest.  You both tuck your chins unattractively to look and you don’t immediately see any blood, but your claw marks are clearly red and visible scraping down his pectorals.  “Oh.  Pfft.  You’re fine.”

He drops back down with a huff and your head is tilted at the perfect angle catch on the tiny droplets of blood decorating the marks criss-crossing his shoulder blades.  Oops.

But he’s already kissing up your neck and over the curve of your jaw and making out with you again like he can’t get enough of it, and you forget.  You forget everything.  You forget every disagreement, every gripe with him you’ve ever had.  It’s all wiped away and replaced with giddy, childish adoration.  Resetting completely and starting off on the rightest foot imaginable.

“Let’s go to my bed,” he murmurs, and you make a tight noise of disapproval.  No.  This is good, this is how you want to stay.  The railing is digging into your lower back and he’s heavy but you’re perfect like this, this is perfect.  “Baby,” Poe pants against your lips in exasperation when you quickly clutch the back of his neck and keep him glued to you, “mmph—you got everything all wet—”

This time you make a low hum of agreement and drag your hand down the bare curve of his spine to his ass to give it a squeeze.  A testament to how hard and raw he fucked you.  Poe shudders hard enough for you to feel his body tremble but you just kiss him harder, pulling him down onto you more.

“You’re gonna have to give me, just like—I don’t know, at least an hour or two,” he chuckles, grabbing your hands to make it easier to peel himself from your body and groaning when his cock finally slips out.  “Come on, let’s hang out in my bed.”

You’re so boneless when he pulls you to sit upright, you roll a little bit and Poe has to catch you, and you laugh again.  Maker, you’re a complete mess and absolutely delighted about it.  Your attempts at grumbling and complaining don’t hold any sway when you’re still trying not to giggle, and Poe is able to pull you to the top of the ladder and make his way down first.

As soon as he’s out of sight and calling up to you, you weakly slide into position with a groan and feel yourself leaking at the movement.  “Gah—look what you did.  I’m all… gooey.”

“I know, s’the hottest fucking thing,” he says under his breath from the floor, before beckoning you by tapping on the closest rung a few times.  “Come on, be careful.”

You do as he says, easing your naked body down one step at a time with wobbly legs.  It’s clumsy and you whine the whole way through, wordlessly grousing and mumbling.

“Oh, I just know it,” he comments on the sound, “nice clean sheets, I’ll get the violin.”

Normally, you probably would’ve snarked something back down at him, but you’re still so loopy and shaky-legged that you just start laughing again.  The fact that he’s absolutely right and you’re being ridiculous about something like moving beds suddenly strikes you as incredibly fucking funny for some reason.  You don’t realize his hands are hovering inches away from your hips until your legs buckle and Poe quickly supports your weight.

“Maker,” Poe chuckles before giving you a firm yank, and then catching you before you can tumble down the ladder in your naked, teary-eyed mania, “let’s go, giggles.”

He carries you a few steps to the mattress and plops you down on top of the comforter, letting you take up the whole bed while he sits on the end and puts your feet on his lap.  Poe grimaces for a second and then shuffles until the radio is pulled out from under him, and you can hear the soft sound of it playing once again.  You bury your face into his pillow, inhaling the warm scent lingering there while he tosses it carelessly to the side and rubs your shins for a little bit, watching you stretch out naked on his mattress.  

“I’m not giving you two weeks of pay,” you suddenly grunt, and he just grins down at you, not arguing.  Not saying anything.  Sitting in comfortable silence with you when you’re expecting him to bicker.  So you stay like that for a long time, breathing deep and relaxing, until Poe’s hands leave you for a second…

… to pull a bag of chips out.

Maker, at the first squeaky sound of the wrapping assaulting your eardrums, you want to roll your eyes.  You want to tease him about how fucking typical it is.  Like clockwork, you could probably set your watch to his middle of the night cravings.  You don’t know why you thought fucking him would change any of that.

You want to give him shit for it.  You even open your mouth, the snark on the very tip of your tongue.  But then your stomach growls as soon as he rips the thin plastic apart.

Poe’s eyes shoot to yours and neither one of you move, but apparently your tummy doesn’t get the memo.  It takes forever to trail off into silence again, and he blinks.  Fuck, you know you should’ve forced yourself to eat at least something earlier.  Warmth floods your cheeks and you scramble for something to say, but there’s no way to play it off.

“Would you like some chips?”  Poe suddenly asks with a boyish grin, raising his eyebrows and tipping the open bag freely in your direction.

The corners of your mouth pull downwards even as the inside of it waters.  You wouldn’t call it stubbornness necessarily as much as it is a… a desire to stick to consistency.  After the unbelievably hard time you always give him about midnight snacking, you’re hesitant to partake.

Though, the chips rustle against each other and sound absolutely fucking delicious as Poe shakes the bag and bounces his eyebrows, and you know what?  Fuck it.

You snatch it without thinking, cradling the precious food to your chest as you dig your whole hand in and shove a bunch into your mouth at once.  You catch him smiling again, but he doesn’t comment.

You both take turns, and by take turns you obviously mean you take turns stealing the bag from each other instead of just setting it equidistant between you and openly agreeing to share it, but it works for you.  It seems appropriate.  And then it’s quiet again, just munching and crinkling, except for the radio continuing to play from its place in his lap.  You have to work to listen over the loud crunching vibrating through your skull, but when you finally manage to stop chewing and catch a few bars, you suddenly find yourself trying not to smile again.  Fuck, it’s been years since you’ve heard this song, you love this s—

“Fuck, I love this song,” Poe promptly exclaims with his mouth full, licking the tips of his fingers before scrambling to pick the radio up and twist the volume knob without using his wet fingertips.  He starts humming over the melody, loud enough to almost drown it out completely, because of course he does.  The one damn time you actually want to listen to his radio and he still finds some way to mildly irritate you.

But this irritation is almost… fun.  You want to laugh just as much as you want to yell at him.

“Hey, who sings this song?”  You immediately ask over the sound of him clearly not knowing the lyrics, already ready with it.  Oh, the round is in the chamber, your finger is on the trigger, you are ready, and Poe’s eyes sparkle as he seems to stop and think about it.

“Mm, not sure,” he eventually shrugs, just before you rush, “Let’s keep it that—”

And then he’s slapping a hand on your leg and belting out the chorus while you scoff, giggling.  He ruined the punchline on purpose and is now getting chip dust all over you, but you know any complaint you make will be drowned out by his suspended notes and backing track, so you just roll your eyes and swipe the bag of chips from him while he continues to serenade you.

“My ears are bleeding,” you mutter under your breath.

He has a nice voice, you think.

#poe x reader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #reader insert #Smut #no-droids

[izusun]

Goblin anon here absolutely screeching over feral quirkless Midoriya, it's everything I wanted

I would like to also introduce a brand (my brand) of feral to Midoriya: pyromaniac.

Imagine Midoriya getting through the entrance exam by saving people, but also by bringing makeshift Molotov cocktails and wrecking almost as much shop as Bakugou.

Imagine the battle trials where Bakugou tries to blow up the building because "that's the only way to keep this little shit down" and in response Midoriya dodges and then sets the building on fire.

Imagine the USJ incident, which goes about the same, but his first instinct is to set the Noumu on fire. Yes he does so. He also nearly sets the stadium on fire at the sports festival so much that they had to evacuate sections of the stadium.

Midoriya (say it with me now) sets Stain on fire. When Tsukauchi meets with the murder trio after the Hosu incident, he just sighs and is like "Midoriya, really?" And this is when we learn that Midoriya has a history of coming across random villains and setting them on fire. When Inko arrives to pick him up she's just like "You're grounded."

There's theories about what Midoriya's quirk, everything from increased intelligence to extremely shitty luck to the ability to make anything he touches explodes (due to his inane ability to make a bomb/lighter out of the most insane things). When it comes out that he's quirkless, it just makes everyone even more afraid, as Midoriya can make a bomb out of some LSD and a rubber duck quirkless-

Pyromaniac quirkless Midoriya.

- Goblin anon

GOBLIN ANON IT’S BEEN AGES IM SORRY IM JUST RESPONDING NOW (ive been so bad at responding asks my god i struggle but thank u for ur au dumps, i love loVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!)

IM IN LOVE WITH THIS AU

feral quirkless gremlin midoriya going through shit by setting things on fire is just the way to go im duwldjwksk

i read midoriya with molotov cocktails and i have not stopped simping for and thinking about this midoriya

genuinely swooning at this ver of him

midoriya probably has a collection of lighters and basically does those hand tricks to calm him down or to take his mind off of things

bakugou and midoriya being more familiar with each other in their middle school days compared to canon and bakugou gifting midoriya with personalized all might lighter god that’s adorable

ok but they’re talking about their favourite heroes and bakugou goes, “shocking that you don’t like endeavour.”

and midoriya just shrugs, twisting his hand and fingers to orchestrate the fire’s dance from his lighter, his viridian eyes brighter and says, “his fire feels wrong.” and they leave it at that

midoriya being inspired by bakugou’s explosions and attempting to copy those so bad that bakugou thought midoriya’s trying out for support classes

OK BUT FIGHT WITH SLUDGE VILLAIN?

he yanks out makeshift molotov cocktails from his bag, lights them up and throws them at the bastard. the sludge villain screams and retreats slightly because not only was he facing the fires but also the exploded glass shards. it gave enough time for bakugou to explode the villain and escape enough to allow him to breathe. in the end, all might still defeats the sludge but he misses bakugou and midoriya who escaped. no ofa for firey green bean.

bakugou helping midoriya create more explosions.

“but kacchba i want fire, not explosions!”

“same difference you pyro asshole!”

midoriya learns them anyways and enjoys it.

THE EXAM!!

i have two ways:

one: midoriya appealed to the staff that he needed support items and they allowed him and they watched in shock as this little boy explodes the arena worse than the explosion-quirked student. of course he passes and aizawa took him on as his student.

two: midoriya appealed to the staff that he needed his support items but the staff did NOT allow him because they’re considered weapons (as if quirks are not genetic weapons but i DIGRESS) and so when the exam starts, he stays at the very back of the other examinees. this was so that when he arrives at the scene, there are already spare parts for him to scavenge so that he can build makeshift explosions (foregoing whatever shit he learned from katsuki because all that’s on his mind right now are molotov cocktails)

so that’s what happens. he scavenges parts and hides inside one of the buildings so that he can focus more on making explosions and be less worried about being attacked. when he was fully geared, he steps out and begins to retaliate.

he works fast as to not waste his time and the makeshift explosions. because of this, others (ahem-aoyama-ahem) had no opportunity to steal his score.

same thing happens: uraraka gets caught and midoriya explodes the zero pointer. this time, however, the robot is utterly destroyed.

aizawa and majima saw midoriya’s performance, adored it, and began fighting for midoriya.

“majima, he’s here for the hero classes.”

“great. now give him to me.”

nezu pretends that he’s not planning on splitting midoriya’s schedule anyways.

BATTLE TRIAL OH MY GOD rip all might i bet you keeled over so bad, you were one second from turning to small might there and then.

all might: ok so one explodey kid to look out for. that’s not bad.

all might, one minute later: this green kid looks familiar…

all might, ten minutes later: what the fuck.

NO BECAUSE bakugou and midoriya being excited to explode things (well, more like midoriya’s excited and bakugou just wants to fight midoriya) and having a blast when fighting each other.

1a’s probably thinking “oh no” followed by “they’re hot” (literally too because yk the building’s on fire.)

MIDORIYA EXPLODING THE NOUMU??? king shit

midoriya saw this monster running to aizawa and he just points a more eloquent looking flame thrower (thank u mei for working with midoriya with that) at this beast and sets it on fire.

it effectively slowed the noumu and gave the others an opportunity to pull aizawa from the hit zone. it also granted all might more freedom when fighting the noumu because it was slowed enough that all might didn’t have to worry about exceeding his time limit.

the fire damaged some of its nerve processes that the scientist and afo had not accounted for. of course this review is returned to them and many of the noumus become fireproof because of this incident.

OK BUT DURING THE SPORTS FEST

midoriya crushing on todoroki because fire.

he was actually very interested in todoroki prior to sports fest but something about todoroki’s fight against sero sparked something more in midoriya. midoriya saw the anger from his ice, now he wants to see the same intensity from his fire.

his spiel of “that’s your power, todoroki” goes differently. todoroki still pulls him aside and trauma dumps on him but this time he goes, without missing a beat, “that fire is a waste on you.”

todoroki full body pauses because that’s not something he’s ever, well, considered to hear after trauma dumping.

“what?” he croaks, confused at the bubbling feeling. it’s a miasma of anger and hurt, but to a scale so unfamiliar.

midoriya shrugs. “fire is unique, more so as an elemental quirk. you think it doesn’t make half of you—well, i mean you’re right. it doesn’t. you make it. you control it. fire is often uncontrollable and yet here you are, having it as your power. it’s yours to control, so control it. use it.”

todoroki’s ears are ringing.

“you have it as your power.”

“so control it.”

and so he did.

midoriya watched todoki’s fire; watched the way the flames lick up up up and leaves no air bathed in heat. midoriya sees the rawness of anger and determination and thinks, “this is how fire should always look like.”

unconsciously he also thinks how todoroki’s fire is far more beautiful than endeavour’s.

midoriya loses and he’s not as sad about it. losing to something sentient (fire, not todoroki), for him, is a blessing.

todoroki advances along with bakugou.

bakugou who is jealous of todoroki because he saw how midoriya eyed todoroki’s fire and knew todoroki’s a competition in other more ways.

bakugou wins again, this time less angry because todoroki used his fire against him.

STAIN THINKING MIDORIYA’S JUST THIS WEIRD HERO STUDENT WHO HAS NO SPECIFIC QUIRK UNTIL HE FEELS FLAME KISS HIS SKIN AND SCREAMS BECAUSE DAMN IT GREEN EYED KID JUST SET HIM ON FIRE

todoroki full on pausing because he thought he’s the one who set stain on fire unconsciously only to follow the fire’s trail and sees it’s from one of midoriya’s many support items.

“shoot i didn’t mean to burn him that fast!”

“that’s your issue!?”

midoriya gives them a “duh?” look and todoroki feels himself warming up (HAH another fire pun) at midoriya’s ease.

flying noumi still comes and picks him up but midoriya also sets this thing on fire. the difference between a winged noumu and a normal noumu is that the wings are far more flammable and midoriya had quite a bit of fun at setting it on fire and hearing the crackling of flames on rubbery wings.

endeavour casts him a glance that speaks of approval and midoriya doesn’t know if he hates it or not.

tsukauchi arrives and sees not only stain, but the noumu and heaves up a very big sigh. “midoriya, really?”

GOBLIN! PYROMANIAC QUIRKLESS MIDORIYA IZUKU IS A FAVE IM SCREAMING

#goblin anon #ask #IM BACK W GOBLIN RAMBLINGS #god im still simping for tbis midoriya #goblin anon KNOWS where to HIT what a fella #bnha #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #todoroki shouto #slight #bakudeku #and #tododeku

[dracowars]

can i request an imagine im so sorry if it’s too long for your liking but could it be a pureblood slytherin reader x draco imagine where the reader and draco are dating but after some bad news from home (maybe she doesn’t have the kindest parents like draco) she distances herself from everyone and keeps zoning out and finds herself astronomy tower thinking really dark thoughts but draco has constantly been watching over her and is super worried and maybe they have an argument at the tower and draco gets stupid and says something mean or even is dumb to think to accuse her of cheating at the end in which the reader maybe either slaps him (for dramatic effect) or if that’s too much she just says it’s over between the two and she walks off and draco is shocked and tries to stop the reader but she’s already gone and she doesn’t show up to breakfast or lunch and maybe in their class they learn about the boggart again and since they’re older their fears have changed and maybe the reader isn’t paying attention and she’s brought up to test her boggart and it’s draco saying those same things and maybe her parents come out as well and it’s essentially that draco’s unkind words are her fear because it’s the last straw for her until everything breaks because she was holding onto him and she runs out of class and class is dismissed because no one wants to go after that and the reader skips dinner and can be found in moaning myrtles bathroom having a panic attack and she gets really frustrated and hits the the sink really hard to feel something and you can hear myrtle begging the reader to stop and maybe someone sees her and runs to draco to get help but draco runs to the bathroom she’s not there anymore and he finds her at the astronomy tower feeling numb and he overhears her talking to herself and it ends in fluff because he can’t lose her and he figures out it’s probably her parents pressuring her too much again and he can relate because of his and they get back together and it’s just really fluffy at the end maybe they sneak in the kitchen for a quick minute dinner since the reader didn’t eat and draco has to be really kind to the elves heheh

darkness | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x slytherin!reader

word count: 3,1k

summary: where y/n's parents make her life a living hell and draco doesn't really help

a/n: normally i do not write about things like this but i actually really liked the request so i wrote it anyway. i don't mean to offend anyone with this if i misrepresented something, i did my best to get familiar with the topic <3

warnings: angst, major mental health issues including dark thoughts and self-doubt, hints of su*c*de, mentions of blood, cursing, very sensitive topics in general

universe: harry potter

The cold wind blows through your hair and makes it swirl around the air and into your face, goosebumps spreading all over your body at the sudden coldness. To prevent your hair from flying around, you tame your hair with a hair tie, your gaze fixed straight ahead while your face is illuminated by the setting sun.

You really missed this place during the holidays. The astronomy tower.

Whenever you are stressed from doing a lot of homework or studying in general, this is the place you can hust go to and are somehow always able to relax. The view is breathtaking and you love to watch the sun - or the moon, depening on what time of the day you find yourself up here - shine.

And this special place also gives you the security that you so urgently needed.

The winter holidays were a living hell for you. You have extremely strict parents who see a great importance in your education, but that is basically the only thing that interests them about you. That you bring honor to your pureblood family. That they can proudly show you off to other pureblood families even though they know nothing about you and who you really are.

Until recently they did not even know that you are in a relationship. Unfortunately, one thing led to another and they found it out by an unlucky coincidence which consisted of them picking you up at platform 9¾ for the very first time since you have been at Hogwarts. There they saw you with a platinum haired boy, kissing.

This boy turned out to be Draco Malfoy, the son of the pureblood Malfoy family, who you parents cannot stand at all. To put it in other words, they loathe each other to death and that for probably no reason, at least you have not been able to figure it out yet.

So of course they were not very thrilled that you are in a relationship with a Malfoy, which they showed you straight away. They locked you inside of your room at home because you had to 'think about your actions and their consequences'.

However, when they realized that their behavior would not change anything, they began to put you down. They threw the worst swear words at you, wanted to force you to break up with him and told you what a terrible shame you are for your family. That Draco could never love you and that you are ugly, cheap and overall useless. That is how it went on for your whole vacation.

Your parents always treated you this way, it was not new to you. Nevertheless it hurts every time, even if you try to hide it. You would rather keep all the pain inside of you than to tell others about it, because they are not able to help you anyway. Unfortunately, you did the math without your boyfriend.

This morning at the Central Station of London, Draco immediately saw that you were not feeling well. Any attempts to get you to tell him what is going on with you had been useless though so he left you alone at some point, but you still noticed how he kept staring at you for the whole train ride to Hogwarts.

You would love to tell him, tell him about everything, but something inside of you is stopping you from doing so. An invisible barrier inside of your head, probably fear, that you simply cannot overcome. You know that Draco's parents are pretty similar to yours, but still you just cannot manage to talk to him and you notice how it slowly but surely destroys your deep bond with one another.

Continuing to look into the distance and watch the clouds encircle the beautiful setting sun, which colors the sky in reddish colors, your thoughts suddenly wander to gloomy places. Dark places where you usually only go to when you are locked inside of your own room at home.

But now they are even attacking you at your safest place.

You perfectly know yourself that you are not good enough for Draco. You do not deserve this incredibly great person as your boyfriend. You do not even deserve him as a best friend, no, you do not deserve him at all. You are worthless and for him you are nothing more than one girl out of many.

And still you keep on being selfish and do not end it.

Completely lost in your own dark thoughts, you do not even notice at first how the tears are already streaming down your cheeks like waterfalls. Sniffling, you rub your eyes, smeer your discreetly applied mascara, and wipe the tears from your face.

"Why am I still doing this to myself?", you sob and lower your head, looking deep down at the grounds of Hogwarts. The tears that are enriched with pain flow out of your eyes and fall into the dark depths, causing you to slowly close your eyes.

The sudden mention of your name from behind you makes you abruptly breathe out in shock and your head jumps up as you turn around. Your eyes lock with the gray, sparkling eyes of your boyfriend, who is currently looking at you with pity.

"W-What are you doing here, Draco?", you sniff and wrap your arms around your body in an attempt to hide from him so he does not have to look at you.

"Why are you crying?", he asks, ignoring your question, and before you can realize, he is already standing right in front of you and gently places his hands on your tear stained, puffy cheeks. Gently wiping away your tears with his thumb, he searches your eyes for answers that can explain your current terrible condition. He cannot bear to see you like this, so fragile and deeply hurt.

Whatever happened, he will make sure you know that he is and always will be here for you. And he will not let, whatever it is, continue to hurt you so badly.

"If you do not tell me, then I cannot help you", he softly whispers and brushes the strands of hair behind your ear that have escaped from your ponytail in the wind and then carefully lifts your head so you have to look him in the eyes.

"It's nothing", are the only words you get out, your throat thightening, but all you would like to do is to just finally tell him about everything.

"Do you even realize how worried I am about you, Y/N?! It is killing me!", Draco suddenly raises his voice at you, causing you to flinch and take a step back, your back now touching the railing. Noticing the power of his words, he sighs and looks to the ground in shame.

Your head processes his facial expression and his gestures and again makes you believe that his sadness is your fault. By not being able to control your stupid feelings, you hurt him.

"I-I really have to go", you stutter out and quickly run past him, pressing your coat around your body.

"Have fun with Blaise then", you hear him say and you abruptly stop in your motion. Not fully understanding the words he just said, you turn to him.

"What?", you ask with not more than a breath coming out, hurt evident in your expression as he suddenly stomps in your direction furiously, a disgusted look on his face while he looks into your eyes.

"Don't act stupid now, Y/N! You hardly speak a word to me anymore, you avoid body contact, you are totally dismissive in general and you can't even look at me anymore! Why do you not just admit that you are cheating on me?!", Draco accuses you out of nowhere, not knowing what he is even saying himself, and you could swear that at this very moment your heart has finally burst into a thousand splinters and your last hold has now completely disappeared.

Losing the control over your body for a second, your hand lands on his cheek with full force. There is a dead silence before you just turn and leave, leaving him behind on the astronomy tower. You can hear him say your name after you, but you block it out and run down the stairs, crying, your vision blurred.

Missing one of the last stairs in your hurry, you fall down onto the cold floor. You get up again as quickly as possible when you hear steps behind you and you run. You run for your life while you disappear into the endless corridors of Hogwarts, making your way to your dorm.

The next morning your eyelids stick together from all the crying and you have a aching headache. You did not close one eye that night and just laid there crying in your bed silently until at some point there were no more tears.

In front of the door of your prefect dorm room, you can hear how the other students are leaving your house on their way to breakfast, but your stomach makes a flip when you only think about food. That is the reason why you decide to stay in your warm, safe and comfortable bed a little longer and to skip breakfast, which is unnecessary anyway. Avoiding other people seems like the best idea for you right now.

Just in time for the beginning of your first lesson of the long day, you made it out of your bed and are now sitting in Defence Against the Dark Arts with Professor Snape.

Your thoughts are whirling around in your head and you do not understand a single word Snape is saying in front of the class, even if you are really trying your best to understand him. Furthermore does it not help your concentration that you see how Draco keeps staring at you from across the room out of the corner of your eye. However, you do not have enough strength for this anymore after a while and therefore focus your gaze out the window at the rising sun.

At least you are distracted until all of the students get up from their seats all of a sudden and you only watch them confused until you notice that they are only waiting for you to join them and you quickly walk, almost stumbling, to them. Ignoring the looks and laughter of everyone, you play around with the hem of your grey Slytherin sweater and ignore them while doing so.

"Well then, let us begin. Ms. Y/L/N, would you please do us the honor and start", Snape clears his throat as you look at him in shock, noticing by the expression on his face that he definetely knows that you did not listen to him at all and have not been present with your mind.

Since you do not have a chance to defy yourself anyway, you nod and go to the position he points at in front of an old, dusty closet. With confusion all over your face, you switch between looking at Professor Snape and the cabinet as he suddenly opens the door and you take a big step back, startled to death.

"Have fun with Blaise then", Draco spits in your face disparagingly and is now slowly walking towards you after stepping out of the cupboard, increasing your pulse. The tears find their way back into your eyes right away while you just keep looking at him petrified, frozen in your spot.

"Why do you not just admit that you are cheating on me?!", he yells at you again and your vision becomes more and more blurred, your ears start to beep while he shouts at you, bringing back the painful memories of yesterday.

"No! Please don't leave me, Draco!"

It is like you are back on the astronomy tower again, your hair blowing in the wind as he steps towards you. In the next moment he is gone all of a sudden and instead of him, two other people are now in front of you.

"You are a shame for our whole family, you stupid brat", your father insults you and you fall onto your knees, holding your hands against your head in pain.

"Stop it! Please!", you beg them, but of course they do not stop, they only make their words worse.

"Draco can never seriously love someone like you. I mean, look at you! You are less worthy than dirt", your father tells you and your entire body is now trembling when you finally see a black cloak in front of your eyes and your parents vanish into thin air.

"Please stay with me", you choke through your tears, words addressed to Draco who had to watch the scene in front of him with pure horror in his eyes.

Breathing heavily, you look up at Professor Snape, who looks at you in disbelief, but as your eyes wander around the room to see everyone staring at you, your legs automatically carry you out of the classroom in the next moment, unable to bear their burning glances.

You run down the empty corridor with a faint vision in search of a safe place to hide until you arrive at one of the girls' bathrooms and rush in, not thinking about someone possibly being in there.

Slamming the door shut behind you, you stumble to the sinks with trembling knees and support all of your weight with your hands on either side of one sink as your legs fail beneath you. Clinging to the edge of the sink, you cry bitterly. The cold walls of the bathroom echo your crying several times, allowing you to hear your own pain.

"What is wrong, Y/N?", you hear a soft voice next to your ear and when you look up it is none other than Myrtle. Apparently of all places you ended up in her bathroom and are not as alone as you wished for.

"I am fine", you say with a monotonous voice, forcing yourself into an upright position, but literally everyone would see that you are definetely not fine, even a ghost.

"Y/N. You look anything but okay. Can I somehow help you-"

"Just leave me alone!", you angrily yell at her and lose control of your body, only seeing a thick, red substance running over your hand when it is already too late. Broken pieces of glass lie around you on the floor, which flew through the air when your fist hit them and inflicted small wounds on your face.

"You need to stop, Y/N!", Myrtle commands, but you do not listen and let yourself fall onto the floor, kicking your foot against the sink and thereby unintentionally loosen one of the old pipes. The sound of flowing water fills the room, surrounding your body on the floor.

On the edge of passing out, you lie in the cold water and stare at the ceiling while Myrtle has disappeared without a trace.

What you do not know, however, is that Myrtle is already on her way to find help and comes across Draco, who is running back and forth through the hallways while searching for you.

It takes Draco a moment to understand Myrtle's fast explanation, but when he does he runs into the direction of the girls' bathroom without hesitation. He rushes through the door into the flooded bathroom and all he sees is the broken mirror and the slightly reddish puddles in the water.

But he does not find you in there and realizes that there can only be one place where you could be.

Walking through the corridors of Hogwarts at lightning speed, he finally reaches the staircase leading to the astronomy tower and goes them up in no time. Once he arrives at the top, he abruptly stops when you come into his field of vision.

There you are, completely broken, leaning your head against the railing, your knees closely drawn to your body while your painful crys echo through his ears.

"Why did you not listen to your parents, you disgusting piece of daughter", you talk to yourself, not noticing that you are not alone any longer. With your already injured hand you hit the pole of the railing once, immediately regretting it as the pain spreads through your body.

However, your gaze lands on a person standing directly ahead and your eyes widen, but unfortunately you lack the strength to stand up, to yell at him, or to resist as he slowly sits down next to you.

Neither of you say a word, but it does not take long before he gently takes you into his strong arms, providing you with the support you needed so badly, so you can cry while he strokes over your hair. He whispers repentances in your ear over and over again. That he regrets his words, that he takes them back and that he was such an idiot.

"You are so wonderful", he confirms and gives you a kiss on the forhead, careful not to scare you away, continuing to stroke your upper arm with his hand.

"Do not believe in what your parents told you, angel. I will stay with you", he shakily breathes and has to pull himself together to not let a tear slip out of his eyes at any moment. "I am sorry that I let you down."

His last few words pull a trigger inside of your head and suddenly everything pours out of your mouth at once. Your fears, your worries. Everything your parents ever said or did to you. You finally tell him about all of it now, even though you should have done it much earlier.

"I love you more than anything, Y/N. You are my world and the reason I live. Never let anyone make you think that I do not love or deserve you, especially not your parents", Draco explains to you sincerely as you stare at him, exhausted but happy.

You slowly put your head on his shoulder and close your eyes, letting the good and bright drown out all of your dark and bad thoughts. Meanwhile, Draco carefully examines your injured hand before scooping you up into his arms while standing up.

"No matter how much you hate me right now, you have to eat something", he tells you, but you do not answer and just enjoy his close presence while you wrap your arms tightly around his neck, letting him carry you away.

If he had known how terrible you were feeling earlier, he would have done something much sooner. He should have been more pushy and not let you get away with a simple 'i am fine'. But now that he knows, he definetely learned from it.

And Draco would have never forgiven himself if he had let you just go like that.

#draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy one shots #draco one shot #draco os #draco malfoy os #draco one shots #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco imagine #draco imagines #draco headcanon #draco malfoy headcanon #draco fic #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy ff #draco malfoy angst #draco angst #draco malfoy fluff #draco fluff #harry potter imagine #draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #hp imagine #hp imagines #harry potter imagines #harry potter one shot #draco x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #draco x y/n

[nnightskiess]

santana lopez imagine

r e q u e s t: Can you do a reader x Santana lopez? Where reader and Santana are best friends but reader has been in love with santana for a long time and becomes distant and santana wants to know why and finally knows and just fluff. Thank you

✫彡

Y/N zoned out the conversation Quinn, Brittany and Santana were having and instead fully focused on the smile on Santana’s face. She’d been friends with the girl long enough to know that this smile meant that she felt at ease. 

The corners of Y/N’s mouth curled into a smile at the sight of it as she kept staring at her best friend. Her cheeks flushed when Santana turned her head, just to check up on Y/N who had been a bit quiet. She’d caught the girl staring. Santana’s expression softened a bit before she joined the conversation again.

It had been like this a lot the past few weeks— Y/N zoning out just to stare and admire Santana, only for her to get caught by the latter. However, Santana didn’t seem to mind or notice and thus Y/N’s crush on the girl grew larger every day. 

What had been the turning point? The mindless random kisses they used to share now and then? Which in Santana’s defence were just so that they kept practicing until a cute boy came along. The way Santana only let Y/N see the real her? How Santana carried herself? Or how she could light up Y/N’s world by just a smile or a witty comment? Well, Y/N couldn’t quite put a finger on it. But there was so much about Santana that she adored and liked that it wouldn’t be fair to her to just pick one. 

Her mouth set in a hard line. No. She couldn’t fall in love with Santana. It wouldn’t end well. What if Santana got weirded out by it and decided that it would be too awkward to stay friends? Y/N couldn’t bear to lose the girl. 

“You okay?”

Quinn and Brittany continued their conversation while Santana’s attention went to the girl next to her. Y/N nodded softly, sending her a tight-lipped smile. 

“Here,” Santana handed her the rest of her granola bar in an attempt to cheer her up. Because even though Y/N denied something was wrong, she could see right through her best friend. “And you better eat it because I don’t usually share my food.” 

Brittany heard the two and shoved her lunchbox towards Y/N. It was filled with the Lucky Charms marshmellows. “It took me four boxes to fill it like this but eating this usually makes me happy so I hope it works for you too.” 

“Are you trying to cheer her up or give her diabetes?” Quinn snorted and shook her head in amusement.

“Thanks, Britt, but i'm fine.”

“Suit yourself.” Brittany shrugged, held the lunchbox up to her chest and grabbed a handful. Quinn grimaced at the thought of having to eat that much sweetness in one bite. 

Santana hadn’t stopped staring at Y/N during the conversation, her brows knit together when she realised something was up. She scooted her chair closer to the girl, grabbed the sleeve of her Cheerios jacket and rested her head softly against the girl’s shoulder. Y/N smiled sheepishly while Santana’s frown never disappeared, wondering what kept her best friend so silent, the soft encounter between the two not going unnoticed by Brittany.

✫彡

Santana strutted around the school’s hallway, head held high. She looked fierce, confident and oh so ethereal— if you asked Y/N. The small smirk on her face turned to a smile when she locked eyes with her best friend, Y/N, who was already staring at her from her spot at her locker. 

“How’s the only person I tolerate in this school doing?” She challengingly raised an eyebrow as she came to a stop next to the girl. 

Y/N stared into her eyes for a second, seeing them twinkle. The two girls lingered for a moment in a comfortable silence until the sound of a locker slamming shut cut the girl back to reality. 

“Hey, you okay?” 

Santana’s smile turned into frown, seeing how quiet Y/N seemed.

“Hm? Sorry, yeah...”

The Latina squeezed her eyes in suspicion but decided to let it go, knowing how Y/N worked. If she tried to pry and get it out of her, Y/N would only shut her out even more. She’d come to her when she wanted to or when she was ready. 

“Okay, hear me out— I know you’re insecure about singing high notes but I’ve found the perfect song for us to sing for next week’s assignment.” 

Y/N bit her lip and closed her locker, “I kind of already agreed to sing with Rory...”

“Wait, what? Why?” Santana’s face immediately scrunched up. “And roll back a minute— out of all of them you pick that leprechaun? Let me guess, you’re going to sing his national anthem while he’s Irish dancing in the background, clad in all green while throwing lucky charms out of his pot of gold?”

“Santana...”

The brunette sighed, letting it go, not being able to resist the pleading look on Y/N’s face. 

“He asked me first and he was so shy about it, it was adorable. And he’s new and doesn’t really know anyone yet so it was hard to turn him away... and um, he told me we’d discuss the song over dinner at Breadstix so how could I turn that away?”

“So he asked you out on a date?”

“N-No-”

Santana rolled her eyes at the girl’s obliviousness, “And by the way,” She raised her hand, “Since when do I have to ask you to partner up? We always do everything together?”

Y/N shrugged, “I’m sorry, San. A promise is a promise. But I think you need to start looking for another partner unless you want to end up with Mr. Schue.” 

Santana's jaw clenched in irritation as Y/N walked off without another word. 

✫彡

Santana worry and confusion only grew when Y/N walked passed her and sat down next to Rachel, completely ignoring her usual seat next to Santana. Rory walked into the room. She immediately sent the boy a glare before he sat down next to Y/N. He slightly glanced over his shoulder and as he felt Santana’s eyes on him, he slowly put his arm around Y/N— feeling bold. The girl barely scooted away from him, trying not to hurt his feelings, but it was enough for Santana to notice her discomfort. 

Oh, hell no. 

✫彡

“Hey, St. Paddy!” Santana’s loud voice rang through the courtyard, making Rory stop in his tracks. 

“Oh, boy, here we go.” He slowly mumbled to himself. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He turned around and saw how furious she was by the frown on her face and the fire in her eyes. 

“What do you mean, Santana?”

She gave him a dirty look, “Oh, cut the crap, cardigan... You know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s... Flanagan...”

“Whatever-” She rolled her eyes. “Listen closely and don’t open your mouth before i’m done talking, okay?” 

Rory nodded hesitantly, not sure if this already counted.

“You’ve got a crush on Y/N. I have eyes. I’m not stupid. But I get it, she’s gorgeous, caring, softhearted and is the best thing in this world since sliced bread. But what she’ll never be, is yours.” She pointed a finger at his chest. “So don’t try and act all adorable while sneakily taking her on a date... because if we’re being honest, she probably just said yes because she pitied you after realising that if she said no, you would have no one to sing with. And since you were oblivious to all of that, I think you also missed the fact that she isn’t into you at all.”

He rose his eyebrows in shock as Santana let her mind run rampant, not sparing his feelings. Rory awkwardly held onto the straps of his backpack.

“Here’s what’s going to happen— first, you’re going to call Breadstix and cancel your reservations...then you’re going to call Y/N and tell her you changed your mind about being duet partners.” Santana gave him a mock smile and was about to walk away. “Oh— and if you ever put your disgusting arm around her again, I’ll kick your ass so hard it will send you flying back to Ireland in just a few seconds. Got it?”

Rory nodded again and watched Santana walk away with a pleased smirk on her face.

✫彡

Santana tapped the girl on her shoulder and whispered, “Wanna go to Breadstix tonight? I heard they have one free table for tomorrow night.” 

Y/N turned around in her seat, sending a glare her way before focusing back on the class. Santana looked to Brittany, taken back and in confusion, but she just shrugged.

✫彡

“I little birdie told me you need a new duet partner.” Santana walked up to Y/N’s locker, hands in the pockets of her comfy Cheerios jacket.

The smile on her face disappeared when Y/N slammed her locker shut and turned to her with her brows furrowed.

“Jeez, who put nails in your shoes today?”

“I know it was you.”

Santana shrugged, “So? I spared you the painful situation where you had to reject him... plus, now you get to sing with me. So change that frown into one of your pretty smiles because I know just the perfect song for us to sing.” She perked up but her cheerful expression vanished once again when Y/N walked away from her. She pursed her lips and frowned in confusion as she watched the girl hurry out of the school.

✫彡

Things had been different since that afternoon. The two barely interacted or even looked at each other anymore, which was all mainly Y/N’s fault. It had even caught the attention of the other Glee club members since Y/N tried to ignore Santana as if she was some disease she wanted to steer clear of. It was out of character for the both of them not to be together.

“Everything okay with you and San?” Brittany leaned over so that no one else could hear. 

Y/N gave her a small smile, as if nothing was wrong, “Oh- yeah, yes, don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

Y/N hummed in return, turning to face Mr. Schue but Brittany scooted even closer before mumbling, “I think you should just tell her how you feel.”

Her head shot to the side, eyes wide as saucers. Brittany didn’t seem to realise how panicked her statement had made the girl feel. Y/N was still trying to stay cool when Mr. Schue called her name.

“Rory and Y/N, would you two like to perform your duet today?”

The two shared a quick glance before Y/N opened her mouth,

“Oh, w-we’re not partners anymore. Can Tina and I perform instead?” 

Santana cocked her head to the side at that new information, seeing Tina nod. They had apparently already planned this out.

“But Tina’s partnered up with Brittany?”

“Yeah, I know, but she doesn’t mind singing twice.”

Mr. Schue rose his eyebrows in confusion. “But we’re with an even number of members so how come you have no partner?”

Rory’s arm slowly went up, “Santana has no partner either.”

“Shut up, leprechaun.”

“I thought that was what you wanted?” Rory mumbled at her but slowly turned back around at the look Santana shot him.

Mr. Schue seemed a bit confused to why the two best friends didn’t seem to want to pair up together. However, that gave him all the more reasons to make them partner up. Maybe whatever was going on between the two would be taken care of that way.

“Santana, Y/N— you’ll be up next week. Alright?”

The two girls shared a glance before Y/N focused back on what Mr. Schue was saying.

✫彡

“Y/N/N, can we meet up after practice? We really need to plan how we want to sing the song if we want to win. You still okay with singing Aguilera?” 

Y/N nodded absentmindedly, not really paying any attention to Santana. Because she knew that if she did, she wouldn’t be able to stop looking at the girl. Besides, the love in her eyes would probably not be missed by Santana and she obviously didn’t want her to know. 

“Hey?”

“Hm?” Y/N looked up, trying her best to not look into her eyes for too long. But the worry and hurt in them broke Y/N’s act.

“I’m worried about you.” Santana placed her hand on top of Y/N’s, squeezing it. 

“Don’t be.” Y/N mumbled out softly, trying to brush things under the carpet.

“Did I do something wrong? Was it the thing with Rory? Or back when-”

“No.” She shook her head, “Don’t worry, okay? You could never do something wrong in my eyes.”

Santana smiled at that.

“Great. So if I’m not the problem, then please tell me why you’ve been so distant with me lately?”

Y/N panicked slightly and racked her brain for anything. “Just... stuff.” She could slap herself for that weak excuse.

“Stuff?” Santana gave her a look, not buying it. “What stuff? Stuff at school? At home? Personal stuff?”

Y/N nodded softly at the last one and looked at her lap. 

“Want to talk to me about it?” Santana’s voice was as soft as a feather and barely even audible.

Y/N didn’t look up from her lap and shook her head. 

“That’s okay.” Santana scooted closer to her best friend, “Then I’m just going to have to-” But when she was about to wrap her arms around Y/N to comfort her, the girl quickly pushed her away, grabbed her stuff and walked out leaving Santana clueless to what she had done wrong.

✫彡

“I’m telling you, Britt, she ran away like I was some bee circling around her.”

Brittany smiled sympathetically. She could see it really affected Santana. 

“Oh, God.” She groaned and held the bridge of her nose. “She’s been like that every time I get close to her, what if it makes her uncomfortable? See?! I should just keep it all to myself, it’s better that way. I haven’t even told her anything yet and she’s already distancing herself from me.”

Brittany sighed loudly, “There you go again— putting two and two together and making six. You worry too much.”

Santana crossed her arms and let out a breathy, sarcastic chuckle, “I worry too much? She’s my best friend— I can’t lose her.”

Brittany’s smile softened, “I know. But you won’t. Sometimes you just have to take the leap and hope that a flying unicorn will scoop you up out of the sky. And I hope Y/N will jump onto its back as well... unless she’s scared of horses...”

Santana smiled at Brittany’s explanation,

“Thanks, Britt.”

✫彡

Santana was talking with Brittany when Y/N walked passed the two, basically making a b-line to the exit of the football fields. 

“Okay, this has got to stop.”

Santana rushed after her, Brittany following suit— afraid Santana was going to lose her rag.

“Y/N, stop-” Santana grabbed her wrist, making the girl turn around. “-and fucking explain to me what’s going on? I’m sick of you acting like this.” She waved her hands around.

Y/N pulled her hand back and squinted her eyes as she looked at Santana before walking off again.

“Oh, no no no. Not so fast, lady.” When Santana grabbed her shoulder, Y/N turned around and pushed her off. 

Santana widened her eyes at seeing Y/N so on the fence.

“Why can’t you just leave me be? I’ve been trying so hard to ignore you and ignore everything I’ve been cropping up inside but you just keep...on...bugging me!” 

Normally, Santana would fire back some witty and fiery reply but she was at a loss for words. She’d never seen Y/N like this. 

“I-I’m s-sorry. I’m so-” Y/N immediately excused herself and groaned before kicking the trashcan next to the bleachers, startling both Brittany and Santana.

Santana glanced at Brittany, silently asking her to give them a moment. The blonde nodded and walked back to the other Cheerios. 

Santana wasn’t sure what to do or say. She wanted to hug Y/N and hold her hand to comfort her, but would she be pushed away again if she did? 

“I haven’t been a good friend to you lately...” Y/N started and looked up into her eyes. 

“You can’t always be amazing at everything.” Santana complimented her and smirked softly, trying to lighten the mood. But her face turned serious again when Y/N didn’t seem to appreciate the effort. 

“But it’s okay. Let’s acknowledge it for a few seconds and then move on and be like we used to be.” Santana took a measured step closer to the girl.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” The brunette immediately shot back, feeling angry and confused once again. Y/N wrapped her arms around herself and softly looked up into Santana’s eyes, which were filled with hurt and worry.

“I-”

She closed her mouth again, how was she supposed to say that she’d been in love with Santana for weeks now?

“I’ve been really respectful towards this all and I’ve given you time to come to me, but this time we’re not going to walk away before I know what’s up. So, tell me.”

Even while Santana glared at her, Y/N could still feel her insides turn to jelly. Y/N looked at the crinkle between her eyebrows and how she slightly pouted her lips together. Her stare lingered a little on her lips, before she quickly looked back into Santana’s eyes. But upon looking, she noticed that Santana’s gaze was fixated on her own lips. 

“T-Tell me now...” Santana cleared her throat and tried to raise her voice again, but it was clear that her mind was elsewhere. She tried to look mad, but Y/N noticed how hard it was for Santana to keep up the tough act. 

Their stare lingered for a moment before Y/N turned her back to Santana to walk back into the school. But before she could take a step, Santana’s voice interrupted her.

“I love you.”

Y/N froze.

“And you ignoring me hurts me so damn much. So, please, don’t. I don’t know what I did wrong but I’d really like to know.” 

It took Y/N a moment to gain the courage to turn back around but when she did, she saw that Santana was on the verge of tears.

“I hope this won’t make you ignore me even more.” She quickly glanced around the area before wiping away a tear.

“Please say something.”

“Santana...”

She immediately took a few steps back when Y/N approached her.

“No, no- it’s fine-” She waved her off. Y/N closed her eyes, ridding herself of any doubts and insecurities. She opened them again and wasted no time in cupping the girl’s cheeks to place a soft, chaste kiss on her lips. 

The two parted, Santana’s face filled with confusion. It wasn’t like they had never kissed before, so what exactly did this kiss mean? Was this just out of pity? 

Y/N left her no time to ponder when she attached her lips against Santana’s once more. She put much more pressure into this one, and when Y/N opened her mouth, Santana swore she could feel her heart explode. She quickly grabbed onto Y/N’s neck and kissed back, not wanting to let it go unanswered. 

They slowly let go of each other after a few seconds. 

“I know I asked you to say something but this was much better.” She blinked her eyes a few times as Y/N let out a breathy chuckle,

“I know, right?”

“Does that...Does that mean-”

“Damn, you don’t catch on very fast, do you?”

Santana rolled her eyes but not without grinning like an idiot. She presented her pinky to Y/N, the other girl locking hers around it as they kept looking at each other, beaming from ear to ear. 

✫彡

The band started playing the first tunes of the song on their trumpets. Everyone’s eyes widened and some of the girls cheered at the run Y/N started the song off with. Santana looked at her with the widest smile on her face before starting to dance the little choreography they had come up with it. She was more than proud of Y/N shoving her insecurities to the side and still singing this song. Her voice was perfect for this song, which was mainly why Santana had picked it out, she wanted the girl to shine more. 

“I don’t know what you did, boy, but you had it.” 

The two faced each other and sang together. Santana smirked while singing.

"That every time I see you everything starts making sense, yeah.”

Everyone clapped when they started singing the chorus. Santana turned towards Y/N at her part, making her take steps back by slightly pushing the girl’s shoulder.

It was clear to everyone that whatever had been happening before, had been solved now. Santana and Y/N seemed at ease around each other again. They acted just like before. Well... not exactly the same, but most of them brushed it off.

Mr. Schue mentally applauded himself for putting the two together. It had clearly resolved their problems. But Brittany knew the real reason of why they had made up. She grinned, enjoying the performance, but also because she was the only one who knew their little secret. It was about time. She had tried to silently drop hints to them that they both liked each other here and there for the longest time. When Santana had returned that afternoon with the biggest smile on her face, Brittany knew enough. 

Santana and Y/N grinned their hearts out at each other after ending the song and locked their pinkies behind their backs.

#santana lopez #santana lopez imagine #santana lopez x reader #santana lopez / you #santana lopez one shot #glee #glee imagines #glee x reader #glee one shot #glee imagine #naya rivera #naya rivera imagine #naya rivera imagines #naya rivera x reader

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Lost and Found

Request: Hello, I’ve never requested any type of imagine so I’m sorry if this request sucks. I just love the way you write post-Azkaban Sirius and I was wondering if you could write something about reader getting pregnant just before he was sent to Azkaban and never got to tell him, fast forward to 1993 and how Sirius reacts to finding out about his son/daughter. Hope this made sense!

A/N: Here’s your request! I really enjoyed writing this, and I kind of used a different format that I've only used once or twice so I hope it reads okay! There's a flashback in this and it’s in italics! Thank you so much for requesting. As always, I hope you like!!

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, pregnancy, first meetings, a gross overuse of commas and semi-colons BUT THERE IS A HAPPY ENDING!!!

Word count: 4.7k

1981:

The front door slamming shut wakes you from your slumber. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but Sirius had left so late in the night; you wanted to wait up and see what the hurry was.

He storms into the living room; boots heavy on the floor. His hands run through his hair rapidly and he shakes his head repeatedly as if he can’t come to terms with whatever’s happened.

But then he stops his pacing.

He holds a hand up to his mouth.

And he begins to sob.

He bends in two; sobbing and sobbing, unable to catch his breath from the power of his cries.

You fly off the couch, rushing to him. Wrapping him in your arms, you sink to the ground where he stands, unable to walk to the couch for the sheer emotion taking over him.

It feels like hours before his sobs calm enough for him to get the words out.

In between his sniffles, Sirius manages to choke out, “James and Lily have been killed. Harry taken by Dumbledore.”

Your tears join Sirius’. You think of the family torn apart tonight; you think of the broken hearted man sat at your side. The family he had found for himself ripped from him in less than fifteen minutes.

It was incomprehensible.

They were only twenty-one; they were protected, and they were planning for their future. They had a fifteen month old son who needed his mother and father now more than ever, but he wouldn’t have that.

They had the world at their feet.

And in a single instant, it all changed.

----------

The test come backs positive, and it makes you cry harder.

A shaky hand places itself on your lower abdomen where in nine months, a bump would surely be.

You blink away the tears that are making it hard to see.

You stare at the wall; listening to the nothingness of the empty house you now sat in.

******

The sun was shining when Sirius made the decision that would impact both of your lives forever. The sun was shining when Sirius left the house with you still in bed.

At the front door, he hesitated for a single instant. He hesitated because he didn’t know what was going to happen to you after he does what need to. He hesitated because he so desperately wanted to crawl back into bed with you, but as he closed the front door ever so quietly behind him, he knew he wouldn’t get such a luxury for a while.

Sirius hadn’t been home all day; you had woken without him, but that wasn’t entirely unusual. What was unusual was his constant absence as the day progressed, and soon enough, dread floods your veins.

Remus shows up on your doorstep at some point in the afternoon; looking very much as if he hadn’t slept in days. He paces the kitchen with you; Sirius hadn’t told him the exact details of his plan – just that he was going to right a wrong, and that hadn’t sat right with Remus at all; no matter how much he desired retribution for the death of his friends and the orphan now in the care of his muggle relatives.

You yelp in panic when there’s a knock at the door; mind already thinking the worst.

Opening the door, you find that your mind is correct.

Two Aurors stand there; both with sombre looks on their faces.

You don’t hear what they say wholly; you only hear bits and pieces as your hearing zones in and out.

You hear, ‘Sirius’, ‘Azkaban’, ‘no trial’ and with no words of apology, the two Aurors leave your doorstep.

It’s Remus who catches you when you fall to the floor, sobs heaving from your chest.

******

The nausea rises with the end of your memory. You haul yourself over the toilet, emptying your stomach. You rest your head on the cool surface of the porcelain before dragging yourself to the sink to wash your mouth out.

An appointment at the Healers was needed, it seemed.

-------

The ultrasound jelly is cool as it is spread on your stomach; you shiver from the feeling and the nurse smiles at you apologetically.

“How are we feeling?” She asks kindly, setting up the machine.

You bite your lip, “I’m really nervous actually.”

She chuckles, “All new mothers are, but you’ll find the fathers are the most nervous.”

You want to laugh, but instead you smile wanly.

Using her wand, the nurse hovers it over your lower abdomen, moving it right to left and back again as she scans there.

A few clicks on a button later, she says, “There we are! You look to be about twelve weeks already,” She continues to move her wand, “Baby looks healthy, and is a good size. Would you like to see?”

You nod wordlessly. The nurse smiles at you as she turns the monitor your way.

And for the first time, you get a glimpse of the little baby.

You hold one hand to your mouth, and the other stretches out to touch the screen.

The nurse stands, “I’ll give you a moment. I’ll be back in a few minutes, dear.”

You let a few tears fall as you shuffle closer to the screen, wiping the ultrasound jelly off with the tissue from the side. Your hands grab both sides of the monitor, pulling it to you even closer.

There – the little blip on the screen. The little blip that was your baby.

-----

Remus lives in a flat within walking distance of Diagon Alley. After your appointment, you head there, struggling to hold back more tears threatening to make an appearance.

You climb the stairs to his floor; finding his flat easily enough.

Raising your fist, you knock on the door repeatedly – getting faster and louder the longer Remus takes to answer the door.

Remus yanks open the door to his flat, ready to shout at whoever is making that much racket so early in the morning. His words die in his mouth when he sees that it’s you and that you’re so close to tears.

You brush past him, striding into his flat and into his kitchen where you promptly fill up the kettle and set it on the stove to heat up. Watching for a flame, you know that Remus is going to need caffeine to hear the news.

“(Y/N)?” Remus asks warily from behind you, “Are you okay, love?”

“No, Remus. I’m not, but I can’t tell you until you have a coffee in your hand. And Remus, I love you like a brother, but will you please put on some trousers.”

Remus glances down at his clothing; only just realising that he’s stood in his boxers. He chuckles and leaves you to get dressed; pulling on some jeans and a Henley he finds in a drawer. As he’s getting changed, you make him a coffee and yourself a tea.

You sigh, thinking to yourself that this would be the last time you have caffeine for a long while.

Remus ambles back into the kitchen fully dressed and takes a seat the breakfast counter, “So what was so important it had you waking me up?”

Your fingers tap out a nameless song on your mug as you announce, “I’m pregnant.”

Remus knocks over his mug, sending it and the coffee inside flying across the kitchen. He leaps up from his spot, swearing up a storm as he grabs a tea towel to clean the mess up.

You stand to side, letting him finish cleaning. He’s done in a matter of moments; turning back to you with happiness and pity reflected on his face.

“You’re pregnant?” He asks.

You nod, “Had it confirmed today. They even did an ultrasound.”

You grab the picture of your baby from your bag, handing it to Remus with a shaking hand.

Remus grabs your hand as he looks at the ultrasound. There, in front of him, is a little blob that’s the baby of you and Sirius.

“What are you going to do?” He questions – his voice no louder than a whisper.

You run a hand through your hair, “I’m keeping it if that’s what you’re asking.”

Remus nods, “Are you sure though?”

“I’m sure. It’s half Sirius. We had talked about having children the month before James and Lily were killed.”

“So you’re going to be a mum?”

You laugh, tears shining in your eyes, “I’m going to be a mum.”

------

The pregnancy is tough without Sirius by your side. You find yourself asking for his opinion on everything – from the cot, to the colour of the nursery walls, to the name.

Then you remember he isn’t there, and he won’t ever be.

Remus, however, steps up. He isn’t there to be a father to the child, but he makes damn sure he is there for every appointment and to assemble every piece of furniture.

It’s Remus who holds your hand through the labour, and it’s Remus who hands you your son.

1987:

James begins to get curious about his father’s whereabouts on the approach to his sixth birthday. Question after question leaves his mouth – why didn’t he have a dad? Why were you alone? Did you feel lonely? Do you miss his father?

Eventually, the inquisition from the youngster becomes too much, and you give in on a Friday evening.

James sits on your knee, already invested in the story long before you even start.

“Are you comfy?” You ask.

You laugh at his eager nod.

“I met your father at Hogwarts when we were sorted into the same house. We weren’t friends then, but I knew who he was; it was hard to miss him – he was very loud.

“We became friends three years later in our Fourth Year; your father sat next to me in a lesson and pestered me until I would be his friend. I’m very happy he pestered me now.

“We fell in love in Sixth Year,” You break off, chuckling at your son’s crinkled nose, “Well we did, honey. There wasn’t anything else after that. I loved your father and he loved me.

“When we graduated Hogwarts, we moved into this very house and started to make it a home. Our friends, Lily and James, had a baby and both your father and I were named godparents – we had to protect the baby if anything happened to them.

“James and Lily died after that and it was very sad for both of us but especially for your father as James was his closest friend in the entire world. Your father left the house to make those who hurt his friends apologise, and it led to him having to go away for a very long time.”

“How long?”

“A very long time, my love.”

“Where is he? Maybe we could visit?”

“I don’t think we can. He’s in Azkaban, sweets.”

James’ eyebrows crinkle together, “The place where bad witches and wizards go.”

You nod, “The very same, but your father isn’t a bad wizard. He just made a bad choice one day.”

You finish talking, choked up with emotion. James pats your cheek with a small hand, and you squeeze your son a little tighter; wondering when he had grown into such a caring child.

James thinks over your story; plays it through in his head. He had seen other children his age playing with their dads and wondered why he didn’t have one. He was very happy with you, and loved you very much, but still, he wondered.

“But we still love him, right?” James asks.

You pause; thinking over his question, “I think I’ll always love him, James. He’s your dad.”

“Can I see a picture of him?”

You nod, not expecting this question. Patting his side, you tell him to get off so you can climb to the attic to find one. James follows you all the way; his little legs struggling on the steep stairs to the attic.

He finds you rooting through an old, dusty trunk, chuntering to yourself as you try to find what you were looking for.

“Got it!” You shout, pulling a framed photograph out from underneath some old clothing.

You run a finger over the picture; looking at faces you never thought you would see again. James, Lily, Marlene… Sirius. They all smile up at you as the camera flashes; permanently sealing the memory within the photograph.

You wrap an around James’ shoulder, pointing down at the photograph. “Tell me, do you recognise anyone at all?”

James gasps, “Is that you? And Uncle Remus?” His small finger points at the two figures he recognises the most; Remus as he went through his long hair phases that truly didn’t last long after the photo was taken, and yourself, standing straight-backed and proud next to Sirius whose arm was on your lower back.

You laugh, “That is me and your Uncle Remus, yes,” You point to the two figures in the front, “That’s James and Lily – two of my closest friends.”

“Is that who I’m named after?”

You nod, “It is. James was your father’s best friend; he even lived with him for a brief time. When I found out I was having you, there was no doubt in my mind that you were to be James.”

“Which one is my dad?”

You sigh, shifting your finger so it hovers over Sirius’ permanently handsome face, “This is your father.”

James takes the picture from your hands, holding it closer to his face as if he could get a better look at the man who should have been raising him beside you.

“Do I look like him?” He asks in a small, vulnerable voice.

You smile, pushing the dark hair back from his face, “In all the best ways, sweetheart.”

1993:

Tears fall freely as you flatten your son’s hair. “Mum,” he gripes, “It’s fine.”

“I’m just going to miss you,” You sniffle, dabbing at your eyes with your handkerchief.

“I’m going to miss you too, but we can write to each other and we’ll see each other on the holidays. It’s going to be okay, mum.”

You caress his face, wondering when your son had grown up, “When did you become so wise?”

He rolls his eyes, “I always have been.”

“Okay,” You start, taking a step back, “Do you have everything you need?”

He checks over his belongings one last time, “I’ve got everything.”

“And you’re going to be okay?”

“I’m going to be okay,” He promises.

“And you’re going to write me a letter the moment you get to your dorm room to tell me what house you’re in?”

“I promise.”

“Okay then,” You drop one last kiss to your son’s cheek before sending him off to the train, “I’ll miss you!” You shout.

He sticks his head out of the window of his compartment, unashamed of showing his feelings, “I’ll miss you too! I love you!”

You wave and wave as the red and black steam train departs from Kings Cross, carrying your son all the way to the highlands of Scotland where he’ll roam the corridors as you once did with his father.

-------

Remus is the first to alert you of Sirius’ escape from Azkaban. He apparates from Hogsmeade one weekend; his first words when you open to the door to him being, “He’ll come here, you know that right?”

You let him into your house. He trails after you, checking for signs that Sirius hasn’t already landed on your doorstep.

You hand him a mug of coffee from the fresh pot on the side, “I know that Remus, but I think he’ll go find Harry first. He doesn’t know about James.”

“I know that, but he’ll come back for you. Are you ready for that?”

“I’ll be ready when I need to be and that’s that. I wasn’t ready for my son or for his father to be imprisoned but he was, and I dealt with.”

“Magnificently if I say so myself,” Remus comments with a smile.

“You’re a flatterer, Remus Lupin.”

He laughs but it does nothing to hide the worried light in his eyes, “Send me an owl every week please? Let me know you’re okay.”

You nod, “I will. And you do the same for me; keep an eye on my son, Remus. It’s his first year.”

Remus sits back in his chair, “He’s in my class. He refuses to call me Professor, preferring to answer questions with ‘Yes, Uncle Remus’,” Remus chuckles, “Eleven years already. I remember him being born.”

“You should – you were there.”

He chuckles, “I had to be present for the birth of my godson didn’t I?”

You laugh, reaching through it all, “You were great through it all. I never worried about a thing, I had you next to me.”

“It should have been Sirius,” He sighs.

“You’re right, but it wasn’t. And I don’t regret that for one moment.”

-------

The knock at your front door is your only preparation really. An owl from Remus warned you that Sirius had left Scotland and was heading south. Harry had helped him escape certain death, and a surge of pride and gratefulness makes its way through your body – thankful for the godson you hadn’t seen since he was a toddler pottering about on shaky legs.

“Remus told me you would come,” is your greeting to man you hadn’t seen in over a decade.

“Remus is a very smart man.”

“Isn’t he?”

You stand aside, letting the man you’ve loved for most of your life enter the house he once shared with you.

You make your way to the living room; his footsteps sounding behind you. Your heart races with every possibility running through your mind – it had been hard to avoid the news of his escape, and you wondered how long it would take him to come to you. You were just thankful that James hadn’t felt the need to find his father himself; the sensible head on his shoulders telling him to wait and come back safely home to you.

Sirius steps further into your living room; his eyes dancing around the room he had spent so much time decorating. He smiles to himself; remembering the paint fight you had – he had splattered you with the brush causing you to retaliate by painting a long white stripe down the right side of his face.

It’s hard to miss the photos lining the walls or the mantle piece. His eyes dance over the framed photograph of the Order in favour of the smaller photograph next to it. A polaroid in a frame; taken by Remus on the day that James was born – it’s of you, hours after his birth with your hair still a mess but you’re smiling at the camera, looking elated.

Sirius turns to you; his mouth wide open, ready to say something but then he notices the other photographs of James on the wall – him at three years old; him at five years old sat on Remus’ lap; him at seven on his birthday, blowing out the candles on his chocolate cake.

You watch him from the side, absorbing everything.

Sirius does the maths in his head, and then his eyes finally settle on you.

Betrayal. 

Hurt. 

Longing.

They flash through his eyes and across his face in a matter of seconds before understanding finally settles there.

“Why don’t we talk about this over a cup of tea?” You ask; ready to have the conversation that should have been had twelve years ago.

“When did you find out?” Sirius counters, and you sigh, clearly not to be sorted over a cup of tea then.

“About two months after you’d gone. I was a month along when you went away so neither of us would have known,” You sigh once more, rubbing your temples in a circular motion, “I should have worked out a way to tell you…”

Sirius shakes his head, “No. You shouldn’t. It would have made things even harder in there.”

“How bad was it?” You ask; your voice a whisper.

Sirius’ face pales; lips thinning, “It’s not something I would wish on my worst enemies.”

You nod your head; not wanting to dwell on the tortuous subject any longer, “Would you like to meet him?”

Sirius’ eyes widen, “Are you sure?”

“He’s your son, Sirius. I’ve never hidden that fact from him. He’s only grown more curious over time.”

“What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Ridiculous. He doesn’t know you, but in time, he will.”

“You’re willing to give me that?”

You nod, “Sirius, love, if you hadn’t have gone away, we would be raising him together.”

“Did you ever find anyone else?”

“It’s hard to date when you’re a single parent, Sirius.”

He rolls his eyes.

“No,” You clarify, “There has been no-one for me but the father of my child.”

“I want to be in your lives – yours and his,” He states, “If you’ll have me.”

“I never stopped waiting.”

Tears line his eyes, making the grey even more striking. “Come on, let’s introduce you to your son,” you say, holding a hand out to the man you would never stop loving.

Together, you climb the stairs to your son’s room. Knocking lightly, you ask, “Love, am I okay to come in? I have someone I want you to meet.”

“It’s open, mum,” His voice rings out and you hear Sirius’ sharp intake of breath at the first time hearing his son’s voice.

Your grip on Sirius’ hand only tightens as you open the door.

James sits on his bed; his face the picture of curiosity. He leaps up when he sees the man standing behind you.

“Mum?”

“Honey, this is your father, Sirius Black. Sirius, this is your son, James Regulus (Y/L/N).”

“Regulus?” Sirius asks; his eyes never leaving his sons.

You nod, “I miss him too.”

Sirius takes a tentative step forward, dropping your hand. He stretches the hand that dropped yours out to his son.

James glances in a circuit between the outstretched hand of his father, his father, and you. With a gentle nod, you convey to James that it’s okay.

James steps forward and folds his hand into Sirius’, shaking twice before letting it drop.

Sirius coughs, “It’s nice to meet you at last.”

James nods; posture standoffish.

You glance between them, “I know. Why don’t we move downstairs so we can about this over a cup of tea?”

“A cup of tea mum? Really?”

“A cup of tea can put the world-”

“To right. Yes, I know,” James chuckles, “Let’s go.”

“Your mother used to say the same thing at Hogwarts and after,” Sirius states; watching his son’s figure make its way downstairs.

James pauses on the stairs for a moment before carrying onto the kitchen where he fills the kettle and drops three tea bags in three pots.

Sirius lingers in the doorway to the kitchen; everything has changed but everything hasn’t too. There was still the mark on the ceiling where him and James got too eager with a jinx, and the cracked vase from him and Remus throwing a ball about was still on the windowsill.

“Sugar? Milk?” His son asks; holding both up for Sirius to choose from.

“Both please.”

James nods before returning back to the drinks at hand.

He hands you your drink first before sliding Sirius’ cup to a spot at the breakfast bar. Sirius shuffles over to it, sitting down in the spot the drink is placed at. James remains standing, leaning on the counter, ready to leave should he need it.

“Mum told me about you when I was younger,” James comments.

Sirius glances at you. You take a nonchalant drink of your tea, shrugging, “He asked. I wasn’t going to keep it a secret all his life.”

“What did you say?”

“How you two met and why you weren’t around,” James states, staring down at his drink, “I didn’t think I would ever get to see you. I’d come to terms with it and then I see your face all over the newspapers in my first year at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, I’m sure that was a surprise.”

James shrugs; not knowing what else to say to the man that had been absent for the first eleven years of his life.

Sirius stands from the stool, making his way to James where he cautiously puts both hands on his shoulders. James wants to avoid eye contact with his father, but Sirius manages to keep his hold, “I’ve already spoken to your mother about this, but the decision comes down to you, James. I want to be in your lives. What happened all those years ago was not supposed to happen and I paid the price for over a decade. If your mother had known she was pregnant with you, I would have stayed and I would have raised you, but that didn’t happen. James, I’d like to get to know you, but I wholeheartedly understand if you do not want to know me.”

James processes the words his father says. His eyes dart to you for help, and all he can see reflected in your face is love for the both of you and pride for how he’s handling this.

He has wanted to know his father for so long; didn’t think he would ever be handed the chance to meet him let alone get to know him. Yet, now that he’s here, standing in front of him, he feels conflicted as to what he should do.

James continues to glance between you and Sirius; the gears in his mind whirring away. Sirius begins to lose hope when his son starts to nod.

“I want to get to know you too.”

1994:

You felt at one with the parents standing on the platform. It wasn’t going to get easier to send your child off for their education for nine months of the year.

“I’ll write as soon as I’m settled!” Your son promises; shouting from his window where he sits with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. He waves and waves as the train pulls away; you do just the same, remaining on the platform until the Hogwarts Express has chugged out of sight, taking your son with it.

An arm wrapping around your waist, and a kiss being pressed to the crown of your head keeps your grounded in the aftermath.

“It’ll be October before you know it.”

You sniffle, nodding, “I know, I just can’t believe he’s gone again.”

Sirius grip tightens on you, “If this is what it felt like the first time, I can’t imagine how you did it on your own.”

“I was a mess,” You laugh, “Sobbing and crying and everything.”

Sirius chuckles, “It’ll fly by won’t it?” – he asks for his own peace of mind.

It’s been less than a six months since he broke out of Azkaban to find out he was a father to a gangly teenaged boy. In that time, a relationship has been formed, and whilst he found himself loving his son as a father should, he knew that the trust built was as fragile as glass – one wrong move and it shatters.

In that time, he had fallen in love with you all over again. He had never stopped, but the love he felt for you in Azkaban was different from the love he felt for you now. In Azkaban, you felt like a dream – like a ghost haunting him with a past he couldn’t be sure was real; it had him feeling like he were the main love interest in a Bronte novel.

Now, however, his love for you shone out of every pore in his body. The horrors he faced in Azkaban paled when he rolled over in bed to find you sleeping peacefully next to him.

Sirius stands on the platform beside you, gazing at the absence of the train. He thinks of how his son had hugged him briefly before boarding the train; at how much that meant to Sirius, that in those few moments, his son had whispered ever so quietly that he would miss him, but he would see him soon.

Sirius thinks of all that he has lost and found, and with one look at you, he knows he has found enough.

*********

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Sirius Black taglist: @approved-by-dentists​ @fific7​ @susceptible-but-siriusexual​

#sirius black x reader #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black oneshot #sirius black fanfic #Sirius orion black #sirius x reader #sirius black angst #angst #sirius black reader insert #sirius black fluff #sirius fluff #fluff #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #sirius black imagine #imagine #my writing #sirius black x female reader #x reader

[spacegirlapollo]

Ice Cream (Hawks x Reader Smut)

Title: Ice Cream

Genre: Smut, Fluff 

Words: 2,916 

Summary: Keigo gives you a reward for using your quirk to help him out. 

(lmao I’m so bad at summaries, anyways its smut 90% and plot: 10% lmao enjoy! )

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

“Keigo!” you groaned, looking down at the mess of chips that were sprinkled on the floor not too far from the bag that you had dropped. 

You had your arm practically submerged in a bag of your boyfriend’s chips, when the front door to your shared apartment swung open, revealing the man himself in all of his post work glory. You were very taken off guard because he hardly ever used the front door, instead he consistently shot through one of the big balcony windows, that had been his only deal breaker when apartment hunting. He only occasionally used the door when his wings were all used up or he was exhausted. But he was standing in front of you now with a seemingly full set of wings and boundless Keigo energy. 

You were so used to it now that you could even hear the faint sounds of his wings flapping a few seconds before he came into the window.  You were also feeling the tiny ping of guilt as you had stolen his bag of chips, you hadn’t planned to eat the whole thing, but now the chips laid on the floor inedible. 

“Sorry babe.” He said with a chuckle as his back was turned to lock and close the door. He turned to you and gave you his famous closed eye charming smile. The one that always made you forget what you were even upset about before. You pouted bending over to scoop up the chips before he could see your contraband. 

In the corner of your eye you could see his boots enter your vision and then he was eye level with you, positioned to help you scoop up the chips. His face widened in mild disbelief. 

“Are these my-” 

“I’m sorry!” You said not able to hold your laugh in as you almost shouted it. 

“ I was craving salt. I needed salt Keigo.” 

His golden laugh rang around your ears and you couldn't help matching his laugh. You watched his face for a moment and your smile fell a bit as his face scrunched momentarily in pain. Setting the bag full of ruined chips to lean against the sofa, you reached for him frowning. 

“Are you okay baby?” You asked concern dripped all over your facial features. 

His face cleared up immediately and his golden smile was back. 

“Yeah i’m okay.” He said lying flawlessly. You frowned as he started to stand up. He said it in that tone that you knew meant he wasn't going to give you any other answers. It was the tone he used to pretend like things at work were fine even if they weren't. 

“I’m going to shower.” He said looking a bit far away now, but he turned back to you a smaller smile creeping on the edge of his lips. 

“I missed you today… want to watch a movie or something?” 

You smiled at his, for some reason you’d missed him today too. 

“Sounds like a plan.” You said. 

He winked and turned to head down the hallway leading to the bathroom. His smile had dropped again though. 

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

15 minutes later, you had vacuumed the floor a bit and were now carrying a large plant into the living room. 

Your quirk was a healing one, which was convenient when Keigo came home bruised and bloody occasionally. You could heal any and everything, but your quirk was all about balance and energy. If you healed someone directly, it would take energy from you to balance itself. But if you had something like a plant nearby you could use the energy from the plants to heal as well. 

You had a feeling, something was wrong with Keigo and he wasn't telling. Why, you weren't sure. He typically did not like being healed by you, as too much healing could leave you feeling weak for days at a time. You figure this must be it. Either way you placed down the plant near the edge of the couch hoping that he wouldn't notice the sudden addition to the room. 

Grabbing the remote and plopping down on the couch you could hear the water shutting off from deeper in the house. 

A few minutes into your search for a good movie, and you could hear his footsteps as he re-entered the room, a white tee and sweatpants on instead of his heavy duty hero uniform. 

“Did you pick something out?” He asked, crossing into the room. 

“Yep!” You said patting your lap with your free hand motioning him towards you. 

He eagerly came forward sitting on the couch and resting his hand on your lap. The couch was large enough to fit his wings, which was like most furniture in your home. You pressed play on your zombie movie you’d picked out and started to play with his hair with your right hand. 

You knew how much he loved when you did this, but now you could still see how his eyebrows were pulled together slightly. It wasn't totally innocent , your playing with his hair, as when you did this you were able to take a sort of scan of whatever you were touching to better understand what was wrong. The spots typically show up as red circles in your mind. And sure enough you could see red circles where it seemed his wings connected to his back. It must have been sore from all the flying he’d been doing lately. He’d told you once that his body was a little two small for the powerful wings. You wondered how often he went through this pain without saying anything. 

Your hand slipped up the back of his shirt and he looked up at you a little, an eyebrow raised. 

You reached the spots of red before he could turn away from you. 

“Babe what are you doin- MHM” 

His sentence was cut off by a deep moan that caught you a bit off guard. You’d touched one of the spots activating your quirk. You knew though from healing yourself that the healing felt intensely satisfying like a good scratch on an itchy spot, or stepping into a hot Jacuzzi.  

You moved onto the next spot activating your quirk again, The plant next to you starting to shrink and wilt. You felt him melting in your lap despite him having tried his hardest to not let you know. 

You pressed slightly against a larger red zone another gasp like moan came from your boyfriend, and you couldn't help but bite your lip at the sound. You knew it wasn't on purpose but It was almost sinful the noises he was letting out. You shifted slightly pressing your thighs together as you felt your mind running wild. 

You finished with the right wing and started to make quick work of the second, pressing softly against each zone while Keigo’s face smoothed out with each heal. You’d saved the largest one for last, guiltily hoping for another moan. You were rewarded when you started to heal and he let out another gaspy groan and you imagined him making that noise right next to your ear while on top of you.

The plant next to you had officially wilted down but Keigo was fully healed and sitting up now from your lap to face you. Before you could react both of his hands were on your cheeks and he pulled you into a kiss that felt like he was the sun and filling you up with light. 

He pulled away and let his hands drop giving you a shy smile. 

“I don’t know why I was being so stubborn Y/N.” He shook his head in disbelief. He seemed to be his normal self again, face cleared of any pain. 

“I feel…” He sighed in relief. “ So much better.” 

You smiled back at him, head a little foggy from the kiss and body on fire from his noises. 

“How can I make it up to you.” He was saying now, getting animated again. 

“I could make dinner.” He started to suggest but then thought better tapping his finger on his chin as he was thinking. 

“Hmmm no… I could fly us to get ice cream!” 

He looked at you his face the question : “ How about it?” 

‘

When he didn't immediately read a yes on your face he shook his head. “ No? How about…” 

“Keigo..” You blurted , heart skipping a beat when he immediately stopped and looked at you. 

“I- I want something different.” You said, cursing yourself for how soft your voice was coming out. You felt the heat rising to your cheeks and his head tilted a bit, confused. He looked cute and insanely hot like that, watching you. 

Keigo was a quick study however, and you saw the realization of just exactly what you wanted hitting his face. A smirk crept across his face, 

“Ohh, I see.” He said so low it sent a chill down your spine. 

and he moved so quick he didn’t give you a moment to think. His hands suddenly were on each of your ass cheeks scooping you up and planting you firmly on his lap. He moved back a strand of you falling hair before drawing your lips in again for a kiss. This one is much different from the last. His lips parted yours, your tongues swirling together as his grip on your ass tightened. 

You felt a throbbing between your legs and as you broke apart your kiss for air he started to kiss up your neck and to your jawline leaving butterfly kisses along the way that were sending your head spinning. 

“Mmm I missed you today.” He said close to your ear in that low voice that sent chills down your spine. You felt his hand slipping into the front of your pants, and you let out a small moan as he sunk two fingers into your soaking cunt. 

“You miss me?” He asked, pumping his fingers into you agonizingly slowly. When you didn't immediately respond he sat back some and grabbed your chin to bring your eyes to him. He inserted another finger, picking up the pace as he curled his fingers inside you. 

“Hm?” He asked again as you opened your mouth to moan out a yes. 

“Tell me.” He said breathily, his speed making you see stars now. 

“ Tell me how much you couldn’t wait for me to come home and fuck you.” 

You moaned and the sound of his soaking fingers fucking you filled the room. You were close to unraveling and he knew it. 

“Keigo” you moaned out using your hands flat against his chest to balance yourself. “Fuck, I missed you.” 

This seemed to satisfy him as he grinned devilishly at you bringing your face intoxicatingly close again. 

“You gonna come for me?” He asked as if he could feel just how close to the edge you were. 

“Mm yes be a good girl and come for me.” 

You couldn't hold off anymore as your head leaned back in an open moan as you came onto his fingers. You could feel his deep chuckle vibrating in his chest on your hands that were placed squarely on his chest. 

 You let out a little squeak as your whole body rose as he picked you up. Your legs were wrapped instinctively around his waist and you giggled a bit in excitement as he started to walk you almost blindly into your bedroom. 

“Mhm you thought I was finished with you?” He asked. 

“I really hoped not.” You teased back, before your back landed on the extra large bed in your bedroom. Keigo was above you now grabbing your t-shirt and rolling it off your head, then going for your pants slipping them off effortlessly. You say up slightly and began to remove his clothing as well, almost blushing in the way his eyes followed you. 

When you were both completely naked, he grabbed your chin again bringing you in for a kiss. You reached for his hardened cock pumping it in rhythm and enjoying his breathy moans against your lips. 

Breaking apart your lips with a smirk you pushed him back, and he went willingly sitting up slightly against the headboard. 

Coming closer you took it into your mouth moaning to send vibrations down his spine. You watched as he closed his eyes slightly at this, He was looking at you eyes half lidded and lustful. 

You stuck out your tongue as you brought your head up releasing him with a pop. His hand came forward and grabbed your face guiding you back down to the hilt of his cock. You hollowed out your mouth and hummed relishing in his deep moan. He was setting the pace now bringing your head up and down his hard shaft, chasing his orgasm. 

“Fuck Y/N” He growled out his lips parted as he came deep down your throat. 

“gaddamn it.”  He said sitting up and rolling you over till he was on the top. Although there hadn’t really been a moment where he wasn't in charge. 

“You’re so fucking pretty.” He said before entering your wet folds with a push. You moaned out at the feeling of being filled up by him. He didn’t wait and he was slamming into you again, his right hand gripping your hip as he fucked you and his left next to your head for balance..

You loved looping up at him like this, your beautiful boyfriend and his stretching wings above you. He knew every inch of your body and just how to make you feel good. You moved your head slightly to the side to make room for his hot lips against your neck. Moans spilled from your lips as he didn’t let up on you in the slightest. You reward him for healing him, as he typically teased you from start to finish. You weren’t going to last long and he was planning on that. 

“Fuck Keigo.” You moaned as he pressed his body closer to yours and descended into short powerful strokes against your g spot. Your hands were around his neck now as he fucked you into the mattress all the while his hot voice in your ear, egging on your climax, sending your body into a tailspin with his dirty words. 

You felt that tight knot in your stomach as your eyes rolled back in bliss. 

“Yes. Yes.” He said now eyes closing as your pussy tightened around him “Yes. cum for me” 

He took your lips with his as he reached his own climax and overstimulating your soaking cunt. A few more deep strokes and you could feel him cumming inside of you filling you up. 

------------ 

“Did you really miss me today?” You asked looking up at Keigo who was stroking your hair now, as you were both naked in bed. He had you close to his chest and he looked back down at you a little more serious than you’d thought he’d be. 

“I miss you all the time little bird.” He said moving his hand down to stroke your cheek. 

“You always heal me in more ways than one.” 

Your face squished with how cute and cheesy that was, but you couldn't hide your big smile.

“Hmmm. I missed you too.” You said and he kissed your forehead sending your heart going wild. 

It was quiet for a while as you laid there just enjoying each other's presence. 

“Can we still get ice cream?” You asked quietly and you could feel his whole body shake as he laughed. 

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

“Sure little bird, lets go get some ice cream.” 

#keigo takami #hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x you #Hawks x reader smut #Keigo Takami x reader smut #Hawks smut #mha fanfiction #MHa smut #mha imagines #I did not proof read this #SO SORRY

[nootgi]

Control - MLQC Victor

Victor. In all of Loveland city this man was known as a successful and stoic CEO. His face always had a look of indifference and never showed what was ticking away in his mind. His sharp eyes gleamed dominance and control, just a glare could leave someone shaking in their boots. When the tabloids tried to press and probe into his life, they found nothing but empty rumours and dead ends. He's kept tight reigns on his personal life. No-one could imagine what he does in his personal life. No-one knows what the stone faced CEO does in his free time. No-one except me.

A:N:// this is me posting from my ao3 account onto tumblr! if you wanna read it there my username is the same as my tumblr! Anyways this was from a while back during my pegging spree- 

Word Count: 2130

Warnings: Bottom Victor, Nipple clamps, Bondage and a whole lotta teasing

When I had first met Victor, he walked into the building with people flying around him to bow and appear busy. He oozed confidence from the way his shoulders were pulled back and how his long strides made it seem like he was gliding with each step. His hair shined in the sun, making my fingers itch to run through it. When he stood in front of me, he was looking down at me, literally and figuratively. I was practically eye level with his chest and thought to myself 'Does he really need that tight of a shirt!?' The shirt practically stuck to his chest, showing the perfect slope of his pecs and his small waist. His shadow had literally swallowed me up as he towered over me and there was that infuriatingly cocky smirk on his face when he challenged me. What I would do to wipe that off his face.

Monday, 1:55pm.

Lunch was just coming to an end as tired workers made their way back to the office. The building once again bustled with life as Goldman rushed out of the elevator. He was off schedule a little, he and Victor needed to leave ASAP to even reach the meeting on time. He silently prayed for himself as he reached for the handle of Victor's office door. Suddenly the sound of footsteps, telephones ringing and everyone paused. Silence.

From the silence sounded out a whimper. "Are you ready for your challenge Victor?"

In the center of the open office space was Victor, kneeling. His arms offered him no support as they were tied behind his back with the purple tie he was previously wearing. Moments before the pause he was sitting at his desk till a certain dummy had walked in with her swaying hips and sultry eyes. His neat shirt was undone and his chest was littered with countless lipstick stains and bite marks. Each left with a painstakingly slow pace, fueling the fire burning inside of Victor even more. Her kisses had trailed down his torso, avoiding his nipples, only leaving feather-like touches on them. Every touch from her felt scorching, like her hands were trying to burn themselves into Victor's mind. Feel her even when she's not there. The pants she took off next with swift hands, leaving Victor bare in his office. The cold air from the AC was a sharp contrast to the throbbing heat between Victor's legs, unconsciously he bucked his hips drawing a laugh out of her. Her hands instantly went exploring the newfound expanse, from his feet to his thighs. She massaged her way up, slowly removing the tenseness from the muscles. She always knew the right places to calm his body down. Behind her hands followed her lips, each press made his body melt and just as he was fully relaxed a sharp bite was left of his inner thigh. Startled, he let a moan slip from his lips and fill the silent office. As it echoed around the room, a beautiful red blush bloomed on Victor's chest and cheeks. She always said red looked amazing on him.

Victor glanced at the clock that read 1:45pm and sighed realising that the foreplay has dragged on a little too long. "You've had your fun teasing me but now it's time to--" Victor began to speak, "Who said the fun was over Victor~?" Her voice was low in his ears, the evil in her laugh made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. "I don't think so." Victor picking up on she meant, instantly rejected. "Why? You don't think you could be a good boy and show me how strong you are?" As she was speaking, her fingers came up to run through his hair. Victor leans into her touch, enjoying her soft touch. The thought of praise caused the breath to catch in his throat. "Prove it to me Victor, show me how amazing you really are." Her voice caused Victor's body to shiver in anticipation as he nodded eagerly. "I accept, though I doubt a dummy like you could do much to make me lose control." Her eyes shone with determination the moment Victor let that comment out.

"You forget who's in control now."

1:54pm, Victor was tied up with red rope in the middle of his office. His thighs were tied to his calves and kept from touching with a metal bar behind his knees. His cock was left exposed to the world and to make matters (fun) worse, he was facing the door in this position. 'Did she lock it?' as if reading his thoughts she smirked and shook her head. 'I don't need it to be locked. I'll win.' On his tip there was a small vibrator taped against it, the setting currently on a low vibration. There was another vibrator sat below his shaft and slightly touching his balls, leaving much to be desired. Just below that sat the jewel head of a plug, that was slowly inserted into Victor. He was a sight to behold. His back was straight and shoulders pushed back. He held his head high, purple orbs glazed over with intense lust and concentration. It would appear nothing was bothering him if not for that tremble on his lips.

Victor picked up on the hurried footsteps of Goldman and the second the minute hand moved, time had paused. His heartbeat started to race, now feeling the stakes of their challenge. If he loses control, he will be shamed and humiliated.

"Let's begin." She was now seated at his desk, her newly done nails tapping against the wood. The challenge is to hold time till she is finished with the work she has to do. If he does it successfully there is promise of having her ruin him. The very thought of having her thrust into him steals his nerves and motivates him.

The first ten minutes is uneventful, the constant vibrations are slowly making his tip leak and the liquid is somehow making the vibrations more intense. His muscles are starting to cramp a little causing his body to shift, as he moved his weight onto one knee, the ropes contracted. The rough dig into his skin made him groan and he just knew marks will be left. He tried to peek a look towards the woman and a whine almost slipped past his lips when he had noticed she never even looked his way once. As if feeling his stare her hand rises, holding a remote. The increase in intensity on his cock gave some clue as to what the remote was for. Her eyes lit up in amusement when a choked moan fell from his lips.

"Keep your eyes forward." The ice in her voice left no room for disobedience. His eyes move back to the door handle instantly. His body started to shake, feeling the toll of freezing time and the stimulation. He stares at the door handle, trying to ground himself and zones out.

His concentration is broken when he hears the clicking of heels approach him. His smug smile started to appear thinking that his victory was secured.

"That's all? I thought you were going--" His words were cut off when the sound of chains came from her hands. She crouched down and there was a sneer on her lips.

"You think that low of me, Sir?" Her lip curved up into a cruel smile and the source of the noise was revealed. Nipple clamps. There was a sharp intake of breath as the metal was snapped onto his flesh. Holding the clamps together was a chain which she used as support to lift herself to stand. The tug made a cry leave Victor, to the girl it wasn't hoarse enough too much clarity. She stood over Victor, drawing his face by the chin to look up to her. Her manicured nails felt so good against his scalp when they ran through his raven locks. Her other hand caressed his clenched jaw, soothing the intense look on Victor's face.

"Hmm, you're doing so well baby." That simple praise made Victor arch his back. The amusement that burnt in her eyes were clouded by lust. Victor again was left in the middle of his room, the clamps starting to make his nipples sore.

Another half hour passes when she comes back. She lightly taps on the clamps, making Victor cry out. There's a small laugh as her hands make her way down his chest. They skip over his neglected cock and straight towards the plug. With one push, Victor was sprawled on his back and legs spread in the air. She ran her nails along the back of his thighs, light red streaks following behind. Her fingers wrap around the base of the plug and Victor holds his breath. She pulls it out till the tip is left and pushes it back in instantly. She relentlessly thrusts the plug into Victor's ass. There's a snide smile as Victor writhes underneath her, his legs trying close but the metal bar prevents him. His back arches perfectly off the office rug, his small waist begging for hands to wrap around it. As the thrusts begin to pick up speed, Victor feels his mind slipping away from him. His moans are starting to become unrestrained and drawn out. When he feels his orgasm approaching, everything stops. His eyes snap open, he hadn't realised they had shut, and he looks towards the woman confused. She says nothing as she lifts Victor back onto his knees by his shoulder.

He's back to facing the door but the girl doesn't leave him. She moves behind him, her hands lingering around him. Leaving every nerve on edge.

"Is this what you call working?" His voice was shaky to start with but regained its bite towards the end.

"The report is being uploaded. Till it is done, I'm not finished." Victor felt her hands wrap around his torso. One trails up to tug on the chain and the other wraps around his cock. He falls back into her touch, head resting back on her shoulder. Victor looks up at her, mouth gaping open as the sensations take over his body once again. Her cool hand on his cock made him jerk hips and the vibrators shifted down. The vibrations were now concentrated on his balls, causing more ecstasy to run through his veins. Her hands leave his shaft and move lower, back to the plug. She moves her lips to his ears, kissing the shell before whispering.

"Will you be good?" The whimper from Victor was all she needed to continue her actions.

In the middle of his office, Victor was on the floor in the arms of the one he loved the most. Falling apart in the most delicious way. The stinging pain of his nipples, the torturous vibrations on his balls and the fast thrust of the plug made his mind break. The more he lost his control, the louder the moans grew. His thighs quivered, toes curling as he felt the familiar peak approaching. One last tug of the clamps bought Victor's ruin down on him. The burning in the pit of his stomach finally exploded out, coating his chest. He's left panting against her chest and as he comes down from his high is only then when he realises. Goldman was rattling the door handle and knocking confused. Then to his left sounded the ding of a completed file. She knew he’d lose.

Victor looks back towards her, eyes glazed over from his orgasm. In her eyes he looked like a lost puppy.

"You lost." Her lips were pulled into a victorious grin and honestly seeing that glee on her face was worth the loss. Victor, too enraptured in her, didn't notice Goldman leaving. She begins to kiss down his jaw, sweet praises leaving her lips to relax Victor's body. He whines against her lips to remove the vibrators and she laughs softly whilst removing them. Victor tended to get silent after an intense orgasm, his voice often hoarse from the constant crying out. There were tender kisses placed onto his nipples as the clamps were removed. Once everything was removed and cleaned, he moved to the couch, laying on top of the girl. She held his head against her chest, fingers running through his hair. Reassuring him that he did well even though he lost.

"The report better be good." He says begrudgingly after a beat of silence.

Only she knew how to take apart the composed character Victor had built. Only she knew how he spent his time. Only she knew how to make him lose control.

#mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc smut #bottom victor #mr love victor #mlqc victor x reader #victor x reader #li zeyan #nootieml

[sunflowerspectre]

Hellfire and Ectoblasts

For @cleanlenins

Title: Hellfire and Ectoblasts Fandom: Danny Phantom x Lucifer Summary:  The devil works hard, but Vladimir Masters works harder. When Vladimir Master dabbles in dealing favors to others to get his way - much easier than constantly possessing everyone - Lucifer Morningstar has a few choice words for the business tycoon. Rating: T for cursing (multiple uses of the F word, mentions of drug abuse) Final Word Count: 5005 Ft. Uncle/Redeemed Vlad AU

Read on A03 Read on FF

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Los Angeles is new territory, despite all the places Vladimir Masters has traveled. He has drunk martinis in the sands of Bahamas, made deals in Cancun, and has a passport larger than most politicians. He has even traveled further into the Ghost Zone than most of the fully ghosts there.

Yet the city of angels has always eluded him, or rather he eluded it. It never quite appealed to him, with the oddities and gaudy casinos. It felt almost beneath him and it has, honestly,  never been on his priority list - at least, not until now.

Business is business and Vlad Masters will always go where business is; even if it is in a city like Los Angeles. Even if it is with an admittedly annoying sixteen year old teenager for a long extended amount of time.

Honestly, what was he thinking when he wanted Daniel as a son? He should have gone after Jasmine, he begrudges. At least she knew when to be quiet.

“Are we there yet?”

Vlad feels his eyebrow twitch, a vein throbbing in his neck. Daniel Fenton has the nerve to look at him with large innocent, doe eyes as if that is not the hundredth time he has asked that question in the past hour.

His somewhat nephew had jumped on the chance to go to LA with him; he would have been more suspicious of Daniel’s intention if not for the fact that the space shuttle endeavor will be within one quick bus ride from their hotel. As challenging, and even powerful, as Daniel can be - he is very much an open book that has been quite easy to read.

Danny opens his mouth, as if to ask that infuriating question again, but is stopped short by a small ecto blast. The ectoplasm effectively sticks against his mouth and despite the way he claws it, it refuses to budge. He settles for crossing his arms in a huff with a narrow glare. He idly considers it for a moment before a middle finger raises in contempt.

“Curse at me all you want, Daniel, but I refuse to listen to that infernal question the entire trip.”

Danny’s body language makes it clear that he is mocking him. Vlad waits until his fit is over before removing the ecto blast. Danny, huffing about being cut-off, leans back into the seat of the private jet. When he glances out the window, catching glimpses of clouds, he can not help but think wistfully how much better it would be to be flying Airline Danny. Jets, private or otherwise, are too confining now that he knows what it feels like to touch clouds.

He bets that the skies of Los Angeles is beautiful up close. He absently wonders if he gets far away enough to the nearby desert if he will be able to get a good view of the stars. The Orion constellation, not to mention a few planets like Venus and even Saturn, should be more visible here than it would be in Amity Park. He wonders if he flies high enough if he can get a good picture with a smartphone.

“Why are you going to LA anyway? Don’t you have enough money that you don’t need to be blowing it at casinos? Or is that the whole point?”

He barely even spares Vlad a glance through the corner of his eyes, arms crossed lazily against his chest as his cheek presses against the cool glass of the window. While being with Vlad is not the worst thing in the world - at least not anymore - he can not help but wish he would’ve been able to bring Sam and Tucker along. He imagines that they would be thrilled to go somewhere that’s not the Nasty Burger. At the very least, they would be better conversationalists.

Well, I guess it’s at least fun to mess with him, Danny thinks wistfully, a more devious smile on his face. If anything, it is a great way to pass the time. Messing with Vlad has always been a treasure, but now with little repercussions, at least nothing that compares to the way he used to threaten to kill his dad, it is like the entire world is his oyster.

“You can never have enough money, young badger.”

Danny coughs something into his elbow that sounds suspiciously like ‘ eat the rich’.  His eyes watch Vlad carefully with feign innocence, as if he never said anything at all. His elbow hides the large shit-eating grin threatening to break on his face.

Vlad makes a point to ignore the comment, continuing easily, “Since our - my -”

He struggles to find the right word, fumbling a bit with a strained look on his face. Mentions of the past have always been hard to bring up when he is, honestly, doing his best to move forward from it. He feels strained at the mere mention of how he behaved beforehand, somewhat even embarrassed by the things he tried to pull. He cannot be thankful enough that the Fentons, including even Daniel, have even given him this second chance. The young badger’s trust is not an easy thing to earn.

“ Your redemption arc,” Danny offers somewhat helpfully.

While not fond of the term, Vlad has to admit that he cannot think of a better phrase.

“-Yes.”  

He accepts the term Danny offers with clenched teeth, “-and as such, possession has become quite unfavorable . I have taken up doing business the old-fashioned way.”

Danny turns to face him. His innocently blinking eyes do not fool anyone with the gleam of mischief shining brightly in them.

“-Legal suits and proper paperwork?”

Vlad snaps at him suddenly, a vein throbbing in his forehead as he regrets taking off the ecto-gag.

“Oh will you - stop that?”

The outburst sends Danny reeling  into a laughing fit, clenching his sides tightly.

__________________________________

Danny’s smartass comments cost him; though, in his opinion, it was absolutely worth it. To his dismay, Vlad drags him along through the city of angels instead of leaving him at the hotel. He claimed he needed to meet a new potential business partner. He gave an entire speech of how it would be good for him to learn how the business world works, but Danny can only recall maybe the first few sentences of said speech. Vlad even went as far as stuffing Danny into the most uncomfortable expensive clothes that he could find. Honestly, couldn’t the man at least get comfy expensive clothes? Gucci makes sweat suits. He makes a mental note to send some links to Gucci sweat suits to Vlad later.

Comfy or not, he still would have preferred to have just headed straight to the space shuttle endeavor. At least then, he would be in ghost form most of the time anyway. It would have been a ten - maybe fifteen - minute flight himself from their hotel room; he even promised Vlad that he would stay invisible the whole time and not touch anything he was not supposed to. A promise that was hard to give since oh man did he want to touch the shuttle just to say he touched something that was in space. He even begged his uncle. Slipped in a few mentions of how his mom would be so happy if he was able to go and get pictures.

He almost got him too, but alas, his efforts were in vain. Instead, he is stuck in a limo. It is not a bad thing in and of itself, but even a luxurious car feels suffocating when you want to be somewhere else.

He eyes the protesters lining up on certain streets. Sam would have loved it here. He keeps track of all of the ‘trendy’ vegan cafes he spots along the way for future reference; he even spots a few goth-centric stores. He snaps a few pictures, sending them over their group chat. He follows them up with pictures of pictures of every BBQ stand he finds for Tucker’s sake.

Sam: Still with the ex-villain?

Danny snorts, scooting away from Vlad as much as he could before snapping a picture of his unsuspecting ex-arch nemesis. Vlad visibly sighs, the exhaustion showing on his face as he does not even bother to look at Danny anymore.

Tucker: Someone looks like he’s having a great time

Danny: He’s with me, of course he’s having a  great time. I’m a joy to be around. An absolute blast.

Tucker: Isn’t every party you’ve gone to nowadays a bit - dead?

Danny audibly groans at the bad attempt at puns, sending a quick message of how puns are his thing; it’s his whole shtick.  But like all group chats do, the conversation grows dead pretty fast.

He is already growing bored again after having sent all the memes he could find ( and how dare they not laugh react at them) . He settles for rolling the window up and down obsessively, occasionally even sticking his head through it. When that adrenaline rush is short-lived, he ends up leaning against the door while obnoxiously clicking the window button repeatedly until Vlad is forced to ask the limo driver to put on the child lock. He considers the idea of just phasing his head through the window, but as weird as LA is, he thinks even that would be a stretch.

He could just phase away entirely. After all, the limo is not ghost proof. Vlad even got rid of most of his more outrageous contraptions and traps so he knows that the seat will not suddenly grow restraints if he tries to get up from it. He wonders if the oddity shop that they passed is still open? He did promise everyone souvenirs and the weirder the better (as is the whole point with souvenirs).

But he also promised his mom that he would get along.

Besides, Vlad said he would pay for lunch when they are done and they passed the most delicious looking burger place.

After what feels like forever, watching all the places he wants to go but can’t right now like a sad puppy begging for the window to be let down, the limo finally pulls up in front of a nightclub. LUX. Danny raises a brow. He may not be the smartest out of his family, but dead languages are his specialty. He glances to Vlad, wondering if he should be more concerned about his pseudo-uncle doing business here. Any nightclub named after light that looks this shady can not be good.

He is also pretty sure that he just saw a drug deal around the corner and some of the people in line already look under the influence of something .

“Am I even allowed here,” Danny questions, pausing a moment to count on his fingers, as they exit the limo. “I’m only like - sixteen? I am a literal child. ”

Vlad continues walking as if he does not hear Danny’s voice grating on behind him. Somehow, the teenager has a voice that seems to stick out like a sore thumb against the boom of the music coming out from the club’s doors.

“You are not a child, Daniel,” Vlad finally acknowledges.

“Uh the law would disagree, sir,” Danny waves a finger after him, “I am a minor.”

The sun is already starting to set, which means the club is steadily filling up; a majority of people are still out in long lines outside of the club’s door. He glances at them briefly, if in a bit of curiosity at the club wear. He blushes wildly at some of the more out-there club wear and focuses quickly on the fact that Vlad is steadily getting ahead of him.

“We are not here for drinking, Daniel,” Vlad’s voice comes out a bit exasperated as he fixes his tie. He eyes the people in line with a bit of disdain, but otherwise ignores them.

Vlad continues on past the lines, not acknowledging the way that some of them call after him. He keeps his hands in his pockets as he gets closer to the crowd; Danny realizes that it likely has something to do with the high possibility of getting pick-pocketed. After all, Vlad does not exactly blend in, but neither does Danny in the suit that Vlad forced him in.

Danny is close in tow as they head straight for the bouncer at the door.

If Vlad was not so used to the way that Maddie could ( has and absolutely will) beat him, he would have been more surprised at the woman at the club’s door. The choice being a bit abnormal in the job. Her intimidating presence is enough to make most of the more pushy people at the front second-guess themselves. A few of the people who dare to test the boundary of the velvet rope quickly change their mind as she just glances at them. Danny’s first thought is how much Sam would like the bouncer. The entire leather outfit is just something that feels like she would like, compared with how tough the woman seems to be. If the woman didn’t scare him so much, he would have tried to take a picture.

His second thought, however, is how off she feels. The closer he gets to her, the more his core vibrates deeply in his chest. As if it is trying to transform and get him out of there, like an animal’s instincts to a predator. Run. RUN. RUN. He digs his heels into the ground and refuses to listen to his gut. He refuses to let his gut determine what he thinks about someone, or how he acts on them. He learned the hard way to control that impulse.

Besides, she does not seem that dangerous - he thinks? He glances to the knives strapped to her thigh and the mean look in her eyes. Mostly. But his ghost sense has never gone off. That means that possession is off the table - so is her being a ghost. But he has never felt his core vibrate this way, in such a paralyzing instinctual fear. The only thing that comes close is when he faced Pariah.

Danny is sure that Vlad notices it too, he is way too smart not to. Vlad’s expressionless face does not give a single thing away, staring straight on even as the woman looks him over closely, a sneer on her face. Something about the way she bares her teeth feels more like a threat, as if she is prepared to rip your throat out herself at any given moment. The worst part is that it feels like that is something she is very much capable of doing. She gets startlingly close to Vlad’s face, sniffing him. He refuses to flinch and let this woman know how much she intimidates him.

He seems to pass whatever test she was giving him. Finally she just snorts, taking the card that he offers her. Danny only catches a glimpse of the red and  gold lining against black with some sort of name written on it. He barely sees the flash of some sort of horned symbol on the edge. Just who is Vlad doing business with anyway?

Whatever the card is, it works. She backs off, crossing her arms against her chest as she moves out of the way of the door to let them through. The glare she gives some of the people at the front of the line scares them out of even thinking about shoving their way in through the open door.

Danny sticks close to Vlad’s side this time, feeling the urge to get as far away as he can from the woman. He is not sure if she will stop him. He would love to get out of this situation with Vlad, but he would hate that it meant staying anywhere near the woman. The wild beating of his core is getting worse and it feels like he can’t breath.

He is unsure if he can handle being around her much longer with his core acting up like this. He feels like he is this close to a heart attack.

“You smell weird, but whatever. He’s inside.”

He smells weird, Danny wonders how she can smell anything especially when all he can smell is all the people around them not wearing deodorant. He tries his best to brush it off as some sort of intimidating tactic. But when Danny passes by the woman, she leans forward, visibly sniffing him as well.

“Sorry it’s my - uh - aftershave,” Danny’s panicked lie confuses even him as he just waves at the woman as he enters the club, finally taking a deep breath in as the door shuts behind him.

Still thoroughly weirded out by whatever that was, something that does not improve when he’s suddenly surrounded by drunks and loud blaring music, he sticks abnormally close to Vlad. The people surrounding them are too drunk to notice when he phases through the elbows that are just too close to him or the shoulders that almost bump into him. Vlad looks back at him briefly, a ghost of a smile on his face, before he turns attention to the crowd.

“Whatcha looking for? The bar? Drugs? A confessional?” Danny asks as they finally reach a section that gives them some elbow room. He brushes off imaginary dirt, and not so imaginary something , off of his shoulders.

“My business partner,” Vlad answers curtly, eyes still scanning the crowd. He knows what he’s looking for, despite not having met the man before.

When Lucifer Morningstar reached out to him, insisting that they meet in person to discuss business, Vlad almost brushed him off. However, a combination of the man’s obsession with the devil and the fact that Lucifer Morningstar’s very identity doesn’t go back any further than a few years intrigued him. How does a man who legally has only been around for a few years get so ahead in the business world? More importantly, who is he really?

“What does he look like, maybe I can help.” Danny offers, looking over the crowd as if he would suddenly be able to who they are looking for.

“It is our first business meeting, I’m afraid, but if he looks anything like his photos, you can’t miss him.”

That gets Danny’s attention. He swerves suddenly on Vlad, jutting his hands out to form a T, his fingers press against his palm, “Whoa, time out! You brought me to a business meeting with someone you never met before? How do you even know the guy’s like, I don’t know, a ghost hunter?”

“You're a paranoid teenager, young badger.” Vlad’s voice is dry with a lack of amusement, “I’ll have you know that I reach all my partners quite well. Lucifer Morningstar is nothing more than a lunatic, however he is quite popular with our mutual partners.”

“ Lucifer,” Danny harshly whispers, his voice only half-way kidding, “Don’t tell me you actually made a deal with the devil?”

Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise him if Vlad did - if such a thing is really possible - but it would put a strain on their now alliance. Vlad’s about to retort, likely something along the lines of you’re being ridiculous Daniel, but he gets cut off prematurely by another voice.

“Well not yet, but let’s see if that changes today, shall we?”

A particularly British voice gets their attention as a man in a well fitted suit, looking vastly more comfortable in it than Danny is, struts their way. Despite looking like every other business man he’s seen, the man doesn’t feel like the usual stuffy suit type. He feels dangerously charismatic, with an easy smile on his face and a magnetic pull that makes it difficult to turn their attention away from him. He has a few beautiful women, and at least one man, at his side. He whispers something that Danny wishes he didn’t hear, to each of them before they regretfully leave his side.

“You must be Vladimir Masters.” The tone of voice is not a compliment, coming off more mocking, “Look at you, a bit older than I expected, but ultimately age is never an issue. Provided you’re at least an adult.”

The sultry look that the apparent Lucifer Morningstar has as he looks Vlad up and down appreciatively reminds Danny too much of how Vlad used to look at his mom. He starts to feel sick to his stomach, gagging exaggeratingly in the background as he tries his best to ignore the way his core has returned to vibrating, thumping hard against his chest.

Whatever the woman at the door was, Lucifer Morningstar must be at least the same thing - or something close to it - to make his core react the same way. He should be more concerned over it, but he glances toward Vlad. He looks stony as ever, the only sign of discomfort being a vein beginning to throb on his neck. Ah, so he does notice.  

He doesn’t seem surprised either.  Danny wonders if this is some sort of test again, to see what he will do and how he will react. Especially in front of an unknown factor. Shit. Danny curses when he realizes that’s why Vlad brought him along in the first place and then curses again - more directed at Vlad himself this time - for Vlad being as cryptic and vague as Clockwork.

 I just wanted to see the endeavor, Danny bemoans as the man ushers Vlad (and by extension, Danny) to a clear booth. Taking Vlad’s lead, Danny acts more confident this time around, trying his best to act like every inch of his being isn’t screaming to run.

“Drinks,” Lucifer offers, seeming comfortable in the booth with his arms stretched out wide against the edge of the seat across from Danny and Vlad. While Vlad accepts the offer, ordering a simple old fashion, Danny speaks up with a cheeky grin.

“I’ll have a coke on the rocks,” Danny orders, showing a lot of teeth in his grin as he gives finger guns, of all things. After a pause, he adds on, “Not shaken nor stirred, please.”

Vlad’s exasperated sigh is barely audible as he breathes out through his nose. At the very least, he should be glad that Danny is acting normal - as awkward and tiring as normal is.

“I must admit Mr. Morningstar, I was a bit surprised to receive your invitation,” Vlad speaks easily. He politely sips at his drink, but otherwise leaves it untouched, more focused on the conversation. He tries to not let his eye twitch when he hears Danny suck up his coke through a straw.

Lucifer looks at Danny in amusement, seemingly unoffended by the teenager’s manners (a small blessing). Unlike Vlad, Lucifer doesn’t shy away from his own drink, downing it easily. He orders a few more at one of the ladies passing by, followed by flirtatious compliments that make her giggle and once again, makes Danny wish that he couldn’t hear what was being said.

“Well how could I not invite a man such as yourself, Vladimir,” Lucifer’s voice is exaggerated, almost strained, “Or is it Vlad? Vladdy?”

Vlad does twitch at that and Lucifer grins, “Vladdy it is. Better than douchebag, I suppose.”

Danny snorts at the sudden word, laughing hard enough that he barely stops the coke from pouring out of his nose. He takes in a deep breath, wiping at his face with a cocktail napkin as his nose burns from the soda.

“I prefer to use the term fruit loop,” Danny speaks up helpfully.

Lucifer seems delighted at this information, his eyes lighting up in glee as Vlad visibly sinks into the seat.

“ Fruit loop,” Lucifer repeats gleefully, “Lacks a bit in curse words for my liking but fruit loop it is!”

“You can always say fucking fruit loop,” Danny offers as if he is still being helpful, the grin on his face more genuine, “Or fruit by the fucking loop?”

Lucifer’s laugh is infectious, his eyes gleaming as Danny joins him in laughter at Vlad’s expense. For a moment, the two continue back and forth before Vlad is forced to intervene; the vein is his neck is more noticeably throbbing at this point.

“Mr. Morningstar,” Vlad cuts in, his voice stern, “What exactly was the point of the invitation, if I may? I hope it wasn’t to just call me outrageous names.”

Lucifer nonchalantly waves off Vlad’s growing ire, “Oh no, I invited you over for much more than just that. Favors, you will find, are my  specialty. One could say it’s my whole business. I grant favors and I do not take kindly to others who sneak up on my business and steal it away.”

There’s a flash of something in Lucifer’s eyes. Something dangerous. As brief as it is, it’s enough to make Danny’s core hum against his chest, his hand grips his knee tightly. His eyes flicker to Vlad and as much as the older man is trying to hide it, Danny can tell that he’s just as suddenly bothered by whatever that was.

“It’s the point of the matter, you know,” Lucifer continues, “Steal my business, shame on me, steal my shtick, shame on you.”

He downs another glass and grabs something off a platter as someone passes by. It looks suspiciously like a joint. He lights it up without a second thought; Danny tries his best to act like he doesn’t know what it is as Vlad eyes him through the corner of his eyes.

“Word is that you, Vladimir Masters, have been sneaking around granting favors to a chosen few. I don’t know how you grant said favors, I don’t particularly care. But I do wish you would stop.”

The dangerous aura that’s thick in the air is heavy, but the realization that Vlad has still been up to shady business is heavier. Danny slumps into the seat, leaning forward with a heavy sigh.

“So you have been up to shady shit,” Danny mumbles under his breath as he absently stirs the straw in what has to be his third glass of coke.

“If you don’t stop,” Lucifer continues, “I’m afraid I’ll have to make you stop. If Mazikeen does not get to you first.”

He gestures his thumb toward the woman that was outside the door; she hovers nearby as if she knows exactly what they’re talking about. The grin on her face is malicious, bordering on feral as she twirls a knife across her knuckles without breaking eye contact. That woman is intimidating, Danny swallows thickly, but grins wildly at Lucifer.

“Oh he’ll stop,” Danny reassures the man before Vlad can even get a word in. There’s an edge to his words; a very clear message underlying his words. “Otherwise I’ll make him stop myself.”

A flash of ectoplasmic green swirls across his eyes. Vlad, not quite intimidated by a sixteen year old still going through puberty, simply mumbles under his breath, oh stop with the ‘scary’ eyes, Daniel, honestly. Lucifer catches the moment, eying them both with interest as he relaxes into the chair. He makes a motion with his hand and suddenly the woman - Mazikeen - isn’t there anymore; Danny isn’t sure where she went, if he should be worried about it, or if it was a sign of good faith.

“ You are a very interesting child,” Lucifer says, “At first I thought you two may have been one of mine, but that’s not really the case is it?”

Danny isn’t sure what one of mine really means; he doesn’t really want to know either. The way Lucifer says it feels off, as if he’s not concerned by it or that they would have been in worse trouble if they had in fact been one of his (whatever that means). Vlad recovers fast, eying Lucifer with narrowed eyes.

“Just what is it that you’re inferring, Mr. Morningstar?”

“Why, that you’re not human, of course!”

He says it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, a large grin stretched on his face as he finishes off the suspicious joint, making a point to blow the smoke away from them. It may have been a trick of the light, or even just a magic trick, but Danny swears that the smoke formed some sort of devilish face. Complete with the horns and all.

Danny’s grin falters as he watches Lucifer closely.

F-uck-ing typical. At this rate, he will never get to see the endeavor or any other of California’s space museums. Why can’t he have just one normal road trip for once? No circus ringleader, no reality altering devices, no ghosts, and no ghost hunters. He just wants to get a selfie with a space shuttle, order as much hotel food as he can off of Vlad’s card, and then crash. Maybe even go to the Griffith Observatory. Fly to the Hollywood sign. Sneak into a Disney park and take a selfie on top of Cinderella’s castle. Just a normal trip (with a few added advantages to being a half-ghost boy). Now, he has to instead worry about some devil-obsessed (but definitely weird and maybe not human at all) club owner finding out his secret.

This is exactly what Danny told Vlad; meeting someone you don’t know is just a risk. At the very least, Lucifer doesn’t look like a ghost hunter. He definitely doesn’t fit the M.O. of a Guys In White agent. There could be other agencies out there though, other people who want to hunt them down. Who knows, maybe whatever this guy really is likes to eat ghosts or hunt them for sport. This is exactly what he was concerned about. Now, his secret, and Vlad’s secret too he supposes, could be blown all because Vlad had to go make a shady business deal.

Danny turns to Vlad, not even bothering to whisper as his voice cuts through the loud music.

“I told you so.”

#danny phantom #lucifer #crossover #fanfic #fic #fanfiction #x-over #uncle vlad #vlad masters #au

[yujaecha]

BTS at a Carnival Date | Scenario/Imagine

Info: fluff & tiny angst

Pairing: BTSxReader

Warnings: Alcohol, drunkenness, fainting

A/n: Loved doing this request! I loved the idea of a fun carnival vibe, though through writing, I don’t think I’ve ever been to an actual carnival! Can you believe that? Haha, I’m hoping my imagined idea is good enough! I’m picturing like brazil-carnival-colourfulness, like Rio carnival, which may be a little stereotypical, but I love the idea of this kind of energy!

NOTE: Y/F/N = Your friend's name and Y/F/BF = Your friend's boyfriend.

If you would like to make a request for a scenario, imagine, reaction, mtl, ship, or anything really take a look at my faq, and then drop me a request.

Song rec: Carnival B.A.P

Jin

You and Jin had wandered around the carnival for a few hours; the crowd had spread to the side street parties after the main procession. There were so many people around still, drinking, eating, dancing, and generally having fun. It was even beginning to get dark, but the atmosphere was still so vibrant and lively.

“Should we head home soon?” Jin inquired, as you weaved in and out around people. You absolutely did not want the night to be over just yet.

“I’m kind of hungry actually, why don’t we get some food then head off?”

“Ooh, good idea,” he scanned the small and tightly packed street

“There’s a table over there. Let's grab it quick before it gets taken!”

“Good spot!” You said, rushing towards the space. Fortunately, you managed to get there before anyone else.

“We can’t leave this spot until we are ready to leave; it’ll get snatched up so quickly." He said, looking around at the crowd; it even seemed to be getting busier compared to before.

“Did you enjoy the carnival?” You asked him. You hadn’t been seeing each other for that long, a few weeks, really. You were still getting to know each other, so you didn’t know if your suggestion to go to the carnival was a good one.

“It was great Y/N, really!” He was all smiles, which made you smile too.

“Ah, I’m glad.” You took a sigh of relief hearing he had enjoyed the date.

“Remember that man in the procession, the one in all blue on the stilts?”

“Yeah! He was super impressive; I couldn’t dance wearing those!” You admit.

“I’d love to see you try!” You both laughed. You continued to talk about the carnival, and Jin, perhaps accidentally, suggested you should both go back the following year together.

“Together?” You repeated, you didn't mean to sound surprised, but deep down, you didn't expect for him to suggest it so confidently.

“Of course!” He says firmly, making you blush. You both ordered some food and continued to talk about everything and anything. The food arrived, and it was incredible! Street food is seriously the best.

Eventually, you were reaching the end of your meals, and Jin noticed your shift in mood.

“What’s wrong Y/N?”

“Oh, I just realised that once we’ve finished the food, we should probably leave. The thing is, I’m just having so much fun.” You admit.

“I suppose… We’ll have to get some dessert then?” He suggested with a smirk. He clearly didn’t want to leave either.

Jin left the table in your hands to get something sweet for the two of you, meanwhile you leant on the table, far more tired than you had realised. You were so zoned out, you didn't realise Jin had returned, only when you felt something pressed onto your nose, buttercream frosting! You wake up out of your daze in shock as Jin giggles.

“Wakey wakey!” He laughs uncontrollably.

“Oh no, you didn’t!” You said, grabbing a small piece of cake and flicking it towards him. He stared in shock as it hits him in the cheek and a mischievous look appeared on his face in response. He flicked another piece towards you and you again back to him.

“Food fight!” you hear someone from the next table shout, and within no time, food is flying everywhere, and the whole of the street party is taking part in the madness!

Once everything had calmed down, you and Jin fell into each other’s arms, exhausted from the long day and then the food fight. You notice Jin staring at your lips.

He leans in “Oh. You have something there…” and picks off a small piece of cake frosting from the side of your mouth with his, rather teasingly. He smirked “got it.”

Suga

Yoongi really was not vibing the atmosphere of the carnival. He was complaining a lot about anything and everything.

“It’s so loud.” He groaned.

“It’s just music and people having fun! Stop being so grumpy.” You replied; it was your idea to go to the carnival in the first place, and you didn’t appreciate his attitude.

“There are so many people, too many!” He added. You decided to just let him carry on and walk with him without. It was your idea to come to the carnival after all, so you weren’t going to let his sour mood ruin it.

You weaved about, walking slightly ahead of Yoongi. There were many food and trinket stalls dotted along the carnival route, slightly away from the main bulk of people. But you couldn't help but feel a little deflated; you were missing the main spectacle to keep him happy. You grabbed some food and stood at the side to eat as all the tables were taken. You attempted to make conversation, but you’re pretty annoyed with him yourself.

“This is so good!” He declared, the first positive he had said thing all day.

“Well, at least one of us is having a good time.” You joked sarcastically, not really paying attention, trying to see the floats over the crowd. Your tone caught his attention, and he finally noticed you looking longingly at the procession and understood what his constant comments had done.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.” He looked at you. “I was just hungry, and it's hot. I shouldn’t have complained so much…” he trailed off a little.

“Don’t worry,” you sigh, “It’s not really your sort of thing anyway, is it?”

“That shouldn’t matter. I should have tried more; you wanted to come here, so I should have tried harder, for you.” He said earnestly.

“Let’s try and squeeze our way through? See what's going on?” He suggested, finishing up the food quickly.

“Are you sure?” you asked, and he nodded enthusiastically in response, a complete mood 360; I guess the food gave him a boost of energy.

You both try weaving through the spectators, but it’s no good; the crowd lining the procession is way too dense. Defeated, you decide to give up, but Yoongi knew it was pretty much his fault you didn’t get a spot earlier.

“Ah! I have an idea!” He said as he looks around “Stay right here for a minute, don’t move an inch!”

You stand there for a while wondering what he has up his sleeve, until he returns with a wide smile.

“Follow me!” He said excitedly, grabbing your hand and leads you to a nearby café. Confused, you follow him inside and up to the upper floor. The large room was cool away from the sun, and two glass doors that opened to a balcony with a perfect view of the carnival below. “Much better, huh? I think this is the best view.” He said, leading you out to look down at the procession, putting his arms around you as you both lean on the balcony rail and watch, away from all the crowds and commotion.

“I guess this way it’s the best of both worlds.” You laugh, leaning back into his chest. He really is good at making up for any moodiness. “Remind me to make the most of post-hangry Yoongi again! He's far more romantic than normal!”

J-Hope

Hobi would be so, so excited to be going on a date to the carnival; he’d literally be even more smiley and excitable than usual! He’d dress up pretty “loud,” if you get what I mean, and he would really embrace the day and overall vibes. It’s a place you can both fully immerse yourselves with music, dancing, and fun – his ideal date, really. I feel like he'd be the most likely one to plan this day solely by himself too.

The floats began to pass by gradually as the main part of the carnival began. You were both locked together, and he was pointing out anything and everything excitedly to you; it was such a rush to the senses.

“Ohh, look at that!” He said excitedly.

"How do they do that?" You said, staring at the float passing by.

“Look at that guy’s outfit!”

"He's so flashy!" You laugh together.

"I'd totally wear that." He said, leaning his head onto yours as you continue to look upon the brightly lit festivities.

"You'd look great too." You said matter-of-fact.

"You think so?" He asked excitedly.

"You look good in everything!" You replied, making him squeal cutely.

Suddenly, Hobi's expression changes, as the music, good music began to get louder and louder, more upbeat. You see his expression shift from joy, to curiosity, to a wide-eyed look nodding his head towards the road.

Before you know it, he had pulled you out into the procession, and he was shaking his hips like he’s part of the carnival from the beginning. Of course, he was encouraging you to dance too, you were just laughing at him and the situation. You had just been watching so peacefully, and now you were right in the middle of everything. At that point, what did you have to lose? You danced with him, and, for the most part, blended in with everyone else, but to the two of you, it was as if you are the only two there.

His eyes light up when he sees a nearby bloat with bright glittering lights, and you already know what he’s thinking.

“You can’t!” You said.

“Oh, I definitely can try!” He replied cheekily, giving you a mischievous smile. You couldn't help but cringe at his confidence; you really didn't understand how he did it. He disappeared behind the float, and you walked tentatively alongside, expecting him to come back disappointed, but next thing you know, he emerged atop the float, waving at you to come closer. You approached, so many people’s eyes are on the two of you now. He held out his hands.

“Come on! Get on with me!" And you did, because why the heck not? It was carnival after all, and you were there to have a good time! Somehow the two of you were receiving some of the most cheers from the crowd, or Hobi’s dance moves were at least!

“I can’t believe you!” You said, leaning towards him.

“You love it! Isn’t this way more fun than just watching?” He asked; you couldn't help but agree.

RM

You and Joonie had planned your whole vacation around this one day, you had never experienced a large-scale carnival like this, and you were both so excited. However, there was one issue, the traffic was mad!

You hadn’t really thought about the people, just the celebration. You both sat in the taxi, facing away from one another in silence for a while. You knew how irritated he could get when things didn’t go to plan, so you thought it was best to just remain quiet to avoid an argument.

“I’m sorry,” he finally piped up; you looked at him questioningly. “I should have thought of this; I didn’t think it would be this crazy.”

“It’s fine! We didn’t know.” You assure him. “It’s as much my fault, really don’t beat yourself up over it.” His expression didn’t shift. He began to talk with the taxi driver, seeing how easy it would be to turn around to head back to the hotel.

Defeated, you glanced out of the window and noticed other people abandoning their cars and approaching the carnival on foot. “Wait, don’t turn around!” You suddenly insisted, making both Namjoon and the taxi driver jump. “How long would it take to get there on foot?”

The driver explained it would take about a twenty-minutes to walk, if you were quick and told you a few shortcuts to take too.

“Come on!” You said, grabbing NamJoon’s hand. “If we run, we might make it for the big finale!”

“I don’t know, it’s quite far…” He said, looking in the direction of the carnival. He glanced at you and then his frown shifted to a smile “Do you know what? We’re on vacation! Why not?”

“Yes! Amazing, we’ll have to be quick, though!”

He flashes you a competitive look, a look you know well. “I’ll race you.” He said with a smirk.

“Oh, it’s on, Joonie!” You said back, “be prepared to lose.”

“Hah! We’ll see about that!” He said, grabbing the car door handle, making you do so also reflexively. You both exited the taxi (You paid the driver dw!) and began to run. NamJoon kept grabbing you from behind to sabotage you when you overtook him, and you could hardly run with the laughter between the two of you.

Fortunately, you managed to make it in time, and you managed to beat him too!

“I think looser has to buy drinks.” You insisted, out of breath.

“Hey, that wasn’t part of it.” He replied, also puffed out.

“Well, I’ve just decided that it is.” You said with a smirk and he nodded.

“Whatever you say, speedy.”

You wandered around for ages after the carnival was over, cooling down in the evening breeze. It was absolutely brilliant, more than you had imagined it to be, albeit a somewhat different experience.

Jimin

You had been stood now for a while, and you were cursing yourself for not buying that drink when you saw the seller just a while earlier. It was so hot, and you were feeling a little overwhelmed by all the people, colours, noise. It was a sensory overload.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jimin asked you once again, noticing your change of expression. You really didn’t want to let on that you were uncomfortable, so faked a bright smile.

“Sorry! I was just zoning out there.” You lied. He giggled at you before putting his arm around your shoulder affectionately. He returned his gaze to the floats and sways of people passing you by. Jimin would point out little details, but you couldn’t really focus and found yourself feeling very dizzy and lightheaded. He was so engrossed in the carnival procession, especially the dancing, and you were trying your best to be all smiles and play your part, but the sun shone down hot and heavy onto your head. Someone bumped into you both from behind, pushing you forward slightly.

“Woah, watch where you’re going!” You think you heard Jimin say, but that’s when the world started spinning, and your vision blacked out entirely.

You woke up away from the crowd a little, laying on your back. You weren't sure how long you had been out of it, but the atmosphere was still busy, and the air was still warm.

“Drink this Y/N! You’re okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” You heard a familiar voice trying to comfort you from above, but you could hear the slight panic in his voice too.

“I’m okay, I’m okay!” you said, trying to sit up, but Jimin held you back.

“Not so fast! I don’t want you fainting again!” You complied, leaning back into his embrace. He leant forward, fanning your face with a pamphlet for the carnival.

“I’m sorry,” you said, defeated. “I really wanted you to enjoy the carnival, but there were so many people, and it was so hot and-“

“-It’s okay!” Jimin said, cutting you off. “Really, I’d much rather you were okay than anything.” You sighed in agreement, with a pang of disappointment through you.

“I’m really okay now. Let’s go back and watch the rest.” You insisted.

“Oh, no way! I asked some guy to go and find a medic. You’re not moving an inch until they get here.” You couldn’t help but love how protective he was. Just a short while before, he was engrossed in the carnival, but now it was like you were the only thing that mattered to him in the world, as you lay in his arms.

The medic came, gave you the all-clear after a while, noting it was probably heat exhaustion. Jimin promised to take better care of you from then on, and you hated how he seemed to blame himself for not taking more notice when you aren't as cheery as he had expected watching the carnival. You tried to insist on returning to catch the end of the procession, but he wouldn’t let you leave the seat they had found for you. You were all pouty and felt undeniably guilty for ruining the day.

“I won’t let you stand and watch, but I suppose I could carry you?” He said, turning around and holding his arms outstretched for a piggyback.

V

It was your first date with TaeHyung, and you were really regretting your choice of location. You had only just arrived, but you were already struggling to hear each other or even walk next to each other it was so crowded.

“Why don’t we go over there? It looks a little quieter,” you queried.

“Sorry, what did you say?” he asked, leaning in towards you to hear you better.

“Oh, um, I said-“

“-Why don’t we go over there?” He interrupted, not hearing you. “It seems a bit less busy.”

You nodded in agreement and made your way towards a slightly more open space. It was no use, every time you tried to talk; something stopped the two of you from hearing each other; the band passing by, a child crying, two people stood near you laughing. You were beginning to worry it would ruin your chance with him altogether; a first date is enormously important after all.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” He asked you, shouting a little to be heard.

“I could have something,” you replied.

“Cotton candy?” he asked, pointing at a vendor.

You headed over together. He ordered one cotton candy and a bottle of water for each of you. You walked around the parameter of the carnival sharing the sweet treat; it was a little easier to hear each other there but still not good.

“Thank you for buying that. I’ll get the next thing,” you insisted, he laughed.

“It’s lively, isn't it? The carnival.”

“Yeah…” You looked around awkwardly. “I’m sorry.”

He stopped walking, turning towards you. “Why are you apologising? I don't mind it.”

“Because it’s such a bad choice for our first date, we can’t even speak.”

“Hmm, how can we fix this…” He thought hard, “Ah! I know,” He placed his arm around you swiftly, pulling you in close to him. “This is better right?” You panicked internally but tried hard not to let it show. You just nodded; after all, it was a lot easier to hear each other, if nothing else.

You continued, now far closer than before. As you walked, you spotted a group of kids dancing to the carnival band down a small side street away from the crowd. You giggle, looking at them having fun; Tae took note.

“Hey, you guys have some great moves!” He complimented them, approaching them “Do you think you could teach us how to dance like that?”

“Yeah! We’ll teach you!” The smallest one replied eagerly, pulling at his hand “you can be my partner.”

“Oh, I actually want to be Y/N’s partner, see she’s my date for today, and I wouldn't want her to be upset if I danced with someone else.”

“Ohhh, you’re on a date!” The kids replied in unison, eyeing the two of you.

"You’re really cute together!” The little one said with a wide grin. “That’s okay, I’ll dance with my brother, and we’ll show you, just copy us, okay?”

“That sounds great!” He replied to the kids, who had gotten very excited to teach two grown-ups their dance.

Tae took you by the hands, and sort of following your instructors, you danced together, laughing constantly.

“You two! Hurry up, the main float is coming!” A woman’s voice sounded behind you, the kid’s mother presumably.

“Ow, but we wanted to stay here!”

“No, come along now!” she insisted.

“I guess we have to go now.” The girl pouted.

“Well, thank you for teaching us your dance moves!” You said, leaning down to her “you’re a great teacher.” You held out both your hands for high fives, and she perked up slightly. Her brother high fived you too, and Taehyung held his hands to them too.

The kids left the side street leaving just Tae and yourself behind and suddenly the quiet between you seemed even louder than any noise from the whole day so far.

“We could stay here and dance some more?” Taehyung suggested, breaking the awkward space between you and stepped forward, holding his hands out to you again.

“I’d like that.” You admitted and took his hands once again. You began to dance, only he held you slightly closer this time…

Jungkook*

You and JungKook approach the carnival hand in hand; you were so excited. You noticed he seemed a little quiet, but it was the first time he was meeting your friend, one of your best friends from when you were kids too. You had arranged for him to meet her at the carnival; in theory, taking some of the awkwardness away. Plus, she was bringing her boyfriend too, so there was someone for Jungkook to get on with, and he wasn’t left out while the two of you caught up. You spotted them first and ran excitedly towards them. You had known your friend for years, and didn't mind her boyfriend, though you never really saw just what she saw in him.

“This is him then! Nice to meet you Jungkook, I’m Y/F/N” She said holding out her hand to shake, you instinctively laughed at her formality.

He shook it tentatively with a slight giggle. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot!”

“Good things,” you assured her, as your friend shot you a worried look. “Of course! Always good things.”

“So, this is the most recent addition to your long list of lovers then Y/N?” Your friend’s boyfriend joked, mocking your tragic lack of romance in the past, which he and your friend were all too aware of.

“Long list huh?” Jungkook asked surprised looking at you, you thought you saw a speck of jealousy but shrugged it off, he already knew your history, you had both been very open from the start.

“Ha! Yeah, as if!” You scoffed.

The four of you headed towards the carnival, where people are already gathering for the main procession along the main route. You all stood together, you and your friend reminiscing about old times. Jungkook listened to your old stories attentively, laughing along, while your friend's boyfriend wasn't really paying much interest. You looked towards Jungkook, who was staring at your friend's boyfriend as his girlfriend spoke, you could now tell for sure he was a little annoyed towards him.

“Are you okay?” You asked in a lowered voice, so the other two didn’t hear.

“You're not close with T/F/BF?”

“Not really, no. The three of us went to school together but I didn’t really know him much until they started dating.” You assured him. "Why?"

“He seems... uninterested.” He said, trailing off.

“He was just joking earlier, about my love life, I promise you.”

“No, no, I trust you, Y/N, really. I just didn’t appreciate the joke, nor his general attitude.” He admitted.

“Well, he’s just a bit of an overly confident guy; he doesn’t know when a joke is too much.”

You continued to watch the carnival together and decide to head away from the crowd for a drink.

“How much of a lightweight are you then, Jungkook?” Your friend’s boyfriend asked mockingly as you approached a pop-up bar. Oh dear! You look at Jungkook, who rolls his eyes.

“You want to see?” He asked him confidently, not breaking eye contact.

“Oh my gosh! Yes! Drinking game!” Your friend said excitedly, and you groan.

“Really, are we doing this?” You ask. Jungkook shoots you a look you recognise. He’s getting competitive.

Many, many rounds later, Jungkook slammed the glass down first. He had downed that one easy while Your friend’s boyfriend was struggling. Your friend was rubbing his back for encouragement, but it was no good; he turned to throw up.

“I guess I won?” Jungkook said, standing up with a wide grin, leaning towards you for a victory hug.

“Wow! I didn’t know you could drink so much!” You said, kind of impressed.

“Yeah, I really can’t. Please help me stand up straight,” he said with a low laugh; he was leaning on you heavily.

Your friend helped carry her boyfriend off, and they went to grab a taxi home. You left Jungkook on the road curb while you went to get him some water. When you returned, you dropped down to sit next to him. The carnival was coming to an end and the crowds dispersed. He rested his head on your shoulder and let out a big exhale.

“I think I’ll need some help standing up.” He admitted with a drunken chuckle. You sighed but agreed to look after him. It was hardly the way you had wanted the day to go, but you couldn’t help but be proud he put your friend’s boyfriend in his place and won, so you’d let him off this time.

*Not implying Jungkook os a drunk or anything just FYI!

#bts #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts scenario #bts imagine #bts x you #bts x reader #jeon jungguk #jongkook #taehuyng #bts rm #bts jhope #bts hoseok #bts jin #kim seokjin #suga #bts suga #bts yoongi #min yoongi #bts jimin #kpop imagine #kpop imagines #kpop scenario #kpop scenarios #kpop #imagine request #scenario request #requested #bts7sce #btssce

[mamahersh]

The Road to Hell (is Paved with Good Intentions) Chapter 5

“Season 8 was well underway, and the server’s first conflict is bubbling just under the surface. But BDoubleO can’t worry about that right now because he has an Etho to find so they can work on the Horse Course together. However when Xisuma calls a surprise server meeting on behalf of EvilXisuma, BDubs gets his answers about where Etho’s been in the worst way possible.”

(CW: angst, blood, gore, torture)

Chapter rating: M

Back to the rescue team and those left behind, focusing on BDubs and a surprise Mumbo Jumbo! (Bet you weren’t expecting Mumbo angst.) Thank you all again for your interest! As previously mentioned, if you enjoyed this, I was directly inspired by this fic over on AO3. 

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 6

BDubs knew it was going to be hard trying to find where Etho and EvilX were hiding, but he neglected to remember how nerve wracking it would be with the added challenge of hearing his communicator go off every time someone died. Admittedly, it had only been the two times thus far, but checking and seeing they were both Etho made him want to go insane. The only boon they had, paradoxically, was the same curse keeping Etho stuck in that hell hole: that they were able to respawn in the same place they had died in. This at least meant that their progress wouldn’t be undone at a moment’s notice because someone died and got sent to their base halfway across the map in the opposite direction they were searching. 

After he had checked his communicator to see the death message, “Ethoslab was slain by Ethoslab whilst trying to escape EvilXisuma”; BDubs decided he would stop watching chat completely. If someone died, he knew they would be fine, and he really didn’t need to know how else Etho was going to suffer till they found him. Plus, he had Doc keeping an eye on Etho for him. And he had Beef by his side, plus the Big Eye crew supporting him. He just had to keep reminding himself he wasn’t alone, it wasn’t the jungle again, he had his people with him.

“Hey BDubs, you see anything yet?” called out Tango, flying by on his own elytra. BDubs startled in the straps of his elytra, and focused more on the ground below. 

“I got nothin’!” he called back, swooping to the back of the formation the big eyes crew had made to check the area stretching from the girls’ southernmost border to the northernmost border of Cleo and Joe’s shared territory. They had decided to first fly over their assigned strip of the x coordinate line to see if there was anything obviously wrong from a bird’s eye view. After that, depending on the results from the other search teams, they would dig down in strategic intervals to be as thorough as possible. They had calculated the size of the room based on the video feed before they had left, and so they planned on digging straight down every 9 blocks along the axis. As crazy as that was, they were hoping with forteen hermits all doing it at the same time equally spaced along the line, they would be able to find Etho within an hour or two. (This all assumed that EvilX hadn’t been lying, but this was the only thing they had.)

——————————————————-

Mumbo hated every decision that had led him to this moment. He hated every decision that others have made on his behalf that had led to this moment. (That was a lie, he blamed himself completely. Even though Grian had had the idea to institute him as the CEO of Boatem, it was still his final say as to whether he would actually complete the role assigned to him. It was his decision to step up to the plate and lead them at this critical time. Everything that was happening was entirely his fault.) As he watched, horrified, Etho having to stay strong without anyone by his side; Mumbo thought he would throw up. If he didn’t faint first that was. (How pathetic of him, that he couldn’t handle the consequences of his actions.) He stood miserable in front of the screen, promising himself the least he could do was watch every moment Etho was without help and in pain because of him.

Beside him, Xisuma frantically typed in his admin console, seemingly trying in vain to undo whatever EvilXisuma had done to the respawn mechanics. To his other side, TFC stood stoically, seemingly unaffected by what he was witnessing, though Mumbo was sure that if he looked over, he’d be able to see the disguised pain in TFC’s eyes. Behind and a bit to the side of Xisuma was Joe, who’s pain was obvious to see, but stood strong despite it. (Mumbo wondered why Joe was here at all, till he remembered how close Joe was to Xisuma). To TFC’s other side stood Doc, who looked about one more Etho death from finding a way to crawl through the screen and detonating in EvilXisuma’s face. And to Joe’s other side stood Scar, sympathetic tears trailing down his face and holding himself in a way that Mumbo knew he did when he was particularly missing the comfort of Jellie the cat.

Mumbo watched as Etho poofed back into existence, arm that he had mangled looking noticeably more mangled than before.(Though there was something off about the restraints and his arm’s relation to them that Mumbo couldn’t place. It didn’t help the camera’s resolution wasn’t quite perfect clarity, and a bit of a wide shot, so details were a little difficult to pick out. Though it didn’t stop them from seeing the next part just fine.) Once Etho was back, EvilXisuma punched him in the face, hard enough they could see a tooth fly out of his mouth.

“You will regret that,” stated EvilXisuma, just barely loud enough to be picked up by the camera. (Mumbo knows Etho would normally have replied with something like, ‘you already said that’, but, well…)

“Any updates Xisuma?” questioned Doc, still staring intently at the screen looking for any clues as to the whereabouts of the the torture room. 

“He’s still goin’ strong Doc,” replied Joe instead, peaking over Xisuma’s shoulder to see what he was up to. “You got any new clues?”

Doc growled under his breath. “No.” He sounded bitter to Mumbo, all acid and sharp edges. 

“I can’t tell, but there’s something different about his arm I think,” said Mumbo hesitantly, nervously watching as the rest of the group stared intently up at the screen to see what he meant. 

Scar spoke up, “I think I see what you mean. His arm isn’t quite aligned correctly with the chair arm, right?”

Mumbo nodded, pointing at Etho’s arm on the screen where it seemed to almost intersect with the cuff and was bleeding profusely. “I don’t know how, like if it was just a natural consequence of trying to move his arm in that direction as he died and respawned, or if it was just a one time fluke; but he seems to have gotten his wrist intersected with the cuff on the armrest and the stake from earlier seems off center.”

As Mumbo was trying to explain, EvilXisuma had begun to focus on Etho’s fingers, and starting on the opposite hand to the one they were observing, he began to break them individually. Mumbo was selfishly happy that he didn’t have to focus on Etho’s pain for a moment as he allowed himself to fully focus on the potential puzzle in front of him.

TFC suddenly spoke up, voice coming off as gruff. “Hrm, this is good and all, but it depends entirely on EvilXisuma not noticing this little update; which we’ve done a pretty poor job at not letting him on. What with him more than likely able to hear us, and all that.” Doc muttered a quiet, “fuck” under his breath in response, and they all held their breath as they waited to see if EvilXisuma would say anything.

Instead of saying anything, he continued to methodically snap more of Etho’s fingers, causing the group to flinch in varying amounts at each wet snap. However, as Mumbo was trying to take in details not relating to Etho’s pain, he could tell that the mic was picking up EvilXisuma’s muttering. But Mumbo didn’t have the super amazing hearing that someone like Ren or Grian had; but he wondered if one of the other people in the group here had more sensitive hearing. “Anyone able to make out what he’s saying?” muttered Mumbo.

Doc hissed a quiet affirmative, and muttered back, “Yesssss, but I need to focus. Please everyone be quiet, thanks.” Everyone but Xisuma nodded back, who was too busy still trying to figure out what EvilXisuma had done to the code to notice anything else around him. 

Mumbo did his best to both suffer the consequences of his actions, while at the same time he couldn’t stand watching one of his fellow Hermits in that much pain. He could no longer distract himself, as he couldn’t make out what EvilXisuma was saying, and there were only so many times he could try to determine how many pixels on the screen related to the walls were just stone or his imagination trying to give him impossible answers. EvilXisuma had finally finished with Etho’s left hand, and he now moved to the right before he took a noticeable pause. Mumbo held his breath, hoping beyond hope that EvilXisuma somehow hadn’t noticed Etho’s weirdly placed hand. But that was an impossible wish after all.

“Well well well, how have you managed this then?” Evil Xisuma appeared to poke the part of the wrist that seemed to be poking part way out of the cuff. Mumbo couldn’t help but notice that Etho seemed so gone that he barely flinched at what should have been an incredibly painful jostle. “I’m interested in seeing how you struggle with this.” Evil X nodded at Etho. “Yes, I shall let you struggle. But we still have about 9 more bones to break, so on we go.” With that, he kneeled in front of Etho and started snapping the fingers on Etho’s right hand. Each wet snap ended with a muted whine and shudder from Etho, who seemed to have zoned out far enough that any reactions seemed mostly involuntary at this point. EvilXisuma seemed quiet for the first few snaps, before he went back to muttering in a just barely audible way. Mumbo could only assume that EvilXisuma was unaware that his mic sensitivity was set too high, and thought he was muttering in such a way as for those of them watching the stream would be unable to hear him. That, or it was an unconscious habit, and didn’t even realize he was doing it. Either way, Mumbo continued hoping he would continue to do so, so that maybe he would let something slip and Doc could post it in chat.

Meanwhile Doc had been listening closely to what EvilX had been saying, but none of it thus far had led to a clue. Most of what he was muttering were curses and the terrible things he planned to do to Etho. Honestly Doc wished he couldn’t hear what EvilX was saying, just so that he wasn’t obligated to continue listening to see if that scum slipped up. But the chance of catching something important was too high, so he went back to diligently listening to the stream, mentally cursing at every suppressed gasp or whine or wet snap from Etho.

EvilXisuma made quick work of Etho’s fingers, and seemingly tired of Etho’s lack of responses decided he needed to kill him. However, because he was feeling particularly vindictive, he gutted Etho, guts spilling over his knees before he disappeared in a flash of red. Mumbo, morbidly curious how the game would register the death, looked down at his communicator. “Ethoslab was slain by EvilXisuma.” He was selfishly grateful that the server messages were that generic. He watched further as Etho poofed back into the chair, though as before his killing blow hadn’t followed him through respawn, but all his previous wounds did. Mumbo looked very carefully at Etho’s wrists and saw that he had managed to get his wrist farther out, and the stake seemed almost completely out of his arm. Unfortunately for Etho, respawn managed to break him out of his trance, and he seemed far more present and aware (and in pain) for the moment. The only positive that Mumbo could see was that EvilXisuma seemed to have either turned off the speakers on his end, or was ignoring them completely. But Mumbo could only hope that either Doc would hear something soon, or the search parties would stumble across the hidden room soon; because he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could watch.

#BDouble0 #mumbo jumbo #ethoslab #docm77 #tinfoilchef #tangotek #goodtimeswithscar #bdubs #etho #tfc #scar #tango #mumbo #hermitcraft #hc fanfiction #blood #gore #torture #oddly specific but #breaking fingers

[petri808]

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Chapter 2 Inukag angst

The surgery lasted for five nerve wracking hours, all the while the distress in the group building. They were kept semi-up-to-date by a nurse that the surgeons were struggling to control the bleeding in Kagome’s brain. When it was finally over, the primary surgeon brought the family into a separate room where he showed them scans to help in explaining the situation. It was the first time they learned the air bags had not deployed, and even though Kagome was wearing her seat belt, her head is believed to have struck the steering wheel, and the driver’s side window as she was jostled.

“We went in and repaired as many of the damaged blood vessels as we could, but as you can see here in this CT scan, there was some anoxia, erm, loss of oxygen to the cells, and the damage had reached the hippocampus. If you picture being shaken with a lot of force, the brain was essentially whiplashed. The good news is, the internal injuries are not as severe as it could have been and are localized to only one side, but the bad news is where the injured areas are.”

“Why is that?” Inuyasha questioned.

“The hippocampus is an important part of the brain for regulating the limbic system... when Ms. Higurashi wakes up, chances are high that she’ll develop what’s called retrograde amnesia. If her body heals well enough, it will only be temporary, which I believe will be the case. However, there is also the small chance her memory loss could become permanent.”

“Wait, so Kagome won’t remember anything?!” Panic-laced with Inuyasha's tone.

“Not exactly, and again, the memory system is very complex. We don’t know all the answers. But generally, people will remember long term memories, such as their childhood. She just may not remember the last few years of her life.”

“And if it’s temporary? When would her memories come back?” Mrs. Higurashi questioned.

“Generally, if her healing goes well, most recover in about 6-9 months with therapy.”

“Oh... no...” Inuyasha crumpled and fell to his knees, hands flying up to cradle his head in the realization— Kagome may not remember him, and along with her last words of hatred and tears as the only thing he had to hold on to... “No, no, no, t-this can’t be happening.” His heart started beating wildly in his chest and a sharp imagined pain dug into his temple as tears poured down his cheeks. “Kagome...” he whimpered. Inuyasha would do anything in to change what had happened. She didn’t deserve any of this!

Mrs. Higurashi too, kneeled beside the inconsolable man and hugged him. “We just have to hold out hope, Inuyasha, this is just temporary. I’m sure it’ll all work out, Kagome’s strong, so have faith in her.”

“I’m very sorry I don’t have better news,” the doctor apologized and gestured to the nurse who’d just arrived. “They’re moving her to intensive care now. The nurse will take you to the room.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Mrs. higurashi then turned her attention to Inuyasha. “Can you stand up dear? We should follow the nurse.”

He nodded quietly and staggered to his feet despite all the strength having left his body. Inuyasha always had an appreciation for Mrs. Higurashi, but it was in this moment he understood just how strong she truly was. Kagome’s mother survived losing her husband to an accident when the kids were little and now her own daughter was unconscious in a hospital. Yet here she was holding it together and comforting the man who’d played a role in it. Inuyasha allowed her to guide him by the hand like the scared child he’d become. She was for all purposes like a second mother to him, and he was grateful to have her in his life.

But the second they crossed the threshold of the sterile room, what little strength Inuyasha didn’t have left, dissolved at the sight of Kagome surrounded by the machines keeping her alive. He stared silently as the nurse explained further. A medically induced coma... breathing and feeding tube, catheter, blood transfusions... left distal wrist fracture, broken rib, punctured lung and chest contusions, cracked left eye socket... his mind zoned away from the woman’s static words, instead affixed to the visual’s confronting the group. The love of his life as if asleep, but with all those wires, and tubes, beeping machines, and face bandaged showing only a small portion of her right side was a real life horror movie scene. His eyes tracked the peaks and valleys of the heart monitor or piston-motion of the breathing apparatus beside the bed as of it tracked not Kagome’s vitals but his own life and the one, he had with her. Yes, there’s always the hope she’ll heal and bounce right back. Her mom was right, Kagome was strong, and Inuyasha loved that about her, but... humans are still such fragile creatures.

Inuyasha walked over to the side of the bed and gazed down through glassy eyes. “I already bought a ring...” he mumbled through the tears, “was just waiting for the perfect time to pop the question. I should’ve just... listened to her...” Inuyasha collapsed beside the bed with his head hung low and ears so flattened they were barely visible through his white hair. “I can’t even imagine not having her at my side.”

Miroku stepped forward and placed a hand on his friends shoulder. “Why don’t you let us take you home for now? There’s nothing you can do, and I’m sure Kagome would say you should get some rest.”

“I’ll stay tonight,” Mrs Higurashi added. “You should listen to your friend and get some rest.”

Inuyasha was just too exhausted to argue. He hugged Mrs. Higurashi and told her he’d be back the next day. Then he handed Miroku his car keys, while Sango would follow in their car. Frankly, he didn’t think he would be getting any sleep, but they were right. It wouldn’t do Kagome any good if he didn’t take care of himself too. The car ride was silent for the first half of the journey, but eventually Miroku started asking him more about what really triggered the fight. Inuyasha had already explained the reason earlier, so it was annoying to be grilled all over it again.

“But do you understand now?” Miroku pushed his friend. “Do you truly, and I mean truly understand why she was angry? Even I’ve seen your ex being rude to Kagome and you didn’t say anything about it.”

“Yeah,” Inuyasha growled back. “I get it. I was being a dick this whole time. But I can’t go back and change it now, so what’s the point of torturing me about it?!”

“Because you can still fix this moving forward. Look, I’m just trying to help you here, so cut the attitude. None of us are perfect—.”

“I’ll say, you womanizer,” Inuyasha rumbled under his breath.

“Exactly, but I changed once I met Sango, did I not, because that’s what you do when you love them. So, do you know what you need to do?”

“Yeah...” the hanyo sighed and slumped in the seat. “I gotta cut Kikyo off, just tell her we can’t be friends anymore.”

Miroku quirked an eyebrow based on the lackluster tone in Inuyasha’s voice. “Do you really mean it, cause it sure as hell don’t sound like it.”

“Look, man I’m fucking tired! I’ve got a lot on my mind! But I fucking mean it, okay?! If I have to choose between Kagome and Kikyo, I pick Kagome!”

Miroku parked the car and turned to his friend. “I’m glad to hear that. Now just follow through and don’t let Kikyo pull you back in.”

“You make her sound like a sorcerer or something.”

“The way she’s had you wrapped around her finger, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

The three friends bid each other good night leaving Inuyasha alone again in the empty house, and as he expected, he didn’t really sleep at all that night at home. He couldn’t even bear to sleep in the empty bed because it was a constant reminder of Kagome’s absence. How was he supposed to endure months of this, and that’s if the doctors predictions are correct? So, as he curled up on the couch, just staring out into the dark room, Inuyasha did the only thing he could do. Think. Without Kagome to elaborate, it fell onto his shoulders to fully come to grips with what triggered this event. Inuyasha meant what he’d said to Miroku about his choice, but it was a small lie about understanding her anger. He could grasp her frustration, but not the degree to which she’d snapped. Was it really that bad, and if so, how did he not realize it sooner? Needless to say, his haunted dreams that night left him stricken and tired come morning.

The house just felt so much colder without Kagome there, as if all the warmth and vitality left with her on that stormy, dreary night. Even after the first night, Inuyasha couldn’t bear to sleep in their bed all alone and stuck with the couch instead. Nothing made him feel better, despite the efforts of his friends and family who supported him as much as they could. Each day that passed by became a hollow routine. Go to work during the day, spend his evening at Kagome’s side, and home again to an empty house. He would sit there holding her hand, praying for just the smallest change that never came all the while nothing but his thoughts and the beeping machines to remind him he was alive. Because the longer this went on for, each time he’d look at her, it brought the opposite feeling of life. It was all in his head, but that’s what he felt like, dead inside, with the source of his soul lying in the bed in front of him.

Inuyasha never believed in the gods, but he prayed with all his heart they’ll hear his pleas. He squeezed Kagome’s lifeless hand. “She deserves to live, please, I’ll do anything,” his voice cracked, “anything to bring her back to us...”

#inukag #inukag au #inuyasha #inukag fan fiction #inukag fan fic #Kagome higurashi #amnesia prompt #angst #angst with happy ending

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Killing Cure (Part 19)

It is faintly entertaining to see those little fly beasts greet their mother. They swarm her, quite literally engulfing her in a cloud of flies. They haphazardly smack into her as though she is the only streetlamp on the roadside. Finally their frantic energy comes to a slow and they assemble themselves into their human guises. 

 Daniela throws her arms around Alcina first, enveloping her in a tight grip. He can see on her face that she is struggling to breathe and more so when Cassandra adds her own hug. “You guys are crushing her!” Bela scolds and they loosen their hold. Alcina exhales. 

 “Mother, you’re home!” Cassandra beams. 

 “Yes dear, for the night and then I have to leave again.”

 Daniela’s grip tightens once more. “No, mother!” 

 “I’ll be back before you can miss me.”

 “But we miss you right after the door closes, mother.” Bela pouts. Ethan’s stomach twists. 

 Alcina ruffles the girl’s hair. “Has the Duke been treating you well?”

 “Oh yes, he brings us the best food.” Cassandra answers. 

 “And we get to…” Daniela nudges Bela before she can finish. 

 “Before you can what? What does he let you do?”

 “Nothing mother!” Bela replies, earning herself an eye roll. 

 And Ethan’s stomach lolls again both with affection and sorrow. It is a delight to see Alcina smiling again--that soft, warm smile that she has reserved for her daughters alone. All the same it is growing harder and harder for him to imagine a future where he gets to hold his own daughter again. Harder for him to imagine a future where he will eventually get to scold her and ask her why she had been out so late or what petty teenage secrets she is keeping from him. 

If worse comes to worst, he wonders if Alcina would let him have moments like this with her daughters. It is better than not having them at all. 

 God, he hopes that his Rose is still alive. Alive and still Rose and not something that this damnable village has warped her into…

 “Manthing, come here!” Daniela shouts. 

 At least he knows that one of them would welcome him to the family if he had no other…

His tummy does another flip. He is thinking as if his daughter is already gone. He can’t afford to think that way. He tries instead to imagine a future where those fly beasts play with his daughter and give her their warped version of what teenhood and young adulthood is all about.

 Bela, he notices, still has not let go of Alcina. He isn’t sure that she will. 

 .oOo.

 “I should hate you, I should absolutely loathe you.” She pauses. “And make no mistake, I really do want to. I think about everything you’ve done to my daughters, how you’ve almost killed them, how you’ve hurt them. I think about what you’ve done to me.” She hovers her hand over the spot on her side. “I think about how terribly it still hurts.” He cringes but she continues, “oh, and it works, Winters, I want to flay you alive…” 

 He takes several steps back, somehow plenty assured that she would be able to find a way if she really wants to. “Then why don’t you?”

 “I can’t.” She mumbles. “You’re...thrilling, Winters. I haven’t met a human that has impressed me in a very long time. They’re all the same, mostly.” 

 He very nearly points out her humanity but he curbs his tongue at the thought of getting flayed alive. “I don’t know, I’m kind of just a man myself.” 

 “Not quite.” She murmurs. “You have...ambition. You have goals and determination.”

 He finds himself soaking the comments in like a sponge, absorbing them until they warm his soul and his cheeks. He doesn’t think that he should let him get used to them though. He imagines that he will say or do something that will earn him twice as many insults. 

 But the expression on her face remains rather soft. Kinder than he is used to. Truly he finds it hard to understand this woman. This woman who hates him one moment and then cherishes him then next. He wonders if she is like this with everyone she meets or if he makes her feel a special sort of conflict; habit and a comfort zone versus change and adaptation. 

 She seats herself at the head of the table. “Be a dear, Winters, fetch my daughters and I something to drink.” 

 Her daughters eye him with excitement.

 “What’s the magic word?” He tries with a lopsided smile. 

 “Go.” She points towards the wine cellar. He supposes that he should be thankful that she is permitting him to enter her treasured cask at all. He stands up and she flashes him one of her smug, self-satisfied smiles. 

 .oOo.

 Her wine doesn’t taste the same and it makes her sick in every way that it can--physically first and then emotionally, realizing that she can no longer stomach such an extraordinary, delectable taste. She supposes that she can still have herself a good blood bath every now and then, the texture is still pleasant, perhaps just not on her tongue. She rifles through her dresser for the most comfortable nightgown she owns. She might as well enjoy it while she has it. When she finds it she carries it to the bathroom. She supposes that she can fill it with the wine that she can no longer drink...

 “You used to sing!” Ethan declares from across the adjoining bedroom. Alcina’s face flushes, the man wasn’t supposed to have found that again, he wasn’t supposed to remember it.

 “Can you still sing?”

 “I haven’t done so in a very long time.”

 “You should give it a try.” He grins. 

 “Absolutely not.”

 “Come on mother!” Daniela perks up. “Sing something for us!” She isn't sure when the girls had come to join them. She sighs, having a feeling that her bath will have to wait a little longer. Probably becomes a definitely when The Duke find his way into her room.

 “You haven’t sang to us in a long time.” Bela agrees.

 “Girls…” She mutters through gritted teeth. 

 “Just one song, mother?” Cassandra requests. 

 “Now look what you’ve done.” She glowers at Ethan. But the man looks plenty pleased with himself. “I’ll sing if you can get The Duke to play the piano.” She folds her arms stubbornly across her chest. 

 “Gladly, m’lady.” The Duke replies. He strolls his way over to the grand piano and shifts in his chair several times until he finds himself a position that he finds to be both comfortable and optimal for reaching the keys. He plays a few test notes. “What are we singing, Miss D?”

 Alcina crinkles her noise. “That’s Lady Dimitrescu, to you Duke.” 

 The man gives a hearty chortle. 

 She tries to think of a short song, one that she hasn’t forgotten over time. “I will sing Vai Mindruto. You know the cords, yes?”

 “Most assuredly, m’lady.” He strikes the first few notes and Alcina inhales deeply. It has been so terribly long since she has sung even a note. Much less since she has sung before a crowd, nevermind that her audience is small and familiar. 

 .oOo. 

 What she no longer has in size, Lady Dimitrescu makes up for in presence, demeanor, and volume. With a voice like that she might as well be ten feet tall. Her vocals are smooth and her diction is flawless and powerful. 

 He had been expecting an uppity jazz number and she has graced them with an operatic ballad. He thinks that this might just be better than what he’d expected. She has a voice that transcends eras. A voice akin to sipping opulent champagne with his free hand clutching the  gold filigree railing of a  balcony. Her voice has likeness to the warm glow of a diamond chandelier throwing prisms around an otherwise dark and empty ballroom. 

It is haunting and elegant and haunting in its elegance. 

 He observes her daughters as they look upon their mother. Bela is falling asleep on Cassandra’s shoulder as she leans forward to have a better listen. And Daniela buzzes about in a slow, languid sway, dancing with a partner who isn’t there at all. 

 Alcina herself stands with her eyes closed and her head tilted up, perhaps imagining herself at another place and in another time entirely.  For the first time in a while she looks to be at peace. And just when he thinks that the song is reaching its peak, it reaches its end. He resents that it had been so short. The air is still charged with energy several minutes after the last ghost of a note tapers off down the hallway. Still charming even now that the room is fully silent. 

 Her hands fall back to her sides and she opens her eyes. Daniela gives several absurdly loud claps and Bela bolts upright with a disgruntled grumble. The Duke stands up and stretches, “it’s always a pleasure to do a number with you, Lady Dimitrescu.” He clicks his tongue. “A lovely voice for a lovely lady.”

 She clears her throat, “thank you Duke.” 

 “Why did you stop singing?” Ethan asks.

 She furrows her brows. “Mother Miranda says that it is a waste of time.” 

 The more he hears of that woman, the more he resents her. “Do you enjoy singing?” 

 Alcina hums as she ponders the question, that in itself is answer enough. Finally she nods, “well enough, yes.” 

 “Then it isn’t a waste of time.” Ethan flashes her a smile. “It makes your girls happy too.” 

It makes him happy.

#Alcina Dimitrescu #Lady Dimitrescu #Ethan Winters #Alcina/Ethan #Fanfiction

[listentothelittlebird]

Today I bring you: an alternate Super Sons meeting! (This is a scrapped scene from my Code Bat series on ao3, but I think this is still enjoyable without context!)

The rewrite of this is here!

“I told you, coming with me would be boring.”

“Tt. Whatever, Drake.”

The nickname had long lost its malicious tinge. Tim rolled his eyes, trying to quell the fond smile that was twitching at his lips by ducking his face back down towards the paperwork on his table.

He was in a usually vacant office, at the Wayne Enterprises building of New York. Damian was playing a video game of some sort on his phone. Tim leaned over to peer at the boy’s screen. Damian tried to jerk away from his view, but Tim had already caught sight of the display.

Tim snorted, “Is that Dragonvale?”

“Shut up,” Damian snapped, his emotions betrayed by the reddening of his cheeks. Tim laughed lightly before returning to his work, the office descending into companionable silence, the only sounds coming from Tim shifting around the papers and clicking and unclicking his pen.

Damian had insisted on coming along for Tim’s business trip to New York. Not because he wanted to have a hand at the business, no, but because the young artist was interested in sketching the streets of the city - especially from the more illegal perches they could find on the tall buildings.

A ping from Tim’s phone caught his attention. He frowned minutely, enough of a change for Damian to raise an eyebrow from where he had positioned himself in the corner of the office, right next to the window overlooking the street below. Damian had already grown bored of the same view, having sketched the same perpsective for three days straight.

“So much for a peaceful business trip,” Tim murmured, signing quickly to Damian from behind his desk, where the camera in the room was unable to see, “K-O-N is in town. Pursuing T-O-Y-M-A-N.”

Damian tilted his head to the side, a silent question of “How?”, because New York was not exactly a neighbour to Metropolis. Tim shrugged with a disgruntled look, “Let’s go. I’m pretty much done with what I have to do right now. The rest can wait until later.”

Damian kept pace with Tim as he made a quick detour to access his spare costume before exiting the building. They were becoming more and more like real brothers each day - just the fact that Damian was here with Tim, without any of their other family members, already spoke volumes on their improving relationship. “What do I do?” Damian wondered curiously, “I know you’re intending on meeting up with him. Would my presence be distracting?”

Tim pursed his lips in thought. He had to admit, Damian’s new costume - the robe dyed with faint colourings - was pretty neat, but also very easily located. Damian would definitely stand out, if he did suit up. Not to mention that Damian had little to no exposure to any metas besides Duke, and would struggle to hide from Kon’s super senses.

“If you’re ready to make your debut, then I’ll see you at the destruction zone,” Tim clasped his hand briefly on Damian’s shoulder before ducking into the nearest alleyway. Damian would take more time to make it to where Toyman was currently wreaking havoc, since he had left his robe in their hotel room.

Sure enough, when Red Robin swooped down from the nearest rooftop to land a direct hit on Toyman’s newest creation, the flash of Damian’s white costume was still nowhere to be seen.

There was, however, another tween present. It did not take a genius to realise from the boy’s red cape and blue Superman tunic that this was Kon’s younger brother, Jon.

“How did Toyman get all the way to New York?” Red Robin aimed the question at his teammate, electing to ignore the presence of the younger boy for the time being.

Superboy huffed, visibly annoyed. “He let loose a ton of smaller toy robots, miniatures of the one he’s currently on,” Kon pointed to the UFO-like contraption that was zipping about the skies. He then directed a glare at his younger brother, “And somebody decided to ditch homeland, so that their Pa has to do all the work taking the robots down himself.”

“Pa can take care of the robots just fine!” Jon yelled, angry tone still dangerously close to a whine, “And I can help you! It all works out!”

Kon looked ready to argue back, so Tim cut in with a quick, “Less talk, more work. We can deal with family squabbles later.” Both Superboys instantly fell silent.

Toyman was rather irritable, Tim realised. Particularly so for him, since he was unable to fly and was restricted to the rooftops or fire escapes along the sides of the buildings. It was one of the few times that he wished he had incorporated his gliding wings into his Red Robin suit instead of his Gotham suit.

The villain also seemed to have a shield around his robot, preventing them from inflicting much damage on the UFO he was in. Tim was also constantly weary of the civilians - they were unable to properly clear out of the way, since Toyman kept switching streets and running off in different directions.

Jon tried to punch straight through the shield, but the shield deflected the force of his blow right back at him with a displacing wave of energy, sending the boy hurtling into a nearby building. The boy growled and got back to his feet, aiming to punch the shield a second time. The buildings around them were already unstable from the force of the first blast.

“Kid, don’t!” Red Robin called, but Jon had already flown straight into the shield, forcefully flinging his fist into the barrier.

-

Damian arrived on scene just as the buildings began to crumble. He stayed crouched a distance away, just shy of the main impact zone of the concussive wave.

Damian first noted the failing infrastructures of the buildings nearest to the blast. He was moving before his thoughts had fully formed, diving quickly through the sizable hole in the building and sprinting towards the unlucky civilians that were caught up in the chaos. He had to clear the building fast, before they were crushed under it.

He lowered the last person to the ground with his grappling hook, only to look up and note the presence of not one, but two Superboys. The smaller one looked to be around his own age, which was both intriguing and concerning.

The second Superboy now looked down at him from where he was holding up the upper half of the building he had just exited. “Who are you?” the boy asked in bewilderment. Damian backed away before ducking into the alley beside him, making his way onto the rooftop of a stable building.

“I could use some help!” Red Robin yelled from one street over, where Toyman had retreated to. Red Robin was using what looked to be electrified bird-a-rangs, which were just barely able to get through the shield, but were not doing much in terms of damage.

Damian slipped a small throwing knife into his hand, aiming his shot carefully. Toyman was facing away from him, and his control panel was on full display from where Damian was crouched. He waited until Red Robin readied another bird-a-rang, before throwing his knife in sync with him.

The shield malfunctioned for a split second once more, and it was all that was needed for the knife to slip through at the same time as the bird-a-rang, planting itself neatly into the controls. The wiring fizzled for a brief moment as Toyman cried out, whipping his head back to meet Damian’s blank mask.

The shield disappeared, and then Superboy - Kon-El - was delivering a sharp punch that crunched through the robot’s metallic body easily. The younger Superboy came soon after, hanging back as Red Robin and his older brother subdued Toyman properly.

The boy wrinkled his nose briefly, before looking directly at Damian, his expression brightening. Damian took a cautious step away from the edge of his rooftop even as Superboy flew up to him, landing heavily enough to crack the concrete slightly.

“You’re the guy from earlier!” Superboy enthused, and extended a hand, “Hi! I’m Superboy!”

Damian gazed warily at the boy’s hand. “Will you crush my hand if I shake yours?” Damian blurted out. This was his first time holding a conversation with one of the Kryptonians, he realised.

Superboy froze, and his face fell as he retracted his hand, “Ah, maybe. Sorry, I- I’m new to the hero gig,” he smiled hesitantly, glancing around him, “This is the first time I’ve been Superboy in any city other than Metropolis, actually. It’s… different.”

“I can imagine,” Damian commented, shifting tensely on his feet. Superboy frowned at him, “Your heartbeat’s going kinda fast. You know you don’t need to be afraid of me, right?”

Damian huffed, wondering belatedly how his brothers dealt with their own teammates. “I’m not afraid,” he clarified, “But it isn’t every day you meet an alien.”

“I’m not- okay, fair,” Superboy paused abruptly to glance down at the street. Kon-El and Red Robin appeared over the rooftop’s edge.

“Who are you?” Kon-El questioned, more forcefully than his younger brother’s harmless query. Damian shrugged. “Canvas,” he offered, “That’s what I would prefer to be called.”

The older Kent’s eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t exactly explain who you are very well,” he stated slowly, “What were you doing in the area?”

“Passing through,” Damian quipped easily. Kon-El’s frown deepened, but lifted as Red Robin pulled up several news articles on his holo-glove.

“His appearance matches reports of a white-robed traveller in numerous countries,” Red Robin summarised, and Damian knew immediately that the older boy had planned this statement, “Reports say that he was always found returning something, like an artefact or valued possession, to the communities he visited. He was also reported fighting off supernatural beings and protecting civilians from them.”

When the two Superboys looked back at Damian again, their expressions were contemplative. “So you’re a solo vigilante who’s even more nomadic than Red Robin,” Kon-El concluded, earning a disgruntled noise from the aforementioned person.

The younger Superboy suddenly lit up in an excited grin.

“Bro!” the punch that he gave his older brother made Damian wince slightly, “Teen Titans! Let me join!”

“I’ve already said no, countless times,” Kon-El stated in exasperation, “I’ll only let you on if-”

“If I’m ready, I know, but what if I go through like, a trial period, you know? Just in case I really am ready,” Superboy pointed towards Damian, “And Canva can accompany me, because he’s experienced already, then he’ll be able to tell if I am ready!”

“It’s Canvas,” Damian snapped, before the boy’s words sunk in. Teen Titans?

“You need to ask him for permission,” Kon-El scolded, before turning towards him, “Well? Are you interested in joining a team?”

“I…” Damian was at a loss as to how to respond. This was not what he was expecting.

“How about this,” Red Robin suggested, pulling a communicator from one of his pouches and tossing it over. Damian caught it on instinct.

“Contact us if you’re interested. The offer is open.”

Damian pursed his lips under his mask and nodded mutely, pocketing the device before taking off.

#as you can see #I didn’t know how to end it #writer problems what fun #I’m so glad I finished the series when I did because life is so h e c t i c right now #I want to write but I used up all my motivation #super sons #jon lane kent #damian wayne #tim drake #kon el #batfam #straight from the trash doc

[immortalonus]

Where You Belong: Chapter One.

So in case you guys were wondering where I vanished off to, the answer is mostly work. This chapter also took way, way more brain power than I really intended, so I didn't really have the energy to post much else.

I could probably edit this more, but I swear if I spend one more hour editing this I will go insane, so here it is, chapter one of my first multi-chapter fic in, *checks calendar,* four years!?

Jeez, time really does fly, doesn't it?

Read on AO3

If I were Where I Would be, Then I Would be Where I Am not. But where I am, There I must be. And where I would be, I cannot.

-American Folk Poem.

________________________________________________________

As soon as Valerie had flown out of sight of Plasmius’ portal, she made a point to dump everything he had given her for the trip.

First, the communication devices. She had no desire to talk to anyone, much less the creepy, lying, traitorous ghost-thing masquerading as Vlad Masters. She gave the DALVco edition headset her best fast ball, taking no small satisfaction in watching it break piece by piece as it clattered against the frames of one floating door after another before finally vanishing into the mists below.

If Plasmius wanted to talk to her, he could crawl out of his portal and find her himself. Which he wasn’t going to do, because he had a cover to maintain. After all, what kind of delicate, elderly gentleman would throw himself into a dimension of rarified death? Not Mister Masters, oh no.

Especially not when he had a willing pawn to do it for him.

The more surreptitious listening devices went next. Fat, disgusting, bloated insects they were, bugs in function as much as form.And they were everywhere.

She found them wedged between her armor joints, the soles of her boots, in the crevices of her guns, and, after putting her systems through an intensive self-diagnostic, her hair.

When had he touched her hair?

She made a point to crush them all. Either plucking off the parasites directly, or, in the case of those lodged beneath her suit, pulling them into her storage unit and spitting them back out again into the open atmosphere where they could be destroyed.

She removed everything else Plasmius had given her immediately after: Several days worth of food, a large pop up tent, a sleeping bag, a map, several spare weapons, a well thumbed biography on Vince Lombardi and more spewed out of her storage units like a sickness, purged in gouts down to the waiting abyss.

Any thing he'd handled, all his supplies, every “present” he'd ever bestowed, she made a point to dump them all.

But God, when had he touched her hair?

Once she was finished, it felt almost like a victory. With no material proof of her obligations, it was easy to imagine she was already free.

She would finish this mission on her own. No outside aid, no puppet-masters, no regrets.

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

/Sorrysorry-soverysorry!/

“Shut up!”Valerie had regrets.

/sorrysorrysorry/

So many regrets.

“I said shut up, you stupid bug!”

She emphasized her point by kicking the target of her ire right in the soft parts of its creepy, eye studded thorax.

This was stupid, she was stupid, but more than anything, she was pissed.

Valerie took a few steps closer to her target, gait slightly uneven for the lack of both her usual boots. While she wasn't going to die anytime soon, as the black leather that fit snug as skin across her body, the true barrier against the toxic atmosphere of the Zone, remained fully intact, it didn't stop her from being mad about it.

The bug, which had finally stopped gibbering in that vile, hissing tongue that had become more and more common the deeper she ventured into the pea-soup hellscape otherwise known as the ghost zone, took the opportunity to cower against the calciferous outgrowth that had halted its pitiful attempt at flight from Valerie's relentless pursuit.

She had hunted ghosts stronger and faster than this every day back in Amity, and could not help the faint sensation of disgust that came over her at the sight of a figure so unexpectedly pathetic. Did she appear so weak that this creature, along with the half a dozen or so of its less successful, but no less kleptomaniacally inclined ilk see fit to prey upon her? Did she seem so low indeed, that even the meanest, most beggarly of the Zone's inhabitants should see her as some object to pilfer and mock?

It was the work of a moment to summon her laser cubes, pulling them from the pocket dimension from which they resided to slide noiselessly over to the insect lying prone before her. With a thought, they flew forward, two each to press down on the thing's chitinous skull, heightening the artificial glow of her suit as she did for that extra sense of intimidation.

It was an ability she'd never had the need for back on earth, only to find herself putting it to use with unhappy frequency not a day after she'd set off on her journey.

Everything in the realm of the dead glowed, and the capacity to put off and manipulate one's own aura was a hallmark of the creatures that 'lived' within it. Those that didn't stood out strangely, casting shadows upon themselves and the world in a way that made them an obvious anomaly in the otherwise antumbral reaches of the Zone.

While Valerie didn't enjoy wasting her resources on glowing like she was her very own spook, she also hated wasting time, which advertising her humanity to every ghost that glanced her way very much did; a lesson that she'd learned after fending off an entire assault squad of ghost police, who had chased her for ages while screaming about her criminal possession of so many 'real world objects' within their territory.

That it also made sure any enemies never anticipated her ability to phase through objects came in handy from time to time as well, such as when a would-be thief, for example, tried to duck into a thicket in an effort to snarl its pursuer.

As expected, the bug shuddered in response to the cold touch of the barrel against its skin, curling into itself as it looked up into the dark panel of her faceplate.

Valerie leaned down, pinning it between herself, her guns, and the stony trunk of what, on this particular island, seemed to serve as some kind of tree.

/Alright, Manbug, one more time./ Her voice crackled and popped through her translators, adding even more intimidation to a tone already modulated down to something lower and crueler than her natural snarl. /Where. Did you. Put. My Stuff. /

The insect whimpered a little harder, oozing something suspiciously close to snot from the hole above its writhing mouthparts. It remained otherwise silent, however, as it shook.

Valerie pulled back her leg and kicked it again.

The imitation flesh buckled beneath her toes, causing the creature to squeal, a nonverbal expression of pain peaking just beyond her range of hearing as it flickered invisible, writhing in a hopeless gambit to escape the weapons still clamped against its head.

Funny how ghosts kept so many features they really shouldn't need anymore. Like joints, for example. Was it a subconscious matter, or some kind of deliberate choice, Just one more means to mock the living, their very forms a cruel parody of everything they once had been?

She silenced the voice which whispered how she should know by now, that it wasn't that easy. There were more important things to focus on.

/P-please./

The bug focused its myriad gaze on the huntress' visor, all six limbs twisted over themselves, wrapped tight over its oozing midsection.

/In error, Milor- Milord. Your place, held, not neutral. Shall honor, please. /

It was leaking from the eyes too, now, viscous fluid pouring from its dozens of eyes, wetting it bodily, puddling down onto the dark purple earth, adding to the halo of scattered goods and tchotchkes that had spilled out from the overstuffed bags that it had clung to for dear life even as they toppled, overbalanced from a too-fast turn, dragging the creature headfirst into ruin.

/Mer- mercy./

This wasn't fair. This miserable thing, begging in the dirt like it hadn't gotten anything more than what it deserved.

Valerie grimaced, rubbing the heel of her palm against her faceplate. Phantom's visage, not long past, looked up to her from the depths of her memory, face just as desperate, just as indisputably, distressingly genuine as when she'd first seen it.

“Valerie, You don't want to do this.”

“Like I have a choice, spook.” She muttered.

She took a deep breath, sucking in the same recycled exhalation she'd been breathing for nearly a week now, and took a moment to actually think her situation through.

She wasn't lost. She had no idea where she was, but she wasn't lost: That would imply a level of helplessness she could not bring herself to admit. What little food and water she had brought with her had been eaten a while back, reducing her to scavenge among the portal droppage scattered through those areas not patrolled by mad policemen, hoping she could find something sufficiently sealed against ectoplasmic encroachment to remain edible.

She reconsidered her captive, still trembling on the ground. A ghost zone native, utterly at her mercy, and, by the looks of things, a serial hoarder of goods.

/You want mercy? Fine. But you do what I say, exactly as I say it, M'kay?/

While the guns pinning its head in place were something of an obstacle, the bug did manage a spasmodic sort of jerking motion, forebody pushed back and forth with desperate, eager haste.

/(Enthusiasm,) (enthusiasm,) assent! Lord, generous, gratitude, respect./

“Good, now-”She held out one hand, palm expectant.

/Give 'em back./

It responded slowly, still slobbering at the maw, all eyes fixed on the huntress as it unwound its uppermost limbs, which reached up towards those tattered bundles still clustered fungiform over its heaving thorax, rifling between twine-like bindings for what seemed an age.

Patience had never been a skill of Valerie's, and she found herself torn between wanting the moment to last forever and wishing go faster instead, tightening her mental grip over her laser cubes, fingering the internal triggers in anticipation of some sudden, traitorous motion on the part of her captive.

Ghosts were deceptive, dangerous creatures, except, of course, when they weren't.

Without any ability to tell the difference, she could do nothing but pace at the bars of her patience, waiting for the moment to act.

Finally, a claw submerged itself into one of the parcels, pulling out one boot, and, just beside it, a single leather fold.

This was it. Valerie snatched the wallet from its pincers. The boot was replaceable, her construct engines could make another now, if she wanted to waste the resources for it, but her wallet-She flipped open the small leather parcel, noted immediately that the contents were not any state remotely akin to how she had left them.

/Milord?/

The bug was still subtly trying to wriggle its way out from under her guns. Her systems noted, then deleted, increased energy expenditure from her laser cubes as they were forced to adjust to its motions.

Useless data. A ghost of so low a caliber could never hope to escape so easily.

Debit card-broken, bent until the plastic whitened from an excess of pressure; Dollar bills balled together and crammed into a single pocket, still damp with a kind of ectoplasm that looked disquietingly similar to the slobber still dripping from the mouthparts of the bug before her; Plastic wrappers, spare coins, a concert flyer for a band she'd always wanted to see.

/Ah, Milord? Pardon, Excuse?/

All of it. This vile, twisted excuse for an insect had messed with all of it. It had played with her most important cards and documents like they were toys, then shoved them back in with utter disregard for any sense of their value once it was done.

/Goods, returned, trust?/

Dread crept into her heart as she reached into the backmost pocket of her billfold, the place where she kept the picture of her.

/more goods? Information? Information on goods? Release, please?/

It was shoved in the very bottom of the wallet, balled into the crease where the two halves of leather were joined into one. She pulled it out, fingers shaking only slightly as they smoothed it back into a more flattened form.

The Red Huntress had no face, and never had Valerie been more grateful for that absence than in that moment, when she beheld the true extent of the damage done to Polaroid before her.

Soft white creases were everywhere, shattering the image into isolated fragments of its former self. It had been torn, too, at the edges, a grip too hard, twisting too far, integrity compromised as a result.

The worst of the damage by far, however, were a series of punctures, scattered at random through the center of the photograph, small to medium perforations forming little absences where there had once been trees and grass, where there had been a woman's face. A hole sat primly above her dark neck, arched back into nothing, a yawning gap where once there had been laughter.

The Huntress turned her blank visage back to her captive, who froze in the act of trying to pry her weapons out of position. Cowardly, but expected. Trusting a ghost was a fools game she had no intent on playing.

/Ah, haha, (nervous) (nervous,) (respect.)/ The target pulled its claws back up against itself, fiddling with the tips as it looked up to her absent regard.

/...Milord?/

The Red Huntress had no face, could betray no emotion, could reveal none of the cold black welter that rushed up through the depths of her breast and pressed against her throat. An impassive machine, possessed of a will stripped free of feeling.

No sliver of her intent showed through, no shudder passed from her shaking fingers to her gauntleted hands, not even the psychic senses of a ghost could hope to detect the lava that boiled up from her guts, pressing against her skin in an sheet of living fire even as the pits of her stomach chilled to ice.

The bug was still looking up at her, eyes all expectant, when she commanded her one of her guns to fire.

A bright streak of energy shot through the top of its head, hard pink flash cutting through a wave of green.

It squealed, jerked all six limbs towards the missing portion of its skull in a hopeless effort to stop the thick chunks of ectoplasm from slopping down the side of its face. Valerie brought her foot down at the same moment, crushing its forelimbs down into the dust. Forelimbs tipped with little claws, just large enough to fit the holes in a certain photograph.

/Why!? Ancients, why, why!?/

Why?

“Why the hell not?” she snarled, “Ain't that how it works here?”

If a different ghost wanted to rob her blind every time she tried to sleep, they could. If Valerie wanted to chase down the one that finally succeeded, she could. There were no laws here, there were no rules, there weren't even morals. There was nothing to stop anyone from doing anything, so why should she be the one to hold herself back?

She lifted her foot off its claws, then swung it once again into its thorax, only just crusted over from where she had kicked it before.

It squealed, just like she imagined another ghost would, red eyes wide and frightened, vampiric teeth shattered against her fist, choking as she wrapped her fingers around his blue, blue, skin.

He deserved this, it deserved this, she was in the right. She had been tricked, mislead, mistaken maybe, but she wasn't wrong, she was in the right.

And if there was some dark curl of satisfaction there, a self righteous flame alighted just where she'd been coldest in that moment of hate, then that was proof, wasn't it? Of just how right she was.

She bent down to her target, which had started drooling all over again, ground speckled green and wet as it heaved against itself. It was disgusting enough that she would have shot it in the mouth instead of the head, but she still needed information, which meant it still needed to talk.

It's upper set of antenna had survived the cranial blast, making for an easy handhold as she yanked its drooping head up to face her once again. At the same time, she sent her guns down to its chest, where its energy levels peaked their highest.

Ghosts, much like the cockroaches they resembled, could survive well enough without a head, but none, not one could ever hope to make it without their precious ghostly core.

“Listen up spook.” She hissed. /Here's how this is gonna work. You lie, I shoot. You run, I shoot. Got it?/Its head twitched up and down, the smallest possible motion of assent.

/Good./

This was what it took, when it came to ghosts. Cooperation proceeded pain, loyalty from the threat of it, and mercy not at all.

/We'll start with the questions./

She allowed her guns to charge power, deadly, scintillating hum filling the air with the sound of her malintent.

/I like what I hear, maybe I let you keep talking./

Author's note: If Sam is more pride than wrath, then Val is more wrath than pride, IMO. I've done my best to write her accordingly

#Fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #Chapter 1 #Where You Belong #Danny Phantom #Valerie Grey