#i bet i fucked up the color order somewhere

[tazmiilly]

Gay Ford

We need more gay Ford

[salmonskinrolltf]

Hey there. A little bit about me? I'm a tall, mostly attractive actor from Iowa now living in New York. My chest hair won't stop growing, and I'm always cast as the awkward, gay comic relief in shows. I guess that's why I'm here. It's silly but I've always had a crush on The Situation and most of the cast of the Jersey Shore. I was hoping to rent one of seasons before I have an audition for a more manly part I'm going in for.

[Thank you so much to everybody who submitted requests! I have nothing close to the bandwidth to get to all of them, so this is going to be my final Be Kind Rewind post for the time being. I’ve got so many other types of stories I’m excited to work on as soon as I’m able, but I do apologize if your request wasn’t selected! Here’s a bit of a long one though, as a finale.

This is a gay-to-straight story. If you’re not into that, feel free to keep scrolling, but I bet you'll like it anyway. Read my G2S ethos here.]

You eagerly rip open your Be Kind Rewind delivery and a die falls into your hand. Oh yeah, their weird promotion thing. You toss it on the coffee table, not noticing that it lands on 5. You’re too busy pulling out the Jersey Shore tape you ordered, excited to have access to one of your favorite guilty pleasures and use it as research for a particularly manly role you’re hoping to score, which could finally break you out of being typecast as awkward and effeminate.

As you push the tape into your TV’s built-in VCR (that you could have sworn wasn’t there when you bought it), you realize it’s already at the end credits, so you hit rewind. While you wait for the tape to be ready, you decide to run your lines some more.

“Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?” you say, cringing at how utterly wrong those words sound coming out of your mouth. You sound like a nervous pre-teen at a school dance, not the overconfident douchebag that the part requires.

You clear your throat and repeat the line, trying to artificially deepen your voice when you say it.

“Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?” you say, your throat tingling as it delivers the words in a perfectly sultry, slurred bass, with a hint of a New Jersey accent. Holy shit! You nailed it!

“Hell yeah, bro!” you shout, pumping your fist, too excited to notice the uncharacteristic slang you unconsciously used. You decide to see if you can replicate the voice for the other lines on your sides, and each word comes out perfectly.

“You’re looking fly, my man,” you say, dapping up an invisible buddy. Fuck yeah, that line sounded even more perfect than the last one! The deep tones of your voice echo through the empty room. You don’t even notice as the color leaches from your pants and they grow baggy and thin. However, you can’t help but be aware of the cold sensation slithering across the back of your neck, wrapping around the front to form a tight circle that feels like a necklace chain. A golden metal knot at the end of the loop seems to be stretching the circle with its weight, pulling it down toward your shirt collar.

It never makes it to your collar. The neckline of your shirt begins to scoop lower and lower as the knot progresses downward, the crew neck becoming a V, expanding into a deep V, and eventually stretching into a drooping U that leaves your shirt loose and baggy, practically exposing your nipples. The necklace and the shirt seem to be racing toward your navel, and the shirt wins. The necklace gives up somewhere around your chest, the knot unfurling into a golden cross that rests between your slightly toned pecs. Conversely, your shirt collar goes all the way down to the bottom, splitting the fabric in two as the color fades to black and the edges sprout rows of metallic teeth, becoming a zipper.

Now, you consider yourself plenty attractive, but you still feel self conscious and exposed with your entire torso hanging out, even if you’re completely at a loss to understand how this is even happening. You link the zipper together and pull on the tab, trying to cover yourself with the strange new garment that has appeared on your body. But something stops you from zipping up too far past your belly button. You suppose you’re subconsciously afraid of getting your hand anywhere near the magical necklace that suddenly appeared on you. Sure, that must be it.

However, thinking of the necklace makes you freak out a bit, so you decide to try and take it off. When you reach up to unclasp it, your fingers thrum with energy and you feel a sudden urge to keep rehearsing your lines. Yeah… Maybe the getup will help you embrace the character.

“When you look like I do, bro, you don’t gotta fuck with dating apps,” you say. Although you were still perturbed, this line also came out perfectly. You decide to lean into whatever strange thing is happening because, even if it’s fucked up, you’re definitely getting this part. In fact, you’re even starting to move like your character. You just scratched your chest by reaching under the hem of your hoodie and exposing a strip of your abdomen in the process.

You repeat the line, hooking your thumbs under the open part of your zipper, flaunting your chest. As the last word rings out in a perfect, reverberating tone, your chest swells with pride. No, wait, it’s just plain swelling. Your toned chest becomes downright swole, like someone has taken a bicycle pump to your pecs. Six bulging abs surface from your stomach beneath them, forming neat rows while your biceps and quads inflate to twice their previous size.

Although the hoodie now clings more tightly to your expanding mass, you can still see your belly button if you look down. That’s how you notice the tribal tattoo inking its way in a curlicue pattern around your navel, licks of inking flame forming the shape of the Sun. You chuckle deeply. Thinking about the solar system, you laugh at the fact that this tattoo makes it seem like the world revolves around your abs. Hell, you think, if you had abs like that, you’d probably agree. Wait a minute… For whatever reason, you DO have abs like that. Fuck…

You walk over to the mirror, admiring your new physique. You flex, enjoying how your muscles bulge, even through your clothes. You’re flooded with a surge of confidence and you rub your crotch, thinking about how hot you look.

A deep tan color emanates from the tattoo around your belly button, engulfing your old skin tone in an orangey brown, spreading over your legs, chest, back, and even face. You give a little smirk, embracing the newfound changes. You notice that the expression is one your face has never made before. It’s contemptuous, commanding.

You’re an actor. You need to hone your craft. You try out a few more expressions that you’ve seen on sleazy guys at bars. Condescending. Seductive. Proud. Angry. Each one looks completely new on your face, yet perfect, probably because your bone structure has been quietly shifting to give you high cheekbones and a sharp jaw.

You rub your bulging muscles one more time, annoyed by how much hair covers them. You’d have to wax at least once a week if you wanted to show off this definition properly. However, as you rub, there is less and less hair rustling between your fingers. You lift up your hands to see baby-smooth patches of skin beneath where they rested. Enthused, you scrub your hands up and down your body, the hair vanishing like marker from a dry-erase board. Once, you’re done, you admire your perfectly smooth and shiny figure.

However, that hair as has to go SOMEwhere, as it turns out. Your armpits, which were feeling more and more resistance as you moved your hands, are now bristling with jet black hair. You lift up one arm and give a tentative sniff, your nose flooding with a ripe musk. You try to swipe the hair away with your hand, but it won’t budge. You shrug. Nothing a little Axe body spray won’t fix.

That thought surprises you, because you’re pretty sure you use a different type of deodorant. However, you suddenly can’t remember the brand. And the mist of Axe floating around the room certainly suggests you use it all the time. Oh well. Chalk it up as one more weird thing about this afternoon.

The hair growth as clearly also affected the top of your head. Your hair is growing out into haphazard spikes that jut from the top of your head, forming tapered cones that begin to shine as if they’ve been coated in a year’s worth of gel.

You look… ridiculous? No. Douchey? No. Fucking hot? Hell yeah, bro.

You return to your script, fiddling with your hair to give it the perfect spiky muss at the back.

“Bros before hoes, dude! You know that!” It sounds like your character really believes that line as it comes out of your mouth. And why wouldn’t he? Hoes might be a good distraction for a night of fun, but bros are for life. Your memories of dancing the night away at gay clubs begin to morph. You’re still dancing with a group of men, but now they’re all spray-tanned, juiced-up Jersey Shore rejects rather than fashionable young gays. And you’re still rocking a half-chub in your memory, but it’s from watching a female go-go dancer shaking her moneymaker on a platform, rather than you grinding up against some cute twink or other.

You groan deeply as the memory tugs against the core of your identity. You look hot now, and you’re gonna get the role, but you don’t want to lose EVERYTHING. But it’s too late. It feels like your mind is expanding, but not in a Limitless kind of way. Instead, each individual thought you have becomes much, much bigger, taking up more brain space than it used to. Your memories of ex-boyfriends, Pride parades, and anything even remotely gay begin to circle the drain of your cerebellum, washed away by just a few base urges. Partying. Playing beach volleyball. Hitting on chicks.

You grab your script again to recite a few more lines, but the words start swimming in front of your face. It’s not that you can’t read. It’s just that, suddenly, reading is the last thing in the world you want to be doing. A sudden craving for beer pops into your head. It's the biggest thought yet. It shoves almost everything else out, and you drop the paper on the ground, where it vanishes into thin air while the room around you transforms into a beachside cabana.

You emerge into the dusty sunset of the Jersey Shore, admiring a few hot babes in bikinis who wander by while you make your way to the store. You lift up your shirt to show off your abs to a few of the hottest ones.

You pick up two six-packs of beer at the store and, why the fuck not, a pack of condoms, along with some other snacks and supplies. You decide to hit up the clothing store on the way back for some new threads, because your impulses are ruling you like never before. As you head to the checkout, you spot the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. You almost drop your beer, she’s so hot. Your dick is already stiffening as you say, “Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?”

[daisybianca]

pairing: lewis hamilton x femalereader

summary: lewis gives you secretly his number. you're hesitant to call him at first, but when you do, things get a little much more interesting.

warnings: sexual activities, cursing words

(a/n): this is the last part! here's part one and part two.

YOU CHUCKLED AS Lewis excused himself to bring some more wine for the two of you.

You got more comfortable on the couch and fixed the silk material of your clothing.

When he came back, he filled your glass and then his.

"What do you do for a living?" He asked before taking his seat next to you once again.

"I'm a journalist." You answered, taking a small sip from the delicious liquid. "A sports journalist."

Lewis' eyes narrowed. "Formula one?"

"Nope," you said. "Basketball."

You noticed that he rolled his eyes. "Pity."

"What? You wanted me interviewing you, sir Lewis Hamilton?"

You caught a glimpse of something in his eyes as he smiled, bitting his lips before talking. "Maybe," he said, drinking from his wine and looking vacantly somewhere behind you. "That'd be very... very torturing." He said, his voice almost barely above a whisper.

"What was that?!" You laughed, your hands flying in the air. "What was that?!" You repeated again.

"Nothing." He said, smiling widely.

You studied his look. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Trying to." He answered, and you noticed that his hands were rested on the couch, just behind the area of your neck and head. "Does it work?" He looked up at you as he took another sip.

You bit your lips and felt that you were inevitably blushing. Looking at your nervous hands, circling the glass, you noticed his lap and the tattoos on the flesh of it.

It was very... very rideable.

"Maybe," you said, then a thought kicked in. "You promised you'd tell me why I was the chosen one at the race. I'm all ears."

Lewis cleared his throat. "You really want me to tell you?"

"If it doesn't involve some kind of a bet, yes, please,"

"A bet?" His nose wrinkled in something that looked like disguist. "Fuck, I'm not that kind of man."

"Tell me, Lewis." Your mind was in a haze, your thoughts blurred by his pretty eyes, so your hand found the soft flesh of his upper arm.

His eyes detected your hand for a brief moment and then smiled.

Lewis discreetly moved his white shirt lower on his body. Maybe to fix it in order not to look wrinkled or... to hide something, maybe?

"I just..." he started. "I saw you. You didn't even look at me at first."

"Yeah, because I was trying to find my best friend who was hooking up with a McLaren mechanic." You explained, and Lewis expression changed into pure curiosity.

"Okay, I presume I don't need to know more about that," he chuckled. "I just--I just genuinely thought to myself for a brief moment that you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen."

Your knees weakened, and thank God, you were seated.

"I love it when you're blushing." He grinned and wouldn't take his eyes off your hot face. "It just makes the color of your eyes stand out more."

Silence.

You tried to change the topic. "You never signed my hat, by the way." You said.

"Do you want me to bring a pen? I can sign your hand if you want."

You smiled. "Yeah, whatever."

Lewis left and came back with a pen and a white shirt in his hands. He passed the shirt to you, but you didn't take it at first.

"What's that?" You wondered.

"A pumpkin." He said sarcastically and looked down at you. "What does it look like, love?"

"Oh, no, no." You shook your head negatively. "You're not gifting me one of your shirts."

He laughed and tossed the white material to you. "Why not? It's officially been worn by me."

"And?"

Lewis thought for a brief moment. "You can wear it at home and think about me." His eyes lit up.

"I--I can't accept it, I'm sorry." You tried to give it back to him but he grabbed your wrist.

"Put it on."

"What?" Your eyes narrowed.

He looked you with that intense, dark gaze. "Put it on." He repeated, comanding.

"Why?"

He smiled. "So I can sign it."

You knew where this was going, but you wanted to tease him a little.

"You can sign it unworn as well, you know."

"Yeah, but the shiet wouldn't be stretched enough, and the signature would come out bad-looking." Lewis insisted and passed the shirt to you.

You finally grabbed it. "Fine."

Shoving your hair to one side, you carefully pushed the material around your head and then let it wrap around your curves, covering the pink dress underneath.

You immediately got knocked out by a faniliar cologne. Gosh, this aroma would hunt you forever.

"Looks perfect on you." Lewis said and opened a black marker.

You noticed him biting his lip.

He.

Bit.

His.

Fucking.

Lip.

"Where do you want me to sign it exactly?" He asked, looking at you.

"I don't know." You replied, scanning the shirt for any empty space. "Maybe somewhere free of stamps and letters."

"Hmm..." He looked at your shirt, leaning forward. His eyes were practically on your tits.

"Here," you suggested, signaling to a spot on your chest, near your heart.

Lewis shallowed and looked up to face you. "Are you sure?"

"About what?"

His voice was soft. "Having my hands on you."

You smiled.

That man was literally perfection itself. "No problem. Go on."

He breathed in and then out. Then, his left hand found the area of your shoulder and grabbed it gently for resistance.

You stopped looking at him and knew he had started making the signature when a sharp thing touched your covered flesh.

"Is this okay?" Lewis' voice sounded a few seconds later. "Does it hurt?"

"Jesus, Lewis, it's just a damn marker!" You laughed, but he didn't seem to enjoy your comment.

He was done with the signature, you could tell. He was now writing something on your shirt. Even if you did want to read it, you couldn't. It was upsides down, and Lewis was also covering it up with his free hand as if it were a test and you were about to cheat.

His expressionless beautiful features didn't betray much of his thoughts.

You breathed and hoped that the brave side in you would kick in soon.

"What are you thinking of?" You blurted out before even fully considering what you were about to mouth.

Lewis clicked the marker shut and looked at you. "Nothing."

"Something must have been in your mind whole you were signing the shirt." You explained. "Tell me." You insisted with puppy eyes. "Please?"

He shallowed. Hard. "You want me to tell you the naked truth?"

"What are you scared of?" You eyes narrowed, and you grabbed your phone, opening the camera and reading what was now written on your freshly owned shirt.

His signature.

A heart and...

"With much love, Lewis."

Lewis' lips formed a thin line, and he scratched his almost nonexistent beard. "I'm scared of what might happen after this."

You chuckled, pushing the white clothing off you with a slow movement. "Just tell me, Lewis."

A fee moment of silence passed with Lewis studying you and you fixing your messy hair and dress.

"Honestly, I--" he started.

"Just tell me already!"

"You want me to tell you?" His voice rised dangerously.

"Yes!"

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do!"

"No, you fucking don't, love." He insisted.

"I'm telling you I d--"

Your words were interrupted by his lips crushing hard with yours. Your tongues fought in a messy but also loud battle, and before you knew it, you were on top of him on the couch, your hands around his neck. His his left one was rested on your back, caressing the flesh there before cupping your eyes and giving it a squeeze, while the other was bringing you closer by touching your cheek.

"Lewis, I--" You breathed, trying to create some space between your bodies and faces.

He wouldn't let you go.

"I was thinking about how much I'd like to fuck you in that shirt."

His kiss had left you breathless, but his statement had left you something that wasn't currently in an official dictionary. Something that had just been added to your own vocabulary.

Wetful.

Gosh, is that even a word?

His lap was a great seat, you thought.

Lewis must have sensed your nervousness. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said th--"

"Lewis, grab me the shirt." You commanded, and his dark brown eyes found yours.

He did as he was told.

"Put it on me."

He smirked and did as he was told once again.

You were soaked underneath your underwear, you could tell. He could probably feel it on his lap too.

"Wanna know what I am thinking now?" You asked, breathless as his lips touched your neck and kept teasing and teasing.

He knew when to kiss you, where to kiss you, when to touch you, where to touch you...

This man could make any woman happy.

"Tell me."

"Fuck me in this shirt." You fixed the clothing to cover the area of your thighs. It was large enough to become a dress.

His big hands found your waist and rested there. Then his one hand found your ass and he squeezed it as if he was the owner of it.

"Done." Lewis said.

"Okay, but it won't be pretty." You stopped him just when he started kissing you again. "It might end up having white spots on it after you're done with me."

His fingers touched your lips, and you took the chance to playfully dig your teeth gently on one of them.

"Oh, love... I can give you a hundred of those, and they'd still wouldn't be enough with all those things I'm thinking about doing with you." Lewis smirked, and you took his two fingers in your mouth, savoring the taste of it as if it were a colorful lollipop. "Besides, I assure you that I don't want it to be pretty. I want it to be rough."

His lips collapsed with yours, and you teased, leaning away one last time. "Okay, but do me a favor."

"Anything for you, baby."

You smiled softly. "Keep calling me your love."

[keeksandgigz]

Hey Keeks! So I was day dreaming while I was looking at my ring that has a Lilith sigil on it and now I’m thinking about Witchy giving Eddie something like it

Im mixing these two @rebelfell hehe here's a little vignette, for some reason Eddie doing crystal shop deliveries makes me think of Kronk. <3

Hope u enjoy!!

You pick up the phone attached to the wall.

"Genesis Records. Eddie speaking, what's up?" you smile as you imagine him leaning against the wall, holding the landline phone between his ear and shoulder as he gets a pen and paper to take notes in case it's some important shipment information.

"Ed, it's me" you huff out, and you can feel the smile from the other side of the receiver, he likes it when you call him at work, his heart picks up- maybe at the chance that he might have to sneak off upstairs into his apartment when you happen to have coordinated lunch breaks.

"Hey, witchy, I'm about to go on my lunch, I'll see you upstairs in five-" you're quick to interrupt him.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, I'm not on my lunch. I called you because I need your help" you're overwhelmed and don't seem to be in the mood for his shenanigans. You can sense his smile dropping immediately, a slow cast of concern washing over his face.

"What is it, baby?" his tone is suddenly muted, like a child that got scolded for talking too much from his teacher.

"We're understaffed. It's just me and Naradea right now, we need someone to do deliveries, we're incredibly backed up with them" You purse your lips together, hoping for a decisive 'yes' "I'll send you a list of addresses and I'll pay for gas and stuff, you just need to drive around town and deliver some packages- crystals, potions, the works" you huff out, half- stressed.

It takes him a second to think about it "Matt can cover me, I'll be over in a second lemme grab my truck and I'll meet you in the courtyard?" and you exhale a sigh of relief as he hangs up and gets his truck over to the back entrance of your store.

You run out, a couple small boxes in your hands "Thank you so much for doing this, I'll uh... make sure you're rewarded plenty tonight" you whisper against his cheek, placing a small kiss where the warm air of your breath hit.

He grows red at the seductive invitation, slightly growing somewhere else as well, unable to keep his head from reeling at the thought of what would be waiting for him tonight.

"Consider me intrigued" he smirks against your lips, taking the boxes from your hands and giving you a delicate kiss as he fills up the back of his truck with boxes.

You show him a clipboard with the names of the witches and their addresses "See, you've got Arla on Lombard, Clemensia on Castro, Athena and Arachne both on Third street and so on. They should be placed in order so you don't have to go back and forth around the city" you point at the purple colored page.

"Am I gonna get hit on by any of these ladies, 'cause if I am you gotta warn me- can't be too charming if they're trying to fuck me" he snickers, you hit him on the arm "ow," he moans.

"'Kay then" you take off your ring, the one with the sigil of Lilith that sits on your middle finger "give me your pinky, this will tell them that you're already spoken for"

You slip the ring on his pinky finger "Witchy if you wanted to propose to me this is a weird way to do it, y'know?" he laughs "Am I just cattle to you?" he moans dramatically as he gets in the car, rolling down his window.

"Cutest cattle I've ever seen" you scrunch your nose as you lean in the open window to give him a kiss "I'll see you tonight at mine?"

"You bet, and you can tell me more about that reward you were talking about" he smirks, puckering his lips for a kiss.

"I'll go home to sharpen my knives, then" you joke, biting your lip.

"Mmm, kinky" he caresses your forearm "See you tonight, gorgeous" he says, before driving off.

"Hello Ms. Arla, my name's Eddie I will be delivering your goodies for all your witchy needs today" he says, in his charming tone, as he watches the old lady reach into her pocket to give him a candy that seemed to be at least 50 years old. Grandmas are all the same after all.

"My god, Clemensia you look divine today" he flirts with a close friend of your aunt Hilda as she blushes and lightly smacks his arm. He offers her the box full of her deliveries "your witchy goodies m'lady" he bows and is not allowed to leave until he's had tea with her.

During his rounds he's offered treats, biscuits, readings of all kinds as he politely agrees, unable to say no to these nice ladies who all seem to know him by name.

His last delivery is someone named Aphra- he's never met her before, maybe a new addition to the 'witch community' as he calls it.

She ordered two boxes of stuff. He carries them up a steep flight of stairs and rings the doorbell.

Aphra isn't old, she isn't young- she looks ageless, and that, for some reason, scares Eddie.

"Lady- uh- Ms.- your witchiness- Aphra?" he stutters in a bout of embarrassment as he continues "my name's-"

"Edward. You're the young witch's human boyfriend" she hums "She got in a lot of trouble for allowing you to be a part of our world" He remembers you being deprived of your magic until your trial. Two months of seeing you mope around your apartment.

He wasn't sure what to say.

"Despite that you stuck by her, even through your bout of confusion. Let's call it you being... 'lost'" she snickers as she reaches into the pocket of her jacket, extracting a token made out of black metal.

"Bring this to your witch, as a token of my appreciation. Have a good evening, Edward" she brings the boxes inside with ease, and closes the door behind her.

He looks at the black token. Ridged with the sigil of the coven- three indented stars.

Eddie plays with it on the way to your house, rolling it on his leg, wondering what it might mean.

When he gets to your house, much to his dismay, he has to stop you from jumping on him. The curiosity is eating him alive. He shows you the black token, and all color seems to drain from your face.

"Holy shit" you utter "Holy shit!" a bit louder this time.

"Wha- what? What is it, witchy?" he asks, as you guide him on your purple couch. Your breath seems to be knocked from your lungs.

"Aphra is the head of the coven" you're playing with the indentations of the token, Eddie mentally cringes at the absolute shit first impression he made with what appears to be the madame president of all witches, or something like that.

"This token is her blessing" you have tears in your eyes, Eddie's still confused.

"Blessing for what?"

"Blessing to get married" you shrill, and Eddie's heart almost falls out of his ass.

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

Wild Horses

Part 4

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Doctor!Reader, other characters x reader

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

A/N: I hope y’all like this chapter and I apologize if it took long! Reblogs and feedback are much appreciated, I love hearing y’alls thoughts. Don't be afraid to stop by and say hi and if there are any ideas you guys would like to have in this story, just let me know! And as always, I hope you lovelies have a beautiful day! 💜💜💜 Also I apologize if some of the tags don't go through, I make sure to add each and every one of you lovelies but the tagging system here sucks ass.

Story Summary: Imagine being the new physician assigned to the team and a certain masked individual takes a new keen concealed interest in you. The two of you are too awkward to function.

Chapter Summary: 🎶Don't be suspicious.🎶

Warnings and notes: language, violence, blood and gore, fluff, angst, slow-burn, mentions of sexual themes

(Quick Disclaimer: I am not a doctor nor have any professional knowledge or experience involving surgical procedures. I am just a student studying in the medical field who has just started taking courses that are more degree-related. So I apologize if some of the stuff may be inaccurate.)

🍂Simon Riley. Simon MOTHERFUCKING Riley. The only man to exist that has managed to accomplish aggravating you in every possible way imaginable. For a woman known to have a great deal of patience, he sure as hell didn’t even need to lift a finger to break that record. Might as well put him in the Guinness Book of World Records for ‘The Most Stubborn Asshole Man Alive’ because you’re pretty sure if you looked up the words stubborn and asshole in a dictionary, his face would pop up.

🍂All you did was help stitch him up from a gunshot wound that could’ve gone way south if not done correctly. And when you tell him to come to you if he has any injures or illnesses because you want to help him, what does he do? What does this asshole of a man do? Insults you! Right to your face! I mean sure it wasn’t a direct insult nor were any of his words particularly insulting, but it was still rude and it offended you.

🍂“Meh don’ bother. I’m a big tough dummy and I eat rocks and tea for breakfast. I don’ need your help.” You mock with a shake of your head and a widened stance, mimicking both the voice and stature of the masked English soldier. The little ‘altercation’ had left you nearly fuming, pushing you to go outside to get some of that chilly night air in order to cool off. “I bet you use Gorilla Glue on all your wounds and call it a day.” You scoff, returning to your original posture. You better pray Ghost isn't lurking around somewhere unless you want your ass beat.

🍂Your dad had always taught you kindness and patience, being the down-to-earth soul he was, but boy was this man absolutely testing the everlasting shit out of you. You almost had to mutter out a small apology in your father’s honor for the obscene and colorful language that fell from your lips. But the more you thought about the absolute 6'4 idiot of a man, the more you became frustrated over it. All that body mass and not a single ounce of a brain. How he has managed to come this far without dying of an infection, you have no clue.

“Hope you like that fucking sour apple Dum-Dum you lollipop thief. You’re lucky I don’t dye your stupid mask pink.” You don't know what came in you in that heated moment but next thing you know you were practically planning your funeral and writing a will of your inheritance for your cat back home. Because if there's one thing you shouldn't do, it's kicking a random metal can just lying around on the street. Let's just say you were fucked because the sound that came out of you was equivalent to the screeching of a dying narwhal. The way the throbbing in your big toe had you clutching the wall and wheezing like a fish reeled right out of the water begging the creator for mercy was enough to produce some sweat out of you. And just your luck, as if the night couldn’t get any worse, Price had heard the noise and went to investigate it. Shouldn't this man have better things to do?

The face you pulled would have risen some concern from your colleagues back at the hospital in the states, a widened smile and pain-filled eyes, and you can’t help but to thank the poorly lit lamp streets for obstructing it. You swear you feel like your head is about to explode from the way you tried to keep it all together. But as Price asked if you were alright, looking over your stiffened and awkward stance, one hand out on the wall and your injured foot crossed over the other, all you could do was nod frantically and let out a wheezed ‘Yup. Finer than frog hair split four ways’. You pray that he doesn’t think you’re constipated or something from the strain in your voice. Coward. I would have faked a fall and had him carry me over the threshold.

Price of course doesn’t get American lingo and has no clue what the fuck you just said but takes it as a yes. Just you wait till he goes back in and tells the others what he heard. The man practically opens up the computer and searches up the phrase that you uttered just to find the meaning, all while the others crowd around. And after scrolling through a bunch of different articles involving different American slang, they collectively decide to learn a bunch of them in order to communicate with you. I lied. Because literally from this day forth, they randomly spit out different words and phrases just to tease your American accent. Actually Soap is the only one who does that………….just Soap.

Anyways……..

When Price finally closes the door behind him, you’re back to gritting your teeth and cursing at the pain in your toe and blaming it for your misfortunes, waiting a couple minutes so as to not run into the captain or the others before hurrying limping back into the building and into your room.

What did I tell ya. Should have just asked for Price to carry you back.

After inspecting your toe as what felt to be broken, you were glad to find out that it was just a grade 1 sprain. As painful as it was, for a successful recovery all it needed was some ice, taping, drugs, and a lot of rest. Rest......right. Like you were gonna get any of that.

Should've just reported it to Price.

Guess you can add one more injury to your list of things that are in the process of healing. The men come back from the mission bloodied and bruised with gunshot wounds, and you…….well you sprain your toe from trying to kick a can of beans or whatever the hell that stupid metal cylinder was filled with.

As if you weren't stressed enough before. Now you had to worry about hiding this tiny injury from the rest of the team to prevent them worrying about you. Also because you don’t want them to start asking questions about how it happened in the first place and find out that a can of beans was the culprit behind it. Hm, sounds a lot like someone else.

When you finally laid in bed that night, drugged out on melatonin and pain killers and wearing an oversized tee and a pair of shorts, you couldn’t stop drumming your fingers against your stomach, your injured foot propped up on a pillow with your big toe wrapped and taped up looking like you borrowed Fred Flintstone’s foot. Now just how were you going to hide that? It’s not like you can just grab a pair of those circus clown shoes or an orthopedic boot or some crutches and hope no one notices. And while you stared up at the ceiling, the drumming of your fingers coming to a stop as you contemplated on the idea while waiting to crash out from the melatonin you took, there is only one thing left that came to mind. So, in one swift motion, you grab the spare pillow closest to you and scream into it. A really long, really shrill scream that would have put the banshees to shame. Yup. You can now say you had officially reached your breaking point.

And what happens when you’re stressed? You have strange dreams, like really strange dreams. I’m talking weird vivid outlandish shit that feel too real kind of dreams. Because when you wake up the next morning, sweat beaded at your forehead, you can only think about the very explicit dream you had last night. The one involving you and the team and a series of very……………how can I say this, rated porn shit. It all felt real, too fucking real, because when you move your legs over to hang off the side of the bed, there’s a tenderness there and well………….everything else that comes with it.

“Yo what the actual fucking shit.” You groan, resting your elbows onto your thighs as you shove your face into your hands and rub at your forehead and cheeks.

How the hell were you going to face the team after waking up from something like that? You could almost paint a picture of the entire sequence as if it just happened, and boy was the image going to be burned into the back of your mind like the searing of a branding iron.

You were embarrassed just thinking about it. Every time you closed your eyes, you were reminded of the way their hands and lips roamed every inch of your body, the way their skin almost burned against yours, the stubble of their facial hair grazing against the sensitive skin that lined your inner thighs and the wetness of their tongues, the sounds of their low grunts and moans that escaped from deep within their chests that mingled with your soft ones as their heated breaths fanned your neck, the sharp smell of metal that paired with the rhythmic swaying of their dog tags as they dangled above you with each movement, and the pulling sensation in the pit of your stomach after reaching your high with each of them.

And then there was Ghost, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, the way he looked you over with disgust while you were on your back when each of them hovered over you. And when he finally stood in front of you, when there seemed to be no one else, glaring down at you from under that mask of his, and uttering one single phrase, 'you harlot of a tart', you woke up. Typical ole Ghost. An asshole in reality and an asshole in dreams.

You needed air, a shower, and a change of clothes, desperately. Price had given you the day off when you finished patching the men up last night. And that is exactly what you were going to do. But first you needed to clean yourself up, preferably with holy water if there was any, and then........well...you needed to get out of this building and get some fresh air because what in the 60s psychedelic orgy was that.

Lazily getting up from your bed, you quickly tie your tangled hair up in a simple bun and slide on a pair of slippers over your fuzzy socks, throwing on your plush Grogu and Mandalorian patterned robe over your sleeping clothes and pulling the hood of your robe over your head to provide extra warmth. Today was a much needed day off after the shit storm that was yesterday. As part of your regular morning routine on the days you didn't work, you grab your other mug that you finally found after rummaging through your things; the one shaped like the head of Kermit the Frog and decide to make yourself a cup of coffee to wake yourself up first and foremost.

Making sure to balance your weight on your uninjured foot, you wobble over to the kitchen, your empty mug in hand and your bottle of pain pills in the other that rattled slightly every time you dragged your feet across the floor. Your eyes tear up as you let out a long and dragged out yawn, squinting in the process which prevents you from seeing just what you were walking into as you place your mug on the countertop with a high-pithed clink.

If you thought today was going to have some mercy on your poor soul........................well you're wrong. Because while you have your back turned to the dining table behind you as you try to start up the coffee machine, you had forgotten that the thing was still broken in the first place, and also the fact that you live with five, now six, other men, and their eyes were now all on you. Girl if you don't turn your ass around-

"Mornin-"

"Sweet baby Jesus!" You nearly jump a foot into the air, spinning around in a frenzy with a wild look to see that the whole crew had been at the dining table the entire time and that you weren’t the only one scared out of their wits.

Did you just say ‘sweet baby Jesus?’ They haven’t heard that one before.

You stare wide-eyed in fright at the men seated at the table, your hair a mess and your heart so close to bursting out of your ribcage you swear you'd have to chase after it as you clutch the counter behind you.

There is an obvious awkward silence in the air as everyone stares at the inharmonious mess that is you and your startled state, curiously eyeing the large Grogu ears that were attached to the sides of the hood of your Star Wars plush robe and your bare calves that peeked out from underneath the hem down to your fuzzy socks that had cats all over it. You're practically following their eyes as they look over to your bottle of pills and your Kermit mug on the counter beside you before looking back at you. Oh to be able to read what went through their heads.

Despite your clashing wardrobe that made him question your taste in attire, there was one thing Ghost had focused on more, one that was obvious to those who knew it, a dainty tattoo of the unmistakable silhouette of a rose along the side of your calf. Was that the same rose off of Depeche Mode's 'Violator' album cover? It sure was, because right in the center of the stem where the rose was cut off, were the words 'violator' in cursive. Be still his heart. Is this man planning a proposal and your entire wedding? He was almost curious to find out what other bands or artists you listened to. Maybe he'll sneak a peek at your playlist-

"Howdy! You eh...........ya look worn slap out......I reckon." Soap smiles, trying to mimic the southern American accent but failing miserably, which only earns a round of groans of agitation at the table as the team roll their eyes. All but König of course, he's just as clueless as you are. He wasn't there when the team were searching up American slang.

You-what? The hell is this man on about?

"Jesus-" Price rolls his eyes at Soap's antics as he goes to take a sip of his coffee.

"......................" You're still mute. Your eyes dart between each of them, your thoughts only replaying the pornographic images of your dream as this sudden irrational fear begins to develop that they might be able to get a glimpse of your thoughts. Make a run for it-

"................Ye awright there wee lass? Yer lookin’ a bit peely wally." Soap's smile drops.

You're lookin a bit what?

"Mate, shut up." Gaz whispers to Soap after noticing your disconcerted expression. It was making him nervous, no doubt, and the fact that you weren't saying anything only made it worse.

The whole team were practically waiting for you to say something, but all you could do was stare. Girl either you say something or just take your clothes off and let them have you right then and there on the dining table, bandaged toe and everything if your dream distracts you that much-

"Guten morgen schatz (good morning love)." König sent a wave in your direction to try to ease the tension only to drop his hand back down after seeing that you did not respond. Poor dude is worried you’ve fallen ill and is practically sitting on the edge of his seat, analyzing every detail of your body language and ready to leap to your rescue in case you show any signs of falling unconscious.

Even Ghost couldn't stop the annoyed sigh/huff that escaped, shaking his head at the uncomfortable and nuisance of a situation as he took a sip of his tea, the motion catching your attention. That is when you first noticed that he had the lower half of his mask lifted up to his nose. Was this the first you had seen of part of his face? You found yourself tracing over the outline of his jaw and the cool-toned, medium blonde stubble the color of pale sand after a storm that lined the skin there, following along the curves of his lips and noticing the small scar that traveled down until his words from your dream echoed in your head, the same lips that said to you 'you harlot of a tart'. And as you lifted your gaze to his eyes, you found them narrowing at you. Shit.

"There's uh.......there's a cuppa coffee for you in the fridge there." Price nods towards the fridge near you, hoping that would snap you out of whatever trance you are in. I mean if you don't want it, I'll take it.

"....................." You had this overwhelming urge to puke and the last thing you wanted was to unload your stomach's contents of microwaved pasta right in front of everyone.

"Eh....estas bien amor? (you alright love?)" Alejandro's words pull you out of your thoughts. Oh what I would give to have this man ask me if I'm alright-

Bitch just say something-

“Блядь (fuck).”

Wha-what? That’s not what I meant-

The men quickly give each other a glance from the side of their eye. Did you just blurt something in Russian?

".................sorry what?” You squint with a scrunch of your nose, pulling the collar of your robe over your braless chest as a faint heat rose to your cheeks, utterly terrified to look them in the eye lest you'd get flashbacks. Should've just made a run for it when you first saw them-

More silence, nonexistent chirping of crickets that makes you want to crawl into a hole and decompose. Then there is the sound of someone slurping. Who-NOW WHO'S SLURPING?

"Sorry." Gaz utters a quick apology, dragging his tongue over his lips as he places his cup of tea down on the table.

"The coffee machine is broken love." Price adds.

"I know that." You state with a blink, startling the men on how quickly you suddenly respond as if nothing happened as you shove your bottle of pills in the pocket of your robe before unplugging the machine from the wall and tucking it under your arm.

The team can't help but watch as you leave the area with your mug in hand and the coffee machine in the other, each of them as confused as the next. What in the-

"What the bloody hell was that?" Price blurts out.

"Don' know. Anyone know what's the matta' with her?" Gaz watches you go with concern in his brow.

"Ah dinnae ken." Soap shrugs as he takes a sip of his coffee. "Ah think some nugget-lavvy-heid meid her up tae high doh."

"Mate," Gaz rubs his face. "English-"

"Ah said." Soap translates. "Ah think some eejit has riled her up."

The way Ghost nearly snaps his head to glare at the Scot. Why does he have a feeling he was talking about him in particular? There's absolutely no fucking way-Wait. The lollie. The fucking sour apple lollie. Was that some kind of an insult?

"Well that's a load of rubbish." Price comments. "If ye ask me, she's just knackered from mending yer sorry arses up."

The way Soap, Alejandro, König, and Ghost glare at him.

"Yeh but......why'd she take the coffee maker?"

"She's prolly gonna give it a fix." Gaz answers Soap's questions with a shrug.

Soap sits back in his seat with a pause, pondering on what Gaz had just said before turning to him with a confused look. ".................but ah thowght she's a doctor."

"Fuckin' hell Soap."

By the time that you return to your room, slamming the door behind you, you're already cussing yourself out for acting the way you did back there. Now they definitely were going to think that something was wrong with you. And if they did, what would you say? That you had a dream y'all were playing multiplayer adult twister? No. HELL NO. You'd almost prefer them to think you were a spy and take you out-and I don't mean take you out as in dinner, I mean take you out as in a firing squad take you out. All the waterboarding and the fingernail-pulling in the world could not pry that info out of you. If only that dream did not affect you as much, if only.

Hm. You know what, maybe Ghost IS to blame in all of this. You only get wacky dreams when you're stressed. After all, he was the one who got under your skin, not Soap, not Gaz, nor Price, definitely not Konig, and not even Alejandro.

There was only one other person who ever managed to get on your nerves the first time you got to know them, only one person who never failed to make you roll your eyes every time they opened their mouth: your ex. But even then, at least the two of you got along no matter the snarky comments you made towards each other. And as annoying as he was at times, he always found a way to bring a smile onto your face no matter how hard you tried to hide it. Ghost on the other hand, well…….he’s something else alright. This man literally has you wanting to rip your own hair out and hike to the Himalayas to seek some kind of therapy yourself.

"God I'm such an idiot." You growl between clenched teeth, tossing the coffee machine into the trash before limping around your room with your hands on your hips. You definitely needed to get out of the building or else you just might go mad. And with the men there who just witnessed you at your most vulnerable and natural self, the last thing you wanted was to be within their vicinity. Changing out of your sleeping pajamas, you threw on an oversized hoodie and a pair of sweats, grabbing one of your beanies and tucking your hair into it before throwing on a pair of sneakers. You’re already cracked out on pain meds so you might as well run a few errands while you're out, as well as grab a new coffee machine because god knows that's the only thing that keeps you sane these days. You’re so caught up in the process of rushing to get the hell out of there that you fail to notice the masked soldier standing right beside your door a foot away.

“Holy fucking-!” You jump in your skin, hand clutching your chest once you notice Ghost leaning against the wall in the same exact stance like in your dream. Jesus fucking Christ. “Ghost! I uh did not see you there. You nearly had me rushing to the hospital for heart failure haha.” You laugh nervously through your teeth, trying to maintain your polite manners as to not anger the contracted killer. What the hell is he doing here and what does he want? Sending the man a polite smile in hopes that he would just go about his business, you pull your keys out of your pocket, the jingling of the metal making up for the extreme silence that filled the dusty air between the two of you.

“………………………”

Jesus fucking christ. He's just standing there isn't he-

"Uh. Can I help you?” You ask, turning to the man who only stared in your direction, as still as an unused puppet. Only he seems to ALWAYS have something up his ass. At least a puppet talks.

Damn that fuckin politeness of yours, Ghost thought to himself. “......................You're bein’ dodgy." He did not like the way you were acting back there. It was as if you were hiding something. And being the person he was, he found it suspicious.

Oh if he were to see the reason behind it. You're pretty sure it would make his mask blush.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." You press your lips together, fixating on your keys in your hands as you try to lock your door.

"Your behavior. You're up to something."

Ah yes. Good ole Ghost. Trusting no one but himself, the little shit-

"Says the one standing right outside my room." You mutter to yourself, cursing under your breath at the way you fumbled your keys and were unable to lock your door due to how he glared at you as if you had put salt instead of sugar in the queen's tea. You bet your bottom you probably looked like a shmuck struggling with something as simple as locking the fucking door. If this dumbo doesn't scram-

"Come again?"

This man was really starting to get on one of your last nerves. “What? Didn't anyone ever tell you it’s rude to lurk outside a lady’s door? You can get your ass tased for some shit like that.” You snark before letting out a quick breath of air at finally getting your key in the lock. One step closer to getting the hell out.

There it is, the real you. Ghost almost can't help the way a slight amusement builds within him at watching you get riled up like this, the faintest hairline of a smirk begging to pull at the corner of his mouth. But despite his little fragment of entertainment from the show of emotion he had managed to string out from you, he had to remind himself the real reason he was here. “The hell are you up to?”

“Nunya.”

“Nunya?” Ghost narrows his eyes, not sure what you were getting at and at the same time not liking where this was going. He swears if this is one of your little tricks-

“Nunya damn beeswax that’s what.”

“What-“ Ghost straightens himself off the wall, hands lowered to his sides. Okay now you were just annoying.

“How was the sour apple lollipop?” You remark, not being able to hold back the snide comment that slipped from your lips. You prayed he would get the meaning behind your little 'token of gratitude' from last night.

You should not have said that-

Bitch I’d become a track star in the fraction of a second-

“You-“ Ghost takes a step towards you but stops from the way you whip your head towards him.

“I know you did it, you little burglar. What, you think I wouldn’t notice that some fish-and-chips-eating crackpot was ransacking my lollipop stash?”

Da foq did you just call him? Ghost is stupefied as he stands there blinking at you, hands ever so slightly tensing. How the bloody hell did you find out? Did you know about the apples as well? Please don't know about the apples- And as he tries to open his mouth to say something, you don't even give him a chance.

“You know, for someone that is known to be stealthy and whatnot, you sure do leave a mess of your Sephora eyeshadow everywhere.”

Oh now you’ve definitely popped a nerve.

“What? You gonna stab me?” You quirk a brow at watching him tense up. “Please, be my guest. Just make sure it’s quick and that I’m officially dead so my student debt disappears.”

Bitch don’t give him a reason tf-

Jesus you talk a bloody lot when you’re nervous, Ghost looks at you confused as he cocks his head back. Well he sure didn’t expect that answer. Doesn't change the fact that he's pissed though.

“You know, you should be glad I didn’t write your Skeletor ass up for not only neglecting medical treatment but also stealing my damn treats.”

“Ye’ve got some nerve ye little tosser-“ Ghost grabs you by your upper arm and yanks you to him as he glares down at you.

Your poor toe-

“Ow! Someone outta teach you some manners.” You sputter, surprised from his sudden and forceful movement. And yet, you can’t help but find yourself flustered at being manhandled no matter how much you tried to preserve your vexation towards him. Ohhh, were you attracted to this? Wait, am I attracted to this???? Nah-

“Yer a real pain in the arse you know that.” Ghost can’t help but to roll his eyes, knowing damn well he did not handle you that roughly to begin with, despite your reaction.

But you and I know it’s just your toe-

“Yeah no shit. I’ve been told.” You roll your eyes in a dramatic manner. “But if you wanna be real, you’re like a bad hemorrhoid if we’re being honest.”

Did you just-

“Whot the bloody hell did yuh just call me?” Ghost snarls as he yanks you even closer to him, your chest bumping into his. Did you just call him a fucking hemorrhoid?

The jerky movement elicits a small gasp from your lips, pried right out of your lungs before you glare back at him with as much as you can muster; your jaw clenched, brows drawn together, and your eyes shooting straight up into his even more menacing ones. You try not to think about those nonexistent slander of words he uttered to you. Dream or not, that shit hurt. And as you think back to the dream you had, you were swiftly brought back to the circumstance right in front of you, immediately aware of the lack of distance between the two of you and the way your chest was pressed up against his.

A heat starts to form in the pit of your stomach, slowly making its way from your core and unfurling out to every inch of your skin, like being brushed over with a velvety feather under the warmth of the sun. His grip on your arm is almost revering if it weren't for its threatening nature as you stare up at him, and you swear you could feel the subtlest shift in his fingers through the thick fabric of your hoodie from the way his thumb ever so slightly grazes across. Your sharp gaze softens, admiring the way the sun's rays from the nearby window lit up his lashes like wisps of gold, like the feathers of an oriole bird soaring over the deep brown valleys that resemble his eyes.

He smelled like last night’s whiskey, a hint of the cigarette he smoked this morning, and his cologne that smells of sandalwood and pine trees. It’s almost refreshing. And in this moment, you don’t even care that you literally look like a teenage boy with your hair tucked into your beanie, wearing a pair of converse and your vans baggie hoodie and sweats. There was only one thing on your mind, one thing only.

“Let go of me.” The only words you managed to breathe out.

“Or what?"

“…………..I’ll scream.”

*cue Princess Leia's theme*

Kiss him. *insert Emperor Palpatine voice* Do it-

You found yourself burning for this innate desire, this need for him to push you against the wall and have his way with you, to have him lift the bottom of his mask and feel his lips on yours, traveling down to the angle of your jaw and your neck and just about everywhere there was you, all of you. Simon had noticed this sudden shift in your demeanor, the way your biceps loosened under his fingers through the course fabric of his gloves, the way your lashes fluttered against the ridges and deep ravines of your irises as you stared up at him with a far-off look that yet seemed so close. Were you-no, can't be.

The way you looked under him appeared to lure him in, not to mention your scent, that same perfume that seemed to have dug its claws into him since the moment he first met you. His eyes now lowered to your parted lips as he found himself focusing on their shape and the short shallow breaths that drifted through, wondering about how they'd feel, their softness, their taste. And as his head lowered just the smallest inch towards you, he noticed once more the small circular scar on the side of your neck. Only this time, he was finally able to make out what it was, and it reminded him too much of his own past. How that scar came about to form on your skin, he had no clue. But it was none of his concern, he had to tell himself. Clenching his jaw, Ghost drew himself back, once again returning to that cold and forbidding presence that was there before.

Actually it’s a good thing you didn’t try to score a smooch. You’d probably just get WWE body-slammed-

“Can I go now?” You clear your throat. “I’ve got chickens to tend to and errands to run.”

"What errands?"

"Why? You gonna help me pick out some zucchinis?" You cock your head back. "Now if you could release that lego grip of yours I'd appreciate it."

Ghost lets out a hmph, the only thing he can do despite his frustration as he loosens his grip just as you tear your arm away from him.

“Thank you." You give him a condescending smile before reaching into your tote bag to grab something while Ghost watches you intently, hoping it’s not another lollie. Lies. Y'all know he wants one-

“Here are your blood results by the way since you refused to stop by my office to go over them.” You slap the papers onto his chest, which earns you another glare from him. “So don’t come whining to me when you don’t understand a thing it says on there.” You snark one last time before heading off to the front entrance.

"Oh and another thing." You turn back around. "I'd cut down on the smoking and drinking if I were you."

All Ghost could do was watch you walk off with the slightest stomp in your step before breathing out a “Fuckin h-“

“Goddamn son a bitch.” You grit your teeth, stuffing your hands in the pocket of your hoodie once you step out of the building. You swear that man goes out of his way to annoy the everlasting shit out of you. “Fucking shitbag cumguzzler ass-OH MY GOD!”

You stop suddenly at the sound of a small animal, your eyes wide and mouth hung open as you look towards the ground to see a tiny tabby kitten trotting in your direction from the bushes, it's tail fluffed straight up in the air as it was excited to see you.

“Hi there little guy.” You coo at the small ginger ball of fur making its way towards you before bending down and reaching a hand out. "What're you doing here all by yourself huh?"

The kitten stares at your outstretched hand, giving it a sniff before finally rubbing its head against your palm with its eyes shut. You almost had to bite your tongue from the squeal that just ripped out of your throat. I lied. You did squeal.

“Ahhh omg." Your smiled, your heart swelling at seeing the kitten warm up to you as it came up even closer and lifted its tiny paws to rest up on your bent knees. It was as if you had completely forgotten the mayhem that was today, as if it was just you and this tiny kitten and no one else.

"Oh you’re coming home with me.” You carefully pick up the kitten with both your hands before cradling it against your chest, stroking your tired fingers through its soft and yet dusty fur.

“Mew.” The kitten let out another meow, the small rumbling in his chest vibrating against yours as his pupils widened, nearly blackening out his pale yellow irises as he stared up at you.

“You know what." You gasp. "I shall call you Spot." (Kudos if you know where the name is from.)

“Mew”

“You don't have any siblings hiding out in the bushes ready to jump me and steal my credit cards do ya?"

“Mew.”

“Shit.” You mutter out, your smile dropping as a realization comes to you. How the hell were you going to hide the kitten?

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[scekrex]

Smut? Yes smut, hey, hello bby 🤭

Adam and reader just taking a stroll on Earth, simply to walk around and spend time together somewhere that isn't all light and overly brightly colourful Heaven (They got a permission from Sera, surprisingly lol, they promised to behave which is even more of a miracle and a phenomenon). Since they couldn't look like they normally do, halos, wings and etc. (Plus Adam's height, this bitch is a giant, I think he's like 10ft tall standing next to everyone and especially Alastor who's 7ft tall 💀) or even the eyes, even if they could pass as contact lenses, they just took their human forms like during the mission they got some time ago (Is this a continuation of the previous prompt? You bet your cute ass it is). They stumble upon the bar they were in during said mission and decided to go in, this time without the intention of getting hammered since they got reprimanded hard af by Sera for that, so they got like three, four lighter drinks before some tries to cozy themselves up to reader, clearly not caring about Adam literally having his arm around his husband's waist, shamelessly flirting and trying to get him to follow them to "have some fun". Adam being Adam, completely anxious and insecure about shit like this since it happened before immediately stands between the person and reader, telling them to fuck off before storming out of the bar with reader, quickly getting back to Heaven to fuck his brains out not to only calm down his insecurities and rage but to also make sure that his husband remembers who his heart (and ass) belongs to (Not as if we'd ever forget, btich we loyal in this house).

Muah 🤭😘

My skilled fingers casted some magic and I present to you: Adam fucking your brains out. He does it quite well too (didn't expect any less from the Dickmaster himself)

Got Me Obsessed

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, consensual sex, unprotected sex, blood

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

It was refreshing to escape heaven's bright colors and shiny lights for a night, while yes heaven was drop dead gorgeous and you were very grateful that you were allowed to spend eternity up there with Adam, it was nice to see earth again.

Your last visit had been nice too, yet it had ended with Adam and you all wet and drunk and though it had been fun, it wasn't something you planned on repeating all too soon because the headache that had held you in a chokehold the day after had been many things and pleasant wasn't one of them.

So when you two walked past the supermarket that you had stolen a shopping cart from the last time you had been here, you couldn't help but look at each other with the stupidest grin ever. Having Adam on eye level without his shiny halo and the golden wings framing his absurdly tall body was something you enjoyed more than you would admit. It was nice to just look sideways and be able to look him in the eyes, no tilting your head upwards, no him having to bend down. The golden eyes you missed though, they were the portal to the soul after all and while Adam's brown eyes suit him, they simply weren't the same.

And then the bar you had crashed on your last visit on earth came into view and you couldn't help but to grab Adam's wrist and pull him inside, “Not getting wasted today but we should drink to the fact that Sera gave us permission to visit earth again.” Adam hummed in agreement, he saw no point in denying the both of you one or two weaker drinks. So you both maneuvered your way through the bar, it was less crowded than it had been last time, there were only a few tables that were actually used. But you two didn't mind, you weren't there for people after all, you were there to have a drink. Or three.

Both of you sat down on the bar stools at the counter and while you ordered a sex on the beach, Adam went for a vodka tonic. The first man had his arm wrapped around your waist, his hand was lazily grabbing your side and your head was resting on his shoulder as a stranger approached you. He was a little smaller than Adam, had black, curly hair and green eyes that roamed over your body curiously. The brunette was quick to notice the other male approaching you and growled at the stranger, almost like a dog. You patted his thigh softly which caused his attention to shift from the man - who had decided to sit down next to you - to you. “Adam, it's fine,” you assured him with a small smile as you slightly tilted your head to look up to him, your head still on his shoulder.

“Heya, sweetcheeks,” the stranger started a conversation, his lips stretched into a sharp, hungry grin that you decided to ignore as you gave him a quick nod in return. “So what's a cutie like you doin’ ‘round here?” the stranger seemed to purposely ignore Adam because the hand that had been grabbing your side lazily only moments ago tightened. You lifted your head and pulled slightly away from Adam in order to have a proper conversation with the stranger. While for Adam it was obvious what the man's intentions were, you seemed oblivious. “Y’know, having a drink, enjoying the night, getting away from the struggles of life for a couple of hours,” you explained lazily as you took another sip from your drink. The man had the fucking nerve to put his hand on your thigh, “Bet I could help ya enjoy the night n forget about your daily life in no time, shawty.”

And that was when Adam got up and shoved himself between you and the stranger, his body knocking the man's hand away violently. “What the fuck dude, I was having a convo with that pretty babe here,” the black haired exclaimed in anger as Adam pulled you into his arm and lifted you up bridal style. Fuck that bar and fuck that dude too. He had seen enough. He had lost two wives because of some bastard that had flirted with them, had offered them things Adam could never. He wasn't going to let that happen to you too, he wouldn't let this fucking cunt touch you, let alone have you in every way possible.

“That fucking ‘pretty babe’ is my husband you fucking cunt, so go look for some cheap street whore if you want sex but don't you fucking dare and touch my man,” the bartender looked at Adam, then at the other guy, with a simply shrug he went back to work though. The stranger was about to respond but the first man had enough of it. If he would've had his wings he would've knocked the other guy off his chair with them as he stormed out of the bar, carrying you with him.

Your soft, warm hands cupped his cheeks and while he was still furious about what just had happened, he leaned into the loving touch within a heartbeat. “We’re going back to heaven,” Adam stated and with a snap of his fingers he opened a portal and stepped through it. “Already?” you whined. The alcohol you had been drinking seemed to have more of an effect on you than it had on Adam but you really didn't mind feeling a little dizzy. “That guy wanted to fuck you so badly it made him look absolutely fucking stupid,” Adam ignored your question and instead explained why you were heading back. With a quiet noise the portal closed behind the brunette and you found yourself in your bedroom. You grinned up at him as your eyes met the golden ones you loved so dearly. His wings were folded, pressed to the sides of his body and his halo was back where it belonged, on Adam's gorgeous head. He was also the fucking giant again but you really couldn't complain, not when he carried you over to the bed with such ease to drop you onto the soft mattress, your head landed on a pile of pillows and you sighed dreamingly as Adam crawled on top of you.

“That bastard wanted to fuck you and you fucking talked to him like it wasn't the most obvious thing,” the brunette made quick work of his own clothes before he stopped for a moment. His eyes asked for consent in a nonverbal way and you gave him a small happy nod to assure him he was good to continue. So his hands were onto the hem of your robe, “Seems like I have to remind you who your ass belongs to, and spoiler babes, it's not some horny bastard that craves drunken sex.” You let out a small giggle at the irony of it all because right now, Adam seemed to fit his own description quite well.

Your robes were hitting the floor sooner than you had expected them too, your underwear was quick to follow. Adam harshly grabbed one of the pillows that your head was resting on, yet he was careful not to hurt you. The pillow he had just grabbed was precisely placed under your hips to lift them up a little.

It seemed as if his body was on autopilot, he acted on instinct and nothing else. The urge to mark you up, claim you as his once more was too big to resist. He wanted the world to see who you belong to, he wanted those horny bastards to know better not to touch his babes. ”Mh, eager, are we?” you commented and your hands reached out for his hips, pulling them flush against your own and letting out a choked moan. Dear God, you would never get enough of that sensation, never. There was no way you would ever grow tired of how your body reacted to Adam's, or how Adam's body reacted to yours. Having sex with the first man always felt like the first time, it was never the same, always resulting in a post orgasm high for the both of you.

“Listen babes,” he made you snap out of your haze for a moment as your already fogged up brain processed his words, “I’m gonna fuck you, mark you up like the bitch you are for me and give you a fucking reminder that this,” he wrapped one hand loosely around your already hard dick, giving your erection a firm stroke down to the base. The moan you let out was the most beautiful sound he would ever be able to hear. You always sounded so magnificent when you got vocal for him and he adored it, always drowned in your pleas for more, more, more, for him to take you harder. His other hand slipped between the mattress and your ass, squeezing the soft flesh there in a teasing way, “And this belongs to me and fucking me only.” Your breath quickened and you whispered breathlessly, “Yes, yours.”

But as quickly as he had given you the blessing of friction, he took it from you. His hands roamed over your body, nails leaving angry red scratches all over your chest, scratches that would stay at least a week, if not longer. Oh you wanted them to last longer than a week. The feeling of Adam acting all possessive made your body shudder from overwhelming pleasure and your hands moved from his body to the sheets, grabbing the fabric tightly. You tried to ground yourself, tried your hardest to not back down so easily. But then Adam's lips crashed against your neck and your body reacted to that immediately. Your back arched for him in a delicious way only you could, your head was tilted upwards to extend the amount of room he had for hickeys and bite marks. Your brain felt as if it was wrapped up in cotton, the sounds of pleasure your body made for him to hear sounded dull, far away, but his voice was louder, deeper and dominanter than ever.

“Say it again,” he ordered, lust had not only clouded his glorious looking eyes but also his voice. You were able to hear how badly he wanted you without him having to say it and it was moments like these that you thought existing couldn't get any better. His hands held your hips down firmly, nails dug so deep into your skin that they broke the soft flesh, golden blood coated Adam's fingertips but neither of you cared, if anything it only added to the pleasure you both were feeling. Your hands that had been gripping the sheets tightly moved to his neck instead, your hands buried themselves in his soft, soft hair, giving it a light tug which earned you a small groan.

“I’m fuckin’ yours, Adam,” you moaned as he sunk his teeth into your skin. A bite mark formed right underneath your jaw, everyone would be able to see until it would eventually fade. You didn't want it to fade, you wanted him to mark you up permanently, so without giving your words a second thought you hummed, “Make it scar, please, make it permanent.” He seemed to actually think of denying you for a moment, concern had appeared in his eyes and you were not having it. You wrapped your legs around his hips, if he'd pin yours down, you'd drag him down with you you thought as you tighten your legs around him and your hips collided.

As if that had been the command he had been waiting for he brought his lips down onto the bite mark yet again, his soft lips parted and therefore exposed his teeth. He bit down again, harder than he had before until he tasted the sweetness of your blood on his tongue. Soon his entire mouth was coated in the delicious liquid that kept spilling from your body. When the brunette pulled slightly back to lick the blood from his lips you pulled into a kiss, to taste your own blood on his lips felt absolutely overwhelming.

Your hips kept rutting against his in steady motions, he was meeting your thrusts halfway through.

The golden liquid dropped onto the sheets and Adam was quick to lick it from your neck, there was simply no way he'd waste any more of it, he wanted it all, wanted all that your body had to offer. “Such a needy fucking bitch, aren't you?” You whined at that, your hips stuttered against his and all you could do to answer was nod. Yes you were his needy bitch, his good boy, his fucktoy. You were whatever he wanted you to be.

Your legs started to give out due to the pleasure your body was feeling and he used that to his advantage and lifted his hips again, yours were still pressed against the pillow underneath. “No,” you cried out at the lack of friction and desperately rutted up against nothing.

You needed him.

One hand left your hip and you saw him snap his fingers. The feeling you were expecting once that hand was back onto your hip, back to pressing it against the pillow was absolutely overwhelming yet not enough. You felt your insides stretch, Adam had decided to use his angelic powers for preparation this time. He rarely did that, usually enjoyed scissoring you open and eating you out, he only ever used his powers during sex when he knew he wouldn't be able to prepare you properly, when the lust had taken over and was fogging up his brain entirely. In order not to hurt you, he had used his powers. You secretly thanked the Lord for giving Adam these powers in the first place.

The snap of his fingers had also coated his dick in lube, that you were able to feel when he pressed the tip of his erection against your ass, slowly entering you. Your muscle stretched around him with ease and he slipped inside almost effortlessly. It really didn't take the brunette to bottom out inside of you and he started even sooner to move his hips. “Fuck,” you muttered, your nails scratched his scalp and he let out a quiet moan as he harshly moved his hips back and forth. The angle always changed as the self claimed dickmaster was trying to aim for your sweet spot.

A loud moan erupted from your body and your ass chased his dick once he had found it. “Adam,” you moaned his name, you wanted more of that feeling, more of him. You wanted his hand on your dick, maybe even your mouth, you wanted him to keep fucking you like a wild animal, “Adam, please.” His head moved closer to your ear, hot breath was hitting your already warm skin and his voice made you shudder violently, “Yes, babes?”

Your body responded by moaning his name yet again, asking for more without actually saying it, begging him to touch you without actively asking for it. The dried blood on your neck felt weird when his breath ghosted over it and the thought of a scar on your neck, visible for all eternity was driving you insane in the most glorious way possible. “Please, more,” you asked of him, as you tried to use his belly for friction - but to no avail.

The constant penetration of your prostate made you clench around his dick and Adam gasped at the sudden tightness that was surrounding him. “Close, so close,” you informed him and that made a sickly sweet idea bloom inside his head, “Good. Because you're gonna cum untouched for me.”

The pure thought of it made your dick throb and it only took a few more seconds for you to actually come undone. The sticky white liquid splashed onto his stomach, covering both of your soft skin in a warm coat of cum. The heat around Adam's dick tightened once again and he kept fucking into you at a brutal pace.

One thrust, two thrusts and then he filled you up all nicely. The energy he had only moments before was gone and he stilled inside of you as his cum painted your insides white. His wings were puffed out, the golden feathers spread, making him look holy. You couldn't help but smash your lips against his, catching him in yet another bruising kiss that drew a moan from him.

He slowly moved his hips back in order to pull out, a small whimper fell from your lips but was quickly kissed away by him. He slid down your body until his face was right next to your dick and you were about to ask what the fuck he was doing but your train of thoughts was interrupted when his mouth opened up and his lips wrapped around the head of your dick, sucking it clean from the cum. He didn't stop there though, he slowly worked himself towards the base, then released your now soft dick to lick the messy white from your stomach. While he did so, his eyes were focused on your face, on the emotions that were on display and, oh dear Lord, you were looking fucking fantastic.

Once the white had been removed by his tongue, he snapped his fingers yet again in order to clean both of you properly. Adam came back up to lay down next to you, his arms were open, inviting you for cuddles and you were quick to roll over and cuddle up against his chest. “I love you,” he hummed against your hair and kissed your head softly. “Love you too, big guy,” you gave his chest a light pat and placed a small kiss on it too.

[look-at-the-soul]

The Photoshoot - Part 50

Cillian Murphy series 2014, 2015

I’m sorry for not posting this sooner! Sometimes time flies and when I realize it’s boom 🤯 a month went by… but my love for these two will always make me enjoy the most for each part. And I can’t believe this story reached part 50!!?!! Like how ?

Ps. Happy birthday Cill 💙✨

Word count: 3,628

Cillian waved at the crew team as they left him in front of his hotel. As it got chiller, he shivered and walked into the small convinience store to get a bottle of water, strolling through the aisles, he found a stuffed duck and immediately thought of Scout, he loved ducks. As he walked past some people, he was aware of the glances and deep down he knew the reason.

The infamous Thomas Shelby haircut.

“Hello you.” He greeted his wife after answering his phone.

“Hey baby, how have you been?” Yael’s voice spread softly to his heart.

“Missing you like crazy.” He admitted realizing he probably sounded corny.

“Well I miss you more.”

Cillian placed the phone between his shoulder and cheek to grab something.

“Give me a sec.” He managed to make it to the register balancing the items in his arms and politely asked the cashier if she could cut the tag from the stuffed animal.

“What was that?” Yael chuckled softly.

“I’m buying some stuff.” He put his wallet in his back pocket and made it out of the store. “How’s it going? How are you ladies doing?”

“I took Mum to a yoga class and then we had breakfast at this cute little café and more ladies stuff.” She explained and he could easily imagine her playing with one of her curls with a beautiful smile on her lips.

“Oh tell me more about that girls stuff.” He stopped at the red light, checking the signal to cross the street.

“We’re getting manis and pedis later.” He loved hearing her laugh. “And oh! Yesterday when we were walking, we found an antiques shop…”

“Oh shit.” He interrupted in a playful tone.”

“Stop it.” She giggled.

“And what gorgeous rare-to-find item did you discover this time?” Cillian asked not being able to stop the smile from growing in his lips. He knew Yael too damn well.

“A painting.” Yael replied shyly. “And I immediately fell in love with it.” She rushed to explain to cover for her excitement.

Cillian laughed, seeing already the scene in his mind. His wife had a weakness for antiques, but he had to admit she had a good taste.

“It’s beautiful and the frame it’s the original, took me a while to properly clean it.” She continued.

“I bet you didn’t stop until getting it hanged.”

“Actually I didn’t, still trying to decide what’s the right place.” He heard Scout barking in the background. “How’s the scouting going?”

“Grand, grand… later we’re going somewhere else, we need some scenes by the river and the caravans look fucking phenomenal.” He explained.

The project was around the corner and he tensed his shoulders involuntarily at the thought of embarking once more into the character’s chaos.

“I can’t wait to see everything up.”

“Alright baby, I’ll let you go to your pedi time, call you later.” Cillian told her that he love her and walked into the store trying to keep a low profile.

He needed to pick up the gift he ordered for Yael.

***

“Mrs. Lieberman, Mrs. Murphy welcome.” The social worker asked them to take their seats. “Let’s see,” she seemed to focus on a sheet before her, the desk had a pile of folders and papers organized with colorful post it. “I understand you traveled for this appointment.”

“Yes, my home is in London.” Isla crossed her leg. “But right now I’m staying with my daughter.”

“I see.”

It was hard to tell anything from Mrs. O’Brien’s expression. Her lips were in a tight line and Yael always felt uneasy, not knowing if she was sharing too much or if she shouldn’t have said that.

“Would you like to tell me about your family and the dynamic you share?”

As Isla went on to talk about her children, talked about how they traveled frequently to be together as much as they could and then she shared a small snippet of a birthday party she held for one of her grandchildren.

“So how would an adoption blend into this? How do you feel about that?”

Although the question was meant to set anyone back and make you question yourself, Isla managed to pull a great comeback.

“Do you mean if I’d love that children less because it’s not biologically my grandchild?” She asked openly and when she saw the social worker nod, she went on. “My husband picked me up from the ground when I was at my lowest point emotionally and economically, for months I saw my daughter struggling with physical therapy to recover from the accident and surgery after surgery and not only that, he took my children as his own and loved us unconditionally, the same goes for our grandchildren. He never made one single comment about not being linked by blood or sharing DNA with any of them, I wouldn’t know how to love Yael and Cillian’s child any other way.”

Yael had to fight back the tears that formed in her eyes. There it was, the woman who always inspired her, opening her heart to say just what she thought.

“To me,” Isla continued. “It’s not about sharing the same genetics… it’s something deeper than that, it’s about choosing to love, care and protect for another human being without waiting anything in return and I know this takes a lot of time and steps but I can assure you my daughter and her husband will be the most loving parents if you give them the chance.”

Quietly, Yael excused herself and walked out of the office, she wasn’t needed there anyways. Emotions were suffocating her and it was impossible to prevent it. Perhaps it was the fact that Cillian was away, or her Mother’s words that touched her heart. But either way, she needed a break, to keep her guard down and trust the process and its own time. But who was she trying to fool? It was damn hard and sometimes it felt like it would never happen.

“This has been extremely hard for my daughter, the process is wearing her out, but I understand this is not like going to the grocery shop and picking a kid. I know it takes time and you’ve to follow protocols and forms, but trust me, she’s the most loving person I know and motherhood has always been her biggest dream.”

“We cannot base the approval on that Mrs. Lieberman, we need to check background, records, psychology tests… we’re talking about a vulnerable child’s life.”

Isla nodded, not wanting to upset the social worker.

“May I ask how long does it takes to finalize?”

The social worker shuddered. “It can be months… even years.”

Isla’s heart shattered by the statement. She wanted to keep a positive spirit, but the time frame wasn’t very helpful.

“That long? And there’s nothing you can do?”

The social worker shook her head. “We’ve to complete each step.”

“But there are so many kids in orphanages.” She had seen it first hand, since the following day she arrived, they went to give away the books Yael bought for the children, spent hours there reading to them. It was bittersweet, but she was grateful for sharing a moment like that with her daughter.

Yael wasn’t doing it just to look good for the adoption process, she was doing it because she learned it filled her heart and soul, because she wanted to make those kids happy.

“I just wish you get everything you need to approve their adoption, they’re eager to welcome their child into their happy little family.”

“We want nothing but the very same.”

Ending the meeting, Isla went to search for her daughter. Her heart beating faster, she just wanted the best for Yael and Cillian.

“There you’re sweetie, shall we go somewhere?”

“Yes, I need some fresh air.” Yael helped her put in her coat and the pair went to the parking lot.

“I probably shouldn’t have stormed off like that.” Yael regretted her reaction.

“Don’t worry about that, the interview was meant to be just for me, and this is draining.”

“But they seem to be monitoring everything, every little thing you do and say.” Yael waited for her green light to take a turn.

“I know you and you’re probably tired of hearing this, but try to take this one step at the time, be patient. I’m sure the reward is around the corner.”

Yael knew her mother’s words were filled with the best intentions, but it was just like telling someone grieving to not feel sad about losing someone they love.

“Let’s focus on something else sweetheart, let’s go to clear our heads for a bit.” Isla proposed, worried about her daughter, she wanted to do something to cheer her up.

“Yeah, we’ve the appointment at the salon already.”

“Yes, that’s a wonderful idea.”

Yael took a deep breath. “I don’t want to tell Cill about this just yet. He needs to focus on his next project and this isn’t exactly a major step or something that tells me we’re getting good news soon.”

Yael took a U turn at the next available exit, following the instructions in the GPS.

As she was driving, her phone started ringing and Cillian’s face appeared on the screen.

“Hey handsome, I was thinking of you.”

“I got a notification marked as urgent that you left somewhere, are you alright?”

“Yeah, we just finished the interview with the social worker and I’m taking Mum for a walk. It’s the app I downloaded for you, it keeps you updated of where am I and stuff like that.”

“Oh so I can spy on you?” He joked and made Isla chuckled. “How did it go?”

Yael took a deep breath before answering her husband. “I hope well.”

“I’m sure of it.” He offered through the phone. “Why don’t you go to the movies to shake it off?” Cillian proposed.

Yael gasped at the suggestion. “That’s a great idea!”

“Yeah.” He added thinking how it had been a while since they went out. Lately he had been focusing on the script and nothing else, he felt bad because as he was getting more and more engrossed on the role, he started to grow apart from his wife. And although she never pointed it out, now that her mother was around, he was noticing the difference.

She was so supportive of each of his projects and with the adoption process, he wanted to make sure they were still connected.

“Listen, I’ve been thinking… why don’t start planning a holiday during Christmas? Or by the time I finish filming? Let’s go wherever you want, hmm?”

“Oh that’s really nice!” Isla agreed, noticing the smile on her daughter’s lips.

“I’d love that.” A few days away just the two of them? Yael was already looking forward to it.

“Alright, it’s settled then, I’m heading to the set now, let me know when you get home.”

“Will do.” Telling Cillian, she loved him, Yael hang up.

“He’s amazing.” Isla expressed, getting out of the car, as they arrived at the salon.

“I can’t wait for that holiday already, I feel like he’s been rehearsing since forever.”

She wanted nothing but have a good rest and not worry about anything else.

“Hello, welcome.” A woman greeted them and asked if they had an appointment.

Yael left her purse by a chair and started checking the nail colors options.

“You look so much alike!” The woman pointed at Isla and Yael in shock. “It’s like you did copy-paste.”

Yael blushed, she was so used to get those kind of reactions, specially now that her mother was sporting her natural curls freely.

Another woman at the salon pointed out the same in awe.

“Thanks. We hear that a lot.” Yael chuckled.

“So who’s Isla?” A kind smile appeared on her face just as a woman that was getting a haircut turned from her chair.

“That’d be me.” Yael’s mother replied waving her hand.

“Isla?” The woman turned around to face. “Isla is that you?”

“Barbara?” Her mother asked cautiously.

Yael looked the exchange with confusion.

“Oh my God I can’t believe it’s you!” Isla covered her mouth with her hands.

As the two women moved to closer to hug, Yael stared at the scene trying to understand the story behind their familiarity.

“It’s been what? A lifetime.” Isla continued.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you, but after all this time, you still look the same.”

Then, Isla looked around, noticing her daughter’s stare. “Goodness! Let me introduce you to my daughter, Yael, she’s my youngest.”

“Nice to meet you.” Yael greeted the woman.

“She’s Barbara, I used to babysit her and her sister. I was in my early 20’s.” Isla explained her daughter. “And one day, I never saw you again.”

“She looks just like you.” Barbara admitted. “You knew they took us to a government facility?”

Isla gasped in shock. “So it was true.”

“After a few months, someone adopted my sister and I never saw her again, she was only five years old back then, I waited but when I turned eighteen they kicked me out.” Barbara explained.

“You never saw her again?” Isla asked, her heart breaking in the process.

“No, I’ve been searching for her for so many years with no luck.”

“Uhm excuse me? We’ve a full agenda, could we continue while you catch up?” The hairstylist pointed at Bárbara’s wet hair.

“Sorry! Yes.” She stretched her arm towards Isla. “Mind if we go somewhere after we’re done here?”

Isla nodded, feeling like a knot installed in her stomach.

***

Cillian stood in the middle of Arley Hall mesmerized. The place was magnetic, beautiful and oozed this old vibe mansion in every corner.

“What do you think?” Steven asked, standing next to him.

“It’s amazing.” He turned around and moved away just as some crew walked past them with some furniture.

“They’re closing it to the public while we’re filming.” Steven stood there watching everything with his hands on his hips and a smile on his face.

“Are we filming everywhere?” Cillian crossed his arms imagining the scenes in this place, it was a luxury property and according to the script this was Tommy’s ultimate dream house, where he officially kick off and gets what he always wanted.

His ambitions finally materializing, his dreams becoming a reality.

Oh, but the price Tommy would have to pay…

Cillian wandered around. He learned it had been once the home of a wealthy family, it was spacious, the view to the garden was fantastic, part of the house included a cellar, and the second floor was as incredible as the first one, but for the upstairs part, they had constructed a replica on one of the sets.

As he kept walking, he arrived at the kitchen area one floor below, he had never seen something like that, it was rustic and had a huge pantry and an area where they kept the meat stored.

It was a dream, he was practically drooling over it. It was so easy to get lost and imagine how everything would look as soon as the crew got it ready for filming. Walking around, he ended in the dining room, a couple of important scenes would be filmed there.

“I think this needs something else, but I don’t know what.” Steven joined him.

It oozed luxury, it was elegant. The chandeliers sparkled, curtains with fabric that looked so expensive. Cillian imagined the kind of life the previous owners carried before it was purchased as wedding venue and a place open to the public to visit.

“A painting.” Cillian suggested casually. “A huge arse portrait.”

Steven turned around to stare at Cillian, eyes wide open as the realization hit him hard and fast.

“Yes, right there in the back of the main seat.”

Cillian nodded, hands hiding inside his pockets. It was involuntary, but it was part of the essence of his character. He couldn’t help it.

“Can your wife be in charge?”

He nodded quietly.

“Give her a call.”

But he didn’t need to do so. Because his phone started ringing in that very moment and it was Yael.

“Hello beautiful, I was just about to call you.”

“You’ve to sit down, you’re not going to believe this.” Yael started off. She sounded like there was something important she wanted to tell him.

“What’s the matter? Is everything fine?” Quietly he decided to take a walk outside, away from someone listening.

”Mum and I were at the salon, right? So when they call her name, this woman immediately recognized Mum and went to greet her, they chat for a bit. Long story short my Mum used to babysit Barbara -the woman-, when they were younger but one day she and her sister were taken away and she never saw them again.”

Cillian listened carefully, waiting for his wife to tell him the full story.

“Barbara is the Director of the child services office.” She explained him, his heart started beating faster. “She took us to her office, took a look at our records, studies, everything,” Cillian heard her taking a deep breath, “babe, it turns out we were in some kind of blacklist.”

Silence filled the call, Cillian inhaled deeply. “Why?”

“This is horrible but… have you noticed how celebrities go to places like Nigeria or Africa to adopt?”

Cillian kicked a rock he found on his way, processing that piece of information. “Yeah?”

“I don’t know about the adoption process over there, but apparently it’s easier, no questions asked and overnight, they’ve a child, we’ll thanks to that, the kind of surroundings to these celebrities lifestyle they practically catalogued us in that list so we’d never ever get the adoption finalized.” Yael’s words came out rushed.

Cillian felt a vein in his temple pulsing. “Are you telling me because I’m an actor, they practically rejected our application without telling us?”

The realization of his own words made his heart sink to the ground. Not getting the chance to move forward with the adoption process and his wife’s sadness was his fault?

Misery took over him.

“Hold on, I know what you’re thinking.” Yael interrupted his thoughts. “Not everything is as bad as it seems, this woman, Barbara she told us, basically… she’s going to help us! I asked her what do we’ve to do in order to be out of the blacklist and she gave me hope Cill, she explained us a lot of things no one told us about and I understand the reasons why they just can’t give kids to whoever starts a process, but she said literally I know your Mother, and she was always kind to me and my sister, she gave us food when we had nothing, she shared her clothes with us too, I can imagine the kind of daughter she raised.”

Emotion took over her voice, it was impossible not to feel everything right in the surface.

“How are we so sure that they won’t make it harder because of what I do for a living?” He was still processing the impact his career had, never thought it would be a negative reason in the adoption.

“She assured us she’d take our case personally.”

Despite Yael’s words, Cillian still felt doubtful now. Feeling guilty that he was the reason of not being able to adopt a child.

“So what are we supposed to do now? We’ve been begging them for the interviews.”

Yael had been calling almost daily to get the appointments, and now he was able to understand why the process had been so hard, they were trying to push them back.

“Barbara told me she’d give me a call, but I guess we’ve to wait to hear the next steps.”

When her mother told her what the social worked mentioned during her interview, Yael felt deflated. Hearing the process could take years to finalize shattered her heart. But now there was a new chance to move things forward with Barbara behind their case.

Cillian stared into the huge garden, not paying attention to anything in particular.

“Are you still there?” His wife’s voice made him snap back into reality.

“Yeah… just thinking.”

He really wanted to feel her new enthusiasm and positivism, but he also couldn’t help but feel worried, what if they have to face new challenges in the process, all this bureaucracy because of his job? He wasn’t sure to be able to deal with the guilt of knowing that because of him the process could be harder or take longer than usual because he needs to prove that he isn’t like most of Hollywood stars.

This whole thing was a roller coaster, sometimes it was Yael the one feeling down, now it was his turn while she had her hopes up. He hated to admit it but it was draining.

“If you hear anything back, call me yeah? Or text me.” He added after a few seconds, not wanting to drag her down because of his attitude.

“Absolutely.”

“Listen, Steven wants to do some photos, so I think I’m going to change my flight… your Mum is already flying back, why don’t you come with her?”

Yael took her time, to consider her options. “How many days?”

“Just a couple, to get a few photos done.”

“Okay, let me organize my planner and see how can I reorganize the things I’ve scheduled and also I need someone to look after Scout.”

“I’ll call my brother, don’t worry.” He went on walking again, sitting on the edge of the fountain. “I really want to see you.”

She wanted the same, needed to feel him close.

Tag list: @lyarr24 @garrison-girl-08 @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan

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[saunne]

You know what I'm gonna ask, I know what I'm gonna ask, it was never going to be anything else, give me xingren. There is an agenda to spread!

I just did my nails so you can't believe how careful I am while typing this in order to not smudge anything lmao. ALSO I KNEW IT ! It was obvious that you were going to ask XingRen but still, thanks to do so 😌. There is indeed an agenda to spread.

Let's face the fact, this ship being a selfcest, it doesn't make ANY FUCKING SENSE. However, I'm good at living in my little dream bubble and my first job as a writer was to erase the word "impossible" from my dictionary. If I want it, it will happen one way or another. And happily for me, there is a LOT OF WAYS to fuck around in HSR that I can use to make sense lmao.

First of, it's actually the first time I ship a selfcest so hard. But beside Yingxing making me feral in a way almost no other character made me (and my big bro @kanraandchrome can attest, I did have some really loose screw with some of my blorbos and he had to listen to me yap about it), the thing that really sold me to this ship is the whole work around their dynamics that I can do.

I like XingRen where Yingxing sees Ren, this shadow of himself, this broken Blade who thinks of himself as a tool for Elio's goal before thinking of himself as a person. I like the idea of Yingxing, a Furnace Master, a craftsman going like "well, look at me try and succeed fixing him". For this type of dynamic, as you know, I like to dehumanize Blade, make a separation between a it/its Blade seiing itself only as a weapon, where the coping mechanism and trauma became the mask, the personality in its entirety.... and a he/his or they/them Ren, softer, clinging to shreds of humanity, still hopeful for salvation, still aching because of feelings letft to rot on themselves.

I like RenXing where Ren goes back in time or jump through dimensions and is so feral to protect Yingxing's humanity, to be sure Yingxing never ever becomes like Blade. Where Blade is all "I will see you die", but not in a threatening way but in a caring, a "you were born a short life specie and I will ASSURE you'll die as one and never become me". Where Ren is the strange stalker, the interested customer, the shadow knight until revealing himself or Yingxing giving the chase.

I love XingRen in the more crackside of the dynamic (I have WIPs about that), where Yingxing was recognize in the HCQ as "the person who would fuck his clone if given the opportunity" to the point there were bets on it (and Baiheng won when Yingxing introduced him his new boyfriend looking like a carbon copy of himself with inverted colors and a scowl bad enough to put Yinyue's Preceptors to shame). Where Ren existence and "how the fuck did this happen" is burried under the "I KNEW IT YOU WOULD FUCK YOU, AH ! PAY UP MORONS" global reaction and Ren would be just 🤨.

I love RenXing where Ren hates, despise, loathes Yingxing. Where Ren's memories are fragmentary and if he has the general idea, he doesn't possess the whole picture. I love RenXing where Ren's idea of salvation is turning back time to go murder Yingxing before the Sedition in order to erase himself... only to be unable to do so in the end, faced with the whole truth of what it was, of what happened.

I love all the philosophical bullshit this ship imposed on me, all the reflections about identity, permanence of identity, identity crisis and trauma, permanence of memory. All the angst I can produce, all the fluff I can produce, all the crack I can produce.

Also, I'm sorry, but you saw @aratribow XingRen art she made for me (Unne is so well fed, Unne is a happy writer) and I'M SORRY, THEY'RE REALLY AESTHETICALLY PLEASING TO THE EYE. I'm looking everything but respectfully and none of my thought belong anywhere near any type of divine scripture and there must be a special place like a super-horny hell somewhere in the afterlife with my name on it at this point lmao.

But anygays, XingRen is a 100% YES ABSOLUTELY YES PLEASE DEAR LORDS YES- from me.

[songofmadness]

Work in Progress Meme

Rules: post the names of all the files in your wip folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it!

oh gods there’s so many. I write when the ~*//Inspiration\\*~ hits and are otherwise incapable of stringing a sentence together so. things get half written and then left for literal years. also i often do not bother coming up with a proper title until it is Finished...

So. Unrelated to NWN2 there is:

Magic/Experiment/Medical Horror?

There was a quiet place, outside her own head and not quite into his. Somewhere between them, where his rage and her despair didn’t reach. When things got too bad in the group home, she would move away from her aching body and sink into that quiet place.

More Magic/Experimentation/Medical Horror

It had been a long trip through the Dark. The longest yet, by my reckoning. But up ahead I could see the shadows curling spitefully around a sliver of light, pawing gingerly at it as a cat does to a wounded snake, and I knew my journey was nearly over. I staggered forward, energized by the hope that my interminable journey was finally, finally nearing its end.

I Have No Idea Where I Was Going With This...?

In which our Heroine is, sequentially, pursued, confused, outright lost, unconscious and arrived. Thresholds are crossed, bargains are struck and bets made. Also, there are puppies.

An Ode to Sensible Footwear

[The car packed it in on the outskirts of some little town deep in the hinterlands. I supposed that was fair. I’d never expected it to last as long as it had -- I’d bought it off another drifter for half a bottle of gooseberry wine, a battered copy of Practical Charms I’d had memorized by age six and twenty minutes work darning her holey socks in entirely the wrong color wool.]

[I patted the steering wheel with something approaching affection before unbuckling my seat belt. “Nice job,” I complimented it. 

In reply, the engine made an even more unnerving noise than usual and a cloud of dark smoke erupted from beneath the hood. That did not look promising. “Urk,” I said. “Good talk, car. I’ll be seeing you.” And then I grabbed my pack from the backseat and bailed before the car could self-immolate and take me with it to whatever afterlife demon-cars customarily went to. ]

Tuulvuk in Winter was the Bleakest Shithole in the Known World

I sat at the window of Tuulvuk’s (snort) finest coffee shop, glaring at the rain and defiantly sipped my tea. The surly owner of the shop had stared at me in open incredulity when I had placed my order but that was his problem. Tuulvuk may run on a currency of caffeine and distilled misery but I had no taste for that bitter sludge and refused to develop one.

Dino-Rider Steampunk

This does not deserve an excerpt but it does include a Utahraptor wearing a Victorian ladies riding hat.

Environmental Enchantment

Heir to witch clan loses his shit, declares a general Fuck This to his family’s policy of ruthless non-involvement in human conflicts, gets disinherited, cons a scientist into marrying him and stalks off to unfuck the world.

THAT IS NOT EVEN ALL OF THEM.

NWN2

The Trial: Duskwood

There is a special kind of self hatred reserved for those who drink not wisely, but too well the night before setting out on a fact-finding mission with a large group - none of whom seem able to help venting their considerable spleens when faced with even a minor annoyance.

How did I do this? Darion asks himself, slumped against the comforting solidity of a towering duskwood. How or better yet - why? The only member of their party that did not have a polar opposite of some kind, whom they were entirely willing to snipe at incessantly was… Grobnar. His only refuge from this shitstorm was Grobnar.

I don’t actually know many people so... @ardently-queer

[vivaspark]

Some jedi thoughts

Ok so, lets forget for a moment all the angst and bring some jedi as found family thoughts in here, ok?

Part 2 |

Kiddos in the creche talking about what color their kyber crystal will be

Padawans being the coolest older siblings around !!!! Because they look so grown up to the creche kids and so cool but they are actually just teens with no self preservation instincts that love to do dumb shit while having little kids boosting their confidence !!

Ok, we all know the temple is fucking massive, so i bet there are at least SEVERAL alcohol stashes from padawans somewhere lmao

Also, along those lines: BIG HIDE AND SEEK COMPETITIONS it helps everyone at being sneaky, at finding people and at orienting themselves, AND IT’S SO MUCH FUN (it also wears the kids down so they sleep the entire night lol)

It’s always someone’s birthday, like, statistically. So they just have a big board in the mess hall to congratulate the birthdays of the day (and it has pictures too so even if you don’t recognize the name you can say happy birthday to someone on the corridors bc that’s how their big family works)

Jedi having little charms on their lightsabers from their padawans

Also, best friends having matching jewelry (rings, charms...) made out of eachother’s lightsabers

Little initiates just making conversation with just about anyone they see bc they were raised in an environment full of love and comprehension and they know that the order is they family and they are safe there and they will always be treated right and with respect no matter what

Drinking games over cheesy jedi romance shows

LOTS!! OF!! INSIDE!! JOKES!!! I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH

Also: DARK HUMOR !! You expected teens to not make jokes out of not knowing/having parents???

Jumping out of windows is a Thing, and i won’t elaborate on that

Taking naps on the room of a thousand fountains is the best feeling ever and there’s always someone doing it

Enough for today :)

[mermaidxatxheart]

Devil to Me*

This is the sequel to Angel to You. If you like it, reblogs and comments would be immensely appreciated.

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 3768

Summary: After about a month of enjoying each other's company, you've proposed a little bet to Poe, but you can't resist him for long.

Warnings: Smut. Swearing, public sex-ish. pegging, oral, p in v, sub!Poe because that needs its own warning. I love him, your honor.

Star Wars Master List

Angel to You*

The silver glints in the bright sunlight. The blade spins almost lazily around your fingers. He can’t tear his eyes away. He’s terrified you’re going to cut yourself, or worse, use it on him. You aren’t even paying attention to it, just twirling it around, back, forward, inside, outside. Your legs cross one on top of the other and for a split second, that draws his eye, remembering how your legs felt around his hips that first time just a few weeks ago. But then the sunlight flashes in his eyes off the blade and he’s back to staring at it. 

“Poe, relax.” You huff. 

“Can you stop that?” He asks, his voice nearly sticking in his throat. He doesn’t mean to snap at you, but you’re driving him crazy. 

You slowly turn to look at him, a smirk tugging at your perfect lips. “I thought you like it when I play with my knives.” You tease. 

“You’re going to lose a finger.” He changes the subject. He can’t think about you playing with your knives right now, not when he hasn’t cum in two weeks. You got him hooked on you, and then presented a little challenge. 

“And you like my fingers where they are? Or would you prefer them somewhere...else?” You ask softly, lowering them to your thigh and pulling them slowly up the exposed skin. He watches intently, mouth watering, cock hardening. He’s not the only one edging every day, though. You aren’t cumming, either. 

“I, yeah, you-“ he stammers and you grin, letting go of the hem of your skirt. 

“I love when you get all tongue-tied.” You sigh, leaning back in your chair. 

The outdoor cafe is crowded, you’re waiting for someone with information. You seem to have an endless amount of patience, able to sit here calmly forever, twirling your balisong blade while he falls to pieces. 

“I don’t think he’s coming.” You frown, glancing at the people passing by. 

“He’ll be here.” Poe assures you, looking around. 

He makes you wait another half hour. Poe is a wreck, watching your fingers twirl that blade back and forth. It’s hypnotic. He remembers how talented those fingers are. It’s burned into his memory. Hopefully, you’ll take pity on him soon, burning more of you into him. 

The informant, as it turns out, is nothing more than a fucking traitor. He sold you out to the First Order for microcredits. So, you lodge your favorite knife in his chest and haul Poe out of there, shoving him toward the ships. As soon as you’re seated, you radio the rest of your crew and warn them of the impending fight. It’s going to be a mad dash to make it back to safety. 

***

The hangar is bustling with people. They’re checking engines, repairing ships, retrieving logs. And after the fight in the sky just moments before, they’re celebrating the victory. 

Poe, however, seems to be stuck in his ship. He sent BB8 off as soon as he landed, but won’t come down. You climb out of your own ship, heading for his. Adrenaline is flooding your system, you can feel your nipples harden, your core dampen. Fuck, you want to take that man back to his room and have your way with him. 

Or do you?

Maybe you don’t have to take him anywhere. 

You climb up the ladder and lean over to him. To anyone below, it would look like you’re just having a casual conversation. “Dameron?” You ask quietly. He looks up at you, pupils blown wide, obliterating what little chocolate color there is. 

“Hi.” He starts and you grin. 

“Whatcha doing?” You ask softly. 

“Can’t get out yet.” He mutters, cheeks twinging slightly. 

“And why is that, handsome?” You ask, brushing his hair back from his face. 

“I’m so hard, it would knock people over.” He admits and you laugh. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen your cock. It would just bowl them over.” You agree, slipping your hand down to his raging bulge. “Maybe just a little one? I can’t have you stuck in this cockpit all night.” 

He bites his lip as you push your hand into his pants. “R-right here?” He stammers. 

“Right here. Think you can be quiet for me?” You mumble, rubbing your palm over the already weeping tip. It won’t take him long. You’ve had him on a hair trigger for two weeks, sucking his cock just until he’s about to burst and then tucking him away again. 

He nods, pulling down your shirt to expose your tits while you slick your hand up with his precum. You grip his thick shaft, feeling your cunt get wetter. It misses the feeling of him splitting you in two with this beast. You pump slowly, twisting your palm as you make sure to hit all his favorite sweet spots. You’ve desperately memorized every inch of his beautiful cock, loving the way you make him fall apart for you. 

You glance around at the people not paying you any attention, starting to pump your hand faster. His breathing gets harsher and you rub the tip with your thumb. 

“You gonna cum for me?” You whisper, jerking him faster. “You wanna cum in my mouth? Or should I make you walk around with it all over your shirt?”

“M-mouth, please?” He begs. 

“Keep an eye out.” You warn, tipping your upper half into his cockpit and wrapping your lips around the swollen crown. You suck and tease the tip with your tongue while you pump your hand. He groans, spurting into your mouth, filling you with cum. You suck and suck until he’s done pulsing, and then you pull off him, opening your mouth so he can see his own cum coating your tongue. 

He moans and grabs you, kissing you roughly as you share his seed, swallowing only half. He swallows the other half. 

“Want you to meet me back here after dinner. Gonna have a treat for you if you ask nicely.” You promise, adjusting your shirt to cover yourself back up and climbing down. You head for the showers, needing to cool off a little. Maker, you’re desperate to cum, needing to feel him cum inside you again, but there’s something you crave more. 

The showers are empty as you climb into your stall, turning on the warm water. You slide your hand between your thighs, feeling your slick coat your fingers. That man drives you insane. The way he blushes when you tease him and is willing to do anything to please you. But also the way he turns absolutely feral any time you do anything filthy for him. 

You tease your clit, thinking about your brave, strong commander. A whimper escapes as you nearly reach your orgasm, and it’s with immense difficulty that you pull your fingers away. You suck them clean and finish showering. You get dressed, heading to the mess hall for dinner, feeling your thighs slide together under your skirt. You’re still fucking soaked for him. 

You can feel his eyes on you as you grab some food, choosing to sit next to some other friends instead of your secret boyfriend. You eat and laugh and joke, the whole time getting wetter and wetter. Before you slip right off your seat, you decide to call it a night and say goodbye, making up some excuse to sneak away. 

You grab your duffel bag from your room and head to the hangar, now mostly empty. You make your way over to the stack of pallets near Poe’s ship and hands grab you from behind. He pins you against the wall, kissing you hungrily. He’s achingly hard again, you can feel it as he grinds against you. 

“Need you.” He gasps.

“Enough to let me do what I want to you?” You reply and he frowns. 

“Is this about the knives? I’m not really into the blood and-“

You cover his mouth with your hand. “I’m not going to use my knives on you. But I do wanna do something to you. I promise you’ll like it. You‘ll probably even cum from it. And after, you can have me every way you want me.” You promise. 

“What do you want to do to me?” He asks. You hold up your bag. 

“Fuck you.” You say simply, opening it for him to see the strap on inside. It’s less of a harness, it has a bulbous end that goes inside you, and then a long cock with a swollen head that angles just right to hit his prostate. His eyes widen. You can see the gears turning in his head as he considers your offer. 

“Okay. I wanna feel you inside me with it.” He nods. 

“Good boy.” You kneel in front of him, undoing his pants. “Got something for you, gonna help you last for me.” You practically purr, taking his hard cock into your hands and worshiping it for a long moment. He groans, feeling you lavish his cock. You pull something out of the bag while his eyes are closed and slip it over his cock down to the base, following it with your mouth. 

“What-“ he looks down, cheeks flushing as you cup his balls, wrapping the other end of the cock ring around them. You suck on them softly with a moan. 

“They’re so full for me.” You mumble, lapping at them with your tongue. He grunts, looking around hurriedly. You pull his pants down to his ankles and he kicks them off, yanking off his shirt. 

Maker, this man is beautiful. You slide your hands up to his chest as you stand up. You kiss over his chest, licking at his soft skin as you taste him slowly. You can feel the way he’s forcing himself to breathe slowly. 

“Oh fuck.” He moans, hips rocking against you. “Oh fuck, this feels good.” He gasps and you smile, kissing up his jaw. 

“Good, go bend over the containers.” You order, pointing to the long metal ammo container that comes up to about hip height. It’s slightly out of the way, should anyone come in, and chances are they won’t be coming for this particular crate. He bends over, half laying on the crate as his thick ass sticks out all for you. You can see his heavy cock bobbing in anticipation between his thighs. 

You quickly strip naked, picking up the dildo and sliding your end inside your wet, needy pussy. It grabs tight, welcoming anything inside it. You’ve edged yourself for so long, longer than you’ve ever done it before, not even putting your fingers inside you. You refrain from moaning as you move with it rubbing against you. It’s not as long or as thick as his cock, but anything feels good after so long. 

You kneel behind him, spreading his cheeks. “Fuck, baby. I can’t wait to hear the noises you make for me.” You praise and his cock twitches. “Gonna loosen you up a little so I don’t hurt you.”

He starts to say something but cuts off as your tongue swipes over his puckered asshole. He whimpers as you tease it repeatedly, getting it nice and wet. You dip your fingers into your own wetness, getting them lubed up before you push one slowly into his ass. He freezes, ring squeezing your finger tightly. 

“Breathe.” You remind him, pumping that finger slowly, letting him get used to feeling this brand new stretch. You lick around the hole, easing him open slowly. You avoid touching his prostate at the moment, not wanting to overwhelm him. When he rocks back onto your finger, you carefully add a second one, stretching him a little more. 

“Y-Y/N,” he gasps.

“That’s it, baby. Take my fingers. Doing so good.” You praise, wiggling your fingers inside him. He moans sinfully and you start to scissor him open, working that tight band of muscles to let go for you. You can feel him release a little more, so you add a third finger and he whines low in his throat. 

“Look so fucking good like this, Poe. Fuck. So fucking good.” You moan, pumping a little faster. “Taking it so good.” You praise. “Gonna let me fuck you now?” You ask quietly and he begs in gibberish, rocking his hips back for you. His cock is dripping precum, looking for all the worlds like liquid sugar and you just wanna taste it. But you have to be a good girl and wait. 

While you’re still pumping your fingers into his ass, you drizzle lube over the dildo, stroking it and spreading it with your other hand before drizzling some over his perfect ass. You pump faster, spreading it around so you don’t hurt him. 

“Ready for my cock, handsome? Gonna take it like a champ.” You pull your fingers free, lining the bulbed head up with his slowly closing hole. You hold onto his hips and push in slowly, letting him get used to it. He keens, lifting his hips against him, rocking the end inside you and you moan, grabbing his ass. 

“Dameron, oh fuck, baby. You’re taking it so good.” You whimper. You push all the way in until his ass is at your pelvis and there’s no more left. 

“Maker. Oh Maker.” He moans, gripping the crate. You reach down between your bodies and turn the vibrator on low and he jolts, body quivering. He pleads and begs in a language you don’t understand, but you recognize the tone. He wants more.

Just as you slide out to the tip, the door to the hangar opens and you freeze. Slowly, the crate is wheeled backwards just a little more, but you can’t go far. You push back in and lean over him. 

“Gonna have to be quiet, Commander.” You whisper, licking into his mouth hanging open. “Gotta fuck you. Stay quiet unless you wanna get caught.” You tease, pulling out and pushing back in a little faster. His asshole grips it tightly as you move, and his head dips. You can see him breathing hard as you pick up the pace, holding onto his hips. A whimper escapes and he covers his mouth, trembling. He’s on the fucking edge, so you slow down, rocking into him shallowly. 

“Tell me how you feel, baby? Want me to stop?” You ask and he shakes his head.

“More. Please? Maker, I want more.” He whines. You turn the vibrator up a little higher for him, panting at the way it grinds against your clit. You can still hear the person working around in the hangar, oblivious to the Black Leader getting pegged out of his mind. 

Poe reaches for his cock, but you grab his hands, holding them behind his back as you speed up. You roll your hips so it grinds against his own g-spot, letting him really get a taste. The person in the hangar clicks on a welding machine, the loud noise letting Poe be a little louder. 

He moans for you, grabbing at your wrists as you hold him, fucking into him faster and faster. He bucks, grunting and pleading in his native tongue. You bend over him, burying it in his ass and rocking deep. 

“Gonna cum for me?” You pant. 

He shakes his head no. “Wanna-fuck! Wa-wanna cum inside you. Wanna fill you, unh shit!” He whines. “Please? Fuck, Y-Y/N!” He moans loudly and the welding machine shuts off. You slow down, turning off the vibrator, and pulling out of him. He slumps on the crate, breathing hard. You pull the dildo out and drop it into your bag. 

“Baby?” You whisper, rubbing his back. 

“I’m so hard. That felt amazing.” He moans quietly. “I almost came hard, but I'm not ready yet.” He looks up at you, his face covered in a slight sheen of sweat. “You said I could have you any way I wanted you.” He says and you kiss him slowly. 

“Always.”

“Sit.” He pushes himself up and gestures for you to sit on the crate. You slide up, the cold metal giving you goosebumps. “By my count, I’m an orgasm ahead of you.” He says, stepping between your thighs. 

“Considering the fact that you make me cum several times every time we fuck, I’d say you’re not.” You grin, falling completely for the wicked look in his eyes. 

“Let’s see if you can be quiet.” He whispers against your lips, glancing towards the center of the hangar. He kneels down between your thighs and swipes his tongue over your clit. You bite down on your lip, watching him. He’s so attentive, making sure his mouth and tongue kiss every part of your dripping, needy cunt. He sucks your clit into his mouth, licking at it slowly, teasing it around in circles as he sucks hard and you can’t breathe. Your head falls back and you lean back on your elbows, spreading your legs more for him. He hums in approval, sucking harder. You whimper softly. Fuck, his mouth is so good, feels so good on you. He looks up at you, clit between his lips and he pushes a finger inside your tight channel. 

You never thought you had a hand kink, but seeing his hands all over you, feeling his long fingers reach places inside you that you didn’t know existed? It definitely created one for you. 

“P-Poe,” you whine as he curls his finger just right. He smirks, teasing your clit even more. You grab your tits, pulling on your nipples as he strokes that heat in your belly. 

“So tight. You’re so tight, gorgeous. So on edge. I should take better care of you. Make you cum every day.” He teases and the thought has you drooling. He sucks your clit back into his mouth, taking his time with you, finding all your seams and pulling on the threads to unravel you. Just as you’re about to cum, he pulls his mouth away to smirk. You whine in desperation, but clearly you’re not desperate enough for his liking. 

“Pretty girl, look at you. All a mess.” He says softly. “Gonna cum for me? Wanna taste it, wanna drown in it.” He moans, stroking his fingers faster. “Say my name, pretty girl, tell me who’s making this cunt feel so good.” He says, latching back onto your clit and you break, bucking and grinding against his face, crying out his name, forgetting that you need to be quiet. Your thighs are trembling around him as a wrench clatters to the ground somewhere in the hangar. 

Your heart stops dead as you realize what you’ve done and before you can react, Poe has you off the crate and behind a stack of pallets, hidden from view. 

“Such a good girl, telling the whole world who fucks you best.” He moans, pressing you into the wall. You can hear footsteps approaching as he pulls off the cock ring with a hiss. “Fuck, got me so hard.” He mutters, slipping inside your cunt as he holds you against the wall by your thighs. All you can do is hold onto his shoulders as he adjusts your height to his preference before starting to fuck you wildly. 

“Hello?” Someone calls and you cover your mouth to stifle your moans. Poe never slows, simply finding his rhythm as he pounds you against the hangar wall. 

Fuck, you’re so fucking wet for this man. You could get caught because of your thoughtlessness, and it’s only made him want you more.

“Anyone there?”

He licks up your jaw, thrusting hard and deep inside you. He’s rock hard, throbbing inside your pussy as you squeeze him with every stroke. 

“Move your hand.” He says quietly. You slowly move it to his face, his eyes never leaving yours as he pounds into you. “You’re so close, I can feel you fluttering for me. Cum. Cum on my cock, let them hear it.” He whispers and you break apart, clamping down on him as you cum again in record time. Your mouth falls open, your cum dripping out of you and onto the floor. 

He lowers you again, angling deeper inside you, thrusting faster. You’re breathing hard as he pulls you apart. He captures your mouth as the footsteps retreat, but don’t leave the hangar. You cling to him, desperate for him to be a part of you. 

“So fuckin pretty, sitting on my cock like this.” He whispers. “Such a good girl, gonna take it all. Got a full load for you.” He promises. You moan, already close again, thinking about him filling you. But then he pulls out, breathing hard. 

“Want you on the floor. Wanna fuck my pretty girl right into the ground.” He moans and you clench around nothing. 

His girl.

Yeah, you like that.

He lowers you down, laying you flat and pulling your legs up to his chest. He kisses your calves, pushing in, feeling you squeeze. “Fuck. Even tighter like this.” He grunts, pushing in until he bottoms out inside you. He leans forward, bending you as he pulls back and snapping his hips forward roughly. 

Oh. 

Oh.

Yes, please. 

Your eyes widen at him and you lift your hips as best you can, begging for more. Your mouth falls open as he does it again and again, his thrusts getting deeper and rougher. You nearly cum again as he pushes two of his fingers into your mouth. Your eyes roll back as you suck on them with everything you have, moaning as he fucks the brains right out of you. 

“Pretty little toy.” He moans. “Dangerous little thing.” He snaps his hips, splitting you open. “Taking my cock so good.” He grunts. 

“C-cumming.” You manage and he nods, fucking you faster. “With me.” You plead, wanting him to finish with you. He lets your legs shift around his hips, capturing your mouth hungrily. You cup his face, holding him close and just as you crest, his hips stutter and he hilts deep inside you, cumming heavily. Jet after jet he sprays inside you and it feels just as right as the first time. 

He flattens himself on top of you, kissing you repeatedly. “Thank you.” He whispers in between kisses. “You know how to make me feel so good.”

“Sweet boy. I’d do anything for you.” You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck. “We should go back to your room. I can feel you getting ready for more.” You smile and he grins against your neck.

“Always ready for you.”

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[rebrandedbard]

Good morning, I had an idea and I wanted to share (could be a prompt if you want): So, Jaskier definitely, absolutely wants to learn Geralts potions and which to give when. But they aren't labelled at all and you've got to discern by shapes and colours. I firmly believe Jaskier writes a little ditty for that and maybe it spreads or maybe Geralt wakes up after a hunt with vague memories of that song after Jaskier saved him...

Jessi you know exactly what to say to get a fic out of me. Invoke my musicality! Just for you, not one, but two songs Jaskier uses for Geralt's potions!

-

Witcher's Brew

wc - 2476

Geralt wakes up after a hunt gone wrong and finds himself patched up in bed. He waits for Jaskier to arrive and overhears him singing a strange song to himself as he fusses with Geralt's potion supplies.

-

Rabbit stew, warm and fresh from the pot. It was the first thing Geralt could remember upon waking. They’d had rabbit stew at midday, just before the hunt. He almost imagined he could taste it on his dry, cut lip, but the lingering bitter taste of White Raffard’s Decoction chased the last of the memory away. He could not recall taking any potions. In fact, he had trouble remembering what it was he’d been fighting. His head was vague, all the details swirling at the edges in a haze. Someone had been speaking to him, he thought. Was it the chanting of a kitchen maid, timing her baking with a prayer? Or was it a song?

A song.

Geralt sat up with a grunt. “Jaskier,” he called, voice rough and catching in his throat. He looked around the darkness of the room, but he was alone. He scented the air. Jaskier had been near in the last hour or so, his smell not yet faded. It tasted bitter on his tongue, like the decoction: bitter like the musk of fear. The tang of salt hung in the air as well. Tears. But there was more. From the table at his side came an earthy scent and he discovered a bowl of mushrooms upon it. Sewant mushrooms.

That’s right. They’d been in the caves. The vision of the beast rose to the forefront of his mind and he remembered that they’d been fighting not a wyvern as hired, but a slyzard. It had been a deadly miscalculation, for the beast could breathe fire over a great distance. Geralt felt the fresh burns on the back of his neck, smelled the poultice pasted there. He remembered pulling Jaskier behind cover. He’d not had the chance to see whether he’d been burned as well. There had been too much to distract him; he did not even know if he’d slain the beast.

There had been mushrooms in the cave. Someone had to have brought them. Jaskier would be foolish enough to return to the caves, even if the beast still lived. But for mushrooms? Geralt could not imagine why.

“Sewant from the sewer caves, crows’ eyes, fang of beasts; blood from all the nasty things, and myrtle pure as priests.”

Geralt turned to the sound of Jaskier’s singing beyond the door. It cracked open and there the bard stood, arms hidden beneath a mass of white flowers. He had, too, a leather pouch dangling from around his wrist. Unloading his burden upon the table, he flipped through the open bestiary, still singing under his breath. It was not his usual kind of song; it was lifeless, simple rhyme and meter without passion. He did not even glance Geralt’s way as he set to work, grinding ingredients together in a mortar.

“Mistletoe and mutagen, aloe leaf of wolf; green mold, han, and celandine, then in the flame engulf.”

Jaskier poured the concoction into a potion bottle and hurried to the fire. He bent to light it, cursing as the matches failed beneath his shaking hand. He cursed louder, his hand slipping again. His voice began to shake as he continued his chant.

“Remember Raffard’s recipe and count it by this rhyme; be ye neither quick nor slow to measure out the time. Once the brew has bubbled and its color turns to red, let cool and cork then brew again to raise him from—”

Jaskier’s voice caught in his throat as he failed to light the match once more. He gripped the potion bottle in his hand and wiped at his eyes, unable to finish the line. “To raise him—”

“From the dead,” Geralt concluded.

Jaskier whirled around, dropping the bottle upon the floor. It shattered, spilling its contents into the hearth and over his boots. But he didn’t pay it any mind. He ran to Geralt’s side and knelt before the bed. His hands were everywhere at once, prodding gently, examining him.

“Geralt,” he breathed. Then everything came out in one great rush, each new thought interrupting the last. “Oh fuck, I was—! You weren’t moving. You just dropped to the ground the minute your sword—! I had to carry you back, and you only had one vial left. I was so worried I wouldn’t be able to make more before …”

“One vial is enough,” Geralt said. He nodded toward the supplies on the table. “Is that White Raffard’s?” he asked, knowing it could be nothing else.

Jaskier nodded, silent.

“What was that song just now?”

Jaskier bit his lip, looking guilty. “I … didn’t meant to pry,” he murmured. “I promise never to share trade secrets but … I had to know how it was made. It’s one of your most important potions. If you couldn’t make one, and if we were ever in a situation where we couldn’t find a healer, I needed to know that I could save you. So I watched, and I wrote it to remember.”

“You wrote a song to remember how to brew a potion?” Geralt asked. He looked at the ingredients. They were all correct, and well-measured from the look of it. Jaskier had prepared three bottles, two still sat empty on the table. Before them, their ingredients lay in even piles, waiting to be ground in the mortar.

Jaskier took Geralt’s hand in his, pressing his forehead to it. “I can brew Raffard’s, White Honey, and Swallow. I know you need Swallow with Raffard’s, for the toxicity. And … if I ever brewed a faulty potion, I would have the Honey.”

“You know what potions to take,” Geralt said. It was less of a question, more an expression of awe. He’d never taught Jaskier about the potions, merely asking for them as needed if Jaskier were in reach to fetch them. And from that, Jaskier had learned what was needed when.

“I wrote a song for that, too. All of them: what they’re for, the ones to take before a battle, and the ones to take after.”

Geralt blinked.

“All of them?” he asked.

Jaskier looked up. He once more turned his head away in shame. Witchers’ potions were not for men to know, let alone theirs to brew. But he nodded. There was no denying it now.

“Sing it to me.”

The look on Jaskier’s face was nothing short of complete and total astonishment. Geralt never requested songs. “You … right now? You want me to sing the song?” Jaskier faltered.

When Geralt gestured toward the lute, Jaskier smiled.

“It hasn’t got music,” Jaskier said. “It isn’t meant to be sung, really. Not in that way at least.”

“But you could put it to music, I bet.”

Jaskier flushed. There was a bit of praise in there somewhere—an admission of skill. At Geralt’s request, he stood and fetched the lute. “You seem to be doing much better,” he said, sitting at his side on the bed.

“Raffard,” Geralt replied. “Are you in tune?”

Jaskier strummed the lute slowly, emphasizing each open note with pride. “Always am.”

“Sing, then.”

It only took a minute of experimental plucking before Jaskier had a set of chords prepared. He strummed them twice in succession, then began his song:

Before one fights vampiric beasts

Drink Black Blood down to spoil their feasts

And if there’s acid on the rise

First taking Bindweed would be wise

When fighting something swift and cruel

Down Blizzard quick before the duel

And if the brawl takes place at night

Take Cat to see in dimmest light

Geralt watched with open admiration as he listened. Jaskier had learned it all on his own. He’d made a careful study of the potions without any help, and what Geralt heard was thus far correct. There were trainees who’d not kept such simple things in order, even with proper instruction.

When fighting wraiths one cannot spy

De Vries’ Extract evolves the eye

And wolves will howl in perfect tune

When given life by the Full Moon

At the play on wolves, Geralt rolled his eyes. Even so, he was impressed. He’d only encountered two wraiths with Jaskier at his side. He would’ve had to pay very close attention to remember De Vries’ Extract’s purpose.

The bit about the wolves did not escape his notice either. There was a little crook in the corner of Jaskier’s mouth as he sang the words. Of course the potion made for jokes among the witchers of the school of the wolf, but they weren’t the only ones who used them.

But if one’s poisoned first, let’s say

Oriole takes the sting away

And when one bleeds, to stop the aches

A simple Kiss is all it takes

If long the task you must endure

Then take a dose of Maribor

And if one’s signs aren’t up to snuff

Then Petri’s Philter is the stuff

If one cannot avoid a hit

The vengeful Shrike takes care of it

And if you’ve time while under cover

Swallow aids a slow recover

If the battle leaves you tired

Tawny Owl may be required

And while weak one cannot parry

Thunderbolt will make foes wary

When hope is lost and at its end

White Raffard’s revives your friend

And if while brawling stunned you be

Then Willow is the remedy

For power in your every blow

Take Wolf to strike against your foe

And though it makes one wobble blind

With Wolverine their fate is signed

Remember this what else you do

White Gull is base for every brew

And when the potions start to strain

White Honey lets you start again

“You ended with White Honey,” Geralt remarked.

Jaskier lay a hand over the strings of his lute, quieting them. “It lets you start again, does it not? Once you swallow a dose of White Honey, it nullifies the effects of all potions,” he said in his most academic voice. “I thought it would be fitting to end the song there; it certainly helps to remember the purpose.”

“And you know how to brew it.”

“I find it ironic that there’s not a trace of honey in it whatsoever. In fact, far too many of your potions involve the use of vinegar, the very opposite of honey. Would it ruin the potions beyond use if I were to add a bit? A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, they say.”

Geralt smiled. He waved his hand, gesturing for Jaskier to come closer. He put a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. “I think whatever potions you brew for me in the future will be made sweet enough by that sentiment,” he said. “So don’t fuck up my recipes, bard.”

Jaskier stammered, then laughed and batted Geralt’s face. “You cheeky thing! For a moment, I thought you actually intended to compliment me.”

“Didn’t you hear me the first time?” Geralt asked. “I did.”

“Not a compliment if you insult my cooking right after. Or—well, eh—brewing, as it were.”

“Alchemy.”

“Oh, yes, that’s much more flattering. Assistant Alchemist! I do like the sound of it.”

Geralt chuckled. “You’re my assistant now, are you?”

“But of course,” Jaskier replied, waving a dramatic arm in the air. “Always have been. I only needed a proper title.

“Then tell me, assistant: what became of the slyzard?”

Jaskier grinned and leaned over to grab the leather pouch from the table. He tossed it for show and caught it with one hand before emptying its contents. A collection of sharp, bloody teeth fell onto the sheets, some with bits of pink gum still attached to the yellow base.

“I believe Raffard’s called for fang of beasts in the list of ingredients,” he said. “And there was no other beast nearby to take from. Your sword was still lodged in its back; all I had to do was give it one last thrust through the heart.”

Jaskier winked and produced another bag from his doublet, heavy with coin. “Needed proof anyway,” he said, setting it alongside the teeth. “I needed some distraction while you were out, so I checked off the list: put you on the mend, finish the hunt, get the pay, replenish supplies.”

For a moment, his cocky expression faltered. “I was just finishing up when I got a little …” he trailed, bundling up the teeth once more. “Well, it’s easier to get lost in worrisome thoughts when doing quiet tasks like foraging. But you woke up, and now there’s nothing left to fear. I’ll have a new set of potions ready for you by the time you’re well enough to get out of bed.”

“… You … killed the slyzard?” Geralt said.

“You did most of it. I just gave it the last push. It barely twitched. Honestly, its innards made more of a fuss when I went to bottle them. I think you’ll be well stocked for some time.”

Jaskier killed the slyzard. He stooped to rummaging in its bleeding corpse for the most vile and disgusting of ingredients. For his potions. Which Jaskier brewed. Which he knew how to brew by merely observing, putting it all together in simple songs to remember. And still he’d found time to collect his pay.

“Fuck me,” Geralt said in wonder.

“Maybe once you’re healed,” Jaskier laughed, ears a touch pink.

“Then kiss me,” Geralt amended. He lay his hand over Jaskier’s arm, leaning forward, enraptured. It was a simple revelation and he wondered just how long the idea had been bubbling in the back of his brain. “Kiss me,” he said. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Jaskier blinked twice, his cheeks flushing as he took in the seriousness of Geralt’s tone. “Did … you put too much White Gull in that last batch of Raffard’s?”

Geralt shook his head, his eyes never leaving Jaskier’s. “Will you kiss me?” he asked again.

“I …”

“You killed a slyzard for me.”

“Yes.”

“And you memorized my potions. In case I needed them.”

Jaskier nodded.

“You love me,” Geralt concluded. His heart gave a leap at the notion. Yes. Yes, this was something he never knew he wanted. No, not wanted—this was something he needed. If all that didn’t add up to love, he didn’t know what would. It was such a simple thing, and he was a very simple man in every meaning of the word.

“Love me, Jaskier,” he said. “Love me and kiss me, please.”

But Jaskier already did. And before the final plea could escape Geralt’s lips, Jaskier did.

I’m going to take care of you, Geralt thought. He would take care of Jaskier just as Jaskier had always taken care of him. Good care.

“I do love you,” Geralt corrected.

Jaskier chuckled. “Don’t need to think about it?”

“I don’t think I ever really did.”

[no-droids]

Rumors, Freebies, and a Race for Last Place

Part Two of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

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

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

***

It’s recommended to read part one first.

***

Getting into the x-wings is always fun.

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

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

You came back in one piece this time.  Barely.

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

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

Dameron.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*** 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You request mission assignments together,” Rossi adds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

You're finally alone.

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

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

And yet, you can’t seem to enjoy it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, this is so fucking… presumptuous of him.

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

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

You don’t even think you want to anymore.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His tongue softly grazes your knuckle as it works.

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

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

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

There.  There’s the drop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything except his face, you soon realize.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cum.

You lose.  Fair and square.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

You lose count.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, that’s it.  That is it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then you just start giggling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… to pull a bag of chips out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He has a nice voice, you think.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 320: Deku vs. Class 1-A

Previously on BnHA: Flashback!Kacchan was all “fuck Deku and fuck his stupid goodbye letters, I need to speak to somebody in charge.” Endeavor was all “hello, I am Somebody In Charge.” Kacchan was all “listen up asshole, you need to let us go out and collect our wayward nerd because you stupidly left him alone with All Might and that’s a fast track to disaster right there.” Endeavor was all, “[self-incriminating silence].” Rat Principal was all, “okay sure, have fun kids.” Back in the present, class 1-A was all “hi Deku” and Deku was all “I’M FINE!!!!!” and Kacchan was all “THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT YOU’D SAY YOU DUMB FUCKING NERD” and so the kids all got ready to fight, because OF COURSE they’re gonna fight. Sorry guys, but yeah it’s happening.

Today on BnHA: Kacchan is all “what’s up Deku you look like a possessed Rorschach test, so anyway how are the new quirks coming along.” Deku is all “they’re coming along like THIS” and uses Smokescreen to try and get away. Kacchan is all “PHASE ONE COMMENCE”, and Kouda, Sero, Jirou, and Ojiro leap into the fray to shower Deku with heaps of love and violence, because this is a shounen manga and kicking someone’s ass while simultaneously proclaiming your undying admiration for them is just how it’s done in these parts. The KoudaSeroOJirou squad then passes the baton to Satou, Momo, Tokoyami, Kaminari, and Shouji, who are all “fuck this mask” and do a bunch of stuff to tear Deku’s mask off because they’re the real heroes. Shouto is all “LOOK AT THE LITTLE CRYBABY, THAT’S RIGHT, GO AHEAD AND FUCKING CRY and by the way let us share your burden please,” and once again I swear this is all very deeply moving and touching within the actual context. The chapter ends with Tsuyu being all “look at me. I’m the cliffhanger now,” and damn.

lol what

I don’t think anyone was expecting that. I mean, not that I’ve got anything against Tsuyu or anything. anyways it’s a very nice cover and I love the colors and I hope this means Tsuyu’s gonna do something badass

also, “Deku vs Class A” -- pretty much the expected title, but it’s still got me hyped nonetheless fuck yeah let’s go

IIDA ANGST

Iida Tenya really said “fuck the uniform code, we’re leaving the helmet at home today.” sorry kids, prim and proper C-3PO Comic Relief Iida has left the building. can I interest you in some Serious Iida

meanwhile Kacchan is all “sup Deku, I heard you got a few more quirks, and might I just add that you look like the Snyder Cut of Detective Pikachu”

“you look like a tarred and feathered squid” okay easy there Kacchan. I mean it’s all true of course, but still

“thank you all for coming” OH EXCUSE ME SON, WERE YOU PLANNING ON GOING SOMEWHERE. LET’S JUST SEE HOW THAT PLAYS OUT

yep and there’s Smokescreen, right on cue

okay Horikoshi, I leave it in your hands. hopefully you can come up with some more interesting combos than my dumbass predictions lol

LOL THIS ISN’T A COMBO AT ALL

“explosions solve everything” -- Horikoshi Kouhei, 2021. something something shockwave, something something handwave ta-da no more smoke. lol okay then

oh, ouch

he would know, wouldn’t he. nice application of one of your many hard-earned life lessons, Kacchan

by the way you guys, just as an experiment, I’m going to try to anticipate some of the discourse this week in the hopes of preemptively addressing it and thus saving myself some time later on lol. so here’s our first test run!

ANTICIPATED DISCOURSE: “oh my god what a fucking hypocrite can you believe this fucking guy”

PREEMPTIVE REBUTTAL: it’s precisely because Kacchan has been in this exact situation himself that he’s able to recognize his past self in Deku now and call him out on it. just because it took him sixteen years to get it through his head that he can’t accomplish every single thing completely by himself doesn’t mean Deku has to go down that same path. so yeah, maybe it is a bit hypocritical, but if you insist that the only people qualified to call out stupid shit are people who have never done a single stupid thing in their own lives, then what you’re basically saying is that absolutely no one on earth is qualified lol. so yeah, I’d have to disagree

and one last unrelated note, I’m willing to bet the whole “you didn’t even say a word before you ran off” thing is possibly the first thing Kacchan’s said in this whole encounter that actually does stem from genuine hurt rather than his tough-love-harsh-truths strategy. I’M TAKING NOTES HERE HORIKOSHI. at this rate it’ll take twice as many chapters as DvK2 for them to hash out all the stuff between them, geez

anyway so I gotta say, so far Deku vs. Class A is looking an awful lot like a DvK3 wearing a hat, trenchcoat, and sunglasses lol

OH SHIT I TAKE IT BACK??

FUCK YEAH, YOU GO KOUDA. and I guess he ditched his mask as well! excellent

so far the strategy here seems to be “Kacchan says all the mean tough love shit while the rest of 1-A balances it out with warmth and kindness”, which actually works pretty well imo. Deku is one of those people that doesn’t usually need a Kacchan Translator anyway, but just in case, this is very efficient

mm but of course Deku is slingshotting himself away with Blackwhip. all right then, who’s up next!

FUCK YEAH

okay but seriously you guys, what is going on with Sero’s face in these last couple of chapters though, it’s really starting to unnerve me. is he trying to emulate Kacchan’s whole asymmetrical facial expressions thing?

in fact let me just quickly hit pause here because,

ANTICIPATED DISCOURSE: “SERO IS TOGA??!”

PREEMPTIVE REBUTTAL: no

oh snap looks like Jirou’s getting in on the action too!

poor Jirou probably spent days racking her brain trying to think of something she could bond with Deku over. is Horikoshi doing these in reverse order of the kids who have had the most interaction with him? that would explain why poor Kouda didn’t get a flashback lol

omg. well that answers that

so by my count, Satou and Hagakure are the only ones remaining in this first tier of kids who Still Appreciate Midoriya even though they’ve barely ever spoken two words to him in their lives lol. so they’ll probably be next, and then we’ll get to the next tier of kids who are pretty good friends with him but not quite besties. and then we’ll move on to the IidaRokiRaka trio, and then lastly, to the boy who is in a tier all his own

BUT FIRST, A WORD FROM OUR SPONSOR

and by “sponsor” I mean the Dekuangst. just in case that wasn’t clear. indeed, many thanks to the Dekuangst for making this all possible

(ETA: okay so this whole “take me away” line seemed pretty weird to me, and sure enough it’s yet another one of those cases where only the verb is specified, and the object is left to the reader’s interpretation. so even though the translation says “take me away”, I’m pretty sure that what Deku’s actually saying is “take you away” -- as in, his loved ones will be taken away by AFO.

and that is literally the way he phrases it, though -- the verb used is “奪う” (ubau), meaning “to snatch away; to dispossess; to steal.” which, god, that hurts my whole goddamn heart though, because for him to say it like that?? not “AFO will kill you”, but “AFO will take you away from me.” he can’t have nice things anymore because of AFO. he can’t be around the people he loves because AFO will hurt them. he can’t have happiness because AFO will take it away from him. anyway so where the fuck is AFO right now, motherfucker I just want to talk.)

by the way can Ojiro just extend his tail to whatever fucking length he wants or what because it’s like twelve feet long in this panel lol

WOOO FUCK YEAH TOKOYAMI

YOU LOVE TO SEE IT!! BUT WHERE’S YOUR FLASHBACK? YOU’VE HAD A BUNCH OF INTERACTIONS WITH HIM, THAT’S NOT FAIR

okay so now Satou’s stepping in which is back to my anticipated order, so maybe Toko will finish his little moment afterward

dskfjfkk

“REMEMBER THAT TIME DEKU BORROWED SATOU’S FOOD COLORING” Horikoshi says, sweating. “AND REMEMBER THAT TIME HE, UM, SMILED IN HAGAKURE’S GENERAL DIRECTION”

actually I am curious about what Hagakure’s part will be because, you know, the whole traitor thing lol

(ETA: funny how we just skipped right over it huh. can we get a traitor reveal countdown started here? definitely getting close to that time.)

whoa lol wtf

MOMO??? THIS HAS MOMO WRITTEN ALL OVER IT DAMMIT

-- SWEET MOTHER OF FUCK

“SORRY MIDORIYA-SAN, I LEFT MY FUCKING CHILL AT HOME IN THE LOCKER NEXT TO IIDA’S HELMET” holy shit lmao

and here I thought she’d get a flashback to her time on the Baku Rescue Squad or something. but nope, no flashbacks from Momo, only terrifying sci-fi torture devices

poor Dark Shadow is such a trooper omg

“why am I the only one who has to make prolonged contact with his smelly disgusting self” taking one for the team there DS

FUCK YEAH KAMINARI NO JUTSU

THE PRICKLY BASTARD WHISPERER STRIKES AGAIN!! don’t suppose you brought any clean clothes you could sneakily force him into huh Kami

okay here we go, so now Shouji and Tokoyami are joining forces

um excuse me this is fucking awesome

wonder how he’ll break free? don’t think he’ll reveal Fa Jin until the end of the chapter, so maybe Air Force or something? idk

TOKO GETS AN EXTENDED MOMENT BECAUSE HE IS A TIER TWO PATREON REWARD LEVEL FRIEND YAY

WHY IS MOMO MAKING THIS FACE LOL YOUR THING WAS WAY WORSE

and Shouji just casually hitting him with what is easily the best comment from anyone yet. too bad Deku’s just gonna ignore it. you deserve better Shouji

KAMINARI OMFG

it only just occurred to me that Kami is currently trapped inside Dark Shadow right along with him lmao omg. realest one in the entirety of BnHA, right here. we will never forget your sacrifice

aaaaaaand Deku’s yeeting himself

do you really hate the thought of taking a bath that much my dude

oh shit the mask!!

-- oh shit the feels

o(TヘTo)

fuck. and I mean, we knew he was crying, that was a done deal. but still, to see him in this much pain is just...

and the acknowledgement that he knows they’re worried about him, but that it doesn’t change his mind one bit. this, right here, is why they have to be a bit harsh with him, you guys. because they’re up against the full, unbridled stubbornness of Midoriya fucking Izuku, and if they don’t match that stubbornness with an equal stubbornness of their own, they basically don’t stand a chance

(ETA: quick note that there is apparently another mistranslation here -- rather than saying that his friends are oblivious to the danger, what Deku is actually saying is that none of his friends have activated his Danger Sense once throughout this entire fight. which I had been wondering about, and it turns out Horikoshi actually confirmed it. so basically none of the kids bears any ill intent toward him, and there’s literal proof right there.

incidentally, as @class1akids​ pointed out, this also casts an interesting light on this chapter in terms of who hasn’t fought Deku yet. not to play the Hagakure Traitor Music for the billionth time you guys, but I’M JUST SAYING lol.)

anyway, but the good news is that they all seem to understand that. and the even better news is that we have reached the tier 3 friends!!

“OR ELSE” lol, great to see Shouto wielding his friendship just as aggressively as Deku once did towards him. I do love a good role reversal

p.s., ANTICIPATED DISCOURSE: “why is Shouto being so cruel to Deku can’t he see how hard this is on him”

PREEMPTIVE REBUTTAL: this is a callback to the classic “even heroes cry when they have to” Shouto line from chapter 137. Shouto is clearly following Kacchan’s lead here and going for the more ruthless approach, knowing that the gentle approach isn’t getting through to him (if anything it’s only making him more stubborn as we saw on the previous page). basically it’s his way of pointing out that even heroes are still only human, and so is Deku last time he checked

ah okay, and there Tsuyu is at last

okay real talk, I get why Tsuyu is included in the tier 3 friends, because she was one of the first people to team up with Deku going all the way back to USJ. but that said, this probably would have had more impact if their most recent interaction hadn’t been like 150 chapters ago

but anyway though it’s still a good speech. maybe not quite a cliffhanger-level speech, but a good speech nonetheless. in a way though, I’m glad to see that Horikoshi seemingly didn’t give a fuck whether he ended this on an actual cliffhanger or not for once

and that “headed toward the climax” part has me excited too, ngl. because if we really are getting to the so-called climax this soon, that makes me even more certain that there is indeed a DvK3 in the forecast. so I presume that next week (or I guess two weeks from now) will be the tier 3s along with the remaining tier 2s like Kirishima and Aoyama

and then after that, well... [orange and green banners being hoisted] [sound of screeching airhorns and vuvuzelas in the distance] [sound of All Might approaching in his car which I didn’t notice until I looked back at this page a second time whoops] THE PROPHECY WILL NOT BE DENIED

[stardusttkachuk]

take it out on me

Pairing: Nolan Patrick x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: smut, Dom!Nolan, spanking, choking, daddy kink, use of the color system, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, mentions of bruises, fluff, Summary: Nolan comes home from a rough roadie. Y/N suggests he take it out on her like he’s done before, but things are a bit too rough this time and Nolan ends up hurting her, sending him into a panic and promising to do everything and anything to make it better.

Nolan had been having a bad week to begin with, hell a bad season at that. There was talk of him being benched for a game, as he wasn’t producing at all. His last goal came in a shootout, but otherwise, it’d been goose eggs for a while. He had already been moved to the fourth line and he was a mixture of anxious and angry as he left for the most recent roadie.

Losing 0-9, then 1-6 at the end really tipped him off. He came home fuming, disappointed in himself, upset with the team and the tension that was radiating through the locker room the entire time. And tired. The flight was rough. All he wanted was something to eat and then to go to bed.

He was harsh with the apartment door, slamming it upon entering, cussing at himself for slamming it, knowing you’d be on him later for it. He hadn’t even noticed you standing in the kitchen, watching him with pitiful eyes.

Of course, you knew about the season. You knew how he felt about his own performances and the teams as a whole. You knew how stressed out he’d been lately.

“Nolan?” you asked tentatively, watching as he leaned back against the door.

“What?” His voice was harsh, but you could hear the softness laced around it, trying to be calm around you.

“You know the last time you were stressed and...and you took it out on me? We can do that again if you want to.”

“Seriously?” he breathed, almost out of relief. “Baby if you’re down for it, I could really use that.”

You nodded and stepped closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and having to stand on your toes to meet his height. “I’m here, I want to.”

“You’ll say red if you need to, right?”

“You know I would,” you said, brushing your hand through his hair, disheveled from what you could only assume was the flight.

“Fuck,” he grunted, grabbing the backs of your thighs and lifting you up, you hooking your legs around his waist.

Nolan’s lips were on yours, blindly finding his way to the bedroom. He kicked the door closed, throwing you down onto the bed, a slight smirk crossing his features as you bounced, finding a comfortable position for yourself. He wasted no time undressing you, tossing the clothes carelessly to the floor.

“Nolan, oh fuck!” You moaned as his tongue lapped at your already soaked center.

“What was that?” He asked, hand colliding with your ass, hard. You whined at the feeling, the loss of him eating you out and now the stinging pain on your bottom.

“Nolan, please?” Your sentence died off as he spanked you again, flipping you over onto your stomach.

“What’s my name?” His question had your thighs shaking. He really must’ve had a bad week. Nolan was usually on the rough side most times, but when he got like this it meant something was really wrong.

“Daddy,” you moaned, gripping onto the pillow. He rolled you back over again, giving you a quick smile before delving back between your thighs. He was quick to lift your legs over his shoulders, gripping your thighs and mouthing at your clit.

“More,” you begged, grabbing his hair and pulling at the brown locks, eliciting a moan from him. He fucked you with his tongue, his thumb flicking your clit and sending you into your first orgasm.

“Fuck, baby. You taste so good,” Nolan hummed, using his shirt to wipe off his chin. Your cheeks reddened at the sight you’d never get used to.

“How many times do you think you can cum tonight, Y/N?” He asked, his middle finger entering you.

You hummed, holding onto his wrist as he fingered you.

“Answer my question,” he demanded, sending butterflies swarming in your stomach.

“F-Four,” you stuttered, and he smirked, adding a second finger and crooking them against your g-spot. You writhed on the bed, mouth hung open in an ‘o’ shape as he pumped his finger in and out of you, his thumb brushing your clit occasionally.

“You really think only four?” He chuckled, one hand now holding your hips down, his eyes focused on your pussy and what his hands were doing to you. “I bet I could get five.”

You moaned at his statement, trying to push your hips up, but failing as he held you down. It wasn’t long before the familiar warmth grew in your stomach, the sounds coming from your lips only urging Nolan to continue, barely even slowing when you released on his fingers. It was only when you began to squirm under his touch that he pulled his fingers out, wiping the excess on his pants.

He unbuttoned his dress shirt throwing it somewhere onto the floor to join your discarded clothing. Nolan laid down on his back, pulling you over his hips, his hard-on visible through the slacks he had on, pushing up against your core.

You raised up on your knees and undid the belt and button of his pants, sliding them, along with his boxer briefs off. Nolan kicked them off his ankles, before grabbing your hips and slamming you down on his cock, the two of you crying out together in pleasure.

“Ride me, baby girl,” he ordered and you rocked your hips against his, bouncing a few times, but it clearly wasn’t enough for Nolan. He began thrusting himself into you, his hands digging into your hips hard as he fucked you. It wouldn’t surprise you if tomorrow you’d find bruises where his fingertips had been.

Nolan’s hand trailed from your hip, up to your rib, stopping to tease your breast, thumbing over your nipple until you were whimpering, before finally coming to stop at the base of your throat. You slowed down for a second to register what was happening, but with one look from Nolan, you knew exactly what he wanted. His hand tightened around your neck and you leaned into it, letting him take control.

“Cum,” he growled, his lips turning upwards into a smile at your choked moan as you came on his cock.

He let go of your throat, checking in with you quickly. “Green,” you said. He didn’t give you long to recover, pushing you face down onto the bed, his hand gripping at your shoulders as he entered you again.

“Scream baby. Want the neighbors to hear you,” he spoke, using your shoulders for leverage as he slammed into you repeatedly.

“Oh my god,” you groaned.

“Who’s fucking you?” he asked.

“Nolan,” you moaned, your breath hitching when he thrust into you harder.

“Who?”

“Daddy!” you cried.

“Good girl,” Nolan grinned and pulled out of you. “On your back,” he grunted, roughly helping you flip over. You were starting to get tired, but nowhere near your end, still willing to be there for him. You could tell the anger was beginning to fade, but he was still in his role, not ready to give it up yet.

He slammed back into you and you arched up, screaming out his name as he pounded into you. His hand rested around your throat once more and you swallowed hard, catching his eye and nodding, a silent message that meant he could do it. His grip tightened, just slightly again at first, enough for you to feel it but not enough to hurt. You moaned, closing your eyes tightly.

Gradually, he tightened his hold around your throat. The harder he fucked you, the harder his grip became, much tighter than the first time. You watched the pleasure on his face as he chased his high but you realized he was no longer paying attention, or caring how hard he was choking you.

It was getting to be too much, your airway being cut off and the feeling of his fingers squeezing against your skin starting to cause pain. “Yellow,” you rasped, grabbing his arm to try to get him to back off. The pressure on your throat immediately faded and Nolan tore his hand away, his movements stilling as he met your eyes.

“Fuck. Y/N, are you okay?” He asked, cupping your cheek with one hand as he held himself up with the other. “Shit. I’m so sorry. You okay?” he questioned again.

You nodded, taking in a deep breath. “I’m okay,” you assured. “Keep going, please?”

Nolan kissed your forehead gently, his thumb caressing your cheek. “Are you sure? We can stop, baby, it’s okay.”

“I know. I want to. Want you to cum with me, okay?”

“Fuck. Yeah. Okay,” he nodded, his hips snapping to meet yours again. He leaned down, kissing your jaw. It was slow, no longer rough but still hard enough to bring you both to the edge and falling over it, cumming together. It was closer to making love than letting him fuck his anger out with you. Nolan spoke a few apologies in your ear, you assuring him again that you were okay as you carded your fingers through his hair and you both fell out of your roles.

You were still hurting though and Nolan could tell. He carefully lifted you from the bed, carrying you down to his bathroom and starting a hot bath. He helped you get cleaned up, trying not to stare at the redness that was present on your neck.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said once more and you frowned, leaning over the edge of the tub to kiss him.

“I’m okay, Nols. Are you?”

He nodded, taking a deep breath. “I feel better. Thank you.” He kissed your forehead, dipping his hand into the water and gently splashing it onto your back. “I love you. I needed that.”

“I know you did,” you giggled.

“You promise you’re okay?”

“Tired. But you didn’t hurt me, I promise I’m fine.”

He nodded again, finally taking your word. “Ready for bed?”

“Carry me?” you asked, lifting your arms up to him which made him chuckle. He helped you out of the bath, wrapping a towel around you as he sat you on the counter. He dried you off, being extra careful when it came to your hips and your neck, gently patting those areas dry.

You fell asleep quickly, underneath the warm sheets, and curled up against Nolan’s torso, your head on his chest with his fingers gently rubbing your back, the sound of his heartbeat a soothing lullaby in your ear.

--

Nolan’s stomach sank the next morning. He woke up before you did, his smile wide when you were still in the same position you had fallen asleep in, but his eyes drifted to your neck; the red spot that was there last night had now turned into a reddish-purple bruise and he couldn’t take his eyes off of it. He had done that to you. He hurt you.

He felt like he was going to throw up as panic set in, wondering how on earth he was going to make it up to you, how he was going to prove that he never meant to hurt you and that he would never hurt you. It was one thing for you to have bruises on your hips or thighs, but this was your neck, a place that everybody was going to see and those bruises were there because he got too carried away last night.

He slipped out of bed quietly, thankful that his movements hadn’t woken you up. It was still early and he knew you needed the sleep. It wasn’t worth it to wake you up, so instead, he left a note on the nightstand, dressing comfortably before leaving his apartment, skipping breakfast entirely as he drove to the nearest drugstore.

Nolan got a few stares as he stood in the makeup section, reading off labels and trying to decide which brand was the best brand when to him they all looked the same. He’d watched you do your makeup hundreds of times but none of this stuff looked like the same things you had.

Nolan settled on two different types of foundations that were two different brands, three concealers, a container of setting powder and a foundation that was in powder form and not liquid form like the other two. He also found a color correcting concealer, throwing that into his basket as well.

He chose to go through the self-checkout lane, still panicky from this morning and wanting to avoid any looks from one of the checkout ladies. They were older and he was sure they didn’t know who he was, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself in case they did know.

He really hoped to still find you asleep when he got home, but when the smell of coffee filled his nose as he stepped into the apartment, he knew you were awake and moving. “Baby?” he called, footsteps soft on the wood floor, the plastic bag rustling as he walked.

He found you in the bathroom wearing one of his shirts, stood in front of the mirror. He frowned, a sigh escaping his lips. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I-I didn’t mean to hurt you. You know I would never hurt you.”

“I know, Nolan. You didn’t hurt me.”

“But, I did. Fuck. You-You had to tell me to slow down, you’ve never had to do that before,” he worried, setting the bag on the bathroom counter.

“But you didn’t hurt me,” you reassured, resting your hands against his chest. “You backed off when I told you to. And you made sure that I was okay. If you had done something seriously wrong, you know I’d tell you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just… I love you so much and I didn’t mean to take it that far last night. Just with everything going on and I kept it all bottled up, I-I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, love. But I’m okay. Promise.” You kissed his cheek softly, letting him pull you into a tight hug and hold you for a little while. “What’s in the bag?” you spoke up, turning your head to look at him.

Nolan chuckled, pulling out the different makeup items he had bought. “Just in case you needed something to cover it up with. I didn’t really know what to get, so I got a few different brands and different types of products, hopefully, it works.”

You laughed, kissing him quickly. “Thank you, baby.”

“I can make breakfast. Any requests?”

You hummed, “Pancakes?”

“Comin’ right up.”

“Can we have breakfast in bed?”

“Of course. You finish up what you need to do in here and I will be right up with pancakes.” Nolan pulled you into another hug, resting his cheek on your shoulder, his lips gliding along your neck and jaw, making you giggle at the soft and tickling feeling.

“Hey Nol!” you called after him as he left, peeking your head out the bathroom door and catching him before he made it to the kitchen.

Nolan turned to you with a smile. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His smile widened. “I love you too.”

Tags: @merchantjjreply @blueeyedbesson @obxmxybxnk @thedemonsimpofcamphalfblood @brebear121 @stars-canucks @sidscrosbyy

[s1utspeare]

hohoHOOOOO whump time!!! if you’re feeling it I’m thinking “Walk then. Come on, walk towards me. I bet you can't even take a step” with pangsang (platonic romantic whatever dealer’s choice) bc they’re both so bitchy I can see either of them saying it lmao <33333

DINO YOU ARE!!! MY SOULMATE that's EXACTLY who i was thinking of for this prompt adhsligajldfkjsad. Anyway. This turned out a little sillier than expected, but enjoy the Them!!

Send me a prompt and some characters and I’ll write some whump!

"Walk then. Come on, walk towards me. I bet you can't even take a step."

So. They've been in worse situations before, although it's taking Pangzi a lot to think of any. It's taking him a lot to think of anything right now, that's how out of it he feels. He hates weird tomb dust. There's so much weird dust in tombs and usually it isn't even dust, it's like. Blood or dead tiny bugs or fucking poison or something, and then it gets in your eyes or on your skin and Xiao-ge has to make out with Tianzhen about it—no. No that's just normal activity. The tomb dust has nothing to do with that. Pangzi wonders if Xiao-ge will make out with him.

He won't, though, and Pangzi knows this because they're currently in a Tomb-Dust-Situation, and no one is making out with anyone. At least as far as he can tell. Tianzhen and Xiao-ge aren't in his direct line of sight anymore, so they could be making out somewhere where Pangzi can't see it, which is considerably inconsiderate.

The only person he can see right now is Liu Sang, who is currently scowling at his feet as though he's forgotten how they work. Which he probably has. He'll never admit it, but he was in front of Pangzi when the trap had gone off, which meant that his exposure to the stupid Dust was even greater than Pangzi's was.

He's still not entirely sure how it happened, but someone had set off a trap, which was either like a smoke bomb or something so old that it had crumbled into ash over the years, and he and Liu Sang had gotten lungfuls of it, while Tianzhen and Xiao-ge had been relatively safe from exposure. That's the only good thing, is that Tianzhen isn't in... whatever state they're in. As far as Pangzi can tell, the only thing the Dust is doing is making everything look very spinny and weird, and also making Liu Sang's hair pink.

He snorts, because Jinx would never dye his hair that color, and Liu Sang looks up at him in confusion.

"What?"

"Your hair," Pangzi says. "S'funny."

Liu Sang frowns. "Not."

"Is," Pangzi says, and because he's older, he knows he's right.

Liu Sang opens his mouth, but gets distracted by his own fingers. "Huh."

"Those're nice," Pangzi says, deciding that he should give Jinx a compliment, and his fingers are, admittedly, very nice. Pangzi thinks about his fingers a lot.

"Mm," Liu Sang says. He curls his hand into a fist, and then shrieks.

"What?!" Pangzi exclaims, trying to stand up so that he can protect Jinx from whatever it is that's scared him.

"They're gone!"

"What's gone?"

"My fingers," Liu Sang says miserably, staring down at his own hand. "They disappeared."

Pangzi blinks at him. Yeah, Jinx definitely swallowed more Dust than he did. "Open your hand."

It takes Liu Sang a minute, but he does eventually, and then gasps in delight. "Oh!"

"Told you," Pangzi mutters. wondering where Tianzhen and Xiao-ge have gone off to. He remembers them saying something about going to get backup, or supplies, or some shit, but that could be his brain making things up again. It wouldn't be the first time dust has caused that.

He catches Liu Sang staring at him quizzically. "Why are you looking at me?"

"Where're yours?" Liu Sang asks suspiciously.

"My what?"

"Yours," Liu Sang repeats, holding up his hand and wiggling his fingers.

"Oh," Pangzi says, and then has to do a great deal of looking around in order to find his own fingers, which turn out to be at the ends of his arms. "Right here."

Liu Sang nods, satisfied, and then turns to someone else. "Where're yours?"

"Who're you talking to?" Pangzi asks, squinting to Liu Sang's right, and suddenly sees a blob that morphs into Wu Xie. "Tianzhen!"

"Hi," Tianzhen says, looking amused, which Pangzi has no idea why that could be. The only funny thing is Jinx's hair, and they already went over that. "My fingers are here, Liu Sang." He holds out his hand, and Liu Sang takes it in his own, nodding very seriously at the presence of fingers.

"You know whose fingers are nice?" Pangzi says dreamily. "Xiao-ge."

"His fingers are nice," Tianzhen agrees, and Pangzi always knew he was smart.

Liu Sang, meanwhile, is glaring at him like Pangzi's eaten the last chocolate protein bar, which he has not. "Where'd you put him?" he demands, as if Pangzi has hidden his beloved ouxiang away somewhere.

"I didn't put him anywhere," Pangzi retorts. "Xiao-ge goes where he wants."

"Right now he's trying to disable the other traps," Tianzhen says cheerfully, which doesn't make Liu Sang look any happier.

As if on cue, Xiao-ge's voice floats down the tunnel towards them. "Wu Xie?"

"Coming!" Wu Xie says. "You two, don't move." He disappears down the corridor before Pangzi can tell him that he's never moved in his life, he's very good at not moving.

He's concentrating so hard on not moving that he almost doesn't notice when someone sniffles next to him, a watery breath escaping from them. He looks over to Liu Sang, who is staring at the space Wu Xie had once occupied, and seems to be trying very hard not to cry.

"What is it?" Pangzi asks.

"He's gone," Liu Sang says mournfully, one hand reaching out as if he's trying to touch a non-existant Wu Xie. "Where'd he go?"

"He went with Xiao-ge," Pangzi says, trying to be reassuring. "He'll be back."

That doesn't seem to cheer Liu Sang up at all. "Where'd he go?" he asks, more insistently this time, and a single tear rolls down his cheek, falling from his chin and making a little wet circle on his knee. His eyes are large and watery behind his glasses. "I don't want him to leave."

This is surprising, since all Liu Sang does is ask when the Iron Triangle is going to leave him alone, when he's going to get his life back, when he'll finally regain the peace and quiet he apparently hasn't had since they all fell under a beach together, but right now he's looking very worried that Wu Xie has suddenly gone away for good, and Pangzi knows that feeling.

The cure, as far as he's aware, is a hug, and since Tianzhen isn't here, Pangzi will have to make do. "C'mere," he says, opening his arms. "He'll be back soon."

Liu Sang wrinkles his nose. "I'm not hugging."

"You should," Pangzi insists.

"No."

"You're scared," Pangzi teases him. "You're scared of hugging Pang-ye."

"No," Liu Sang repeats, though he sounds more unsure of himself now.

"I bet you can't," Pangzi says, knowing that challenging him will make Liu Sang do whatever he can to prove him wrong. "I bet you can't come and give me a hug."

"I could if I wanted to," Liu Sang says haughtily, but Pangzi can sense the lack of confidence behind it.

"Mm," Pangzi says, "I don't think so. I don't think you could even walk over here if you wanted to."

"I could!" Liu Sang protests, his eyebrows furrowing in a way that's actually very cute, though Pangzi won't tell him that. Yet.

"Walk then," Pangzi says. "Come on, walk towards me. I bet you can't even take a step." His arms are still open, waiting, starting to feel a little stiff, but he's good at patience.

Liu Sang frowns at him, gauging the distance from his rock to Pangzi's, and then slowly, stutteringly, stands up, and puts one foot forward, then another. His eyebrows are stuck together in intense concentration, like they are when he maps out difficult tunnels.

The third step is the hardest, and Liu Sang wobbles, tipping forward. Luckily, three steps was all he needed, and so he just pitches forward into Pangzi's arms, his face smooshing against Pangzi's chest as he wraps him up tight, sighing in contentment at having a team member safe with him. Safe with Pang-ye. Yes.

"Good Jinx," he murmurs softly. "Nice, good Jinx."

"See?" Liu Sang says, muffled into Pangzi's shoulder, where he's not pulling away. "Told you I could do it."