#drawing helmets is really fun why did no one tell me

[sunrisespeedway]

The Sun - Kyle Kirkwood

Upright, the Sun can represent happiness, success, optimism, fun, confidence, and truth. Reversed, it can mean excessive enthusiasm, unrealistic expectations, and pessimism.

This series has finally returned!! Kyle, of course, gets to be the card that means happiness and fun.

I'm trying to keep these going and to stay active on here, but college has been kicking my ass : ( However I think Logan Sargeant's Indycar test yesterday healed something in me and I finally have inspiration and energy to draw again : )

[alex-procrastinates]

just finished this drawing for a contest on deviantart:

[image: a digital drawing of two characters fighting at sunset in a grassy clearing with trees visible on both sides. the one on the left is asterix, a short white man with blonde hair, a moustache and wearing a winged helmet, black shirt and red pants. the one on the right is whosemoralsarelastix, a tall white man with longer blonde hair and moustache, a hooked nose and wearing a helmet with larger wings, a pink cloak, blue tunic and orange pants. whosemoralsarelastix is lunging forward with a maniacal grin, in the middle of swinging his sword downwards at asterix. the tip of the sword has cut asterix from his right cheek to right thigh, sending out a small spray of blood. asterix is stumbling backwards in shock and fear, his sword lying off to the side. end id]

there's a whole lot of context for it, so i'll put it under the cut

so this is an au of asterix and the cauldron. if you haven't read it, basically what happens is asterix is banished from the village because he fails to protect a cauldron of money entrusted to the village by another chief called whosemoralsarelastix. he and obelix have a bunch of misadventures trying to earn back the money, but eventually they give up and head to whosemoralsarelastix's village to return the cauldron. on the way there, though, they meet a passing tax collector, try to rob him and discover that the money he carries smells like onion soup - just like the money that was in the cauldron! so asterix realises that whosemoralsarelastix got his men to steal the cauldron in order to pay his taxes and stay in the romans' good books. he confronts him and they have a swordfight, which asterix loses, but then the cliff whosemoralsarelastix is standing on crumbles and his money falls into the sea, so he gives up and asterix and obelix go back to the village.

so my au stemmed from a little ficlet i wrote about asterix's thoughts while he was leaving the village, which then got me thinking about why he might be on his own. and i realised it would be very easy for the romans to have taken advantage of this situation if they had known about it.

so in my au a roman spy overhears asterix being banished and the romans decide to try and capture him while he's vulnerable. they stop obelix from following him by intercepting him at an inn, where they drug his food and transport him somewhere where he can't get away before he loses his strength because he's gone so long without eating. meanwhile, asterix has some pretty similar misadventures to the comic.

he finds out about what whosemoralsarelastix did, but doesn't just barge in and confront him where he's protected by his men. so he does some stealth missions and sows doubt in whosemoralsarelastix's mind by making it look like his men are trying to get on the romans' bad side, and then arranges a meeting in a forest clearing away from the village, which whosemoralsarelastix doesn't tell anyone about because he doesn't trust his men.

in the climax of the story, which is depicted in the drawing, asterix confronts him, and they fight, but this time whosemoralsarelastix isn't standing on a cliff, so he nearly succeeds in killing asterix.

by this point obelix has escaped and been looking everywhere for asterix, so he soon finds him and brings him back to the village, where getafix treats his injuries and they explain about the whole fiasco. it's a lesson to everyone not to take asterix for granted.

sorry for that long spiel, i did a LOT of thinking about this idea. it might even end up as a fic someday ;)

as for the actual art, it was a lot of fun trying to do the sunset lighting! what i did was i actually started with just the sky and drew everything else as silhouettes, which i then sketched and did lineart and coloured on, and then used the original silhouettes as the shading. i think it turned out pretty good! also i'm really proud of the motion smear on the sword :D

i think i messed up asterix's pose a little bit bc it's not at all clear where the sword is meant to have cut him, but at least it looks cool :D

[hiraunia]

With the final chapter of TCWKTM by @crinklytinfoil upcoming I have decided to celebrate with more doodles. YAY!

(Did I say upcoming, I meant release. Apperently I posted this 3 minutes after the last chapter updated)

I don't know why I have decided that Shrike always wears those night vision goggles(?) now but they look cool at least(GOD I LOVE THEM).

I think I've finally gotten a hang of Dani's hairstyle for my design which is a blessing because in order from the easiest to hardest hair texture to draw is Coily>Straight>Locs>Wavy>Braids>Curly with a jump of times 4 from braids to curly(My hubris for giving Cyan short curly hair has and will continue to keep biting me in the ass).

Speaking of Cyan, I've also updated him. He always has eye bags now cause he feels tired now, more so than the start of the fic at least. Since, unless I've missed something, he's still wearing Black's suit I felt I should make it a part of his outfit. One of the issues I was having when I drew him though was that we still call him Cyan but he wasn't wearing cyan anymore which is an issue when I read the story but when I drew him it just felt odd. My solution to that hangup of mine was to keep the suit and belt black’s but give him the gloves and boots so there's at least some cyan still on him since I don't think it was ever stated that Johnny cut those off, there wouldn't be a reason to and they would fit him better than Johnny's anyways. He also isn’t wearing his backpack thing or helmet(not that I ever drew anyone with theirs anyways) since I figured they probably lost it or some shit. In this pic no one is wearing theirs but that’s just because I wanted them to look like they were chilling, Cyan straight up doesn’t have his.

Funnily enough this is the one that took the least amount of time to make, I started it yesterday and finished it like now though I do attribute that to a stroke of sudden inspiration that I was able to draw in my sketchbook so honestly most of the work was the coloring.

Drawing these guys just kinda being silly is so fun it's unfair, especially Purple. This man has done so much bullshit, I should shoot him on sight but the moment I pick up my pen he appears, the motherfucker! A pretty fun aspect of these purple are, as you can see, he's using Grey's skin. While I'm pretty sure in the story he looks the exact same I figured it would be more fun for drawing purposes to mix the two of them together to create some distinction rather than just drawing Grey with a purple suit.

My design for Grey had him as average height but more stout(at least comparatively for my artstyle) while Purple was a little more scrawny and tall which worked well for what I wanted to do. His bangs are center parted when Grey's bangs are gathered in the center. Also I drew their expressions differently, when it's Purple I draw his more bitter/sour, I decided that most of his expressions are squinty and tend to furrow the brows while Grey's are more, I'm not sure how to put it, genuine?

As you can probably tell I really enjoy trying to come up with the character's designs myself but I know when to throw in the towel and admit someone did better than me. I tried to come up with a design for Olive/Finch myself but I just could not come up with one I liked even equally let alone more than @krysmcscience 's design. They really captured their energy well so I’m just using theirs.

Ayy, I drew my take on good old Johnny boy. I think I did a pretty good job making him look older without him becoming a mass of wrinkles.

Drawing Flayer's ship was pretty fun, I've been trying to draw backgrounds and objects more so it was good practice. We obviously don't know what it actually looks like yet other than it is made of flesh and metal so I definitely had to just make shit up. For these bitches sake I hope it's bigger than what I designed because it is going to suck otherwise. Just as I'm typing this I kinda already wanna redesign it though.

I went for something more simple based of the premise that ships are complicated and difficult to make; the whole thing is kinda supposed to look like the flesh is doing a lot of the work to keep it together to compensate for a lack of technical knowledge and skill but just now I remembered that Flayer was the head of the mechanics so she almost certainly has more than enough knowledge and experience to make a good ship on her own even without the flesh. Oh well, I can redesign it when we learn more. I'm keeping its face though, the face was a completely but incredibly happy accident.

Also, I find it interesting that the Imposter’s missions are usually about them destroying biomechanical technology but one of Flayer's named imposter abilities is to use her genetic material to create machinery that fuses artificial and organic material.

Bounus Doodles!

I'm pretty sure these were all drawn sometime before the new year but they were all I had and I didn't want to post one image of doodles so enjoy them now.

While I am still proud of Brown and Devon making out I think my favorite doodle here is Cyan and his judgmental ass face. Why is he staring at Finch like, he is not in any position to but judging like that.

I also borrowed Kry's designs for Red and Umber, I couldn't help myself for Umber, it was just too perfect!

Not sure how I feel about my take on Skeld!White(Finnegan I CANT-). I'm not sure if it's just I'm so used to seeing Kry's design that anything else feels weird or just that I made him too baby faced and princessy. I tend to draw men that are very pretty and feminine so I think I went overboard when I tried my hand since he was usually described similar to how I would normally design a man.

[topsyturvy-turtely]

Fluffbruary with turtely

(missed days edition)

Day 26

[day 25] [day 27]

prompts: ice | beautiful | night by @fluffbruary <3

fandom: BBC Sherlock

will be uploaded to "That Stuff Called Fluff" on Ao3!

A/N: mainly inspired by the absolute amazing, lovely, kind, sweet, beautiful, lovely, heartwarming [insert all other positive adjectives to describe a person here] @justanobsessedpan - AN ABSOLUTE MUST FOLLOW BLOG!!! Arie drew this amazing art about a year ago and i was IMMEDIATELY inspired to write something based on it. i did NOT forget it... i'm just slow. thank you, bestie, for letting me use your art this way! here is the perfect perfect drawing (tap for better quality):

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

"Ah, fudge!", John said, facepalming. They had just walked back into the changing room after their ice-hockey training.

"What's up?", Mike asked.

"Forgot my helmet at the rink. I'll be right back!"

John rushed out, grabbed his helmet from the bench right next to the ice, straightened up and-

dropped the helmet. It bounced a few times on the ice. It made loud thuds.

"Watson! You alright?", a voice from somewhere on John's left hand side yelled.

"Yeah, Greg, just forgot my...", John's eyes were fixed on the boy on the ice rink. It was a figure skater. A really beautiful figure skater. "Um..." His skating was... beautiful. His face was beautiful. In fact everything about him was beautiful. "My uh..."

The skater finished a flawless pirouette, in a half sitting position, his leg stretched out. How is that even- Wait- why did he stop- oh my god. Is he coming- what- wait that's-

"Your helmet?", the figure skater asked with a kind smirk on his lips. A kind smirk?! What the hell is a kind smirk?!

"Sorry- what?", John asked, after his brain finally registered that the figure skater had said something.

"You forgot your helmet?"

"I- uh... Yeah- I-", John let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. He half recognized Greg smirking at him, bemused.

"Do you wanna go-", a side glance at his friend proved his suspicion. He didn't care. "On a..." Damn, this guy has gorgeous eyes. John gulped. "Date? With me?" Where did that question come from?

The boy raised his eyebrows. "Is that it?"

"Is that what?", John countered.

"We only just met. And we're gonna go on a date."

Oh, shit. He hadn't been thinking. He had just spoken. Come on, Watson. Get a grip! Confidence! Confidence is everything! "Problem?", John asked, feeling himself grin (hopefully convincingly).

The skater bandied looks with Greg, bemused as well as amused. He shifted his weight on one hip, then looked John up and down. "We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name."

Oh, right. Awkwardly John fumbled with his helmet, stuck it under his left arm, so he could extend his right, "John Watson. Speedy's. Tomorrow night at six P.M.?"

The boy shook his hand, with a suspicious eye. "Sherlock. And fine. But only because you're cute when you're flustered."

"Why- I am not-"

"See? Cute. See you tomorrow.", and Sherlock glided off the ice. There was a certain swing in his hips that made John drop his eyes...

"What. on earth. was that?", Greg asked with a disbelieving chuckle.

"That, Greg", John sucked in a breath. "Was me realizing, there's no way in hell I am straight." John said, still staring at the door through which the beautiful figure skater had left.

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

A/N: this was so fun to write! i love reusing/ scrambling up quotes from the show :P hope you liked this too! again please follow justanobsessedpan, promise you won't regret it! (feedback as always very welcome!)

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed💚) @helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @psychosociogentleman @quickslvxr @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @johnlock2708 @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence

[the-missann]

I don't think I've shared this with anyone besides a friend I don't really talk to anymore; and while I feel extremely nervous sharing them, I'll think I'll ease that by expressing the fact that I'm not an artist. I have been self teaching myself how to draw for years, so if this looks kind of bad, that's why.

Anyways, I obviously like it enough to share, so I am very proud of my work regardless.

That aside, I wanted to detail this story before sharing everything I did for it (I guess this'll be a short series about everything I drew for it).

A Fourth Dimension Reality is a series of books I'm writing about two inter-dimensional kids trying to find out what dimension they're actually apart of. Along the way, they meet other people who are integral to their goal. Each of these characters will be introduced as I go along.

Now, as for the real world logic, I wrote this story after me and that friend were talking about how some shows that are suppose to be comedy/satire lost that along the way.

So, I was determined to make a story where that stays intact even in the finale. Essentially, this is a long shit post that needs to be stopped, but it's still going well into five books with a unfinished total of 100k and seven books officially planned.

Each book ranges from 23k-30k and no book is any longer... yet

So, anyways, here's the actual cover of the first book (I have two more made).

Later on though I ended up drawing something goofy where all the characters find a dimension that does space tours. That was my excuse as to why they don't have shoes (because you don't want to get the dimension dirty do you?)

But this is everyone and presents their personalities pretty well. I'll showcase them separately over the next few days.

For now, this is perfect showcase of this story:

“So this means no one can hear me scream!” Cassie used all of her breath in that howl. Larson groaned and went to hit her, but she moved out of the way and spun slowly in the air. “I can dodge you better out here.” She mocked.

With a growl, Larson said, “this isn’t some kind of joke. We need to do what Jax said.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever.” She dismissed his comment. “We’ll get there eventually, let’s just have a little fun!”

Larson just stared at Cassie as she continued to spin around happily.

He was brought back to reality when he felt his phone vibrate. “Oh, I forgot,” he answered it swiftly, “you can hear me right?”

Back on Earth, Jax could clearly hear them through the phone. “I’m surprised that it even works! I really didn't think it would.” He said with amazement present in his voice.

“Yeah, doubt me, why don’t you.” Jax laughed at Larson’s remark. “But I’ll try a video call now.”

“Alright.”

Larson was about to press the button when he saw Cassie still spinning around in front of him; he sighed and turned on the video call. Once it came up, he saw a smile grow to Jax’s face.

“So it does work, great.” Jax paused. “Cassie!” He called out.

“Yeah?” She said while turning to look in their direction.

“The video call works.” Jax announced.

“Okay!” She began to slow her spinning down.

Cassie took out her own phone and called Jax once more. She put it on the video call and stuffed the phone inside of her bag. She zipped it closed and turned to Larson.

“Okay, I can see him, so that means we’re good! I’m screen recording so you guys can do whatever you have to.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Larson said.

Cassie huffed. “Stop being so mean. Anyways, we will Jax!” Cassie confirmed.

“Good luck you two!”

With their method of documentation set, they started putting their plan into action. Larson slowly moved over to Cassie.

“Stop acting like a kid and let’s get to work.” He snapped at her.

“You’re so boring. We’re in space dude! We can breathe without astronaut helmets, why not live a little, Lars?”

“Maybe on our next trip.” Larson went ahead and turned back once he was a small distance away from her.

From his jacket pocket, he pulled out the rope he brought. Needing to be as air resistant as possible, he couldn’t carry a bag with him, instead he just already tied the rope around himself and stuffed the other end into his jacket pocket. He pulled out the other end and threw it to Cassie for her to grab. Cassie caught it and was now being pulled by Larson.

Once she was in front of him, Cassie pulled him. Their motions created a way for them to move about in space with the most amount of ease. After a few minutes of their maneuvering, Cassie let out a sigh.

“See, this is all business,” Cassie said with a pout.

“Yeah, yeah. Looking like a bitch doesn’t help you.”

“At least you used the right word, but I wasn’t trying to give you puppy dog eyes.”

They remained pulling each other in a still silence. This was maintained until they could finally see Pluto. Cassie giggled as she stared at it.

“Oh it’s so cute!” She paused. “Do you really think anyone will be there?”

“I don’t know, but if we do find someone it would be better to stick together.”

“I wonder if it’s like a superman thing.” Cassie started to talk about something else. “Like we’re stronger because we were on Earth for so long.”

Larson scoffed. “If anything, being on earth made us weaker.”

“See, I don’t think like that,” Cassie began, “I really feel like we’re stronger because we’ve been exposed to different mindsets and then we’re going to learn this one. So by default, we’ll be smarter!”

“Always on the bright side huh?”

Cassie giggled.

Also, fun fact: I'm so bad at spelling I kept writing Dimension as Dimention and I still don't really know if I'm spelling it right😃

They kept pulling each other until they were caught into the gravitational pull of Pluto and were able to land...

Next post

[mareenavee]

WIP Whenever~

So no, I haven't been tagged in this at the moment~ (unless I have and tumblr notifs are being a large pain in the butt by not informing me -- if so! My bad) In that case, I'll start the train (: Share some fun stuff, friends!

Tagging the most esteemed and unparalleled @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @rhiannon1199, @friend-of-giants, @thequeenofthewinter, @snippetsrus, @saltymaplesyrup, @archangelsunited, @tallmatcha, @airiat, @thelightofmorning, @thana-topsy and @the-storytellers-seer! Leaving some amazing TES writers for the others to tag into the game this week, or else I'd just post a huge long list of tags of people whose work I love to see. (: Maybe I ought. But for now, to the words!!

Below the cut, some of my AU one-shot in which Nyenna and her brother, Eris actually make it to Solstheim first, and miss the Helgen nonsense entirely. Oh, but have they? Have they really?

“Ah, so, that’s why Morrowind, then,” Teldryn said. She nodded. “We all have our troubles, outlander. No need to apologize.” He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. She turned her gaze on him then, all the pain she’d tried to keep inside right there in her eyes. She closed them and tilted her head back, as if to prevent the tears from falling. Ash floated lazily down, collecting in the stray strands of her hair like snow.

“Yes. For a second today, I felt free for the first time in years. Every day I’d question if it’d be our last. If we were careful enough. They were everywhere. It felt like such a weight was lifted to cross the border to somewhere safe after such struggle. You’ve no idea, and I likely couldn’t convey it if I tried,” Nyenna said with a small sigh. “And Y'ffre knows I’ve tried.”

“I know a thing or two about trying to keep a low profile,” Teldryn said with a snort. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Hence the helmet, even indoors?” Nyenna ventured. “Oh, but I’m sorry to say, it’s not very, ehm…inconspicuous, is it?” He chortled and she smiled warmly. “I noticed you right away, for the record.”

“Ah. Well. Hence the helmet, especially indoors, in that case,” Teldryn drawled. She couldn’t see it through his scarf but he was grinning. Astute, this one. She had a point about the chitin. “Can’t do with not drawing the attention of an…interesting outlander.” She laughed then, stress melting from her shoulders like so much ice.

“It’s been quite a long time since I was able to tell anyone anything of my struggles. Thank you for…well, for all of this. I’m just a stranger. You couldn’t have known how much it would mean,” Nyenna said. Her fingers brushed against his hand briefly, probably on purpose. There was another shock, gone again before he could register what the hell it could be. Magicka, maybe. Something strange. Did she even know how loud she was? The sensation wasn’t a sound, exactly, but something beyond. He glanced at her and felt his face flush. Thank Azura for the helmet, then. It was useful, after all. He cleared his throat and scratched under the edge of his scarf.

“As I said, we all have our troubles,” he said carefully. “Think nothing of it.” He shifted a little and faced her again. “Say, if you’re going to Tel Mithryn after all, I wouldn’t mind the company, by the way. I was headed out that way later this week in any case.”

“Oh, so I’m that interesting, am I?” Nyenna said with another laugh. “You would change your plans just to tag along?”

“Well, that and it’s not exactly a safe passage. Reavers and all in the crossing,” Teldryn mumbled. Normally he’d have tried to turn this into some kind of job, but he was finding, inexplicably, that he did not really want to be parted from her after all. Strange. They’d barely exchanged a handful of words.

“It wouldn’t be wise to refuse such a chivalrous offer,” Nyenna said with a small smile. “But I think Eris and I will be just fine. We probably can’t afford the fee, and I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Oh, but I wasn’t angling to be hired or anything,” Teldryn said, though he wasn’t sure why such words were falling out of his mouth at the moment. Was he ever a s'wit. He held out his palms in a gesture of peace and sighed. “It’s no imposition, outlander. Promise. What do you say?” Nyenna laughed then, which was unexpected.

“Just so you know, we don’t really need protecting. Eris might not look like much, but he’s kept us both alive so far,” she said. “He’s a good mage, actually. Better than a lot of people I’ve seen in my time.” Teldryn crossed his arms over his chest again.

“It’s a difficult trip, I think, for mages on their own. Swords still pierce wherever armor isn’t,” Teldryn observed with distaste. “What about you? Are you a mage, too?” He was grateful for the opening to talk about the Magicka observation without seeming strange or too nosy. She smiled wistfully and shook her head.

“When I was younger, I was strictly forbidden from learning anything of the sort. No fighting, no magic. I accepted it, but lately I’ve been reading over Eris’s shoulder. He pulled a spell out of nowhere this morning,” she said casually. Teldryn knit his eyebrows.

“What does that mean?” he asked before he could caution himself. So much for not seeming nosy.

[littlegodzilla]

One more chapter from Strangers.

Strangers.

Norman Reedus x Reader.

Part 4.

Warnings: slow burn. Confusing situations. Fluff. Drama and romance.

Words: 3000.

Masterlist

Summary: Andy confenses something that Norman never expected.

Taglist: @green-eyedladywrites @minervadashwood @livingdeadblondequeen

*******

That morning the office is quiet, Jeffrey works at his desk putting the finishing touches on an article he has to add to that week's magazine, Andy does the same with his own section. He looks at his phone and checks the time on his watch.

Norman is late.

He's not seriously concerned, he knows his friend has his own schedule, if he's not there the most obvious explanation might be that he's out on the town looking for new photographs and news to write about, but he usually informs them of his outings so as not to worry them too much.

"Have you heard from Norman?" He asks Jeffrey who lifts his head from what he's doing.

Like Andrew just did, his partner looks at his phone for any notifications from his friend, but nothing. He opens his mouth to respond when he hears the building door open and slam shut followed by a few quickened footsteps down the stairs.

"Sounds to me like here he comes." Jeff scoffs making his friend laugh.

Andrew's smile falters for a second, however, when Norman comes through the newsroom door like a hurricane. He drops his stuff, his helmet, his coat, his backpack. His hands grip tightly on Andy's shoulders and Andy feels his feet float seconds later before his body slams into his own desk. Jeffrey stands up from his own desk at the sight, ready to pull Norman off of their mutual friend.

"You knew that!" Reedus roars and Andrew looks at him confused.

"What are you talking about?"

"Her! Your drawing, you knew perfectly well who she was!" Jeffrey holds Norman pulling him away. "Get off me!"

"Calm down, man! What are you talking about, the girl of your dreams again?"

"Of course I knew who she is!" Andy then says. "She's my cousin, how could you not want me to know her?"

He can't give credit, he's panting like a wild animal, even Andy is agitated. Jeffrey feels a little lost because he doesn't know exactly what that's about, it's been a few days since they had talked about it again, after so many years, but now Norman seemed really angry.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why? because I thought you were making fun of me!" He explained and tossed his hair back. "When you came in that day you wanted me to do a portrait of her, every time I was perfecting it I kept realizing it was her. I thought you were joking, that at any moment you would burst out laughing." He explains with a nervous sigh. "I thought you had seen some picture of us together and that you were pulling my leg, but suddenly you stopped talking about her, as if nothing had happened and I let it go. I kept the picture to myself and we carried on like it was nothing."

Norman curses through his teeth and rubs his face with both hands, nerves on edge, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling at full speed. The situation had been so strange.

Flash Back

"Why do you have this picture?" you insist with an increasingly tight frown.

"I-it's a picture of a friend..."

"Do you know Andrew?" you ask again and the name of his best friend surprises him.

"It's... And how do you know him?" He doesn't want to sound abrupt, but his words have come out of his mouth like a bark and he quickly sees your walls go up.

"That's not your problem. But this is me." You insist, setting the phone down on the table. "I'm an idiot, I don't even know what I'm doing here." You say getting up from the table.

"No, no, no, no, no, wait." Norman quickly gets up too.

His body blocks your path, preventing you from leaving. You take a couple of steps back and press your bag against your chest. Norman wants to stop you, to explain what's going on, but you look at him scared, once again, he's managed to anger and frighten you. He takes a step towards you, but then he feels a hand tighten on his arm and pushes him back. Norman wants to fight but discovers that it is one of your companions.

"It looks to me like it's time to leave." He tells you politely. "Your companion, my co-worker, is clearly not comfortable with you, so leave or I'll throw you out myself." Zach makes it clear to him.

Norman can't protest, he grits his teeth hard, looks at you, but you're staring at your feet, trembling. He mumbles a curse, gathers his things and walks out feeling the gaze of the rest of the people in the restaurant on him.

End Flash Back

"Your cousin..." He gasps without taking his eyes off Andy.

"I don't understand, Norman... Why now?"

"Because I always thought she didn't exist, but the other day I found her in a restaurant." He explains.

"Restaurant? You mean the cafeteria?"

"Yes, didn't you know she worked there?"

"Of course, that diner belongs to our family, but she doesn't want to be the manager and they hired Ross." He rubs his face still in disbelief. "How do you know?"

"Never mind." He shakes his head and grabs his things again.

"Norman, wait." Jeffrey asks him but Norman is already out the door slamming the door loudly. "What the fuck just happened?"

"I don't know... but I'll have to talk to him again..."

"What about your cousin?"

"Yes, I'll have to talk to her too... come on, let's keep working, let Norman come back when he wants to."

*****************

But Norman doesn't come back to the newsroom all day. His mind is going a mile a minute, he needs to get his thoughts in order, he has too many doubts, he's too confused.

His heart pounding in his ears.

He stops the bike looking at the building he stops at. He knows he is pulling the old couple too much, but it is his only alternative to find answers that might appease his insecurities a little. He gets out of the vehicle by removing his helmet and walks to the entrance, waits to be let in and walks up to the third floor where old Norman is already waiting for him preparing some coffee.

"Sorry to come unannounced." He says as he walks through the door, squeezing the old man's hand affectionately.

"Don't apologize, I understand how you feel and I'm glad I could help." He smiles as the two sit down at the table.

As the coffee begins to bubble, Norman helps his elder with everything, they sit back down and he begins to tell him what has happened to him. He tries not to rush, not to let anxiety and anger get the better of him again. He is nervous, his hands shaking with all the emotions he is holding back. The old man says nothing, just studies his words, letting him vent completely, but he feels some relief and excitement for the young man. The pieces are starting to fit together even if he doesn't know it yet.

"So it's Andy." He says at last when Norman finishes.

"What do you mean?"

"We all have a turning point." He explains to Norman. "For me it was in high school, that coffee shop where your girl works. Others those same dreams reveal important data to you, sometimes it's just a word that gets you both to realize it." he lists him and scratches his wrinkled forehead. "On every occasion there is always someone, or something, that channels our steps to the right place."

"But Andrew never told me she was his cousin. Maybe if I'd known sooner..."

"It doesn't work like that, Norman, everything takes time, everything needs a process. You guys were supposed to meet in that coffee shop. It had to happen that way."

"I don't like it." He protests like a child. "I'm being the bad guy in all this, she thinks I'm stalking her, she thinks I'm crazy, how am I going to make things work?"

"You will, trust yourself, things will find their way on their own."

Norman has always trusted the old man's words, but now he can't help but have some doubts. He acknowledges that things were going well until you found that photo and again thought Norman was a freak, the few steps he had managed to make progress, quickly regressed back to square one. Long sigh rubbing the back of your neck trying to think positive, to hold on to old Norman's words.

"How was it for you?" He asks him and the man smiles excitedly.

"It was for the high school Christmas dance." He explains to her. "My wife loves to dance." He assures him and laughs quietly. "Even now, when her old bones let her, we go dancing." Norman nods remembering that he has accompanied them on occasion. "I took her dancing and then we went to the coffee shop, we talked for hours, always seemed to play the same song, ours..."

"That was your moment?"

"We haven't been apart since that day."

Norman feels a shiver run through him at his words. He feels envious, but with admiration, he'd like to get that too, the old man seems utterly convinced he'll get it. His phone rings in his pocket, he looks at who it is discovering a message from Andy asking him to return to the newsroom. He sighs, he knows he has obligations to attend to, running away from work like that over a tantrum like a toddler, doesn't say anything in his favor.

He thanks the older man again for being patient with him and especially for telling him his story and leaves the house to get back to work.

***************

"I think we should talk about some things, don't you think?" Andrew asks him when he arrives at the newsroom, Jeffrey is no longer there, his schedule is over.

"I'm not in the mood, Andy, besides I doubt you'll believe what I can tell you." He growls low going to his desk.

"We've been friends for many years, Norman, do you really think I have so little confidence in you?"

"You believed it years ago when you thought I was making fun of you."

"What else was I to believe? You came in saying you'd dreamed about her and when I saw who it was about..." He rubs his forehead trying to calm his own nerves. "You understand it's a hard thing to fit in."

"Well, you don't have to over think it, it's none of your business."

"It's not..." he looks at him puzzled and advances toward his desk. "none of my business? She's my cousin, and you're my best friend, my brother, do you really think it's none of my business?"

Norman stops what he's doing, his gaze riveted on his own hands that are now trembling slightly at his friend's words. Of course it is his business, at the end of the day if all went well they would end up being more family than they already feel, but how to explain it to him? Even for him some things are hard to understand. He sighs tossing his hair back, trying to get his thoughts in order before saying anything that would sound too strange.

"Look, I don't know how to explain it without you thinking I'm crazy." He hones in. "I just dreamed about her, and one day I found out she worked at that coffee shop and it turns out she's your cousin." He enumerates with his voice a little shaky. "I'm just trying to fit the pieces together, man."

"You and everyone... Have you talked to her?"

"I haven't been very eloquent, truth be told... every time I try to get close I mess it up more and more." Now he does speak truthfully.

"You're still hell-bent on meeting her, dating her or whatever." Andy understands as Norman nods his head. "You know, I'd rather you be the one hanging around her than that asshole Zack." Norman raises his head, raising an eyebrow in confusion. "Come over this weekend to the house, we're having a potluck, Jeffrey's coming too and her of course." He invites Norman and shrugs. "Maybe you two can talk more calmly if you're somewhere quiet and familiar."

"Really?" Norman is still surprised, but Andrew's smile is sincere and kind, despite the initial anger that morning, they are friends and they are not going to let something like this break so many years of good relationship.

"Sure, I was going to invite you anyway, I have something important to announce, but you won't know until then."

Andrew holds out his hand in a sign of peace, Norman smiles getting up from his table, walks around it and hugs his friend with infinite affection, grateful for the invitation, curious about whatever his friend has to announce, impatient and nervous for the day to come, but most of all to see you again. How will you react to seeing him there?

*************

"Do you think I'm going crazy?" You ask Mandy, looking at her uncertainly.

After everything that is happening to you throughout this week, you needed to talk to someone you felt complete confidence in. All the encounters with Norman are leading you into a situation that you are unable to control. You don't know how it's happening, but the man appears everywhere.

Even in your dreams.

You didn't think anything of it at first, but there was one scene in particular that kept repeating itself, that trip to the beach, the scenery, the feel of the leather of the car, the smell of the sea breeze, it seemed so real that some mornings you would wake up with a strange sense of anguish and emptiness when you realized Norman wasn't there.

"I think you're getting caught up in that guy." She assures you, but her voice doesn't sound comfortable with it. "I don't know what he's done, but he's obviously been following you and spying on you, he had a picture of you on his phone."

"He said Andy showed it to him...that he'd seen it before at college."

"He knows Andy?"

"They work together at the magazine, I didn't think they might know each other, there are more people there..." You try to justify yourself feeling a little nervous.

"Do you think he must have given it to him on purpose?"

"No, no, Andy would never invade my privacy like that, he would always consult me first..." You say confidently, but it's true that you have some doubts.

"Maybe you should talk to your cousin, find out what this guy is all about."

"I'm seeing him this weekend, he says he wants to surprise us..." You shrug. "I'll talk to him there."

"You know if you don't, I will." He assures you and you sigh with a smile.

"I know, but it's not necessary, I trust Andrew, I'm sure there's an explanation for all this."

But Mandy doesn't seem very convinced and you prefer to change the conversation to something more lively. You know your friend cares about you, but you decide to leave the conversation your dreams, maybe for another time. You yourself are not sure how to deal with those images your brain puts up while you sleep, they are always peaceful moments, but when you wake up you are always anxious and uneasy. You really need to talk to your cousin or you'll end up going really crazy as Mandy assures you so much.

"And you say Zack stood up for you the other day in the cafeteria." Your friend's voice reaches your ears snapping you out of your thoughts. You roll your eyes at the memory and nod your head.

"I hate it when he does that, I got all worked up and Norman wanted to talk to me, but I was nervous and he stepped in like he was a guardian angel or something." You snort wearily. "It was totally unnecessary."

"You know Zack likes to lurk around so the customers will leave you alone."

"With Norman he didn't need to, he hunted him down from the get-go." You shrug, remembering that.

"Doesn't it creep you out to think that maybe he knows you too well? And you hadn't seen each other before."

Maybe it does creep you out a little, but at the same time, that's what manages to capture your attention to him more, new questions pop up in your mind wanting to know why and how he knows all that. On the one hand the answer is simple, maybe Andrew has told him about you on some occasion and he has kept that information for himself. On the other hand, your hypothesis is more crazy and stupid; what if he has also dreamt about you? What if he has also shared those moments in his imagination, the beach, the walk, the sea breeze? You remember that night when he showed up at the coffee shop, he seemed so excited and relieved when he told you he had found you.

********

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To be continued...

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Hope you liked it!!

[jjcattt]

so hlvrai2 is a thing now apparently. pumped this out both as an outlet to the hype, and as a callback/tribute to all the hlvrai art i did in 2020-2021. (fun fact: all the green text in the back is a reference to text in my past hlvrai art.)

notes, details, and explanations for the background text under the cut (warning: it’s kinda long)

the passport has stamps from xen and chuck e. cheese. because honestly i’m so mad nobody ever adds passport stamps to hlvrai art i mean come on guys.

and yes, the listed sex on the passport just says ‘yes’. is this saying that benrey’s biological sex is yes, or is it saying that he has sex? yes.

I don’t really know how easy it is to tell, but the faded ripped stickers on benrey’s helmet are of the non-binary and mlm pride flags.

finally, the green text references, from left to right top to bottom:

“var = everything you ever hated” is a reference to a drawing of benrey with lyrics from the song ‘are you happy?’ by bo burnham (“you’re everything you ever hated, are you happy?”)

“// love me” is a reference to art i made for the y2kvr au, with lyrics from the song ‘stalker’s tango’ by autoheart (“love me, love me, love me, love me more than you possibly can”)

“I AM GOD” is a reference to the first drawing of benrey i ever made, a postcanon au drawing of benrey standing on a cabinet while gordon tells him to get down. i don’t know why i drew it it wasn’t funny.

“> his w gonna” is a reference to the last piece of hlvrai art i drew (before this) where i got too lazy to draw the background, so i found a picture on google of the xen boss battle, which had text on it saying “I knew this was gonna happen”, but the image cropping made the text say “his w gonna”. i got made fun of for about a week in the group chat for that.

“GORDON” is a reference to probably one of the most acceptable pieces of old hlvrai art i drew, which was based on an idea i had of ‘what if benrey killed gordon in the final boss battle’, in the art benrey is reaching for the camera while yelling gordon’s name. the concept was kinda stupid but the art was good for the time.

“what do we have here.jpg” is a reference to art i drew of benrey at xen, with lyrics from the song ‘snow’ by ricky montgomery (“skeletons, skeletons, what do we have here?”)

if you look through my post history, you can still find all of these old pieces (but i don’t recommend it. seriously what was i even DOING)

[weirdsociology-writes]

Five Runs - Run 2: The Throne Room

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Title: Five Runs - Run 2: The Throne Room (700)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

He might have found you, but this won't be like the last time, when he woke you in the dark and that was the end of it. First, though, you have to be absolutely sure that your bounty hunter's brain is occupied with something other than the victory conditions of your little game. You lean forward, crowding his space, making sure he's getting a good view of how little of you is covered by the flimsy outfit. "Boba also said we could borrow the throne room for an hour once you found me. If we were quiet. And promised to clean up afterward. Since it's your birthday."

*** Description: A series of drabbles all sharing one theme: you've decided to run away from your Mandalorian. On purpose. For his birthday. Listen, everyone's got their kinks, and his is bounty hunting (sort of. Mostly, it's you.)

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, canon-typical violence, object insertion but probably not in the way you think, oral sex, manual sex, implied penetrative sex, brief mention of somnophilia, canon what canon, no betas we die like men [warnings are for all drabbles.]

Tropes: established relationship, the helmet comes off, hurt/comfort, fluff, adventure

Author's note: When I finished Easy Mark, I wanted to write something adventurous and fun next, something that lets these two show how much they really do enjoy each other's company. Each drabble is set during a different time in their relationship but it's all after the Mos Eisley incident mentioned in Distractions.

***

RUN 2: THE THRONE ROOM

The second time he’s exasperated: “When I said run, I didn’t mean run to my friends!”

“Why not? I knew they wouldn’t tell you. Fett thought it was hilarious.” He had. You'd explained yourself when you'd turned up at his door, looking like a starved lothcat after having crossed most of the Northern Dune Sea amidst the controlled chaos of a blurrg drive. The riders tending the herd had been happy to take you on when you'd told them you needed to see the daimyo of Mos Espa - and when you'd flashed both the credits and the revnog that you'd brought with you for exactly such an occasion. Boba had been half out of his throne with laughter by the time you finished your tale, delighted by the idea of you baiting your Mandalorian with what he did best.

Din is already moving on from the news that one of his closest colleagues is happy to be on your side. You're under the steady lights of the hallway now as he steers you toward the exit, and his attention has clearly been caught by the obvious change since last time he saw you. "What are you wearing?"

"Oh, do you like it? Fennec said I could have it, one of the cantina girls left it here when she got a job off-world." You've covered the timer on your wrist with the silvery bangles of the costume, hoping it might distract Din when he inevitably found you. Even with all the heavy jewelry the costume doesn't hide much - which you also hope will distract Din long enough to give you a fighting chance. You use the pause in his stride to draw closer, trying to shimmy your hips in emulation of the graceful dancers you've seen on Coruscant but succeeding instead in shaking your ass like a Canto Bight club kid.

Mercifully, Din doesn't laugh. He slides a finger under the silver chain that connects one side of the skirt to the other instead, lifting and tugging the links while watching the smooth silk ripple over your thigh. "It doesn't suit you," he observes, and your pride is just about to absorb that blow when he adds, "It's far too impractical. You look incredible. Did Fennec say you could keep it?"

You blink at him, off-balance for a moment from his trademark conversational whiplash. Then you preen a little. He does like it. "She did. Fett and his crew were very kind. I looked a lot worse when I first got here," you admit.

He chuckles. "Running blurrgs. Clever, mesh'la, but not clever enough."

"I guess not." You're willing to concede the point in this moment, but your plan is far from over. He might have found you, but this won't be like the last time, when he woke you in the dark and that was the end of it. First, though, you have to be absolutely sure that your bounty hunter's brain is occupied with something other than the victory conditions of your little game. You lean forward, crowding his space, making sure he's getting a good view of how little of you is covered by the flimsy outfit. "Boba also said we could borrow the throne room for an hour once you found me. If we were quiet. And promised to clean up afterward. Since it's your birthday."

The helmet dips, considering. Then Din pulls on the chain at your waist again, thoughtfully, as though judging how much weight it might hold. "The daimyo is an excellent friend. After you."

***

You're on top of Din, his breathing still uneven and his cock not even soft inside you yet, when the timer on your wrist under the bracelets goes off. His resigned groan sends you into fits of laughter so strong some of the evidence of your latest adventure slides out of you as you spasm, making a mess of his armor, the throne, and the folds of the skirt you're still wearing. You try to discard it as you leave Mos Espa, the light fabric showing every detail of the stain, but Din convinces you to keep it.

***

THIS BLOG IS DEFUNCT DUE TO A GLITCH IN TUMBLR'S SYSTEM. PLEASE FOLLOW @weird-writes INSTEAD FOR UPDATES.

[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.

[artzychic27]

Cosette: *recording her message on Ismael2-D2* Help me, Denise-Wan Kenobi. you're my only hope. All right, now what do I click?

Ismael2-D2: Click "Preferences".

Cosette: Okay, I clicked "Preferences".

Isnael2-D2: Now go to "Default Media Browser".

Cosette: Okay. There's a little hourglass and it's-it's not letting me do anything. It-it says "Buffering", what is that?

Ismael2-D2: Just give it a minute.

Cosette: All I'm trying to do is make an MPEG.

Ismael2-D2: All I'm trying to do is tell you to wait a minute.

Cosette: Okay, relax.

Ismael2-D2: Now click, "Import Video File".

Cosette: All right. It's telling me I have to download RealPlayer 7.

Ismael2-D2: You know what? I'll just bring it to them myself.

—

Jean Skywalker: Well I guess I'll go and bulls-eye some wamp rats with my T-16.

Simon-3PO: You kill small animals for fun?! That's the first indication of a serial killer, you freak!

Jean Skywalker: There’s two suns and no guys my age here! What am I supposed to do?!

—

Zoé: Heh-heh! Look, Nath is Boba Fett!

—

Stormtrooper (Sabrina): Have we ever hit anything with these things?

Stormtrooper (Ivan): I hit a bird once.

—

Max: Hold your fire, there's no lifeforms aboard.

Kim: Hold your fire? What, are we paying by the laser now?

Max: You don't do the budget Kim, I do.

—

Jean: Is it a fast ship?

Zoé Solo: Are you kidding? It's the ship that made the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs!

Jean: Um, isn't a parsec a unit of distance, not time?

Zoé Solo: Chewie, take these guys to the ship and get her ready.

Laceybacca: *makes Chewbacca's trademark gargling roar for a second, then spits out water in a nearby sink* Always gargle before a take-off. Wocka-wocka! Alright, let's go.

—

Zoé: *Presents the Millennium Falcon* Well? What do you think?

Jean: What a piece of junk!

Zoé: Thank you, this was my sister’s; she died of leukemia. How do you feel now?

—

Marc Vader: So, Denise-Wan, we meet again. What part of "Stay 50 yards away at all times" don't you understand?! *Denise-Wan activates their lightsaber, which instantly turns flaccid*

Denise-Wan Kenobi: Shit.

Marc Vader: Your powers are weak, old one!

—

Ismael2-D2: *opens a hatch and shoots down a TIE fighter with a pistol* YEA-HEAH!!! That's how we do it in my neighborhood, beeyatch!

—

Cosette: Why you stuck up, half witted, scruffy lookin' nerf herder!

Jean: Whoa! Whoa!

Zoé: You can't use that word! Only we can use that word!

—

Marc Vader: Oh, come on, Jean, come join the Dark Side! It's really cool!

Jean: Well I don't know. Whose on it?

Marc Vader: Well um... there's me, the Emperor, this guy Scott. You'll like him, he's awesome...

—

*Marc Vader arrives on the second Death Star with a bunch of passengers*

Marc Vader: Oh, my God, that was absolute hell! I just...I don't understand why...I mean, we're in a galaxy far, far away, and we still have to change in Atlanta.

*Nino as Moff Jerjerrod enters*

Nino Jerjerrod: Hi, Darth. You got any bags, or did you leave Mrs. Vader at home?

Marc Vader: Wow, it's you? Are we already out of our usual set?

—

Ismael: Agghhh! Fuck you, you son of a bitch! What am I, R2-Pac?!

—

Cosette: Aren't you a little scrawny to be a storm trooper?

Jean: Well, stay here and rot, you stuck-up Royal.

Cosette: Wait! Who are you?

Jean: *takes their helmet off* I'm Jean Skywalker. Me and Zoé Solo and Denise-Wan are here to rescue you.

Cosette: Wait, Denise-Wan Kenobi?

Jean: Yeah. Suddenly I'm not so scrawny, huh?

—

Emperor Aurore: Hey...Hey, Darth? Darth?

Marc Vader: Yeah? What?

*Thle Emperor draws a circle on her napkin*

Emperor Aurore: That. That's what.

Marc Vader: What? It's a circle. It's a good circle, I'll give you that.

Emperor Aurore: No. No, no. Space station.

Marc Vader: What?

Emperor Aurore: Yep.

Marc Vader: What?

Emperor Aurore: Yep, it is.

Marc Vader: No way!

Emperor Aurore: It is. It is, big time.

—

Austin B: I think we're doomed!

Austin A: Nah. Unless they got any big, giant robot camels, I think we're OK.

*The thud of the AT-AT's footsteps can be heard as they approach*

Austin B: Ah, Armbruster, *points at the AT-AT's* robot camels.

—

Cosette: We're gonna be pulverized!

Zoé: Look, we got four or five of the main characters on this ship. I think we're gonna be okay.

—

Simon3-PO: This is insane, Zoé, they're gonna find us here.

Lacey: Yeah, and even if they don't, where are we gonna hide out after this?

Zoé: Hey, what about Lando?

Cosette: The Lando System?

Zoé: Lando's not system, he's a black guy. In fact, I think he might be the only black guy in the galaxy.

—

Jean: A sister! Who is it?

Denise’s Ghost: Who do you think it is? The Princess you just Frenched, man!

Jean: Cosette...

—

Marc Vader: Join us, Jean. Turn to the backside of the force!

Jean Skywalker: What?

Marc Vader: Dark side-turn-turn to the-long day!

—

Marc: Spoiler alert! I am your father!

Jean: Well, that's fine, but I don't see how that affects...Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?

—

Lacey: Is that him?

Cosette: I'm not sure. Jean, if that's you wave your right hand... no your RIGHT hand!

Jean: It's me, you fuckers!

—

Emperor Aurore: Welcome, young Skywalker.

Marc Vader: Why, thank you!

Emperor Aurore: Not you!

Marc Vader: I'm so embarrassed.

Emperor Aurore: I thought you should know, young Skywalker, that your friends are walking into a trap.

Jean: Wow. You're white? You totally sounded black on the phone.

Emperor Aurore: Silence! You will turn to the dark side, and your precious rebellion will be destroyed. *Mockingly* Oh! I'm afraid the shield generator will be quite operational when your friends arrive.

Jean: Jeez, you don't have to be a dick about it.

—

Zoé: *Breaks into the control room and points a gun at Nathaniel, Alix, Rose, and Juleka* All right, everybody, hands in the air! All right. Now I want you to take off your helmets, go outside and dig your own graves with them!

Cosette: Zoé, that's kind of dark.

Zoé: Shut it! There's enough cutesy crap in this movie. I think we all need this. Now get outside!

*Later outside, the four of them dig their graves while crying as Zoé points her gun at them*

Nathaniel: I have a family!

Zoé: Faster!

Nathaniel: I just do data entry!

Zoé: All right. *Points to Alix* You, kill him.

Alix: What?

Zoé: Kll him. Take this knife and stab him in the mouth.

Alix: No, please!

Zoé: Shut up! And after he's dead, cut off his face and wear it as your face.

Rose: Please!

Zoé: I've had it up to here with Ewoks! Now, stab him and wear his face! And then go home to his family still wearing his face, and see how long it takes them to figure out that it's you and not him!

—

Marc: Oh, my God! I meant to hit you in the shoulder, and that whole thing just fell! Did you see that?

Aurore: What?

Marc: That whole thing just fell!

Aurore: How?

Marc: I don't know! He was up there like, "I can't do this," I threw the thing, and I just meant to hit him in the arm, and then the whole thing fell!

Aurore: Well, that's good, right? We want him hurt.

Marc: Are you using your brain?! We're lucky if we come out of this without a lawsuit!

—

Lacey: Hey, bitches! I just killed, like, fifty stormtroopers!

Zoé: That thing is really cool!

Lacey: Damn right it is! See that squirrel over there? Hi, little squirrel. *Fires at the squirrel* Ooh!

Zoé: Hey, why don't you blast open this door, and then we can...

Lacey: Hey, a butterfly! Look at those beautiful wings flapping. But uh-oh, here comes ka-slice! *Blasts the butterfly* Whoa! What do we have here? A fully formed beehive! Must have taken months to build that guy. Well, guess what?

*Lacey blasts the beehive, and the bees retaliate*

Lacey: Oh, God! *Runs away screaming as the bees sting her*

Cosette: … Should we help her?

Zoé: Eh.

—

Jean: I'm a Jedi, like my father before me!

Marc: All right, let's everybody just calm the fuck down.

—

Jean: Oh, yeah? You and what lightning hands?

Marc: Oh! Now you've done it.

*Jean screams as Aurore shoots at him with her lightning*

Aurore: Yeah! I'm a bad guy! Yeah! Yeah! How about that, huh? Look at that! Look what I can do! Yeah! In your fucking face!

Jean: Father, please!

Marc: "Please"? You know what? You have nice manners. I'm so delighted that Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen took the time to teach you nice manners. And just for that, I'm going to help you out here. *Uses his powers to throw Aurore off the railing*

Aurore: *Screaming*

Marc: That's the power of "please," kids.

—

Marc: Jean, help me get this mask off. Let me look on you with my own eyes, father to son.

*As Jean tries to remove his helmet, he inadvertently snaps his neck, killing him*

Jean: … Ahhh! Oh, no! He's dead because of what the Emperor did a while ago! I better take his body! *Drags Marc’s body up the ramp* Just 'cause.

—

Marc Skywalker: What the hell, man? I was going to make it!

Jean Skywalker: Thanks for watching over me and keeping me safe.

Marc Skywalker: Fuck you, you murdered me, you ass!

[grogusmum]

The Sharpie

As Told By Grogu Djarin

A/N: Maia @honestly-shite and I had milestone celebrations around the same time so when they posted this wonderful piece (link to original post) for a request I made. It was so sweet and so sassy Grogu getting up to shenanigans, I felt a little story coming on! So I decided to use it as a prompt for a little drabble as told by Grogu. I have done some clean up and editing from the original reblog comment.

Warnings: quick mention of food other than that just Grogu sass and shenanigans.

Okay so everyone knows I love the food on Earth. But another thing I like about Earth is crayons...and... and paper...paints... and markers! We make lots of fun things and you let me use all kinds of art stuff EXCEPT the sharpies, I do not know why they are called that, Dad doesn't either...

They are not sharp at all. But they are markers- permanent markers! But not really permanent, only mostly permanent... only when I used then to decorate the wall with pictures of me and Dad and the Razor Crest and stuff... plus also when I tried to fill in the blank spots on Tabitha so she was an all-black kitty for Halloween, you told me they are permanent enough and I lost my sharpie privilege, which means you put them way high where "I can not reach" I used the quote marks cuz I was told it is sarcasm, cuz I can reach everything. You did not know this yet, but Dad does. I think he was hoping I would forget about them. But I will not forget! They are bright and smelly and work on everything, not mostly everything...

E V E R Y T H I N G !

Like walls and cats, which I now understand is a mistake. (I am very sorry, again, Tabitha. Thank for not being mad at me.)

Anyways, Dad needed to fix a thing on the Razor Crest cuz it is old and always needs something fixed. And you had chores on top of the cottage! On top!!

So after some baseless insinuations about me needing "constant supervision", (see the quote marks) you asked Dad to take me with him. So he did, which I do not mind because even though I love Jupiter Cottage, I miss that place! It is the place where me and Dad became family.

Anyways, Dad opens a small panel and starts to fix some wiring (I do not do electrical work anymore!) and he was telling me about what he was doing... psst and about you, he likes you a lot! But I don't know what all he said cuz it was time for my game of being Dad in the Razor Crest, and being a Mandadalorian. So I took the sharpie out... and oops some goldfishes fell out of the snack holes of my robe, so I just ate them up quick, and then I drawed a Mando visor on my face, cuz I do not have my own helmet, obviously.

I do not know if Dad heard the cap come off? Or could smell the smelly marker? But he turned around speedy quick and was all, No! Not the pen!! And thinking about which shenanigans I am into!

Uh oh!! He got all still. Oooo, is he mad, I thought to just myself, cuz he looked mad. But he did not feel mad. Then his shoulders did some shakes, then he laughed and just sat with me. Then he shaked his head and sighed a what am I gonna do with my very best boy! sigh. It one of my favorites.

Then he brought me up to the cockpit and put me on his lap in his chair and let me press all the buttons and pull the all levers and everything!!!

He told me, good flying, Mandalorian!

The End.

Thanks for reading 💚

@oonajaeadira @its--fandom--darling @seasonschange-butpeopledont @jessie-writes-things @asta-lily @writeforfandoms @tobealostwanderer @agirllovespancakes @fromthedeskoftheraven @beskarprincessjenny @jupiterfics @coffegost @littlemisspascal @honestly-shite @mylovelycomandante @bunniesofsteel @tintinn16 @adriiibell @princess76179 @phoenixhalliwell @amneris21 @greeneyedblondie44 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @goblinqueen95 @peach-child @elegantduckturtle @litakino @radiowallet

@beskarboobs @firstofficerwiggles @pascalpanic @gingib @melody13522 @what-iwish-you-knew

[formulawonu]

flutters / mick schumacher

(not my gif! creds to owner <3)

warning: kissing, getting a little touchy,, and just being flustered idk

summary: *requested by @gpiggy98​ <3* mick has just finished an intense race and you’re the only person he really wants to be around at the moment since you’re his best friend. you’ve secretly liked him for a while now and offer/give him a massage to cool down after the race and you can’t help but get flustered at the intimacy of the moment.

a/n: honestly. what would i give to have mick as my best friend. what would i give to basically have mick in my life. FOR REAL. ugh mick schumacher supremacy. anw i didnt know how to end this one properly so idk if im 100% satisfied but it was fun writing hsjakdhasd but enjoy anyway x (i’m always open to requests btw!!!!)

It’s the end of the Hungarian Grand Prix and you feel like you can finally breathe properly after a couple of hours. You’d think you’d have gotten used to going through race weekends by now but you always seem to find your breath caught in your throat and worrying over the safety of your best friend. Mick had finished in p12 - his current best finish throughout the season - and you were extremely proud of him. Despite how well he did defending from other cars on the field in the car he has, you can tell from the way his brows furrow together after removing his helmet that he’s far from satisfied. Watching him go through the procedure after each race required by the FIA from the garage, you decide to make your way back to the hospitality in order to not get into anyone’s way. You figured that you would just talk to Mick when he was free and tell him proud you are of him. What you were not expecting was Mick to show up at the hospitality earlier than you had expected, his body language clearly still tense, and motioning you with just his head to follow him up to his assigned driver’s room. He doesn’t really stop to wait for you or anything because he knows you understand that he doesn’t want to be around a lot of people right now. It leaves you feeling pleased that you’re still the one he wants to talk to. Perks of being his best friend.

“Hey, you.” You say as you enter Mick’s room, shutting the door behind you. You stand there for a while, leaning against the door as you take in Mick sitting down on the couch, his eyes shut with his head thrown back. His hair is all messy from wearing his helmet but it looks good anyway. You knew this wasn’t the right time to be thinking it, but you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t acknowledge how Mick made looking stressed extremely attractive. Sexy, even. Mick pops open one eye as he lazily looks at you. “I’m so frustrated.” He mumbles. He then pats the space beside him, telling you to come sit beside him. You make your way to the couch and plop down beside him, trying not to mind the way your heart beats faster as the distance between you both has marginally decreased. Immediately after and without warning, Mick drops his head on your lap. You want to blame the lack of AC for the sudden rise of temperature in the room you’re both in, but you know that the heat is really just rising in your cheeks as you imagine how close Mick is to your body. “I’m so tired.” He continues, shutting his eyes again. You can’t stop the way your heart is rapidly beating inside of your chest and you wouldn’t be surprised if Mick could actually hear it. The vibrations that come from Mick’s voice run through your whole body, leaving you to slightly shift your thighs closer together. You bring your hands to run through his hair, hoping to distract yourself from your own thoughts by giving him a small massage. Mick hums in response. You rub small circles into his temples, picturing him doing the same thing to you in another area of your body. You have to stop yourself there. You seriously cannot be thinking about this while you’re trying to distract yourself from the fact that Mick, your best friend, is all hot and sweaty. Well, there’s always points for trying. 

You don’t realize you’ve stopped the small massage you were giving him until you feel Mick’s hand grip your knee. “Why’d you stop? That felt so good.” The heat rushes to your cheeks and you can feel Mick’s eyes on your face. You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes because you’re flustered at how dirty your thoughts had gotten because of a few words Mick had muttered in passing. The fact that his hand was still on your knee also did not help your case. It was something you had come to terms with a while ago: you deeply liked your best friend - that was why you were acting like this around him. You had tried your best to ignore the fuzzy feelings that came up every time you thought of him or the way your stomach would drop whenever he was around. You tried to deny and cover it up by saying you just really appreciated him as a person, but you eventually gave in and realized it was pointless to fight your feelings. It didn’t matter anyway. Mick was still your best friend, regardless of whatever feelings you had for him. 

“Oh. Sorry.” You mutter, still refusing to look at him as you try to will the heat in your cheeks to disappear. You knew not to make eye contact with Mick because those damn eyes knew you almost better than you knew yourself so meeting them would just spell out disaster for you. He would figure out something was off immediately. You begin moving your hands again through Mick’s hair, kneading in a new pattern. Your eyes land on the hand still resting on your knee. You focus on it as you continue to massage Mick when suddenly it begins to draw circles of its own nearer your inner thigh. Your breath hitches in your throat and you accidentally tug at Mick’s hair because of your unguarded reaction to his hand. You quickly look at his face to see if he’s felt that (though surely he has) and you find yourself looking into a pair of amused eyes. There’s a hint of playfulness in them as he’s probably made the connection that you are... well... currently going through it. “You okay, there?” He whispers, raising an eyebrow at you. You try to play it off, as you usually do. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I-” His hand moves higher up and you involuntarily pause. “-be.” You swallow and desperately try to focus on anything else but the hand that is now closer to you than you had ever imagined it to be. How white the wall is, how cool Mick’s helmet is, how comfortable the couch is. Mick suddenly shifts his position and the hand on your thigh disappears. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. The place where Mick’s hand once was now feels incredibly bare. Mick is still moving around until he’s positioned himself to be facing you, still lying down, with his head propped up by his hand. The arm propping his head up is over your legs - suddenly, you feel like you’ve fallen into a dangerous trap. 

“Hey there.” He whispers, smiling at you with those damn eyes filled with amusement. Like he knows. “Hi?” His free hand moves to trace lines up and down your arm. Goosebumps immediately come and you shiver. He smiles even wider, noting the way your body has unintentionally reacted to his touch. “Are you cold?” He continues to run a finger up and down your arm, mindlessly drawing his own patterns. His eyes never leaving yours. You know you should be answering him now, replying with anything really, but his hand has made its way back down and is now drawing circles on the part of your thigh he’s resting on. “Am- Am I what?” You ask, not remembering what he’s just said a few seconds ago. Your eyes move to glance at Mick’s hand then back to his face. Mick then fully sits up, this time lifting your legs to rest over his lap. “Something’s bothering you.” He says, gently turning your chin to have you face him. Your eyes land on his lips before you meet his eyes. “Not at all. I am just peachy.” He chuckles as you inwardly cringe, knowing full well that you didn’t sound convincing at all. What were you supposed to do when his other hand was now drawing those same distracting circles this time on your side. You had never been this close with Mick. You weren’t supposed to be this close to Mick. His eyes drop to your lips. “Can I try something to get whatever it is off your mind?” He whispers. You nod before you can think about what he’s just offered, too taken by how Mick’s face seems to be inching ever so closely to yours by the second. Your eyes flutter shut when you feel the touch of another pair of lips on yours. It starts out slow, almost shy, as if he’s checking to make sure you’re okay with what’s happening. But then you pull him closer to you, slightly parting your lips to invite him in. Your hands make their way around his neck and tugging at the ends of his hair. The pace has suddenly shifted and Mick has lifted you on top of him, letting you straddle him as he now moves his hands up and down the sides of your body. 

There was no way this was actually happening. All you wanted to do a couple of moments ago was tell Mick how proud you were of him. You push your body closer to his, trying to eliminate the almost nonexistent space between the two of you. Mick moans in your mouth, his hands gripping your waist tighter. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for so long.” He says in between kisses. He’s trailing kisses down your jaw then your neck. “Me too. You have no idea.” You breathe into his ear. You’re about to kiss him again when suddenly you hear a knock at the door. You both pause, looking at each other wide-eyed. 

“Mick, it’s Guenther. We need to debrief quickly. Won’t take long, I swear.” You slowly move off of Mick, trying not to make noise. You were sure no one thought you guys were doing anything weird anyway but you didn’t want to be caught looking like it. Mick is still sitting next to you, both of you trying not to laugh. It’s almost like he doesn’t want Guenther to think he’s in the room. “Mick,” You hear knocks coming from the other side of the door. “The earlier we start, the quicker you can get back. Hi to Y/N, who is in there too.” You both burst out laughing, the jig obviously up. Mick finally gets up, chuckling and accepting he has to go and start debriefing. 

“I’ll see you when I get back. Still need to get that thing off of your mind.” He says, winking at you as he steps out of the room. 

[syndxlla]

Part Fourteen of the More to Love Series

Summary: The wedding is in a week, and you’re suddenly very aware of how little time you have left to figure out what to do. You decide to take matters into your own hands, and formulate a plan. Din invites you to a night of experience, and you admit a simple truth to him.

Word Count: 11.8k words, NO USE OF ‘y/n’

Warnings: SMUT (PiV, a little degradation, praise, creampie, cockwarming, dirty talk), use of alcohol, drunkness, mentions of scars, sexual harassment

Author’s note: HELLOOOO! this is a fun chapter, and i just wanna let y’all know that we are in the endgame now 😭. don’t worry, i still have so many plans for both the princess and din and just the whole world that MTL is set in. thank you for all the support on this story! it never ends and i will forever be thankful for your love!

Part thirteen

You were a fool for thinking the castle would start to settle down after the ball passed. Alternatively, the planning did not lessen, but instead shifted from masquerade prep to wedding prep. The decorations were taken out, and new samples were brought in. It was made very clear to you that this was really Korkie’s wedding and not your own, because every decision and plan that was made was done without your input.

It had been a few days since Din told you everything, and he truly told you everything. You had plenty of time to reflect on it, and process everything. You worked so hard to gain perspective on it, to try and give your future family the benefit of the doubt, and to understand the full situation. However, you ultimately sided with Din, your heart aching for the situation he was placed in. It had been apparent that he would not have told you any of that if he did not hold immense trust in his heart for you, and the word Ka’rta over grew into your thoughts for all these days. The both of you had agreed to tone things down, deciding it would be a fair middle ground. Less nightly endeavors would keep you two apart, and therefore less suspicious, but it especially made the reunions of passion more sweet.

Your mother was long gone, she left three days ago, and finally you felt that you had the palace to yourself again without Hugo and various other guests breathing down your neck. Your time as Corellian Princess was in it’s endgame now as your imminent marriage to Korkie was just on the horizon, and you still had no idea how to escape from it. Most of your days, you spent making up excuses for missing afternoon tea, and trying extra bites of potential wedding cake flavors in the kitchen. Regardless of what you did, however, Din was always there with you, three paces behind. You were also given the opportunity to dismiss him more often now. The eager infatuation with him has slowly become a steady understanding of feelings, and the two of you were able to fall into a groove without the anxiety of wondering how the other felt, and how long it would be until you reunited. Tradition and duty had lightened up as well, and there were less eyes on how Din was treating you, which gave you the liberty to give him back an ounce of his life.

This was one of the best things to ever happen to Din. You would retire to your room early every night, hoping no one would wonder if you were ill, and because you were away from the eye of Kryze, you could allow Din to leave the castle early. At seven, sometimes even six, he would go home to his son. It made everyone happy, and that is why it was important to happen. This was much preferred over a midnight dismissal. You also noticed a change in Din’s presence after this change was made. He was springier, chuckling more, even sitting down when the two of you were alone. He had finally relaxed around you, and you accredit to the pure fact that he was finally getting more rest.

Those were your favorite parts of the day: when you and Din would find a quiet corner in the library, or maybe an empty sitting room, and he would just tell you about the world. He had been everywhere, you were convinced. He went into detail of cities in Coruscant, explaining how they have extravagant silk markets and countless taverns with exotic drinks. He described the heat of the desert, and how he once had to search for a merchant’s missing camel in return for clean water, a story that led to one of the scars on his back and a very rational fear of the desert at night. His favorite place to tell you about, however, was his home. The Nevarro Frontier clearly had a special place in his heart, and he spoke fondly of it’s tall mountains and tight-knit communities.

“Nothing like the Mandalore you know.” He would sigh. A kingdom that may have been fantastic on the outside, but was riddled with war and political division and heartache on the inside. “Maybe I can take you there someday.”

It was those words that sparked your imagination, and the plan began to formulate.

The real dilemma you had been in all this time was trying to figure out how to live happily with a man you truly loved, but also protect your kingdom, home and family. It was a delicate situation, one with many sighs and frustrated nights. However, after Din explained his battle with Bo to you, it’s resolution was slowly becoming more clear. There had to be a way you could win in this story. You would not give hope on that truth.

When Din mentioned taking you to his home, you realized that there was very little keeping you from up and leaving Mandalore in the night. It would be a scandal, it would probably cause an all-out war, but it was worth a try, or at least a dream.

Now, when you had afternoon conversations with Din in the library, you were studying maps of the world. You familiarize yourself with the terrain of Mandalore, how long it might take to get to the Sundari Front, and drawing out escape routes on the backs. Din assumed you had thrown yourself into cartography so you could grasp his stories and adventures fully, which wasn’t altogether false, but it went deeper than that. You tried to keep it under control, but you were slowly becoming more and more consumed by your studies: a recurring issue in your life.

Din hadn’t realized you were becoming obsessed with the geography of the world until about a week after the ball, when you fell asleep by candlelight at a table in the library, your face smushed into the parchment of a map depicting some old blueprints that he had paid no attention to, and your hair falling over your eyes. It was almost dawn, and he had come back from his time with his son already, distressed to see no one had the courtesy to wake you up and take you to your room. He didn’t really expect much else from Mandalore, however.

Din blows out the candle, and gently picks you up, being extra careful not to wake you, and carries you bridal-style out of the library and to your suite. It was these moments that Din looked forward to the most. When he did not have to put on a face, when he did not have a million rules to follow. When your sleepy head rests into his chest, and he can look upon your face with his own eyes, no helmet to obstruct it.

As Din looked upon your resting face, there was much he realized. He first noticed that scar on your body that he hadn’t seen before, and swiped his thumb over it. He also studied the way your chest rose and fell with each breath, how you were perfectly still, and yet completely full of life and beauty and pure goodness as you slept. Din deeply admired how much you cared, how much you cared about everything. The wellbeing of the staff, the customs of Mandalore, him. You threw yourself into your passions, and you had a deep love for the hobbies and aspects of your life that no one else he knew possessed. You were a dedicated person, and he found both attraction and respect ino that.

Din also realized a fundamental truth at the very moment the sky began to lighten up, your cracked balcony doors letting the curtains blow into the suite dreamily. Din felt at peace. It had been so long since he felt peaceful. Too long. He felt the same type of peace here with you that he would normally feel sleeping under the stars with his son nestled to his side. Or the same feeling of peace that he felt when he held his son for the first time. It was a rare feeling, and it was pure. It was so rare that it was only saved for the people most important to him in his life.

You woke up a few hours later, changed out of the pale yellow gown you fell asleep in. Din had not only put you in your nightgown, but had taken the time to pull your hair so it was out of your face. He was more thoughtful than you could have ever imagined. The Knight sits with his back against your door, helmet tilted up at the ceiling, and you wonder if he slept, and why he was not in bed with you. You had invited him several times, and wished he would fulfill the request.

As soon as you sit up in bed, his head lifts, and he stands at attention.

You yawn before speaking, “Were you resting?” You ask, stretching your arms over your head. He shakes his head in response. “What were you doing?” You ask, your arms coming down to rest on your mattress.

“Listening?”

“For?”

He shrugs, “The birds at first, but then it was footsteps. I didn’t want to get caught waiting for you to wake up.” He sighs.

“Well… I wish you would have listened in bed with me.” You glance over at the empty spot next to you. He doesn’t respond, and you are reminded that in many ways, he is still the silent knight you first met from three weeks ago. Din walks over to you, and you smile as he does.

“Did I wake you last night?” He asks, and you were honestly confused about what he was asking. He sensed the confusion, he was always so good at reading you, “When I carried you from the library here?”

“What?” And then you remembered, your eyes blowing wide. “Shit!” You jump out of bed. “What time is it?”

“Uh…”

“Is the rest of the staff awake?” You let your hair down, and slide on the pink satin slippers on the floor of your bed.

“What?”

“Did you bring the map I was studying?” You look up at his emotionless helmet.

“…No?” To be truthful, he didn’t even take the time to glance at the map you studied, he was far too distracted by you.

“Fuck.” You muttered. Din liked it when you swore.

You thought of nothing, and hurried to the door of your suite, swinging it open and marching down the corridor. Din follows you in confusion, trying to catch up to you and bring you back to your room. You’re weary, and just woke up, so you pay no attention to Soniee who passes you in the hallway with your tea, looking at you in confusion, or the maids who were trying to sweep the floor that you scurried over. Din tried to halt you, but was never one to speak unless spoken to, especially not in public and in the presence of others, and felt unable to stop you and ask what was going on. Everyone turned heads to see the future consort in a panic, and were left with questions. Most of them shrugged and ignored it, a few began the rumors.

You practically ran down the stairs, feeling a little out of breath when you finally made it to the doors of the library. The fact that they were closed was still a good sign, and you swing the heavy door open, entering the library with haste. Your heart drops when you see the last person you wanted to this morning: Prince Korkie.

He turns to see the commotion, his eyes are shocked to not only see you out and about this early in the day, but also in your nightgown. He sputters on a ‘Good Morning’, and you don’t even hear it because you’re too panicked to see that he has the map you were reading last night in his hands. You swear in your mind, and your heart falls out of your feet. Din comes hurrying behind you.

“Princess? What is the meaning of this?” He asks, an eyebrow raised, trying to sound chipper as he greeted his fiance. You swallow thickly. Din bows for the prince, and then bends down to whisper in your ear so Korkie can’t hear it.

“Highness, please come back to your room.”

“What? Why?” You say a little too loudly, and before he can reply, the door is opening again with General Vizsla and a group of knights entering.

“Y-your gown.” Din whispers, and you look down to see that it is very sheer, far too sheer to be in the presence of your fiance… and half of the Mandalorian government. You want to shrink from the embarrassment, and notice that Korkie’s eyes are fixed on your chest. What a creep. You fold your arms over your breasts.

“What map do you have there, Prince Korkie?” You ask, trying not to make it seem too obvious that you were clearly in distress, but shaken up by your exposure and the perverted ness of the prince before you. Din wondered what in the world could be so important about that specific map. He stands behind you to cover your back side.

“What is this commotion?” Vizsla asks, interrupting your conversation.

“Nothing, General.” Korkie clears his throat. He turns to you, “Vizsla and I were just about to discuss the plans we have for… the southern border of Corellia.” Korkie awkwardly smiles. You raise an eyebrow.

“Plans?” You ask.

“Yes, you will hear in time.” Vizsla’s obnoxiously nasally voice busts in again. He was always one to unwelcomely invite himself.

You try not to roll your eyes, “And the map, Your Highness?” You repeat yourself, trying not to sound too demanding. You were still a princess, after all.

Korkie nervously chuckles, eyeing the multiple men in the room and shocked by your ambition. He takes a step forward, rolling the map up in his hands as he advances in you and Din’s direction. Din placed a discreet hand on the small of your back, hoping to reassure you. His touch was barely noticeable, but it was enough.

“Princess,” He says, sort of hushed. “You can call me Korkie in front of other people.” It was clear that he had an expectation to fill, and it would be bad on him if his fiance was still addressing him with a title a week before the wedding.

You scoff, “No, I don’t think I will.”

You hold your hand out for the map in defiance, but the prince doesn't hand it to you. He has a dark look in his eyes, one you have never seen before. Din tries to pull back on your bicep, trying to alleviate the situation, but you stay steadfast. “I will take that map now, Your highness.” You bite through the title, wanting it to cut. Korkie lifts his chin with an authoritative look, putting the rolled up map behind his back.

“Get this woman out of my meeting!” He calls out, and turns away. Your face drops, thinking you had the upper-hand, but realize that is taken away from you as two muscular guards pick you up, pulling you away from Din, and walking you out of the library. Korkie always does this, he’s madly in love with you until he’s not. It makes you remember that all of this is probably a ruse for power. Your heart and spirit drop, and you feel nothing but pure disrespect and rage. Din quickly follows. You try to writhe out of the guard’s grasp, not wanting to give up without a fight, but failing miserably. They were both very strong, probably because they had to compensate for how scrawny the Prince is.

“I can take it from here, gentlemen.” Din says, loudly, louder than you usually hear him speak. “I said I can take her!” Din yells when they don’t respond. Then, you hear the indefinite sound of a punch. These guards were still fully armored, but there was no withstanding the strength and brute force of your Knight when you were endangered. The guard Din had punched lets you go as a reaction, and you use it as an opportunity to take your now free hand and twist the wrist of the other guard off of you. All of the self-defense Din had previously taught you paid off in that moment as he yelled out in pain, not expecting your strength or skill. You were taught by the best, after all.

Now that you were free from the clutches of Korkie’s personal guards, you felt Din grab your hand and pull you. The two of you ran through the corridors, down another flight of stairs, and passed the throne room, making sure not to look back in the direction of the library. You ran parallel to the ballroom, and then finally down a final flight of stairs to the foyer of the castle. Din tugs you into a narrow hall, and down a spiral staircase. It was the way to the staff quarters, you remember from the day you went to the ocean. You were shocked and confused about what happened, and truthfully kind of exhausted. You were relieved when Din finally slowed down, and pulled you into Koska’s sister’s room. It was empty, thank the Stars.

“Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close them!” Din says and it startles you, but you do it. He pulls his helmet off with haste, tossing it to the floor with a clang. Din places both of his strong hands on either side of your face, pulling you towards him and then kisses you with so much force and hunger that you stumble back in surprise, your eyes cracking open for just a split second. You didn’t see much, because his face was so squished into yours. All you caught a glimpse of was his eyelashes for a millisecond, but that was enough. Din is pushing you against the wall, pinning you to it, and kissing you so hard that you have to pull away to get some air. “I don’t think I have ever been as attracted to you as I was when you stood up to that prick.” He chuckles, and you hum back. Din takes a deep breath before speaking up again, “What was on that map?” He asks, out of breath, too.

You sigh, sort of embarrassed, eyes still shut tightly, “It was the tunnel plans of the castle.”

“What, you mean the blueprints?”

“Yes.” Your eyes stay closed.

“The blueprints that are at least three-hundred years old?”

“Mhm.”

“How did you get your royal hands on those?” Din asks, baffled.

“It doesn’t matter! What does matter is that I made notes on the back of the map!” You blurt, feeling shame, “I wrote the estimated times it would take and which halls to take from my room!” You groan, so badly wanting to open your eyes. You remembered what you said to yourself all those weeks ago, however, reminding yourself that it should be his choice to show you his face and no one else’s. You sigh, “The Prince isn’t stupid! I’m sure he thinks I’m plotting something now!” You hope you don’t sound too panicked, but if you were being honest, you were. Din sighs, clearly frustrated, although you weren’t sure if he was sexually or emotionally… or a little bit of both. “I’m sorry.” You sigh, your hands coming up and searching for his shoulders. “I should not have been so careless.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” You weren’t expecting him to agree with you, he usually doesn’t. He takes a calming breath, “…Are you plotting something?” He asks, his eyes moving between your closed eyelids in search of a non-verbal answer that he’ll never receive.

You don’t want to answer, but know you don’t have a choice. “Yes.” You feel guilty after saying it, although you aren’t sure why. Din exhales deeply this time. “But listen! We could run! I don’t have to stay here! We can fix this! We can get into Coruscant and they’ll never come looking for us, and then we can go to Nevarro, go to your home! We’ll take your son-“

“Rue.”

“What?”

“My son, his name is Rue.”

Rue. It was simple, to the point, just like Din’s. You liked it. “We’ll take Rue! Please, Din, we need to! It will be the only way we will ever be happy!” Your thumbs rub into the thick skin of his neck. You didn’t mean to vomit so much information on him at once, but he didn’t really give you an option.

He exhales deeply, and you know he’s processing everything you just told him. “We can’t”

“Why not?”

“Because!” He yells and it scares you. You drop your hands, your heart rate rising. A lump grows in your throat and you silently curse your emotions for betraying you. You swallow back a tear. He walks away from you and you hear the helmet pick up from off the floor. He puts it back on his head, and you know from practice and instinct when to open your eyes. When you do, he’s sitting on the chest at the end of the bed, his head dropped and hands pressed to the edge of the wood by his sides. You frown, and walk over to him. Din pushes his head into your abdomen, and you hold him there, just existing in not-so-comfortable silence. It’s tense, and not the type of tension that you usually like to experience with I’m.

He’s surprisingly the one to speak up, however. “We can’t… because Bo will hunt me and kill me and Rue and you… she’ll kill everything I love.” His voice cracks at the same time your heart does. Did he actually…

“Not to mention the war between our kingdoms it will start. Corellia can’t support itself in a war. We both know that.” Din sighs, maybe he was telling himself this just as much as he was telling you.

You sigh. He was right and you knew it, but it didn’t keep you from wanting to run away with him any less. “Din…” He looks up at you. “We have to get that map from Korkie.” You say, more stern but still comforting this time. His head tilts in question. You sigh, feeling guilty. “I wrote something else on it.” You look away from him, your eyes trailing. His hand reaches up to grab your chin, pulling your head to look right at him. Your eyebrows furrow. “Directions to your home.” The atmosphere in the room changes. You can feel it. “I know I shouldn’t have, I know it puts Rue in danger, but it gives us all the more reason to get that map back from Korkie as soon as possible.” His hand drops from your chin. You felt terrible.

“Okay, okay. We can check the library again and… if it’s not there we’ll go confront him. We’ll get it tonight.” He nods.

“Are you sure? What if he reads it?” You were surprised how lax he was, but something told you that he was controlling himself from his true emotions.

“As far as I’m concerned, the Prince has no reason to cause me or my family any harm.” He nods.

“Not yet.”

—

You swallow, your face inches away from the door of the Prince’s bedroom. Din was around the corner of the corridor, both of you knew this was something you would have to do on your own, without his support. You had never been here before, and after ample search in the library for the map all afternoon, there was no other option. It was late, but not inappropriately late. You wore that same dress you wore weeks ago, the soft blue one that was off the shoulder one that adorned your figure elegantly. It was one of the most sophisticated gowns in your closet. More mature than most of the flowy princess ballgowns. It was a diplomatic but still ethereal fashion choice, which you desperately needed after a humiliating encounter this morning. The scar on your shoulder from the endeavor in Keldabe had mostly healed, and only had a pale pink to it. You looked back at Din, who was peering around the corner, for some reassurance. He nodded, and you took a deep breath. Two knocks would be enough. The door swings open, and you are suddenly very aware that you would have to brave this encounter without the support of your trusted Knight. Korkie is who answers the door, and he looks mildly unamused to see you.

“Princess?” He tilts his head.

“Evening, I hope it is not too late?” You suggest, keeping your voice as monotone and unwelcoming as possible. You wanted him to know that you were here for a serious matter.. You noticed he was covering the door with his body, perhaps he was hiding something from you too.

“For my fiance? Never.” You hated being called that, but if it was what it took for him to invite you into the room,you could deal with it. Korkie’s room was large, it was far more spacious than yours. It had a billowing fireplace and sitting area, the ceilings twice the height of your suite’s, and a private library pushed into the northeast corner. You familiarize yourself with your surroundings, and the heir closes the door behind you. You silently scanned the room for the map, you would have to snatch it up without it being suspicious, and you could not explicitly ask for it again. “What do I owe this honor?” He says from behind, charming as usual, although his words did seem a bit slurred. You see that an opened book sat on the seat of a chair in the sitting area. He must have been reading before you interrupted him. You turn around, and lift your chin, trying to look and sound as put together and unsuspecting as possible.

You clear your throat, “I wanted to apologize for this morning.” You nod. It wasn’t true, but you had rehearsed with Din several times the best way to stall time as you looked for the map, and this was the best way of going about. “It was inappropriate behavior, especially in front of the General.” You disagreed with your own words, and felt bad lying, but it came so naturally when done to the Prince.

Korkie sighs, and crosses over the room, looking up at a portrait above the fireplace. Your eyes still searched for your map, but had no clue where it might be. This was your first time here, after all. “Worry not, Highness.” Korkie downs a bit of brandy that was sitting for him. You didn’t like him when he was drunk.

“You’re sure?” You figured that would have made conversation more natural, but he clearly was not in the mood for propriety. He pours another drink, and even pours one for you, offering it. You shake your head and mutter a ‘no thank you’, not really wanting to get drunk tonight. Din wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk. You admired that he respected you that much, but it also deprived you of the one thing worth all the pomp and circumstance. Korkie shrugs and drinks both, and you’re frankly appalled by this conduct.

“Indeed.” He hiccups. “Everyone loves a little show.” He chuckles, and you frown. Was that all your humiliation was to him? A show? “Now, Princess,” He takes a step towards you, and you feel so unprotected. Din would have stepped in by now, you knew that. You didn’t have the same sense of security you usually had when he wasn’t at your side. “Why did you really come here?” He asks, running his hand through his hair.

“Excuse me?” You nervously laugh. How did he figure any of this out? You take steps back that mirror his, trying to keep the same amount of distance between him and you but struggling to when you hit the post of his bed, your back flush against it. Your hands wrap around the wood working, and you look up at him nervously. You felt the same as you didn’t when you were cornered and harassed in the slum of Keldabe. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You clear your throat, trying to solve something, anything. Where could that cursed map be?

“Don’t-“ He says through gritted teeth, he catches himself from lashing out, and collects his composure before speaking again. “Don’t assume I am blind.”

“I would never-“

“Liar!” He spits out and you flinch back. He laughs a few times, it’s that evil, frustrated laugh. It was the type of laugh that people do when they’re trying to calm themselves down, but in turn they simply seem more angry. You were genuinely scared, unsure of what to do in this situation. “What were the directions you wrote on the back of the map?” He asks, and you furrow your brows.

“I don’t know what you mean?” This was partially true. How did he not understand the very neat and clear directions on the back of the blueprints to the secret passages? And in all curiosity, why did he care?

Korkie grunts again. “You are foolish.” He was dangerously close to you, and you wanted to get out of that room as soon as possible. You wanted Din to come protect you, you needed him to. “Are you forgetting who you belong to?” His hand sets on your hip, and you flinch again.

“I belong to no one.” You defy.

“You belong to me.” He grits his jaw again. You closed your eyes out of instinct due to the sheer anger and tension in his tone. His breath smelled of alcohol, and you wished you had the authority to slap him. He laughs his chuckle of malice again, and then before you can blink, he leans in for a kiss. How could he? How could he take advantage of your vulnerable state like this? Your blood boiled, and just in time, you dodge his lips. You swoop under his arm, away from the bedpost and back to the security of a full room you can avoid him in. He looks at you, clearly appalled. You were dizzy, probably from adrenaline. You wished this was surprising, but it was the exact thing you expected The Prince to do. This is when you noticed the map was rolled up and on the floor beside the fireplace. The new perspective of the room is what made you see it. Had he intended to burn it?

“You know,” You say as you take a step towards the map, “You should have another drink.” You offer. “You’re clearly tense,” You stepped between each phrase, “And it would be better for everyone.” Somewhere deep down you wanted to believe that Korkie was only acting this way because he was drunk. But you knew it wasn’t true. You realized that everything inside of you was looking for a redeemable quality in him, a reason to stay perhaps. You wanted to believe he was worth staying for, but you knew that he wasn’t, not when everything you’ve ever wanted was just outside the door.

Before Korkie can take another step towards you, you’re bolting towards the map, snatching it up in your hands and then running towards the door. The adrenaline shoots through your veins, and it only grows when you hear him growl again and his heavy footsteps run after you. You have to physically hold yourself back from squealing in stress, your hand slapping over your mouth. You rip the door open, and try slamming it behind you, but Korkie’s arm is caught in the door, and you smash it. He cries out, and the commotion makes Din run down the hall towards you to check what was going on. Korkie was able to get a hand on the collar of your dress, and he tries to pull you back in, but your strength is enough to get away. You ran to Din, who looked concerned, you could tell by his stance alone. He was tense and his hands balled in fists at his side.

Korkie pulls open the door, holding his arm to his chest, and you look back, your heart racing. You are so relieved when you make it to Din, and you grab his hand, threading your fingers into his and pulling him down the hall in the same fashion he did early that day. Several guards who heard the heir’s yell were running in all directions, but none of them paid any attention to you, thank the stars.

You think you are crying, but you aren’t sure. You felt raw fear being alone with the Prince. You never wanted to be alone with him again, never.

You keep running nonsense in the castle, not really sure where you’re going but wanting to be anywhere other than there. Din is the one to stop you after the mindless escape, pulling you into a branching hallway and against an unsightly window. He grabs both of your arms, and pulls you flush against his chest. He holds you there for a long time, and you both get a chance to catch your breath. You cry into the beskar chestplate, and feel rather foolish for reacting as such. Din was silent, and just held you, his strong arms wrapped around you as tightly as they could be.

“What did he do to you?” He asks, and you sigh out pathetically. Din repeats his question, still calm and gentle, but more urgent.

“I-I was so scared.” You stutter. Din somehow squeezes you tighter after you say this. After you collect yourself a little more, you can speak again, “he was drink-“

“Did he… touch you?”

You weren’t sure why you felt like you were in trouble, but aggressively reminded yourself that Din would never be upset with you, at least not for something like this. “Yes… But not very much, he just touched my hip and leaned in to kiss me.”

“Did he?”

“No!” You say almost defensively, “I got away just in time.” You pull away and look up at him with teary eyes. His hand comes up, and he pulls the glove off. His bar hand caresses your flushed face, swiping a tear off your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry-“

“Why?”

“I don’t know!” You breathe out shakily. “For crying I guess? For letting the map get away? For letting him touch me-“ You try to look away but his fingers catch your chin again, pulling your gaze back onto his helmet.

“Stop that. It’s not your fault. He is disgusting for doing that.” Din nods, and you swallow a sob. “Do you understand?” He asks, and you slowly nod once. “And promise me, that you’ll never ever blame yourself for anything like that ever again, okay?” You nod again. “Promise me!” He wasn’t angry or forceful, just steadfast with his words. He meant what he was saying.

“I promise.” You mutter. After you reply you hear his exhale in his armor. He pulls you against his chest again, and you can feel it move with each breath. You wished you could hear his heartbeat again like you could when you wake up next to him. You’re able to finally relax, and his embrace was the most calming thing you had ever experienced.

“I was worried sick about you.” He says, far more soft spoken than his remarks before. You didn’t verbally reply, but he was able to read how you felt. “I don’t like you being alone with him.”

“Me neither.” You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut and letting the final few tears fall out of your lashes. “All the more reason to leave.” He tenses after you say it, and his arms loosen a bit around your shoulders.

“You really want to?” He asks, you nod against his chest. “You know the possible consequences? This could mean the destruction of Corellia.”

“I know. That’s why it’s so hard. I don’t know what to do. I know what I want, and that is to leave here with you, but I don’t want my own selfishness to risk the lives of thousands who I vowed to protect.” You pull your head away from his chest.

“You… really want to live a life with me?” He asks, almost oblivious to your prior remark. You nod nod, or even say yes, but you just look up at him in all seriousness, hoping it would be enough.

It was.

“You don’t even know what I look like.” His arms drop. Did he think you a fool for that?

“We…” You debate your words, “We can change that.” You close your eyes, hoping that it would mean something to him, and maybe it did, but just as always, he didn’t show it. He just takes his cursed, gloveless hand and tilts your chin up to see him.

“In time we will, but only when it is right.” He nods.

It wasn’t the answer you wanted, but it was enough. It was more than anything he had ever given you before.

“Come on,” Din says gently, “There’s something I want to show you.” He beckons with his head down the hall, and you follow, interlocking your fingers with his again, the map in your other hand. You weren’t really sure how he was able to be so calm and reassuring, especially without showing an ounce of emotion through all of it, but it was a Godsend. You weren’t sure if Din loved you, at least not in the same way you loved him, but you were sure that he cared about you, and he wanted you to be safe and happy. And that was all you needed, for now.

“Had he read the map?” Din asks as you walk down a flight of stairs, descending the various levels of the palace and undoubtedly heading for the staff quarters again.

“I believe so.” You sigh, “Although he seemed confused about it. I think he was a little too drunk to fully comprehend, or he was giving me the benefit of the doubt.” You shrug.

“Well, at least we have it now, right?” Din asks, his head slightly turning back to look at you as he says it, and you give a nervous but relieved smile in response. The two of you loop through halls, and you’re very aware of how much the castle is winding down. Staff have retired for the night, doors were closed, even the usual laughter coming from parlors or the ballroom was silenced. Was it really that late? You didn’t really have much of a perception of time anymore after everything that had just happened.

The one part of the castle that was full of life, however, was the staff quarters. As you got closer, you could hear the usual laughter, and warm, welcoming light poured from the low corridor. Music played, it was loud, and your eyes searched for the spectacle that was just awaiting you.

“You said you wanted to get to know the staff better…”

“I did?” You ask.

“A few nights ago, you were really tired, you might not remember.” He shrugged. You didn’t really care whether or not you really said those things, what stuck out to you, however was that Din remembered that. He was observant enough to remember specific phrases you said, and not any phrases, the ones that were sleepy and probably full of nonsense. You would lie if you said you didn’t gush over that a little.

Din takes you into the staff common room, and it’s all clear. The warm smells, the enticing light, the infectious laughter, it all came from the whole castle staff crammed into this one room. There was food, and everyone laughed and danced to the music that a handful of staff members played. Their instruments were humble, probably retired from the royal orchestra years ago, but you could tell there were fond memories and stories linked with every single one. It was hot, and there were a lot of people crammed into the room. The doors were wide open, and the tables were pushed back against the walls so that the floor could be opened to a large and intricate group dance. It was nothing like the pompous dances that the nobility did at the ball, however. This dance was filled with joy, and mistakes were not only welcomed, but celebrated. Expression was the center of the party, and all types of people were involved. Children who were up far past their bedtime joined in the festivities, dancing and laughing and chasing one another, elderly staff sat at the tables, clapping along to the folk music, and the servants who usually give you sour tea and hot bread had their shoes off, jumping on the stone floor of the common area. Some of the knights and guards had their helmets on like Din usually did, and others did not. You realized it really probably boiled down to personal preference, or duty.

You smiled at the spectacle, and it gave you a deep and undeniable sense of community and love. You quickly learned that the livelihood of the castle did not rest in the parties and rules that an uptight Queen set in place, but the very people who made the castle work smoothly.

The laughter and joy was contagious, and you couldn’t stop yourself from joining the fun. You jump into the dance, not sure of the steps, but picking up your ridiculous skirt and starting anyways. You hoped it wasn’t obvious that you had been crying a half hour before, but no one paid any attention if it was. The women in the circle linked their arms with yours, and you spun in a circle. The one to your right couldn’t have been older than fifteen, and she yelled over the noise how to do the footsteps. You couldn’t really hear her, but looked down at her feet and tried to mimic it. You had the cheesiest smile on your face, and the room spun as you danced. Din crosses over to a wall, leaning against it and crossing his arms, watching you.

After that dance finished, another song started, and the moves were rather different. However, a girl pulled you out of the circle, and tugged on your dress. “It’s too big!” She shouts over the music, “You’ll never make it through the next song!” You nod and then walk over to a table. You stand on top of the table after a few jumbled ‘excuse me’s’. You were sure everyone recognized you, but they didn’t treat you differently for one moment. It was… refreshing. You kicked your shoes off, and several people turned to look at you, some cheered, others laughed. You then bite your bottom lip and pull the strings of the corset you wore, loosening it enough to slip out of your crinoline and ruffled-slip, leaving you in nothing but your undergarment petticoat and the top layer of the gown you were wearing. There was laughter, and you didn’t hear or see Din chuckle. You swayed your hips, and after a playful “huzzah!” from the crowd, a few knights helped you off the table. You immediately return to the dance circle, and you’re able to move much easier. You’re thrown back into the stimulating dance. The woman was right, this was much more physical, jumping and kicking was done and it was far more exciting than any of the proper waltzes you had spent your life dedicating time to.

You step out after two more songs, trying to catch your breath and wiping the sweat off your brow. There was alcohol, just hooch, but a bearded man gave you a big mug and you happily chugged it down. Din was impressed with your ability to consume so much so quickly. The men all cheered and hollered as you downed the drink, also impressed with the skill. You didn’t know you could do it, either.

A game of cards is being played, and you’re roped into that, too. You bet some money (money you didn’t have) and helped a tired, old man who usually worked in the stables play, after a few tough rounds, and struggling to learn the rules as you played, you won the pot for the old man. Three other much younger boys who usually worked at the front gate looked in shock as you pulled the money towards you and the man. He laughed and thanked you for your help.

Some little girls examined your crinoline and corset, a few older women all pinched your cheeks, and a fat man gave you a huge helping of mashed potatoes and greens. You got to overeat shamelessly, and it felt so rewarding after weeks of eating like a bird in fear of being judged by your in-laws. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world to be treated normally. You caught a glimpse of Soniee, who braided a boy’s hair. You even noticed that Koska was there, the center of one of the dance circles, swaying her skirt to the beat with another girl, the two dancing together in a vibrant duet of culture and community. Your feet only began to hurt when you were pulled to dance again, and your cheeks ached from smiling so wide. It was the most alive and accepted you had ever felt in Mandalore.

At one point, you found yourself just a few feet away from Din in the dance. You hold your hands out for him, beckoning him to join. “Dance with me!” You shout out. Before you get an answer, however, you're pulled back into the center of the group. It isn’t for a few more cycles and bars of the song that you’re back out by him. “Please?” You try to be as enticing as possible. He shakes his head, his hand coming up to decline. You raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t dance!” He yells back. You roll your eyes and step out of the group momentarily. You grab both of his hands, your face with the cheesiest smile ever, and pull him onto the floor. He tries to fight back, but ultimately loses.

“Yes you do!” You reply, yelling as loud as possible so he might be able to hear you. “You proved it to me last week!” You say and in perfect time, your arms go up together with the beat of the song. He hadn’t done this dance before, but has watched it enough times to know what’s going on, although he looked rather awkward and foolish doing so. You grab his hand, your hips turning left to right in time, and you look down at your bodies, trying to show him as best as you can.

“I have no idea what’s going on!” Din yells at one point, the two of you now in the heart of the party.

“Me neither!” You laugh, “That’s what’s so wonderful about it!” Then came the part of the dance to clap your hands, the two of you clapping up by your face, and mirroring one another. “Now you’re getting the hang of it!” You nod. He rolls his eyes, and is thankful you can’t see it. It would be horrible for his reputation if anyone knew that he was having even a little fun, especially because it was with you. Din doesn’t usually come to these parties. They happen most Saturday nights, but he runs home to his son. Tonight, however, it was important to him that you got to experience it, especially after everything that happened earlier today.

You both start getting the hang of it, and Din mentally thanks his helmet for hiding the smile on his face. Your feet grapevine, and then you both jump. Everyone hoots and hollers, it’s part of the dance. Suddenly, the both of you are in the middle of the dance circle in the same way that Koska was with her partner a few songs ago, and you’re leading the spiral. You can’t wipe the darkish smile off your face and genuinely can’t believe you got him out here.

“Atta boy, Djarin!” Koska yells from a table, standing up and toasting a Ming of hooch. The music picked up in preparation for the big finish. Din and you spun around one another, your bodies coming flush until your palms press flat, your faces only inches apart. You always thought playing off of one another in a dance was important for the emotion during a waltz, but a fancy three-step had nothing on the emotion and passion put into a dance such as this. Somehow, you could still play off of him, and the performance was one of shared respect and assurance. Despite never having seen his face, you got the Knight, you understood him in a way no one ever did. The song ends, the two of you real close to one another, and out of breath. The entire room roared in joy as they cheered for the both of you, and you looked up at the visor of his helmet.

“I want to kiss you!” He yells, and although his request is very clear, no one can hear it over the volume of the room.

“Then kiss me!” You reply. You didn’t give a damn if every servant of the Mandalorian royal family saw it. He laughs, you feel it, and then he’s pulling his helmet up.

He just reveals his lips, but you look upon them with no shame, admiring the way his Cupid’s bow dipped, and the scruff on his jawline. You smiled wide, and he smiled back. You feel honored to share this moment with him. Everyone around you was so loud, and they were cheering for both you and Din. You couldn’t believe how many of them knew his name as they called it out in encouragement.

Din’s free hand wraps around your waist, and pulls it in tight to him forcefully, you blush at the gesture, and the crowd “ooh’s” flirtily at it. Din Djarin then kisses you. He pulls your body into his soft lips and you sigh into it and it;s too quiet for him to hear but as soon as your lips meet, the crowd of staff disappears. Their cheers blur together, and fade out. Your lips move together passionately, and you do so with no shame. He groans against you, and you can feel it more than you can hear it, and it’s all you ever wanted.

For weeks now you just wanted to share your love with him publicly, and now that you have, you’re aware of how personal your love with him really is.

The crowd fades back in, everyone laughing in support and amusement. Your lips softly party and you grin from ear to ear. Din does too, shameless for once. His teeth are nice and straight. Oh God, you loved his smile.

Oh Stars, you loved him.

“Din!” You yell out. “I love you!” It was time to say it, because it was true. You meant it and as you say it, giggle.

“What?”

“I love you!” It’s so loud that you’re even sure if he can’t hear it, you can barely hear it yourself. But, in classic Din Djarin fashion, he doesn’t answer. He was never good with words, and was much better at showing you what was on his mind. He kisses you again, just as passionately, but this time it’s a series of short, quick pecks on your lips that get progressively more sloppy. He smiles into each kiss and you feel those magic butterflies again.

The rest of the night is a dreamy blur, Din dances the whole time with you, the music eventually slows, you notice that there are less and less kids in the common room. It winds down, and your feet ache in the best way. An ache that would be associated with happy memories. It was long past midnight when you decided to stop dancing, and a lone fiddler is all who was left in the band, playing a ballad to end the night. There was still soft laughter, and a few stragglers who slowly danced to the music. Din was one of the few who were still playing cards, one of his fellow knights challenging him to a game. Din was always up for a challenge, and both he and the man he played against looked deep in thought. You realized you were finally able to read him through all that beskar, and he was far more reactive than you ever would have known if you weren’t looking for it. Your cheek sits in your palm, and your eyes are heavy, but you watch him fondly from across the room. Koska sits next to you, handing you a cup of water.

“You had fun.” She hums, taking a sip out of her own cup.

You nervously laugh in response, she wasn’t wrong. “I didn’t realize how connected you all were.” You say with a sigh before taking a sip of the water and being so relieved to finally get some hydration after all of the energy you exerted.

“Yeah…” Koska was in her typical undisturbed mood, relaxed and observant. “These are the people of Mandalore.” She sighs, “They are what we really represent. We aren’t all about war and decoration, there’s so much more to us that the world doesn’t see.” You were touched by that remark, because you had seen it too. “The truth that’s hard for all of us to believe is that the rest of the world only respects us to stay on our good side.” Her voice drops a little. She looks at you, her eyes heavy as always. You aren’t sure how to respond, because it was true. Koska takes another sip before changing the subject, “I’ve never seen him dance before.” She nods towards Din. “At least not like that.” She laughs into her cup.

You smile, “I didn’t think he had it in him.” You tease.

“He wouldn’t have if you weren’t there.” Koska shrugs. “He’s like a whole different person around you. It’s refreshing.”

“He told me about everything that happened.” You reply. “With him and Bo.”

“He did? I don’t think he’s really talked to anyone about it.”

“He just told me last week, after the ball.” You nod. “I had no idea… but it all makes sense in the end.” You finish off the last of your water as his card game finishes, the few people watching cheering as Din lays down his cards and wins. The other knight, whose face was also covered by a heavy, beskar helmet slammed his fist down on the table in defeat. Din took the money that was on the bet.

“He’s better because of you.” Koska says, smiling as he wins. “I’ve had to look out for him in a way for a long time, he’s one of my oldest friends.” She speaks of him fondly. “But I feel like he doesn’t need me as much anymore, now that you can keep an eye out for him.” Koska turns to look a t you, but you don’t notice it. “You love him?”

“I do.” You nod. “Well… I think I do.” You sigh, “I don’t really know what love is I suppose, but I believe how I feel about him is the closest thing to it.” You shrug. “And I’m totally fucked because of it.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Koska explains, “I’ve never been in love either.”

“Really?” You ask, mildly shocked in all honesty. Koska nods. “There’s no one special in your life?”

“Well, there’s one girl.” Koska begins, “But my feelings towards her are more of an… obligation, I suppose.”

“I used to worry that’s how Din felt about me.” You admit.

“Oh trust me,” She chuckles once, “It isn’t like that for him at all.” She hums and you sigh in response, you sit in comfortable silence for a moment after that before Koska speaks up again, “What are you gonna do?” She asks.

“I don’t know.” You admit, turning to look at her, “But now that the majority of the castle staff has seen us kiss, I need to think of something.”

“That was pretty stupid, by the way.” Koska rolls her eyes.

You chuckle, “I suppose it was…” Din starts walking back to you, “But I can’t seem to care. I’m sick of hiding from everyone.” Din makes it to the two of you, and you smile as you look up at him.

“It’s not much,” He holds out the money before pocketing it, “But Rue will be happy.” He laughs and holds a hand out for you to take. “How drunk is she?” He asks Koska.

“She’s fine-“

“I only had one drink!” You roll your eyes, knowing that your night with Din will end very quickly if you were drunk. You take his hand and he hoists you up with him.

“Hm… that’s what you said the other night.”

“She’s okay, maybe a little tipsy but nothing keeping her from holding a perfectly normal conversation.” Koska says to Din, knowing full well why he even asked, a smirk plasters on her face.

“Come on.” Din hums, and pulls you down one of the various halls that branch from the common room, but not the one that both of you were familiar with because of your aid from Koska.

Din leads you through the candle-lit halls, and into a small bedroom. It was cramped, and there was barely enough room for the both of you, but it was cozy. He lit an oil lamp, and it illuminated the room just enough. Din slowly pulls off his helmet, and it’s so dim that you can’t really see anything like normal, but you can make out faint features and the light in his eyes. It was enough. He started to take off his armor too, and you patiently waited with your back against the outerwall that the window was in. He sets the chestplate and pauldrons in a neat pile on the foot of the bed, and kicks his boots off. His arm comes up to rub his neck, and he stretches a few times. He pulls the chainmail up over his head, leaving him in the same peasant blouse and trousers that he wore at the beach all those days ago. You would never get used to how trim his waist was, and how broad his shoulders were. He turns around, and has a smile on his face. You wished you could see him in the light. Din runs his hands through his thick curls and then steps towards you. You close the gap and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for an innocent kiss.

“Thank you.” You mutter.

“What for?”

“For bringing me here tonight… for being with me.” You sigh, and look up at him lovingly. He sighs, and kisses you again. Din starts to deepen the kiss, and you moan into his lips. He was a good kisser, that was for sure.

[SMUT BEGINS HERE]

Din wastes no time, he picks you up by the thighs, lifting you on his waist so you’re kissing down into him, and before you know it, he’s kissing your jaw. Din had learned your body, he knew the sweet spot on your jaw, and always knew just how long he could suck on it before it became a hickey. He never crossed that line, he knew when to stop, but how badly you wanted him to mark you up so Korkie could see, you wanted everyone to see who you loved and why. His strong hands bunch up your skirt, and lift it up so your ass could be uncovered. His arms hold you, and he stumbles back until he falls on the bed in the room. You straddle the knight and get comfortable on his lap. You can feel his hard-on growing, and you’ll never get over the confidence boost that gives you. You start to tentatively rub your hips so that you grinned down into him. You get a sting of pleasure through your spine, and you’re already getting wet. Because you were down in the lower level of the palace, and was totally isolated from most people with thick, stone walls, you take advantage of the opportunity to make noise. You moan into Din’s mouth, and he holds his lips apart for you. His breath against your face was enough alone to drive you crazy, and your fingers twist around the strands of curly, brown hair that sit at the nape of his neck.

Din’s thick, calloused fingers find their way between your legs from the back, and he starts to gently run his fingertips through your slick folds. You gasp at the feeling, he was so gentle with every move. He starts to moan as well as your hips grind further into him in search for more friction and pleasure, and the sound of his voice unobstructed by the beskar is your favorite sound in the whole world. Din settles into his seat, and he pulls you forward onto him. This allows your hips to lift up just enough that he can insert a finger through your cunt. He starts pumping his wrist immediately, fingering you. You pulled your lips away from him, and sat up straight. You throw your head back with a moan, and then bring your hands to the tucked in portion of your shirt. You pull it up over your head, and wriggle out of the slip that kept you clothed. You were finally naked, and you took your free hands and squeezed each nipple. Between the feeling of Din’s fingers deep inside of you, his growing-bulge rutting against your clit, and the added pinch of your nipples, you were already in a euphoric bliss that didn’t take long to reach.

“Din-“ you moan his name, which he loved. He’s eager, and isn’t afraid to show it. Din pulls his cock out from his trousers, and he lets you grind against the tip. You keep it from going in, trying to tease him in the same way that he did the morning after the ball. It was really just driving you over the edge, really, and so before you let his swollen tip prod at your slickness anymore, you steady yourself on his broad shoulders, and take a deep breath before sinking down onto him. Both of you moan out when you do, and he throws his head back, exposing a thick cord of muscle in his neck. You bend down to nip at his adam’s apple before suckling into his tan skin, making sure to leave a massive, purple bruise on the middle of his neck. You bottom out as you do this, and the sensation shoots up your body. You liked being on top for the sheer fact that it gave you a different angle. Din’s length was pressing up into you now, and he filled you up delightfully. Your favorite feeling in the world was being stuffed by him like this.

You could feel every inch of him as you lifted your hips up, you were so wet and it was already such a loud, obscene noise. You kept sucking hickeys into him, and your hands moved from his neck down to the hem of his blouse. You grab the sheer fabric, and pull it up over his head so that Din is finally as shirtless as you. His huge hands stay on your ass, squeezing the fat there and using his own strength to lift you up and down on his cock. It’s slow at first, but it allows the both of you to really savor the feeling of one another. You scratch your fingernails down his pecs, scratching at his abdomen, and then finally trailing in between your legs to circle at your clit as the pace picked up. You lean forward to rest your glistening forehead on his bare shoulder, and your bare chests press into one another.

Din begins to thrust his hips up, and before you know it, you’re bounding on his cock. It’s fast and hard and your weight is slamming you down on to him over and over again with no end in sight. It’s painful in a good way, the same type of ache that would have good memories and passion attached to it. You knew your core would be sore tomorrow, but it was worth it as Din’s huge cock runs against your g-spot over and over again inside of you. Your fingers speed up on your clit, and you bite down on Din’s shoulder muscle to keep from being too loud. He’s grunting and growling and is absolutely feral and the noises eliciting off of his kiss-swollen lips are needy yet dominate at the same time. You could get drunk on his breathy-sighs, his voice as dark and husky as always.

“That’s it,” He groans into your ear, you moan in response to his words. You loved when he was vocal because it was so rare that he actually was. “Are you gonna cum on my fucking cock, Princess?” He asks.

“Mhm.” You pathetically moan.

“Fuck-“ he groans, and then shifts his position. Suddenly, the two of you are standing up, and the way his length moves and twitches inside of you as he stands up pulls an involuntary moan from your lips. Din lifts you up with his arms, arching his torso back so that you can lean on him. He then gets right back at the task at hand: chasing your orgasm. It was close, you could feel it, and somehow Din seemed to have more energy and strength in this position. He lifted you up and down on his cock, and your arms found their place wrapped back around his neck, desperately trying to hold yourself up as he absolutely tears into you. He was so big, you keep forgetting how thick he is until his swollen and hard cock is filling you up like you were only made for this exact thing.

He must have gotten tired, you could tell not only by the sheen layer of sweat on his chest, but he pulled you off of himself, and threw you onto the bed. You giggle at the forceful contact, and like being tossed around in bed. It made you feel small, and it really showed his strength. Din pumps his leaking cock a few times, kneeling in front of you and pulling your legs apart. You bite your lip out of lust before he slaps the head of his length on your cunt a few times. The sound is so dirty, and it makes you even wetter.

“Stars, you’re so fucking wet for me.” He bites his lip, slapping his cock harder against you. “Can you hear that? Can you hear how fucking wet that pussy is?” He asks you. Stars, he was good at this.

“Yes… so wet for you.” You sigh, your hand coming down to play with your clit again. Din mutters a ‘that’s right’ before he slides himself through your folds a few times again before pushing into you one more, and he doesn’t hold back. His hands find their way to your hips, and he presses them down into the bed as hard as he can, pinning you in place. He starts to pound into you, and it knocks the wind out of you because of how abrupt and forceful it is. You can’t even really make noise to show how good it was, and instead a few strangled and helpless cries pull from your throat.

“Do you fantasize about my cock when you’re with your fiance? Hm? Does it turn you on knowing that you’re cheating on him?” He asks, and you can finally moan out. He was right, he knew you would say yes.

“Yes!” You say, “I can’t stop thinking about your cock!” You reply, your voice high-pitched and so needy.

“Do you think about me fucking this pussy like a bitch on my cock when you’re in important meetings?” He asks again. There was something about the disrespect that you loved, it only made things better.

“Yes sir!” You cry. Din chuckles and then smacks your ass cheek. His slamming into you so hard that you can’t believe he hasn’t gotten tired yet. You can see how his muscles flex against the moonlight and your core is aching from the knight but it’s all worth it. “I’m gonna cum!” You warm, arching your back in pleasure. Din then spits on your cut, adding to the hot wetness and dirty sounds, and he pulls your fingers away from your clit and replaces them with his.

“Cum with me,” He groans, and almost immediately, you’re cumming on his leaking cock at the same time that he does. He cums so much, and you’re always surprised by it. His load drips down your folds, and he fucks you through it. It’s filthy and you want to keep doing it for the rest of your life. Your arms come up to grasp his biceps, trying to steady yourself on anything. Din moans loud when he cums, and it isn’t until he starts softening inside of you that he quits thrusting. He doesn’t pull out, however, and he stays stuffed inside of you as he catches your breath. You’re fucked-out, your eyes heavy and breasts heaving with each deep breath that tries to calm your heart rate. “I love cumming in you.” He sighs. You already knew that, but you loved how he told you. He goes to pull out, but your thighs squeeze together, holding him in place.

“Stay inside.” You whine. Din tilts his head.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He bends down to kiss your forehead, and then very carefully and slowly turns the two of you so that he is spooning you, his cock still buried inside your dripping and swollen cunt. “You did good, you did so good.” He kisses your neck as he says these, breathing in deep your scent. “S’good… so good.” He catches his breath, and is just as exhausted as you are, if not more. His chest heaves against your back, and his arms pull you against him. You fight against sleep, but ultimately fail, submitting to rest almost immediately after Din pulls the blanket over the both of you. Just before you fall asleep, you hear him mumble something against your neck, although you aren’t sure what it is.

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—

part fifteen

[asknarashikari]

Just watched the Saber Final Stage(it did not include the talkshow afterwards in the download).

Asmodeus as a villain was strange.

He acted completely different, and no one mentioned anything else from Super Hero Senki or the TV Crossover either.

Reika and Ryoga were the first to get hit, and also never appeared out of Henshin.

Then we see the OT4 out and about.

Rintaro literally asks, about the OT4 hanging out "Mei-san, this is what normal Homo Sapiens would describe as a date, right?"

Yes, Rintaro, you four are on a date.

Kento then tells Rintaro to just straight up ask Mei on a date already, which proves the entire OT4 have been blind to the fact they're already all together.

Then Kento and Touma do a Heart Shape with their hands, idiots(affectionate) .

Asmodeus and Charybdis(even though his Book was destroyed, Asmodeus has it?) Appear, Daishinji-san, Ogami-san, and Ren appear and the Six Northern Base riders transform, Charybdis spits out brainwashed Megid Generals ans Desast, and Yuri appears.

I am no longer gonna be describing the story.

Reika showed her inner Brocon.

Ryoga was thoroughly humiliated.

Swordboy OT3 as ths Musketeers is amazing.

Daishinji-san as the Beast and Ogami-san as the Beauty is Bizzare.

Yuri the Pooh, hilarious.

I.. cannot for the life of me remember what Ren was.

Haouken Xross Saber appearing to Touma was amazing looking.

Kamen Rider Tassel was. Strange.

The Magid Generals and Desast regaining their free will was great.

Rintaro, Ryoga and Zoous was epic.

Kento, Ren and Desast, chef's kiss.

Touma and Storius, incredible.

The Megid Generals and Desast Sacrificing themselves, almost heartbreaking.

Ultimate Bahamut is Amazing, easy to forget it's one's suit and another's helmet, recolored togethed.

Ending on the OT4 before they break Character was great.

Aoki just lying on the Goddamn floor to stay in the Audience's line of site, great.

All in all, magnificent.

I will watch the V-Cinema, actually, I need to know how to rework it, and for that I need to see it.

But only after Beyond Generations, which will be watched where ir fits for Revice.

Saber Final Stage was kinda insane tbh

Not only did it continue the saga of Rintaro's attempts to woo Mei, but also had all the Northern Base swordsmen shipping them with KenTouma as the co-captains XD

They really went and made a Pooh parody right after he became public domain, I love it. And Ren was Pinocchio :))

Oh, and for the thing with Ryouga and Reika- see, their actors were only on the Tokyo leg of the tour, which is the one that got made into the DVD, and that's why we see them on stage afterward. But they weren't in the other shows. The Osaka and Fukuoka shows had different cast members as guests. The only cast members who were in all three shows were the actors for the original Northern Base swordsmen and Mei. So Ryouga and Reika had to stay transformed throughout, so that the show just has one consistent story even with the rotating guests.

Fun fact, they also performed different songs for the Final Live- the Osaka and Fukuoka shows had either Rewrite the Story or Will Save Us, while Tokyo had both.

Ryo Aoki just lying there on the stage XD Two of my mutuals, @iristial and @springstarfangirl commented something along the lines of "draw me like one of your cute toku boys" and I just about lost it. He's such a menace, I love him.

[mermaidsirennikita]

When the episode literally opens with the words before Daenerys was born and I snorted out loud lol. Also according to a tik tok video I saw no other dragon rider, except her, used dracarys? So that felt forced.

Yeeeah I mean I could be wrong but I don't remember anyone else pulling that--and they definitely made Rhaenyra using it a big NOTICEABLE moment lol.

To be clear, in general I find the Targs to be like.... perhaps THE most overdone thing about ASOIAF/GoT. The dragon riders! The white hair! Their Super Special Language! We do get it. But if I like something, I won't pretend to hate it just to make a point. I'm the first to say "you won this round, X" and just like what I like. Which is why I watched the pilot.

What struck me was:

A) This is going to be really difficult for laymen to follow, and they know this. It begins with a voiceover recapping something that happened before this prequels happens. Most of the mains are white people with the same bad wig. Game of Thrones was difficult for some to follow because of the world, but the visuals here are less distinct. I also would say that like... It was pretty sad, in a way, to think of how cool and impactful the opening of the Game of Thrones pilot was--zombies in medieval times, then a guy chops a person's head off in front of his tiny child--while this begins with a Targ history lesson.

B) One of the coolest things about early GoT, which I think DID make it easier for people to follow, while being a really cool marketing element, was the differences between the houses and cultures and VIBES. You'd be all "oh, the sigil of House Baratheon is the stag which is why they've all got their lil antler crowns", you'd know the Lannisters' house words, you'd take quizzes to find out who you are. The Greyjoys were the ocean ones, the Starks were the frosty ones. This lacks that and seems much more limited. Hopefully it will expand as time goes on, but focusing so heavily on one house just seems like a mistake to me. Like, I get it--they have dragons.

C) They're trying really hard to answer critiques about sexism for the first show, but not living it? So you have Aemma being all "THE CHILDBED IS OUR BATTLEFIELD" (a much less fun version of shit Cersei would say while wasted, and much less impactful when you don't have Lena acting her ass off) and Rhaenyra complaining about sexism. But don't worry, we're still gonna show you a conscious c-section to save the life of the baby, and not one but two Chester the Molester moments for Targ men with teenage girls. Wonder how they're gonna handle the whole Daemon/Rhaenyra thing as time goes on?

D) They even brought back sexposition but made it lamer??? Like instead of some wacky sex scene going on while Littlefinger strolls around being like "AS YOU KNOW, LADIES" you have Daemon being unable to keep it up before the sex worker is like "do not worry my dragon, Daemon Targ, X Title Thing We Want the Audience to Know Because They Need to Know You're A Toxic Mess But Also Noteworthy, X Event Will Not Happen".

E) You can also tell that they're worried about getting critiqued for being unaware of how bad bad guys are, which I think was something early seasons of Game of Thrones was less worried about, while later seasons... were worried. I feel like if Daemon Targaryen is supposed to be an asshole but also a legit threat, you can make him an asshole and also a legit threat. He may technically be one, but he came off as just a whiny asshole lol. I remember the scene where Jaime and Ned fought in season 1 of GoT, and it was basically a draw before a kingsguard stabbed Ned, which upset Jaime. This did so much interesting character work and communication with like, no dialogue. Ned is old and tired but still dangerous; Jaime is an asshole but also quite skilled, a legit threat and not just making it up, and has enough "honor", or sense of it, to be pissed when a fight is given to him rather than won.

Also, that helmet is tragic.