#i dont really want to tag his name because the tags should be filled with information about the assaults

[edwinspaynes]

Gentle reminder to everyone that Dead Boy Detectives has virtually nothing to do with Neil Gaiman.

He has explicitly said that he has no claim to it and that it is Steve Yockey's show. Calling for its cancelation only hurts Yockey, Schwartz, the wonderful and talented actors who've worked on it, and LGBT+ fans who are excited to finally see stories made for queer people play out onscreen.

Neil Gaiman sucks, yes, and his victims should be heard. But he's not ours, he never was ours, and I think everyone needs to remember that.

Edit: here's a Twitter thread with a more thorough breakdown:

[livinggxd3adgirl]

synopsis— this is a part 2 of “what’s that supposed to mean?”

a/n— I did not expect so many people to like the first part and want a 2nd part .I thought it was going to going to flop. But thank you guys sm! As always there may be errors so pls forgive me. Likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated!

It had been about 2 weeks since you left gojo. You had been staying at his best friends, geto’s house. You were wearing getos clothes nice all of your was at your apartment that gojo is currently living in. Gojo had called you a few times, but you never answered. You weren’t sure what he wanted with you, but frankly, you didn't care what he had to say. You sat on the sugurus couch. The house filled with silence. All you could hear was the sound of your beating heart. Your mind ran through what happened that night over and over again until you couldn't even remember your own name.

you were snapped out of your thoughts about gojo when you heard the door click open and getos soft voice. "Hey .. im back, I brought us some food. " Geto had been trying to comfort you with all your favorite foods and just be by your side during this hard time.

"Thanks, suguru.. really, " you gave him a weak smile. Suguru set down his keys before he set the bag of food down on the coffee table in front of you.

"Listen.. I know that you're still heart broken about gojo and all, but he's coming here later. He said he wanted to talk to me about something. " he sounded reluctant to tell you that Gojo was coming and for good reason.

You nod your head as he spoke. He sucked in a deep breath before you spoke. Your throat was itchy because of all the crying you have been doing for the past 2 weeks. "I understand geto, ill leave after I eat." Your weak smile pulled at Geto's heart strings. He truly couldn't reason why he even let you stay so long. Geto felt bad for you, of course, but there was something else he felt for you, but he just couldn't understand what it was.

Before geto could stop himself, he quickly spoke, "You dont have to leave, sweetheart..." he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. "You can stay in my bedroom while he's here. I can't fathom letting that idiot drive you out of here, too. " You finally let out a real smile as you sniffle. For the first time in 2 weeks, you felt like you finally had someone that was on your side.

"Should we eat?" You ask whike smiling. Geto, let's go of your hand as he starts working the bag open.

2 HOURS LATER

You and geto had eaten and watched movies for a while before gojo texted suguru he was in his way. "Stay here, sweetheart. I'll come get you myself, " Geto reassured you as he gave your shoulder a soft squeeze.

"I'll be here waiting.. and geto thank you, really I'm very grateful for everything you have done for me. " Geto couldn't fathom how stupid Gojo was for letting someone like you out of his sight. God, if you were his, he would never let you leave his apartment.

Sugurus train of thought was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing. He quickly said his goodbyes and answered his front door.

You sat on Getos bed and stared at the closed bedroom door. The mere thought of gojo being just a few feet away from you made you want to throw up. As time passed, it felt like hours, but in reality, it had only been a few minutes.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard gojo and getos' voice gradually get closer and closer to the door. You can hear geto say "cmon dude don't go in there really just go wait in the living room ill get it for you".

Before Geto could even stop him, Gojo flung the door open. His eyes immediately widen as he sees you sitting comfortably on Sugurus bed.

"what the fuck are you doing here?"

edit!: prt 3

tags!! @ourfinalisation @96jnie @qashmer @sugurugirlie @gollumsmygel @ritzes28

[iid-smile]

can't get rid of me , fushiguro toji series

| overview |

never date a criminal for the thrill, especially a cheating bum like him. you've forgiven toji one too many times, so many red flags you didn't see, like him stealing your surname and divorcing you right after. the birth of your son, megumi, was the last straw, except he was the one that left you. he's a liar, a cheater, a deadbeat, a misogynist... there's so much more you want to say. did you still cry? yes. did it still break you? yes. six years passed, and somewhere in that time, you saw on the news that he got caught. good for him. but not good for you, because once that prison got a hold of your house number, and then your mobile phone number, they were calling you nonstop. apparently, said cheating bum misses you. really misses you.

| content warning |

cheating, profanity, smoking, crime, mentions of murder and violence, pregnancy, angst, suggestive themes once or twice (no smut!), toxic ex toji, toji honestly just wants some love, nothing that's too off from what happened in the manga/anime except you're "mamaguro" (dont wanna get mixed up with surnames), and his ways of living never changed for the better, may or may not get fluffy as this progresses, nothing violence/crime related is explicitly described

| main cast |

fushiguro toji, fushiguro megumi, kong shiu

feel free to hide this tag — #cgrom ୨ৎ — if you wanna hide this!

prologue: before the storm

you're desperate. seeing the only man you've loved in your life walking away from you was making you desperate. you try you best to keep up with his long strides, attempting to grab at his shirt, only to be just out of reach. "toji—"

"i already told you, whatever's in your stomach, it's not mine." that hurt, those words. it hurts each time he says them.

you speed up and get in front him, to block him away from the only exit. "i haven't been with anyone but you!" you plead. useless, really. "you can't just stand here at tell me it's not yours, toji. this is our son!"

"your son now. you should stay away if you know what's good for you." with ease, he pushes past you, his deep voice rumbling through your veins and making you... dizzy. are you this attached to the point it's driving your body insane? "got too much debt to pay for another needy clone like you."

the one time he willingly turns to you, is when he drops the keys, your keys, on the floor. "keep the place, though it's under your name anyways." and he has the audacity to laugh in your face. indeed it is under your name, because this guy who actually has a "job" refuses to pay for shit, living around for free.

the door slams shut.

you don't doubt he was sleeping elsewhere most nights. who knows who that guy was messing with? now you've only got yourself to deal with... and a plus one.

table of contents

i. a strong legacy to be left behind

you've been muting your phone over and over again the entire week, and it's stressing you out. what's worse is bills are due in a weeks time, you haven't eaten in ages, megumi's elementary school is putting pressure on you, and you're running out of your beloved cigarettes. how many times will you have to come clean to your six year old son to try and make him understand?

ii. sent straight from... hell, with a cigarette in hand

you snuck out at night. you're desperate with any sort of relief, but being a "good" mother comes at its cost. coincidentally, your lighter went out just before your cigarette could light. lucky. as if it was meant to— or orchestrated to happen, there's a man next to you that just so happens to have a light. talking to strangers isn't so risky... or that's what you think, at least.

iii. shopping spree with a stranger's card

talking to strangers really isn't risky! especially when they're loaded with money. not a single time did you have the temptation to fill your carts with the finest luxury, or items that have been on your wishlist for ages. no, not at all. all you asked for was some help with your bills, and to let megumi get whatever he wants.

iv. a jealous ex

not this bum again... it's been six years, why can't he get over you? to your dismay, his personality has become ten times more potent, which means ten times more snarky, sarcastic and smart-mouthed, and ten times more that you're this close to wanting to rip your ears out. just this once, you'll hear him out. no way he still thinks you'll take him back in a heartbeat; he knows you're not that dumb.

v. ???

tba...

[bratphilia]

please don't try to find me through my dealer

summary: Mr. Raglan is your drug dealer.

note: fksjshd dont ask me how or why i came up with this it just happened

pairing: steve raglan / william afton x reader

tags: slightly dubcon, drugged sex, rough oral sex, implied overdose

your head is in your hands and your leg is bouncing up and down rapidly as you wait for your name to be called by the receptionist. instead, a familiar voice calls your name. you lift your head to meet the eyes of the man you're really here to see.

mr. raglan lifts his head a bit when he looks at you. then he beckons you to follow him. he leads you to his office, and you stand in the doorway expectantly. he's rummaging through a drawer in the far right corner of his office. it's a big drawer, one that clatters everytime he moves something inside. you move closer with curiosity, but before you can take a look, he shuts it, clearly finding what he was looking for.

there's a bottle of pills in his hand. it's different because you've never seen the bottles they've come from, never knew if it was from off the streets or prescription. this filled you with a feeling of relief knowing you were, at the very least, being safe. but right now, mr. raglan's fingers were conveinently covering the label of the bottle. it made you gulp.

"what is that?" you ask.

mr. raglan smiles kindly. "something to make you feel better." then he moves to a drawer on his desk and retrieves a pill cutter. "you'll have to be careful with this, one whole tablet will have you..." he emphasizes with a low whistle.

if you were sitting, your leg would bouncing out of control. but even worse, you're just standing there, like you're paralyzed. you feel like he's hiding the name of the substance on purpose, and you feel a bubbly kind of nervousness, but strangely enough, excitement.

"okay," you say ultimately.

he walks over to you. "open your mouth."

you don't quite understand the point of basically feeding it to you, but it doesn't really matter to you. the most important thing is that he's close to you, in your proximity.

you do what he says and open your mouth. he drops half of the pill on your tongue. you keep your mouth open, feeling a little dumb, and he swifting grabs a bottle of water laying on his desk for you.

and then you swallow. "thanks."

"any time."

a silence fills the room. usually you would just leave without saying anything. your relationship with him is nothing but transactional. but you stand there like you're waiting for something. he doesn't say anything either. should you make a move?

you decide to do so. "thanks... for always having my best interest." it comes out in a mumble and it's times like this where you wish you had his charisma, the ultimate power to always know what to say.

mr. raglan doesn't say anything. instead, he grips your face by the cheeks and pulls you so your heads are inches away from each other. your heartbeat quickens and you feel more nervous than when you took an unidentified pill just a minute ago.

then he kisses you. it's hungry. he's the one doing all the work. moving against your mouth, tongue swiping your bottom lip to ask for entrance, which you hesitantly give him. is this what you want? you're struck with the realization that you (probably) have been wanting this for awhile.

mr. raglan moans into the kiss. his hands wander from its grasp on your face to your waist to pull you impossibly closer. kissing william afton is an experience you've never felt before. you've kissed guys in high school, one in college so far, but it was immature and inexperienced in comparison to this.

he moves his mouth against yours and you try your best to mimic his movements. you realize that you're the one that's immature and inexperienced.

he breaks away from the kiss and stares at you. his lips are wet and plump from the action. it's undeniably beautiful, to you. he pulls you close to him and wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on top of your head. "you are so precious to me."

you could cry. this is everything you ever wanted and more.

"close the door and lock it," he says with a much different tone, one that you can't describe, letting go of you sooner than you wish he would've.

on shaky legs, you reach out for the door handle and lock it like he asked. you bite your lip nervously, afraid to look back at him. you don't even have to because, before you know it, he manuevers you to face him and his lips are on yours again. when you both pull away from each other for air, you get a good look at his face. his face is flushed, he's panting and his pupils are blown wide. he reminds you of a hungry animal circling in on its prey.

"sit on the desk," he tells you, with that commanding voice of his. he could tell you to jump off a cliff and you would do it. you do what he says gingerly, clasping your hands in your lap and fidgeting with your fingers.

mr. raglan stalks over to you like he's on the prowl. he places both arms on the desk so that they encage your legs. "do you have any idea what you do to me?"

your eyebrows furrow. "i don't know what you mean."

he chuckles darkly. "always walking in here, confiding in me like i'm some kind of therapist. most of my clients don't really do that sort of thing, you know. but you feel the need to justify yourself every time you come back here, like you're not an addict like the rest of them."

tears stung in your eyes. you can't find the words to defend yourself or even retort, because deep down, he's right. and it hurts.

to add insult to injury, he keeps going. "and you always walk in here dressed like an absolute slut. with your short skirts and your shirts that leave nothing to the imagination."

a tear rolls down your cheek. you did notice some wandering glances and prolonged touches, but you never expected it to escalate to this point.

"i-i'm sorry if i made you uncomfortable," you feel the need to apologize.

mr. raglan smiles wolfishly, but doesn't respond. instead he reaches out for your the hem of your shirt and tugs on it expectantly. you hesitantly take his cue to take it off, leaving you bare chested — you felt lazy this morning and skipped the bra.

"see what i mean?" he says, fingers reaching pinch your nipples, causing you to cry out desperately. "absolutely nothing is left to the imagination."

you feel hurt. slutshamed to be exact. but you can't deny that his touch was welcomed.

"you like that, huh," he says, laughing lowly. you can only respond with a small "mhm."

his hands slide down to your waist. "lay back for me, yeah?" his desk surprisingly lengthy that you can rest your head with it still touching the surface. he lifted your legs and folded them in half causing your skirt to ride up to your wait, exposing your panties to him. your face burned at the lewd position he put you in.

mr. raglan lowers himself to his knees so that he's kneeling right in front of your pussy. your face flushes at the thought of your choice of underwear today: white with a small, pink bow on the front. you wish you wore something sexier, but he seems to like it. "cute pair," he comments.

he doesn't take them off like you expect him to, but instead he grasps around the center and pulls the fabric to the side with force, exposing your mound to him. you let out a flurry of whimpers when he blows air on your clit. "you like that, baby?" he asks and you nod.

"answer me," his tone changes and it's much more forceful. "answer me and i'll give you what you want."

"yes... yes i love it," you gasp out desperately.

he rewards you by smacking a kiss onto your clit, making you moan out. he starts licking in circles around the sensitive nub, teasing you until you can feel yourself pulsating uncontrollably.

then he stops.

he guides one of your hands to your pussy, specifically the hood. "pull this back for me."

you whimper nervously again at the implication. doing what he says, you pull the hood protecting your clit back, and expose it to him. immediately, he assaults the sensitive area with his mouth, making you squirm and writhe.

the most pornographic moans you've ever made tumble from your mouth he absolutely ravages you. he's moaning and grunting into  you, only egging you on even more.

"fuck!" you cry, at a slow swipe of his mouth. "fuck, i'm so close — god." your thighs start shaking but he quickly halts them by tightly gripping them with large hands. when you come it feels like a rubber band snapping. you give one last, drawn out cry.

he pulls away from your sensitive pussy and stands to his full height. he does pump a finger inside of you, only to retreat it quickly, and brings it to his lips for a taste of you.

"so good for me, honey," mr. raglan says with a grin, running a hand gently up and down your thighs.

you don't realize it at first but you're sobbing quietly and tears are running down your face. "please," you say quietly. "please fuck me."

he laughs at you like you said something funny. "not yet."

"what.." you say, but an overwhelming feeling hits you before you can finish your sentence. you feel like you've been put on mute. you start to feel lightheaded. your legs relax so that they dangle over the desk. you feel like every muscle and limb inside of you has gone limp. it's a scary feeling, to be awake while you're whole body is asleep.

and then you lose consciousness. the fucking pill.

[yuyu1024]

Take a chance

Pairings: Seonghwa × y/n & Wooyoung [ex bf]

Genre/tags: fake relationship to real??

Warning: cursing, smoking/drinking, cheating (pls dont do this), insecurities, jealousy, with 🔞 smut/angst, sensual touching, dry humping, cursing, pet names, unprotected sex, blowjob/handjob, mention of period

~~~ [lmk if i miss anything]

Words: 4.6k

Disclaimer:

- this story is just made up

- english is not my first language, please be nice 😊

Note: Part 2 for Jealous

I hope its good enough for the first part 🙏🏻  its sort of rushed at the end coz i finished it so late 😅 and as usual, I do write when I'm about to pass out, to sleep.

Again, thank you for those liking my short fics 🫶🏻

***

"Unnngghhhh... aahhhh...s- so good!"

Fucking hell. What am I doing? Why am I here again? At his place, panties off and riding him like my rent is due tomorrow. What the fuck happened to me? I'm not like this... I'm...

"Fuck!" I cry as I intertwined both my hands with his. "I'm... about to... explode." I am catching my breathe.

"Let it go..." he answers and then pulling you down just enough so he could kiss you on your pinkish lips. "Come for me..." he snarls as you separate.

And I did.

I threw my head back and just released everything. I even think my soul left my body coz I am shaking like a twig.

"You are amazing..." Seonghwa sits up and embraces me. "You are beautiful..." he leaves gentle kisses on my shoulder and my neck. "You are happiness..."

His words. Since we agreed with this fake dating thing. I thought, everything will be just like the same as our relationship before. Casual. But the more we spend time together or should I say, have sex in his place or mine the more he became vocal, praising me, saying such nice things to me. I don't know why but I'm not used to it. Or maybe, I'm flustered every time and I can't just express it.

I'm not saying it's a bad thing but... it's just new to me. Wooyoung compliments me yes, however, when Seonghwa does it. It feels different. It makes my heart skip a beat.

"I make you happy?" I snort a laugh as I relax my tense body. "Are you saying that because your dick is still in me and you want to go another round?" I joke

He smiles softly, "No..." and then he tugs my loose hair behind my ear. "Unless you want to..." and then kisses the corner of my lips.

"Really?" I start to tease him by moving my hips again.

He grunts as he felt my tightness and then softly giggles, "you're being naughty..."

He turns us both around. Now he's on top and my back is on his bed. I am giggling like a little girl, enjoying his reaction.

"Let me show you... why you should not tease me like that..."

He goes on to nibble every inch of my skin. Making me moan like we didn't just had an amazing sex a second ago.

Seonghwa really does a very good job at making me weak and fold in an instant. His lips, his tongue, his eyes, his words and his.... length. Everything about him had become my krytonite but at the same time fills my emptiness inside of me. Both metaphorically and literally.

Though, all of this is fun and satisfying. Our relationahip is NOT true. This is all fake. We are not IN LOVE.

Which pains me a little deep inside actually. How the fuck this have to happen to me? Finding someone that is making me happy, enjoy life, makes me feel like his only girl in the world and gives effort to get to know me turns out to be someone who is just a friend, a nice friend, that I cannot make myself fall in love witu.

I need to pause on this feelings I am having. I need to focus on me and not us. Coz there is no US.

FUCK.

***

I must've fallen asleep after having another round.

I'm still lying on his bed, face down and his white thick blanket is wrapped around me.

"It's snowing..." I mumble as I blink away the sleepiness in my eyes whilst looking outside his window. "It's been that long..." Referring to our deal.

Didn't realize that we've been doing this for more than half a year already.

I roll over looking up at his ceiling. "I've been fucking him...that long...?" I ask myself. "Hmm..."

Then my phone pings, cutting me from my deep thoughts. I get up, covering my bare top with the blanket, and check who messaged me.

WY: It's snowing. Don't forget to bring a jacket and a scarf. ♥️

I heavily sighed after reading his text. I don't get him. Him, pushing and pulling my feelings is getting on my nerves.

A month into my deal with Seonghwa, I thought, well, he made me think that he still have feelings with me. After getting jealous and all with hwa. Then after that he became cold with me again and flaunts his new girl, face to face. Then he continued sending me text messages like this, whenever he wants. Like, what? He dumped me right? And he's with a girl so... why?

And also, why does it bother me? I should be happy right? Since all of these acting is affecting the guy who just dated me just because. I am getting to him.

"Everything alright?"

Holy crap. He looks devine coming out of his bathroom; topless, freshly showered. His pants is just hanging perfectly around his hips and the band of his underwear is slightly showing. And his hair... its longer now.

Fuck! Y/N get a grip! Stop drooling!

I look away, acting fine as if his presence does not affect me. Even though my stomach is already twisitng.

"Yeah..." I answer then locking my phone and putting it back on the bedside table.

He pauses drying his hair and lays the towel around his neck. "Is it Wooyoung?"

I nod.

"He's been texting you frequent."

"Yeah... he does..." I lower my gaze on my hands.

"How do you feel?"

Nothing. Yes I am irritated but that's just me not liking him sending me mix signals. That's only it.

Before I speak, I look back up at Seonghwa. I want to guess what he's thinking. I want to know what he feels about me. Because while fucking, all I could see through his eyes is that he wants me and that he can't let me go.

Maybe I'm just overthinking about lust over love. I'm sure I'm not his type. I've seen the girls he had dated before, they are way, way up there. While me, I'm just an ordinary girl. I cannot be labelled as pretty nor beautiful.

Yeah he does say I am but his dick is literally inside of me whenever he does or when we are cuddling and making out.

Damn. Wait. Am I really into him? Stop! I should not go there. No. Or esle, I'll get myself hurt again.

"Ahm..." I look away from him. "Fine I guess..." then I scoot over to get to the edge of the bed, to make my way to the shower. "I'll get ready too..." I try to act as normal as I can. Smiling even then handing him the blanket that's covering my whole body and then walk pass him.

***

I really can't focus in my classes. My over analyzing have been affecting me for these past two weeks and it sucks. My life was so dull not until Seonghwa happened. I get excited going to Uni or if not I get exciting meeting after class and getting back to our places together. Now, I am ruining it.

Maybe I should just chill and enjoy this. And just be prepared for all the heart break and crying later.

"Hi!" Wooyoung appears out of nowhere, kissing me on the cheek.

"What the fuck?" I hiss at him.

I have to be quiet. We are at the library.

"What?" He acts innocent.

I roll my eyes at him and go back to reading my notes. "Go away..."

"Why are you being so cold to me? We're friends."

I glare at him. "We were. Then you made me your girlfriend and then dumped me..."

"But you've moved on right?"

My eyebrows shows my irritation. "What do you want, Wooyoung?"

He smirks and then shrugs. "Nothing... I swear"

"Don't. I know you." I snap at him

He smiles, "Fine." and then proceeds on sitting next to me. "You and Seonghwa... what's the deal?" His tone changes. "Are you two dating?"

"Why do you care?"

"Well because... Seonghwa--"

"If you're going to tell me something bad about him... stop okay? Don't make shit up just because you don't like seeing me hanging around him more." I am in no mood today. Plus I'm on my period.

"Y/N..."

I sigh as I start to pack my things. "Whatever him and I have... or do... it's none of your business... you two are friends and I am your ex... that's it. If we don't tell you things about us... it's on us... because it is our privacy." I slide my bag over my shoulder, "also... if you are really his friend... don't text his girl. Have decency."

I walk away.

Wow. That felt good. I don't know why. Sorry Wooyoung... I know you are not a bad person. You are just... off every now and then when it comes to things you think you own. And You don't own me. Not anymore.

****

<Seonghwa's POV from the morning of the firt snow>

I got up from my bed to answer the door. I have to admit, I am a little grumpy because I don't like waking up early especially if my class is in the afternoon. But then,

"Hi..."

I think I blinked more than ten times before I could process the fact that, Y/N, is standing at my door, this early in the morning.

"Hi..." I answer back as I brush my hair away from my face.

"Sorry to bother you... this early... but I just want to check if I left my books here last week?" She asks scratching her head. "I can't find it at my place. And I already asked my classmates if they borrowed them..." she trails

She's blushing.

I want to pull her in right now. I want to... I want to grab her by the waist and give her a kiss. I want her... now. If only she's my girl.

"You want to come in?" I ask, "I mean... to look?"

When she smiles, her cheeks are reaching the heavens. She's so beautiful.

She enters my place like she's destined to be here. I know I just recently moved dorm but looking at her, knowing where to look and places that she could touch is so amusing to me.

"Sorry..." she says as she accidentally knocks my perfume on top of the drawer next to the TV.

"It's okay." I say as I sit at my sofa, just admiring her.

"This smells good." She says after sniffing it and then brings it with her and places it at my vanity area. Where all of my accessories and perfumes are placed. "Boujee..." she comments

"Look who's talking... buying an expensive shoes last week just to wear one time." I tease

Her mouth opens. "Hey! That's not my fault. I was in the rush. It's the shoes that fits my dress for the fancy celebration my friend had for her birthday..."

"Whatever you say, babe." I say standing up. "I'm going to make coffee... would you like one?"

"Sure." She rolls her eyes and then goes back to searching, going straight to my room. "Found it!"

What a bummer. She found it to quickly.

"I didn't even noticed that in my room." I say as I pull out two mugs from my cabinet.

"How can you see anything in your room? It's so dark in there..." she makes her way out of my room and then goes to the kitchen area where I am. "Open the curtains every now and then..." she adds

"I do open them...." I pause waiting for her eyes to meet mine. "When you're here..."

She laughs, "you mean... when we have sex?"

I shrug. "Well..." I move closer to her and kisses her on top of her head. "We don't usually just fuck. We cuddle too..."

"Right... cuddling that ends up with sex."

I've been noticing that these past few days she has been very vocal about us having sex. Like what we have is just sex.

She's not like this. I wonder what's going on with her mind?

Whenever we are together, we don't just do sex. No. I'm not like that. Though of course, My body feels like burning whenever we are close and intimate, when we are alone. But when we hang out, we just... hang out. We do watch movies, go on lunch dates, play games, do study dates and whatever we can do. I am not going out with her just because we fuck. I like her more than that.

Which sucks because, yes, I do like her. I... really... really like her. But our situation, our fake dating, well, I don't know where this thing ends. And if she decides to end it, what will happen to me. I don't want it to end.

I wonder, if she's acting like this because she wants us to be over and she's just being kind to me and not wanting me to get hurt. Is she waiting for me to say it? To end... us?

"Seonghwa...?"

"Hmm?"

"You okay? You didn't answer me..."

"Sorry... I am..." I lightly shake my head, "I think I'm still half asleep..."

"Oh. Right." She suddenly panicks. "Sorry for bothering you... I'll get going then... so you can go back to sleep."

She's smiling while telling me that I could go back to sleep. To rest well. Believe me I want to but to see her go after blessing me her presence this early in the morning, No. I can't let her leave, just yet.

"Wait."

She looks back, waiting for me to say a word.

"Ahm..." I have no excuse to make her stay. But then..

"Do you need company?"

Yes. I do. Only you.

She smiles again. "Then I'll go sit here and study then... since its as quiet as our library in Uni." She says as she sits up back at the the bar stool. "Can I have my coffee please?"

I'm relieved. "Yes... coffee coming."

I'm not like this. Usually. Or as far as I know.

I've dated a few girls before. Some were serious some were not. And to those serious relationships I had, none of them felt the same as this. None of them made me feel like this.

All the girl were great, I'm not saying they were not special. They are all nice and perfect the way they are. All of them are great memories for me. However, none of them made me crave for attention nor time on a level that y/n makes me. That even just a glance from her is enough to fuel my day. I feel addicted to her. Y/N made me feel... different.

It is so hard to explain or to put words into it. I just feel it.

"Are you really going to watch me study? You've been sitting there for half an hour now..."

"I can't leave you alone..."

She snorts a laugh. "Silly. Don't mind me. Just go to bed and sleep..."

"I can't..."

She scrunches her nose, "why? Are you expecting me to join you and lay down?" She says giggling

I know she's just teasing. But... what if I take a chance and she agrees?

"Yes." I bluntly answered, looking straight into her eyes.

"Hmm?"

"You heard me." I keep gazing at her, waiting for her answer

"Wait... are you serious?"

I nod.

She is silent for a couple minutes. That two fucking minutes felt like forever.

"If I cuddle with you... you will sleep?" She asks

I can't help it. The corner of my lips immediately curves are smile.

"Okay then."

I got on my bed first before her. She tiptoes whenever she enters my room, because as she said, it's dark. But before I got on the bed, I slightly opened my curtain to allow a bit of light enter so she can see her way.

"Your bed feels so cozy." She says as she positions next to me.

"It's cozier... because I have you." I mumble as I nuzzle my face on her chest and snake my arms around her. Basically cuddling her.

I hear her smile the second I close my eyes.

"You smell so nice..." I whisper

"You too..."

I could feel her soft skin on my cheek. She's wearing a square neck tight shirt which I do not approve since the weather right now is cold and she's only wearing a skirt as well. I should give her a long and thick jacket later, to bring to Uni.

I don't want guy to drool over her.

***

After some time, I think I actually fell asleep. It felt good.

I don't remember what I said or she said after I told her she smell nice. Then probably an hour later, I open my eyes and its brighter. The sun is really up. It is probably noon.

I am facing the ceiling and dazed, thinking she might have left the bed or my place in general. However, to my surprise, I felt movement beside me.

She's still here!

"Can I stay a bit more...?" She mumbles and then squeezes herself to me. "It's so warm in here.."

Of course you can stay here. As long as you want.

I embrace her, sheltering her under my arms. I can see her up close and I could feel her body on me. I am not just warming her up under this thick blanket but she's also warming me, inside.

Fuck. I hope she can't feel my erection coz I can't control my body's reaction to her.

Her cleavage is straight into my eyesight. Y/N you're driving me mad.

"Y/N..."

"hmm...?" She answer while her eyes are still close

"Can I kiss you?"

She slowly opens her eyes and looks up at me. "Of course..." she weakly answers

And I did kiss her. Until the kiss evolved to something more. We made love. She was in control. She made me fall in love with her, even more than I think I am now.

Yes I have to admit it now. I think I do love Y/N. She is not just a fuck buddy I have because I am helping her, for me, she is and can be more than that.

I hope, she feels the same way.

Because, after sex, I got ready for Uni. And when I got out of the bathroom, I saw her reading a text. I know it's from Wooyoung.

Basing on her expression, I'm not sure what does she feel. She looks irritated but also confused. Is she having second thoughts about this revenge we are doing to Wooyoung?

(End of Seonghwa's POV)

***

I am walking out of the library building, about to go to my next class, when I saw Seonghwa from afar. He's with his classmate. Probably going to his next class as well.

So funny, how cold and how serious he looks when he's in public. But whenever you two are at his place, he's so relaxed and smiling most of the time. He's not cold at all. Actually, he's very warm and very...

"Hey..." Wooyoung followed me outside. "Sorry..." he says. "I don't want to be a jerk but..."

"Woo, you're girlfiend might see us. Please... I don't want issues. Let's move on already..."

"Have you?" He is frowning

"Have I what?"

"Moved on?"

I roll my eyes, frustrated. "I am moving on... I am doing my best."

Wooyoung is quiet for a few seconds. "But... Y/N... well... she's not actually my girlfriend."

"What? What do you mean?"

"It didn't work out."

"Ahm... okay... so...?"

He sighs. "Y/N... I am single again."

"So?" I repeat in case he didn't heard me the first time I showed him IDGAF. He looks disappointed with my answer. "Are you fucking expecting me to clap and celebrate? Wooyoung... we are over... and I am not running after you just because you are single."

"But I want us to try again."

"Are you out of your mind?" He makes me laugh. "No. We are over. We can only be civil... because we have common friends. That's it."

I was about to walk away again but then he grabs me by the wrist. "You're making me jealous.. pretending to be with Seonghwa... my friend... and now you're rejecting me?" He looks very lost and very stupid right now. "Y/N, I know I've hurt you... but... it was a mistake... and being away from you..."

"So, you are saying... you, getting bored of me... basically not giving shit about me... then goes to dumping me date someone younger...the one who is more of your type. Is a mistake?? Wooyoung...  I'm not stupid. You all did that on purpose. You decided to do all that... on your own... it's not like an error that you just forget to turn of your stove at home when you left your house. I am a human. With feelings okay?"

"I'm sorry..." he can't deny all of the things I said.

"Wooyoung... you were my friend before we became a couple... that should atleast made you think before you chose to hurt my feelings. Lie to me. Cheat on me." I am really on my feels right now since my hormones is at its peak. "You should've not made me like you... if you think your feelings were not certain... it could've save us time and effort. My time... and effort..." I pointed out.

"I'm sorry... again...."

"If you are really sorry... please... move on... and don't get into another relationship just because you feel like you need someone to be with. You should be better than that."

I turn my back on him, walking away when I see Seonghwa and his friends approaching. I'm sure they didn't heard what Woo and I are talking. I tried my best to be discreet.

"Hey..." Seonghwa lightly touches my forearm, "Are you okay?" He softly asks then glares at Wooyoung who's looking at us. "What did he do?"

"Nothing..." you try to smile. "I have class..." You lie. "See you later."

I've never walked so fast in my life than today. I am having trouble breathing. My feelings are all over the place. I need peace and quiet. Also fresh air.

Even though I am disappointed with what Wooyoung did to me or his choices, I still care for him. He is still or maybe was my friend. I feel guilty saying all those things to him but I also know that he deserves it. He needs to know it. He needs to be a better person. He can't treat me or any girls like this.

Fuck.

"I knew it."

You jump, spinning around to see who spoke. "Seonghwa..."

He enters the rooftop door and shuts it close after. "I've never seen you ran that fast before... even when you are already late in class." He teases

You go back facing towards the fence. "Me too actually..." you inhale and exhale. "I just... had to..."

"What happened?" He asks as he leans his back on the fence, beside you.

"I don't know... he... just..."

"Did he asked you to go back together?"

I nod.

"Did... did you agree?"

I snap my head to him, "are you kidding me? No!" You answer made a smile, form over Seonghwa's lips. "Why are you smiling?"

"Coz... I'm glad you rejected him." Then he takes out his pack of cigarette in his jacket's pocket.

"You... are?"

"Hmm.." he hums and then picks one out of the box using his lips.

"Are you going to smoke now?"

His eyes shakes and then looks at me, "do you want me to not smoke...?"

I look away. I can't ask him to stop. I have no right to. It does not bother me if he does but health wise, I hope stops.

"Y/n... tell me... do you want me to not smoke now or..."

"It's fine. I just..."

He suddenly stands still and move closer. His face is just inches away from mine. "If you tell me to stop... I will..."

"I can't tell you to stop..."

"You can." He insists. "You just have no idea..."

"What?" I didn't get what he means

"Y/N... do you like me?"

"I do." I honestly answer

"But... do you like me more than just a fuck buddy?" He puts back the piece he took in the box. "Coz, I do like you... as in I really.... really like you..."

Wait. Am I hearing him right?!?

I am speechless. I could see the panic in his eyes from me not responding to him. But, I can't speak. I... I have no words... I'm flusttered and flattered at the same time. But... My breathe was taken away by his words.

Fuck. What do I do? I like him too but... I'm scared. What if, we make it official but he get's bored with me like Wooyoung and goes back to his way, dating girls who fits his type.

I am no ones type... I am, just me.

Shit! Y/N, breathe. FUCKING BREATHE. He is not Wooyoung. He is Seonghwa. He is different. He.... he have proven you how different he is.

The years you have been with Wooyoung is not comparable with the months you have been with Hwa. He had given you more than Woo. Emotionally and physically. (Well... especially the Physical part)

But I have to consider that, during our time being together. I grew up. I have changed a little but for the better of me. He does not push me to do or decide on things. He allows me to believe and to try on my own. Even during our sex, I thought I could never lead. I thought I should always be the receiver but he allowed me to explore and make sure I enjoy while I try to please him

Yeah, I kbow what a good example about improvement of life. But fuck. Seonghwa is saying he likes me. The mysterious hot guy from my university.

"Y/n... Look at me..." he asks me, tilting my chin up. "I know you are thinking about... don't worry... I'm not rushing you okay? I just... I'm just asking for you... to take a chance on me, that's alk..." he says, "And if you can't I have to accept it..."

"Really?"

He close is eyes and heavily sighed. "It will fucking hurts I have to admit. But... yeah... If you don't feel the same... I can't do anything about it. Unless, you just want me as your fuck buddy... I'll be willing to be just that."

"Hey!" I slap him on his chest. "You're not just a fuck buddy!" I say

He smiles, "Really?" He then goes on to snaking his arm around my waist. "What am I then?"

I should take a chance right? That's how love works? To know if it is worth it is to... try....

"My man...?" you mumble shyly.

Seonghwa's cheeks are about to explode. It's so out of his chill persona but it does show that he's so happy with my response.

"I promise.... I'll show you what love is... everyday..."

[nomizombie]

fanboy!König x rockstar!Reader (Part III) 🎸🎤🎶

[SFW/Fluff/Wholesome] ; basically a date with könig, loads of awkward moments, gender neutral, no usage of yn, written in 2nd person, please excuse my non proof read work

[A/N] ; 2nd poll winner!! Honestly had a lot of ideas for this part but i think könig would start off slow with a little cafe session and then of course, as per the AU he must be super into the rock scene!!, hes totally bringing reader to some underground rock concert >:)

Part I . Part II . Part III

(ill add the links later, for now just find my fanboy!könig tag and u shud be good)

You wake up to the sound of your phone vibrating and the familiar tune of your ringtone. Your favourite song. It’s a catchy tune that you heard a few years ago and never seemed to get out of your head.

Rolling over in bed, you pick it up lazily, holding it to your ear as you force out a groggy ‘good morning’. You almost cringe at how raspy it comes out.

Expecting the sound of your manager’s nagging, your eyes filled with shock as his voice came through; quiet and just a little flustered.

“Your voice is deep… in the morning.” He smiles across the line.

“Sorry..? König?!” It was like a bucket of ice cold water was just poured on you. You sit up in bed instantly and glance at the ticking clock on your wall.

10:36AM

You were late to meet König.

“Oh shit-shit-shit-shit!” Your feet immediately scramble off your mattress, phone pressed between your shoulder and head as you rushed to brush your teeth.

“Its okay I dont mind. Maybe i shouldve picked the evening instead.” He said, “I know you had a late show last night.”

You responded back, muffled, which released a slew of laughter on the other end.

“Perhaps I should hang up? You sound a little busy.” He snickered.

You furiously refused through your toothpaste filled teeth.

“Ill be there soon!” You said as your gurgled.

By the time you had pulled your shoes on, it was already 10:47 AM. Guilt clouded your mind as you recalled that he initially set the time for ten in the morning. You had kept him waiting for over half an hour.

Rushing out the door, you let out another string of apologies, panting because of course, your cardio sucks.

By the time you reached the cafe, you were a sweaty heaving mess. Not the best way to start your first date. Was it even a date? The two of you are just friends. It was a friend… date. König sat in the corner, fittingly, staring at his phone as he softly drummed his fingers on the arm rests of his chair. He noticed you immediately, eyes crinkling as he motioned for you to sit across of him.

“Hello.” he smiled.

He wore a simple white shirt with some band name you had never heard of. I guess he’s into underground music? Over that was a puffy black zip up hoodie. His jeans were a sleek navy blue and he wore a leather satchel, the same one he brought to your first fan signing. Wow, it’s like he’s never even heard of colour.

“Hi.” You waved, grinning from ear to ear as you made your way over to him.

As you plopped your butt down on the leather seats, he pushed a cup of coffee towards you.

“You probably need it. You must be tired.”

Grabbing it, you thanked him before downing the whole cup in one go. Once you put the cup down, your eyes drifted back to him and his black face mask.

“No balaclava today?” You asked curiously, licking at the froth around your lips. He stared at you, eyes flicking down to your mouth before lifting back up. This was the first time you had seen his hair. It was fluffy, wavy, and a deep auburn shade.

“The barista would’ve thought I was trying to rob them.” His eyes crinkled.

You giggled thinking about it. But then, eyes focused back on his hair and the way it bounced when he laughed. You really really wanted to thread your fingers through it. It would be so soft and fluffy wouldn’t it?

König was no fool. He could see the way your eyes continuously kept going back to his head. As time passed and the two of you kept chatting, you were starting to get more and more obvious about it.

Eventually he just bit the bullet and asked you.

“Is there something wrong… with my hair?” He said, a confused but nervous look in his eyes.

Your eyes immediately widened and whatever you were about to say was stuck in your throat.

You laughed.

“No, no! Its just… It looks so soft.” A gentle smile appeared on your face.

König’s eyebrows rose a little before he averted his gaze.

“You can try… touching it.” His voice came out meek.

Oh god did he really just say that?

“Touching it?” You said, surprised and a little happy that he was starting to come out of his shell. However, while he may have been able to pick up on your incessant staring, the same cant be said for your tone of voice.

“Oh but, only if you want to, of course. Just a suggestion. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Forget that I asked.”

“No! I want to.” You adamantly nodded your head.

His eyes widened and he pursed his lips. He slowly leaned over, pushing his head towards you.

“Okay… here goes nothing.”

You giggled before placing your palm on his scalp, gently running your fingers through the thick locks.

“Its softer than I imagined.” You grinned.

His ears turned a light shade of red.

“Thank… you..” He said quietly.

“Its like petting my dog back home.”

“You have a dog?” His ears perked up.

“Wow, my biggest fan doesn’t know I have a dog? Tsk, tsk, tsk.” You teased, reviling in the embarrassed expression that appeared on König’s face.

“Oh I- I just-“ he stammered. How could he not know! What a horrible fan he was!

You laughed, calming his anxiety.

“Well, now you know.”

He smiled awkwardly back, making a mental note to add to your wikipedia page for the twenty seventh time and make an edit to the trivia section. But, you didnt have to know that.

“How about you? Have any pets?”

He looked to the side, thought for a moment before responding.

“I had a goldfish.. im not sure if that counts…”

You laughed again.

“Well? What was its name?”

“I called it Frankie, because I had a friend named that.”

“Oh really? Should i name my goldfish König then?” You snickered.

“I wouldn’t mind it..” he said, oblivious to your teasing.

You snicked once more. He was really fun to be around? This date was going so well… Date? This was a date? No way this was just a friendly hangout between two friends who are super friendly! This cant be a date no, no, no-

“Are you okay?” He interrupted your train of thought, quickly pulling you back down to reality.

“Oh- um.” You reddened, “i was just thinking… this isnt a date is it?”

He immediately turned a bright shade of red as well. Stuttering, he replied as calmly as he could. His leg shook even harder underneath the table, rhythmically banging against the underside and shaking your cup.

“Do you want it to be?” He couldnt bare to look at your reaction so he turned his head downwards, nervously fidgeting with his thumbs. When had he gotten so bold? What was he saying!? He was moving too fast. He was going to mess this up and-

“Yeah.” You smiled, in that charming upside down way where your eyes did the work while your mouth curved downwards.

He blushed even further, ears turning red as a bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. Oh for god sake, the two of you were in an air conditioned building.

He grinned wildly under his mask. Silence shrouded the two of you until he decided to pipe up again.

“You should come with me.”

“Come with you?”

“To a concert. Today. Now.”

You raised your eyebrows curiously. You weren’t aware of any concerts happening this week.

“Your idea of a date?”

He hummed in response, eliciting a grin from you.

“Let’s go.”

ty for reading!! this post took a while since i was procrastinating writing it 😭

[unadulterated-syd]

a/n —

+ i wrote this for myself bc i just got my license and it really stressed me out.. so its very ooc but i don't want ANY comments about it being ooc bc it was MY outlet.

+ again this is for me so he did in fact say bubs, plus im american so im SORRY theres no cool slang in there my british impression is awful and im not trying

+ lastly i didn't edit this so shhhh,, im tagging normal people if u dont want tags that im unsure of pls just ignore this im in an era plus reader refers to them as boyfriends just read it diff if you want its okay theyre forbidden gay or not

» [rocky horror -> billy cobb] «

0:00 ─〇───── 0:00

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

staying up late, i should go to sleep.

wandering the halls was not unusual to you, practically an everynight occurence by now. being a prefect, they let you get away with it.

having practically been adopted by minevera and poppy— they understood your trouble with sleeping. they understood why, and they understood aimless walking helped.

they'd always stood in and gave a good word, dumbledore couldn't have been bothered to punish you anywho. some nights you'd even wonder drunkly, mumbling to yourself as you let students slip passed you without punishment.

you had a name to uphold— but you far from respected or supported your family. one of blood supremacy and hypocricy, unfortunately the children of families like yours were forced to adult more than those of age.

you were just like that, so much weight on your shoulders that you far from bothered to let your thoughts hurt you. you'd become responsible for ignoring them.

similarly, you'd become familiar with sirius black through this similar ideaology. familiar. you were far from 'friends', though people with similar stories, two who found comfort in one another from afar.

this led you to be familiar with all the marauders, though you'd far from a mustered a word to any of them— they knew you were on their team, when needed. at any word you'd betray your dreaded house.

i should go to sleep, its tuesday but i can't stop— thinking of your skin

there was one exception to your marauders rule, you had spoken to one. more than spoken, you'd held dear on many occasions. whom cared to much fot everyone around him.

you'd been practically forced to a gryffindor party— sirius had insisted on you recieving an invitation, though he was not the messenger.

he'd begged regulus to offer you the invite, even though he hadn't invited his younger brother. eventually, regulus gave in. you felt obligated to go, with how much trouble he went through to get you there, how could you refuse?

however, no one seemed interested in you being there. weird looks from many angles, strange glances your way. with the exception of one individual.

james fleamont potter.

james had practically thrown himself at you, a million questions filling the air before you could even shake his hand. regardless, you answered every question, and he listened to every answer.

when he'd realized you came alone— he vowed to spend the night by your side. introducing you here and there, inviting you to random drinking games.

and at some point something had clicked in the both of you.

you could hardly remember, but it was spin the bottle— or perhaps seven minutes in heaven? it didn't matter what game it was, you just remember you'd kissed and sparks flew.

you were both so drunk you didn't know if james remembered anything either, you just remember him. they way he smelled, the way he smiled at everthing you said, the way he looked at you.

he treated you like the world revolved around you, he was the earth circling around you. but it only lasted that night, because when he'd found you the next day he'd lost the courage to speak to you.

you still had your reputation— more than half the school still saw you as an enemy. you were a cruel and feelingless person to them. so how could james fleamont potter ever justify you wanting to be with him?

i've been known to be a hopeless, no good, nobody. and they're right.

you could sense why he didn't come back, though you'd assigned a much different explaination than he.

you were a bad look on his reputation, an outstanding quidditch player. an outstanding gryffindor, brave and caring. the real question was never why would you want to be with him, but rather why could he want to be with you.

not that it mattered anymore.

you knew you were a hopeless case— sirius had changed, he'd fix his side and found a way out. but you hadn't, and likely you never would.

you had no friends, you spent no time partying, with the exception of sirius' one invitation. you were a nobody. scary to anyone who hadn't heard sirius' tales of you, worthless to anyone in your own house.

you somehow rubbed everyone around you the wrong way— a bloodtraitor to your family, a blood supremesist to people whom you wanted to defend, not enough to all your slytherin peers.

it made sense that he never came back. he must've been ashamed to some extent, he was so much more than you'd ever be.

i know your eyes can see right through me. but believe me, it's my pleasure.

tonight went differently for you, your restlessness brought you near the gryffindor tower.

deep down something within you begged for you to sneak your way in and find james. but your mind would never let you, there was no chance you'd ever have the bravery to do so.

in all ways, you knew even if you had he'd understand too much. he knew your every feeling, even if you kept it hidden.

after one night of gestures you knew he was your perfect second half, he knew you more than you knew yourself. and oddly enough, you returned that.

you knew he drained himself, he was too compassionate for his own good. you knew he could never love you publically because no one knew you.

no one knew your parents hated you, no one knew it was because you'd defended muggleborn peers, no one knew you had plans of running away.

no one knew you'd never get that mark, that you'd never defend it's honor. but he did, and that's why you both stood at a crossroads.

he had a reputation too.

one that no one saw through, everyone believed they knew him. he could do no wrong, and too anyone you two were polar opposites. but too eachother you were practically the same.

you cared too much, just like him. you drained yourself with worry, and he knew how much it'd taken you to get over the fact you'd never be the perfect kid.

you'd never be what your parents wanted, you'd never be cherished like him. unless it was by him.

and something inside you found it comforting, the idea for once you couldn't lie. because he'd never fall for it.

he was the same as you, and he knew you didn't need fixing. you weren't broken, and neither was he. flawed, possibly. and that was the most comforting thing about him.

he didn't need to work for you, and you didn't need to work for him.

i miss the sea, i miss it's sandy beaches, salty breeze. and it reminds me of you.

because it's so sweet, you're so sweet, you're so sweet.

knocking on your head, you'd come to the conclusion you needed to leave. find your way back to your room, and move on.

in a way you felt hollow for having a heart, as if your brain could only be seen as brilliant if your heart stayed cold. because your heart led you to a common room of people who hated you— whilst your brain begged you to forget and regret.

but once again he showed how similar you two were. as if he'd known you'd he at there, he appeared at the portrait. he looked sleepless, suprised that you were there, yet also as if he'd been expecting you.

"y/n?"

he looked like a painting to you, groggily rubbing his eyes, voice the same as always. trying to illude to the idea he'd been sleeping— though you saw right through him.

"james.."

"what're you doing here?" he stepped out, closing the painting behind him.

you took a deep breath, weighing your head and your heart— as if it mattered. he saw right through you, even if you lied right to his face.

"did you need something..?"

"you."

his eyes widened only slightly, he knew why you were there but the clarity was almost frightening. he couldn't lie to himself anymore, because you'd come clean to his face.

"i know i disappeared im sorry, i know you've got a reputation, i know.. i just—" you sighed, fumbling with your words, "nobody knows me like you james, and all it took was a day for you to see me. i mean.. i missed you. us? its cheesey i know but.."

"one moment."

you watched him disappear into the common room, leaving you with your thoughts. your head was spinning, there were butterflies hitting every wall of your stomach, had it been too much for him? had you read him wrong?

he came out a moment later, a jacket wrapped around his shoulders, wand in hand. he stood with a second coat in his other hand, one which he held out to you.

you took it, pulling it on— even if you didn't know his plans, then he held his now free hand out, you took it.

"how about a walk?" he gave you a smile, pulling you along.

you two indulged in a comfortable silence, you just enjoyed holding his hand. even if you weren't sure it'd happen again.

i dont care how you want me to live my life, as long as i'm in yours.

he didn't lead you anywhere in particular, leaving you the silence you needed to grow the courage to open up.

and eventually it worked.

"i'm sorry i came so late, i didn't think you'd even catch me."

"i wasn't sleeping anyway, you can always show up." he looked at you again, raising a brow, "what's wrong, bubs?"

you could feel his thumb rub over your knuckles, it felt endearing. the way he acted, the way he treated you, it was as if the two of you had been dating an eternity. however, you'd never even started dating.

i know how whiney i sound right now, but i can't help myself.

"i think—" you sighed, stopping in your spot, leading him to do the same. you could feel his eyes on you, he couldn't read you anymore, and it scared him. "i think i really like you, james."

"i mean like.. like boyfriends? like i want to get out of my house, finally befriend sirius.. i mean not be whatever the hell everyone thinks i am— i want to be whatever you want i just want to be with you."

he looked at you hesitantly for a moment— he wasn't pondering whether he wanted to be with you or not, rather trying to decide how to proceed.

"i've been waiting to hear that." he turned fully to face you, "but, i like you too. this way, you don't have to be different. just what you want to be."

i know your eyes can see right through me.

james tags -> @nyxxxxxxxx , @innerloverpainter , @carlgrimesslover , @nutellani , @angry-little-frog @loving-and-dreaming

marauders tags -> @withastrangerheart

do NOT critize this one i will CRY.

also the song is rocky horror by billy cobb,, its not every1s cup of tea but i <3 it

[mariam246810]

i believe in genshin and klint friendship supremacy (as shown in numerous amounts of your art) i also just love your art so much! its so much good content with representation of these underrated characters, (along with others like yuujin, jigoku, etc) you should tag the character names in your posts so its easier to find your art! it'll help your art get more recognition

anyways gushing aside, how do you suppose klint and genshin react to kazuma and ryunosuke being friends during the whole events of Resolve? and all friendship, angst, all the fun stuff

Thank you very much , glad you enjoied my art and depiction of these charecters.

I used to tag characters' names before but I stopped because my art kept appearing at the beginning of google searches which I hated (though that was before the game was localized so maybe since more English-speaking fans are here now my art won't appear as much. Maybe I'll try to add their names in the next few posts and see what happens )

(i can't say that I've ever really thought so deeply about Ryuu's and Kazuma's friendship so sorry if this was surface level)

So before I start talking about klimt's and genshin's reaction to the two I want to make a few things in the timeline of my ghost klimt and genshin au clear.

-after genshin's death both genshin and klimt were in England for like a month.

-when miko and jigoku left,ghost genshin left with them (looking after karuma which was in mikotoba's care for the time being)

-when they arrived to japan genshin started looking after his son and wife -who followed him soon after- while klimt looked after his brother and doughter in England for like the next few years

-kazuma was a social person so ryuu to genshin seemed like any freind of kazuma's until...

- during the 1-2 incident genshin knew kazuma wasn't dead because well, he hadn't become a ghost. He had to decide on whether to look after karuma or his son. He chose kazuma of course and was with him during all that time that he suffered from memory loss .

-on the other hand ,klimt during 1-3 recognized the katana on ryuu's side but neither genshin nor his son was there. he investigated a bit and he was able to put a few pieces together. Genshin's son was a friend of ryuu but he died on the ship.

-it wasn't until vortex introduced the masked disciple to barok that Klimt and genshin met again after almost 10 years. They filled each other in the information the other didn't know. (I drew a comic of their meeting but I think I've never shared it here

(i dont remember wether kazuma intented to harm gregeson or not. Either way, genshin can't read his mind he only sees his actions and hears the words he says, and well to him it seemed like his son was about to commit murder )

-during the final cutscene in 2-3 genshin was happy to see his son regain his memories back. But that also meant that he now remembers his mission

- during the last cutscene where kazuma and ryuu crossed their swords

[joswriting]

Writer Q&A

Finally doing this, thank you for the tag @lexiklecksi!!

I tag: @wheres-all-the-tea-gone and @atmospheric and anyone who wants to do it

What motivates you to write?

An inherent desire to communicate and deal with certain feelings I have (usually bad ones). My big WIP On The End Of Everything is about characters that are very dissatisfied with their lives and with who they are but have no way of changing this, as well as an exaggeration of the apocalyptic feeling we get when we don't have our lives completely together (might that tell you something about me?). Both this story and my short story anthology WIP make political commentary in the stupidest way possible, like any scifi story should.

Every character has a trace of me and every trace of me is examined and judged in all sorts of situations. It's both a form of self-therapy and a way to unload nonsensical ideas and peculiar humour.

A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

I like my poems best of the stuff I've written in the past 3 years, and there's a rather long one with some body horror elements (CW), but here are two verses from that one:

you may climb to the valley but the descent is steep there the partyhouse is filled to the brim here lie the parents, not awake nor asleep tie them together for their bodies are thin down the sea over yonder and into the deep see them drown and wonder, why had they no skin? a fly on the water comes to pose a conundrum if your face were another would you feel any different? then all insects fall dead to beat of a drum the wet blows are approaching and becoming vociferant another face is growing over your own now, how fun the next mouth utters sweetly the cry of an infant

What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

I'm not sure but I used to think descriptions? Especially of rather gorey and disturbing scenes, that's what I used to think. I haven't done that sort of thing in a while though, I hope I get to do it again soon. Well, apart from poems, as you can see.

But I think desciptions in general, they are my way of bringing the humour.

What do you enjoy most about the Writeblr community?

The fact we all stay curious about other people and their work! Plus everyone here is so earnestly in love with writing, it's nice.

A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

Those synonym and rhyme websites, translators, but in my case especially wiktionary.org

A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

I like the world building in On The End Of Everything's first universe the best, but it's a sort of mystery so I don't want to spoiler it. To give you an idea of the current vibe (after all the worldbuilding that is to be uncovered); it is a universe with no sun, one planet that is able to support human life due to geothermic activity and an ecosystem of bioluminescent critters, and a human population with names like Nestlé (my main girl of this universe, I love her).

What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

If you're stuck just write Anything else. Could be a completely unrelated story idea you have or you can try to write the scene from someone else's perspective or write what someone completely different is doing somewhere else in-universe right now. Just because it won't be part of the finished story doesn't mean its not valuable. And hey, depending on the tone of your writing or how exciting the scene is you could just put it in anyway. For example: i dont really know how to write my current scene so instead i just wrote about a random bioluminescent dog called Stephen Colbert and his take on the scene. My writing is silly.

[ahaura]

7?? 💓

7. Any media/fandom you will avoid at all costs?

personally speaking i make a point of avoiding n.eil g.aiman and anything related to him. i know there are legitimate criticisms against him which i cant remember atm (bad memory day </3) but my dislike for him goes back longer than people have made posts about it. it all started when i was reading this anthology of short horror fiction and i understand that the thing about anthologies is that due to the variety there are bound to be some authors and/or selections i won't like for whatever reason and that's just part of the process. HOWEVER. at that point i had never read one of his works before but i'd heard a lot about him. so i read the selection and it sucked. i don't remember what it was about but i do remember it was a challenge to slog through and i was grateful for when it was over. i was disappointed because even then he'd been hyped up and maybe this was just a bad selection of his work but in any case it did not make a good impression on me and i moved on. flash forward to at least a few years later and i'm reading a different anthology. "horror of the decade" ed. by ellen datlow, something i never finished which requires its own post but to sum up some of her selections DEFINITELY should not have been hailed "best of the decade." they shouldn't have been selected as good horror at all if in my opinion. but anyway g.aiman was on the bookjacket and i was like *sigh* okay well im not really looking forward to it but i guess i'll give it a shot especially since it was one of the shorter entries. and then i read it and it fucking sucked. it was ass. it was some stupid story about sailors lost at sea who resorted to cannibalism or something and i wanted to like it but i just couldn't get behind his writing. at that point, to me, it felt like he'd just been included so that his name could be slapped on the cover and they selected one of his works at random. it felt a lot like quality didn't matter for some of the selections as much as the name or maybe filling up space. or perhaps it's the editor's personal choice which is why i dislike datlow as an editor. and dont get me wrong there was a few REALLY, REALLY good selections in that volume but g.aiman's was NOT one of them. and it just felt like an utter waste of time and a joke because there was nothing impressive or noteworthy about his writing or storytelling ability and what always makes my dislike worse is when people's fanbases have to hype them up as a god-send or revolutionary. now i am aware that maybe these were just. bad selections and not representative of his full body of work and to that i say too bad i dont care. and i am also aware that there are probably fans of his i am mutuals with who love his work which is fine great good for them this is not directed @ them but it's irrelevant. because i think he sucks and he's overrated and exacerbates it all is that he's on tumblr as like the resident uwu celebrity author or whatever and it's like. you come onto the silly little blogging site where i reblog silly images with my friends and mutuals and make me not only hear about him but make me see his TAKES? his posts? JAIL! JAIL FOR 1000 YEARS! and in any case it doesn't really matter the block button is free and filtering tags exist but also if ONE more person recs his books to me i will explode. i dont want to read him i do not care i dont think he's more noteworthy or talented than anyone else on the scene (not that i am aware of the scene) i just do not care and do not want to hear about him. yeehaw <3

[imtooautisticforthisshit]

I dont necessarily know if this post even exists side of fic tumblr where people want to read post-series interpretation of the FEELS that come with the firenation regaining some of its culture but here are some fics i remember??????

This fic here ^ : The Festival of Lights by RejectsCanon on a03 probably encapsulates any literal interpretatipn of this post the best? In it Aang and Zuko bring back a festival that hasnt been occured in the fire nation for 100s of years.

Here is its description:

It starts, like most things concerning Zuko do, with Aang innocently mentioning it during one of his visits to the Fire Nation.

“You know what would be cool for you to start again, Zuko?” Aang says while playing with the turtleducks.

“What would that be, Aang?” Zuko asks, sitting up from his slouch and crossing his legs.

“The lantern festival,” Aang says.

Or,

Aang shares with Zuko a bit of his past, and Zuko decides to bring back an age-old celebration. Loosley based off the time my friend and I went to a Tangled-esque lantern festival and it was beautiful.

Relieved With Honors by redrobin1989 on a03 is a beautiful fic about Zuko laying the Fire Nation Soldiers who died during the siege of the Northern Water Tribe to rest. Primarily it came to mind because of its discussion of Zuko reviving a long-dead tradition, and taking on a role as Firelord that his predecessors failed to fill.

Here is it's description:

A Fire Lord’s duty is to his people; Zuko seeks out the last Fire Nation soldiers of the Hundred Year War to send them home

Thirdly (and it no real particular order) is: It Starts With The Kids by Rejects Canon on a03

This fic!!!! My beloved truly, is a lot looser in relation to the post above, but I felt was necessary because its message was very similar. In it Zuko is inspired to travel to schools in the firenation after he learns of Aangs experiences in the Fire Nation school system. He also checks over how the educational reforms he's been trying to push through are fairing. This, and the rest of the fics in this series (not to mention Zuko & Palace staff fics {found most commonly in this tag} in general) are really great reads and tackle the conversation about healing in the Fire Nation under Zuko's reign really nicely!!

Here is it's description:

Zuko is steadfastly, unflinchingly, resolutely, determined to be a Firelord incomparable to the ones before him. To his great-grandfather. To his grandfather. To his father. Zuko will not be like them; not in name, not in mind, and not in spirit. Zuko will pave his own way by the blood of his hands and the skin of his teeth, he will start the change that the Fire Nation needs in order to bring true peace to the nations.

He should have known it had to start with the children; it always does.

You ever think about how in The Headband, we're introduced to a side of the Fire Nation that's had its culture whittled away by a hundred years of imperial wartime propaganda. And how perhaps the most damning expression of this is that students are forbidden from dancing. And so Aang, maybe the only person on the planet who still truly remembers the Fire Nation of old, from before the war, brings it back to them.

And then we get to The Firebending Masters. Zuko's entire young adulthood has been spent using his anger towards the Fire Nation's enemies, his drive to capture the Avatar, as a crutch. And now he doesn't have that crutch anymore. So he and Aang set out on a pilgrimage, going to the birthplace of firebending itself, in search of answers. In search of a way to express the power of fire that isn't fueled by rage or smothered by fear. And they find a dance.

[sludge-coinbag]

@nnugatoryextravagance 's mogai flag making and term coining blog for funsies bc I've always found this really interesting

I'll add more info later but for now my name is Sludge, i turn 18 in literally 2 days as of posting, and I only go by neopronouns (honk/honkself and more but any works) and I'm just straight up vibing

I dont know why I decided to fill my page with Reddy idk I like them theyre a funny fellow

I do take requests but I cannot promise that they'll be done in a timely manner but I will do them trust

I don't really have a set DNI but I will include some things under the readmore either about me or that I have hard opinions on that usually does good at weeding out people I don't want to talk to

--

Regardless of what I say here I do not wish to overly gatekeep who can use the terms I coin, you are allowed to use whatever I coin even if we disagree on things so long as it applies to you obviously, I don't wish to start shit on here truly. But also just because I believe you can identify with whatever you want doesn't mean I'm also not allowed to not like you for it, if you wanna announce your taboos to the world you should expect people to not exactly always be cool with it man. If I went into detail of what I don't like here we would be here all day though and that's not the point so I will stop yapping and get to the list.

I identify as strictly nonhuman and I prefer you always refer to me as such and actively avoid referring to me as human whenever possible. Plus if you're unable to use my neos for whatever reason it/its is a valid replacement, do not they/them me

If we're working with proper terms I am a traumagenic system, I prefer not to always identify as it though (I prefer traumalthugenic in particular.) If you are plural I don't care what your system's origin is because that isn't my business.

I am cool with all good faith identities (for example, things like m-spec people, I am one of you hi bestie.) I am much less cool with people with uh... less than peachy ways of identifying (look I don't care if you're "non contact" or whatever, if you're prancing around about things that would get you banned from school zones or the local petting zoo please go away.) I don't believe in thought crimes obviously (i am gods strongest ocd warrior) but jesus christ dude cmon, not cool. (sidenote, no idea whats going on with radqueers or xenosatanists but I have not heard nor seen literally anything good, please god do not talk to me)

I have autism and tend to lean into coining terms related to things I like, however this will include some things that make people uncomfortable as I am very fixated on topics that relate to horror adjacent things, (fictional) gore and themes of unreality and such especially, please make sure your tag filters are up to date and if I don't trigger tag something that I should've please let me know

I may add more here later but thats it for now methinks hii

[kirinda]

(icon and header and art in this post r by @/cupiidzbow !)

my carrd dedicated to kiri can be found here!

my names isa and this is my selfship blog! i barely use this blog and it needs revamping, my main is ousama!

IF YOU @ OR TAG ME IN A POST PLEASE @/TAG OUSAMA, MY URL IS AN OBSCURE CHARACTER AND I DONT WANT TO FILL HIS TAG WITH UNRELATED STUFF

im selfship tumblrs most hated thats how you know im a good blog baby yeah!!!!

if you rb from misogynists ill probably block you its not my job to tell you when you follow one use that little brain in there

sharing f/os is awesome! be nice about it

F/O LIST AND SELF INSERTS UNDER CUT

MAIN GUYS

Kirinda (Eto Ranger) tag: 📸

Trafalgar Law (One Piece) tag: 🫀*note: I ship with all of the heart pirates and use the same tag for them. Only Law is a major F/O amongst them.

Masked Deuce (One Piece) tag: ♠️

SECONDARY

Banban (Garten of Banban) tag: 🥳

Kaito Kumon (Kamen Rider) tag: 🍌

Rowena MacLeod (Supernatural) tag: 😈

Shelda (Bugsnax) tag: ☮️

BOe (Магазинчик БО) tag: 🐰

Biznella (Super Sentai) tag: 🃏

Nellie Lovett (Sweeney Todd) tag:🥧

Chuck Keith (Gundam) tag:🌌

Olympia (Pokemon) tag: 🔮

Marcus Kane (Twisted Metal) tag: 🚧 *Only the Head-On and Black continuity

Lard Nar (Invader Zim) tag: 🛸

Misasagi (Rune Factory) tag: ⛩️

Makoto Edamura (Great Pretender) tag: 🐱

The Director/Hubert (Interliminality) tag: 📺

Selmers (Night in The Woods) tag: ✍️

Ivo "Eggman" Robotnik (Sonic the Hedgehog) tag: 🥚

Self Inserts

All of my inserts use any pronouns while i usually default to he/they for them

My Eto Ranger self insert is Cabbage! He's shipped with Kirinda/Lydia. he's a...janitor i suppose? its his job to keep the ship and common area clean. he's super antisocial but enjoys speaking to kirinda while cleaning because it's less stressful than talking face to face with a living person. He falls HARD for that robot and their relationship begins before kirinda gets his physical body back but cabbage certainly enjoys the goofball regardless of form

My One Piece self insert is Karma! He's shipped with Law and sometimes the heart pirates in general as a polyship. Hes the user of the ryu ryu no mi model chameleon. He joined the crew a little after Sabaody after stowing away. He's kind of a menace but hes their menace. hes really bad at his job because he doesn't have the skills to utilize his fruits powers correctly. Law unfortunately sympathizes with them having childhoods that parallel at points. I do not have a self insert that i ship with Deuce. I have delusions about being Ace and we were partners

My GoBB self insert is named Eddie! Theyre an anteater who was made to work with disabled children and theyre shipped with Banban! I hope that doesnt sound weird I was in and out of sped classes as a kid so I wanted to reflect that.

My Kamen Rider self insert is Jules! They're shipped with Kaito and are a member of team baron. They dont really have any lore yet except for hardcore yearning lol. Might make them a rider too?

My Supernatural self insert is Voltaire!!! Hes shipped with Rowena hes a nachzehrer and certified menace. His ass should be dead but free will keep him alive bc hes Rowenas little play thang and keeps her slightly in line. Not by much. His heads so empty only thoughts of his pack and beautiful older women

My Bugsnax self insert is Sunnie Cuteloop theyre a magician! They heart Shelda we love faking magic. Two dif kinds of magic but you know.

My Pokemon self insert is currently unnamed and shipped with Olympia! They're also a magician I swear im not unoriginal I just do magic irl. They're the child of Hocus from the Oblivia region but moved to Kalos to pursue their career. They want to separate from their father and aim to be a better magician than he ever was.

My Invader Zim self insert is Tiere Ley a vortian scientist. They've been with Lard Nar since before the war but didn't officially get together till the Resisty was formed.

[daekie-gw2]

if i put things in tags it won't have the right linebreaks and also i dont understand brevity (god i try. it never works). SO [cracks knuckles]

meditrix trilli. 30s-40s guy (trans), asura, inquest medic / surgeon / has a few hats. obsessed with krait. he has a pinup of a krait blood witch over his bed. not because he cares about her snitties (snake titties) but because he thinks krait blood magic is inspirational. head medic at his location! he's a good medic! unfortunately the rest of him

'why are you a medic if you're this much of a misanthrope' 'how else would i know what happens when someone gets their bones inverted', he says. he has a beautiful and vibrant disregard for medical ethics and also what bodies should be doing! and as a result he does things like replace people's blood with ectoplasm.

tends to be extremely wasteful with life. according to him 'why would i care about waste, that's what interns are for. if they really wanted to live they wouldn't be an inquest intern now would they'. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S SUPPOSED TO FOLLOW GUIDELINES FOR TEST SUBJECT ACQUISITION AND STORAGE!!! WHO HAS TIME FOR THAT!!

itzel ironscribe (30s? 50s? f norn, holosmith) is a semi-well-known romance author. she takes her work very seriously & has repeatedly threatened to strangle snargle goldclaw on sight. (she also writes trashy copperstore smut under a pen name.) her complete disregard for other people's feelings & her love of efficiency (plus the fact that even for a norn, she is Very Tall, and as such can punt an asura quite far) has earned her a position as an inquest collaborator at a research/testing facility. she has maximized efficiency! YES I WANT TO DEPERSONIZE THEM, she says, THEY DON'T NEED TO HAVE SELF-ESTEEM TO DO THEIR DAMN JOBS

she has a framed photo on her desk of her punting an inquest intern so hard they got airtime. she remembers it fondly. she has few redeeming traits. however the visual of a nine foot tall woman in six inch heels surrounded by a bunch of three foot tall goblins is very funny. extremely well dressed at all times, has never been seen out of makeup. she does this to maintain an aura of superiority

cardsharp narae is a sylvari bladesworn who runs a table at club canach. she has enormous card game anime rival energy & her favorite intimidation method for customers is adjusting her glasses > immediately firing three rounds out of each gauntlet into the air. YOUR DECK HAS NO PATHETIC CARDS? PATHETIC. HER DECK IS METICULOUSLY CRAFTED TO OBLITERATE YOURS etc etc etc etc she's really good at poker. very overfamiliar with her coworkers. team rocket starter villain kind of bastard.

and then synthesist vreizz is a mysterious bastard. an asura specter who quit their inquest job by disappearing into the mists (i have described this prior as 'clipped through the floor of the thaumanova fractal and went off the radar forever') and being assumed dead, they just kind of pop into existence at random times to fuck with you. are they the real vreizz or are they a mist-being who thinks they're vreizz? they don't know! every day is a new adventure and filled with the horrors :D thematically very inspired by the weird norn mist entities in shattered observatory + arkk. priorities extremely warped by time in the mists, more mist creature than asura.

also the porter robinson of asura. casts magic via holokeyboard. somehow still releasing synth music and nobody knows how given that they ceased to exist in tyria about four years ago, it just kind of shows up

a gw2 community prompt because i’m craving bastardry: tell me about your bastards!

evil bastards, grey bastards, bastards who are trying their best, bastards of all genders (i do have a soft spot for bastard men though) just give me the bastards

[buckys-black-dress]

see through

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

a/n: i dont have much to say other than that it's 1 am and i needed to get this out of my system. chapter 4 of play the game is underway, i promise. also, there will be a pov switch in this fic!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. = POV change!

wc: 4.1k words

[ neighbor!bucky barnes x fem!reader ]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

-

Every Friday night, without fail, you saw the light filter into your apartment.

Notice how you said night?

Yeah, it was almost two in the morning, by the way.

And why was there light coming through the chiffon curtains you had hanging on the rod above your window?

(Great choice on your part, by the way.)

Well, because of your neighbor.

You've seen him a few times, actually. Usually on the street outside your buildings, or just out and about. Never spoke to him, though. He was quiet, kept to himself. Didn't seem very friendly or willing to exchange a greeting if he ever saw you.

But you never took it personally. Maybe he was having a bad day. Every time you saw him.

But that's besides the point. The point right now is that you can see the lights blaring in your room. From the apartment across from yours.

Should it even be possible for light to travel that far? I mean, we don't even live in the same building. You think to yourself as you watch the colors dance in the dark.

You debate getting up and yelling out your window to tell him to shut that shit off or to invest in some blackout curtains. You were tired of sacrificing your sleep every week.

But then you decided against it, because you quite frankly could not be bothered to get up from the warmth of your bed. You'd tough it out for the night, but the next time you saw him, you'd have a few words for him.

-

The next morning, it was almost ten when you woke up. You didn't have your shift at the coffee shop you worked at until three, so you took your time in making your way out of bed.

You noticed the curtains of your neighbor's apartment were still open, but you could see his figure moving across the room. He was clearly on the phone with someone, and he didn't look too happy. You wondered what could have him so angry at such an early time of the morning. He seemed like a person who could use someone to talk to, someone who he could vent to.

But before you let your thoughts get ahead of you, you turn away from the window, heading back into your kitchen to eat breakfast and get ready for the long day ahead of you.

-

"Hi, what can I get started for you today?" You ask as brightly as you can muster at the moment. You were halfway through your shift, another three hours until close.

"Uh, just a large black coffee." The gruff voice says, and it takes you a second until you look up and look closely.

It was him.

"O-okay, that'll be $3.27." You say, and he hands you a five dollar note before grumbling,

"Keep the change."

"Thanks, and your name?"

He gives you a look that's asking, 'what the fuck do you need my name for?'

"For the order." You try and salvage your dignity, because it feels like the stare shrunk you to a speck of dust.

"James."

That's all he all but growls before turning back to find a seat.

As your coworker takes over the cash register, you grab the biggest cup and fill it with his desired coffee.

You try to not think about it too much, but the anxiety you feel rising up inside you and just calling his name to give him his coffee feels absolutely ridiculous.

"Are you just gonna stare at the cup or give it to the customer?" The voice of your coworker, Jenna, rings in your ears and you look up at her, snapping out of the trance you were in.

"Sorry, I'm just a little out of it today, I guess."

"Everything alright?" She asks, and you nod.

"I'm fine, it's just... that's my neighbor." You nod your head towards where James is sat, in the corner by the window as he watches the raindrops run down the expanse of the glass.

"The one who doesn't let you sleep?"

"Yeah, but I don't think he'd take it too kindly if I tell him about that. He seems to have a lot on his own plate anyways," You explain, and she just nods.

"Well, that sucks, but you still need ta' give the guy his coffee." Jenna smiles and walks back to what she was doing before.

You gently slide out from your spot behind the counter and walk to his table.

"Here's your coffee, James. Enjoy, and- uh, let me know if you'd like anything else." You tell him while placing the steaming cup in front of him.

He murmurs a thank you that you barely catch, but you don't quite have the time to sit and wait for more of a reaction.

For the next several hours, James sits right where he was. He doesn't do anything in particular, either. He just watches outside, as the rain continues to pelt down on New York City, and as people come and go from where they were.

Eventually, about an hour left until close, you offer another cup of coffee.

"Do you want a refill? On the house." You ask gently, waiting to see if you'll get brushed off again.

"Uh... are you allowed to do stuff like that?" He asks, and you're a bit taken aback at the sudden concern.

"I don't think you should worry yourself too much, James. Free coffee's free coffee." You smile lightly, and grab the cup before filling it up without his confirmation. You could tell he wanted to say yes but didn't want to seem rude.

"You didn't have to..." He grumbles, and you simply shake your head.

"I know, but you've been here a while, and what kind of employee would I be if I let a customer sit here without any sustenance?" Your lips ply into a tiny smirk, trying to get him to loosen up a bit.

He seems so guarded, defensive. Like any moment, he's ready to run if need be, you inspect to yourself.

"You'd just be a regular employee, Y/N." He says, but the way he says your name makes a shiver run down your spine; and you can't tell if it's a good or bad one.

You unconsciously look down at your name tag, pinned to your black apron that's branded with the café's logo.

"Well, I felt like being nice. I hope you can deal." Your voice comes out short, but he knows you mean no harm.

As you walk back to the counter, you see a small smile playing on his lips, but he doesn't allow it to manifest on his face. You take that as a small victory for your last hour of work.

(bucky's pov).・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The girl who works at this café is annoying.

But she's got a nice smile. And she's nice to me, Bucky thinks to himself.

He sips on the new coffee you'd just poured for him, without his consent, he thinks bitterly.

But it was a nice gesture.

Why can't you just take a nice gesture?

Because your brain's been scrambled eggs for 70 years. You don't know what to think about anything these days.

He watches you fiddle with the espresso maker, cleaning it with a rag, which you then dip into a bucket.

You look extremely familiar to him, but he can't exactly pin where he's seen you before.

Bucky closes his eyes for a moment, trying to recall where he'd seen you, but for a moment, he comes up with nothing.

Ever since he's been living back in the real world, he hasn't been outside too much.

He goes on the occasional walk, or goes to the tower to see Steve and Sam.

But other than that, he spends a lot of time in his Brooklyn apartment. He watches movies that Steve suggests, or he invites Steve and Sam over to have beer and watch TV with him.

He hates how lonely it gets, though.

Bucky wishes that he had someone.

Someone who could understand.

And don't get him wrong, he loves Sam and Steve. They fill in the gaps in his days, and they make them better.

Sometimes, thinking about having something to do that day is what makes it. He likes having something to do, something to plan for for when his friends come over.

But it feels like a teeny, tiny part of his life is missing. A person shaped-hole in his heart.

But Bucky doesn't spend too long thinking about it, or it'll send him into a spiral about failure and how he needs to 'push himself to get out there more.'

Or that's what his therapist says.

"Hey, we're about to close, and we usually throw the pastries out at the end of the day. Do you wanna take these home, by any chance?" Your voice rings in his ears, snapping him out of the impending slippery slope of his lack of love life.

He hesitates to answer for a second, looking at the brown paper bag pinched between your fingers.

Bucky can tell you were nervous when you spoke to him. He knew he made you uneasy, and it killed him inside.

He hated that. He just wanted to have a normal conversation with someone. But everyone seems to know who he is.

Who he was.

"Uh, what is it?" He croaks, unsure of what to say at your gesture.

"It's a few cookies and a chocolate croissant."

"Sure, I'll take 'em." Bucky simply answers, watching as you hand the bag over with a soft smile and watches you walk back.

You sweep up the floor and put up all the chairs, except for the one Bucky's sitting on. You leave his table alone, and bid farewell to your coworker who was scheduled to close with you.

Bucky doesn't know what drives him to do it, but he gets up after he sees you walk out the door, and follows you home.

Damn, if you like a girl, you usually ask for her number or somethin'. Not follow her home to make sure she's safe, you idiot. Bucky's inner voice speaks and sometimes, he wishes it would just shut up because he knows he has no game nowadays, but this is all he knows to do.

He realizes the way you're walking is familiar, and not at all of the way he was supposed to be going. That made him feel a little better, less like a creep. He's about half a block behind you, and when you turn onto the same street he lives on, he's really confused.

Did you know he was behind you? Are you trying to play a trick on him?

But before Bucky can speak up or say something, you walk right past his building, and into the one right next to it.

All of a sudden, images of you right on the street in front of your buildings flash through his head. He's seen you because you're his neighbor. Bucky's seen you right there, getting ready to start your run through the neighborhood, or probably on your way to work, now that he's seen where you work.

But he feels like there's somewhere else he's seen you; somewhere familiar.

He shakes his head, wondering why he's so caught up in you. He thought you were beautiful, but he feels a pull to you that he's never felt with anyone else before.

Bucky's hands move to unlock his door, sliding the key in and twisting the lock open.

He enters, staring at his dark apartment. It's moments like this, when he spends a long day alone, that he wishes there was someone.

Someone to come home to, to hug, to kiss, to share dinner with.

Some to fall asleep with at night. Someone to keep the terrors of the dark away.

But there was no one.

And then his mind thought back to you. Your hair, your face, your warm hands that touched his while you passed him the brown paper bag of treats.

Bucky wishes he was man enough to ask you out. Not even that, just to talk to you. Have a normal conversation, to get to know you.

But that wasn't in the cards for him anytime soon, he thinks.

For now, he focuses on taking things one at a time. And right now, all he wanted was a nice, warm shower and to get at least three hours of sleep tonight.

He's in his room, forgoing the lights for now, before he looks out his window.

For a moment, he believes his eyes are playing tricks on him.

There's absolutely no way that you are standing right there, right outside his window.

Well, in your own apartment, of course.

And there's absolutely no way in hell that Bucky is watching you undress right now.

As soon as you pull off your top, Bucky turns around before he could get more than a peek of your black lace bra, and he feels a burn in the pit of his stomach.

He can't tell if it's shame, guilt, or arousal.

(y/n's pov).・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You couldn't stop thinking about James all day.

After yesterday, you wondered why you couldn't shake this feeling about him.

He'd made it quite clear that he's not a people person. Or maybe he just wasn't a you person.

But again, you tried to not take things too personally these days.

Sometimes, you wondered, though, as you looked through your bedroom window to his some nights.

You imagined what it would be like, watching one of those movies with him at night. Making dinner with him. Having coffee in the mornings before work, wondering what he did for a living.

You chastise yourself for your thoughts, thinking that you were crazy for these ideas you were coming up with out of nowhere.

As you pull off your clothes to get ready for bed, you feel the same emptiness fill your heart when your head hits the pillow, and another day has gone by where you're all alone.

-

The next day, your shift was at ten in the morning so you were up early.

You took your time in rolling out of bed. The warmth of your duvet was holding you down, and you couldn't help take a peek out your window.

You see that the room facing yours is finally housing a body in the bed. In all the time you'd been living across him, you've only seen him on the floor.

You feel a warm flutter at that. Whatever reason led him to actually sleep in the bed last night was, you hope you played a role in it.

-

You make your way to the café, and although walking in the rain wasn't ideal, you made it, somehow.

You clock in and head to the register, ready to take the millions of orders that come in through the day.

"Hi- oh! Welcome back. What can I get you?" Your tone of voice made it clear you were surprised, but was trying to not let it show.

"Uhm, just the same as yesterday, and... Can I get a chocolate croissant?" Bucky's gruff voice tells you.

You ring him up, wondering if you should say something about him being your neighbor. Although, he didn't seem too keen on looking you in the eye right now, and you wonder if you did something to make him uncomfortable yet again.

He seems to have this issue quite often.

Little do you know, this time, it isn't because of you or anything you did.

Well, nothing you did on purpose.

Nothing you were aware of at the time.

Anyways, you tell James to go take a seat and that you'd be right out with his order.

"Here you go, James," you place the plate and mug on the table, and this time, when you hear him say something, you turn around with furrowed brows.

"Sorry, I didn't catch what you said." You apologize, waiting for him to repeat himself.

"I- nevermind, it was stupid anyways. You probably have to get back to work." He mumbles while looking back down at his pastry.

"James, whatever it is, you can tell me." You offer with a kind smile. "I can come sit with you during my break, if you don't mind?" A hopeful smile crosses your face.

"Uh, I- yes, yeah, that would be nice." He struggles for a moment, but finally nods his head in confirmation along with his words.

"Alright, James. I get off in an hour for my break." You simply tell him with a soft grin, and you can practically feel his eyes burning into you as you walk away.

The blush creeping up your cheeks also stays there until the remainder of your shift.

-

As you plop in the chair across from James, you inspect him for a moment.

He was attractive, you'll admit.

Okay, he was more than attractive.

"So, James, where are you from?" You ask, your own cup of coffee in front of you on the table.

"Well, I'm Brooklyn born 'nd raised. Never was a time I didn't live here. You?" His lip twitches, looking out the window fondly.

"That's nice. I moved here when I was nine, so I guess I've been here a while. But no matter where I go, there's nowhere like home." You smile.

"There really isn't, huh? This place is irreplaceable." He gives you a crack of another smile, and you find yourself yearning for more from him. Just a tooth, something.

"Well, do you live around here?" You ask, deciding to play coy. You wanted to see what he'd say.

"Uh, yeah, actually. Over on DeKalb and Clinton." He clears his throat, the hint of a smile on his face melting right off.

"Huh, that's so funny. I live on those streets too." You grin, waiting to see his reaction.

"O-Oh really?" James doesn't really know what to say without giving away that he knows where you fucking live.

"Yeah, isn't that funny? Which building?" You're pressing, and you know he knows, but you're having your fun right now.

"T-the uhm... I live in the Washington." He's now making zero eye contact with you, and you're close to breaking.

"What a coincidence! I live in the Oakley!" You're in a fit of giggles when his face drops, you just can't help it anymore.

"James, can I tell you something?" You ask in a coquettish manner.

"Yeah, I suppose you'll tell me even if I say no." He gives a tight smile as a joke.

"I don't wanna sound like a creep, but I knew you lived in the Washington."

"Oh," James releases a breath of relief, "thank God. I knew you lived in the Oakley, but I didn't wanna sound like a stalker either." He says.

You laugh, sliding a hand on top of his resting on the table.

"Y'know, you do this really annoying thing where you leave your movies running on full brightness on your TV, and I can see it through my windows at night." You laugh at the incredulity of the situation.

"Oh... I never even thought of that. I'm sorry, Y/N." He looks genuinely remorseful, and now you feel bad for any bad thought you've had about the man that lives across from you.

"It's alright. No big deal." Your smile does a good job of convincing Bucky that you truly weren't bothered by his actions, but he still felt bad.

"Y'know, maybe I could make it up to you?" He asks, and you feel a blush moving up your chest. "Like, maybe over dinner?" His voice is timid, you can tell by the way he tilts his head down while speaking.

"James," you slide your hand into his this time, your smaller one resting in his large metal one. "I'd love to go out with you sometime."

Before he could react, you stood up from the chair.

"My break's over, but I get off at 3." You lean down and pull a pen from your apron, scribbling your number onto a napkin. "Here."

You walk away before he could say anything, but there's something about him this time that you notice.

He's blushing, too. And he's smiling. A bright, white, blinding smile.

You think of that smile throughout your whole shift, until you see he's still waiting for you when it's time to go.

"So, do you like Chinese or Italian better?" He asks with a crooked smile.

-

bonus scene:

six months later

You and Bucky are laid across your bed, the TV blaring a movie that neither of you are paying attention to. Your head is resting on his shoulder, leg thrown over both of his, and his hand running through your hair.

"You wanna know somethin' doll?" Bucky asks, and you feel his chest rumble under your head.

"Yeah, everything okay?" You ask while leaning up on your elbow to get a good look at him, trying to gauge his mood.

"Everything's okay, just remembered something." He laughs, his hand moving to hold your jaw in it. You shivered at the touch, but smiled fondly at the action.

"When I first saw you at the coffee shop, that first day when you gave the free coffee and pastries... I followed you home."

Your brows furrow and it's clear that you were confused as to why.

"I wanted to make sure you got home safe, and then it turned out that you lived right next to me. So I went up to my apartment and wondered what I'd done right in a past life to have you live right next to me, and then I saw you lived right across from me." His face was tipped upwards, like he was replaying that night in his head.

"You followed me home just to make sure I was safe?" You asked in disbelief that he did something so nice for you, when at the time you thought he hated you.

"Of course, sweetheart. It was dark out and there 're some real jerks out there, y'know." One corner of his mouth lifts up in a soft smirk. "Didn't want anything to happen to ya."

You lean down and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, appreciating his gesture.

"I really thought you didn't like me back then, so this is a nice little secret you've been hiding from me." You giggle when he pulls you back in for a real kiss.

"Yeah, well, I don't think I could'a hated you if I tried, baby. You're too sweet. And at the time, I was still getting used to being out in the open without being a national security threat." You both laugh lightly, dropping your head down.

A moment passes where you bask in his words, letting them soak in. And then a thought hits you, and you can't help but become more curious. Now you need to know the answer.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, hon." Now Bucky's brows are pulled together, and you reach up and smooth out the wrinkle with your thumb.

"Did you ever... see me doing anything in here? Like, I usually keep the curtains open, and even if they're closed, they're pretty see-through..." You trail off, giving him time to craft his response.

You have a feeling you know the answer, considering how he turns red like a tomato in an instant as words leave your lips.

"I... there was this one time, but I swear, I wasn't trying to peep on you or anything, it was the same day I followed you and I just so happened to look into your window, and you were getting undressed, but I swear, I turned away as soon as I saw what you were doing, baby-" He was rambling, trying to save himself from sounding like a complete creep after all he's just told you.

"Did you like it?" You ask, innocently, but he knew what you were trying to do.

"I-I- You were getting undressed, sweetheart, of course I liked it... are you kidding me?" Bucky's grasping for the words, trying to make you understand.

"Well... we could always recreate it, but maybe in the same apartment this time?" You cock your head to the side, your doe eyes stirring a feeling in his abdomen.

"I think that's an excellent idea, honey." Bucky's hands grasp your waist as you slide on top of his lap. "After all, I am a hands on learner."

-

fin. i hope you enjoyed!

[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.