#i see some fucking strange shit in the tags of celebrities but these ones are the most baffling

[mostlygibberish]

Looks real fuckin' bad, champ.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Light on the Darkside - Chapter Twenty Eight.

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty One Twenty Two Twenty Three Twenty Four Twenty Five Twenty Six Twenty Seven

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.

Words - 3,724

Warnings - 18+ throughout. Topics cover depression, suicide and eating disorders. Minors DNI!

He hadn’t attended the funeral service, but he knew where Carole was buried. She’d been interred in the same plot as her mother, his granny Gladys. He hadn’t really known his grandparents well, his grandpa not at all as a casualty of WWII and his gran passing away when he was just six years old. He felt like he knew her, though, from all Carole had spoken of her.  

Arriving at the grave, it felt strange, seeing her name carved there in white marble headstone, sitting down cross legged. “Don’t really know what the fuck to say now I’m here,” he began, picking at the blades of grass before him. “Just knew I had to come, innit, get some shit off my chest. Not that you can hear any of it.”  

It wasn’t for the benefit of a woman long dead, though.  

“I dunno, mum. Wow, that felt weird, calling you that. You’ve been Carole and nothing else for a long time. Well, a few lesser pleasant names, too. All of which you likely reserved for me at some point as well.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of Benson and Hedges, the first he’d bought in a long time, using his old petrol lighter and lighting one up. He didn’t intend on starting up smoking again regularly, but definitely felt like he needed some on hand, with how life was right at that moment. 

“I think I get it, you know, where you were coming from. You were scared to death that whatever you knew was wrong with you - but never acknowledged or spoke about - was what was wrong with me, too. You went about it differently to how I have, and I don’t forgive you for that. When I needed you, you were there, but you still fucking blamed me. Ain’t no forgiveness there, but I forgive you for being scared. I forgive you for not being perfect. No parent ever is, innit. I can see that now, now I’ve had my own kids. Now I have Lyra going through something so shitting similar. 

“It’s frightening. Seriously, I ain’t ever been so scared as I was when I saw her there in the bathroom, whether or not her intention was as serious as mine was. Doubt it was, but I know she ain’t right. I think like, trying to be as far removed from how you were ain’t helping. Ella’s right there, not that you’d ever acknowledge that. I wish you hadn’t gone off the way you did, for your sake, because my wife is a fucking top grade woman. Best mother to our girls I could ever ask for, and she would have been good for you, too, in the time you had left. If only you’d let her. 

He paused, taking a long drag on his cigarette, picking a flaked piece of leather across the crack in his boot. “It didn’t have to end the way it did, but I forgive you for that, too. Mental illness is tough as shit, and you didn’t know how to handle it, did you? I mean you must’ve been really sick, up in your head, to have it right there in front of you, all evident in the fact you lost your family cos’ of the way you were. It still never fell into place. I wish you would have let someone help you. I wish you would have let me help you, but nah. Just pushed me away, didn’t ya?” 

The bitterness of his mother’s rejection, of her cruelty rose up in him then, his jaw flexing as he ground his teeth. “I bet you probably hate that Alice adopted us, that to me and Sam, she’s mum now. She earned it, though. She accepted us, with our flaws and everything. Celebrated our triumphs, loved us through our failures, did what a fucking mother is meant to do.” He stopped himself there, realising he was giving way to an anger he was desperately trying to cleanse himself of, the years of bitterness caused because of her. 

Taking another cigarette out, he lit it straight off the almost finished one, crushing it out into the grass beside his foot. “Gotta continue finding my peace now as I get my daughter through this, her lack of that exact thing; peace. She needs me to be there for her, and I will be. Probably gonna mess things up a bit along the way, but fuck, that’s being a parent. You can’t get it right all the time, can ya? For everything I’m unsure on, I’ve got Ella, too. Need to go make up with her there, admit I was wrong.  

“Even though I say all the time that it don’t bother me, I think it does, you know. Bothers me that she has all this insight that I don’t, and then I end up doing the exact same thing Lyra does, the same thing I tell her, ‘nah, you mum don’t do that’ over and accuse her of analysing or therapizing me. All because I still resent Dr. Beaumont a bit and her methods. What shitting kills me is that Ella ain’t even close to her, innit! She’s just like Michael was when he was still practising!”  

He wished he still was, so he could entrust his daughter to him for therapy, but that lovely man truly deserved his retirement. They were still in touch sporadically, mostly over Facebook, liking comments, having little catch up chats, talking about their joint passion of music.  

“See, though? Admitted my wrongs there. Wasn’t scary at all.” Taking a long drag on his cigarette, he then snorted softly, a smile curling his lips. “Might have stung me a little bit in my pride, like, but nah. I’m fucking lucky as hell to be married to such a wonderful woman. I know you always hated her, but she’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I wish you could have seen that. She never tried to take me away from you, like you said. Fucking right off the mark there, you were. Like when you said me and her were poisoning dad against you. Nah. Fucking laid that poison all by your bloody self.” 

Again, he pushed his anger down, realising it was no good to keep on venting that. He was there to cleanse, not stoke a fire that he was trying hard to put out once and for all.  

“If I’m really honest, I’m still fucking angry at you, mum. I am, but I gotta put it aside properly, and that means forgiving you for what I can, and I do. Wherever you are, and I don’t fucking know about any of that afterlife bollocks, but I hope you’ve found a bit of peace you were lacking when you were alive, innit. I at least want that for you.” 

He sat there in silent reflection of everything he’d unloaded, everything he thought he had dealt with pertaining to Carole in the aftermath of her death, but what he’d experienced rising up sharply over the last forty-eight hours. Parents were not perfect, just like he’d said, he had his flaws as a father as much as she’d had as a mother. How he dealt with them though, it would be worlds apart from her methods, even now while dealing with the toughest challenge to date in being a father.  

Finishing his cigarette, he kissed his thumb before pressing it to the marble, standing up and walking back to his truck. The drive home was taken at a sedater speed than usual along the motorway, stopping to collect Freya from nursery when he arrived back in Atherstone and buy a peace offering for Ella in the form of a massive mixed bouquet of flowers, cursing Waitrose under his breath for having the nerve to charge so much. She’d like them, at least. That was all that mattered. He also picked up some snacks for the kids, having his ear bent by the destroyer of worlds over her wishes for the mixed fruit bowl. 

“Expensive chaos of the night, you are,” he spoke, kissing her cheek while juggling her and the basket. 

“I’m worth all of the pennies!” Yes, she really was.  

Once done there, he picked up Zara from school, her and her sister amusing him greatly with their absolute nonsense along the drive home, his girls the tonic he needed after such an emotional unload. It had soothed him, made him feel much lighter to face Carole’s last resting place and unburden himself, but still. His mental balance was obviously a little precarious at that moment, with all that was revolving around his eldest.  

When he arrived home, Zara went straight upstairs to change, Freya being set up with her fruit and the jigsaw puzzle she’d demanded from the toy box in the corner. Once she was content and provided with her fruit bowl, he went into the kitchen to find Ella pottering, wiping down surfaces as she nodded along to the old Fatboy Slim album playing. She was likely distracting herself, he thought, from the fact Lyra was sitting in her therapy room right at that moment, receiving her first session with Sadie.  

Turning to see him looking at her through the huge pink, white and purple blooms, a sheepish smile on his face, she took the flowers with a kiss. “Thank you, they’re lovely.” 

“They come with a massive apology too, innit,” he began, reaching up to grab a vase from the cupboard while she peeled away the cellophane wrap. “I’m sorry I was a dickhead to you. You were right, but I just didn’t wanna hear it. Then I did that predictable bullshit of pushing you away, just like I used to when I couldn’t deal with my head being a mess. I’m sorting it, though. Started doing that when I went out earlier.” 

“Oh?” she asked, grabbing the kitchen scissors and beginning to trim down a few of the flower stems. “How so? Before you tell me, though, I’m sorry as well. I know how I can get; I leave my therapist hat on sometimes and I don’t mean to, but I understand how it comes across.” 

He was glad she’d acknowledged it, but he had to let her know that it was okay for her to have done so, in what her doing such had led to. “Nah, babe. In this instance, you were fucking right to. With both me and Lyra. As for what I did, I went to the cemetery. To Carole’s grave.”  

Turning to him, she placed the scissors down, taking the vase full of water he handed to her and setting it down on the side. “Oh, oh... wow. I think that was the very last place I expected you to end up.” 

“Yeah,” he laughed softly. “Me too until this morning and found myself driving up to the cemetery. I needed it though, darlin’. Had a lot of shit to get off my chest that all got stirred up after Lyra did what she did. I needed to forgive Carole for what I could, and emphasise the things I’d never forgive her for. Felt like a bit of a twat talking to a headstone, but I feel better for it.”  

Winding her arms around his waist, she pulled him close, kissing his chest. “I’m glad that you do. I’ve been worried, what this might do to your own mental balance, with it all hitting so close to home for you. Hardly bleedin’ slept last night as it was,” she confided, James resting his chin atop her head, loving hands stroking her back as he cuddled her tightly.  

“Yeah, yeah it ain’t great up there in my wonky brain, but I expected that to be fair. Just gotta pull myself together for Lyra, innit. That’s why I did what I did. Thought that was what Michael would probably have advised I do, and in lieu of him actually being able to tell me that, I did it for myself.” 

Stroking his chest, she looked up at him fondly. “He gave you all the tools you need to navigate these wobbles since his retirement, though. I’m proud of you for using them. Twenty-three-year-old James would have snorted, curled his lip and given an absolute mouthful of disgust at that. The forty-year-old version is much improved,” she smiled, pulling him into a kiss. 

“You two are disgusting!” Zara admonished upon entering the kitchen, James making a further show of it by bending Ella back over his arm and kissing her some more as she giggled against his lips. “Daddy, where’re my snacks?”  

“In the bag, kid. Dried mango and those evil rice cakes you like,” he spoke, Zara grabbing the bag, opening it and wafting it in his direction. 

“Sour cream and onion! Yum!” 

“Get away!” he frowned, his lip curling. “They smell like manky belly button fluff. Top grade nasty.” Anything with a fake onion flavour and James heaved. Ella couldn’t even eat cheese and onion crisps without cleaning her teeth before coming anywhere near him. He left his daughter to her snacks and wife to her flower arranging, heading into his office to finalise a few jobs, finishing up just as Lyra was emerging with Sadie. The fact she flew into his arms in tears wasn’t the best sign.  

“Now, Lyra. There’s no need for more tears. I’m very pleased with you, I think we covered quite a lot there in our first session,” the therapist spoke kindly, looking then to James. “She did really well, but as you know yourself it can be very emotionally exhausting.” 

“I’m never doing that again!”  

Her dad smiled a little thinly. “Thought she might say that.” Telling her to go through to the lounge, he managed to untangle himself from her embrace, leading Sadie through to the kitchen to sit down and discuss it with him and Ella.  

“Now, like I said to James, she did very well there, but as with all twelve-year-old girls she does have a penchant for the dramatic, bless her little heart,” she spoke kindly, receiving her requested glass of sparkling water with thanks as Ella handed it over, taking a seat opposite her at the island next to her husband. “I think that little outburst of never wanting to do that again had a lot more to do with yanking at your heartstrings to get her own way rather than any genuine distress.” 

James scratched his chin, nodding. “Yeah, she does that a lot. Tries to get round me first. It’s always me she’s clingy with too, when she’s upset or poorly especially.”  

“Well, like I said, it can be emotionally exhausting, too. I shan’t discount that. Lyra is at her heart a very stubborn child, though. If she can get out of something she doesn’t want to do, she has no qualms about resorting to whatever she can in order to do that. In saying that, however, she did respond well. A lot better than she will likely make out in aftermath of her first session.  

“Now, down to my observations. Quite comfortably, I would say she’s suffering from PMDD. Her fluctuations in mood all track to her menstrual cycle, and they also explain why this has only been happening with her since her periods first began last September. The suicide attempt I do tend to lean towards James’s inclining, that it was a cry for help from a young girl very jumbled up by her emotions and not anything truly relating to any serious wishes to expire.  

“Tentatively too – and bearing in mind as psychologists our field does not stretch to prescription of medication – I would say she doesn’t need to be on anything for the time being. That’s something to chat to your GP about, should what I propose not yield beneficial results. I feel that at her age, they are likely to perhaps advise the benefits of the contraceptive pill for treatment as opposed to SSRI medication, but like I say, that’s a future we are not yet at. 

 “I think therapy would benefit her, as well as more regular exercise as by her own admission she does fall into periods of inertia. Perhaps up her swimming more than every other week, insist she accompany you when you walk the pom frites, too. Love that nickname, by the way,” she smiled, pointing down to where the dogs hovered by the counter.  

“I think a gentle approach is honestly all that is needed, but by no means do I want to downplay any of your parental concerns. I’m happy to make time to come and see her here at home, too, as this is where she’s most comfortable. I can pencil you in for sessions on a Friday afternoon going forward, from five thirty until six thirty? I wouldn’t usually, but Ella, you of course get friend privileges.” 

“So, for the unenlightened musician who don’t understand this jargon, what is PMDD, exactly?” James asked, catching Otis and hauling him up when he scrambled to jump into his lap.  

“PMDD stands for premenstrual dysphoric disorder. It's essentially a type of depression brought about by hormonal fluctuations during the cycle, manifesting in the days prior to a woman’s period arriving. Similar to pre-menstrual stress, but more severe.”  

Yep, that definitely tracked, he noted. She was always her worst in the sullen misery or screaming harpy stakes right before that time. It was a weight lifted from them, to have an answer beyond normal teenage moodiness as to why she was acting out and becoming a concern to them, but yet when Sadie left, Lyra didn’t see it as anything positive.  

“I don’t want to see her again! You can’t make me!” she shouted, trying to wrap herself around her dad. 

“Nope,” he spoke, unwinding her arms. “Lyra, you can’t get around me like that. You’ll be seeing her again next week, no excuses. She told us that you did a lot better than you’d likely let on in there, and it helped everything too because now we know what’s wrong and how to help you manage it.”  

“What, that my body is a shit and attacking my brain whenever I get a period? Loads of people get that, it’s PMS! I don’t need a therapist for PM bloody S!” 

“No, sweet, it isn’t,” Ella tried, reaching to stroke her hair. “It’s worse than PMS, it’s why you have your periods of feeling bleak and getting snappy. Nobody is downplaying this, and you shouldn’t either just to get out of it, but please, give the therapy a try. It’d be a lot better than the alternatives, which would be to include medication as well.” 

“I’ll take a load of pills again if you make me!” she cried, rubbing her eyes on her sweater sleeve. Those words made a shard of discomfort slice sharp against her mum’s chest, but she knew it wasn’t a serious threat. Merely an emotionally manipulative foot stomp.  

“You won’t, because as of now all the medicine will be locked away. You don’t have that trust any longer to leave it when you can access it. I don’t think you really mean that anyway, do you?” Ella continued stroking her head, Lyra sniffing, eventually moving to hug her. She was out of luck with James, her first port of call, so now trying with her mum. 

“Please, mummy. Don’t make me,” she sobbed, Ella gently rocking her in a tight hug. 

“You’ve got no choice, my little love. PMDD can’t go untreated. It’s serious, we need to look after you and you have to meet us halfway and be receptive.” A whine sounded, Lyra burying her face against her neck, Ella smiling in soft entertainment across the table at James. “Sadie’s nice, isn’t she? She said you opened up and talked very well to her, so what’s the issue there?” 

Truly, there was no issue. Lyra was, as was her teenage nature and hormonal imbalance, being difficult for the sake of it. Also, as Ella correctly guessed, she was having a little moment of thriving on the attention. It was to be expected.  

“Are you coming back out from my neck at any point, baby cakes?” she asked, turning her head to kiss her cheek. More noises of discontent sounded. “You can whine and curl your lip up just like your dad does when he’s pissed off too, but you’re not getting out of therapy. You can shout, foot stomp and be moody as well, but the answer will remain the same.” 

Eventually, she emerged, combing her fingers through her hair. “Fine. I’ll see Sadie.”  

Ella reached for her cheek, stroking the apple with her thumb. “Good girl, I’m very proud of you.”  

Lyra smiled, giving her dad a hug when he told her the same thing before going into the lounge. A few minutes passed, the kid seeming to perk up a little for being with her sisters, her parents hearing her shouting and laughing as Freya decided to use her as a human climbing frame. They stood and watched the scene through the glass panels in the door, both laughing as Lyra pulled up her t-shirt and offered raspberries blown upon the destroyer of world’s tummy.  

“Going to get my army on you! And do a black magic!”  

“Yeah?” she chuckled, lifting her aloft as she lay back on the sofa. “I’m gonna use you as a tiny human weight. One, and a two, and a three!” she added, raising her sister repeatedly, Freya screaming with joy as their adoring parents watched, their laughter escalating. 

Turning to James, Ella flopped against his chest, leaning her full weight on him as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her head. “This parenting stuff is hard.” 

“Innit?” 

“But they’re amazing.” 

She had that right. “They are, little.” 

“But still, I have all this residual stress whirling around, so I’m going to require that you take me to bed and bang me like a shed door in a hurricane tonight.” 

His filthy laugh filled the kitchen. “Done deal, babe.” 

Later that night, he kept to his word, too, ensuring they both fell asleep with nothing but contentment abounding. 

[joannerowling]

Man PinkNews really can't stay away from Jo for too long lol, they're back at it again with more slander, this time with a supposed like of a pretty offensive tweet. And as always people are eating it all up.

Now I went to check and that supposed like wasn't there which makes me think it's fake(either that or much like few years ago when she liked and then unliked that one tweet-I forget what was it about, and if her like was real then it could be the same case again, an acidental like).

But like, I really don't get these people...I get it, they hate her, but why make up stuff? Is it cause perhaps normies are waking up and seeing that Jo isn't this evil person the likes of PinkNews and TRAs are trying to paint her as...it's so weird.

Well they can't exactly go and talk about anything wrong she would have actually done, can they, since when you look up what Jo really does with her money it's all charity and paying her taxes. We're still waiting on that list of anti-trans organisations she would have supposedly funded or donated to - you'd think they would line up to claim her patronage, and yet! Crickets! Strange, isn't it?

So they are reduced to this: dishonesty, defamation, and just making shit up when they run out of ideas. Take this week's example of what has the gendiboos shitting themselves: Jo liking a darkly humourous tweet saying "at least the Talibans know what a woman is". Someone tried to paint that as a) original tweeter was supporting the Talibans (yes, in this era where people can just say "kill yourself" to a celebrity over them claiming to like raisins); b) JKR herself implicitly supports the Talibans by proxy because she liked the tweet. Now, the person who said that claims to have received a cease and desist order. Gee, why would that ever happen??

… Yeah, i guess Jo's a little sensitive about that particular brand of defamation of her character. It's almost like, unlike these bozos, she actually cares about hate crimes against women.

Honestly i wish she'd actually take them to court, just once. She would absolutely wipe the floor with them and that would set the record straight for any more who wants to try her. And i'm not even saying that with her sake in mind tbh.

But for the sake of the ACTUAL WOMEN IN THE MIDDLE EAST SUFFERING THROUGH ISLAMIC REGIMES RIGHT THE FUCK NOW.

Like hey!! guys, gals and nonbinary pals! Maybe… just maybe?? we shouldn't use victims of horrible religious tyranny as pawns in some stupid gender wars?? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I know we're all convinced in our heart of hearts that JK Rowling is a big bad meanie, but maybe we could act like the better people we pretend to be for once and treat this topic with the seriousness it warrants?? ufuckingwu!

And since i had the unpleasant surprise to see that in the tag this morning: same thing with Ukraine. No, JK Rowling is not friend with Putin, she has actually helped Ukrainian refugees since the start of the war, and the fucking Harry Potter store being maybe still up in Moscow on Google Maps is the last of Ukraine's problems even if she had the actual power to shut it down (assuming GM's infos are even actualised).

Like, i can sort of laugh it out when these idiots make up bullshit about the Goblins being antisemitic caricatures. (Except, it's not actually funny, not when you take two seconds to think about the implications that a whole generation of people apparently think that this is what antisemitism is, OR, care so little about antisemitism that they are happy to pretend that this is it.) It's a whole 'nother business to pick victims of current wars and religious extremism and make up a story about how it's all some writer you don't like's fault. Those are real people ffs. Whom JKR is tangibly helping. What the fuck is Pink News doing for them, hmm? Not even showing them an OUNCE of decency and respect, that's what.

Anyways, apologies for this outburst. To answer your question : why do they do it? Hatred. Hatred is the point. It goes nowhere deeper than this i'm afraid.

[iguessitsjustme]

I Saw You In My Dream Ep 1 Thoughts

I want to liveblog a show again and since a few shows ended and I have the bandwidth to add a couple more shows so I’m back with another liveblog. This time it’s I Saw You In My Dream. I promise I will try to be better about tagging my liveblogs but I am…well I’m me. But I’ll try my best. I’ll be using the tags #rae liveblogs and #rae liveblogs i saw you in my dream for anyone who wants to filter. Anyways, as always, liveblog under the cut:

I honestly have no idea what this show is about. I’m going in blind. Is this a good idea? Who knows. But we’ll find out!

The opening is cute.

Okay. This is subject to change but right off the bat, not a fan of Yu. Just very…boys I went to high school with. I don’t see what’s so funny. But I do like the little drawings. I love when shows do the little drawings like this.

NOT JOY TO THE WORLD NO. I hate this Christmas carol so much. I have for my whole life. It is a known thing to my family. I have to suffer it every year at the one and only church service I go to. And it is. The worst. Yes, I am aware that it’s basically just the G scale. Well fuck the G scale all the to hell. I was put on this earth to suffer.

I rarely mute shows but I had to mute this. Joy to the World? More like Misery to the Rae.

My attention span is shit today so I took a break and just watched a tiktok that literally threw me into such a hardcore laughing fit. I could not breathe. I was crying. I was dry heaving. It took me a full 10 minutes to calm myself down. It was the funniest thing I’ve seen in such a long time. I love people so much. Humanity is great actually.

Now I need to make dinner (yay leftovers) and then I can proceed on my watch.

I’m pretty sure my mom has this sweatshirt not gonna lie.

The world is noisy and I am neurodivergent. Someone. Someone take me away. I need. Peace.

Prophetic dream time? Methinks?

Well actually *looks up at the title of this show* that would actually explain some things.

Lullaby soundtrack? But hummed lullaby? English speaking lullaby? Weird arrangement but I’ll move past that. Mostly because that is very much just a personal opinion there.

How many slices of bread are on that sandwich?

Oh four. Okay. Where is the inside of that sandwich? Where’s the meat? The veggies? The anything? That’s just a bread sandwich at this point. Bread sandwich.

Oooo the hand hold. Cuties. Alright. I’m on board. Also hopefully Ai scolding Yu to watch both ways before crossing will prevent the accident that’s about to occur.

The inherent homoeroticism of cacti (@heretherebedork honestly every cactus I see makes me think of you lol)

An…apology? With an explanation but not an excuse? An APOLOGY? I’m losing it. Okay. Officially sold on this show and this couple. Where are my donuts I must celebrate.

Man I wish I could read Thai

My show watching got interrupted by my brother telling me a story about his date tonight with his girlfriend. Well also she told me the story. Very funny. Very strange. Both of them are great storytellers but back to BL.

Aaaahhhhh with the pictures as the birthday present that is sooo cute I am squealing I need to go take a nap I think because hoo boy too cute. Too too cute.

Now boys.

Oh dick so good it got you floatin

Oh end of episode? Well it’s not late at all so I can definitely do one more episode tonight. Praise bless.

[daincrediblegg]

get to know your fanfic writer

tagged by @kittensmctavish (thankies my friend)

When did you post your first ever fanfic?

in the mid 00's... to fucking quizilla. may she rest in peace.

First Character(s) you wrote?

Oh god... that fuckin guy played by Michael Palin from A Fish Called Wanda and an oc I created (I was 13. so as you can see I have fucking always been like this about pathetic old men.)

Main Character(s) you’re currently writing?

Lady Terror and Francis Crozier (first and easily foremost. honestly I've written more shit for him in the last 8 months than I have for anyone in the last several years. it's a little ridiculous), Valery Legasov, Hari Seldon.

Character(s) you haven’t written about before but plan to write about soon?

I have been meaning to give some extra thought into certain crewmember's perspectives on Lady Terror and their interactions with her that I've been meaning to flesh out- the top 3 of those for me are Tozer, Hickey, and Irving/Hodge (I see them as part of the Lieutenant unit tbh), and some of the other men on Erebus as well. But also there are a few OC's within the Lady Terror family tree that I want to get to writing, as well as some from Crozier's family as well (who I've been faceclaim casting for months lmao).

Fandom(s) you’re currently writing?

Everyone under the beautiful Jared Harris umbrella, tbh. Primarily The Terror and Chernobyl with a little Foundation sprinkled in for flavor. Tomorrow? Who knows...

Platonic pairing(s) you’re currently writing?

Oh loads. I've been writing lots of interactions between lady terror and a big list of folks from the terror (mainly: Thomas Blanky, Silna, Jopson, Goodsir, JFJ, and many many others), but also lots of interpersonal stuff between others on the ships as well.

Romantic pairing(s) you’re currently writing?

(sing it with me if you know it) CROZIER X LADY TERROR!!! Going on like 8 months strong.

Your top AO3 tags?

Fluff, Angst, and Smut (and god damn if that doesn't sum me up)

Current platform you use for posting?

Tumblr primarily but if something feels fleshed-out enough I'll throw it up on Ao3 as well.

Snippet of the WIP you are currently working on?

hmmm... since I wanna try and get out the first section of one warm line out for tomorrow's crozier birthday celebrations... how about I tease some vampire stuff hm?

The Lady made short work of curling against Francis’ leg, leaning her head gently against his thigh and nuzzling at his knee as her arm snaked around his calf. She pressed a small kiss to the bony space there, and sighed at the feel of his hand when he reached out to brush through her hair gently, reclining at their mutual touches. But then her kisses grew in frequency, dotting further and further up his thigh. Francis chuckled. “You seem in want of something, Love.” he sighed, low, a smile in his voice as he tangled his fingers in her dark tresses. “Should I call Jopson?” “I’m not hungry,” she replied, pressing another kiss to the delicate skin near his hip, where she paused, dark eyes blown over black gazing up at him with a desire from under her eyelashes, “... not in that way.” Francis chuckled to himself at the prospect. It had been a moment since she’d had her way with him. And if she wanted this, he was certainly in no state to refuse her. “I see, ” he replied, leaning a little forward as his gaze softened. “What is it you crave, then, hm?”

Hmm... now who to tag...

@prismatica-the-strange @ashton-slashton @gaunt-and-hungry @jokerownsmysoul @charismat1c-megafauna... and anyone else who feels such a desire to do so? yeah.

[lizhly-writes]

i totally appreciate you tagged this with "somebody make this happen". i'll take that as an invitation, haha!!!

anyway.

.

The thing was, as long as Shang Qinghua didn't stop moving, then it didn't really matter that he had no fucking clue what was going on. He could give thanks to his apparently amazing muscle memory -- his feet knew the steps, his mouth knew the words, and if he didn't think about it too hard, even his thoughts followed a carefully-worn track through his mind.

This wasn't exactly great for curing his sudden amnesia attack, but on the plus side, it was doing a fantastic job at hiding that he had amnesia at all. This could only be a good thing; he could only imagine how much worse court politics would be if everybody knew he didn't know shit!

Because, you know. Apparently he was in charge of royal court politics.

Apparently he was a bigshot! Apparently he had gotten somewhere in life! Ha! Take that, Mom and Dad! How could he possibly be the family disappointment with this many people scurrying around at his say-so? Wasn't this the ultimate managerial position? Or, okay, maybe not ultimate, but it was true he was only a few steps down from emperor! He'd like to see any of his step-siblings do any.... better.

Huh.

Shang Qinghua prodded this thought. It twinged, faintly, like a sore tooth.

Hmm. Shitty family life. Noted.

Well, it was an easy conclusion to come to. At no point had he received letters from a loving mother or father asking after his health. A real parent was supposed to give him a call or something once a week, right? That was what his shitty family therapy book said. Not that he actually remembered reading it. Still!

Shang Qinghua didn't seem to have much in the way of relationships, to be honest. He had servants -- wow, he had servants! -- but there was some kind of weird power-dynamic there, wasn't it?

Truthfully, there were weird power dynamics were everywhere. For instance, his most prominent relationship seemed to be with his insanely-hot (not literally) icy (literally and metaphorically!) boss, and the flavor of that was... weird. Ex-boyfriend weird, maybe? God, this was why you didn't date in the workplace.

This was still marginally better than his second-most prominent relationship, which was... his boss's boss, apparently.

Shang Qinghua had a lot of weird feelings about Junshang, as it turned out. Mostly, they were fear -- which made sense, of course you would fear authority figures, especially ones that could smear you into paste upon the ground-- but also... pride? A lot of pride? Almost a ridiculous amount of pride?

This couldn't just be professional feeling. Shang Qinghua absolutely did not think he was the kind of guy who would be full of spirit upon seeing the success of his team lead, you know?

It clicked, one day, when Junshang was ordering him around. Shang Qinghua had been filled with that strange mix of fear and pride. Also annoyance this time, because Junshang was nitpicking at details for a celebration he wanted to hold for his consort, as if Shang Qinghua had never prepared for a special event in his life.

Shang Qinghua had thought: "Stop talking to me like this! This old man knows this topic better than you do! Disrespect! Unfilial! Ahhh, it's an outrage that my son keeps doing this!"

And then he had examined that thought.

Shang Qinghua ... had a son?

I've seen amnesia plotlines in fanfiction where Shen Qingqiu believes he and Luo Binghe are lovers (before the end of svsss), but how about instead it's an amnesia plotline where Shang Qinghua believes that Luo Binghe is his actual son

[sixflame438]

Forever

Synopsis - Its exam season and you just finished your last paper. What better way to celebrate than to spend the night with the love of your life?

Pairing - Pham Hanni X Reader

Tags - Fluff, jumping jokes, swear words i think? Established relationship, possible spelling and grammar errors as i proofread this at 3am. You’re both so in love

A/N - FIRST POST!! Lowkey quite excited to make my debut but it’s scary lol. Hopefully you enjoy reading it. This is in honor of me finishing mocks, cant wait to fuck up my real ones :D

Word count - 4044

“Pens and pencils down students, your exams are now over” called a monotone voice. A crack of bones could be heard as the invigilator stood up and walked around collecting all the papers.  You hurriedly finished off what you were writing before dropping the pencil in your hand, looking back at your paper with disdain and disbelief. 

3 hours. You had spent 3 hours writing and erasing the same thing over and over again. The first time you had done spelling mistakes, the second time you had thought of a better way to rephrase everything and by the fifth time you rubbed your work out you had 5 minutes left.

Why did you even take that subject? You never enjoyed it and it was a chore to even complete the work assigned. Well it was either this or advanced maths and chemistry you thought to yourself, lowly chuckling knowing you would’ve rather jumped than take either of those courses.

Reluctantly you handed the paper over to the old man who said nothing as he hobbled over to the next desk, still with the same bored expression he wore when he first walked in. You cant blame him though, he had been sitting in the same room as you for 3 hours doing nothing but staring out the window. 

Scanning the room you could see the mixture of emotions, some ecstatic that the paper went well, some just as distraught as you were while some were just glad  it was over. Deciding maybe that’s the best thing to think about right now you also let out a sigh of relief, following your peers out of the exam hall.

After collecting your phone and bag you open it to see the time and no new text messages. Strange, Hanni should be free around now considering she had finished all her exams last week and the one you just took was the last one on the schedule. Thinking nothing more of it you trudged your way through the busy corridors of the building and found yourself in the cafeteria, the long, dreadful hours of your exam really took a toll on your energy.

After surveying your options for lunch you eventually decide to just keep it simple and grab 2 of the prepacked sandwiches, not even caring enough to see what flavours they were, you were just too hungry. As you took a bite of your sandwich (inside was ham, scrambled egg, hash brown and sauce) the deafening sounds of the dining hall finally catching up to you.

It was always busy, hundreds of students gathered in one place to hangout and enjoy some mediocre food, not to mention that an exam had just finished so the level of activity in the hall was tremendous. Deciding it was too much you opt to go home instead, back to your dorm you shared with the best (and your only) roommate you could ever ask for. It was the end of the week and you had no classes left either so there was no reason to stay anyways. 

During the hike home (you lived 10 minute walk away from campus) you stopped as you walked by the local park and playground. Seeing all the kids running around so carefree and excited had you reminiscing about all the times you and Hanni had fun there too. When one would have too much energy to sleep or were too bored to study you would always find a way back to the park together having the time of your life doing the most stupid shit known to man kind. Small but precious moments like those were the ones you cherished most. You didn’t need big grand and fancy to be happy, being quite content with small and intimate instead.

Finishing off the last bite of your sandwich you reached into your backpack and pulled out your second one as you continued your trek home. The first sandwich although did surprise you wasn’t all that bad. The flavours worked well together especially with the house made special sauce but it was all probably leftovers from breakfast anyway as they were your typical morning foods. You would kill to find out what was in that sauce though, there was just something about it that had your tastebuds melting away into a land of bliss and yumminess. Hanni never agreed with you (being a strong hater of the sauce) but found you quite endearing and just marked it off as one of your weird but adorable quirks. 

By the time you had finished your second sandwich (just a basic BLT but with chicken??) your legs had carried you to the front of your door. Scrambling around the pocket of your backpack you pull out your bundle of keys (filled with memorable keyrings and charms you and Hanni got one another) unlocking the door and slowly closing it behind as you enter.

Kicking off your shoes and placing down your stuff on the nearest table you walk over to your bedroom, quietly opening it to find a sleeping Hanni curled up in a little ball deep in the depths of her slumber. You giggle to yourself as you take a picture of the sight with your phone, adding it to the preexisting album of similar photos you had been sneakily taking for the past (almost) 1 year you guys had been together.

Hanni sleeping was one of your favourite versions of her. Here she is all calm and relaxed which is a stark contrast to when she was awake, lively and chaotic bring havoc anywhere she went. You loved her for it though, it brought a sense of uncertainty to your day and you just loved to see her have fun.

Deliberately trying not to disrupt the serenity you had found yourself in, you place your phone on the bedside drawer. Taking off your hoodie you change into more comfortable sleeping shorts. You carefully crawl into bed next to Hanni and wrap your arms around her waist. Instinctively Hanni responds to your touch pulling you closer to her and snuggling her head into the space between your head and shoulder. Your heart fluttered inside your chest at the small movement. The two of you did this every night but you knew you would never get tired of having her in your arms, basically sharing the same air. A small smile could be seen on your face as you drifted into the slumber of your afternoon nap, the exhaustion of the early morning hitting you hard. 

—————

Shifting around you warily open your eyes to be met with closed blinds, a blanket placed over you (now ruffled up as you had woken up) and an empty spot where Hanni used to be. As you got out of bed and peeked behind the door you could clearly hear light jazz and the sound of Hanni tapping away on her phone.  Tiptoeing over to her you gently pull her into a soft embrace. She flinches a little startled by your presence but quickly reciprocates the hug. 

“Hey baby how was your nap?” 

“It was nice but i woke up to find my giant teddy bear missing” you say with a pout.

“Aww baby your so cute, I’m right here though and I’m not going anywhere” she says back with a light chuckle, clearly amused with your response. “How’d your last exam go?” 

“I don’t think its anything worth talking, it wasn’t anything good thats for sure.” You reply, disappointment clear on your face. 

“Hey its alright, its just a measly paper you can always do better in the finals yea? Mocks are just for practice anyway” 

“Yea yea” you say dismissively “Whatcha doin?”

“Oh yea i was replying to Yunjins text, she was asking if we were gonna go to Wonyoung’s party tonight, you know the one she hosts after every last exam?” 

“Are we?”

“That depends on you, do you wanna go?”

“Uhh I’m kinda tired and parties aren’t usually my scene anyway”

“I think you should though. It would be a good way to let loose after exams and have some fun. I’ve seen how tense you’ve been the past few weeks, studying so hard to do well. Plus you would get to see the rest of the girls, its been a while since we’ve all hung out outside of class.”

In all actuality you didn’t want to go at all but with how much Hanni wanted you to just have some fun, you couldn’t say no to those pleading eyes. You missed the girls anyway so it would be a nice bonus.

“Yea okay but I’m only gonna have a few drinks max.” 

“Its fine you drink as much as you want i’ll stay sober for you tonight. Just have some fun okay?”

Parties were always more Hanni’s forte and for her to stay sober just for you was heartwarming as you knew she didn’t want you to risk doing anything dumb or getting hurt. Testament of how you had broken a large ceramic vase at the last party you went to when you had drunk too much and tripped over your own foot while walking. Luckily Wonnie didn’t care too much about that specific vase, saying she wanted to get rid of it anyway so you just gave her more of a reason to do so.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel left out or anything because of me”

“Yes I’m sure plus taking care of you is my full time responsibility can’t let anything happen to you. Now come on lets go get ready” Hanni says excitedly.

You grumble in annoyance but ultimately allow yourself to be dragged back into your bedroom, how could you ever say no to Hanni anyway???

—————

“And done!” Hanni exclaims as she steps back, admiring her hard work. “I’m gonna go get myself ready now hurry up and put your outfit on! I’ll be waiting outside” your girlfriend says before kissing your cheek and skipping out of your shared bedroom. A light blush appears below the blush she had just finished applying to you as you smile to yourself. God you loved Hanni so much she was just so adorable and treated you so well too.

You were never a big fan of doing your makeup or purposefully dressing to impress and you only really started putting in that effort when you started trying to rizz Hanni up. (You tried and failed but she found you quite endearing) How you managed to pull her you will never know but you would go through all your failed attempts again if it meant having her by your side. She is literally the love of your life and the amount of things you would do for her makes you seem borderline insane, but anything for her right?

After putting on the outfit Hanni had planned for you and grabbing a few other essentials you walk out to see the girl in her own outfit, although simple it did wonders on making her look so much prettier. Or was it the other way around?

“Aww baby you’re so beautiful, I’m so glad I get to call you mine” 

“Such a sweet talker, have you seen yourself in the mirror? The pleasures all mine” You reply back in between kisses. If there was one way you would happily die to it was lack of oxygen while kissing Hanni. Her soft pillowy lips were quite literally to die for and just thinking about them could have you watering. 

“Okay we can continue this later let’s go!”

—————

Hand in hand you walk up to the house that was blasting hiphop tunes, door wide open as you could see that it was already packed. You felt a queasy feeling come up but pushed it aside as you felt Hanni squeeze your hand in comfort. “Remember if you want to leave just let me know, i’ll probably be talking to other people but I promise to stand in open places so you can find me easier okay?” 

“Okay I’ll keep that in mind, thanks again for tonight”

“Aww baby you’re too cute” Hanni says with a happy pout, giving your face a little squish in the process. “Now go have fun its what your here for” 

“Yes ma’am” you respond with a small salute before going over to the drinks table. Hanni giggles again at your behaviour, how could she have not fallen for you? Although nonchalant on the outside you were just an adorable little loser, HER adorable loser and she wouldn’t trade you for anything. 

“Aye Yn you look so hot girl! If I didn’t know any better I’d so hit on you tonight” 

A small laugh escapes your mouth as you feel 2 arms wrapping around you. 

“Hey Gigi its nice to see you too and don’t even get me started on you’re outfit! Are you trying to get hit on tonight or something??”

“Haha thanks girly, I’m not but Minjeongs definitely trying to. She’s been attempting to flirt with Karina all night but she’s so short and cant stand her ground because she keeps getting interrupted by not only her own stupidity but also the other partygoers who are also trying to hit on Karina. I feel sorry for Minjeongie but its fucking hilarious to watch especially since she keeps stumbling over her words. She’s both whipped and drunk, its a great combo” Giselle tells you as she laughs at the situation Winter had gotten herself into.

“Enough about her let’s go get you some drinks in your system and have some fun!” 

You nod in agreement as you allow yourself to be dragged away again, twice in one day. 

—————

By now you had had multiple drinks and played 4 rounds of beer pong against different classmates. You danced here and there when good songs started playing and also managed to trip up Yunjin completely on accident as she has tried walking up to talk to you. You didn’t drink much normally and were quite the lightweight.

Some how during the night you ended up with Minji instead, neither of you knowing how you ended up together. You were barely coherent as you tried to drink more, swaying from side to side as you walked. 

“Okay girl I think you’ve had enough where’s your girlfriend at? Come on Yn let’s go” Minji whines as she attempts to drag you over to Hanni but you weren’t having it, choosing to grab onto the nearest object you could to prevent yourself being dragged away. You weren’t about to be kidnapped today and no one but your girlfriend could touch you. 

“God you’re so stubborn how does Hanni deal with you everyday? You know what forget it you’re a lost cause” 

“HEY! You say exasperated “thats so meeeeaaannnnn” purposely elongating your words to annoy Minji even more.        

“Yea? Well I’m done ah perfect timing here’s the angel you speak so highly of.” 

“Hey Minji sorry for having to deal with her but I can take over now” Hanni had been easily alerted by your loud presence and came over to see what was up.

As soon as you registered who the owner of that angelic voice was you turned around and did a little jog over to her with outstretched arms ready to crush her and never let go.

“Hannnnniiiiiiiiiiiiii” You were always extra clingy when drinking but ONLY towards your beloved, everyone else had to face an annoying baby who was actively praying on their downfall. 

“Hey baby I’m here now” she tells you but she’s sure its gone straight over your head as you do nothing but cling tighter. 

Minji just stands there amused at the scene in front of her. “Nah don’t worry about it Yn hardly ever drinks anyway and despite how annoying she is she’s quite entertaining haha”

“Yea she’s something when she’s drunk alright. Do you and the rest of the girls wanna hang out sometime? Exam season is over and its been a while”

“Oh yea of course I’m so down, i’ll ask the girls later. Speaking of I should probably go check on Dani, last I saw she was throwing up in a random bush” Minji says wincing at the last part, Dani no anyone throwing up was a disgusting sight.

“Oof yea have fun dealing with her, I think I’m gonna take Yn home now. I’ll text you later yea?”

“Yep sounds like a plan, have a good night!” 

“I think you need that more to me haha” 

“Yea I probably do” Minji says deadpanning before leaving to go find Danielle “Cya!”

During her conversation with Minji you had managed to almost fall asleep just hanging onto Hanni like a koala and if it weren’t for the support you would’ve fallen over by now with how much you were swaying on your feet, the alcohol making you unable to stay still. 

“Hey sweetheart wanna go home now? You look very sleepy” Hanni cooes gently. However you were unresponsive so she pokes you in the cheek and squishes your face with her hands. This does nothing to wake you up though as the warm hands against your face just make you feel more at home. 

“Yn?” Hanni chuckles lightly. What a sweet sweet voice that is you think to yourself, should only belong to the prettiest girls in the world. Oh wait thats my girlfriend. Hehehehe, mine. Hanni chuckles again as she hears you mumble out that last part 

“Ynnie you’re too cute, come on lets get going” 

“Nooooo but I don’t wannnnaaa go homeeeee” You whine pouting your bottom lip even further as if it would convince Hanni more.

Your girlfriend thinks for a second before replying “how about we got get some food then? From that one place we go to when I’m hungover and your too lazy to cook?”

“Oh yay I love that place! They make the best fried chicken and cold noodles. Its always so yummy, there isn’t a single time its been bad. And their homemade dumplings??? Ugh so good. Have you tried their…” You carry on rambling as Hanni leads you out to your car, most of your words slurred but having spent so long with you now Hanni has no problem deciphering your drunken thoughts.

The entire drive over was just more of you asking and answering your own questions like a loopy idiot. Hanni did nothing but listen and hold one of your hands as she drove towards the late night restaurant you both frequented. Usually it was always Hanni yapping away so it was a nice change for both of you today.

—————

After you both devoured that one hell of a meal;(you ordered almost everything and Hanni couldn’t find it in her to stop you. If it weren’t for the old grandma who owned the place you would probably be out of money now “yah don’t eat so much so late! Come back another day”) you decided to go to the local park.

It wasn’t far from your home (the same one you walked past earlier) and had a beautiful view. Not prettier than your girlfriend of course but definitely up there. Sure it was now 4am but thats beside the point and you both had nothing planned anyway. Somehow after spending the entire time laughing and giggling away your drunk ass still had too much energy, the alcohol still apparent in your system. Hanni didn’t know how you did it, you were always so energetic when drunk, more hyper and affectionate.

It was as if all the energy you didn’t use in the day gets stored and just comes out all at once. She loved you like this though as it gave her a chance to take care of you like you normally did to her. Hanni was always more appreciative when you drank though as it was when she realized how much energy it truly takes to look after a drunkie and made her feel sorry for you as you were always there for her after every night out. 

Hanni made her way over to your spot on the little hill, luckily she didn’t have to lug you around this time as you had bolted off as soon as she had parked the car. Running around like a child in the meadows, basking in the sunlight. It wasn’t the afternoon or anything close but the bright moon rays casted a wonderful glow over everything it touched, including your body that was now sprawled out on the grass. 

Sitting down next to you she leans on the giant oak tree standing proud as the flagpole of your sacred space. You shift closer to Hanni and put your head in her lap, staring up at the stars above. Tonight was the first time you had seen this many stars out in a while, the sky free of clouds as the stars shone like glitter in the night.

No matter how radiant the stars were you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at your girlfriend, her dazzling beauty and kind personality captured you in a kind of enchantment. There was no other star you needed except her. The both of you just sit and stare out at the stars as you enjoy being in each others presence. It had been about 10 minutes before you spoke up, nearly dozing off against Hanni.

“Hey Hanni thanks for taking me out tonight, I think I really needed this and I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

You speaking out of the blue catches her attention as she looks down at you with an affectionate smile.

“Aww sweetheart there’s no need to thank me I’m just returning the favour” She replies back proudly

“I love when you take care of me like I’m the only girl in the world” 

“I’ll make sure to do it more often then my sweet baby angel” Hanni says as she brings her hand up to your hair, combing through thoroughly and getting rid of the knots that formed from the eventful night you’ve had. “ you’re lucky I love taking care of you and I’ll keep doing it for as long as you’ll have me” 

“Make yourself comfortable then cause I don’t plan on leaving any time soon.” You retort back with a muffled chuckle. “Or ever for that matter” Whispering the last line softly when you feel a warm hand fall to your left cheek.

“Oh really? So forever?” Hanni asks a little amused but more wonderstruck as the implications of your words didn’t escape her. 

“Forever” you replied back, asserting your previous statement. 

Hanni’s face goes flush as she turns her head away from you in embarrassment, not that you could tell either way as your eyes had almost fully closed. A small ping from both of your phones regains Hanni’s attention as she glances down at the notification. Beaming at you she bends down to leave a kiss on your forehead. The gentle and delicate touch wakes you up as your eyes open up again, looking back at your girlfriend with a dopey and sleepy but loving gaze. 

“I love you so much you know that?” You remind Hanni as your eyes start fluttering close again, shifting in and out of consciousness. The mix of her tender touches and the stress of the week adding to your sleepy state. 

“You remind me everyday, how could I not?” Hanni quips before fondly adding  “I love you too Yn, happy 1 year anniversary” 

Tearing her gaze away from your drowsy figure, she could see the glimpses of sunlight start to poke through the sky.

A low whisper could be heard as you mumbled back an I love you too.

There is no combination of words Hanni could use to describe how much you meant to her and how much she cherished you. You were her everything. She smiled lovingly as she heard your breathing slowly even out.

Ironic how you fell asleep as the world began to wake but sometimes it’s better to just have that moment to yourselves. And what better time to have it than when everyones asleep? Not a single soul out to bother you.

Just you and the love of your life.

Together, forever. 

[sweetestgrethan]

Underbelly

Tags: Slice of life, face fucking, holiday season

Hi! I’m obsessed with this au so here’s part 4 even though I just posted one lol. Time skipped a couple more years, to their 30th bday! Enjoy!

WC: 2611

————

Ethan took a slow drag from the cigarette between his fingers, exhaling towards the sky, hoping it would make the smell less noticeable. He was sitting on his and Grayson’s porch, on the steps that led up to their front door, arms wrapped around his knees.

Ethan could feel the way the air was shifting already, spring turning into another burning hot summer. It was still cool enough to enjoy the weather, so Ethan tried to take advantage as much as possible. He liked watching the neighborhood pass by as they lived their lives, watching cars drive past and squirrels climb up trees, birds swooping by and neighbors offering polite smiles on their daily walks.

Ethan didn’t startle when he heard the door behind him open, feeling the floorboards under him creaking under Grayson’s weight.

“You know I don’t like it when you smoke,” Grayson scolded softly, smiling anyway, reaching down to pet the top of Ethan’s head before he joined him on the steps, sitting right beside him.

“I was feeling rebellious,” Ethan explained, returning the smile and watching Grayson settle.

“There are better ways to act out,” Grayson smirked and went to grab the cigarette from Ethan’s hand, taking a drag for himself.

Ethan watched Grayson fondly, admiring the way his lips curled around it, how the smoke bellowed out of him unceremoniously. “I was thinking..” Ethan trailed off, still staring.

“Uh oh,” Grayson joked, handing the cigarette back to Ethan.

Ethan laughed softly before he continued, ashing the cigarette on the step below them. “I want to move. California is so… I don’t know. I’m done with it, you know?” He said honestly, finishing off the cigarette before he threw it on the bottom step, crushing it under the heel of his shoe. “I wanna be somewhere quiet. And beautiful. Where no one will bother us.”

Grayson smiled at Ethan as he spoke, nodding along. “I agree,” Grayson murmured, wanting to touch, to place a hand on Ethan’s thigh or kiss his cheek to show some form of support, but he was keenly aware that anyone could see them on their stoop, that any neighbor could pop out and see the twins doing unsavory things if they weren’t careful. So, he refrained, kept his distance and his hands to himself. “Jersey?” Grayson suggested, still staring at his brother’s face.

“I considered it,” Ethan admitted. “I wish we could move back in with mom sometimes. That house is perfect,” he chuckled.

Grayson laughed too, because he had the same thought. Their childhood home was everything they wanted, with the unwelcome prying eyes of their mother. “We can look at something close to her, yeah? Our own piece of land. We can make it our own.”

Ethan nodded eagerly. “That sounds nice,” he hummed, ignoring their rule, the one about not being too obvious in public, snaking his hand onto Grayson’s thigh and squeezing it gently.

————

“3, 2, 1!”

The family of four all struck a pose as the flash of the camera went off, bursting into fits of laughter after the photo was taken.

Although the weather in LA wasn’t exactly fit for sweaters, they each had on a matching ugly sweater, something their mom had insisted on, for the sake of the holiday spirit.

“Grayson, your eyes are closed again!” Cameron guffawed as she looked at the photo they had just taken, turning the phone around to show it to the twins.

“Shit,” Grayson laughed, giving Cameron an awkward smile in return. “I’m sorry, I have to blink,” he insisted.

Ethan came up beside him to look at the picture too, shaking his head playfully. “I think it’ll make a great postcard,” he assured through a laugh.

It was a strange feeling, although exciting, to have their mom and sister here to celebrate their birthday and Christmas, in the home where Ethan and Grayson had grown so much, both as people and in their relationship. Ethan had been quite nervous about it at first, the premise of having to act normal around them for the next two weeks, but Grayson had assured him that they’d done it their whole lives, it wouldn’t be any different this time around.

Ethan had noticed a change in their mother coming up to this trip, in the way she talked about them. They’d grown used to her asking about girlfriends, boyfriends, family plans, about when they were going to move away from each other. Now, she rarely asked about any of that, in favor of asking how they’d been, what they were up to, how work was. Ethan didn’t want to assume she knew about them, but it made him a bit queasy to ponder her new acceptance of their relationship as it was, two brothers who were content to live side by side their whole lives, unimpeded by spouses. They were turning 30 in a few days, the age where they should’ve been thinking seriously about starting families and settling down, but they couldn’t deny what they really wanted, which was to be together, just the two of them.

It’s just Grayson and Cameron one morning, up quite a bit earlier than Ethan or their mom could ever bother to be up. Grayson had made them both eggs and blueberry pancakes, to Cameron’s surprise.

“Ethan’s not much of a cook, so one of us has to be able to feed us,” Grayson explained with a smile, eyes downcast at the imperfect pancakes he was cutting into.

Cameron smiled softly at that, watching Grayson curiously. She’d been wanting to ask about that, about Grayson and Ethan. How they worked, how neither of them had any intention to separate from each other anytime soon. Cameron had only ever passively cared about what her brothers got up to, never really caring to look too deep into their bond. It was different now, all of them were much older and much more mature. She’d wondered for years if there was anything more, if their closeness was just on the surface level.

“I bet you still do all the laundry and handle the finances too,” Cameron quipped back, taking a bite of her eggs as she watched Grayson laugh.

“Actually, he’s gotten better at the finances part. Can’t say he does much laundry, though,” Grayson hummed and took a sip from his water. “We have a good system. We try to trade off on the chores and stuff.”

Cameron is slightly shocked that Grayson didn’t deny that part, the part about them sharing money, like a couple. She itches to ask what she really wants to ask. It all sounds so domestic in a way she can’t quite wrap her head around. “You’re better than most married couples,” she commented, offhandedly, though she realized too late what she was implying.

Grayson paused for a moment, only taking a second to gather his thoughts before he continued eating. No way, he thought. There’s no way. “We fight like a married couple, too,” he tacked on, trying his best to dissolve the cloud of tension that settled over them.

Cameron looked Grayson’s way again, narrowing her eyes at him, like she was trying to figure it all out. “Be honest with me, Gray. Like, really honest,” she finally said, setting her utensils down to give him her undivided attention.

Grayson looked up at Cameron with a carefully practiced expression, furrowing his brows as if he was confused. He knew the day would come when she would ask, he’d practiced for this exact scenario. “About what?” Grayson replied easily and shoved another piece of pancake in his mouth. He wasn’t going to be honest at all, as long as he could help it.

“You and Ethan. It’s.. It’s more than you’re letting on. I see it, Gray, the way you look at each other. Living together this long. Not one mention of other people,” Cameron watched as Grayson broke eye contact with her, looking down at his plate with an almost guilty expression. Cameron remembers that look from when they were little, when she’d catch them getting up to no good. Grayson doesn’t need to say anything in return, but she wants to hear it from him so she’d have some peace of mind.

Grayson isn’t exactly sure how to proceed. He never expected his sister to be so adamant about the topic. It seemed like her thoughts were set, that Grayson could probably do little to convince her otherwise. Grayson shrugged, returning her intense gaze and letting out a breath through his nose. “Why do you care?” Grayson countered. He hadn’t meant to sound sassy, or rude, but it was a genuine question. Why did it matter? Why was it so bad that he and Ethan loved each other so deeply?

Cameron finally seemed to relax at Grayson’s answer. It was all the answer she needed. Truly, she’d been coming to terms with their relationship their whole lives, so it was barely shocking to her anymore. She couldn’t say she was exactly in favor of her twin brothers being together in this way, but she also knew she could do nothing to pull them apart, even if she really wanted to.

“I don't,” Cameron said after clearing her throat, back to eating her food like before. “It’s sweet. Built-in soulmate,” she concluded, offering the smallest smile, trying to ease the stressed expression on Grayson’s face.

Grayson found himself speechless again. This wasn’t how he thought this morning would go, unintentionally revealing themselves to their sister. “We’re good together. I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of him,” Grayson mused. He thought, if he could prove that it was blissful, that he wouldn’t want it any other way, then any of Cameron’s preconceptions could be proven wrong.

Cameron finished off the last bite of her pancake, leaning back in her seat to take Grayson in, arms crossing over her chest. “No nieces and nephews for me to spoil, then?” She teased.

Grayson tried his best to let his guard down, to just be normal about this, to accept that Cameron wasn’t saying any of this maliciously. “We’re trying,” he admitted. “I’m not too into the idea of him, uh, carrying, but we’re looking into some other options. Adoption, surrogacy.”

Cameron nodded. She couldn’t help but feel herself growing embarrassed, almost uncomfortable. It was a natural reaction to hearing any mention of her siblings’ sex lives. “He’d be such a wimp about it, anyway,” Cameron laughed. “He can’t even handle having a cold.”

Grayson laughed, too, feeling like it was okay to do so, to about this with her. “Yeah, I guess so,” he smirked.

————

Ethan giggled as Grayson pushed at his shoulder, the older twin dropping to his knees obediently. He looked up at Grayson with big, shiny eyes, glistening with his intoxication. He could still feel the warmth of the rum he had earlier blooming through his chest as he gently tugged down Grayson’s sweats, only enough to take him out of his boxers.

It was Christmas Eve, and the house was quiet, save for the sound of the air conditioning, and the low hum of the abandoned Christmas movie in the living room. They had all wanted to stay up and watch it together, as a family, but both Cameron and their mom had bowed out in favor of sleep. Ethan and Grayson didn’t mind, of course.

Ethan was never subtle when he was drunk, so it had been hard to keep his distance until they had left. He’d followed Grayson into the kitchen when he said he wanted to grab some snacks, having other things in mind.

“I can trust you to be quiet, right?” Grayson purred as he watched Ethan pull his boxers down, revealing his already hard cock, bobbing a few inches from his face.

Ethan nodded eagerly, a hand wrapping around the base so he could stroke the length of it. This was extremely stupid, doing this in the kitchen where they could very easily be found, but Ethan didn’t really care at the moment. He’d spent the whole week sleeping alone, with only stolen kisses here and there, and he could barely function without the excessively close contact he was used to.

“Shut me up,” Ethan challenged and leaned down, spitting on Grayson’s dick so his hand would glide more smoothly, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out, inviting Grayson in.

Grayson was certain he wouldn’t last very long, not at this rate, with Ethan being as effortlessly sexy as he was. Grayson wordlessly took a fistful of Ethan’s soft hair in his hand, using the grip to steady himself as he slowly pushed himself down Ethan’s throat. Ethan was always so good at this, pliant and soft and wet, no gag reflex to get in the way of Grayson wrecking him.

Ethan let out a silky noise around Grayson as he slowly started a pace, eyes closing as he concentrated on relaxing his throat. Grayson was already pushing him all the way down, forcing his lips to press against the base, nose buried in the patch of pubes above it. If only Grayson could see how wet he was, how he felt like he was soaking through every layer he was wearing. He didn’t dare touch himself, not wanting to stop the pleasant ache or the slick that never ceased to spill out of him. He clenched around nothing, desperate to feel Grayson’s cock inside him.

Grayson tried not to make a sound as he fucked into Ethan's mouth, letting out shaky breaths that threatened to turn into soft noises. "Missed you,” he groaned softly, pressing Ethan all the way down and keeping him there for a few moments, able to feel the way his gag reflex flexed around him. Grayson used his free hand to feel along the length of Ethan’s neck, squeezing his fingers around him so he could feel the outline of himself there, making his cock jolt in his mouth.

Ethan hummed again, flattening his tongue out to make more space, drooling down his chin and making a mess of his shirt. If he could come untouched, he would’ve been shaking from the gentle squeeze of his neck, Grayson admiring the way he fit inside of his throat. He made sure to keep his hands folded in his lap, knowing Grayson liked having full control of him, with no roaming hands to deal with.

"You're so good, just for me," Grayson purred and pushed his hips forward, on the verge of his orgasm as he thrusted into Ethan's mouth. His twin was perfect in every way conceivable, so receptive to him and what he needed, even if it happened to be in the middle of their kitchen, while the rest of their family slept just down the hall. "You want my load down your throat, E?" he growled and tugged his hair harder, watching Ethan's face scrunch up, trying desperately to tell him yes, please, I need all of it.

When Grayson did come, Ethan stayed impaled on the girthy length, letting his throat muscles work around him as he swallowed, not pulling off until he was certain he'd gotten all of it. The room seemed to spin a little more after he finished, pressing lazy kisses to Grayson's tummy as he pulled his sweats back up. "I need more," Ethan whined, knowing it wasn't likely that they'd be able to fuck properly, even though his body ached for it, needed it to function.

"I know. Me too," Grayson hummed, still sucking in slow breaths, recovering from his orgasm as he leaned back against the counter.

————

I know it’s going a bit slow. I do like writing in this style though, just little blips of their life. Hope you liked it :-) lmk your thoughts in my ask box! 🩵🩷

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

[eightmakar]

empty cups | n.m. | 18+

Pairing: Nathan MacKinnon x Original Character

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: drinking, mentions of underage drinking, swearing, smut (fem. oral receiving, protected sex)

A/N: inspired by empty cups by charlie puth. basically all smut so you were warned

tagging: @harlowhockeystick @bitchinbarzal @matbaerzal @taking-shots @fallinallincurls @jostyriggslover96 @burkymakar @flashyfucker @capsvsducks @xsyntheticsensation @double-j @hockeylvr59

Despite being explicitly invited, Chase Bauer felt incredibly out of place at the house party. Should she really call it a house party? It felt like a house party, with all the people milling around, the loud music, the kegs of beer strewn about, but not a house party she’d ever been to. The beer wasn’t the cheapest shit college guys could manage to purchase, the people she partied with were nearly all millionaires, and they held their liquor much better than college guys. 

Gabriel Landeskog walked up to her in her little corner, a big grin on his face and a bottle of fancy beer in his hand. “Bauer, why’re you all alone over here?” he asked, patting her on the shoulder.

“I was waiting for EJ to pick some better music,” Chase replied. “Some songs from this century would be great.”

“It’s not for lack of trying on our part,” Gabe laughed. He pointed to her empty hands and continued, “You need a drink.”

“I don’t like beer.” Chase scrunched her nose. 

“We’ve got a lot more than just beer. C’mon.” Gabe turned around and began to walk into Erik Johnson’s kitchen, so Chase followed him, making herself smaller to maneuver through the large bodies in her way. 

The kitchen was brightly lit in comparison to the rest of the house with shining bottles of every kind of alcohol Chase could imagine. There were brands she’d never heard of peppered in with bottles of Grey Goose and other top-shelf liquor she vaguely recognized.

“What do you usually drink?” Gabe asked her.

“I like sweet drinks mostly,” Chase said. She reached for a familiar bottle of lemon vodka.

“I think EJ’s got something if you want a mixer to make it sweeter.” Gabe began rummaging through EJ’s cabinets as Chase looked around the party. 

Erik Johnson’s home was always the party house. He owned a huge, isolated home with the most gorgeous views imaginable, and more guest rooms than anyone could count, which worked well for the wild parties he threw throughout the year. He always invited the whole staff, all the coaches and equipment managers and Chase and her coworkers, the athletic trainers, but this was the first Chase had chosen to attend, to celebrate the Avalanche winning Western Conference Final and going to the Stanley Cup Final.

Chase cracked a small smile as she looked over at Josh Manson sitting on a couch against a wall, waving a glass of something dark around and loudly telling a story to an apathetic Sam Girard. Mikko Rantanen sat across from them, his girlfriend on top of him, straddling his legs as they passionately made out like no one else was in the vicinity. 

Small groups of wives and girlfriends littered the walls, holding delicate glasses of wine and champagne, though Chase knew they could put back as much alcohol as their significant others. Other groups of players were interspersed around, some chatting lowly, some loudly, and others barely at all. Alex Newhook and Logan O’Connor had started an enthusiastic game of beer pong in the middle of the wide living room.

“How the fuck does EJ only have Crystal Light packets in this huge fucking house?” Gabe said, returning to Chase’s side and making her turn around. 

“That strangely makes sense,” Chase laughed. Gabe handed her the small box of lemonade packets and she immediately took two out. She filled a Solo cup to the brim with lemon vodka and mixed the two packets in. Taking a sip, she gave Gabe a thumbs up. 

“If I see you back in your corner, I’ll drag you to the dance floor instead,” Gabe warned.

Chase took another long, burning sip of her drink. “Got it, Cap.”

Gabe rolled his eyes and wandered away, over to one of the pods of players, leaving Chase alone with her cup to gaze around the party again. EJ was dancing with his fiancée on the “dance floor,” which was just an area of the room that was wide open. The enormous Darcy Kuemper, his wife, Kurtis MacDermid, and his girlfriend all danced with them. Chase thought they all danced like dads.

“Looking for someone?” 

“Jesus!” Chase jerked around and found herself face to face with a serious looking Nathan MacKinnon. Beer in hand, he gazed at her, blue eyes a little icy.

“Shit, sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s all good, I was kinda zoned out,” Chase admitted. She drank her lemony drink again, trying her hardest to finish it soon. 

A drunken Mikko bumped into Chase before Nate could say anything, dragging his girlfriend behind him and giggling as they went upstairs, but earning a sharp glare from Nate. Nate protectively put an arm on Chase’s shoulder and pulled her out of the middle of the room, out of the way of his drunk friends and teammates. Her feet were beginning to ache in her heels, so she took the chance to sit down on a barstool. To her surprise, Nate joined her, pulling a barstool over for himself as well.

Chase was convinced Nathan MacKinnon hated her. She didn’t know what it was; maybe the serious passion he played with, maybe the intense specificity he demanded with his equipment and his body, maybe the high standards he held himself and everyone else to. If and when she had to treat him, like she did recently when he got in a fight with Dumba for Minnesota, his body tensed up and he pulled away from her touch, which made her job as an athletic trainer much more difficult. She thought it might’ve been the fact that she was a woman, but he fiercely protected her at games, practices, and really any time someone tried to make a comment about her gender. When she’d first been hired, he and the rest of the team had been asked numerous times how they felt about it, and his response made her feel the most welcome and the most at home: “She’s part of the team and we treat her that way. We really only care about getting our job done and making a run for the Cup and she’s going to help us.”

“I’m not gonna lie, Bauer, I was surprised to see you came,” Nate said, fiddling with the bottle in his hand. He looked up at her and anxiously scratched his beard. 

“You were?” Chase asked incredulously, puffing herself up a little bit.

Nate winced at her tone. “Good surprised,” he clarified, and she relaxed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at one of EJ’s parties.”

“I usually don’t come, but this one seemed special,” Chase shrugged.

“You didn’t come to the President’s Trophy party last year. God, that one was a mess,” he chuckled low in his throat and half-smiled at her.

“So I take it I missed a lot of fun?”

“Oh yeah,” Nate laughed again, the ice in his eyes beginning to melt a bit. Chase was pretty sure in the two years she’d worked for the Avs, she’d never spoken more than a couple words to him, but here they were having a conversation like old friends. 

“Who was the drunkest?” She asked, swigging her vodka and trying not to react to the burning in her mouth and throat.

“Honestly, a lot of guys were pretty close. Josty was so fucked up he fell outside on the porch, broke his nose, and ended up just sleeping there.”

“Jesus,” Chase breathed with a small laugh. “I’ve never been that drunk in my life and don’t wanna be.”

“I have,” Nate said, pressing his lips together to hide a smile. “In juniors and at World’s.”

“Wow, in juniors? Nathan MacKinnon, under age drinker?” Chase smirked. 

Nate rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna sit here and tell me you weren’t an under age drinker too?”

“Genuinely, I wasn’t. I had my first drink on my twenty-first birthday. I know, how painfully boring of me.” Chase had heard it all, every comment under the sun about her dislike of drinking. 

“That’s not boring,” Nate said immediately. “If you don’t like it, it’s not boring.” 

“I don’t like the taste, unfortunately. Plus my tolerance is sky high, so I’ve only really been drunk twice in my life.”

“Really? What are you drinking now?” 

Chase took a sip of her drink, almost to show Nate she wasn’t boring. “Don’t laugh, but it’s lemon vodka with lemonade packets. It’s surprisingly good.”

Nate cracked a smile. “That sounds ridiculous.”

“It is,” Chase conceded, “but I do wanna get drunk, so this is how I have to do it. Straight vodka.”

“Hold on.” Nate got up and retreated to the kitchen. While he looked through the bottles of liquor, Chase people-watched.

Cale Makar was drunkenly singing to the ABBA song playing over EJ’s sound system with his girlfriend, André Burakovsky had apparently decided to only speak in Swedish for the rest of the evening, and JT Compher stood with his chest against his girlfriend’s back while having a conversation with Darren Helm, tugging his girlfriend far too close to him. 

“Goddamn,” Nate said as he returned clutching a partial bottle of vodka with a bar-style top that allowed for better pouring. “Cale is wasted.”

“Good for him, he deserves it.”

“He does.” Nate offered Chase the bottle. “I snagged this. EJ’s got a whole distillery over there, so he won’t miss it.”

“Oh shit, thank you,” Chase said. “What about you?”

“This isn’t just for you,” Nate grinned, then threw his head back and poured vodka straight into his mouth. 

Chase tried not to drool as she watched him. She was starting to feel a bit fuzzy, and she could feel her reservations about Nate slipping away by the sip. There was no denying he was incredibly attractive, a fact she was painfully aware of every moment she spent close to him. 

“Now my turn,” Chase said. She surprised herself, but she tilted her head back and opened her mouth.

Nate’s grin widened as he began to pour vodka in her mouth. She always thought vodka tasted like hand sanitizer, and the burning taste engulfed her mouth and throat. She tugged away, mouth full, and Nate accidentally got a bit of vodka on her chin. She swallowed and wiped her mouth with her sleeve, watching Nate’s eyes glaze over as she did. Fuck, was he into that like she was?

Chase shoved the thoughts out of her mind and chugged the rest of her lemonade combo. The liquid burned all the way down to her stomach, but the heat continued down her body and between her thighs as she watched Nathan tip his head back and pour more vodka into his mouth.

The song over the speaker changed. Cale clearly didn’t know it, but he looked over at Nate and Chase and waved enthusiastically. He came over to join them, creating a triangle with a third stool.

“You don’t know this one too?” Chase chirped. 

“I’m too drunk,” Cale shrugged, holding his hand out to Nate and motioning for him to hand over the vodka bottle. Nate did, and Cale barely leaned his head back, just moving the bottle, not unlike the way he drank water on the bench during games. He paused, swallowed with a scrunched nose, then poured more vodka in his mouth. Swallowing again, he shook his head and handed the bottle back to Nate. 

Chase took it and drank from it again. She could feel the alcohol she’d already drank slowly lowering her inhibitions, slowly loosening her mind, and she knew she had to continue to drink if she wanted it to stay that way.

“I’m impressed you’re here, Bauer,” Cale said as Chase drank. 

Chase wiped her mouth again and handed the bottle back to Nate. “Thanks, me too. I’ve always been afraid to come to one of these things.”

Cale’s rosy face frowned in concern, his eyes trying to focus on her. “Afraid?” he asked sadly. Nate looked at Chase too, but the concern looked different on Nate’s face. Almost more protective? She couldn’t tell, and with how fuzzy her whole body was starting to feel, she was even more confused. 

“Well yeah,” Chase started, feeling her mouth run without a filter of any kind, just words spewing and spewing. “There’s a lot of men here and some of you I don’t trust to not do weird things to me while I’m drunk and I don’t trust myself to not do weird things and fuck, I’m drunk.”

“Weird things?” Nate asked. 

“Weird things like Mikko and Susanna do. Like right now, Nathan, I want to kiss you so so bad, but I know I can’t, because you hate me but I’d still kiss you.”

Fuck. What the fuck just came out of her mouth? She couldn’t stop it.

“But that would also be weird because I don’t just want to kiss you I wanna do so much more than kiss you but I’ve never had sex before so I’d be bad at it.” Chase sighed and gazed at Nate, who looked incredulous. His blue eyes were wide as he drank from the vodka bottle, finishing off what little was left in it. 

“I’m definitely too drunk for this,” Cale said, shaking his head. He got up and returned to his girlfriend. 

“Shit, Nate, I didn’t mean—fuck,” Chase said. Her body was floating and swimming and felt like static on an old television. 

“I don’t hate you,” Nate said softly. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, you never talk to me, you flinch away from me if I have to treat you during a game, you don’t want me to tape you up before practice, you don’t want me to put the dumb pressure leg things on you, you always glare at me when I smile at you, you don’t smile back at me.” Chase paused to take a deep breath. “So you hate me.”

“Bauer, I—,” Nate cut himself off with a chuckle. “Oh god, I did not imagine tonight being like this.”

“What do you mean? You didn’t imagine having to hang out with me because you hate me and I suck and I’m annoying?” Chase pouted.

“No, listen, I—,” Nate shook his head, “I don’t hate you, Chase, it’s the exact opposite, in fact.”

“You called me ‘Chase,’” she said, blinking in surprise. 

“I mean, that’s your name.”

“Wait.” Chase held a hand up, having processed what Nate said. “It’s the opposite? The opposite of hate is love and you definitely don’t love me.”

Nate shook his head again. “Never mind, Bauer. I’m going to get a drink.” Nate got up and stalked off to the kitchen, leaving Chase alone. 

The opposite of hating her? Nathan MacKinnon couldn’t possibly like her like that. He was much too, well, him. He liked teeny, blonde supermodel types, not loud former hockey players whose job it was to keep him healthy. No, not Nathan MacKinnon, who kept his specific regimens of health, kept his body in top tier condition, who demanded excellence from everyone, including her and her team.

Gabe appeared in front of her, clutching a new bottle of beer and a tall glass of clear liquid. “Can I join you?” He asked. Chase nodded, so he sat down where Nate had just been and handed her the glass. “Nate asked me to bring you water.”

“Because I’m drunk and told him I wanted to have sex with him but that he hates me?” Chase clarified.

“He didn’t give me specifics, but I’m sure that has something to do with it,” Gabe laughed. 

“Now he definitely hates me,” Chase mumbled. She sipped some water, but she didn’t feel any less fuzzy. In fact, she could feel the rest of the vodka starting to hit her and the idea of going over to Nate, who now stood chatting with Nazem Kadri, and kissing him was becoming more and more appealing.

“He acts like that to all of us. That’s just Nate. Whatever he told you is the truth,” Gabe explained.

Chase hummed. “Well, he didn’t say he wanted to kiss me and have sex with me too,” she said, her words beginning to slur together the tiniest bit, her brain working hard to put letters together. “He was stuck on the hating me part.”

“I can guarantee he doesn’t hate you.” 

“You can’t read his mind!”

“Neither can you. Look, Bauer, I’m guessing he said he had feelings for you, right? I can guarantee you he does. The amount of things I’ve heard him say about you matches what you’re saying.”

Chase looked at Gabe with wide eyes. “Nate wants to have sex with me too? Even though I’ll be bad at it because I’ve never had sex? He wants to—.”

“Bauer, go talk to him.” Gabe used his captain voice on her.

“I’m even drunker than I was before,” she commented. “Even with the water. And we can’t have sex when I’m this drunk. I’ll be even worse at it. What if I puke on his dick when I try to blow him? God, maybe then he’d hate me.”

“Okay, Bauer? Go talk to him.” Gabe got up and walked away before Chase could say anything else. 

Chase took a deep breath and stood up. Her legs felt like jelly and she could’ve sworn she was leaning to one side. She giggled at herself, at the fuzziness coursing through her veins, at the thoughts coming to the forefront of her mind. She made her way over to Nate, shoved herself in between him and Naz, grabbed his arms and looked up at him.

“Hi,” she said, realizing how close her face was to his face. 

Naz excused himself, and Nate looked down at her over his crooked nose. God, Chase wanted that nose in between her legs. 

“Hi,” she said again. 

“Hi,” he replied shortly. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. 

“I’m still drunk and I’m sorry I thought you hated me and that I said I wanted to have sex with you because I know we can’t have sex I’m drunk and you’re famous and we work together and you’re good at sex and I’m very bad at sex.” Chase squinted to try and focus on Nate’s face but it was very difficult. When did he have two faces? 

“I actually do want to have sex with you,” Nate said straightforwardly. “I think you’re smart and cool and hot and yeah, I like you. But I don’t think this is exactly the right time to do this.”

“That’s why you didn’t want me to treat you? Cause you liked me?” Chase put together.

“Yeah,” Nate laughed. “I tried to keep you away so I could focus, but having you around the past two seasons has not been a distraction at all, it’s helped me focus.”

“Oh,” Chase said, standing there. “Oh.”

“So we’ll have this conversation again when you’re sober,” Nate said. “I think I’m gonna leave anyway, actually.”

“Wait,” Chase frowned. “Don’t leave yet. We haven’t even gotten to dance. I don’t want you to leave. I’m drinking water now and it won’t take me too long to sober up. Please don’t leave.”

Nate sighed. “Okay, let’s go dance.”

Chase grinned, took his hand, and led him over to where Cale and his girlfriend had resumed their dancing and loud singing of random songs that came up. A rap song came on, definitely one Nate had introduced EJ to, because it was on their warm up playlist. 

Chase turned around, facing Nate, pressing her chest into his. Nate’s eyes glazed over again as he put his hands on her hips, dangerously close to her ass. Chase wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged his forehead down to touch hers, demanding his blue eyes meet hers. She ground her body into his, and relished in the small buck of his hips he responded with.

Nate let his hands slide down her body to grip her ass. His breathing was slowly quickening, his touch slowly tightening, as the song changed to another rap song and they continued their dance. 

Chase gasped when Nate pushed her away slightly and nudged his thigh between her legs for her to grind on. She immediately did, dragging the seam of her denim shorts along the length of his thigh. Feeling herself clench around nothing, she clutched harder to the back of his neck. 

“You like that?” he asked, eyes still drilled on her, a smirk dancing across his lips. 

“I’m drunk and you’re hot and I like everything you do,” Chase replied softly. “Please don’t leave yet.”

“When we’re dancing like this? Not a chance.”

She had no idea how long they danced, but by the time they stopped, she was sweaty and desperately craving more water. She and Nate separated and she hurried to the kitchen to chug water. Chase felt herself sobering up, the fuzziness beginning to fade, and with it, the confidence that had been flowing through her quickly dissipating. 

Nate came to join Chase in the kitchen to get water, too. He filled up a cup and drank long sips. Chase stared at his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. He put his cup down after he finished, his lips glistening from the water, and Chase made a split decision. 

Chase stalked over to him and kissed him. 

Her hands found his cheeks, tracing his playoff beard with her fingertips. His hands rested on her ass again, tugging her closer as she pinned him against the counter behind him. His lips were soft and wet and warm and tasted like beer. His tongue gently made its way into her mouth, softly dancing around hers.

Chase pulled back and looked up at his red, puffy lips. “Fuck,” she said.

“Mmhmm,” Nate replied, then pulled her in for more. Nate kissed her like she was his tether to the ground, like he was floating and the only thing that could keep him down was her lips. His fingertips dug into her ass, and she was sure she’d have bruises tomorrow, but she didn’t care. She traced his bottom lip with her tongue, then pulled away again, just enough to speak to him.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Chase whispered.

“You’re still drunk,” Nate whispered back.

“I’m sobering up.”

“The guys will have something to say. They’ll never let us live it down.”

“So? I don’t care what they think. They won’t even notice.”

“Chase…”

“We don’t need their permission. We’re both adults.”

“You’re still drunk.”

“And I’m still sobering up. Nathan, I’m good. I’m probably like, the equivalent of two shots drunk now.”

Nate bit his lip and looked over her head at his friends. Chase turned around too, and she was right. No one was paying attention to them. Everyone was in their own worlds. It was the perfect time to sneak away. 

“Fuck it,” Nate muttered. “C’mon.” 

Chase giggled as Nate clung to her hand and dragged her away, upstairs to one of EJ’s spare bedrooms. There were solo cups strewn everywhere, and Chase didn’t care to know whose they were. She fell onto the bed with more giggles as Nate turned on the T.V. hanging on the wall in front of the bed.

“Why the T.V.?” Chase asked.

“Well, not to brag, but I’m about to blow your mind, and I don’t want to get chirped for how loud I make you moan,” Nate said, his eyes darkening with lust.

Chase shivered, but said, “Well, the only competition you have is my vibrator, but I’ve learned to be pretty quiet.”

“Oh really?” Nate raised his eyebrows, then flopped on the bed next to her. He rolled on top of her, positioning himself in between her legs and said, “I take that as a challenge.”

Nate leaned down and kissed Chase sweetly, with none of the previous fervor from downstairs. He kissed his way down her clothed body, bunched her shirt up around her stomach, and kissed the soft skin as he unbuttoned her shorts and dragged them down her legs. She wore her only pair of sexy panties made of a comfy lace, and Nate dragged his thumb across the band.

“Nice,” he complimented. “Who’d you wear these for?”

Chase smirked. “Mikko.”

“That’s a lie and we both know it.” Nate kissed her covered core and she jumped, making Nate chuckle.

“Nathan,” Chase said softly. “I’m nervous.”

Nate laid his head on her thigh, gazing up at her. “We can stop any time, you just say so.”

 Chase took a deep breath. “Just, uh, go slow?”

“Hang on.” Nate hopped up and left the room, returning a few moments later. He tossed an unopened box of condoms and a brand new bottle of lube on the bed next to Chase, then shut the door behind him. 

“Where did you get this?” Chase sat up and grabbed the lube, examining it. 

Nate shrugged, “I know where EJ keeps his shit. I’ll buy him more.”

Chase’s heart pounded as Nate repositioned himself between her legs. He wrapped his strong arms around her thighs, pulled her to the edge of the bed, then kissed her again through her panties, making Chase shiver. 

“You ready?” Nate asked. He kissed her again and looked up at her through his eyelashes. 

Chase took a deep breath and nodded, then Nate tugged her panties down in a swift motion, threw them on the ground behind him, and gently dragged his hands along her thighs. Chase watched him with bated breath, thinking he was going far too slow but also could go never fast enough. He ghosted kisses along her thighs, teasing her even more, and she pouted. 

“That’s some mind-blowing head you’re giving me,” she said, rather annoyed. 

Nate looked up at her, grinned, and rolled his eyes. He stuck his tongue out and traced it on the lips of her pussy, and she nearly leapt out of her skin. Nate chuckled, then let his tongue dip into her folds.

“Holy fuck,” Chase yelped. 

Nate swirled his tongue around near her entrance for a bit, clearly avoiding her clit, but Chase didn’t care. The simple gesture sent heat waves and ice through her entire body. Finally, Nate softly wrapped his lips around her clit. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Chase yelped again. Nate’s tongue massaging her clit felt incredible, in a way she’d always imagined but could never have imagined, in a way she had started to believe she’d never feel. He looked up at her through his eyelashes and gently sucked on her clit. Chase’s legs began to shake and she could already feel how fast her orgasm was racing toward her. 

“Use…use your fingers,” Chase gasped breathlessly. 

Nathan unlatched his mouth from Chase, then shoved his middle finger into his mouth. He slowly teased her with it, gathering up more of her wetness, and slid his thick finger inside her, lips returning to her clit. He curled his finger to massage her walls, keeping pace with his tongue. 

“Oh fuck,” Chase moaned, “oh fuck, I’m gonna come, oh fuck, fuck, Nate, fuck!”

Chase went sailing over the edge as her orgasm raked through her. Despite her legs shaking and her back arching, Nate kept his mouth on her as she fell apart for him. The constant stream of “fuck” that came from Chase’s mouth was so loud that she was grateful Nate turned on the T.V..

She finally came down, panting, and Nate slid his finger out of her and released his mouth from her. She grabbed his shirt and dragged him up to kiss him hotly, tongue immediately invading his mouth, tasting herself. Jesus Christ, he did what he said he would, and she was impressed. 

“Where the fuck did you learn that?” she breathed. 

Nate chuckled. “You did say earlier I was good at sex, if I remember correctly.”

“Jesus.” She was still trying to catch her breath when she realized Nate was still fully clothed, so she said, “You’re wearing clothes still. Let’s change that.”

Grinning, Nate stood up and pulled his shirt over his head. He unbuttoned his jeans and shoved them down his legs, along with his underwear, so he stood before her in all his glory. He was already semi-hard, and he clambered back onto the bed overtop of her.

“Do you want me to like, do anything for you?” Chase asked.

Nate quickly slid his arms under her and pushed her up on the bed, closer to the headboard. “Nope,” he said as he moved her. “I’m good. Are you good?”

Chase nodded nervously. “Y-yeah, I think so.”

Nate reached over for a condom and the bottle of lube. He stroked himself several times before he opened the condom wrapper, then slid the condom on. He grabbed the bottle of lube.

“Okay,” he said, opening the bottle. “If it hurts, tell me. If we use enough lube, we should be fine.”

“Yeah,” Chase agreed. “I’ll tell you.”

Licking his lips, Nate squirted lube on his dick, which he then spread around with his other hand. He squirted some onto Chase’s pussy, and she jumped.

“That’s cold, what the fuck?” Chase yelped.

Nate chuckled. “It’s not that cold.”

“Maybe through latex it’s not.”

“Alright, alright,” Nate conceded. “Do you want more lube or is that good for now?”

Chase brought her fingers to her pussy, spreading the lube around and inside her. “I think that’s good for now, but I’ll stop you if I need more.”

Nate leaned down and kissed her lips sweetly. “Please do. Are you ready?”

Chase nodded, biting her lip nervously. “Go slow, please.”

“I will.” 

Nate straightened up, then guided himself into Chase. Her mouth fell open as he stretched her, slowly inching deeper and deeper. She flailed her hand until it found his so she could tangle their fingers together. His pelvis bumped hers, and she knew he was all the way in.

“Oh fuck,” Chase muttered. “Just stay there for a second.”

Nate did as she said, patiently waiting, looking amused as Chase tried not to squirm. Having him inside her felt so intimate, so delicate, and she never wanted him to stop.

“Okay,” she said after a moment, “move.”

Nate readjusted his position on the bed so he was laying overtop of Chase. He rested on one elbow, keeping his hand intwined with hers, then rolled his hips back so he slid out of her, then rolled them forward to thrust into her.

“Oh my god,” Chase moaned. 

Nate established a slow, steady pace, thrusting in and out of her so she could feel every inch and ridge of him. She felt pressure, but not pain, and it was delicious, especially as Nate’s breathing became heavier and heavier on her neck and lips.

“Does it feel good?” he breathed, nipping at her earlobe.

“Fuck yes, it does,” she moaned back.

“Good,” Nate replied, straining a little. “Me too, it, oh, fuck, you feel so good.”

He kept the same pace and before long, they were both panting and sweating.

“Nate,” Chase gasped, “more, I need more.”

Nate obliged, attaching his lips to her collarbone and sucking hard as he increased the speed of his thrusts slightly and thrust harder into her. He released her hand and began to rub her clit. Chase’s free hand dug into his bicep, leaving tiny crescents on his skin.

Suddenly, Nate sat up, grabbed Chase’s legs, and pushed them out wider, stretching her hips, but also allowing himself to hit a different angle inside her. Chase’s mouth fell open and she couldn’t even moan; the pressure of Nate inside her felt so good it overwhelmed her senses and she couldn’t think clearly.

“Oh, fuck, Chase,” Nate grunted. “Oh fuck, I’m getting close.”

“I’m not sure if I’ll come,” admitted Chase, “but I don’t care.”

“I care. I’ll take care of you, okay?” Nate’s blue eyes were warm and lustful and genuine.

All Chase could do was nod in response. Her head lolled over as she scraped her nails from his bicep to his back, digging so hard she nearly made him bleed, and dragged her nails down his back as he fucked her. She swore she could feel him in her stomach, but then it began to hurt.

“Nate,” she breathed. “Nate, stop.”

Nate froze and brought his hands up to cup Chase’s face. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

“I think we need more lube. It’s starting to hurt a little. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Nate said, kissing her forehead. Chase watched, eyes hazy. He reached over to grab the bottle of lube again, squeezing some onto his fingers, which he then slid inside Chase. He spread the lube around and pulled his fingers back out of her. He squeezed more lube on his dick, stroked it to spread it across himself, then closed the bottle.

“I’m ready when you are,” Chase said and reached out to hold his forearm.

“Okay,” Nate replied. He spread her legs again, then gripped himself and guided his dick inside her. Chase’s back arched as he slid into her. She relished in the feeling of him, pressing her lips together. Nate leaned back over her and began to re-establish the rhythm he’d had.

“I’m sorry,” Chase breathed again. “I know you were close.”

“Shut up, Chase,” Nate breathed back, hungrily kissing her as he snapped his hips against hers. “I’m basically back where I was, oh, fuck.”

Chase placed her hand on the back of Nate’s neck. “You gonna come for me, Nathan?” she teased.

“Shit,” Nate said through clenched teeth. “Shit, I’m gonna come for you.”

Chase pulled Nate’s face close to hers and whispered, “Come for me.”

“Oh,” Nate moaned loudly, spilling into the condom, “oh, fuck, oh my god, fuck!”

Nate’s hips stuttered to a stop and he closed his eyes, panting. He kissed her sweetly as he pulled out of her, making her whimper from the loss of heat and contact. Without a word, he kissed his way back down her body to settle between her legs again. He licked Chase’s clit and she jumped.

“Shit,” Chase squeaked.

Nate slid his tongue down through her folds to her entrance, then pushed it into her. Chase moaned, hands grabbing at him until he offered her one of his hands. He moved his other hand to her clit, softly circling it, and within moments, he had her coming on his tongue, his name spilling out of her mouth.

“Oh fuck, Nate,” Chase breathed. Her body was exhausted and spent, and she didn’t know if she could move. 

“Are you good?” Nate asked, laying next to her and pushing her sweaty hair out of her face. “Can I get you anything?”

“Fuck, maybe a Gatorade?” Chase laughed.

Nate chuckled, “I bet I can do that. Let’s get cleaned up first, though. You know you should pee like, soon, right?”

Nodding, Chase said, “Yeah, but I don’t know if I have the energy to walk right now.”

“Need help?”

“I think so.” Chase was embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“Quit apologizing,” Nate said sharply. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Nate helped Chase sit up, then helped her to the bathroom. He pulled the condom off carefully and threw it in the trash, then took turns using the toilet and washing up. Nate went back into the bedroom and picked up Chase’s panties and his shirt. 

“Here,” Nate said, handing it to her. “You can sleep in my shirt.”

Chase’s eyebrows furrowed. “Sleep? Here?”

“I’d, uh, I’d like to wake up with you, but I think we’re both too tired to go home.” Nate smiled softly.

“Oh.” Chase looked up at Nate. He was dead serious. God, he really did like her, huh? 

“I mean, I can take you home if you want,” Nate added quickly.

“No no no. Let’s stay.” Chase stood on her tiptoes and kissed his nose. “But I definitely need that Gatorade.

Nate laughed, “I gotcha. Lemme get dressed.”

The two of them padded back into the bedroom, Chase pulling on her panties and Nate’s shirt, Nate pulling on only his boxers. Chase settled into the bed under the covers, grabbed her phone, and caught up on her notifications while Nate retreated downstairs for Gatorade. 

Nate returned with his arms full of Gatorade, snacks, and phone chargers. “I thought you might be hungry,” he explained as he dumped the contents onto the bed, “and I know my phone is dead, so I stole a couple chargers too.”

“Thank you, Nate,” Chase giggled. “You’re very thoughtful.”

“Don’t tell anyone else that,” Nate joked as he climbed in bed with her. He grabbed one of the Gatorades, cracked it open, and drained it. He grabbed another and handed it to Chase, who opened it and took a few gulps.

Exhaustion hit Chase. “Oh shit,” she mumbled. “I’m fucking tired.”

“Me too,” Nate yawned.

“Can I, uh, can we cuddle?” Chase asked.

Nate smiled at her. “I was hoping we would.”

Chase grinned, put her Gatorade down, and scooted into Nate’s body, laying her head on his chest. His soft heartbeat was like a lullaby, and she knew she would be asleep soon.

“Nate?” she said sleepily.

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t let this be a one night thing.”

Chase felt Nate kiss her head. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Can I take you to breakfast in the morning?”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll be awake for breakfast.”

Nate chuckled. “Brunch? Lunch? Whatever meal we want when we get up?”

“That sounds perfect,” Chase giggled. “Goodnight, Nathan.”

“Goodnight.”

[lollytea]

Hunter foolishly being worried how willow n dariuses relationship will play out ( sińce they destroyed his ship n he scared her n teammates)

but gosh HE WAS SO WRONG they become besties n obviously both treasure him dearly but sometimes he cannot wrap his head around over their banter/inside jokes. He s glad tho

Also i d love to have Hunter go for advice what prezent to give to willow (he somewhat knows just needs to put his ideas in order) and it ends up with darius picking out the sweater/jacket/dress n Hunter sewing patches/adding on personal details

Hdhdhd adore them being pentagram buddies imagine it starting as missclick on willows part n sending him a dumb meme but they keep chatting from time to time

//you will be the end of me lolly im supposed to be responsible not looking thru your huntlow tag/lh also happy lolly tagged her posts everyone 🎉/lhj

THEYRE SO FUNNY

Like Darius and Willow's relationship is definitely tumultuous and antagonistic and this initially had Hunter very nervous. He had to attempt to be the mediator when the two are about to go at it like feral cats. He's in the middle like "Okay, okay, okay, okay. How about we all just relax?" Only to eventually realize that he does NOT have the social skills to curb whatever the fuck is happening here. If his girlfriend wants to scalp his weekend father, she is far too stubborn to be talked out of it and vice versa. So he has accepted that this is just how its gonna be.

But its so strange because while they bicker constantly, they also seem to have this overly familiar relationship that Hunter doesn't quite understand. He honestly feels pretty locked out of the loop whenever hes with the two but he isn't so much upset by that as he is INSANELY CONFUSED. Like??? What the fuck is going on??? Usually when the three of them are together, Hunter is occupying all his brain power to figure out what the FUCK these two are talking about.

Willow: Boscha keeps vagueing about me on her fensta and it's honestly kinda funny.

Darius: Uck. Well don't just tell me about it. Show me the screenshots. I need to see how petty she's acting.

Hunter: Whats "vagueing"? What's "fensta"? What's a "screenshot"? Why can't you people just use real words?!

Willow: Oh honey, I'm sorry. Well "vagueing" means--

Darius: Google it, gramps.

Willow: Be nice to him.

Hunter: Yeah, be nice to me.

Darius: I am! I just helpfully suggested a place to find answers!

And its shit like. Hunter will show up at Willow's doorstep for a date and just as he's about to knock on the door, Darius will swing it open and stride past him.

Hunter: Darius?!

Darius: Hunter.

Hunter: Wh-you-I-....why were you just in Willow's house?

Darius: Because she's hopeless, that's why. The little purple haired girl is busy today and she needed someone to set her on the right path. Wanted to impress you. Isn't that so very cute? Hair, make-up, outfit, etectera. Of course she didn't care about my plans for the day. Just demanded I get my butt over here and be her little fairy godmother. Real bossy, that girl.

Hunter: Wh--

Darius: Anyway, I did a fantastic job obviously. You're welcome. *Winks and struts away before Hunter can get another word in*

And yes. Yes absolutely. Willow's sixteenth birthday rolls around and Hunter panics big time. Because not only is this her first birthday that he gets to celebrate with her, it's her first birthday he spends as her boyfriend. He knows he wants to patch up a whole dress but it's simply the matter of picking out a dress. And god, if there's one thing Hunter doesn't know shit about, it's fashion.

I feel like, while Hunter is still new to this whole tailoring hobby, Darius is a pro and can probably make some excellent quality clothing. So he makes Willow a dress himself. Hunter helps to the best of his ability.

Hunter: Sorry I think we're just gonna have to buy one. I don't....know her exact measurements.

Darius: That's fine. I do.

Hunter: What?

Darius: I've resized plenty of clothes for her before. That reminds me, I need to teach you to do that. She's only gonna get buffer after all.

Darius makes Hunter promise to not tell Willow who made the dress. ("We can't have her incorrectly assuming I like her.") But Hunter is a SHIT liar so he's just very awkwardly explaining how he just happened to stumble upon it at the market and thought "huh. That would look nice on Willow. Haha....ha."

And of course Willow knows the patches are Hunter's handiwork. But when it comes to the dress itself....

"Wow. It fits me perfectly. It flatters me perfectly. It's my exact style. The colour matches my skin tone. It's...like it was made for me. What a coincidence, huh?"

And Hunter, sweating absolute bullets is like "HAHAH. Yeah. Coincidences are crazy, right?"

Willow decides to let Darius get away with this one. For now. She'll put it in the pocket of her beautifully crafted dress (he put POCKETS in it, holy shit!!!) and use it as leverage once the opportunity arises.

[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.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Basking in the Moonlight (Love’s Wrecks, Part 7.)

Description: Heartbreak is one hell of a bitch. And one Edward Teach could tell you all about it. Yet thanks to Fate being a little trickster, there’s a person who enters his life to remind him of how nice it is of having someone he can confide in, someone he can care about, and someone he can trust. To remind him, what it means to have a friend for better or worse.  

Part Summary: Buttons wasn’t your favorite member of the crew by any means, he was far from it, actually. But when the crew gets to know that he’s celebrating his 600th basking in the moonlight, you all decide to join this strange, exceptional ritual.

Word counter: 6.1 K

A/N: Yes. The name of this part is a clear reference to Dancing in the Moonlight by King Harvest. 😀 Also, I realize that the chapter is fucking long as shit and that 'The Wellerman' (a New Zealand shanty) was sung a century later (c. 1860-70), but I think that imagining the entire crew just standing there, singing it, that would be so fucking dope. Also, who the fuck cares about accuracy? The show itself ain't accurate, and Taika, Rhys, and David don't care in the slightest.

One last thing: I know using the term 'sea shanty' isn't accurate, but it's just catchier and fun to use.

Tagging: @le--petit--croissant @missdictatorme @soliyra-the-sunbringer

Series master list:  h e r e   | Series play list:  h e r e

A month passed by just like that. A whole month of plundering, adventures, and all sorts of exciting daily activities. It was pretty usual to stop by in a harbor time you met on your way to replenish all the supplies you might need; whether it was a barrel full of oranges, food, or gunpowder. Each time you stopped there, Izzy was trying to sell you with all the desperation he had inside of himself; and yet, to Izzy’s bad luck, there was no slave-holder who’d buy your, and you quote, “fucking annoying ass”. Harbor days were your favorites when it came to breaking the blissful routine you and the crew often came across throughout your traveling; on a Harbor day, everyone was allowed to enjoy their time as they found appropriate before spending the afternoon finishing tasks.

As usual, you decided to join Olu and Jim on their endeavors through yet another strange town since it was often beneficial to have Jim by your side when the locals started to haggle with you in Spanish. Where did you take the money to even haggle in the first place? Oh, that was pretty easy - you sold off some of the jewelry the boys were bringing you from various raids. Usually, all your Harbor days looked pretty much the same - first off, Izzy was dragging you along with your wrists loosely tied together and tried to talk down anyone, literally anyone, to buy you. After his attempts came in wain, the three of you wandered around the town; sometimes, you decided for a beach trip to soak your feet in the old ocean waves and when the noon hit, you decided it’s time to pick yourself up to find you some food and, in Jim’s case, alcohol source. But this Harbor day was way different than the rest - this time, the entire crew decided to pay a visit to the local pub, ordering food and drinks left and right. Thankfully, Frenchie offered to pay for your dinner, which you accepted immediately since you had no money on you.

“I was talking to Buttons earlier this morning.” - Pete said loudly enough for all of you to shut up and pay him attention; John stopped himself from nibbling on his piece of chicken, sitting there with his mouth wide open and with his eyes piercing through Pete’s profile. Such a view made both you and Jim giggle, but upon seeing Pete’s serious expression, you both shut up and straightened up. “And you know how he sometimes gets, talking about his mumbo jumbo that no one understands, right?” - The man asked and everyone hummed back in agreement, muttering sentences like 'that’s so Buttons' or 'yea, that sounds exactly like him'. - “But then he said a big number and so, I started to pay attention and asked him about what he’s talking about… And today’s a full moon, correct?”

“Oh, no.” - You moaned in despair, furrowing upon this realization. Jim patted your shoulder with an apologetic grin, and the rest of the men sighed; each member of the crew knew that seeing Buttons running around naked was a bit too much for your taste. The worst part was that this was happening monthly. To your bad luck, Buttons was also the most talkative during this period of time, so he was capable of coming up to you multiple times a day, telling you all sorts of information you didn’t even want to know. - “Is it really that time of the month again? Oh, dear, help me, Jesus.”

“We all know it’s a small problem for you, Y/N…” - “A problem? A small problem!? It’s a violation of my personal space! But whatever… You heard a big number and…” - You said quickly, prompting Pete to continue. “He said it’s his 600th basking in the moonlight. And I thought to myself: Woah, that’s a lot of basking. That guy might be a weirdo, but he’s our weirdo and I think we should, you know, show support and come there to share it with him.” - After he was finished with this speech, all of you simply stared at him, not finding the right words to say. In your mind, you started counting; if a year had twelve months, that meant… Six hundred divided by twelve… “Oh fuck!” - You squealed suddenly, looking at everyone sitting around the table; none of them seemed to connect the two dots, but again, you were the only one who could actually count. - “That means Buttons just had his 50th birthday, guys. Did any of you wish him?”

"Since when do you wish someone for having their birthday?" - Frenchie asked a bit pragmatically, offering you his palm with all the French antics he learned while he worked as a servant. - "I wish you the best for living long enough to become fifty years old." - Then, the man stopped himself and furrowed, lowering his palm and shaking his head. - "That's an awfully big number. Imagine living that long. Doesn't most people die when they're like... 30?" "Doesn't most people die on small pocks, scurvy, plague, or starvation?" - The Swede chimed in. At that moment, you simply shook your head and already regretted the debate you started simply because you wanted to be nice to Buttons. - "... Or a bullet to the chest, to the head, hanging, blowing up... Or a very ugly ax hit, I've seen that before." - Wee John continued, nodding as he finally nibbed on the piece of cold chicken in his fingers. Buttons, moon basking, and birthdays were quickly forgotten as the entire crew started to argue about the most common mortality. So far, of course, the pirate ways to go were strangely the most popular ones. - "... And that was when his finger fell off his foot. I don't know what he had, but it was the most disgusting stuff I've seen so far..."

"Can you all just... Stop?" - You exclaimed and sprang to your feet, looking at everyone. You could feel your stomach turning upside down, and the food in front of you suddenly appeared to be disgusting. You fucking hated when the boys simultaneously started talking about such disgusting shit without being prompted to do so, talking about it until the very evening. "I think Pete's idea's great. We should celebrate Buttons' 600th basking in the moonlight. Does any of you know what he likes? So we could give him a proper gift, perhaps?" - At this question, the men stared at you as if this was the first time ever saw you. How would they know what Buttons likes? This guy wasn’t exactly the one to share his hobbies or interests with the crew if you hadn’t noticed yet.

“Birds!” - Pete exclaimed after five minutes of utter, dead silence. - “I’m pretty sure he likes birds.” “That’s certainly… An observation. A good start, though. Come on, guys, you’re a part of one crew for a pretty long time. There must be something you learned about him, no?” “Mermaids, sea devils, and weird spells. He cursed Calico Jack and that guy just… Vanished. I think he’s a sea witch.” - Frenchie chimed in with another random, unfounded observation. At this observation, you nodded with visible disappointment, but you still brought yourself to pat Frenchie’s shoulder.

“He’s a very wise dude.” - Jim proclaimed out of nowhere, catching your full attention. This piece of information sounded very intriguing, especially coming from Jim. But with each new word they said after, the sparks disappeared from your eyes. - “He might not be able to read… To write… Or to count, but he has so much pirate knowledge. Maybe it’s not as bad that he’s this old because he can teach us a trick or two.” “Now that I think about it, he was helping Captain Stede with piracy in the begging a lot. Is that helpful?” - Olu asked seriously, making you stiffen for a few minutes there. “Sure!” - You exclaimed with the fakest smile on the planet; it didn’t seem that any of them noticed. None of that was helpful; what kind of a gift would he appreciate? A picture book filled with drawings of various sea demons and creatures? A parrot? A dead fucking mermaid dragged onto the deck? Huffing, you still kept the smile on your lips.

Truth be told, you’ve seen birthday celebrations rather rarely and knew a small amount of information about them. It was a pretty recent trend, to host a ball for someone’s birthday. And as usual, the ones inventing it were French. Your mistress threw a few parties as well, once or twice; she explained to you, all of her servants, that these small parties are more of a declaration of respect and honor than an actual birthday celebration. It wasn’t anything the French would be throwing to say it simply. So, you wanted something subtle and nice, to spend some quality time with all the crew members, and have a space to simply breathe.

"You know what? I think we should just bake a cake, cook some good dinner and buy a bottle of wine for the toast." - With a sigh, you looked down on Jim and motioned for them to stand up. They looked back at you, visibly annoyed, and motioned towards the two remaining pieces of chicken on their plate. - "Stop being so dramatic, you said you don't like the taste anyway." "That was five minutes ago, I thought that puta spotted on my plate." "Language!" - You squealed and shook your head, looking into the small leather bag hanging long your belt. You weren't poor just yet, but you will surely need to haggle. Jim bounced their leg around a few times before sighing, putting their hat on their head, and pulling the coat off of the hanger. - "Roach, pick your ass up, you're coming along."

Just like Jim before, the man gave you a dramatic stare, throwing his palms around in a vague gesture. - "Olu didn't make me a shopping list, you see? I have zero ideas what's in the larder and what do we need to buy for the cake and the dinner." It didn't take you long to pay and to walk into the local market - if it even could be called a market, that is. It was more of a clamp of three separate stalls pushed together. That didn't mean that the vendors wouldn't be offering good quality goods, quite the opposite, to be honest. Just when you inspected the fresh shrimps, Roach leaned in, sticking his head right beside yours; naturally, it made you look him in his damn face. "You said you want to cook good food tonight, eh?" - He mumbled in a strange, suffocated tone, making you frown. - "Does that mean that I usually don't cook well enough for your standards, or..."

"I've never said that your food is bad." - Now, you were both standing straight, looking each other in the face. - "What I meant by 'good food' is 'special dinner, you dumbass. I was thinking of shrimp with a lemon-garlic sauce or something like that, something with a LOT of vitamins. Mostly because Swede mentioned scurvy recently and I don't wanna watch him pulling out his teeth, okay? That's what you do to celebrate a birthday - you have a fun time and some special food." "So, you think my food is good?" - Roach asked indecisively, making you sigh as you closed your eyes. You only decided to celebrate Buttons' birthday half an hour ago and all of it was already causing you high levels of stress. But even though all the thoughts you had, you made yourself smile and nod. - "Of course. I love your food. Now, for the love of God, help me with picking everything we need."

Jim's trading spirit came in handy eventually. You and Roach stood behind them, watching them and the vendor spitting various Spanish hisses at each other; it almost looked like there was an argument in the air, but then the vendor smiled and started laughing. Jim, clearly taken aback by that, pointed at him and looked your way, making all of you laugh uncomfortably as well (even if you and Roach had zero ideas what was it about). He gave you everything you needed for a very low price, which was something you were endlessly grateful for. As Roach and Jim picked up the goods packed into two sackcloth bags, you handed the vendor the promised tiara; it was quite big, made out of silver, decorated with big pieces of some very valuable green stone.

All three of you made it back to the ship significantly earlier than the rest of the crew, making Izzy just watch you with a respectful furrow. As soon as you were off the radar, you walked into the kitchen and started preparing the cake as well as the dinner. Looking at the sun, you had about 3 hours to finish all the chores if you wanted any chance of actually celebrating Buttons' birthday. Even before the other got back, you already started with cleaning the deck from various bird droppings spread all over it. Roach was almost furiously cooking 2 dishes at once, baking bread and cake, and even Jim themselves joined the efforts; they were cleaning up the upper deck. Izzy was watching all three of you suddenly working furiously, but he didn't find any reason to scold any of you (which was weird, since he always found at least one vile remark that he spat right into your face).

Later that afternoon, when everyone got back and started finding their chores, you found yourself on the deck, folding the rigging. Pete was just polishing the cannons (and he didn't miss a single spot) and Frenchie was more or less just... Hanging around, holding his old and broken lute. "Oi." - Pete exclaimed suddenly, looking at Frenchie. - "Sing us something and we'll join." - He asked, shooting a gaze your way. Naturally, you didn't protest against it, you simply nodded; by this point, it was normal for you to sing while doing your chores since it always seemed to flow much quicker that way. Sometimes, when you were all bored out of your minds, you just laid around and Frenchie sang you random snippets from all the songs and shanties he knew, making you either continue from where he stopped or guess the name of it.

As Pete asked, Frenchie did. First, he was just playing random chores, watching as you stopped yourself in your tracks, listening into it. When he stopped for a moment, you simply smiled and shook your head. - "Eliza Lee. You are making it easier and easier on me, Frenchie. Give me a challenge, come on." "Maybe it's just because you know all the songs by heart now, eh?" - The man answered with a snicker, making you grin as he sang the first words of the song. Both you and Pete soon joined him while finding your tasks; you tapped your foot in the rhythm of the song while Pete clapped his thigh.

Since you were so preoccupied with singing and tapping your foot, you didn't even notice Buttons creeping up behind you, watching all three of you. When you finished Eliza Lee and Frenchie started to play other chords, you straightened your back and muffled a scream into your forearm; Buttons was right behind you with his eyes wide open and head tilted in the most Buttons way possible. Putting your palm on your chest, you closed your eyes and turned away, breathing the shock away. The man always did this to you; you couldn't understand how someone could be as quiet and sneaky as Buttons was, but he crept on you each and every fucking time, giving you a heart attack.

"You need to stop doing that, Jesus fucking Christ." - You muttered, still breathing through the scare. You were sure that Buttons is making you freak just for the fun of it at this point; there wasn’t no way around it, he was just doing it for his own pleasure. This time, though, he was watching you without blinking for so long that you figured out he has something on his mind. - “What’s on your mind? Did I fold the rigging wrong or something?”

“Naye.” - Buttons said decisively, making you alerted. Sure, you two never got along that much, but he usually came after you to show you how to do all that ‘sailor’ stuff right; it was him who showed you some of the basic tricks just so the crew would avert Izzy’s two-hour-long monologue about how lazy and useless all of you are. It was rather rare to have Buttons just come to… Have a chat. Or anything like that. “Olivia just wanted me to tell ye she likes ye singin’ shanties. All of ye. And she ain’t wrong in this kind of stuff, I like it too. It reminds me of the good ol’ days when I was young.” - With a hum, you nodded and mumbled a quiet ‘Fair’, looking away. So at least he acknowledged he isn’t the youngest as well, good to know. But then, out of nowhere, you opened up your lips and looked Buttons in the eyes, gasping as if you’d just discovered the Lost Arc.

“You like it when we sing?” - You asked in disbelief, staring at him with aggression. “Aye.” - Buttons nodded, opening his mouth. He knew you weren’t a sailor and that you had a lot of shit to learn, but he never noticed that you were also partially deaf. - “That’s what I just told ye.” “You like it when we sing.” - You repeated frantically, catching his forearm in your palm and squealing into the sky above you happily. This erased all your problems with not knowing what to give him; the crew could sing a song of his choice, appropriate to the dramatic tint of the moon backing. - “Hallelujah. Thank you, Buttons. Thank you.” - And after you pecked his cheek quickly, you ran off to the kitchen, telling Roach the good news. Buttons didn’t bring himself to move though; this behavior of yours was rather suspicious when he compared it to the way you usually behaved. Usually, you’d end the conversation as soon as it started and you wouldn’t touch him in no way. So he looked at Frenchie, motioning his head in your direction.

“Did someone jinxed her?” - The man hissed in a quiet, sinister tone, his eyes popping out of his skull even more now. - “I’ve seen it before. That’s how ye behave when ye jinxed… Or worse… Cursed.” “Y/N isn’t cursed, don’t worry.” - Pete defended you, almost laughing at the accusation. He did his best not to start howling, and so did Frenchie, who barely contained his grin as he leaned into the wooden railing innoncently, humming another melody. - “She’s just very excited. That gal is glad someone finally acknowledged how well she sings, isn’t she?” - He called out to Frenchie while putting another piece of wax onto the heated-up cannon. “Oh, yes.” - Frenchie nodded with a matching sense of drama; it wasn’t that far off. You knew the words now and your voice was much higher than theirs; naturally, it sounded very nice when you sang with them. - “She loves praises. Especially from a wise man like yourself.”

And as Buttons walked away, he eyed Olivia with raising suspicion - he didn’t remember any of them being so nice to him in a long, long time. Something was about to go down and because it was Buttons, he didn’t like being in the dark.

Later that night, you delivered the usual batch of tea to Edward; he seemed to be in a good mood that night. As usual, the cabin was nicely tidied up and he himself was also well taken care of. He groomed his stubble, combed his hair, and wore a nice, easy smile on his lips. As soon as he noticed your jolly mood, he knew that something must’ve happened to get you this thrilled. You were humming a song as you put the tray down, sitting in the enormous plush chair opposite him.

“It was Harbor day today, wasn’t it?” - The man asked with a huff of laughter and you nodded happily, sipping on the hot tea as you gently tap your foot accordingly to the rhythm playing inside your head. “It’s now 13 to me and 0 to Izzy, not that I’m counting.” - At that, both of you chuckled. Edward knew precisely what you were talking about; Izzy’s never-ending endeavors and efforts to sell you off. Now, Edward wasn’t as keen on selling you as he was a few weeks ago, but he still didn’t have the talk with Izzy. He was putting off the argument as long as he humanly could, as usual for him. - “And the entire crew had lunch in a local pub. That was also pretty fun. Not the part when all of them debated about the most common mortality, but the rest was lovely.”

“Sounds like a great fucking Harbor day. Would you give me a hand here?” - Edward asked and pushed one of his maps towards you, showing you a trading route located not too far from where you were at the moment. With a hum, you picked the map up, trying to read in it. - “It’s a Dutch trading route, an old one. Which could mean that they’ll be less vigilant since they sailed there millions of times and nothing happened… Yet. The Dutch are usually harmless and even more stupid than my men, so it should raise the spirits. Waddaya say?"

You continued to stare at the paper for quite a bit, almost making Edward believe that you were really thinking about the question he asked you. As time passed, the more trust you gained from him, the more he trusted you with sharing his future plans. Now, you probably knew more than Izzy himself, which was pretty hard to believe; Edward couldn't quite believe himself, to be honest. He already went this route and where did it get him? His heart was broken in shambles, his spirits salvaged to bits, and into a deep depression and letargy. And yet, here he was again.

His reasoning behind all of this was pretty simple as well - he was worried sick about losing your company if you'd find him too boring. It was already a surprise that you still managed to find topics to talk about and stories to share. In Ed's mind, entrusting you with his plans, was a way not to only show you respect and trust, but to also keep you occupied while spending time with him. But that night, something was different. You quite literally stared through the old, ragged map, and yet, it could be seen that you barely remembered a single piece of information as you mumbled. - "Pete and Roach will be thrilled. You know how they get all giddied up and excited about torturing people. John would love to blow something up, he hadn't got his fingers on gunpowder in weeks."

"You're not entirely here tonight, are you, Y/N?" - Edward asked silently, rolling the map and putting it aside. With a sweet smile, you had to shake your shoulders while leaning closer to him. "I learned that tonight is Buttons' 600th basking in the moonlight." - With that, you wiggled your eyebrows as if that was supposed to mean anything meaningful to Edward. He tried to at least act interested before taking in a long breath.

"That's... That's a lot of basking in the moonlight?" - He tried to guess. "It also means that it's his 50th birthday!" - You exclaimed. - "So, we decided to throw him a little party, to celebrate with him." "Why would anyone celebrate fucking birthday? Shouldn't he be already, yannow?" - With that, Edward pretended to have a noose around his neck, hanging on it. - "Fifty years old! Heh. That's an awful age, I'll tell you that much. Don't people die in their thirties nowadays?" "Yea, they die at the of thirty because of plague, cholera, starvation, or leprosy - I've heard it all today, Edward, I don't need to hear it again. The point is..." - You stopped him before he could go on an extended rant about how old Buttons was. - "The point is that Buttons is your bird guy, a deserving sailor, and a wise pirate on top of that. I think the celebration will be good not only for him but also for the crew. It will... Bring us together. I think this would be the ideal day..." - You leaned in, setting the cup of tea aside, looking him in the eyes as you caught his palm in yours. - "Ideal day to finally leave the cabin and join us. They will be so happy to see you, mainly Buttons and Pete."

By the look on his face, you could say that you just hit a nerve, so you tightened the grip a bit. The look of a small, terrified boy was back in an instant; you have seen it so rarely nowadays that you almost forgot what it looks like. Edward's breathing got shallow and quick while his eyes looked into yours. His palm was trembling and the color of his face and cheeks vanished. "Just think about it, okay?" - Now, you were whispering, putting your other palm on top of his as well. - "Truth is... I... I would love to see you there." - You barely noticed the change in his gaze as you picked yourself up, leaving the room. Just before closing the room, you gave him one last encouraging smile as you then proceeded to make your way into the kitchen.

You would love to have him around for the celebration? This gave everything a new, fresh air - now he had something to fight his anxiety with, this might've been his exit strategy. Edward had a reason to leave the cabin, to spend time with his crew, and to bond just like they did before... When Stede was still aboard. With confusion, he turned around and looked at the painting of the lighthouse. You, on the other hand, were busy finishing the preparations - the cake was ready and it was looking even better than you'd imagine. Since you didn't have any candle on board, you carefully stuck a piece of cannon fuse on top, choosing Wee John to be the one who lights it up if he promises not to destroy the cake. The dinner was also prepared and it was exactly like you and Roach envisioned it. The shrimp with the sauce and rice looked fucking delicious, you had to say.

Most of the crew was now hiding in the subdeck, trying to warm up their vocal cords - Frenchie was choosing random songs, making you sing all the notes and words perfectly. Jim was fucking annoyed to sit through this and even had a murderous gaze on their face; but they couldn't make themselves walk out upon seeing your, Pete, and Roach's enthusiasm. When the sky got finally dark enough, you moved to the kitchen; Swede and Olu grabbed the tray with old mugs and a bottle of good wine you haggled while you and Pete picked the cake up, letting John hold the fuse in the air. Walking on the deck, you were all giggling like little kids doing something naughty. That was also where Izzy stopped all of you, making everyone stare at him.

"What the fuck you think you're doing?" - The man asked and pointed his arms at you. The blood froze in your veins; you worked so hard for this... If this fucking asshole destroys it... - "That old moron is running around naked as a newborn, the dinner wasn't served yet, I doubt that you finished your duties, you fucking twats, and what's this?" -The men stepped closer, looking at the cake unbelievably. - "A cake? A fucking cake. So this is what you were doing all fucking day? As soon as the captain gets to know, hooo-hooo..." - The man started cackling devilishly, pulling the sleeves of his black shirt up. You were in deep shit, weren't you? All of that for nothing, heh? "You shouldn't be so hasty, Izzy." - A tired, ironic voice came from above you, from where the rudder was. Hearing it, you closed your eyes and started laughing quietly, thanking all the Gods. Edward was leaning into the railing nonchalantly, smirking down at his entire crew. - "They asked me beforehand. Let them be." - "But captain..." - Izzy objected, having Ed frown in a very nasty way. He was fucking scary.

In the end, Izzy moved out of the way. Quickly, you and Edward exchanged quick glances accompanied by a warm smile, before you moved on. You found Buttons and Livy near the rudder, as usual; he was already half-naked, chanting, and his board was attached to the railing. Edward was soon to follow you, passing Izzy as he mumbled 'these fucking morons will lead me to fucking madness'. As you all waited for Buttons to exit the trance as he chanted, Jim walked to the captain, bowing a bit. - "Will you be celebrating with us?" "No, I came to stare at his naked ass." - Edward answered with irony, making Jim raise their eyebrows. With a burst of quiet laughter, he patted their shoulder. - "That's why I'm fucking here. Y/N invited me to come." "I'll go for one more mug for toast then, captain." - They were giving him a calm, warm and big smile; the crew was still appreciating that he joined, even if they didn't tell it right away. - "Should I ask your right hand if he wants to join us?" "Negative." - He dismissed immediately; Izzy was upset at that moment, like a little kid who had his favorite toy confiscated by their mother because they were too naughty. - "He'll sulk for a bit but he'll join as soon as he feels like it."

If Frenchie hadn't sneezed, Buttons would probably never noticed you. As he stared at the entire crew just standing there, his gaze was getting more and more intense. "Waddaya want?" "You told me it's your 600th moonlight basking today. And Y/N calculated that it means it was your 50th birthday as well." - Pete explained, motioning towards the cake in your arms. - "We also wanted to be a part of your special basking." "Aye." - Buttons nodded, watching you all in horror. - "Why would I care about me birthday, eh? I should be dead by now, people die in their thirties nowadays." - The man continued; but then he noticed your expression getting sadder and sadder with each second. That was why you all acted so weird that day? Because you planned him a surprise and were all excited about it? That's what the damn kiss meant? Damn it, he couldn't just tell you to fuck off now, could he? - "That's nice of ye. All of ye." - With that, Livy landed on his shoulder. - "What am I supposed to do now?"

And just like that, the jolly mood was back on again; first, Buttons blew the fuse while John was holding it, having you all laugh and clap as a party of little children. Then, each of the members toasted to Buttons, having Izzy joined as well. Edward was delighted to be outside of his cabin. The night air was a bit cold with a hint of salt and it felt so fucking... Refreshing. The sea was calm, the sky was clear... On top of that, it was so nice to watch all of you interact and chit chat, and laugh at one another's toasts and jokes. Yet then, everyone got quiet as you stepped forward with a shy smile, looking at Buttons.

"And, as a gift, we'd love you to choose a song that we'll sing for you since we didn't come up with anything else." "So that was the awful screeching coming from the subdeck." - Izzy whispered in Edward's direction, quickly putting the cup in front of his lips so wouldn't see him talking. - "Your angels were singing. Wouldn't you look at that?" - "Excuse me? Do you want us to sing about whales? Are you sure?" - You said at the same time, making both the man pay you full attention once more. - "You heard the man, gentlemen, and Jim." - You sighed, walking back to your crew to join them. Frenchie stepped in front of all of you as your conductor, tapping his foot, and having you all repeat after him. - "What are they signing?" - "No idea."

But soon, Frenchie sang the first words of the first verse, having you all join him during the chorus. - "Soon may the wellerman come, to bring us sugar and tea and rum. One day, when the tonguing is done, we'll take our leave and go." - And to both of their surprise, the harmony sounded really good, just as well as the rhythm. Your, Swede's, and Jim's voices were very high and velvety compared to the voice of Wee John and Pete, for example. You and Jim even stomped from foot to foot, swinging your hips. Just when Buttons got completely naked, just as you expected, you turned away to look at Edward with excitement, stomping on your way to him, mumbling the verse Frenchie was singing. As you offered him your palms, another verse came. The captain quickly looked at his crew before he reluctantly caught your palms back, having led him next to the ruddle while still singing the song. Just as the last chorus came, Edward noticed you were leading him to Buttons' board and while singing the words, you leaned in and whispered. - "Live a little. Happy backing in the moonlight, captain." - And with that, you stepped off the board, making Edward fall down into the warm, salty water as well. At first, he was irritated and almost angry with you; he was looking at you with confusion and fury in his eyes, his lips were sealed and he was ready to snap as soon as you look at him. Yet when you laughed, looking at him with sparks in your eyes and splashed water his way playfully, all the anger just... Defused inside of him.

More so, he could feel himself freezing on the spot as he heard the crew clapping and laughing, watching both of you covered in the moonlight. It didn't take long enough for Pete to jump after all of you, laughing and screaming while doing so; Jim seemed to have the most fun with it, though. They rolled up their sleeves, dramatically approached the board, and reached out for Olu's palm while 'fainting', laughing as they hit the water. But Edward wasn't able to look away from you. How beautiful you really were? And why didn't he see it all before? Would he even notice it if he wouldn't come out of the cabin to oversee Buttons' celebration?

The man could feel his heart warm up a bit, he felt the corners of his mouth twitching as he almost started to smile at you. This would be the most genuine, felt-through smile he had given to anyone after months of solitude, but it would surely expose everything on his mind. Therefore, he just nudged your shoulder, making you cackle devilishly. "I'm dying of hunger. Want to see all the special delicacies that we cooked today?"

[sexypossessor]

I posted 132 times in 2021

121 posts created (92%)

11 posts reblogged (8%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.1 posts.

I added 14 tags in 2021

#writing advice - 5 posts

#the underground game - 1 posts

#body swap - 1 posts

#alien abduction - 1 posts

#biker - 1 posts

#celebrity - 1 posts

#leather - 1 posts

#inspiration - 1 posts

#writing styles - 1 posts

#denying requests - 1 posts

Longest Tag: 20 characters

#the underground game

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

OBEY!

Life had been particularly cruel to you. You grew up with an abusive dad, was bullied all throughout high school because of your small frail body, lost your best friend in a car accident and just recently had an intense argument with your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend, Derek, was a real piece of shit. He’s your classic alpha male. Tall, buff, handsome, arrogant, self absorbed, dominate, quick to loose his temper and has a large package. He has everything but a heart. That’s the reason you guys fought. He didn’t care about how your friend passed away. All he cared about was dominating you during sex.

The two of you have been giving each other the silent treatment for the past 2 days. You’re about to get dressed for work when you notice a flat cap with the word OBEY on it that doesn’t belong to you or Derek. You pick it up and found a note attached to it. The note claims that the first person to see the wearer of the cap will be forced to obey any and all commands the wearer gives them.

All logic within your brain is telling you that the cap is some bullshit prank Derek is pulling on you but you have a strange urge to put it on and try it on. The cap was a few sizes too big but you didn’t have time to fix it as Derek entered room.

“Where did you get that cap? Asked Derek.

You ignored him and began putting on my jeans.

“So this is how we’re going to play this? Still giving me the silent treatment? Bitch.” He said as he pushed me back onto the bed.

“You know what. You’re a dick Derek. I’ll admit you’re amazing in bed but you’re a word class asshole and I can’t do this anymore. We’re done. I’m breaking up with you! You grab the rest of your clothes and start to head out the door when you hear Derek shout.

“You’re the worthless one. You really think anyone wants your pathetic ass? I’m doing charity work by being your boyfriend!”

That’s when you snapped.

“You! You act all high and mighty and maybe you’re right. Maybe I am pathetic  but you need to face the truth that you are more pathetic than me! Underneath the muscles and gorgeous face, you’re nothing but a little kid desperately screaming for attention!” You yelled back.

“So this is what you’ve been upset about. You’re jealous of my body. The body of a real man. You could’ve just said so. I know I’m the perfect specimen.” Derek teased.

“How can you be so infuriating? My friend just died. I’m grieving! The fact that I would love to have a body like yours is not the issue!” You proclaim.

“So you do want my body! I can’t blame you it is the perfect body.” Derek taunted.

“Just shut up!! You don’t deserve your body! You insult other people because you’re the one who is inferior!” You retorted.

A moment of silences passes by.

“What no snarky comeback! No I’m perfect and everyone else lives to serve me?” You mocked

Another moment of silence passes and I turn to face Derek.

“Well say something!” I yelled with a new found confidence. Just a day ago you’ve never been able to stand up to Derek like you just did but something felt different.

“How did you do that? I wanted to speak but was unable to.” Derek asked with confusion.

You looked at him with a mix of confusion and awe. “You really couldn’t speak?”

“No I couldn’t. What is it that you’re not telling me you little bit…”

“Shut up” You interrupted him and just like that Derek stopped talking mid sentence.

“The hat fucking works.” You mumbled to yourself realizing the power you now hold over Derek.

“From now on you’re going to OBEY my every order. You got that.”

At first Derek just stares at me in awe of the power you now possess. After a few seconds of processing what you just said Derek nods his head and says “yes sir”.

“You’re going to fuck me right and pump all your DNA into me. We’re going to transform into each other because you’re a filthy piece of shit who doesn’t deserve the alpha body you have been given!”

“Yes sir!” Derek said as he undressed himself as quickly as he could.

He then grabbed me and pushed me to the wall. You quickly stripped out of my jeans and underwear leaving you completely naked aside from the cap.

See the full post

171 notes • Posted 2021-03-13 18:01:01 GMT

#4

Sir, can you help me? I am a 24 year old male. I have always had what some would call “all brain and no brawn”. I have always wondered what my life would be like if it was reversed.

Here try on this black Chicago Bulls shirt and listen to this podcast made specifically for huge brutish jocks. Just listen to the voice carefully. Don’t think just listen. Let your inner jock come out.

As you listen your brain is rewired to focus on sports, working out, and dominating any hole you can. Those are now your only thoughts, not much else happens up there. Your muscles bloom and your pecs push the once large shirt. The sleeve of the shirt can now barely contain the huge cannons that you call biceps and your face becomes more jockish. You become more cocky, confident and musky.

You then exist out of the shop and head to the gym. I wish you a good time as your new jock self but you don’t hear it. Your only concern is growing bigger.

172 notes • Posted 2021-03-16 21:24:03 GMT

#3

Hello sir, I have a very good friend, who is average. One of his biggest regrets is not playing baseball in high school and not being extremely social, he doesn't want to end up with a jock attitude but more of the jock body. Is there anyway you could help him?

Hmmm you’re the first person to ask for someone else’s desire to be fulfilled. Quite the selfless person you are. I think I’ll help the both of you. Make your friend a baseball jock and you a volleyball jock.

Just tell your friend to wear this cap backwards and try batting some balls. Oh you were staring at him the whole time? I bet you were, especially since his body blossomed with mountains of muscles. Did he form some solid abs? Ha I knew it. He likes to swagger around shirtless right. Of course he does, he’s a full grown jock now, at least on the outside. He’s still the friend you know and love on the inside.

Now it’s time for your change. Let me just lather up your body with this protect sunscreen while you toss the volleyball in your hands. This sunscreen is actually my own creation, it absorbs some sunlight and converts it into muscle mass to jockify who ever it is applied to. Step outside, feel yourself grow larger and stronger. You’re not as big or strong as your friend but you got a handsome face, nice chiseled abs and a more cocky attitude now.

See the full post

179 notes • Posted 2021-04-27 18:22:46 GMT

#2

Bully the Bully

This is why you should never bully anyone. You see, I haven’t always looked like this. This is actually the body of my college bully, David.

David here has been making my life miserable so I decided to get a little payback. I decided to use my magical abilities to swap our bodies.

Now I usually don’t use my magic for such selfish reasons but he crossed the line when he created a fake account on Grindr and cat-fished me on a fake date. To make matters worse he video taped the whole thing and ruined my entire life. I was the laughing stock of the whole campus.

Now I bet he’s regretting bulling me around, especially when I now possess his sexy and muscular body. Now I can let loose and have some fun taunting him with his huge muscles.

204 notes • Posted 2021-03-12 15:30:33 GMT

#1

Hello Master ~ I'm a 21 year old trans man, 5'4", about 165 lbs. I was wondering if you could turn me into a hung, jock-y himbo? I hate the body I have now, I'm short, and fat, and it just all feels wrong. Please, Master, can you help me?

Your request has moved me. It’s terrible to see people in anguish over bodies that feel wrong. Come here.

Take this t-shirt. Try it on. I know it says ‘papi’. No, it’s not a joke. Yes, I’m sure it’ll fit. That’s it.

You’re feeling it, right? Your fat is melting away, only to be replaced by some nice jock muscle. Not too big, we want to avoid that feeling you had of being overly large.

You will grow taller, however. Let’s get you up to 6′2″ that seems a good height for the new you. Tall, with thick thighs and bulging biceps. Your chest is nothing to scoff at, and your beautiful abs are a nice finisher for your jock body. Tattoos begin to adorn your arms, denoting how you care to make this body feel yours.

The changes reach your face. Some rearranging and the new you is here. A nice, trimmed beard. Very masculine. Perfect lips, ready for any kind of action you want. Short dark hair, and empty eyes. Yes, empty. You wanted to be a himbo, no?

Oh, and you also wanted to be hung. Don’t worry, you are. Everyone can tell. And you like it when everyone can tell.

Now off you go. You have a whole world of people whose attention you need to catch, my little himbo.

234 notes • Posted 2021-02-18 16:38:16 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

My tumblr review for @theundergroundstories

[moon-kn1ght]

hellO y'all! i hit 1200 followers (and kept going) a couple weeks ago so i want to pause and celebrate tonight/tomorrow. i'll be doing short ficlets/blurbs for any ship or character that you think i'll write well. i'm comfortable with anyone in the marvel universe or all oscar isaac characters. (OH and andrew garfield). i'm VERY down for slash ships. also send we weird as fuck shit. what strange thoughts about characters popped in your head while you were daydreaming the other day? that is hella up my alley.

you can send me an idea with a character or ship or you can pick one of these words to describe facial expressions as a prompt!

i'll fill as many as i can! (and i might end up making it as a ship even if you send in just character). thanks for sticking around here with me. i’ll also be doing some ask games throughout the evening and feel free to slide in and talk to me about WHATEVERRR. we can also chat multiverse of madness cause i’m going to see it rn! (and i’ll be tagging spoilers) (and of course always down to chat moon knight anywhere and everywhere)

tagging some mutuals and new followers below the cut <3

mutuals: @budcooper @marvelousmermaid @acedameron @userpoe @foggywells @allaboardthereadingrailroad @pilothusband @wyn-n-tonic @green-socks @kesskirata @wasicskosgirl @bluejones @cyantomatos @literatureandqueen @jazzelsaur @hyperfixatingmenever @fuckoffbard @dirty-holy-things

new followers: @dianne-blackstorm @buckythevampyrslayer @harrypotterismysaltandpepper @sallyjacksontheweirdauthor @hoodgirl163 @doeholly @ahookedheroespureheart

[wovenstarlight]

:OOO more cached au stuff. i love it so much

in celebration of banned tags it is #girl time. general warnings for the Inherent Stranger Danger distress of hyj approaching byr, from her perspective

-

"Excuse me?"

Yerim screams, lurching forward and stumbling undignified onto her feet. "Wha-ha-ack?!" comes out of her mouth, completely indecipherable to both herself and the stranger before her, who looks just as startled at Yerim herself.

"Uh," he says, clearly thrown, and raises his empty hands. "Sorry for startling you?"

Yerim stares at him, blinking away lingering tears, and clears her throat. "What do you want?" she demands. It's a little sharper than she would've liked, but... hey! What's this guy's problem, anyway, sneaking up on girls having themselves some private time!!

Um. Actually, yeah, why's this guy here. She's here so she can be alone. There's pretty much no one around except for the two of them.

She's wondering how fast she can get her shoe off to throw it at him when he grins apologetically. "Just wondering if you were Bak Yerim," he says. "I've been looking around for you, and—"

The shoe's off faster than she had planned, nice. She raises it threateningly. "STALKER?!" she demands, loud in the hopes it'll carry.

"Whoa!" The guy raises his hands even higher, and despite his yelp, he only looks mildly startled, moreso offended. "Hey, I'm not a stalker, I just— Look, you know about Hunters, right?"

This is so weirdly off topic that she lowers her shoe, startled out of her wariness. "What? Yeah, why?"

"I'm a Hunter," he explains, "and I was wondering if you were interested in being one yourself."

Yerim blinks at him. That— sounds really interesting, actually, but also there's still something about him that's making her hair stand on end. "And how do I know you're telling the truth," she says, hating the slight wobble of uncertainty in her voice.

The guy drops a hand to dig through his pocket, retrieving what looks like an ID card and holding it out to her. She approaches; she's never seen a card like this before, but it's got the Hunter Association's seal in the top right, so—his Hunter license? Her mouth drops open when she reads the rank marked alongside. "You're an A-rank?!" she demands. "What guild?"

His expression—or what little she can see of it, between the mask and the cap—turns... strange. His eyelids droop, as if he's tired, and she feels tense again, at least right up until he says, "You know Haeyeon Guild? The guild leader's my younger brother."

That's. Well, she can't really tell if there's a family resemblance, what with the covered face and the scrunched up eyes, but— Holy shit. "Holy shit. Haeyeon Guild? That's— That place is incredible," she blurts, unable to stop herself from gushing. "You're really—?"

She stops dead halfway into the next word. Wait, she thinks. What's an A-rank doing here? A Haeyeon Guild A-rank Hunter, claiming to be the guild leader's brother, here to see little old nobody Bak Yerim, whose stupid fucking family has everyone around them believing she's worth nothing?

She wouldn't know what a Hunter license looked like, anyway. And if he's really from Haeyeon Guild, shouldn't he have some sort of membership proof?

She's gotten very close to him, looking at this ID card of his.

"Okay," she yelps, high-pitched, stumbling backwards and raising her shoe again. "Okay! Sure you're a Hunter! What do you want with me!"

He sighs, and Yerim's whole body goes painfully and abruptly tense. She can barely breathe, suddenly. Something's— Something's—

And then he looks at her, and his eyes are exasperated but somehow amused, and there's this sort of—weight—to his gaze that settles about her shoulders like a physical thing.

She thinks, suddenly, of evenings spent dozing off in her neighbour's garden, blinking half-awake and lifting her head from a dog's warm stomach, only to feel a soft blanket settling on top of her, the whisper of his fond voice telling her to go back to sleep, he'd wake her when it was time to go home.

The strange weight on her shoulders, she finds, is warm. It's comfortable. She lowers her shoe unconsciously, then drops it on the ground consciously.

Yerim meets the weird guy's eyes and thinks—knows—he doesn't mean her any harm at all.

"You said," she starts in a whisper, and has to restart to speak more loudly, forcefully reminding herself that she is not in a garden, she is not asleep with a dog as her pillow, and it is not late evening. "You were wondering if I was interested in Awakening?"

*

He introduces himself as Han Yoojin and apologizes for the mask-cap combo making him look so suspicious, citing his recent Awakening and explaining that he didn't want to run the risk of being recognized by strangers. At her demand, he readily offers his Hunter license again, and she draws closer (more warily this time) and checks his claims against the card. He's telling the truth, looks like, but he must notice that she's still wary, because he offers to continue their conversations at a restaurant instead of their current isolated location. When they head back the way they came, they find Kim Sunghan (Kim Sunghan! Of Haeyeon Guild!) waiting for them. He turns down Han Yoojin's offer to join them (is Yerim imagining the stiffness in their interaction? It's hard to say, she's so starstruck that her mind is way overclocking right now), and instead he follows them as they walk, a few steps behind them.

Han Yoojin explains his skill as they go, and Yerim shivers with excitement. She's at least B-rank! Yoojin ahjussi says that an A-rank like himself already gets really good treatment and would have his pick of guild if he wanted, so Yerim's got good prospects for the future.

"So I can leave home and stay at the guild?"

"If you want. You'll essentially become independent, anyway, since you're over 14—you are over 14, right?"

"Yeah, I'm 15." She feels light. Almost buoyant, like the wind could lift her right off the ground, and Yoojin ahjussi's weirdly heavy (if comforting) presence wouldn't do a thing to stop her. "You said—Independent?"

"You'd have an adult's rights, more or less. Except on some dungeon-related fronts." He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, frowning slightly. "You want to leave home? What about your family?"

She scowls, suddenly tethered back to earth. "I hate them," she snarls, as vicious and cutting as she can make it. "My uncle, and all the rest, they're really— They're no good." He hums questioningly, brows furrowed, and our comes the story, the money hoarding and the house stuff and the two-faced outright lying, god, fuck that guy so much, she wants to do—things to him that would probably get her in big trouble if she said them out loud near law-abiding company, so she shuts up while she's ahead.

She finishes and glances at Yoojin ahjussi. He's watching her with real concern, now. She'd bristle, but there's a charged feeling to the air around her now, and it's not doing any good for her nerves. "If they're mistreating you," he says slowly, "we can get you help. Legal help."

She shakes her head. "I just want to leave," she mumbles.

"Okay," Yoojin ahjussi says quietly, and the stormcloud tension around her softens, replaced by that warmth from earlier. It's more intense this time, somehow. Like being wrapped up tight in a scarf right before she steps into winter cold. Is this an Awakened person thing? She's starting to realize she doesn't usually get sense-memories like this when she meets new people.

*

Her uncle is in front of them, and he looks scared out of his mind. Her aunt is frozen stock-still in the doorway. Both of them look ready to throw up, and she thinks she can guess why.

That weight from before is back. This time, though, it's in full force; if the air was charged like an oncoming storm before, then now they're in the thick of it, a feeling like ozone in the air, like lightning is not two seconds from striking and you're standing exactly where it'll hit. The force of it is oppressive, heavy enough to force her uncle to his knees, trembling violently, eyes wide.

Yerim stands just behind her Yoojin ahjussi, very much in the blast radius of the terrifying force he's exuding, and she feels—

Yerim feels wrapped up toasty warm, like a blanket around her shoulders, like a hug that knocks the breath out of her, like her head tucked secure under the chin of someone taller than her, face hidden in their shoulder. She feels like there's a hand in hers, telling her it's okay now, I'm here, let's go home and get you out of the cold, okay?

Yerim feels safe for the first time in years, and she thinks, ohhh yeah, this is definitely an Awakened person thing.

[potrix-the-queerschlaeger]

joy in my heart - chapter 1

Or; What if Johnny had been forced to step up? [On AO3.]

 February 5th, 2002

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Johnny glances away from the awkwardly shifting nurse, over to the empty hospital bed. The sheets are rumpled, one of the tabloids Shannon loves to hate lying open on the pillow. Her favorite mug, the tag of the tea she’s started drinking against the morning sickness hanging over the rim, is sitting on the bedside table. “To the bathroom? The cafeteria?”

“Mr Lawrence,” Shannon’s doctor speaks up, and the pity in his voice that he doesn’t quite manage to hide makes something heavy settle in Johnny’s stomach, “your girlfriend left the hospital earlier this morning—”

Johnny’s shaking his head. “No, she—she gave birth a day ago? She—”

“Ms Keene discharged herself, against medical advice, about an hour ago.”

Before Johnny can even begin to wrap his head around any of that, there’s a soft knock on the door. The nurse goes to open it, gesturing for the woman on the other side to come in. She’s got a clipboard under her arm, and a no-nonsense expression on her face.

“Ah, right on time,” the doctor greets somberly. Then, addressing Johnny again, he says, “Mr Lawrence, allow me to introduce you to Mrs Porter.”

“Mr Lawrence,” Mrs Porter says, with a curt nod. “Francis Porter, Child Protective Services. Why don’t we take a seat?”

In his crib, Robby starts crying.

(Watch out for the break!)

 February 14th, 2002

They won’t let him take Robby home.

Johnny’s sitting on the old, dirty carpet floor in their—his, now, he supposes, with Shannon fucked off to who knows where—shitty little one-bedroom apartment, his back against the couch, and a mostly empty bottle of the cheapest whisky the gas station had to offer on the coffee table in front of him.

The foster family they’ve lined up has experience with babies like Robby, they’d said.

It’s too early to tell if there is going to be lasting damage, they’d said.

We can refer you to people who know how to help, they’d said.

No one is trying to take your son away from you, they keep saying.

Yeah, right.

Johnny reaches for the bottle again.

“Happy fuckin’ Valentine’s Day, Shan.”

 April 21st, 2002

Robby is asleep. He’s asleep in some strange woman’s arms, tiny chest rising and falling steadily, looking so damn peaceful—

Johnny turns around and walks away, ignoring Mrs Porter calling after him.

 June 13th, 2002

“Please, Mr Lawrence,” the guy who stole Robby, who’’s telling him he can’t see his own fucking kid says, blocking Johnny’s view into the house, “you can’t be here, not unsupervised. You know you can’t.”

Johnny takes a step forward, swaying on unsteady feet. “I just—I just wan’ to—only for a minute. One minute, okay? ‘S all I’m askin’, okay?”

In the distance, Johnny can hear sirens.

He blacks out before the cops arrive.

 July 8th, 2002

 “Fetal alcohol spectrum disorders (FASDs) are a group of conditions that can occur in a person whose mother drank alcohol during pregnancy. Symptoms can include an abnormal appearance, short height, low body weight, small head size, poor coordination, behavioural problems, learning difficulties and problems with hearing or sight. Those affected are more likely to have trouble in school, legal problems, participate in high-risk activities and have problems with alcohol or other drugs. The most severe form of the condition—”

Johnny doesn’t bother putting  the book back before he stalks out of the library.

 July 9th, 2002

“My name’s Johnny. I’m—I’m an alcoholic? That’s what you’re supposed to start with, right? My kid, uh, Robby? He’s the reason I’m here, I guess? He’s not staying with me right now. For obvious reasons. His mom’s not in the picture. I—look, I don’t really know what the hell you want me to say? I just—I just want to see my kid, man.”

 August 4th, 2002

Robby is six months old. He looks at Johnny with big, curious, familiar blue eyes, thumb jammed into his mouth. He’s drooling all over his sleeve, wispy blond hair sticking up wildly from the nap he’s just woken up from. He’s still got pillow creases on his chubby little cheek.

“He’s been doing really well lately,” Helen tells Johnny, with a soft little smile. She bounces Robby, smoothing back his hair. “Isn’t that right, honey? Are you ready to say hi to your daddy?”

Johnny’s heart is in his throat.

His hands fumble, for a moment, when Helen passes Robby over, before he manages to settle on under Robby’s butt, and the other on his back. Slowly, carefully, Johnny lifts him out of Helen’s hold, pulling him close against his chest.

Robby makes a cooing baby noise, still staring at Johnny, and curls his free hand into the collar of Johnny’s shirt.

Johnny is holding his son.

For the very first time.

He is never letting go again.

Ever.

 October 25th, 2002

“—crying for, like, forty minutes now? That can’t be normal? Right? I’m—what the hell am I doing wrong, he won’t stop—”

“Johnny.” Helen, in Johnny’s less than expert opinion, sounds way too calm, considering the situation at hand. “We knew this was going to be an adjustment for him. First overnight visit with you, in an unfamiliar apartment, a complete deviation from his usual routine. He’s probably just a little confused.”

Confused because he’s staying with his deadbeat, piece of shit father.

Right.

“He’ll be fine, Johnny. You’re doing great,” Helen reassures him, as if reading his mind. Johnny squints suspiciously. “You’ve bathed him, fed him, changed him—”

Whatever she says after that, Johnny doesn’t hear, since Robby decides to add flailing to his sobbing, and yanks the phone right out of Johnny’s grasp.

“—some calming music,” Frank is suggesting, when Johnny manages to jam the receiver back between his ear and shoulder. “Helen is partial to ‘Stuck On You’, but anything slow will do, in a pinch. Put on some music, walk him around, bounce him. You’ll be fine.”

Music. Yes. Okay.

That’s definitely doable.

Only.

“Wait, Lionel Richie? What the hell have you been teaching my kid, oh my god, and they let you be foster parents? Unbelievable—”

“Johnny.” Helen’s clearly trying to hold back laughter, and not doing a very good job of it. And that, somehow, is enough to finally make Johnny listen. Really listen. She wouldn’t laugh at him if Robby was in actual danger. “You will be fine. Both of you. All right?”

Johnny doesn’t own anything Richie, obviously, but one of the boxes he hasn’t unpacked yet is stuffed full of all his mom’s old tapes. He rummages through it one-handed, while Robby attempts to make him go bald prematurely, until his fingers land on an old, well-loved copy of ‘Rumours’.

“Definitely beats Richie,” Johnny murmurs, and pops the tape into his cassette player.

Robby is probably just startled, when it starts in the middle of a not exactly slow song, but he does finally, blessedly, stop crying. He still looks like he’s thinking about it, though, so Johnny hugs him a little tighter, and starts singing along.

All I want is to see you smile. If it takes just a little while. I know you don't believe that it's true. I never meant any harm to you.

 February 4th, 2003

They’re celebrating Robby’s first birthday at Helen and Frank’s house.

There isn’t a huge crowd present, but Johnny had still been surprised at how many familiar faces were there to greet him.

“Like we’d miss this,” Tommy had scoffed, elbowing him in the ribs, while Jimmy’d nodded along. “Nowhere else we’d rather be, man.”

Bobby had just pulled him into an almost bone-crushing hug, and whispered quietly, “I am so proud of you, John.”

Because making someone cry at their kid’s birthday party was, apparently, a thing priests did.

Johnny is sipping his apple juice, squished onto the couch between Bobby and Tommy, when there’s a dull thud from the other side of the room. Helen is standing right by Robby, who’s looking mostly confused as to why he’s on the floor instead of toddling towards the gift table, frowning down at the carpet as if it’s personally offended him.

Then, his lower lip begins to wobble.

Helen is right there. Frank not five feet away.

Robby looks up at her, at Frank, then over at Johnny. Lifting up his arms, eyes wide and wet, he demands, “Dada?”

Johnny’s never moved faster in his life. “I’m right here, buddy. I’ve got you.”