#he should have left that thing on the ground somewhere and dipped. or dropped it in the ocean | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

no-droids · 4 years ago

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Rumors, Freebies, and a Race for Last Place

Part Two of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

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

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

***

It’s recommended to read part one first.

***

Getting into the x-wings is always fun.

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

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

You came back in one piece this time. Barely.

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

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

Dameron.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You request mission assignments together,” Rossi adds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

You're finally alone.

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

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

And yet, you can’t seem to enjoy it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, this is so fucking… presumptuous of him.

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

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

You don’t even think you want to anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His tongue softly grazes your knuckle as it works.

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

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

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

There. There’s the drop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything except his face, you soon realize.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cum.

You lose. Fair and square.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

You lose count.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, that’s it. That is it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then you just start giggling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… to pull a bag of chips out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He has a nice voice, you think.

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

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glassartpeasants · 3 years ago

Note

That ending was a stab on the heart from beginning to end I'm gonna steal bob 🏃🏾‍♀️

The One That Got Away

Shigaraki x GN!Reader

Warnings: Angst, cheating, death

A/N: Don’t threaten Bob

~~~

The bed felt different after that night.

2 months ago you had caught Shigaraki cheating on you with someone random woman. You stood in the doorway just watching, trying to find the words to say but nothing came out. It’s only when you dropped your groceries and your present to him is when he noticed your presence.

*flashback*

“Shit! (Y/N) it’s not what it looks like-” He tripped over his words. You said nothing as you just looked at him, knowing that no matter how much you loved him that there was nothing that could ever make you forget this.

“Fuck just say something!” You were still silent as you dropped the groceries you were holding. It just wasn’t clicking for you. How could he do this to you? what had you done wrong?

“What did I do wrong?” Your voice seemed to echo throughout the room. Nobody said anything. Until she spoke up.

“Oh my god, Im so sorry! I didn’t know he was taken! Please forgive me.” The girl spoke as she jumped outta bed and started putting her clothes on.

“It’s okay. I forgive you.” Those words spilled from your mouth before you could actually say anything you meant. The girl had hugged you before saying she was so sorry a final time. Flipping off Shiggy on the way out.

“(Y/N)...i promise we can talk about this.” You just kept looking at him. Those eyes seemed to burn into his soul. He doesn’t think you noticed the tears spilling from your eyes. He was about to say something to you but you started to walk towards him. Thinking he was gonna get hit he just stood still before feeling your part of the bed dip.

He turns around to see you laying there, eyes still open with tears rushing down your face, your clothes of the day still on your body.

Shigaraki tried to put his arms around you but you had hit his hands back. and used your feet to push him to the edge of the bed while you laid clung to the wall.

*flashback over*

Thinking back on it you don’t know why you didn’t just walk away. Maybe you were to tired from being busy and running errands for him all day? Did you want it to be a bad dream and hope to walk up to realize nothing ever happened? Whatever the reason was, you weren’t sure but a part of you wishes that you left that night.

Now you sit at the bar, sitting far away from what use to be your boyfriend, not even taking a glimpse of him and he knew it. You just sat in the corner drinking and looking on your phone until a familiar smell approached you.

“Oh hey Dabi.”

“Hey there (Y/N), why aren’t you hanging out with crusty over there? He keeps staring at you and the tension in here could be cut with a knife. It’s been two months and apparently everyone said i should ask what's going on.”

“Im not going near him at the moment. We’re on a break per say.” this seemed to peak Dabi’s interest as he leaned closer.

“Oh? Did crusty do something? Your secret's safe with me, i swear on my soul.” What did it matter if you told Dabi? He already doesn’t respect Shigaraki so why not, plus, so what if that fuck didn’t want anyone knowing, he shouldn’t have cheated when everyone else was sleeping in the base.

“Don’t tell anyone I told you but, 2 months ago I caught Shigaraki cheating on me...” You felt small tears prickle the corner of your eyes. Bringing your hand up to your face you rub it away, hoping to ignore the pain that was banging against your chest.

“What a dick, wanna make him pay?” You look up at Dabi who had a huge grin on his face. You thought about it for a good few seconds before shaking each others hand.

“Once Shigaraki goes out on that mission today, we’ll talk more.” Dabi said before getting up from his seat and grabbing a drink from the bar.

You didn’t know what Dabi had planned but you hoped it would bring Shigaraki the same pain you felt that fateful night 2 months ago.

~~~

You sat on the ground in Dabi’s room as he paced back in forth, coming up with revenge plans. All of them sucked or ended up with you guys might going to Jail.

“New plan, everytime Shigaraki wants to hang out tell him you had plans with me and leave the room. You can go somewhere and i’ll go somewhere with you. Effectively ditching him.” Thinking, you try to come up with all the pros and cons this proposal Dabi shared with you. But soon your hurt over ruled the logical side of you and you agreed to it not a moment later.

“Great! Now all we need is for Shigaraki to ask to hang out with you. Don’t know how long that’ll take though...”

“I usually ignore him after what happened but sometimes he asks to hang out with me whenever its a slow day at the base or if he’s bored.”

“ Well guess we have to wait tell then huh?” Nodding your head, you get up before putting a thumbs up in his direction. You walked out of his room and see Shigaraki sitting at the bar. He must have finished his mission early. You rolled your eyes before sitting on the other side of the bar counter. You could feel shigaraki look at you through father.

“Hey....”

“.....”

“Look im sorry, a-and i know that doesn’t excuse what I did but please-” You got up before he could finishing his sentence as you walked towards your shared bedroom. Going in there use to give you comfort but now everytime you step into that room you see that fateful night over and over again.

You sat on the bed before hearing Shigaraki’s footsteps coming towards the room. Furrowing your brows, you ignore him as you put your shoes on. You needed a little bit of fresh air so you were planning on going to the local park to relax a bit. You weren’t a villain like the rest of them, you were just a simple civilian. Not that you minded really. It was peaceful not fearing for your life everyday and having the fear of failure not on your shoulders.

You didn’t really have a quirk so you just ignored the questions when people asked you if you had one.

“Can I talk to you?” You were dragged back to reality when Shigaraki’s voice rang through your ears. Annoyed you just answered hoping that the conversation would be short.

“What do you want?” You voice was snappy and you could feel the venom dripping from it.

“I understand that your mad. And you have every right to be but your not even giving me a chance to redeem myself and-”

“Redeem yourself? Why the hell would I do that? YOU cheated on ME. LIke hell im gonna forgive you so easily.”

“It’s been two months! What happened was in the past!”

“It was in the past my ass. How would you like it to see your lover in bed with another?!”

“I-”

“I felt like my soul died that day. I thought I was your only one! Only to find out that you slept with her! Was she a one time thing or were there more hookups?!” You stood up from the bed as your fists turned white and your anger slowly erupting.

“.....”

“TELL ME DAMNIT!”

“Three...there were three different occasions...” Now the tears were kicking in. You were hoping that it wasn’t true. What if there was more and he was only saying three just to ease your heart?

“Why? Why would you do this to me? What did I do to deserve this?” Your questions were like knives stabbing into Shigaraki’s heart. He wanted to tell you the truth, but he didn’t want your heart to hurt more than it already was.

“Im not going to ask again Shigaraki. You either tell me the truth or I will walk out of this base and never come back.”

“The...the first time it was a drunk accident, the second time Dabi had brought her to the base and one thing led to another. The last one was the same as the second one.”

“Did...did Dabi know about the affair?” You were begging, no pleading for him not to have known. You didn’t know if your heart could take it.

“Yes...” That was it. That was the thing that broke you. Walking up to Shigaraki you pushed past him before flipping him off and saying one final line.

“I would rather die that ever be with you again.” And with that, you left the hideout. You speed walked through the alleys to get to you parked your car. Your friends house was pretty far and you didn’t feel like walking in the dead of night were criminal activity was more active.

Getting in your car, you turn on the radio and start breaking down. Your tears were blurring your eyesight as you put the car in drive.

The streets weren’t busy except for the occasion car with some college students. Or drunk people walking along the sidewalk. The sound of the radio blasting songs that were supposed to be happy barley brightened up your mood as you drove down the dark highways.

All of a sudden a bright light hit your eyes from the right side. Some fuck must have had their brights on. But you had the right away so you went. All of a sudden a huge crash rang through your ears and the world became dark.

~~~

A ring came from Shigaraki’s phone. Looking at the clock he noticed it to be 2am. Annoyed he just decided to answer it.

“Hello, this is (hospital name). You were listed under a emergency contact for (Y/N) (L/N).” Shigaraki jolted awake as his hands reached his neck, standing up and already begun to pace the floor of his room.

“Yes did something happen?!”

“At 12am tonight miss (Y/N) was in a car crash. A hit and run to be exact. Their car was totalled after it rolled about 3 times from the speed that the driver hit them. A bystander of the accident called 119. They were in need of surgery immediately once paramedics noticed that they were crushed and bleeding out quickly due to a shard of glass that was stabbed in their chest.”

“Are they okay?!” The doctor on the other end went silent.

“Im deeply sorry for your lost sir. They died during surgery trying to remove the glass that was lodged in their skin. The police are on the look for the suspect. if you wish to see them were on (blank street). Once again, im sorry for your loss. Goodnight sir.” The phone went silent as the doctor hung up.

Everything seemed to stop as the feared villain feel to his knees. Tears fell from his eyes as his body shook. He realized that now it was impossible to even try. And the last words you had ever said were ‘ you’d rather die than ever be with him again.’ Crying into his hands as his tears made a puddle on the floor.

I guess you took your words seriously.

#shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #Shigaraki #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura shiragaki #mha #bnha #mha angst #bnha angst #tomura shigaraki angst #:)

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delimeful · 3 years ago

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nothing in this world (i wouldn’t do) (3)

warnings: misunderstandings, OCs, mild drowning/hypothermia, violence, one instance of self-inflicted injury, attempted self sacrifice, cliffhanger

Virgil laid low for a while after his encounter with Roman, avoiding towns and taking winding paths far from the main roads. Every passing moment, he half-expected a maniac with a sword to descend upon him out of nowhere.

Isolating himself probably made him seem more suspicious, an easier target, but he didn’t want to risk getting caught in a crowd. Demon slayers were an odd bunch, rumored to have supernatural senses to counter a demon’s, and the last thing he needed was to be outed in front of everyone.

The rumors about the ‘Hooded Demon Slayer’ had shown him that gossip spread in unpredictable ways, and he didn’t want to have that unpredictability turned against him.

So, yeah, no towns.

Unfortunately, that plan hadn’t accounted for the people living out in more rural spaces, the way his own family had once.

And now he was here, in a silent standoff at the shore of a frozen lake with a stranger who was staring at him with far too much alarm for his liking.

He held up a hand in an awkward wave. The stranger threw a handful of salt at him, made a sign to ward off evil, and then twisted on their heel and bolted.

Virgil blew some salt out of his fringe, nonplussed, but didn’t move after them.

Either they’d noticed his eyes reflecting eerily the way they sometimes did when light caught on them, or they really hated social interactions. Regardless, who was Virgil to stop their frantic flee to safety?

There was an ominous cracking sound from the direction they’d just run off in.

That could be anything, Virgil told himself stalwartly.

As if in retribution for the thought, there was a splash, as though perhaps something approximately human-sized had been abruptly plunged into the waters of an icy lake.

Virgil was sighing even as he hurried onto the ice after them.

Sure enough, the stranger was scrabbling at the edge of the brand-new hole they’d made, eyes wide and breath coming in tiny little gasps as they clawed at the ice.

He stepped closer testingly, and the ice pinged in warning, hairline fractures spreading under his feet. The stranger let out a half-sob, probably thinking that an evil demon was taunting them or something.

Virgil pulled off his cloak, brushing his fingers over the clumsy stitching of the patch closest to the neckline for good luck. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to patch it up further after this.

His ears catching every minute noise the ice made, he leaned forward as far as he could and tossed one end of the cloak in front of the stranger’s grasping hands.

They latched on with surprising speed, maybe due to cold shock, and Virgil tugged them up.

The ice in front of them broke the moment their weight was leaning on it, and he hissed through gritted teeth. Didn’t this person know anything about escaping thin ice?

He struggled to speak, and only growled, the noise low and half-choked. Somewhere between his mind and his mouth, the words became tangled and refused to form. He would guess that horrific man-eating monsters didn’t deserve to talk, but he’d witnessed other demons chattering away, so maybe it was just something in his brain that had been scrambled. Figured.

Giving up on words, he instead slowly lowered himself until he was flat on his stomach, now eye level with the stranger. He forced his hand into a flat shape and laid it on the ice several times, hoping that they would catch on.

Gradually, they did, though they looked as though they could hardly believe they were listening. They stretched their arms out and kicked their back legs in the water until they were as level as possible, though their movements were growing more sluggish.

Virgil reeled the cloak towards him, providing the leverage needed to help them propel themselves onto flat, unbroken ice. He relaxed slightly in relief.

They immediately tried to get to their knees, prompting a creak from the ice beneath them, and Virgil snarled so viciously that they went right back down like their limbs had given out, terrified eyes locked on him.

That was one way to tell them not to stand, he supposed.

As quickly as he could, he shuffled back to solid ice, towing the stranger along with him over the smooth icy expanse. Once the ice beneath them was solid against even a few elbow jabs, he rose to his feet and gestured for them to do the same.

Apparently being dunked in life-threatening waters had taken the fight out of them, because they followed without protest, trembling from the cold or fear or both. They were still clutching tightly to the cloak, so Virgil used it to lead them along the ice until they reached solid ground again, mindful of their slow, stumbling pace.

All told, they hadn’t been in the water very long, perhaps under a minute or two. Still, Virgil knew better than to leave them to their own devices. One didn’t grow up on an icy mountain range without knowing what the cold could do to people.

He sniffed the air, the dip in water thankfully muting the scent beside him, and easily caught the trail that the human must have taken. Hopefully, it would lead to an actual building as opposed to some campsite in the woods.

The stranger seemed to be about Thomas’s age, though they currently looked more like a drowned mouse than anything else, and Virgil had been able to lift Thomas up into a fireman’s carry even before he’d gotten the supernatural strength of a demon, so he had no problem scooping them up and beginning to run.

They kicked and flailed for a short moment before seeming to just… give up, letting their limbs go limp and heavy, their only movement the full-body shivering that was still tearing through them.

Shivering was good, Virgil reminded himself, shivering meant they weren’t at lethally dangerous levels of cold or shock yet. He should feel reassured about that, but he couldn’t ignore the terror that was practically coming off the stranger in waves.

He couldn't shake away the memories of carrying a younger Thomas around in the same hold, either. The gleeful shrieks of his kid brother being toted around overlapped with the taut, tremulous silence of this stranger, painful nostalgia twisting in his chest.

Once again, the world proved that he was right to have left Thomas. Even the idea of his little brother like this-- drenched and resigned and terrified of him-- was enough to make his stomach roll. He didn’t want to imagine how bad it would feel to face it in reality.

He bit down on the inside of his cheek and kept moving, hoping that shelter was nearby.

The upside was that Virgil had found a small house, saturated thickly enough with the stranger’s scent that it had to be their home.

The downside was that there was someone in there.

The other downside was that as soon as he got within sight of the little home, the drowned-kitten stranger found a reserve of energy apparently dedicated to trying to smack the shit out of him.

He grunted in annoyance as another swing thwapped against the back of his head, their other hand frantically attempting to grab at his ears and throat with surprising vehemence. It was about as effective in actually harming him as a kitten’s pounce, but he tilted his head away anyways before they could get too close to one of his eyes. Sure, his eye would probably heal from any damage human hands could inflict, but superhuman regeneration didn’t mean he couldn’t feel it.

Calm down, he tried to project, but the few throaty chirrups that curled out of him weren’t exactly reassuring to a human.

They continued to struggle, not subsiding even when Virgil’s annoyance turned to literal growling, and he eventually just gave in and crouched to shift them off his shoulders.

Rather than try to struggle to their feet and bolt for the door, they plunged a hand into a pocket and came out with-- Virgil’s irritated rumble spiked up into an alarmed snarl, but he was too late to keep them from putting the carved whistle to their lips and blowing hard.

The piercing noise was enough to make him shift back, and two heartbeats later, the door of the cabin slammed open, revealing the silhouette of a new stranger.

Next to him, Drowned-Kitten was making a motion with their hands over and over, but the new person barely even glanced at them before running directly at Virgil, pulling a knife from a sheath with vicious intent.

The dagger’s blade practically glowed, even in the dark of the night, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose up the moment it got in range. He jumped backwards, but Stab-Happy just kept coming, matching his ‘back-off’ growl with a shattered human snarl of her own.

Slayer-knife or not, this human didn’t have nearly half the trained grace he’d witnessed from Roman, and so he was able to trip her up and grab her wrist mid-strike, ignoring the way being so close to the blade made his skin crawl.

He twisted, forcing her to drop the knife, and the moment it hit the ground, he dragged her back toward the open doorway, ignoring her vicious swearing as she struggled to break away.

Drowned-Kitten made a choked-off sound but was barely able to move, let alone stand and stop him.

The interior of the cabin provided what he needed, and he yanked a blanket from the mat on the floor and shoved Stabby into a chair, swiftly wrapping the blanket around her until she could only snap her teeth and kick her legs, the rest of her swaddled against the chair back.

“Get back here!” she screamed when he turned back to the door, the anger in her voice cracking into something close to fear.

Drowned-Kitten had crawled a few paces from where he’d left them, and they’d grabbed the fallen blade. Virgil grimaced as they pointed it at him with trembling hands, looking frantic enough that they seemed more likely to injure themself with the jittering knife than him.

He couldn’t tell exactly in the dark, but it seemed like their hands were turning the shiny red that heralded frostbite. They needed treatment. Why did people have to make everything so damned difficult?

A moment passed in this silent standoff, Stabby’s angry shouts still going strong, and Drowned-Kitten’s gaze strayed past Virgil to the doorway before their gaze went firm and hard.

They tightened their hand on the knife hilt-- and ran it clumsily over their other palm, opening a thin red line.

Virgil was there in the next instant, wrenching the knife away before they could try again for a less shallow injury. They shuddered but didn’t recoil, tucking their face away like they didn’t want to see what happened next.

The smell of blood turned thick and cloying in the air, and Virgil swallowed the sudden welling of saliva in his mouth with no little irritation.

Snarling, he grabbed the back of their shirt with his other hand and yanked, using the shirt as a makeshift scruff and stomping back inside. He dropped them on the mat, pulling the satchel he’d restocked at the last town from his back.

“Don’t you dare touch them, you monster!” Stabby yelled indignantly, and Virgil ignored her entirely to press a pad of gauze against the cut and breathe very carefully through his mouth.

Drowned-Kitten watched him wind thin cloth bandages around the gauze with wide eyes, like they weren’t quite sure this was real. More of those hand motions-- signs?-- and even Stabby grew quiet, thankfully for the headache beginning to pulse behind Virgil’s eyes.

The two of them were eerily silent as they watched him poke around their cozy little home with bated breath, dragging any extra cloth he could find to drape over the one who’d fallen into freezing waters and stoking the fire stove until warmth suffused the room.

Drowned-Kitten’s breathing turned strained almost immediately, the increasing temperature likely feeling much too hot on their skin, but they grit their teeth through it and didn’t try to shed any of the blankets after Virgil just insistently pressed them back on.

He crouched in front of them and held his hands up, moving his fingers through the slow stretches that would help ease the near-frostnip that had blistered Drowned-Kitten’s fingertips red. This, at least, was something he was familiar with, having done it frequently for passing travelers back when he apprenticed under the town’s doctor.

Back then, he’d mostly helped neighbors with colds or bruises and ran delivery errands, rarely seeing the doctor perform actual large-scale treatments. How was it that he was only getting more experience with medicine out in the field after becoming a demon?

Seriously. He was pretty sure that having a monster tending to them was freaking people out.

Case in point, the silent, secretive conversation that the two teens behind him were trying to have, made slightly less discreet by Stabby’s occasional hissed answer. He added a bit more charcoal to the stove, and rose from his squatted position to stare at the two of them, feeling fairly satisfied at the way Drowned-Kitten no longer looked as though they’d been dunked in freezing waters.

It had been an annoying detour, but at least he could say that he hadn’t yet managed to drive someone to death-by-lake just by walking past them.

Dawn would come soon. He unraveled the knotting keeping Stabby in the chair and ducked through the door back into the cold night air before she could fully untangle herself.

He took the knife with him.

Naturally, because the fates weren’t fond of him, the pair found him curled up in a cave the next day.

Drowned-Kitten-- or Harley, as Virgil would learn-- could smell demons, and had followed his trail, DW-- also known as Stabby-- right behind them. He hadn’t bothered to hide his scent trail because he hadn’t caught wind of another demon for miles, and foolishly assumed that he was safe. Which had led to him being cornered and interrogated by two teenagers.

Yeah, he’d been less than pleased.

Still, he could snarl and snap until they stepped out of his cave, but he couldn’t exactly get away with the sunlight bright overhead. So, he grumpily conceded to the questioning.

Surprisingly enough, they seemed to believe him when he shook his head ‘no’ to ‘are you going to eat people’. They hadn’t outright expressed doubts, at least. It was kind of concerning that they took his word for it.

DW had demanded the knife back, at least. Smart kid.

He’d attempted to shoo them off afterwards, but Harley had been very insistent on ‘repaying their debt’, wary in the way that meant someone had given them kindness before, but with strings attached. DW had eyed him with more blatant suspicion.

They didn’t owe him anything. Debts, deals, returned favors... Those were for people, not monsters. Virgil had dragged a hand over his face and wished he could say as much.

And then he’d paused.

He’d jabbed a clawed finger at the little hand signs that Harley made, the ones DW had been translating the entire time, and tried to mimic them sloppily until the two cottoned on to what he was asking.

Lessons in hand-speech.

Maybe there was still a way for him to speak after all.

From there, they settled into routine.

Virgil spent his days in the shadiest corner of their little house at the urging of Harley’s puppy-dog eyes, and at night, after their daily work was done, he would slink out under DW’s wary gaze and learn how to angle his hands into the proper shapes and flick small motions full of meaning in the right directions.

He picked up on the structure of the language surprisingly fast. Harley was a patient teacher, and DW was always willing to provide extra details on where Virgil had gone wrong.

He’d half expected them to usher him out the door once he’d had the basics down, but the season began to turn and still, they allowed his presence. The blatant trust was enough to make him worry, though any attempts to convince them to be more careful around demons earned him a confused look from Harley and a derisive snort from DW.

Hopefully, Thomas wasn’t being so reckless.

Since he was staying, he insisted on carrying their heavier goods down to the market in the nearby town, heading out with them in the early-morning dark and making sure they didn’t fall into any more lakes on the way there. He spent those market days waiting in a dark spot, his nerves frayed, until evening fell and he could meet them at their agreed rendezvous point.

As he adjusted to the sudden presences around him after so long traveling alone, the two adjusted to him as well. He hadn’t realized just how many noises he made aloud in substitute for his thoughts until Harley showed him all the signs for different emotions, and matched each of them with a soft imitation of Virgil’s growl, or huff, or even, embarrassingly, that cat-like purr that got started when he was particularly pleased. DW had laughed hard enough to make her side cramp up.

He could admit it. It was… nice. To not be feared. To have people to look after again.

Naturally, though, his occasional presence at their side couldn’t go unnoticed forever, and once one person knew, practically the whole town was guaranteed to hear about it. If Virgil had been paying better attention to anything but the two teens under his protection, he could have had advance warning.

But he hadn’t, and so he wasn’t ready when a polite knock came at the door, unusual considering how remote their little home was. He wasn’t ready for the sudden foreboding that washed over him as the three of them exchanged glances.

He wasn’t ready when DW opened the door to the sight of a smiling stranger with a sun-bright sword at his hip.

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides #crossover #ts virgil #ts heart #ts dragonwitch #demon slayer au #kny fusion #nitwiwd #nothing in this world i wouldnt do #my writing #writing #BUSY day today sorry for posting delay #hope you guys like my version of these guys #bthb #bad things happen bingo

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

Text

Honeymoon [Din Djarin x F!Reader] - **SMUT**

Summary: You’ve been saving your credits for months in order to treat your husband to the surprise honeymoon you both deserve. He’s a little on edge though, despite the luscious, tropical environment he’s surrounded by. So, as his wife, you do everything in your means to get him to relax.

Warnings: unprotected p in v, riding, cockwarming, orgasm denial, cunningless, cum eating, spanking, anal fingering, breeding kink, slight sub!Din if you squint. 18+ only.

Word count: 2600+

Reblogs appreciated. 💙

Beyond The Sea Masterlist

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

Marrying Din Djarin was the best decision of your life.

Standing dead centre in the middle of your hotel suite, your husband had never looked so out of place. The yon orange sunlight seeped through the crack in the voile curtains, and a warm, summer breeze waved gently through your hair. You could tell, even through his beskar Mandalorian helmet, that your husband was completely stricken by the beauty of the great outdoors. Your view from outside the hotel suite was a novelty, for sure. The beach’s water circled around the hotel and pooled outside into a tranquil, turquoise coloured ocean. A distance from your window, but not too far, was a growing jungle of vines and trees, habited by various reptilian animals that were distinct to the planet of Scarif. You couldn’t wait to meet them all.

You’d saved up credits, and it had taken almost a year, but finally— finally, you could afford this. A sanctuary. A small vacation. Something you could call your honeymoon. It was long overdue.

Din had warned you when you married him that a honeymoon wasn’t on the cards. It just wasn’t plausible. He was a bounty hunter and he worked every damn day, risking his life just so he could bring back enough credits to put food on the table for you and Grogu. A holiday of any sorts was out of the question.

But you’d been saving up in secret, and if he’d ever found out about your planned endeavour — well, he’d never approve. Good job he’d managed to keep out of your way when you bought the tickets for the five star hotel suite. What proved to be even more of a challenge, was persuading Din to take you to the remote and tropical island planet of Scarif.

You left the kid with Peli Motto on Tatooine, much to Din’s disdain. You’d spoken to Greef and broken a deal with him in secret; that the guild master was not allowed to provide Din with any bounties prior to the week you were due to go away. Everything rolled out perfectly, just as planned.

For the first time in a long time, your clan of three was living a stress free life, void of any anxieties related to Din and his profession. You loved him with your mind, body and soul, and accepted him for who he was. But part of you, a small part of your heart, hoped that one day, maybe he’d give up bounty hunting for good. He was getting older now. You’d occasionally pick out the greying hairs in his stubble, and the crinkles in the corners of his starry brown eyes were becoming increasingly more prominent. There was a beautiful galaxy out there, and he’d only seen the bad parts. The parts that were rampant with crime and death. You hoped that this honeymoon trip to Scarif would show him the true beauty of the world -- and everything he was missing out on.

He couldn’t bounty hunt forever. One of these days, he was going to have to settle down.

“I can’t believe you did this,” Din announced, picking up some complimentary hotel chocolates that had been left on his pillow. He pulled off his mustard coloured gloves and began to fiddle with the red foil wrapper. “All of this. I can’t believe you did all of this without me knowing.”

“I was afraid you’d be mad at me.” you mumbled, subconsciously rocking backwards and forwards on your heels. Din couldn’t even begin to imagine how much this trip had cost you, and to be honest, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the exact figure.

“I am mad at you.” He retorted, but you could sense the air of amusement in his voice. Din Djarin was an esteemed bounty hunter, the best in the Guild. He prided himself in being the best too. He was always one step ahead of everyone, always knowing what was about to come before others even knew themselves. Apparently though, his skill was lost on you. Part of him though, was proud. A pretty big part of him, to be exact.

He was chuffed to be able to call you his wife. He didn’t believe the day would ever come.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” you pondered out loud, looking around the hotel suite. “Did you see those big colourful birds as we walked in? They were enormous. We should check out the gift shop and buy a disposable camera. I know Grogu would love to see the photos when we get back.”

Din tilted his helmet in acknowledgement of your comment, but opted to stay silent, his eyes fixated on you and only you. Yeah, he was sure Scarif was a beautiful planet (there was no doubt in his mind), but not even all the colourful birds or glistening waters in the whole galaxy could ever compare to the beauty of you. Your eyes snapped back towards Din when he didn’t respond, and you felt your mouth part as a knowing sigh escaped your lips.

“Tell me you don’t…” you closed your eyes, already mentally preparing yourself for his answer. “...Tell me you don’t have hunting mode initiated under that tin can helmet of yours.”

You knew that, under his black tinted visor, he was always in hunting mode. He had to ensure your safety one way or another. When he turned off hunting mode, everything was normal and in colour (despite this one glitch of pixels he had to get fixed). But when he was in hunting mode, his vision was a dull chiaroscuro.

“We don’t know how safe this planet is,” Din declared, his voice stern as he tried to reason with you. “We just arrived and I’ve never been here before. I haven’t even done a recce.”

You extended your arm and shushed him. “You haven’t been here before because no bounty or crime syndicate ever comes to Scarif. Since the battle between the Rebellion and the Empire, it’s been under full surveillance by the New Republic. There is security on every corner.”

“That doesn’t exactly work well in my favour.” Din muttered, although deep down he knew you were right.

“Do you really think I would’ve taken you somewhere that wasn’t safe for either of us? I’ve been planning this honeymoon for months, Din. Please, trust me.”

It hurt, seeing your husband like this. After bounty hunting his whole life, he was so… on edge. He always struggled to relax. You thought a tropical vacation might’ve just done the trick but maybe he needed more.

“Okay, you’re right. I trust you.” Din sighed in admittance, and you cracked one of your sweetest smiles at his revelation. It was enough to ease Din, even just temporarily.

“It’s too late to do anything now,” you said, biting your lip as you peeked behind the curtains and watched the sunset. “We can just stay in the hotel room and order room service, if you’d like.”

Din nodded, following your direction. He didn’t know the first thing about vacationing. But if one thing intrigued him, it was the luxurious king sized bed that stood before him. It was dressed in ivory satin sheets and silk pillow cases, and it was certainly nothing like the plank of steel you’d both lay on, back in the Crest. No, this was a real bed. You’d caught him staring at it and couldn’t help but smile at the smirk that played on your lips.

“Take off your helmet.” You requested.

“I--,” Din hesitated. “Someone could walk in and see me.”

“The door is locked. We have privacy,” you assured him. Din fumbled around some more. His heart stopped when you planted both your hands on his shoulders and searched for his eyes beneath the visor. “Trust me.” you reminded him with a plea of desperation.

He nodded and slowly began to lift off his helmet. And there, he revealed himself. Your husband. Though you’d seen his face many times now, you’d still always get an out-of-body experience, watching him take it off. Like it was some kind of sin.

“I love you so much,” Din’s unmodulated voice announced, and his brown eyes bored into your beauty. You smiled, feeling a wave of heat wash over your cheeks as you leaned your head into his chest. You slowly began to undress his plates of beskar armour, dropping them to the ground as you discarded them into a pile on the floor. “Such a pretty girl,” he cooed, and you shuddered, feeling his warm breath fan over the shell of your ear. “My pretty girl. All mine.”

“All yours,” you confirmed, dropping the final plate of beskar to the floor. “You need to relax, my love.”

“That word is foreign to me.” Din told you, smoothing out your hair before dropping his large hands down to your hips.

“So let me help you.”

You guided Din over to the bed he’d been eyeing up all night and helped him out of his under clothes, stripping him down to his boxer shorts only. You straddled his hips, pushing him back down amongst the satin sheets and letting your hands wander along his broad, scarred chest. He groaned wantonly. Your tender touch combined with the unfamiliar softness of what lay beneath him was almost enough to make him enter a meltdown. You hummed softly, your voice lulling him in the most comforting manner imaginable. Your fingers dipped further down his body and traced the short tufts of brown hair that poked out the hem of his underwear. Feeling your fingers fiddle with his waistband as he lay on the king sized bed felt ethereal. It was almost too much, he had to stop himself from swatting your hand away. If Din could have it his way, he’d grab you and roll you over, so he was on top -- taking control over you. But you had done this, all of this, to try and help him relax. So, he just lay there and surrendered to you.

The sky was dimming as the minutes passed by. You made a good habit to take your time with him, missing this kind of intimacy. Truthfully, it was hard to ever catch moments like this with Grogu being around. You and Din practically always had to sacrifice loving, passionate sex for quickies in between his bounties; and it wasn’t always easy.

“You-- you look so pretty like this, on top of me.” Your husband gasped out, his already dark eyes growing shades darker with lust.

For a split second, you pulled off him and untied your tunic, letting your simple robe fall to the ground and revealing your almost naked body to him. He was obsessed with you. Absolutely smitten, and it was unlike anything he’d ever been like with anyone ever before. Straddling him once more, you began to grind over his half hard cock, moaning at the friction between his underwear and your lace panties.

You leaned down and pressed your soft lips against his, enveloping him into a sweet kiss. You drop your lips along his gruff jaw and down the column of his neck, making a conscious effort to suck at his sweet spot you’d memorised so well. Reluctantly, you pulled off him and hovered over his lap, signalling with your hands for him to pull down his underwear. He took his hardening cock in his hand and wiped the beads of precum that had developed at his head. Taking the salty seed on his index finger, he brought it up to your mouth and pushed the digit in between your lips. You moaned longingly, relishing in his taste before pulling off him with a pop.

Din pulled off your panties and began to stroke between your folds, groaning when he felt just how slick and ready you were for him. He squeezed your hips and nodded, illustrating that he was ready, and you took a deep breath, anticipating the delicious stretch his cock offered you. You sank down on top of him, your eyes snapping shut as you felt every amazing bump and ridge and vein of his manhood grind along your fluttering walls.

He seated deep inside of you, giving you a few minutes to adjust, and he began to rub tight circles into your clit. He was absolutely mesmerized by you. You chanted his name like it was a prayer, and Din wondered how he ever got so lucky.

Feeling you clench around him and sensing you were about to cum, Din removed his hand from your cunt and gave you a small spanking on the curve of your ass. Your gasp of shock from your orgasm denial turned into a wanton moan as you wiggled further down on him. You giggled, nudging your nose against his as you felt the same finger he’d used earlier on you, make its way to your puckered asshole. Anal was something you’d been working your way up to, but hadn’t tried yet.

“Do you want this?” Din asked, teasing your entrance with the tip of his finger.

“Mhm,” you nodded desperately.

“Are you sure you can take it?” he beckoned, a wicked smirk gracing his soft pink lips.

“Y-yes,” you whispered.

“I can’t hear you,” Din growled, giving you another spank. “Tell me you want it.”

“I want it,” you cried, “P-please Din, fuck, please. I want it.”

“Dirty girl.” He gritted out, slowly pushing his digit inside of you.

Maker, you were full. In every way imaginable, Din was filling you up, stretching you wide, and it felt… amazing. You began to rock your hips over his cock as he lazily thrust his finger inside your asshole, and you felt yourself panting with every little stroke and movement.

“You look so good, like this,” Din gasped. “Won’t last long.”

And, he didn’t. The second he felt you cumming on top of him, your walls gripping his girth tighter than a vice, he came undone. His load was large, as expected, as his seed spurted in ropes inside of you. Din’s hands wrapped around your stomach and he began to rub soothing circles in your tummy. You didn’t lift off him, but instead, relished the feeling of his cock softening inside of you.

“Maybe this time it’ll work,” he grumbled. “And if not, we’ll keep trying. I won’t stop til I’ve put a baby inside of you, cya’re.”

You hummed and stretched out over him, resting your sticky forehead against his. “Good job we have all honeymoon.”

Din chuckled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and cupping your cheek with his hand. Well, if you’d accomplished one thing, it was that Din was certainly feeling more relaxed, that’s for sure.

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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sylvie-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Dr. Husband

word count: 5278

pairing: doctor steve rogers x wife reader

warnings: talks about heat exhaustion? there’s nothing graphic, but if the hospital theme bothers you, then this isn’t the fic to read!

prompts (from @/fluffyomlette): “Your pulse is a little high. Is it because I’m holding your hand?” and “You’re not supposed to pick favourites, doc.” “Trust me, if I didn’t, you’d be dead by now.”

a/n: this just popped in my head about a month ago and i had to write it for no explainable reason. i really couldn’t think of a title oops. if you all have a better idea please tell me so i can change it lol.

please excuse any mistakes!

Summer was finally in full force, blazing sun rays beamed down on the dry ground and once gorgeous flowers drooped in dire need of water. Sounds of children playing outside, pool water splashing as a result of cannonballs, while lawnmowers whirled to life and laughter from the watching wives resounded this afternoon. In your neighborhood, it was tradition that the women would get together every other Saturday and have drinks in the cul-de-sac while their husbands had unsaid competitions of manicuring their yards. Unfortunately for you, your husband was a doctor and that meant little time for him to do the yard, and you didn’t have children at the moment that could go play with the others. The women who were your neighbors were a bit too picky choosy for your taste. They only seemed to bond over their children and sitting around home, two of which you didn’t have or do, so you weren’t ever truly invited to their day-drinking. It was actually fine with you as these people were so hot n’cold and you were just tired of trying to fit in with faux friends. You had plenty of true friends and then your husband who was a child of his own.

For three weekends so far, Steve had told you he’d cut the lawn and as much as you wanted to believe him, you knew that he was so exhausted from work and being on call a majority of the time, that he would never find the hours to do so. That was okay with you because what he did was important and you weren’t gonna be on his ass like the feds about the yard when you could easily do it yourself. It wasn’t like he was just sitting around, no, he was working so you just decided to cut the lawn yourself, something you’d done plenty of times before.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Unfortunately the day you chose to do so, the sun was out blazing and a simple walk out the door was a trip to an off-brand hell. Instead of making a wise decision and waiting to cut the grass in the evening, you chose the latter and decided to cut the grass at noon, the very time the sun was in full shine.

Dressed in attire for yard work and having already eaten a sandwich for lunch, you headed out the garage door to tackle the mess there in hopes of finding the push mower within. Steve’s father, Joseph, had given you both a lot of his lawn equipment, but the riding mower was broken at the moment and you (again) stupidly decided to push mow the almost two acre lawn. It took a good half hour to get the darned thing out on the driveway and while doing so, you noticed that your neighbors, the wives to be exact, had decided to come out for one of their occasional and somehow spontaneous get-togethers which consisted of unattended kids drawing with chalk as their mothers sat a few feet away dipping their feet in the small splash pool. You often found the idea both inventive and funny.

For only a second more did you let your attention linger on the group before returning back to fill the lawn mower with gasoline. After doing so, you tossed on a pair of sunglasses and went full steam ahead with cutting the grass, disregarding the rising, and very unsafe, temperature.

About an hour in, the temp had already risen to be above 100 and something no one should have spent any longer than half an hour in. Steve had always said you were stubborn at all the wrong times and boy was he right. You had just finished up half of the front yard and quarter of the back yard. It was mad that you were actually thinking about pushing mowing two acres, especially in this unruly weather.

You were so determined and when your mind was set on something, you let all other matters slip away, including regards for your own health. The unusual amount of sweat on your skin seemed to go unnoticed by you as well did the growing headache.

Finally, about half an hour later, more of the backyard was finished and your inner saboteur continued to influence your goals.

“Just finish this half and you will be close enough to the end,” translated into “Just finish the whole yard, you might as well since you are this close.”

This was the worst mindset to have, especially with the given circumstances as you had been out here for at least two hours, no drinks of any sort, no real breaks aside from fueling the lawn mower, and no cares to the worsening symptoms that now included noticeable dizziness.

The lawn mower eventually ran out of gas and you went to refill it once more. Making your way through the front yard, your unknown adrenaline rush came to an end along with the machine’s power. It wasn’t until your vision started to star and blur that you finally noticed your decline in health, but by then it was too late and you were on the plush and groomed grass of the front yard. Ironically, you noticed the fruits of your labor since you were currently laying on it.

Five minutes had passed since your drop to the ground and one of the ladies out in the court, Genevieve, noticed your figure, quite the contrast to the viridescent grass. Despite that she thought you were “demented” for cutting the grass yourself, she knew you weren’t unhinged, so to say, that you would just lay on the grass as it would serve no purpose to do so. She didn’t take you for a nature lover either so this was not normal.

Genevieve squatted down in the lawn, her sparkly sandals reflecting in the sea of green. Unknowing of what to do, the woman in a panic threw the back of her hand to your forehead and you burned hotter than a metal kettle. By time she stood, the other ladies had gathered around and were now circling in mass hysteria as if they were staring at a dead body and not your unconscious, yet breathing frame. Many long seconds later, Priscilla, who was Genevieve’s closest friend and who despised you as much as you did her, decided to call 911. The other moms then left to go usher their children away from what they described as a “traumatic experience” and back to their large homes for some sort of last minute luncheon.

Eventually, an ambulance arrived in your usually quiet neighborhood, something that was clearly displayed as almost every neighbor popped their heads out of their houses in sheer curiosity. Their nosey nature often bothered you but was normally put behind some sort of service act such as a baked cake or bottle of wine just to be invited into your house. You didn’t miss the way your neighbors would study your house when they were finally welcomed in. Steve was much better at hiding his cross nature and would return some compassion of his own while you struggled to bottle your annoyance and sealed it with a forced smile. As luck would have it though, you were knocked out and couldn’t give them a piece of your mind for staring because heavens know this would’ve been the last straw and no one could have stopped your rant.

It was when you were in the red wagon and being attended over by paramedics that you noticed you were on the way to somewhere that wasn’t home.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

At the hospital, the doctor and nurses hydrated you back to reality and suddenly you appeared in a bed, a doctor standing at the side with a clipboard in hand allowing your mind to draw up a million conclusions before you remembered what you had done last.

The doctor spoke a fast introduction and he then moved on to fill you in on what had happened as confusion still painted your face although when he told you Genevieve’s account of what led up to your ultimate passing out, you visibly cringed at such carelessness that ended up bringing you here. Hundreds of falls, burns, and bruises thanks to your clumsy nature, but this had to be the one thing to send you to the hospital. Some sort of twisted joke it sure was.

Moving to roll a stool to your bedside, the doctor passed you a cold bottle of water before bringing his eyes to give your IV a quick check as a nurse had put it in not too long before you awoke.

“Luckily, Mrs. Rogers, your neighbors found you in time and you only experienced severe heat exhaustion. Had you prolonged your exposure anymore you could have experienced a heat stroke. For now, I ask that you rest and I’ll come back to release you.” The doctor expressed his reassurance with a kind grin before walking out of the plain and boxy room that could make one go insane with its lack of liveliness.

Staring out the open doorway and into the empty hallway, you knew that Steve worked on this very floor, but honestly what were the chances that he’d see you? At one point he’d eventually find out about today’s mishaps, but that was a problem for later when you were more conscious and caring. Letting your worries temporarily go (something that was only happening thanks to your fatigued mind), you slightly shifted into a somewhat “comfortable” position on the stiff bed and rough cotton sheets. Albeit that there was an IV uncomfortably stuck in your arm, you fell into a much needed slumber.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Lunch break at last.

That was all that had been on Steve's mind for the past three hours which had been extremely hectic. Granted, he was used to this fast-paced workplace having worked here for almost a decade, but today was absolutely out of control with injured patients coming in left and right. It wasn’t some sort of bad omen, rather just an unlucky day for many Steve had assumed. He had just finished up with a pediatric case and was now on his way to enjoy the leftover baked chicken salsa that you had made just for him last night and packed for his lunch this morning. You knew how busy his week had been and you took the liberty to make his favorite dinner dish to compensate for the work that had left such a toll on him. A smile immediately overtook his face when he walked in the house last night and that’s when you decided that you would gladly cook anything he’d like over and over again just to see that look of adoration. As Steve held you in his arms at that moment, he kept thinking how he really didn’t deserve you and little did he know, the same thought ran in your own mind. Yet, in reality, you both went together like a puzzle piece to a puzzle. Without the piece, the picture would never be completed and without the other, you and Steve would have never enjoyed life to the fullest.

Strutting down the never ending hall, Steve passed many doors, some he had been in just a mere hour or two ago. As he walked past an open door and did a double take as he saw a patient asleep, but no sign of anyone else in the room. If he were that patient, he’d want the door shut for some privacy, something which the man highly valued, so he crossed the short distance and closed the door. He didn’t mean to look at the patient for so long as they weren’t in his care and that would be awfully creepy, but Steve could help but do a double take and noticed that the familiar face was, in fact, you. From first glance it didn’t even look like you and that was coming from the man who had studied your face just to commit it to his memory. In a loving way, of course.

He slowly walked in your room, taking in the image before him of you lying in a hospital bed. His mind had assumed that the worst thing had happened to you and for a moment, Steve’s breathing ceased and his legs were glued to the ground. As his eyes scanned over your body again, his fears were calmed when there were no visible wounds and you just seemed to be resting. Although as a doctor, he unfortunately knew anything could be possible.

Hunching over the top half of the bed, Steve smoothed your stray hairs away from your forehead and placed an awakening kiss there. You were a light sleeper a majority of the time and your spouse knew that this small action would wake, but not startle you. Every night he’d come home from work and do the same thing except then he knew you were safe and sound. Now, he was just filled with uncertainty.

“What happened?” Those were the only words he was able to get out and you gave him an answer, just not one that he was looking for. You were already getting defensive and he could sense it.

“Genevieve saw me pass out in the yard and overreacted, Steven. You know they all don’t exactly have good track records with medicine.” You rolled your eyes at the last statement remembering how your neighbors have often nonchalantly tried to get Steve to diagnose them when it came to something as simple as a scrape. Then again, all of your neighbors were in the business industry so that explained their lack of medical knowledge or at least that is the excuse you drew up for them.

“Nice try, (y/n), but you do have a medical chart and it’s over there,” Steve pointed over his shoulder and towards the doorway where a plastic chart holder sat mounted on the cream wall. “You didn’t just pass out, and the neighbors did not overreact. They did the right thing despite how much I know you hate that. Now, either you tell me the truth or I go read that file.” His tone was serious, but not condescending. Hidden in his eyes was a tad sprinkle of mischief.

Stubborn as ever, you didn’t respond and folded your arms over your chest in a form of defiance.

Against what is probably legal, Steve picked up your medical chart to read what had happened as you wouldn’t disclose the information to him. Your husband was a worry-wart sometimes and while you appreciated how he doctored you when you were sick, he could be a bit overbearing. A great example would be the time when you were cooking dinner and burned your forearm when taking the casserole out of the oven.

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“Babe, dinner is ready!”

The timer on the oven was currently beeping and you walked towards it. Turning off both the oven and the timer, you grabbed a short oven mitt and reached in to grab the casserole dish off the top rack. As you did so, you lifted your arm a bit too high and hit the side of your forearm on the interior roof of the oven. The temperature was ridiculously hot and the pain was immensely strong that you immediately pulled your arm back, the casserole long forgotten.

Steve came running in at your string of curses and came in to see you holding your arm and hissing a bit as if that would relieve the pain. He walked closer to you as you leaned up against the island. Your husband delicately took your arm in his hand, raking his eyes over the burn that was soon to blister.

After a short inspection, Steve placed his other hand on the small over your back and led you to the sink, flipping on the cold water and running it over your burn. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see you squeezing your own eyes shut in pain.

“I know, sweetheart, it hurts, I’m sorry.” He continued to rinse your scalded skin, but turned his head to sweetly kiss your temple.

A few minutes passed and Steve was content with the rinse job as you had finally opened your eyes, even engaging in some of your jokes that were always said at the wrong time. From the kitchen, the man guided you down the hallway, through your bedroom and into your joined bathroom. He sat you on the edge of the bathroom tub while rummaging through your unorganized medicine cabinet. It was barely ever touched and when it was, it was often in a state of panic hence the messiness of it. Fortunately, Steve found a tube of bacitracin and some cotton dressings from God knows how long ago. At this point he could care less and would rather have you cared for.

You curiously watched him as he dug through the cabinet and a loving smile grew on your face. How lucky were you to have this man. You were really appreciative of him in times like these especially.

Said man returned and crouched before you, distracting you from your thoughts as he softly grabbed your hand once more.

The doctor worked his magic and in no time was your arm wrapped up and lathered in ointment.

“Wow Doc, you did a great job.” Steve was still holding your hand as you quietly giggled in content. He placed a kiss on top of your knuckles and peered up at you with those gorgeous (and borderline seductive) sapphire eyes. Chuckling, Steve murmured against your skin, “Only for my favorite patient.”

As always, you decided to play along with Steve’s playful banter. “You’re not supposed to pick favorites, doc.”

Your husband knew your clumsy nature and seemed to have the perfect response, “Trust me, if I didn’t, you’d be dead by now.”

With your non-injured hand you went to hit his shoulder and he grabbed it in faux hurt.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

“You know, Dr. Rogers, that is a violation and I can actually report you for it.” You lifted your line of sight to see Steve who looked back at you with his lips pressed in a fine line. He shook his head disapprovingly after reaching the end of the report and now looked like he was going to sit back in the seat beside your bed.

“Hey, what are you doing? They already examined me and I am about to get released.” The man ignored you and instead leaned over the flimsy bed railing. Steve rubbed his hands together in a warming manner before placing two fingers on your next in an attempt to find your pulse. He unfortunately carried that common trait among doctors of having hands that were colder than that of a penguin’s ass. You knew very well this pulse check was useless as you were in conditional health and that he was probably doing this to annoy you.

“Well I like to do a check of my own. It never hurts to get a second opinion, darling.” Blue eyes squinted at you and you returned the patronizing gesture.

The free hand that was not on your neck had found its way to hold your own hand and when your husband pulled back, he wore a smug smirk on his lips.

“Your pulse is a little high. Is it because I’m holding your hand?”

“You know, your shoulders must hurt from carrying such a big head all the time.” Steve had the nerve to laugh at your elementary grade insult and even though you weren’t really mad, your face would have said otherwise to anyone else.

“So I’ll take that as a yes then, wifey.” He then quickly dropped to press a chaste kiss to your lips before releasing your hand and sitting down in the chair.

Looking to the clock on the wall, you focused your vision on the distant numbers to read that it was most likely Steve’s lunch break.

“Are you spending your lunch break with me?” Your tone was now sweet and soft as it usually was towards Steve and his heart leaped at the progress being made.

“It seems that I am. ‘Was really looking forward to that chicken salsa, though.” A heap of blonde hair rested on your hand that Steve had now laid his head against, still holding tight with both of his own hands. You giggled at his dramatics and ruffled a free hand through his greasy hair.

“I haven’t eaten anything, you think you could spend your lunch break with me?” His head popped up at this and his face held the eagerness of an energetic puppy.

“Of course, sweetheart. We can head to the cafeteria. Hopefully they have something good for my girl.” It was now your turn for your heart to swell at his words. Not even a second later though, the sentimental moment was replaced with Steve’s usual sarcastic humor.

“See, I love you so much that I am willing to sacrifice my precious chicken salsa just to have lunch with you. You should be grateful to have me as your husband.” Steve’s pearly whites beamed at you in a cheesy smile and you gave a dismissive wave of your hand.

The two of you talked and enjoyed the rare time together for the next ten minutes until Steve noticed you shifting to sit up against the pillows. He thought nothing of it until suddenly you were throwing your legs over the side of the bed and making to get out of the so called cotton prison.

Waving a finger, Steve tutted you and hurriedly scooped your legs back onto the bed. You looked absolutely peeved and Steve knew it was from the way that he was treating you like a child or better yet, a patient. His wife, the fighter and he, the doctor. Two unlikely personalities but ones that worked best together nonetheless. This made Steve laugh whenever he thought about it.

“You can get up the minute you get released by the doc, okay?” Caring eyes now gave you a pleading look and you felt a small tinge of guilt crawling up your chest at how mean you had been to your husband when he has only been trying to help.

A knock on the wooden door signaled a visit from the one person you had been waiting on for what seemed to be ages.

“Speak of the devil.” Muttering the phrase so only Steve could hear you gave him an “I told you so” kind of look.

The Doctor looked up from the same clipboard as earlier to greet you once he made it in through the doorway, but he was surely surprised by the figure sitting in the chair beside you.

“Oh Dr. Rogers, what a surprise! So this is your wife I presume? I guess I should have put two and two together,” Your doctor of the moment laughed with Steve who added in a chuckle or two of his own.

“Yep, this is Mrs. Rogers!” Steve didn’t look at you, but lovingly squeezed your hand that was resting against his, “We are quite the handful so I am surprised you couldn’t tell that she was my other half.” A snicker ended his words and you couldn’t help but do the same.

Once the short introductions were over, the doctor walked over to do a speedy final exam on what was necessary as Steve watched from the sidelines still getting used to the idea of not being the one doing the examination. He hadn’t been in any other position in the hospital for such a long time that it took some time to get used to the fact that he wasn’t the one diagnosing and rather waiting for the diagnosis.

The doctor pulled away from hovering over you and now sat back on his rolling leather stool, scooting his way over to the computer and desk.

“Well I must say, (y/n), that you definitely live up to some of the stories your husband tells.” The other man in the white coat finished up his typing before turning back around to face you and his colleague.

“Ah, I hope he’s giving me some good street cred,” You teased and from the side you saw Steve shaking his head and chuckling under his breath.

“I assure you that they were all good things.” With that, the doctor formally released you, walking out of the room to give you some time to redress and such.

You went to get out of the bed for the nth time, but finally succeeded. Your legs felt a bit wobbly upon the first step, and Steve noticed this. He came up to stand beside you and placed a hand on your lower back with the other out in front in case you did fall. Placing your own hand on his scrub clad chest to steady yourself, you silently thanked him with a tender pat.

With Steve’s guidance, you went to change out of the wretched paper gown and into your shorts and shirt from working outside. It wasn’t exactly the most flattering outfit but at this moment you could care less for the only thing on your mind was getting out of this room.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The ride in the elevator seemed to move slower than a snail and almost stopped on every floor. You were so crammed by the time you were only on the fifth floor that you used this as an excuse to lean up against Steve. He rubbed your arm and enveloped you in a side hug and planted a kiss on your head. The two of you never cared for PDA but neither of you had realized the onlooking eyes.

You found it mildly comedic when some of your fellow passengers seemed disgusted that a doctor was handling a patient in such a way. It was definitely gonna be a joke for later on.

Eventually you made it to the first floor and begrudgingly pushed yourself out of Steve’s warm embrace when the smell of garlic bread hit your nose.

“Huh, they never cook spaghetti around here. They must know we have a special guest today.” Steve pressed his lips against your ear to jokingly whisper to you as he ushered you out the elevator doors.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Standing in line with a plastic tray at the cafeteria made you have flashbacks to middle school lunch and you shuddered at the thought. The memories played back in your mind like a movie and were interrupted (much to your relief) when Steve tapped your shoulder.

“You want this?” Steve held one of the plastic salad containers in hand, the white sleeve of his lab coat draped on top of the other stacked bowls in the open air freezer.

You nodded and he placed it on your tray, slightly bumping your hips as he walked past to grab a drink.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

For a good twenty minutes, you and Steve sat in comfortable silence in one of the booths until clicking clogs came closer and closer. So close that a shadow loomed over your table conveying that someone was here to speak.

“Dr. Rogers, I don’t think it’s entirely wise of you to have lunch with your patient. Actually, it’s quite inappropriate.” The older woman in burgundy scrubs pointed her gaze to the hospital band on your wrist and both you and Steve started laughing upon noticing. So that explained all the weird looks.

“Oh no, Dr. Williams! This is my wife (y/n),” You politely beamed up at the woman and set out your hand for a handshake. At this, her unenthusiastic expression changed to one of apologetic and she shook your hand with much grief as Steve continued on with his introductions.

“(y/n), this is Dr. Williams. She is the medical director for my department.”

“Wow! I’ve heard many wonderful things about you, Dr. Williams.” She went to return the praise before a beeping in her coat pocket signaled the time for her departure.

“Duty calls, but I’ll have you know this one here never shuts up about you. It was nice to finally put a face to a name, (y/n),” You glanced at Steve and noticed he was sheepishly grinning and turning redder by the second. So much so that he was hiding his face in his palms.

““I hope you have a quick recovery as well, hon!” The standing woman gave you a nod of her head and then turned to your husband whose face had finally regained its color. “As for you Steven, I will see you later. You have another resident to deal with today.” Dr. Williams sighed at the thought, waving you both goodbye and soon enough she was out the double doors of the lunch room.

“Ooh babe you’ll have to tell me how all of that goes.” Spooning some spaghetti into your mouth, you goofily raised your eyebrows at Steve.

“Trust me, it is not fun at all. When I was a resident, I would have never acted like some of the people I’ve trained!”

You snorted, “Uh huh. Sureee.”

“No really,” Steve’s eyes widened and he leaned over the table like he was sharing some sort of secret with you, “The audacity of some of these people.”

“I think you are just an old man now, Stevie, and can’t keep up with the times.” The blond screwed up his eyes and stuck his tongue out at you.

“Oh hush and finish your food, Miss. ‘I am soooo young’.” A napkin flew at Steve’s chest and the two of you laughed at the childish antics that had just ensued.

Just as both of your styrofoam containers became empty, an unpleasant ringer sounded in Steve’s pocket, just like the one of Dr. Williams’s departure. Once he gave the screen a swift peek, he looked back up at you with a long face.

“You gotta go?” Golden strands bobbed up and down as Steve nodded and you grabbed his hand.

“It’s alright! Thank you for spending the time with me today, though. I really appreciate it. Thanks for putting up with me, you know how I am sometimes.”

The larger hand encompassing yours gave a sympathetic squeeze.

“Oh darling, anytime, you know that. If you need anything, call me okay? I will try my best to answer.”

The temporary silence that filled the room was now replaced by annoying buzzing from the device that Steve had silenced for the moment. He irritability took it out and shoved it back in his pocket. Normally this didn’t bother Steve because this was his job, but since you were here, having just been sick, he wanted nothing more than to drop everything and focus on you. Knowing that was impossible, he tried his best to juggle both yet it seemed that the world wasn’t gonna wait on him.

“Do you want me to call Ma to come get you? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Her and Dad love your company.” For the moment, Steve appeared to look like he was ignoring the constant beeping, but you knew internally he was already out of the cafeteria and sprinting down the halls.

“No no, I’m fine, honey,” The doctor stared at you as if he didn’t believe you. “I mean it, Steve. I am fine. Now shoo.”

Dr. Rogers shared another laugh with you before pecking your lips and running out the room shouting, “I’ll see you later!”

He really was too good for this world.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

a/n: i really enjoyed writing for doctor!steve, so if anyone has any ideas that involves him and that you’d like me to write, send it in! <3

taglist (is open!): @memissbee @tricereads @buckybarnesthehotshot @bval-1 @tonystankschild @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @turtoix @kelbabyblue @jakiki94 @aubreeskailynn @calirindo @lady-elena-adeline @siriuslyslyslytherin @sushiinmidnight @patzammit @iwik3it

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers x y/n #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans characters #doctor steve rogers #doctor steve rogers x wife reader

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rostovs-lover · 4 years ago

Text

dalí on tuesday

charlie dalton x reader | cursing, smoking, brief mentions of sexual things, charlie (probably) has daddy issues, cameron | she/her pronouns | fluff | wc.2562

i am in love with charlie, this is now a charlie dalton centric blog, also ignore how terrible the title is please

anon : Hi!! I love your blog! can I request a charlie Dalton x reader fluff where reader is an artist and he visits them while they're painting? (maybe they end up wiping paint on his face?) I don't know, something really sweet at cute <33333

Charlie Dalton had been resigned to relish in small pleasures to keep himself sane at school, never did he think the library would be one of those. More specifically, the painter tucked into the basement of the library.

───☮︎───

Charlie Dalton was a connoisseur of many things. Pretty girls, expensive wine, shitty poetry, and hand rolled cigarettes - to name a few. His imprisonment at Wellington made only one of those things readily available. So he settled - boxes of cheap smokes bought through upperclassmen, bottles of grocery store wine someone would sneak in from a party, and the two girls that occasionally came with Knox. The shitty poetry was always on deck, he had that at least. It was a tragedy to be resigned to such a bland life, there was absolutely no carpe diem-ing happening in a school that held adolescent boys to uniforms.

It was miserable, truly, but Charlie scrapped by on the thought that soon enough there would be no more stuffy Catholic school and he could finally have a taste of freedom. In the meantime, he would have what little fun he could. The meets in the cave were always the highlight of the week. A place where he could talk and people would listen, and not because they had to but because they enjoyed it. They enjoyed his words and thoughts and presence. No one else had ever really seemed to enjoy Charlie’s presence. They could tolerate it, handle it, but they always had more pressing matters. A business meeting to attend, a bill to pay, a dinner to go to. Always something just a little bit more important and never quite enough time for Charlie. But the other Dead Poets, they valued him. He wasn’t just a kid, a college tuition to pay and a life to layout. He was a person, with interests and hobbies.

It had been there, in the safe haven of the cave, that the idea for the library first came up. Meeks had already talked Pitts into coming, Neil didn’t take much convincing at all, Todd was also easy to lure, Cameron groaned about leaving school grounds but refused to be left out, and Knox agreed to go but only if Nuwanda came too. Charlie had already started to cover what there was to do at a library, read?

Meeks dove into the technical manuals and Pitts followed tentatively, cradling their science project in his arms. Todd had followed Neil to the S authors, Cameron was trying to chat up the woman at the register, and God only knew what Knox was doing. He had been stranded with few options. He could find the geniuses and be talked over for the next hour or third wheel Neil but that guaranteed intruding on something he probably shouldn’t. The polite thing to do would be to rescue Cameron from making a complete fool of himself, throwing bad pick up lines at a clearly uninterested college student, but it was amusing to watch.

Charlie settled on trying to find Knox, at least then he could have some company. Said company was absolutely nowhere to be found. The rows of shelves wound in a confusing maze and Charlie was lost before he could even begin to look. Weaving around he did come face-to-face with a rather large picture of Charles Dickens that made him recoil. It was perched just at eye level above a short staircase and it seemed to judge his every movement. Charlie followed the carpeted stairs down to escape Mister Dickens’ strange little beard and beady black eyes.

The further down the steps Charlie descended the brighter it appeared. The lower level was the children’s section. Considerably more fun than science books or Shakespeare. The big oak counter was abandoned but the lights were still on. He was alone, still.

Charlie sighed, sitting down in one of the bright red wooden chairs. He was much too big for it but it held well under his weight. A sad stuffed bear stared dully into him from the green glossy table.

“Well hello,” He mumbled, picking it up under the arms, “And you must be?” He cleared his throat to take on a gruff baritone, “Mister... Bearington,” Charlie sighed, that was bad. He dropped the bear into his lap, “This is so stupid,”

“Bearington?”

Charlie shot around in the chair, tipping himself off center and stumbling to his feet, bear still clutched in his arms, “Where the hell did you come from?”

“A few blocks over, walked here actually.” You turned back to your work. A painting. Not just a painting, Charlie realized, a mural. It stretched the length of the wall, roughly sketched in pencil and waiting to be finished.

He blinked, “That’s good. The wall I mean,”

“Thank you,” Your face flustered and Charlie took notice, “It’s not much of anything yet, just an outline. It’ll look better painted.”

He took a few steps closer, sidling up to you, “What’s it supposed to be?”

“A forest,” You pointed to a rotund blob perched on a long line, “That’s an owl, and there’s going to be a fox somewhere down in the grass,”

Charlie grinned, “That’s an owl?”

“That-” you tapped the blob, “Is a shape, objectively. Subjectively, it’s an owl.”

His brow creased, “Subjectively it’s an owl? That's like saying Mister Bearington is a rabbit, subjectively,”

You stared at him, baffled. It was almost irritating that he could so casually come down to your domain and invade your creative bubble. And it was even worse that he talked to himself as a stuffed bear but now he was challenging your judgment on what was and was not subjectively an owl. But he had a wonderful smile and it lessened the intrusion. Plus, you had never seen a teenage boy develop an attachment to a stuffed bear as quickly as he had, “What’s your name?”

“Nuwanda,” He grinned, setting his chin atop his bear’s plush head.

“Nuwanda?” You blinked at him, “That’s… neat. I’ve never heard that before.”

“What can I say? The only Nuwanda this side of Vermont. What’s your name?”

As you opened your mouth to answer several sets of footsteps thundered down the stairs. Knox spun around the corner first, closely followed by Pitts and Meeks.

“Charlie!” Knox called, “We gotta go before Cameron proposes to the clerk.”

You looked at the boy in front of you, “Is Charlie short for Nuwanda, or just a nickname?”

He shrugged, “I’m Nuwanda, subjectively. It was truly a pleasure meeting you. Can’t wait to see your thing DaVinci!” He set the stuffed bear back on the table as he made his way out of the room. With Charlie’s energy gone it became much quieter and you were plunged back into the impressionistic outline of your artwork.

The next time a library trip was suggested Charlie didn’t completely dread it. Yes, it was still numbingly boring because it was a library and he didn’t have clerks to fall in love with, people to write love letters to, anyone to kiss in the aisles, or a spaceship to build, but he did have his own personal Van Gough to torment.

The lower level was the first place he went, not even hanging his coat on the rack inside the big double doors. He made his way past Cameron’s preoccupied receptionist and under Dickens’ hard glower. Halfway down the steps, the smell hit Charlie. Wet paint.

You had just picked out a brush when he pulled one of the wooden chairs next to your station. He sat in it backwards, holding Mister Bearington out in front of him, “Never got your name Monet,”

“Well, it's not that. Or Da Vinci.” You stroked the brush up the grassy outline.

“Do you want me to guess?”

You had yet to look at him, “Nope,”

“Are you gonna tell me?”

“Should I?”

“Obviously, I told you my name.”

You set the brush down and turned to face him, “(Name).”

“Pretty,”

Charlie Dalton liked many things and the musty old library uptown had never been one of them. It had ancient red carpets and gaudy gold ceilings and it was trying too hard to look regal. So it was a sheer shock when he began to leap at the suggestion of going and even more so when he chose to go by himself one afternoon. Naturally, the other poets followed him, they had to.

Charlie didn’t dally upstairs, waving hi to the clerk and rushing down to the children’s section. A sign was posted outside the entrance warning of wet paint but he stepped around it.

“You’re making progress Picasso!” He set his hands on his hips and took in the wall.

You turned back to look at him, “Did you not see the caution: wet paint, do not enter sign?”

“Oh no I saw it,” He pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head, “It's bright orange, hard to miss, really,”

“So you just chose to ignore it?”

He nodded, making his way over to sit by you on the ground, “I choose to ignore lots of things, it really makes life easier,”

You shook your head, “Are you just going to sit here and bother me?”

“Yes, that's actually the whole reason I came today, believe it or not.”

You blubbered in vague disbelief, “Please tell me you’re not serious,”

“Dead serious,” Charlie grinned, leaning closer, “I had to see how your weird owl was going. And also make sure you hadn’t gone mad and cut your own ear off yet,”

“You’ve already used the Van Gogh joke, Charles,”

“Maybe I want your ear,”

You paused, “You… what?”

Charlie’s confidence cracked, “That was bad. Shit, that wasn’t supposed to sound that way. It was like, a bad pickup line? Because Van Gogh cut his ear off to send to his girlfriend,” He sighed, shaking his head, “Sorry,”

“I mean if I had to pick someone to give my ear too I guess you would be my first choice?”

Charlie looked at you, eyebrows pinched together, “Why?”

You shrugged, “No one else has asked, first come first serve.” You dipped your brush back into the blue paint and went to work on a patch of flowers.

“Huh, well I do appreciate it,” Charlie scooted closer, leaning over your shoulder. He was close, very close. When you took a breath you could smell his cologne and whatever it was he used in his hair and you could feel the edge of his sunglasses brush your ear. He brought an arm around to dip his finger into the soft sky colour on your palette. And then he wiped it on your nose.

You gasped sharply at the foreign feeling, snapping your head to the side to glare at him, “Why?!”

Charlie snickered, leaning back, “The opportunity presented itself, how could I just let that pass?”

You reached back, squirting a touch of purple paint over the palm of your hand, “That was truly a horrible idea,”

Charlie shot up just as you did, stumbling backwards, “I’m sorry-” He stuck his hands up in surrender, “I regret my actions and if I could take them back I would,”

“Hmm, but you can’t” You took a step closer, “Surrender now and it doesn’t have to get any messier than this,”

He pointed towards your paint coated hand, “Do not,”

You grinned, “I might,”

“I’m begging,”

“Fine-” You offered him your other hand, “Truce?”

Charlie mulled it over for a moment, “Fine, truce,” He grabbed your clean hand and you used it to pull him towards you.

“Why on earth would you trust me?” You tugged him even closer as he shrieked and smeared your hand down his cheek, “There, now we’re even,”

Getting distracted by your triumph gave Charlie the upper hand. He pulled you to him the same you had done to him and pressed his cheek flush to yours. The paint was cold against your skin and you jolted back, away from him.

“Vile,” You hissed, “You are vile and evil. That's so cold. You will pay, I hope you know that.”

Charlie snorted, “Oh please, what’re you gonna do?”

“You underestimate me, you ass, I’ll figure something out,”

“Will you?” Charlie grinned, “I will be waiting in anticipation,”

“You better be,”

Meeks elbowed back into Cameron’s ribs, “You’re going to knock me over,”

Cameron craned his neck further to peek around the corner into the children’s section, “I just want to see, let me look,”

“Nothing is happening-” Meeks snipped, “They’re just talking now and I might be able to hear if you could can it!”

Cameron rolled his eyes, “Of course, whatever you say,”

“Will you shut up?” Knox batted at Cameron’s shoulder, “They’ll see us, we’re not super well hidden,”

“If you don’t stop talking they’ll realize we’re here,” Pitts mumbled, rolling his eyes. Cameron started to rebuttal, turning to look at Gerard but the motion knocked Meeks out of place and he gasped, stumbling forwards. This did indeed draw Charlie’s attention.

“Meeks, what the hell?” Charlie snapped. He was in a state, sunglasses askew in his hair, paint smeared from his cheekbone down to the corner of his mouth, and his shirt was wrinkled away from his collarbone.

Meeks stared, “Hi Charlie. Are there any textbooks down here, uh… the science ones?”

Knox groaned, stepping out from behind the wall as well, “We wanted to see why you came here on a Tuesday afternoon by yourself,”

Charlie blubbered, “Did you all come? Is Keating there too?”

“He could be,” Meeks shrugged.

Charlie rolled his eyes, “Will you leave, I’ll be upstairs in a second,” The other poets nodded, scampering up the steps to the first level.

“Assholes, should have known they’d come,” Charlie sighed, adjusting the sunglasses atop his head, “I need to go before they decide to intrude again. I’ll see you soon though, anxiously anticipating payback,”

He was almost out the door when you bucked up the courage to call out to him, “Charlie, wait.” You let him turn back to you before continuing, “Could I have your phone number?”

He clicked his teeth, “Don’t have one, private school. But I’ll find the library number in the books and try to shoot you a call sometime,” He winked and started back up to his friends.

Knox was waiting at the landing with a handful of tissues, which he shoved into Charlie’s hands, “So you’re gonna read your stupid poem about tits at a Dead Poets meet and then not tell us you’ve got a girlfriend?”

Charlie grabbed the tissues, “Not my girlfriend, I meet her like two weeks ago,”

“Didn’t stop Knox,” Neil elbowed him.

Charlie wiped at his face, “Well I’m not Knox. I like her painting, she's good.”

“It looks like she was painting you,” Cameron slapped at Charlie’s chest and he threw the tissues at him in retaliation.

“Shut up, at least my library worker actually talks to me,”

Cameron fumbled with the dirty material, batting it away from his chest, “You dick!”

Charlie grinned, pulling his glasses down and starting towards the door. Something about it was thrilling, having this to himself. A little secret that he and you shared. His personal Salvador Dalí, something to look forwards to besides bad tobacco and Keating’s eccentric lectures. It was bright and exciting and he felt seen. He felt important. The blue paint he had stolen from your tray was still on the tip of his pointer finger and he wondered how long it would be until he could see you again.

( @interwebseriesfan24 )

#dead poets society #charlie dalton #charlie dalton x reader #charlie dalton imagine #dead poets society x reader #dead poets society imagine #its the way this tried to crash my computer #also peep the new format #dedicated to everyone who said theyd read if i posted dps #enjoy!#dps #lennie writes

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thefanbasewhore · 4 years ago

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hmmm.. you should do the ship getting raided while mando is out getting a bounty, and scared com link talk 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🤲

I love this idea so much. Thank you for the idea, I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Din leaves reader to get some extra rest while he heads to the market place for some supplies. Reader is left alone while a few smugglers raid the ship.

Warning/Content: Suggestive (18+), soft Din, kidnapping

Paring: Din Djarin/Female Reader

Part 2

“Din?” The soft question catches his ears as he leans over the edge of the bed, trying to be quiet as he peers over to meet the sleeping beauty. One side of her cheeks is taunted pink, beautiful. It’s all he can think, how lucky he is to have this beautiful woman in his bed, the blanket pulled to her chin but as result from last night, there’s no doubt she’s naked underneath them.

There’s something about the haze of sleep, looking innocent, sweet under his gaze. Watching his girl shift slightly with a wince that comes from between sore legs, blanket exposing the smooth skin of her neck, revealing dips of collarbones that suddenly felt the urge to run his tongue along them, reach lower and lower until he’s barried in the heat between her legs, sweet claims of his name falling from swollen lips much like the night before.

He ignores the sudden throbbing in his groin, leaning over the lay a soft kiss to her temple, brown eyes meeting seeking her own. His hair messy, sprawling across his forehead with small ringlets of dark strands as she reaches out to touch the base of his cheek, closing his eyes shut as fingers run across the patches of hair there with a smile.

“Go back to sleep.”

“I’m not tired anymore.” The hand that presses against his chest makes him flush, pulling him closer to lay a soft kiss against his lips. He doesn’t get the chance to pull away he feels a smooth, wet tongue run across his lip seeking the familiarity of his mouth.

It takes every ounce of self control the pull away slowly, his tone is sugary, low with desire that swirls his stomach. “Was last night not enough?”

After spending weeks apart the result of rather troublesome bounty, he came back and made up for every day he was gone, taking her on every surface he could manage on the ship.

“I’ll never have enough of you, riduur.” He tenses and takes in a deep breath, watching as fingers find his hand, pulling it towards her mouth, where she places his thumb and sucks greedily.

Despite the throbbing of his erection that so uncomforted pressed heavy against his thigh he lets out a sigh. His body flushed for her, wanting nothing more then to give into it but he noticed the way she flinches, there’s no surprise she’s in pain. The roughness of his fingers still ghost when she moves to get comfortable, it’s shown on the way her face pinches. It’s a delicious pain.

Din frowns lightly, shifting to press a soft kiss against her forehead. “Get some more rest, pretty girl. Me and Grogu are going to get some supplies before we take off, I’ll be back three hours max.”

“Mmmmm.” She can’t help fluttering eyelashes, the promise of more sleep is too strong as Din stands, reaching out to cover the the tempting skin with one last kiss to her forehead before entering the refresher to fix the problem that throbbed between his legs.

***

Through blurry vision she yawns, blinking eyes until her vision starts so clear only to meet the high ceiling of the ship, the loud humming vibrating underneath inside the small room. It wasn’t much later after Din left, the fresh, clean smell of his soap still lingers throughout the ship. It’s soothing, the familiarity of his scent brings comfort, makes her feel safe.

But that’s before she hears muted voices, deep voices that echo outside of the room. There’s banging, things falling onto the ground with a loud bang as they tore through the ship. Her chest pauses to listen closer, foot steps growing closer and closer as she crawls across the bed to reach for her glove, pulling to her face before whispering. “Din, Din, please answer.”

It’s almost instant, his tone dangerously low at the desperation in her voice as she presses the ear piece into her ear. “What? What is it baby?”

“There’s someone in the ship.” The words make him freeze in his spot, momentarily freezing as his heart starts to pound against his chest. The bags drop from his hands onto the floor with little care.

“Hide, find somewhere and hide. I’m coming.” There’s no answer as the jetpack lifts him off the ground of the forest. His next words were desperate as a surge of energy pushes him further, hands trembling as he presses the side of his helmet with hopes of hearing her better. “Answer me.”

“I’m here.” She whispers, “In the closet they’re coming, they’re trying to break down the door but I blocked it.” Squeezing her eyes shut with every heavy thump against the door, the room shaking with every movement.

“I’m almost there, I’m coming.” He promises, breathing heavy with the weight that crushes his chest, latching the bag where the child sleeps in leaving him with little distractions except for getting to his wife.

There’s a loud noise on the other side of the com, he hears the way her breath hitches. He tries to concentrate but the sound of things hitting the floor or wall for all he knows makes his heart stop, “Din he’s coming toward the door, he’s going to find me.”

“I’m almost there riduur.”

Dread numbs his whole being as he ears her scream. “No, No.” He cries, “Baby, Can you hear me? Answer me. Please.”

There’s nothing but a loud rip and the curses that fall from her lips with the obvious rustling of fighting as a moan of pain fills the ear piece before it all goes silent until a loud ring squeals in his ear, a loud painful groan as his head starts to pound as he yanks it out.

By the time he reaches the ship, he’s on edge, heart stuttering as the blaster shakes in front of him as he expends into the hull but it met with nothing but scattered, useless belongings pulled from the deepest confines of the ship. The bedroom door is broken, pulled from the hinges as his stomach dropped.

Walking through the door the first thing he noticed is the comlink is in pieces next to the closet with no doubt crushed under a heavy boot, but what really made his eyes water is the torn shirt on the floor, small splatters of blood but his wife is no where to be found.

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#din djarin fan fiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din dijarin x reader #the mandolorian imagine #the mandolorian x reader #din djarin #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine

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juniorgman187 · 4 years ago

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Things We Know By Heart (Spencer Reid Fluff)

Summary: Reader teaches Spencer how to slow dance in preparation for his wedding. The only problem? Reader’s in love with Spencer, and she isn’t the bride.

A/N: S/O to Kyla who bullied me throughout all of elementary school. Ik you’ve probably changed since then, but you literally traumatized and tormented me for more than six years of my life. So I felt like including you in this story as, “Kayla,” Spencer’s fiancé. Tehe, I’m petty like that. Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Fluff Word Count: 6.5k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I think we’d all like to believe that somewhere out there is our person. And somehow, someway, they’ll get to where they need to go, right where they belong.

With us.

That’s what I’d like to believe.

I’d like to think that no matter what happens along our journeys to each other, we’ll arrive at the same destination regardless.

But that isn’t necessarily true, is it?

Because maybe, my soulmate got lost along the way. They met somebody great, someone they think is their person, and they married that person. They had kids and eventually, grandkids with that person, even though, deep down - they knew it wasn’t right. They stayed with them anyway because their fear of being alone superseded their fear of being with the wrong person for life.

And what am I to do when that happens? When my person finds a different person.

Am I supposed to believe that the universe will be so kind as to give my soulmate the courage to leave their relationship behind and forge a new one with me?

Am I supposed to expect that the world will supply me with another person, the person I’m supposed to marry?

Or do I simply wait for my person to come to the conclusion that they’re meant to be with me after all and my naive entitlement to a soulmate is validated?

Is life really that magical?

This is the story of what happens when your person loves a different person.

∙•○⦾☉☼☉⦾○•∙

With his hand at the nape of my neck to support my head and his other hand flat against the small of my back, he dipped me backward, leaning with me as I arched my back and bent the leg closest to the crowd, pointing my foot to elongate my leg artistically. This was our ending position so I remained in it until the song ended. The two of us bowed to thank the audience and to conclude our performance. Roses fell at our feet while the sound of applause echoed in the room. I was never a fan of being the center of attention, but there was something about this overwhelming praise that was particularly blissful. It was intoxicating.

“I didn’t know you knew how to dance like that.” I gushed to my partner; my cheeks growing pink from the heat and the head rush I got.

He positioned his mouth right beside my ear so I could hear his words clearly over the rowdy cheering. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Princess.” said Morgan.

A gauntlet formed to clap for us both when we walked off the dance floor. Hand-in-hand, Morgan led me back to the table through the double file line of people. The team howled with excitement when they saw me and Morgan approaching.

“So this is what you two were keeping a secret from us? That you’re dance partners?” JJ had to ask.

“Yep. All those late nights and secret rendezvous.” Morgan said, shimmying his shoulders be suggestive of a sexual innuendo, which I was not a fan of. Out of mock offense, I chucked a small towel at him with a grouchy command to “Shut up!”

He took the towel to the face like a champ, laughing it off and dabbing his sweat away.

“I don’t know who was sexier up there - Princess or my Hubba Hubba!” Garcia squealed pretending to claw at Derek, reeling him over towards her.

“You looked like a natural up there, Y/N. Were you a dancer before?” Prentiss questioned while handing me a glass of water that I desperately gulped down.

“My mom sent me to dance classes as soon as I could walk.” I jokingly explained after gathering my hair into a makeshift ponytail and lifting it off of my neck, cocking my head to the side and fanning the back of my neck to cool down.

“Maybe you should teach Reid how to dance before the wedding. He’s got two left feet and I don’t think he wants Morgan to teach him how to waltz.” JJ quipped, making Derek throw his head back in laughter. The thought of Morgan and Reid slow dancing would truly be something - something hilarious. I laughed, too, until Reid’s voice interrupted me.

“Yeah, that’s actually a really good idea. Would you mind, Y/N? Kayla would be so happy.”

I thought he was joking, but his humorless expression told me otherwise.

“You want me to teach you how to dance?”

He pursed his lips and nodded, not understanding why I was so confused.

“Um . . . yeah. I can do that. Sure.” My tone wasn’t very convincing, but Reid’s optimism made him oblivious to my reluctance. He smiled and hugged me with one arm around my shoulder.

“I have to call Kay and tell her the good news.” Reid dashed away from the table, pulling out his phone to dial his fiancé.

I darted toward JJ with fury and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her into the bathroom for privacy.

“What the hell was that? ‘Oh, Y/N, you should teach him how to dance.’ You know how I feel about Reid!”

Rather than giving me hostility back, she broke into a smile. “Exactly! If you spend more time alone with him, maybe he’ll finally admit to himself that he shouldn’t be marrying Kayla,”

I rolled my eyes and turned my back away from her.

“We all know Spence would be happier with you.”

As JJ spoke, I trudged to the nearest sink, holding onto the sides for stability as the ground below me swayed. She followed me, rubbing up and down my back comfortingly.

“You know how he is. He keeps things to himself, until eventually they’re forced to come out. If you dance with him, maybe he’ll finally tell you he loves you without actually having to say it. Do this for him . . . and for you.” JJ gave me one last pat on the back before exiting the bathroom to leave me to my devices.

Normally, teaching a friend how to slow dance in preparation for his wedding would be sweet. It’d be a selfless gesture and an act of service for him that would show how much love there was in our friendship. In this case though, it was anything but.

For the six months that Spencer and Kayla had been engaged, the team was relentless in trying to end it. I tried to stay out of it in case all hell broke loose, but I couldn’t escape it. No - I was at the very center of it.

Before Reid even knew Kayla existed, he was head-over-heels in love with me. He’d ask me on coffee dates, wait by my desk for me, and he would always try to sit beside me at the round table or on the jet. It was sweet, really, but it could never go anywhere.

I was in a committed relationship with my high school sweetheart Patrick. (Maybe Spencer had a thing for unavailable girls).

I moved in with Patrick after graduating from college, and after years of working in the BAU (and years of Spencer loving me) Pat proposed. At first, being engaged brought me so much joy, but halfway into our engagement, something changed.

I was in Wisconsin, consoling a grieving widow. She was hysterical after I delivered the treacherous news of her husband’s gruesome murder. She eventually calmed down and proceeded to ask me about my engagement when she noticed my ring. I gave her the bare minimum, fabricated a couple things here and there, but then she asked me the million dollar question.

“Are you in love?” Her eyes glimmered with hope.

My immediate answer was a habitual “Yes, of course.” But after seeing how deeply this widow loved her late husband, I couldn’t say in good conscience that that answer was actually true.

That night I went to the hotel and lied on the bed, praying for clarity.

Perhaps I wasn’t actually in love with Patrick. Maybe we’d been together for so long that it just felt safe and comfortable and familiar. Maybe it was the fear of disrupting the arrangement of my life that stopped me from ending things sooner.

The fact of the matter was that I’d only ever known a life loving him, but that didn’t mean I was in love with him. Maybe I was settling for something with Pat, because I wasn’t sure if I could have a better relationship with anyone else. With all these doubts, I needed a sign.

A knock on the door interrupted my inner dialogue.

When I opened it, who else was standing there, but none other than Rossi.

“We need to talk.” He ordered.

He followed me back into the room and sat at the foot of the bed. He said he noticed something was off about me, and I admitted that there was. So that night, I took advice I probably shouldn’t have from the man with multiple failed marriages, but it was a sign - and it was good enough.

When we returned to Quantico, I asked Hotch for some personal time, which he was happy to permit. That same night I went home and broke off the engagement with Patrick.

I felt despicably cold when I watched him tear up and ask me, “Why are you doing this?”

There was truly no concrete moment in our relationship that incited my decision, but it was merely the realization that being with him wasn’t right, because how could I stand there watching him beg for a change of heart but still feel nothing?

Maybe I was much less than not in love. Maybe I didn’t feel a thing for him at all. Not hate. Not empathy. Not love. Just . . . nothing.

Completely indifferent.

Within the week of personal time I took, I spent most of it moving into Rossi’s guest house. After I came back from work, it took all of two hours before someone brought up the absence of the ring that I used to never take off, and I’d assumed they’d already noticed it the moment I walked in - they were just too afraid to ask.

“I ended things with Patrick.” I casually stated, not even looking up from my portfolio to give it the attention it probably deserved.

While the rest of the team’s jaws dropped on the floor, Rossi was fighting a smirk considering this wasn’t news to him and having seen everyone else’s reactions was a priceless moment for him.

There was a brief moment of awkward silence on the jet as the team processed my information, until finally Hotch cleared his throat and started debriefing again. In the seat next to me, Spencer was very poorly hiding his enthusiasm. Hearing I broke off the engagement was like a green light to make his move. And honestly, it was.

So I waited.

And I waited.

Then I waited some more for him to jump at the opportunity.

But he didn’t.

He never did.

Instead, he introduced Kayla into our lives, and eventually, they’d get engaged, too.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t developed feelings for Spencer while I expected him to act upon his palpable affection for me. And because of my newfangled feelings, I could never tell another soul that I sincerely believed Spencer got engaged just to spite me - to show me just how painful unrequited love was.

The strangest part of it all, though, was that there was never a moment following the ending of my engagement and the birth of his own that showed me that his feelings went away. He never treated me differently or stopped talking to me. Even in the early stages of his relationship with Kayla, he continued to act like I was the only girl in his life. He was so consistent with his actions that it confused me.

Did he love me or not? And was I in love with him or not?

Evidently, the team seemed to have my answer.

“He loves you and you love him. It’s as simple as that.” Prentiss explained curtly.

Agreeing nods came from JJ, Morgan, and Garcia, who’d abducted me as soon as I exited the elevator that morning and snuck me into Garcia’s Bat Cave for an intervention.

“We need to stop this wedding.” Garcia demanded.

And since that glorious intervention, the team (minus Rossi and Hotch because Rossi seemed genuinely happy for Reid, and Hotch would definitely tell us it wasn’t our place) began trying to put a wedge in the relationship. I, however, made the smart choice not to be involved.

If I was trying to get him to love me, why would I do something that would surely make him hate me like breaking up his engagement? Plus, the blind optimist in me believed that if I was actually meant to be with Spencer, it would happen regardless of Kayla.

So anytime Morgan, JJ, Prentiss, and Garcia suggested something, I refused to participate. I was able to steer clear of any wedding crasher shenanigans up until JJ’s “slow-dance” suggestion.

If Reid knew the true intentions behind these dance classes, he surely wouldn’t be pleased, but clearly - he didn’t. Because when I walked out of the restroom and back to the table, Reid still had a huge grin that took up half of his face, making his eyes look nearly shut.

“Thank you again for doing this.” Reid beamed.

“Of course! What are friends for?”

Morgan, Prentiss, JJ, and Garcia exchanged satirical glances at my choice of words.

What are friends for if not to purposefully set two people up in hopes of ending one person’s betrothal?

∙•○⦾☉☼☉⦾○•∙

Later that weekend . .

“Come in!” I called out, buckling the ankle strap of my heels.

The door opened partially and then all at once to reveal the one and only. I peeked my head out from behind a wall that was obstructing my view of him, immediately noticing a bouquet of lavender wrapped in twine.

“Oh my goodness, what is this?” I asked in pure delight as he handed me the pretty purple flowers.

“It’s a thank-you gift for agreeing to help me.” His lips formed a thin straight line, which was his version of a smile. A smile I appreciated whenever I was lucky enough to have caused it.

“They’re lovely, thank you.” I told him, hugging him briefly before fetching a vase from the kitchen to put them in.

“Oh, good, I’ll tell Kayla you liked them. She’s the one who picked them out.”

The glass vase nearly shattered the moment he said that, but luckily, my reflex skills spared the vessel.

How big of a fool was I for thinking that he gave me flowers out of the kindness of his heart because he knew lavender was my favorite? But then again I probably needed that brutal reminder of why he was here in the first place - for Kayla.

As I put the vase on the kitchen island, I spun around, brandishing a fake smile.

“So we should probably get started. I don’t wanna keep you here for too long.”

“There’s no rush. Kayla won’t be home until late at night.”

I tried not to think of the potential innuendo that lied within his statement, but Spencer wasn’t type to be disloyal, and I wasn’t going to be the woman to make him such a person.

“You look really nice, by the way.” I heard him say from behind me, catching a whiff of his cologne that was intoxicatingly sweet.

I did my best to not take the comment personally and let it get to my head, but I’d be lying if it didn’t elicit any response. I smiled to myself, which thankfully, he couldn’t see since my back was towards him as he followed me into my backyard.

“You smell different.” He added.

“Good different?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Is it a new perfume?”

I furrowed my brows. “No, it’s the same one I’ve been using for years.”

“Interesting,” I could feel him taking in this information, and I could hear the gears in his head turning at an even faster rate to spit out more information. “Did you know that you pick your soulmate by subconsciously reacting to pheromones that transmit their genetic compatibility? Yeah, there’s a relationship between attraction and scent, which dates back to our primal instinct. So if someone smells appealing to you, even if you don’t know it, it could relate to your attraction to them and vice versa.”

“Ah, then maybe I should consider changing my perfume to improve my love life.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I love the way you smell.”

In the back of my mind lied the unanswered question I neglected to voice, “But do you love me?”

When we reached the backyard, I heard him gasp in awe.

“It looks beautiful, Y/N. You did great.”

Nestled in my backyard was a dark wooden deck, surrounded by plentiful greenery. Lining the perimeter of the shiny wooden deck were asymmetrical rocks, while above us hung strands of fairy lights that cast a sheer golden glow on the entire scene. The ambiance was not for Spencer specifically, but I was happy that he appreciated it nonetheless.

“You ready?”

He signaled yes by putting his thumb up and so it began.

“Alright, so slow dancing can be broken into four easy steps, but first, you gotta know how to hold your partner correctly.”

Spencer and I took a step towards each other, and I could feel the nervous energy radiating off of him. I tried not to call attention to it, so I simply continued with my process. Outstretching my arms to form a T with my body, I guided him verbally.

“So I’m the follower. And you’re the leader. Got it?”

He nodded.

“Leader puts their right hand under the follower's left armpit and cups their hand around the follower's shoulder blade.”

He understood my instructions, and in the most awkward manner possible, he fumbled his way into the right position, albeit, not perfect.

“Now, hold my right hand as high as my eye level without raising my shoulder.”

Spencer was glaringly anxious, so I gave him a word of encouragement. “Hey, don’t be nervous. It’s just me, okay? And you’re doing great.”

I could see the nerves beginning to settle, translating into the conviction with which he took my hand, raising it at the perfect height.

“Great. Just like that.”

My praise brought out that smile in him that only ever came out on rare occasions. The kind where it’s brief, his teeth showing, a light chuckle escapes him, and he’s looking down as if he’s too shy to look at me.

“Okay, step two is basic footwork. Leader starts with their left foot and takes a step to the left. And then your right foot is going to meet your left foot and tap. The count is one-two.”

I watched as Spencer tried to process what I was saying.

“Do you want me to demonstrate first? And then you follow?”

He nodded rapidly as if saying yes wouldn’t be enough to communicate how much he needed me to lead. We broke apart so that I could turn my back towards him. I felt a cold draft blow under my dress as I spun on the ball of my feet, making my skirt flutter upwards majestically.

I felt him watching.

“Alright, so I’ll start and then you can catch on. It goes one-two.”

Left foot step. Right foot tap.

“Then three-four.”

Left foot step. Right foot tap.

“Then to the right this time. Five-six.”

Right foot step. Left foot tap.

“Seven-eight.”

Right foot step. Left foot tap.

“And back again. One-two. Three-four. Five-six. Seven-eight.”

My eight count continued until the click of my heels on the patio was joining by the sound of Spencer’s feet shuffling behind me. I knew if I turned around to check on him, it would only psych him out and make him more nervous, so I stayed facing forward so he wouldn’t feel that I was scrutinizing his technique.

After a minute or so of following me, I spun back around, catching his lingering stare in the region of my hips. He tried to play it off and pretend he wasn’t, but I felt it.

“You did really well tonight. I’m proud of you. I think that’s a good place to stop for today.”

He thanked me with another hug, the kind where we nuzzled his face in the crook of my neck.

God, I could feel him breathing on my shoulder.

I tried not to not to let myself indulge in it, reasoning that this was just a way for one friend to thank another, but I couldn’t help myself when the hug lasted longer than it should’ve. I tightened my embrace around him, drawing him in closer, and shutting my eyes as if taking my sense of sight away would heighten my sense of touch and magnify this feeling I never wanted to end.

“You take care, okay?” I said, rubbing my hand up and down his back to signal we should pull away, a signal he understood.

I was the first to walk away, merely because of the worry that I might sooner cry if I had to stay under these lights with him a moment longer.

I wasn’t sure I could do this again unless he was mine. Otherwise, I’d just be under the stars, dancing with the love of my life that I couldn’t have - feeling that feeling again, and not being able to act on it.

Is this what happens when your person loves somebody else?

∙•○⦾☉☼☉⦾○•∙

I know I said I couldn’t do it, but I did it anyway.

I guess that’s what love is. Doing things you don’t want to do because your care for the other person surpasses the discomfort. True love makes you do things like that, even if they aren’t in your best interest.

When he came over the next night, we danced again. Undoubtedly, he stumbled - even came close to falling - and yet, I fell in love all over again. After that, it got harder to separate dancing from my feelings.

The next day, we had a case. He came to my hotel room and we danced in the dim golden light of the hotel room’s chandelier. God, it was so ambient and romantic, I think I fell even harder for him - if that was even possible.

From then on, every time we were in the same place, he leapt at the opportunity to dance with me.

“Guys, look what I learned last night! Come, Y/N! Come on, come on.”

He waved me over eagerly with his hand, even helping me out of my seat in the round table just to speed up the process. All too excitedly, he assumed the leader’s position, and he danced me around the entire conference room in front of our coworkers. He spun me around the table, he dipped me in the doorway, he held me in his arms by the glass board.

Can you really blame me for falling in love?

“Wow, Y/N! I’m impressed. You really whipped him into shape.” JJ remarked with a clap.

I hid behind a faux smile, but Spencer was too elated to recognize the deceit. He was like that now. Maybe love made him more of a fool, more naive and blissfully unaware, whereas love made me more devoted and cognizant.

It went on like that for weeks. Practicing whenever and wherever we could.

He’d pull me into the hotel lobby at midnight to dance - not even batting an eye at the looming presence of the receptionist.

He’d ask me to come to his apartment and we’d dance in his living room or in the narrow hallway, just for fun.

When we were at Rossi’s, he’d drag me to the kitchen, with Rossi’s gentle music playing in the background, and we’d sway by the fireplace sometimes.

We danced once in the elevator when it got stuck. I never thought he’d be so fearless to do that, but he looked like he was genuinely enjoying himself, almost like he didn’t even notice we were stuck in an elevator.

While we waited for the jet, we’d danced on the tarmac, looking like a moving bundle of clothes, our movements stifled by our thick peacoats, layers of clothes, and scarfs.

After a dinner during cases, when we’d split a cab back to the hotel, he’d get me to dance on the sidewalk, even convincing me not to pay attention to the onlookers on the street, the honking cars, or the confused pedestrians. I was always embarrassed to be in the spotlight, but somehow with him, it was easy. It felt like it was just the two of us, dancing under that streetlight.

I never understood why people wanted to live in a moment forever, but for the first time that night, I did. That was a moment I wanted to freeze in time. I wish I could’ve stayed there forever. There in that moment, it really felt like it was our own little world. It was easy to believe we’d end up together, and we were the ones getting married, and we were in love.

But again, that was in that moment. In that singular, fleeting moment. And then life moved on, whether or not I was ready for it to.

The day of rehearsals inevitably came, and I wasn’t originally supposed to be at the wedding rehearsal since I wasn’t part of the ceremony, but Spencer asked me to be there, deliberately neglecting to tell me that the reason he wanted me to come was so that I could fill in for Kayla, which had I known that, I would’ve certainly declined.

When I walked in, the team was all there, sitting in the pews, with their heads turning to me where I was standing at the entrance of the church. It felt like an eerie nightmare that I was living out where I was Spencer’s bride walking down the aisle, and this was our wedding. I couldn’t tell you what was so nightmarish about it - probably because none of it felt right - but I was sick to my stomach when Spencer gestured for me to meet him at the altar.

“What’s going on?”

“Kayla had a last minute dress alteration in Norfolk and got stuck in traffic. She won’t make it for this rehearsal, but she’ll be there in time for the dinner rehearsal.”

“So why am I here?”

“I wanted to practice my vows on you, if that’s okay.”

I gulped hard, trying to swallow the lump in my throat to open up my suddenly-closing airway.

“Um, I don’t really know if -”

“Please, Y/N. I’m just nervous that I might mess up-”

How could I say no? True love makes you do crazy things, even if they aren’t in your best interest, right?

I reluctantly agreed.

Spencer’s hands were trembling and I could see it by the way his notecards were shaking, even from the fact that he brought notecards alone, and that he didn’t already memorize his vows. I wanted to put my hands around his and hold them to settle his unsteadiness, but I knew that wasn’t my place. I figured my words would do a better job at not crossing a boundary that was already crossed.

“Hey,” I comfortingly whispered. “It’s just me, okay?” Calling back those words from the first time we danced months ago. “You don’t need those notecards. Just speak from the heart.”

And sure enough, his heart spoke.

“When people used to tell me stories about what love felt like and what is what, they always said they fell in love with that person. Like it was sudden and all at once, but with you - I walked into love with you. With my eyes wide open, choosing to take each and every step along the way. I never believed in fate or destiny, but after I met you, I finally believed. I believed that we are only fated to do the things that we’d choose anyway. And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality. I’d find you and I’d choose you.”

My breath hitched as I got lost in his eyes and how they were looking right at me, completely unmindful of the way everyone around us saw how he spoke to me.

I think he even got lost too, because what he said next, didn’t even seem to register in his mind before it came out of his mouth.

“I love you . . . Y/N.”

Gasps rang through the church, ricocheting off the high ceiling, and in that moment I knew, I knew he was going to kiss me.

He lunged forward in the heat of the moment. Clearly not thinking straight, he held my face in his hands, and I swear to God, I could’ve kissed him back.

I would’ve.

“Spencer?”

Every single head in the church turned toward the small voice, too distinct to misplace.

“Kayla, wait!’

And there I stood, alone at the front of the altar, watching him run after her.

∙•○⦾☉☼☉⦾○•∙

I sat by my phone the entire afternoon, waiting for someone - anyone - to update me. No one ever ended up texting or calling, so I figured the dinner rehearsal wasn’t cancelled. At least, in that case, my dress didn’t go to waste.

After spending an ungodly amount of time curling my hair and putting on my makeup, even achieving a smoky eye look, I finally slipped on my navy-blue, satin, floor length dress, donning nude heels and a dainty gold necklace with a single diamond pendant that laid right on my sternum.

It was a shame that this was a moment where I should’ve felt at my prettiest, and yet, I’d never felt so ugly.

I was riddled with the guilt of knowing I would’ve kissed Spencer if Kayla hadn’t walked in. I felt even worse that I was so consumed by his speech that I didn’t even hear her come in.

How long had she been standing there? Long enough to watch what I knew everyone else saw? These questions never left me. Not even when I pulled into the site of the dinner rehearsal.

Clutching the front of my dress to walk without resistance, I came to the entrance, and opened the door to reveal . . . nothing.

Staff was removing chairs and tables.

Waiters were collecting plates and utensils.

And Spencer was standing in the very middle of the empty room, watching it all happen silently, like he was just the shell of a man.

“Spencer!” I called out from the entrance, in no hurry to meet him at the middle of the room. He turned on his heels, with his hands sheepishly shoved into his pockets.

“Gosh, I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve called to let you know it got cancelled, but um, Kayla broke my phone.”

“Well, it’s time you got a new phone anyway.” I chuckled, which thankfully earned a chuckle from him, too.

“What happened, Spencer?” My voice was quiet, as if it was any decibel higher it would sound more like a scold than genuine concern.

“She, um, she told me she needed some time to think. And I, I told her to come to the rehearsal dinner if she still wanted to get married and,” He mirthlessly chuckled. “Well, you already know.” His words were chosen carefully to deliberately avoid what he hadn’t yet come to terms with.

She didn’t come.

I wasn’t yet sure whether or not to console him or to berate him for what he almost did, but I chose the former.

“I’m so sorry, Spence.”

He looked up from the ground, still managing to avoid my gaze, by looking up at the ceiling, and pretty much everywhere my face wasn’t.

“I understand if you want to leave right now. I just need to pay the owner and I’ll be out of here.”

I shook my head instantly. “No, I’ll be right here. If you want me to be.”

He bit his lip to stop a sob from escaping. “Yeah,” He nodded, cowering his head. “I’d like that a lot.”

As soon as I saw his cheeks get red, I took it as a cue to approach him and hug him. He was grateful for my compassionate touch, immediately opening up his arms to hug me back. His embrace around me was needy and desperate, and it felt like he was clawing at my dress, acting out of anger that the fabric was stopping us from being that much closer.

With his shoulder digging into the spot right underneath my chin, it was hard to utter the words, “You look really handsome, by the way.” I said, finally acknowledging his light beige suit and white button up shirt.

“Thanks.” I heard him mumble into my shoulder.

“Kayla doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

To my surprise, he didn’t recoil, flinch, or so much as react to her name. Instead, he simply pulled away, wiping the moisture under his nose, and straightening out his suit.

“We should . . . we should probably talk about what happened earlier, right?”

I sighed and shook my head. “Not if you don’t want to. We can save that conversation for another day.”

He looked appreciative of my avoidance, but I knew he wanted to talk about it.

“Hey, excuse me,” He stopped a staff member by clutching their arm gently. “Do you mind, actually? Leaving two seats behind.”

The staff member complied, doing as he said, and leaving two chairs behind, setting one right across from the other. I took my seat, and Spencer took his.

“I probably shouldn’t have spoken from the heart, huh?” He joked, finally seeing the humor in his situation.

“No, it was good that you did.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely. I think Kayla would’ve appreciated it.” All too quickly he responded with, “I wasn’t talking about Kayla.”

I was talking about you, his somber eyes said.

I looked away from his gaze immediately, trying to find a reprieve from the conversation that I was doing my best to avoid.

“It was a really good speech. It sounded so natural. Like something you knew by heart.”

“Something I knew by heart?” He didn’t seem to understand what I meant.

“Yeah, some things we just know by heart. Like the lyrics to our favorite song, or a recipe, how to dance,” We both chuckled at the reference. “Or . . . how to love.”

“Do you think we know who to love by heart or do you think we make that choice ourselves?”

“I think it’s both. I think we can’t control the person we’re meant to love. That, by some miracle, we’re handed this person that complements us better than anyone else. But I also think it’s our choice on whether or not we pick them. Maybe we aren’t willing to stand the test of time and wait for our person, so we don’t pick them and settle for someone else. Or maybe we do pick them and we live out the rest of our lives together. I think that’s what makes love so special. It’s a person choosing you over and over again.”

Isn’t that what we all want? To feel chosen?

“And what if we make the wrong decision? What if we’ve met who we’re supposed to love, but we chose to love another?” His eyes were searching within mine for the words that I wasn’t saying out loud. Out of fear that my eyes might expose me to Spencer, I looked away.

“I think -”

Spencer cut me off. “Look at me.”

My head didn’t move, but I shifted my gaze just as he wanted.

“When two people are meant to be, nothing and no one can end them. They may get lost a time or two on their journey, but true, real love will always conquer. Nothing can compete with them. Others can only attempt to fill a void. And eventually, the two will be reunited. That’s the beauty of true love; you always end up with the right person, at the right time, regardless of any other factor.”

Quiet fell upon us two after I said my piece. My breathing slowed down and the knot in my stomach came undone. The lump in my throat disappeared.

All my bodily barriers broke down. There were no more emotional walls up between the two of us anymore. I was completely vulnerable - nothing to hide me. Not even my eyelids could hide the windows of my soul. Spencer had already seen into them.

He saw my soul, my secrets.

“Dance with me.” He extended his hand in the air between us two. With no hesitation, I accepted his offer and followed his lead. He’d never danced so naturally before. Somehow, his stiffness had withered away. The thick tension that used to loom in the air above us two dissipated. Something new replaced the contents of the atmosphere.

Love.

Unbounded.

Unrestrained.

Unbridled.

Limitless love.

Spencer drew me in closer so my head could lay on his chest. Previously, I was looking at his face, but now the view was of our connected hands. My fingers were intertwined with his, and I didn’t even notice how his thumb was rubbing small circles on the back of my hand until I saw it with my own eyes.

Had he always done that, but I couldn’t feel it until I saw it for myself? If so, what else had he been doing that I couldn’t feel?

“Loving you.”

I removed my head from his shoulder after hearing him answer the question that I pondered silently, wondering if suddenly just acquired the superpower of telepathy.

“What?”

“Loving you. That’s all I know how to do by heart.”

A wave of relief came over me when I realized he hadn’t read my mind, he was just simply adding to our conversation from before.

“That’s not true,” I mirthlessly chuckled. “There’s lots you know how to do. You know thousands of chess permutations, you know how to geographically profile - you know how to dance now.” I countered playfully.

He shook his head. “I know how to do those things, but sometimes, none of it makes sense. I used to lose matches against Gideon, sometimes the comfort zone is inaccurate, and until today, I couldn’t dance very well,” He chortled. “But loving you. That always made sense. It never failed me or disappointed me and it’s so all-consuming that if I try to love anyone else - it just doesn’t make sense.”

Of all the words in my vocabulary, each of them were failing me. I was rendered speechless. Spencer cleared his throat and looked away for a moment, before finding the nerve to say it.

“I choose you.” He proclaimed.

So, I was right.

There are some things we know by heart.

Lyrics to our favorite song.

A recipe.

How to dance . . . how to love.

And who to choose.

“I choose you, too, Spencer.”

. . . So to answer my question from before, is life really that magical? . . .

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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