#like something has been restored that i forgot was part of me at some point

[raiynesummers]

this is strange, i think i'm healing

[creampuffqueen]

Not to Plan

Korrasami Week 2024 - Free Day

Summary: Korra accidentally mixes up her schedule, leaving her on airkid babysitting duty the same night she's meant to go on a date with Asami. Chaos ensues.

Word count: 4613

----

“Hm…” Korra brushes her fingers through her hair again, lower lip pouting in concentration. “Do you think this is too much?” 

From her perch on her bed, Ikki shakes her head emphatically. “No way. You look so beautiful, I bet Asami is gonna pass out when she sees you!” 

Korra grimaces a bit at her reflection in the mirror. “I don’t think making her pass out is exactly the kind of impression I’m going for, Ikki.”

The young airbender ignores the comment, bouncing off the bed to stand at Korra’s side. She spends a long moment examining Korra’s outfit every which way, before stepping back and stroking her chin thoughtfully – not unlike the way her father strokes his beard in the same motion. “Actually, you could probably use something more.”

“More?” Korra snorts, “Really? I feel like this is already a lot.”

“No, trust me, you need more,” Ikki replies, pushing Korra backwards and forcing her to sit down on the bed. “I know these things. Aunt Kya let me help her get ready for her date with Chief Beifong the other day. I know just what you need!”

Korra isn’t entirely sure if she should be putting her date night appearance entirely in the hands of a twelve year old, but the swirling in her stomach won’t let her relax. She and Asami haven’t seen each other in days, and haven’t had a proper date in weeks. She knows Asami won’t mind what she wears, but her girlfriend always looks so stunning when they go out, and Korra wants to try and make her feel the same way.

“Here we go!” Ikki, who had used the time Korra was lost in her thoughts to rummage around in her dresser, now triumphantly brandishes a large makeup palette in both hands. “I knew Asami left one of these over here at some point.”

Korra’s stomach flips again. “Makeup? I don’t know, Ikki, I’m not very good at that stuff, not the way Asami is –”

“You’re not putting it on by yourself,” Ikki admonishes. “That’s what I’m here for! Now, close your eyes and let the master work…”

A quick glance at a nearby clock confirms another one of Korra’s fears: she’s running out of time. Arguing with Ikki will take too long, so instead she braces herself for what she might see in the mirror afterwards, and closes her eyes.

The chatterbox airbender falls silent for the first time all day as she works, gently blotting and swiping different powders onto Korra’s face with surprising precision. A few strokes over her cheekbones, some soft taps against her eyelids, a smear of gloss over her lips, and…

“Done. Do you like it?”

Korra’s eyelashes flutter as she parts them, peering back at herself in the mirror. She looks… good. Really good, actually. 

Ikki glances up at her, eyes wide, still silent. She opens her mouth to speak, but Korra sweeps her into a hug before she can. “It looks fantastic, Ikki. Thank you.”

The clock on the dresser chimes for the half hour mark, breaking their embrace. Korra stands up, brushing her dress off in an attempt to keep it as smooth as possible. “Alright, time to go. Thanks again for helping me get ready.”

Ikki vaults off the bed, voice restored. “No problem! Let me get my shoes and then I’ll be ready to go too!”

“Go too – wait, what?” Korra tries to call after her, but Ikki is already out the door, sprinting down the hallway to her own bedroom. “Ikki, what do you mean, go too?”

“Mom and Dad’s meeting with President Moon is tonight, remember?” Korra bites back a shout of surprise, whirling around to stand face to face with Jinora, who has seemingly appeared out of thin air.

“Meeting with the president…” Her stomach drops. “Oh no.”

Jinora’s mouth tightens into an awkward grimace. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

Korra responds with a grimace in kind, voice panicked and soft. “I did.” Things have been so busy lately, keeping her away from her girlfriend, that she jumped at the offer of a date without bothering to check, well, the date. And now she’s double booked herself. 

“Are your parents still here?” Korra asks desperately.

“They left half an hour ago,” Jinora replies.

“What about the air acolytes?”

Another wince from the teenager. “Dad gave them the night off because you said you’d watch us.”

“Jinora, Asami and I have a table for two booked at Kwong’s Cuisine. How am I supposed to fit four more people there? Not to mention, it’s a date.”

“I can stay behind if you want,” Jinora offers, voice a bit too even for Korra’s liking.

She narrows her eyes. “Didn’t Kai just get back from a relief trip yesterday?”

The blush on the younger girl’s face gives her away instantly. “Maybe.”

Korra sighs, placing a hand on Jinora’s shoulder. “Nice try, kiddo, but not a chance. If your dad found out I left his fifteen year old daughter unsupervised on the island with her boyfriend… I think you’d have to start searching for the next Earth Avatar.”

“That’s not fair, though!” Jinora protests, “You’re getting to spend time with you partner, why can’t I?”

“Because I am an adult,” Korra reminds her, “And you are not. Besides, with you four around it’s not like we’ll get to spend any time alone. Speaking of - Ikki, Meelo, Rohan, let’s go!”

Jinora huffs, crossing her arms in the universal symbol of teenage frustration. Korra lets her, remembering how she was doing the same thing only a few years ago. The other kids emerge from their rooms at her call, thankfully looking put together enough that she can haul them over to the ferry.

Or, wait – Rohan’s shoes are untied.

“Is everyone ready?” Korra asks, heading over to the youngest of the airbending children to help with his shoe situation.

“I gotta tie my shoes first,” Rohan pipes up, plopping himself onto the floor and grabbing at his laces.

“Here, let me help –”

“No Korra, I can do it by myself!” The five year old insists. Korra bites the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her cool. Normally she wouldn’t have an issue waiting for Rohan to tie his own shoes, but they’re on a time crunch tonight.

“Rohan, we need to go. Let me just tie your shoes real quick.”

“I can do it!” He repeats, scooting away from Korra’s grasp. Slowly, moving at what must be a tortoise-slug’s speed, he pulls his laces tight and begins the delicate process of making a neat bow. 

Korra watches intently as Rohan ties his first shoe, and then starts on the other. The second shoe seems to pose more of a challenge, the boy sticking his tongue out in concentration, fingers clumsy and tangling. They’re going to be here all night at this rate.

“The right shoe is always harder,” Rohan complains, and yet when Korra offers once again to help, he rejects her outright, once again demanding he be allowed to do it on his own. 

Then, to Korra’s utter devastation, the horn of the ferry waiting at the dock trills – once, twice, signalling the boat pulling out to make its journey back across the bay.

The three older kids wince in unison. Korra wants to slam her head against the wall, regretting every decision she’s ever made. She missed the ferry. There won’t be another for a few hours. Making it to this date is seeming less likely by the minute.

“Got it!” Rohan cheers, breaking the tension. He launches himself upwards and kicks his feet, showing off his shoelaces: two perfect bows, tied all by himself.

“That’s great, Rohan,” Korra praises weakly. The five year old beams, surging forward to grab her hand, none the wiser to the dilemma now facing her. 

“Maybe I should just call Asami and reschedule,” she mumbles. Nevermind she hasn’t laid eyes on her girlfriend in nearly a week.

“You can’t reschedule!” Ikki gasps, “You spent so much time getting ready!”

“I know, but we’re already late and –”

“We can take Pepper,” Jinora offers quietly, lifting the visage of teenage angst for a moment. 

“Yes, yes, let’s take Pepper,” Ikki agrees. She grabs Korra’s free hand, tugging her and Rohan along behind her. “Besides, I read in this magazine that ladies should arrive to dates fashionably late. The writer said it’s good to build tension.”

“What magazines?” Jinora probes, “We don’t get magazines here.”

Her little sister pointedly ignores her. Korra holds her breath for the inevitable spat, but thankfully Jinora decides to just ignore her in kind. Thank the spirits for that, at least.

Somehow, in the first stroke of good luck she’s had all evening, Jinora’s bison is already saddled up and ready to go. She chooses to ignore the obvious reasoning behind it, instead focusing on making sure her clothes stay clean on the flight over. 

“You should let Asami make you a wingsuit,” Meelo suggests as Jinora yip-yips her bison into the air. “Then all of us could have just flown over, no bison required.”

Korra sighs, leaning back against the saddle. “Maybe next time.”

Meelo nods sagely, advice given. He sticks a finger into his mouth, playing with a wiggly tooth. “Do you think Asami could pull this thing out with pliers? I’m a bit strapped for cash right now.”

“Airbenders don’t have money, Meelo,” Jinora calls over her shoulder. When she turns around again the ten year old sticks his tongue out at her, making a face.

“She won’t have her toolbox with her at dinner, so I doubt it,” Korra tells him. “What do you need money for, anyway?”

“It’s never too early to start saving for retirement,” Meelo replies nonchalantly. Korra honestly can’t tell if he’s joking. 

Though the flight into the city is short, Korra still can’t help the anxious tapping of her foot that starts up as the minutes tick by. And then keep ticking by, as Jinora searches for a place to land her massive sky bison in the middle of the Republic City Downtown. 

By the time Pepper is secured on the outskirts of a park, Korra is nearly ready to pull her own hair out. “Okay everyone, time to get a move on!” She hoists Rohan into her arms as she starts a strict pace, trusting the older three kids will follow.  

They tumble into Kwong’s about ten minutes later, sweaty, flushed, and messy. Korra can feel blisters beginning to form on her heels from her fancy shoes, and she dreads coming across a mirror and having to face her reflection looking like this. Truly, it’s a miracle that the doorman actually lets her inside the restaurant. 

“I have a reservation for Sato,” Korra gasps out, attempting to wrangle a squirming Rohan. 

The host raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Of course, Avatar. However, I remind you that your reservation is only for two diners.”

“Can’t you just pull up a few extra chairs?” She replies desperately. “This one can sit in my lap, and the others –”

“I can sit in my own chair!” Rohan interrupts, his tiny round face aghast. 

“I know you can, Rohan, but…”

“Korra? I thought I heard your voice!”

A sense of relief washes over her, muscles relaxing, face crinkling into a smile of its own accord as she turns to look at the one person she’s been dying to see all evening. Asami.

Her girlfriend looks utterly gorgeous, as expected. Hair pinned up in a way that leaves it flowing over one shoulder, jewelry glittering beneath the candlelights, red dress hugging her sides – at this rate, Korra might be the one passing out from her beauty.

“Asami!” Ikki and Meelo trill, nearly tackling her in a hug. Asami oofs as they barrel into her, but catches them and holds them both close with a smile.

“Hey guys, what are you doing here? Korra and I weren’t expecting company tonight.”

Before Korra can attempt to explain, in the most tactful way, that she’s been relegated to the role of babysitter for the next few hours, Jinora steals her thunder with a decisive “Korra forgot she was supposed to watch us tonight.”

“Uh, forgot, is not, um, exactly what I’d call it –”

Jinora rolls her eyes. “You forgot.”

Korra smiles sheepishly in Asami’s direction. “Okay. I might have forgotten. You look beautiful, by the way.”

“‘Sami is so pretty,” Rohan agrees from his perch in her arms. Asami, still locked in a double embrace from Meelo and Ikki, positively beams.

“Well, thank you both. How about we go sit down?” She pins the host with a pointed stare. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem to move us to a larger table with more seating.”

The man sweats beneath Asami’s gaze. Dabbing at his neck slightly, he nods hard enough that Korra wonders how his head stays on. “Of course, Miss Sato, right away.”

Meelo tilts his face upwards to glance at Asami. “I need you to teach me your ways.”

She laughs at that, somehow far more okay with this entire situation than Korra would expect anyone else to be. “Maybe another time.”

Asami manages to wriggle out of her hug-trap, coming close to twine Korra’s fingers with her own. “You also look beautiful, Korra.” She emphasizes her compliment by pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. Korra could melt from it.

“And your makeup – did you do this yourself? It looks amazing.”

Korra chuckles, shaking her head. “I can’t take credit for any of this, honestly. Ikki all but dressed me herself.”

Asami gives the younger girl another dazzling smile. “Well, I guess I’ll have to thank you then!” Pink tinges Ikki’s cheeks as she looks away, suddenly bashful. 

The host comes to announce that their new table is ready, and Asami ushers them all to follow after her. Rohan begins to squirm again in earnest, little arms outstretched in earnest desperation. “I wanna be with ‘Sami!”

You and me both, kiddo, Korra sighs internally. But, to keep things running smoothly, she sets Rohan back onto the floor to let him sprint to Asami’s side and cling to her hand. All Korra can offer is yet another apologetic glance. 

They attract more than a few stares as they settle at their table, each less subtle than the last. Korra can feel their eyes burning into the back of her head, making her begin to sweat. Oh spirits don’t let me start sweating here. She cringes to imagine what she must look like at this point.

“This place is so fancy,” Ikki murmurs in awe, staring enraptured at the small chandelier above their table. 

“Yeah, yeah, but is the grub any good?” Meelo asks, snagging a menu from the table. He props it in his lap so he can read and wiggle his tooth at the same time. Korra doesn’t have it in her to chastise him about putting his fingers in his mouth in public. 

Thankfully, she and Asami have managed to be sat next to each other, and her girlfriend turns to kiss her cheek again. “Anything in particular you’re hungry for, love?”

Korra bites her lip before she can reply with the first thought that comes to mind, all too aware of the little ears sitting nearby. “Um. Not sure yet. Definitely something with meat though; I’ve barely left Air Temple Island these last few days.”

Jinora tosses her menu onto the table with a long-suffering sigh, pulling their attention in her direction. “The vegetarian options here are shit.”

Her younger siblings gasp in unison, utterly affronted. “You can’t say that!” Rohan all but shrieks, Ikki and Meelo quickly repeating the sentiment. 

Asami glances at Korra, raising an eyebrow in a clear question of should you do something about that?

Korra just sighs, leaning in close to whisper in Asami’s ear. “She’s trying to get a rise out of me because I wouldn’t let her stay back on the island with Kai.”

Not that Korra isn’t empathetic towards the teenager’s need to let off some steam and test a few boundaries in the process, she can’t help but wish Jinora chose any other night but this one. This dinner is already going to be tough to get through without her angsting in the background the entire time. 

“Best to ignore it for now,” Asami whispers back in agreement. Beneath the table, she grabs Korra’s hand and squeezes, a silent support. Korra squeezes back, grateful for the backup.

Somehow, with their combined forces, they manage to find a meal that each of the children both can eat and want to eat. Jinora’s assessment of the vegetarian options was correct – they really are shit. 

The wait for their food passes in a blur. Korra can barely get more than a sentence to her girlfriend, their conversation constantly interrupted. Ikki’s babbling questions. Meelo’s current obsession of would-you-rather scenarios. Rohan’s excessive storytelling that never seems to have an endpoint. Korra wants to sink into the floor in frustration.

There’s a brief respite when the food finally arrives, with everyone eagerly digging into their plates. However, it’s only for a moment; Korra soon has to dedicate her attention to making sure Rohan chews with his mouth closed and Meelo uses his napkin. 

And then the kicker comes.

“Korra, I need to use the bathroom.”

The waterbender barely suppresses her sigh. “Can you hold it for a bit, Rohan? Everyone’s almost finished, and then we can go home.”

The young boy shakes his head gravely. “I can’t hold it. I drank too much water.”

“Okay then. Let’s go potty real quick. Come on, I’ll take you.”

Rohan hops up from his chair, and it quickly becomes evident how dire the situation is – he’s squirming in place, rocking back and forth, bouncing from foot to foot. 

Korra offers her hand. “The bathroom’s this way, Rohan.”

Despite his obvious potty-dance, Rohan still takes the time to point at Asami. “Can ‘Sami come too?”

“Asami is gonna stay with your siblings, buddy.”

“But I want her to come with us!”

Korra takes a heartbeat to pray to any spirits around for a bit more patience. “Do you want Asami to take you instead?”

A firm shake of his head. “No, I want you and ‘Sami.”

There really isn’t any time to argue, if the speed of his wiggling is anything to go by. “Fine. Asami, will you come to the bathroom with us? Jinora, you’re in charge for five minutes and five minutes only.”

“Nobody’s in charge of me!” Meelo protests, but Korra drowns him out, gesturing for Asami to follow as she nearly drags Rohan to the bathroom. An accident on these nice carpets is the absolute last thing she needs tonight.

Inside the bathroom, Rohan’s independent streak is still going strong, the five year old insisting he can do everything himself. For this, Korra hopes he’s right. With Rohan finally inside a stall to take care of business, she gets a second to lean against the counter and just breathe.

A soft hand twines with her own. Asami leans on the counter beside her, resting her head gently on Korra’s shoulder. “Well, tonight has been interesting, to say the least.”

“I’m so sorry,” Korra apologizes frantically. “I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen at all, and now I’ve ruined our first night together in weeks. I’m going to make this up to you, Asami, I promise.”

Asami leaves the counter to face Korra directly, green eyes alight with amusement. “Korra, you don’t have to apologize. Sure it’s not what we planned, but I love any time we spend together. Even if it’s not exactly perfect.”

Her hand comes to rest on Korra’s cheek, stroking it softly. “Besides, if tonight’s chaos means I get to see you like this… I’d say it’s pretty worth it.”

Korra blushes at the compliment, though she doesn’t look away. Asami grins wider, eyes flickering down to her lips. They lean in together, noses brushing, and –

“Finished!” Rohan announces from his stall, causing the two women to jolt away from one another, ending their kiss before it even starts.

Korra steps from Asami’s arms, smoothing her dress again. “Alright, come on out and wash your hands so we can get back to the table.”

There’s a pause. “Can you help me wipe?”

Asami smacks a hand over her mouth, muffling her sudden giggles. Korra can feel her face falling in devastation.

“No problem,” She mutters, heading into the stall. “No problem at all.”

~~~~

It’s clear there’s some sort of issue at their table before they even reach it. Korra can hear the raised voices from the moment they leave the restroom, carrying over the quiet chatter of the other patrons. They’re attracting stares again. 

Korra and Asami share a glance when they hear another cry of anguish and increase their pace, hurrying back to their table full of unsupervised children. 

The sight that greets them isn’t too pretty. Meelo is sobbing, tears and snot both pouring down his face. Ikki and Jinora are somehow arguing with each other even louder, pointing accusatory fingers over their brother’s shaking shoulders. 

“What is going on?!” Korra demands, rushing to their sides.

“I SWALLOWED MY TOOTH!” Meelo wails, another round of fat teardrops leaking from his eyes. 

“You what?!”

“Meelo swallowed his tooth!” Ikki repeats, voice panicked. 

“And it’s Ikki’s fault!” Jinora adds, scowling.

“It is not my fault!” Ikki shrieks, loud enough that Rohan, still standing with Asami, covers his ears. 

“You challenged him to see who could eat their food faster, and he ate so fast he didn’t notice his tooth fell out when he was chewing! It is totally your fault!”

Meelo cries even harder. Korra is at a loss for words.

“The – the tooth spirit isn’t gonna be able to leave me any present because I swallowed it,” Meelo hiccups, cheeks reddening.

“You should make Ikki give you her next tooth,” Jinora suggests, completely unhelpfully. That option only starts another round of tears and another round of yelling.

“All of you, QUIET!” Korra shouts, finally fed up. The three children pause, eyes wide. Meelo’s sobs soften out to sniffles, and the girls’ expressions quickly shift to ones of guilt. 

“How about I go grab the check?” Asami offers, scooping Rohan into her arms. “I think everyone’s done eating. I’ll meet you guys outside, okay?”

Korra nods in agreement, thankful for the help in wrangling the unruly mob currently disguising itself as children. She steps over to Meelo’s seat, lowering herself onto one knee – a bit awkwardly, due to her dress.

“Hey. Look at me, buddy.” Meelo sniffs again, wiping his nose. “I promise you, the tooth spirit is gonna know about your lost tooth. They’re a spirit; they don’t need to see your tooth to know you lost it. But if you want, when we get home, I can help you write a note just to make sure. How does that sound?”

Another sniffle. Meelo nods slowly. “That sounds good.”

Korra smiles, gently ruffling his hair until she sees the start of a giggle. Meelo situated, she turns to Ikki next.

“Ikki, it wasn’t your fault Meelo swallowed his tooth on accident. You couldn’t have known it was loose enough to fall out that easily. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I didn’t mean it, I swear,” Ikki promises earnestly. “And I’m really sorry that you swallowed your tooth, Meelo.”

“There we go, that’s what I like to see,” Korra encourages. “You two, go catch up with Asami at the front while she pays the check. Jinora and I are gonna grab Pepper and come pick you guys up.”

With all the younger kids gone, Korra can focus her full attention on the teenager in front of her. But rather than try and force her to talk, she just gestures to the side door. “Come on, let’s go get your bison.”

She and Jinora walk side-by-side, completely silent. They reach Pepper after only a few minutes, and climb up the saddle together. Korra no longer cares about the fur or messing up her dress, so she makes sure to give the massive sky bison extra pets for her hard work. 

Jinora, sat on Pepper’s neck, slowly turns to look at Korra, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry, Korra. I haven’t been exactly… helpful tonight. I know you were looking forward to your date with Asami, and I’m really sorry if I’ve ruined it.”

Korra thinks back to Asami’s words in the restroom – how was that only twenty minutes ago? A soft chuckle escapes her lips. “It’s anything but ruined, don’t you worry.”

Jinora sighs. “Still. I’m sorry. I know I’ve been really annoying.”

“Listen to me,” Korra replies gently. “You are one of the most special, talented, important teenagers in the entire world, Jinora. But you’re still a teenager. I think we forget that sometimes – me included. So sure, you weren’t on the best behavior ever tonight. We all have bad days. There’s nothing you’ve said or done that can’t be fixed, I promise.”

Jinora surges from her perch to wrap Korra in a hug so tight she hardly breathe. “Thank you.”

Korra pats her back weakly, wheezing slightly. “No problem, kiddo. You know I’m always here for you.”

They linger in their hug for a few more moments, then Jinora finally releases her to grab Pepper’s reins. The sky bison makes the journey back to the restaurant in under a minute, then hovers outside until Asami and the other kids finally emerge from the front doors.

“There’s nowhere to land!” Asami calls into the sky, hands cupped around her mouth.

Korra peers over the edge of the saddle, grinning. “Not a problem. Hold yourself steady; I’ll air-spout you up!”

Ikki, Meelo, and Rohan create small whirlwinds of their own to propel themselves upwards, each of them landing expertly into the saddle. They join Korra at the side, watching her next moves with eager anticipation.

Asami is far better at being air-spouted than Mako ever was, even in her fancy dinner dress. The wind whips around her as Korra spirals her arms, and when her black locks tumble into her face she just pushes them aside and keeps smiling.

The air built up, Korra flicks her wrist, and Asami’s feet leave the ground as the air-spout carries her – right into Korra’s waiting arms. 

“Stuck the landing,” Asami giggles, wrapping her arms over Korra’s neck. Jinora gives another yip-yip, and Pepper takes flight for Air Temple Island. 

“You know I’ll always catch you,” Korra replies, letting herself get lost in Asami’s green eyes. 

“Kiss!” A small voice demands from their side. Korra breaks their gaze to glance downwards, finding Rohan clinging to her dress, chubby cheeks parted around an excited smile.

“Yeah, kiss!” Ikki joins in, bouncing eagerly in place.

“KISS, KISS, KISS!” Meelo chants, pumping his fists in the air. The other kids quickly join in, even Jinora, from her place at the reins.

“I don’t think we can deny them,” Asami laughs, the faintest hint of pink flushing over her cheeks. 

“I don’t think we can, either,” Korra agrees, a laugh of her own bubbling up from her chest. 

They lean in together, eyes closed, noses brushing. Their lips find each other like magnets, drawn together helplessly. Asami sighs into the kiss, and it’s the most beautiful sound Korra has ever heard. 

She kisses her back with the same excitement, heart fluttering. The rest of the world falls away, leaving only this. Only Asami. 

Their date night hasn’t been ruined. Not by any means.

----

thanks so much for reading! this will be posted on ao3 as well.

hopefully i was able to properly capture the chaos that comes with watching children lol

@korrasamiweek2024

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen

warnings: menstruation, swearing, reader is in pain

I sat down next to Steve with a wince. He looked over at me, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched up. He moved his arm so I could curl up against him.

“you alright?” He asked. I shrugged. “That’s a no. I thought you were taking pain killers for your cramps. What happened?”

“I missed the time window.” I groaned, wrapping my arms around my abdomen. “If I want to take some before bed, I had to take them a couple hours ago. I forgot. Well more like I miscalculated.” Steve rubbed my arm as I winced again. “So now I have to suffer until I go to bed. But I’m fine. Not the first time won’t be the last.” I tried to give him a reassuring smile but it came out more like a wince.

“you mean you’ve done this before?” He asked, eyebrows going up. I nodded. “What the fuck (Y/N)?”

“language.” It was a knee jerk reaction at this point. Steve rolled his eyes. “You know I’m forgetful and bad at math. It’s just bound to happen.”

“how much pain are you in right now?” Steve asked, moving to lay down on the couch. I shrugged.

“on my pain scale or a normal persons?” I asked as he drew me into his arms. I laid down on his chest and shifted to put pressure where I needed it most.

“your pain scale.” Steve sighed. “I’ve figured it out by now.” I shrugged and pressed my face to his shoulder.

“just making sure.” I muttered. Silence enveloped us.

“(Y/N), pain level.” Steve reminded me.

“about at 7?” I said. Steve looked down at me with concern. “Honestly it’s not the worst it’s ever been. Least I don’t feel nauseous this time. Or like I’m going to pass out from the pain.”

“why the hell don’t they tell us about this?” Steve muttered.

“well a hundred years ago I doubt they even wanted you to know what a menstrual cycle was.” I teased. “Now they just dont think it’s necessary for men to know let alone understand it.”

“what the fuck?” Steve muttered under his breath. I halfheartedly smacked his chest.

“language.” I said. “Believe me I once asked Tony what he thought a menstrual cycle was and he thought it was some kind of engine part he was missing. But that’s Tony. Clint called it the cycle of death. I don’t know. I guess Laura has threatened him a few times or something.”

“you should ask buck.” Steve suggested. “He had sisters. I’m sure he’ll restore your faith in the opposite sex.” I laughed.

“sure. I’ll ask him.” I closed my eyes and breathed out as a cramp rolled through me. “I even asked fury.”

“Oh I’m sure he had a good answer.” Steve laughed.

“he said it was the time of the month you left women alone.” I said. Steve hummed and rubbed my back.

“I mean some women yeah. Wanda scares me on hers. Pepper disappears apparently. Tony says she always books a week off every month and just takes it when she starts.” Steve said. “But you want me close by. So that’s where I am. Once a month. Every month.” I nodded against Steve’s chest.

“yep.” I agreed. “I like my cuddle buddy.” Steve laughed as I started to drift off. He pressed a kiss to my head before turning on the tv for background noise.

[bambiiboop]

Pre Game ( DBF / BFD Joel Miller x Reader )

Summary: Joel is your dad’s best friend, and your friend’s dad to boot. Wanting him is a bad idea, but it’s not like he feels the same… right?

CWs: age gap / references to cheating / semi protected sex / threats of spanking / language / dirty talk

Tag List: @joelsgirl @pr0ximamidnight @dreamingofdaddydin @funnygirlthatgab @schizoel @bearsbeetsbeskar @loquaciousferret @pedritosdarling @chaotic-mystery

(I’m sure I’ve missed someone I’m sorry 😂)

Notes: finally, that DBF fic.

Buy Me A Coffee?

You’re really starting to feel bad about how much you’re paying attention to him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so guilt inducing if it was a new thing, something you could brush off as fleeting interest, but the fact of the matter is you’ve had your eye on him for literally the better part of two years now.

You’ve always noticed him; how can you not? He’s your dad’s best friend. They work together, then every other week he’s at your house to watch the game. Before, you were aware of him.

But ever since you moved back home after your college relationship went bust? You can’t take your eyes off him. What’s worse is you’re relatively close friends with his own daughter, Sarah.

You’re a couple years older than her, but close enough in age that you get along well. Well enough that you’d hang out together, text each other over the years, trust each other with secrets and girls nights and the bullshit that comes with being a young woman in this day and age. Wanting her dad just feels like a betrayal, but you can’t help it.

Besides, it’s not like he wants you back. Right?

Your dad won’t be home for several hours yet; he got called out to an urgent maintenance job, something about a blown circuit board causing a whole block to have spotty power. Considering there’s some important game on today, it’s not ideal.

You guess he must be too busy to have had time to message Joel to let him know, or more likely, forgot. Not that it matters - there have been a couple times when he’s shown up early.

It’s almost embarrassing that you know the sound of Joel’s truck as it pulls up outside the house. Even more embarrassing the way your heart starts racing as you get up off the couch to let him in. You open the door just as he goes to knock on it, leaving him standing there with his hand half raised, lazy half smile on his face.

“Chief not in?” His nickname for your dad has always amused you, the sarcastic banter born from the year your dad was his boss. It was weird for them to go from equals, two blue collar single dads, to your dad bossing him round.

That worksite didn’t last too long, and they were back to their regular buddy shenanigans before long.

“Nah, some emergency power restoration. He should be back before the game starts.”

You step to the side to let him in; no point leaving him outside, or him driving across town to get home only to come back.

Joel smirks.

“Should’ve done what I did.” He pulls his phone from the pocket of his jeans, where the do not disturb sign is showing on his lock screen.

“He works too hard.” You agree, heading back through the living room, trusting Joel to close the front door behind him.

You’ve been alone with him before, just a few times, but not since you moved back home. He looks a little different. Older. He’s got silver streaks mingled in with dark curls, a little softer round the middle. But it doesn’t take away from his looks. If anything, it enhances them.

“Always has. Now what about you, huh? Last I heard you were finishing your fancy degree, had shit all planned out.”

You shrug. Your dad had never gone to college; had busted his ass your entire life so that you could. You’d enjoyed your studies, had had some good friendships and relationships there.

Then your college boyfriend with his stupid law degree had cheated on you with the secretary his new firm had hired. You hadn’t been remotely interested in trying to ‘fix things’, instead throwing your mostly unpacked shit into boxes and hauling ass back home.

You had your degrees, you could find work at home. Never mind your wounded pride and inability to trust men your age ever again.

“Sometimes stuff doesn’t go according to plan.” You say finally. “I’m getting a drink. Want anything?”

Joel doesn’t answer you, just follows you into the kitchen. You’re barely aware he’s there until you feel the heat of his body behind yours as he leans over you into the open refrigerator, snags a beer while you’re still deciding.

A jolt of electricity runs through your body at the slight contact, immediately followed by guilt. Never mind that he’s your dad’s best friend, he’s your own friend’s dad.

How could you ever face Sarah if you acted on your want for him?

You grab a premixed vodka drink, pop the cap off and toss it into the bowl on the bench, taking a sip.

The drinks aren’t your choice; your dad buys them on occasion, because as he likes to remind you, there’s no such thing as a ‘girly drink’. It’s funny, but being raised that way gave you the confidence not to give a shit about ordering a beer in a bar, the same way you’ll never be apologetic about drinking a pastel pink vodka premix that tastes like guava and sugar.

Turning, you find Joel leaning against the other bench. Watching you.

“Make yourself at home.”

It comes out far more sarcastic than you intended; immediately, you feel bad. It’s not his fault you’re trying to cope with a raging crush on him. Not his fault that he’s stupidly handsome even in jeans and a button down shirt.

Honestly you doubt he even knows how attractive he is. Somehow that makes it worse.

“Got a mouth on you today, don’t you?” Joel says almost breezily, clearly unbothered by your attitude. “You always this bratty, or is that something you learned at college?”

You can feel your cheeks heating at the implication.

“No college boy could teach me that.”

The words are out before you can stop them. Your slight blush becomes full fledged heat when you realise what you’ve said, how easily you flirt with him.

“Guess not.” Joel takes a long sip of his beer, watches you for a second, as though trying to assess something in his head.

“Guarantee no boy is gonna give you what you deserve, anyway.”

Even though you’ve just taken a drink, your mouth becomes impossibly dry.

“What I deserve?” You put the bottle down before you drop the damn thing.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change as he drains his beer, sets the empty bottle on the bench behind him.

“See, if you were mine, I’d put you over my knee and slap your ass raw for being such a brat.” He says it so damn casually, like he’s talking about the weather.

You open your mouth to speak, then close it again. Then open it.

“What’s stopping you?”

Now, his expression does change. A smirk crossing his features. You half expect him to say something about his age, about your dad being his buddy, or about you being his daughter’s friend.

It’s none of the above.

“You’d enjoy it too much.” He crosses the small space between you, thumb tracing the outline of your mouth. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you looking.”

Your lips part, sucking the tip of his thumb into your mouth, eyes wide and staring into his own dark gaze. Something flickers there, maybe what remains of his willpower being snuffed out.

He lets you suck on his thumb for a moment before he pulls it out of your mouth, fingers closing on your chin and forcing you to look at him.

Your tongue darts out and licks your lower lip, unable to take your eyes off him, off the blatant lust in his gaze. You’re almost afraid that if you look away, it’ll break the spell, that he’ll come to his senses, or that you will.

You don’t want to.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?” He sounds so amused, but not in an unkind way.

“I bet the thought of me bending you over and spanking you has you soaked.”

For a moment, you consider denying it. The small part of you that’s still sensible says you should. But you can’t. You just can’t.

“Why don’t you find out?” You suggest, wishing you were wearing something a bit more attractive than shorts and a shirt. At least your underwear matches.

For a moment you think he might refuse; are afraid he will refuse. That fear passes the moment his free hand slides down into your shorts, thumb brushing against your clit almost lazily.

You have to fight not to lean into his touch. Fight and fail miserably as that big, rough hand cups you, fingers caressing across sensitive skin.

“Knew it.”

Joel has no right to be this damn smug, and yet he is anyway, beyond amused at how wet you are, just from his words.

You half glare at him, mostly because you’re irritated by how right he is, but also because it frustrates you just how much you need him.

“Don’t start being a brat again…” he warns you. “Keep being good for me and I’ll reward you…”

You can’t help but melt just a little at those words, wondering what he could possibly mean. Well. You have a few ideas, but still, you think his ideas are probably going to be better.

“How?”

He just stares at you, makes eye contact as he slides two thick fingers inside you, silently answering your question and challenge.

Your knees almost buckle, but you force yourself to keep standing, reaching behind you to hold onto the bench top to steady yourself.

You’ve spent a considerable amount of time thinking about this; about his fingers inside you. About more than just his fingers. But hell if this isn’t a good start. If this is all you get, you’ll be satisfied. Needy and wishing for more, yes, but you wouldn’t push it.

Luckily for you, he’s just as needy, pushing those fingers deep into you, curling them, watching the way your eyes drop closed. Like he hasn’t thought about this a great deal, when in reality it’s all he thinks about.

“See? Told you if you were good for me, it’d pay off…”

You smirk at him, wanting to be a smartass and tell him he never said that, but you need him too much to risk it. He’s trained you well, without even trying.

“If I’m even better, will you give me more?”

Your eyes drop to the visible bulge in his jeans, leaving absolutely no room to question what you mean. The sound he makes is somewhere between a growl and a groan, understanding what you want and more than willing to give it to you.

“‘M not gonna fuck you in the kitchen, baby.”

The amount of restraint it takes for him to say that is clear in his expression. Honestly, he’d love nothing more than to yank those tiny shorts down, hoist you up onto the bench and fuck you senseless, but the kitchen isn’t the right place.

He has enough restraint to want to do this properly, enough respect for you to be hesitant, even though it’s difficult.

Quite frankly you wouldn’t have cared if he’d bent you over the closest surface, but it’s the little want to be a gentleman that gets you. Even if he does still have his fingers buried knuckle deep inside you.

“What about if I ask nicely?” You look at him through half closed eyes, expression innocent.

“Still not gonna happen in the kitchen.”

You smirk; that’s fair enough. Luckily there are far more available rooms you can utilise, and you both know it. Still, it’s with a definite sense of reluctance that he removes his fingers from you, brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean, leaving you once again weak in the knees.

“Joel…”

He loves the way his name sounds in your mouth, knows it’ll sound even better when you’re screaming it.

“Cmon, baby, gonna show me somewhere we can go that’s a bit more private?”

You try not to look too eager as you grab his hand, drag him out of the kitchen down the hallway to the guest room that’s now yours. Your old room upstairs was boxed up years ago, and your dad has since turned it into a gaming room for his war game miniatures and old books.

Easier for you to take the guest room, make it your own space. That and it would have felt weird, taking Joel into your childhood room.

Kicking the door shut behind you, you turn, expecting… you’re not sure what, but Joel pushes you up against the door almost right away, leaning down to you, his body hot against yours.

You have plenty of time before you have to worry about being interrupted, but still, there’s a sense of urgency in the way you pull him down to you, crush your mouth to his.

In the moment you don’t care that it’s wrong, that he’s so much older than you. All that matters is him, and getting him as close to you as possible, because god knows you’ve waited long enough for this.

He moves his arms away from you just long enough to yank your shorts down, pull your shirt over your head, toss them both aside carelessly. You let him before you push him back, until the back of his legs hit your bed.

Joel lets you, lets you push him back and straddle his lap, leaning down to kiss him as you shed your lace bra, leaving you bare to his gaze as you grind yourself against the significant bulge in his jeans.

“Fuck, baby, you gonna take charge all the time?”

It’s clear from his tone that he doesn’t care, not in the damn slightest, as your hands find his belt, work the zip of his jeans down.

You don’t answer him, just kiss him again, hard and desperate as your hand wraps around his cock, frees him from his pants and strokes him eagerly.

The sound he makes is goddamn sinful as you drag your soaked core along his length, coating him with your wetness. You want to take your time, but you know your dad could be back any minute, and you’re too needy and desperate to take your time.

Luckily, he seems to feel the same way.

“You gonna ride this cock, baby? Gonna take it like a good girl?”

That’s absolutely your intention; you lift yourself up, position yourself over the tip of him, then slide down onto his length, every inch of him sinking into you slowly.

His hands settle on your hips, guiding you down, keeping you there for a moment, fingers tightening on your waist.

“Fuck, you feel so good…” he breathes it out slowly, watches you toss your hair over your shoulder, smirk down at him as you start to move, drawing another delicious groan from his lips.

You don’t answer, focus entirely on riding him, lifting yourself up and dropping back down, one hand rubbing at your clit as you move.

“Such a pretty girl, so fuckin’ good for me…”

You whimper, and maybe that’s what finally snaps him, because his hands tighten on your waist and he starts to move, no longer letting you do all the work, hips snapping up against yours, hard and fast, precisely how you’ve always imagined he would fuck you.

“Dirty little thing aren’t you? All this time you’ve been wanting me…” he almost growls it, breath hitched as he ruts up into you, pupils blown wide with lust as he watches you.

“Joel…”

You’re so close you can feel it, every nerve in your body alight as you tighten around him.

“Go on, sweetheart. Cum on my cock, I know you want to. Can feel this tight little pussy, so needy for me…”

It’s his filthy words, the feeling of him inside you, your hand on your clit, the combination of all of it, that sends you over, has you shaking on top of him, held up by his big strong hands as you find your release.

He can see the scar on your arm where your implant was put in, sees you looking and the way you bite your lip, and that’s enough for him, bucking up into you until he can’t hold out any longer, cursing and moaning as he fills you, you grinding down against him the entire damn time.

“Fuck…” he groans it as you lean down to kiss his cheek.

“Worth the wait.” You tease as you climb off of him with shaking legs, pick up your clothes and start re dressing yourself.

“Absolutely.” He zips up his jeans, sits up lazily, watches you pull those ridiculously tiny shorts back on.

You grin, feeling his eyes on you.

“Come on. Let’s go have another drink and pretend to be completely innocent before my dad gets back.”

Joel groans. You’re going to be the absolute death of him.

[phoenixlionme]

Arcane S2 Theory: Caitlyn will be one to grant Zaun their freedom

This is a theory just came to me recently, but I think it would make so much sense to happen. Caitlyn will be the one to free Zaun in S2 and I have my reasons:

One of the co-creators, Alex Yee, stated in an interview that besides Caitlyn being his fav LOL fighter, he also believes she is the bridge between the two cities. What if that was unknowingly an early bit of hinting at this theory? Now, I don't have the link for that interview but if anyone can find it, please share.

"But she becomes the opposite of herself in S2!" - I can hear some of the fans saying to debunk this theory but that's the point of this theory. Look, it's clear Caitlyn is going to go through a dark arc with the trauma Jinx inflicted on her before and after murdering her mother (I know it hasn't been shown but come one, we all know it's a safe prediction). So, she'll be making some mistakes and even end up causing more tension between the two cities. But SOMETHING will occur that will let her see that the path of vengeance isn't worth it and she'll snap out of it.

The above pic -I believe this pic comes from Caitlyn letting go of her aforementioned vengeance (not her hatred of Jinx but not allowing it to blind her). Another part of the trailer with her in the same outfit is when she was in an apparently high position point with a new rifle. I think after she tries to shoot whoever or whatever, she gets caught or has to leave her hiding place and get injured in the above picture. She's injured as she's holding her stomach and is looking up in fear/anger at someone (i believe Ambessa). And given that it's out in the open, Caitlyn is most likely on the bridge.

She and Vi have reconciled - Don't know what split them up or how they got back together but they are reconciled. How do I know? The black Enforcer outfit; they are wearing matching uniforms. Which only could've happened if they met and reconciled. And when Vi is wearing hers, her hair is now more red than black, symbolizing her reclaiming her identity. One person on twitter even theorized that the black Enforcer outfit that Vi is wearing in the trailer is the same one Caitlyn is wearing. Maybe after Caitlyn got hurt in this moment she was saved by Vi and Firelights and taken to a more secure area and gave Vi her armor to protect her.

Why Caitlyn and not Ekko, Vi, or Jinx? - Now while Vi and Ekko have shown to want Zaun's independence, they have given up due to cynicism and lack of hope with them both only being concerned with their immediate circles (this isn't me shaming them, I am just noting this trait). And for people who think it might be Jinx? A hard no. She may be gaining followers in S2 but I can guarantee that she's going to end up causing more deaths and problems in Zaun and wasn't truly interested in Zaun's freedom, only interested because she wanted to help Silco and now presumably because she's around people who admire her. But Caitlyn? Despite her naivety and sheltered upbringing, when she sees how Piltover has failed Zaun, she is adamant on helping them in anyway she can, avoiding violence as much as possible. And now that she's going through a dark arc, and then realizing how she forgot her original goal would be perfect character development and symbolism.

Speaking of symbolism, it would make sense for it to be Caitlyn to be the key to granting Zaun's freedom and restoring peace between the cities. She's a Piltover Enforcer who comes from THE most affluent family and is presumably going to be the most powerful person (politically) in S2. And initially continue the oppression of Zaun in quest for vengeance before snapping out of it. Zaun's freedom being freely given from someone who always intended to do so and even directly apologize for being complicit in said oppression would be the beginning of healing. Because despite Zaun's faults, it was Piltover that unfairly oppressed and hurt them, so if a Piltovan was the one to grant them their freedom with no strings, it may be the start of a (very long) healing process.

But how would Caitlyn cause the explosion? Using one or a nice amount of Jinx's explosion placed in a way to specifically target the weakest part of the bridge. But why would she have one of Jinx's bombs? I can guarantee that in her hate-filled vengeance quest, she could personally keep some of Jinx's explosions in a way to remind herself of who she's shooting at in the future. But things have changed and she realizes she must uses them to help destroy the bridge.

Why is she destroying the bridge? Noxxians are invading both Piltover and Zaun and Caitlyn realizes that more of them are going to successfully invade Zaun unless she does something. So, she uses the bombs from Jinx, places them in a way to destroy the bridge completely. But she uses herself as bait to catch the Noxxians off guard and uses her rifle to set the match. But before she does, thinking she's about to die (she won't obviously), she uses some sort of radio or gets help from the Firelights to communicate to the people of Zaun - And she declares they are free before setting the match on fire. Causing the explosion and setting the bridge to collapse, killing a majority of Noxxian soldiers.

How she would parallel so may characters by doing this: Jinx caused an explosion that killed Enforcers and attempted to frame the Firelights; Caitlyn causes an explosion to save the Zaunites with help from Firelights. Marcus only dreamt of performing suicide murder on Silco out of fear and cowardice but couldn't do it; Caitlyn performs a heroic sacrifice (she doesn't die) to successfully protect the Zaunites. Vander lead a fail coup against Piltover resulting in many of people dying; Caitlyn works with Zauns (the Firelights), saved the Zaunites, and destroyed the bridge.

And speaking of Vander, what does Caitlyn have in common with him in this pic? She's injured in the stomach area. Just like how Vander was stabbed in the gut by Silco in S1 Act 1 before performing his own heroic sacrifice to protect Vi. And remember, Vander and Caitlyn, despite surface level differences, have much in common.

This shot of Vi reaching out to someone below her with an anguished face:

Now many fans believe this is Cait reaching out to Jinx; and honestly, I think could also be true, even with their extremely messed up relationship, you don't get rid of the love that easily. But I can also see this being Vi reaching out to Caitlyn after the presumed explosion. Could you imagine the angst - after reconciling with the woman she loves (possibly including a passionate and loving sex scene that is also Vi's first time) and reclaiming her identity, she is now forced to see the said woman she loves be caught in another explosion. Oh the traumatic parallels.

12. Oh crap, I just had a crazy thought (that is also another Vander and Caitlyn parallel) - Caitlyn also causes the explosion to save Vi from wherever she is AND stop more Noxxians from invading Zaun; I don't know how or if it'll even happen or it might be too much but again Caitlyn is very smart with excellent aim, so it could happen. Anyway, she (like Vander) would be performing a heroic sacrifice to protect Vi from whatever danger she's in. Is Vi in danger here? Maybe; she doesn't have one of her gauntlets and looks to held down (?). Look, it's more than likely Vi is doing this because of Jinx but I can also imagine it being Caitlyn.

[prince--esque]

Had another Destiny dream, hoo boy. This is a long one.

So it was my first time booting up the game and I got transported into the TV (great stuff). But I didn't start off in the cosmodrome. Instead, it stuck me in some sort of Braytech facility that had recently been abandoned. (It was broken down, but not due to age.) There also weren't any lights, but there were these reflective square on the floor that would shine whenever I looked at them.

My starting (and only) weapon was Compass Rose, but it was severely underleveled, so it didn't do anything against the enemies. I was also not wearing any proper gear except for what i think was the default(?) Warlock helmet and a weird fauld. Other than that, I was wearing regular clothes.

Also I didn't have a Ghost. Nothing killed them or anything, I just...didn't spawn with one. So no Light.

As for what I'm up against: some amalgamation of Scorn. But it's not normal Scorn. It's like...even more infected than they normally are. And crazy smart. And look like a cross between a Hive ogre and a Clicker from The Last of Us. And they're fast.

So I start wandering around in this labyrinth; can't use my gun cause it'll make noise and draw all of the Scorn to my location, and can't really defend myself at all because my gear is not optimal for this situation.

Get to this corner of the facility that is littered with these guys, and I have to get through an archway on the other side. So my natural reaction after being stuck in here for several (dream) days is to just gun it. I weave between the enemies, dodging their attacks and grabs, and make it!...but I forgot something. What? I have no idea. But I have to go back and get it.

Start running back through them again when I get conked in the head and put in a chokehold until I pass out. Thought I was dead. Nope.

I wake up in some kind of large machine that has a spinning mechanism along the floor and ceiling. Kinda like a dryer. Have to start running hamster-wheel technique to get the momentum to launch myself onto a ledge above me. Though, I am rudely interrupted by a Brig waltzing into the room like it owns the place. Which, it kinda did.

This was the Big guy. The Boss. A pitch black Brig that was restored using a mix of Braytech and Vex parts, being piloted by...something. Never got a proper look inside, but he was speaking English while mocking me, so. Hm.

Anyways, I get thrown back into the giant dryer, pass out again, then wake up hours later. I struggle to get on my feet for a minute, then stagger over to my gun. Broken. (Not like it did much in the first place.) But beside it is a...gauntlet? I'm not sure how to describe this thing. It was about the length of my forearm and was equally as wide, except the top piece of metal curved downwards. The Nine also had their logo on the top, so cool. Didn't really matter what it looked like at first though because I was more focused on the fact it was something.

Anyways Mr. Big Brig comes back, does the classic Evil Laugh and taunting. Starts the actual boss fight. I'm grasping at straws on what to do, but have some kind of divine instinct to shoot it. Shoot it? With wha—THE GAUNTLET IS A ROCKET LAUNCHER! Somehow!

I get a shot in directly into the guy's legs. But even with the sweet relief of not being completely helpless anymore, it only took him down to 9/10ths of his health. And I couldn't manually reload it, cause it didn't take any ammo! I had to wait until it magically gained another rocket every ten-ish minutes.

Start stumbling around the area, trying to get to an exit. The Brig follows me around in a way that it always ends up looming over me. I am sobbing at this point. I am hungry, drained, and stuck and i can feel my gut practically collapsing in on itself. My vision was blurry to the point I could hardly see. I am not having a fun time.

Eventually, I get the final shot it. It doesn't feel as good as it should. I clamber up the edges and roll myself up onto the ledge, walking over to a doorway while trying not to trip over my own two feet. I get through the arch.

Then I wake up.

[myreia]

WIP Whenever

Been ages since I've had writing to share, so I'm dumping a bunch at once! Tagging @thevikingwoman @roguelioness @allaganexarch @impossible-rat-babies @galadae @hylfystt @lilas @coldshrugs @bearlytolerant and anyone else who would like to. I'd love to see what you're working on! 💖 ~ 1000 words from an endless FFXIV Wolmeric fic I'm working on, specifically a re-working of the dinner date scene in Heavensward.

“Forgive me if this is strange to say,” Aymeric continues, reaching for the decanter and finishes filling his glass. “But I would rather you come as you are, not what you think you should be.”

She pauses. “What do you mean?”

“The dress you spoke of. Frankly, I do not care what you see fit to dress yourself in, nor how closely you choose to follow Ishgardian customs. It would make my heart heavy indeed to see you forgo the very essence of yourself and trade it for traditions that are not your own. I would not argue we besmirch custom and culture wholly and throw them to the wolves, but rather I do not believe their sanctity should go unquestioned. One must take part in tradition out of choice, not obligation. Traditions are precious and deserve to be celebrated, but to embrace them blindly does not equate respect in my eyes. There will always be those for whom tradition fails, and those who tradition forgot.”

He exhales a long breath and lays a hand on the table near his glass. “Perhaps you count yourself among them, more at home amongst the good people of the Brume then the lords and ladies of the High Houses. I can lay no blame at your feet for preferring the Forgotten Knight to the Pillars when some here see your very existence as an affront to the fantasy they deem a civilized society. Regardless, you have notoriety and grand stories of your accomplishments precede you. To some, you are as much a fixture of this era of restoration as the House of Lords and the House of Commons, or the efforts of the good overseers and caretakers of the Firmament. But as wont as the people are to place the Warrior of the Light upon a pedestal, so too are they to forget there is a very real woman at the heart of those tales. I shall not. You cannot be anything other than yourself, and I will not ask it of you.”  

She raises her head and meets his eyes, her heart throbbing in her chest. Gods, why must he be like this? What has she done to deserve a friendship like his?

“Perhaps it is something we share, then,” she suggests, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

He blinks, startled, and chortles to cover his surprise. “We do?” he asks.

“Aymeric, consider what you have accomplished. My hand may have brought an end to Nidhogg’s wrath, but it is you who had the conviction to pull Ishgard out of this war. Break down the walls this country encased itself in for centuries. Bring an end to the cycle—”

“It was not I who should be accredited with such deeds, but rather men and women far greater than myself. Lord Haurchefant and Estinien and Ysayle, to say nothing of yourself. I can still see you there on the Steps of Faith, striding fearlessly towards the wyrm. It is not a moment I will soon forget.”

“You place too much importance on it—”

“You think I say that as a commander commending his greatest general for feats in battle. It is not so rote as that. Ishgard held its breath that day and you—”

She exhales sharply. “Would you let me finish?”

He bows his head. “Of course,” he says, unable to hide his smile. “Consider me suitably chastised.”

Aureia pauses, twisting her hands together beneath the table. What can she say to get her point across? Whenever she pushes the importance of his political maneuvers, he seems keen on derailing the point to praise her actions in combat. Perhaps that is the soldier in him or the rhetoric of Halone, though in Ishgard, they are often one and the same. The fast and dazzling heroism of victory in battle will always trump the slow, tedious work of reform.

She turns her head, her gaze wandering the dining room as she gives herself time to think. Lights dance on the opposite wall, drawing her eye to the hearth and its crackling flames. A set of portraits hang above the mantlepiece, depicting a wise Elezen noble and his wife. Grey-haired, strong features, kind eyes… These must be his adoptive parents. The former viscount and viscountess. By all accounts they loved him dearly, placing no blame on him for his accident of birth.

He has spoken little of them. Considering her difficulties with her own family, she would never want to press the matter. But she can’t help to wonder how much of him came from them. He may have called Thordan Father in those final days, but his true father—the man who raised him—is remembered here, his memory hanging proudly upon the wall.

If there is anything she knows all too well, it is that family is a very different thing from blood.

“When the whole nation looks to you, what do they see?” Aureia says finally. “On one hand, the commander who did not come from noble stock. The bastard who stood in the face of bloody tradition and sought another path. The reckless fool who defies century of tradition. On the other, the viscount who has nothing but love for his country. A noble man and a man of righteous faith, for whom there is no sacrifice too great if it means bringing Ishgard to the dawn of a new day. Aymeric, you are as much an enigma to your nation as I am. If they forget the Warrior of Light is a living, breathing person with blood in her veins, then so it is true for the Lord Commander. You are an ideal to them, at once a traditionalist to be trusted and a maverick to be praised. A visionary.”

She takes a breath and forges ahead. “But the problem with ideals is that they are just that. Ideals. The work ahead of you will be longer and more grueling than fighting any dragon. My duty is done the moment my enemy is felled, but yours is just beginning. There will come a time when your people will see you not as the ideal they believe, but the man you are. And, in my experience, people do not like to see their fantasies broken.”   

His gaze passes over her, blue eyes piercing and stern. For a moment, she wonders whether she has upset him, but then his expression breaks into a blinding smile. “Eloquently put,” he says, running a thumb across the stem of his glass. “Are you certain you are not fit for public speaking?”

She rolls her eyes. “Fuck, no.”

[singular-yike]

A long time ago, a book about Shinto I read mentioned something about "warrior priests". I sorta gave up researching them after the shrine they were associated with in the book pulled up no results on English google (forgot it's name, but apparently there's an American branch of it that has way more documentation than the Japanese branch I was trying to look into, but this ain't about that shrine).

The concept of a warrior priest intrigues me, as a fan of media where Shinto priests fight, so could you tell me what you know of them?

I'll be completely honest, I've never heard of Shinto priests that also acted as warriors before this. So I was a bit lost as to what to do here.

However, I do know of the much, much more famous Buddhist warrior monks, called sōhei (僧兵 lit. "monk soldiers"), which I originally planned to use as my answer.

Fortunately, it is in the middle of researching them that I believe I came across a good answer to your question, but first, let's go over some history (which I've tried my best to keep brief and relevant to our topic today).

History of Shinto and Buddhism

Shinto and Buddhism have been closely intertwined for most of Japan's history. In fact, for a good part of it, most people would've understood them as a single system of faith, one and the same.

From our modern point of view, we call this shinbutsu-shūgō (神仏習合), the "syncretism of kami and buddhas" (syncretism being the combation different beliefs; Kami being what I usually refer to as the Shinto "gods").

It was not until the Meiji Restoration in 1868, when the "Kami and Buddhas Separation Order" (神仏判然令) was decreed, that the two religions for forcefully split in twain.

Yet even still, the two were never truly and completely separated, many Buddhist temples still house small Shinto shrines, and some Shinto shrines are dedicated to Buddhist deities like any other kami.

Indeed the policy never succeeded in its goals to separate the two religions, many Japanese people still practice both and visit both shrines and temples, but what it did do was create the modern view that they are separate, independent religions.

Practices/Beliefs Under the Syncretism

Right, now we can take a look at the practices under the syncretism that lead to these "warrior priests/monks" that I mentioned prior.

To keep things brief, basically, the Shinto gods and the various Buddhist deities (Buddhas, bodhisattvas, etc.) were fused together. The "how" was never agreed upon, but the mainstream idea was the honji-suijaku theory (本地垂迹).

It suggested that Shinto gods were but local manifestations of the buddhas and bodhisattvas, and that they too were not exempt from the cycle of death and rebirth, samsara.

Thus, Shinto gods needed to achieve enlightenment, nirvana, as well, just like us humans. Buddhist temples were built close to Shinto shrines so that the gods can listen to Buddhist sutras, cultivate good karma, all that good stuff.

There's a lot more too, like how Shinto gods later come to be considered the protectors of Buddhism, but the important takeaway here is that Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines slowly get fused with one another, to the point where they're basically the same thing.

Warrior Monks and Priests

It is under these syncretistic beliefs and practices that we move onto classical and feudal Japan, specifically the period from the late Heian period (794 to 1185) until the Muromachi period (1336 to 1573).

During this period, power in Japan was split between three: The imperial court, independent warrior governments, and what is called the "temple-shrine powers" (寺社勢力) (the "why" is a lot of history I really can't).

(Also do note that these are categories, not three unified powers, so all the temple-shrines didn't come together to form their own government or anything like that.)

Temple-shrines then held vast amounts of land and power, enough to compete with the other two powers for authority. A part of this competition and exertion of power is, of course, military fighting.

This fighting, on the part of the Shinto shrines, were often done by what are called jinin/jinnin (神人), low-ranking priests who did chores and odd-jobs for the shrine. Some of them where charged with guard duty, so they owned weapons and knew how to fight.

It was these people who we see join the sōhei (mentioned in the beginning) in their fighting, and we even have many records of people complaining about their violent rampages (yeah not all of these warriors were great people, in fact many weren't, but that's neither here nor there).

And there's what I believe you read about! Warrior Shinto priests, albeit low-ranking ones that were basically the odd-jobs guys. (Also worth noting is that not all jinin were warriors, some were farmers, merchants, artisans, etc.)

Ending

What I couldn't find

I should definitely add that I couldn't find anything about a specific group of jinin tied to a specific shrine.

The only two American shrines that I could find with specific ties to Japanese shrines are the Tsubaki Grand Shrine of America and the Izumo Grand Shrine of Hawaii, tied to the Tsubaki Grand Shrine and Izumo Grand Shrine respectively.

However, I couldn't find anything specifically tying them to any temple-shrine powers back them, nor any specific anecdotes about their priests being warriors either.

So yeah I got nothing on that front, sorry 'bout that.

Why all the history?

In retrospect all that history really seems rather unnecessary, doesn't it? But I've already typed all that up, and it'd just be an absolute waste to delete them now.

I originally mentioned all that because I wanted to give an idea on how this could've been obscured, both to me and to anyone else, and hence the topic's obscurity these days.

Shinto was Buddhism at the time (and vice versa, in a sense), so these people who fought with Buddhist monks were simply lumped in with them, they were of one temple-shrine organisation.

There's a lot of stuff in there that you can easily pour literal lifetimes into learning about, so we can always visit some other stuff there if you're interested~.

Final Words

Good gods I crammed a lot in here.

The tricky thing is that any talk about Shinto history also kinda necessitates a basic understanding of Buddhism, so it's tough to pick out what's really needed and what can be saved for some other day.

Also I'm not nearly as good at these top-down perspective stuff, as you may have noticed, narrow topics are a lot easier to work with (though I suppose that's true for most things).

And this intersected with history quite a lot too, which is not really my thing and I'm not nearly as well versed in.

Finally please do note that I'm no expert in Japanese religion and mythology or anything. I just find it all real neat~. So please don't be surprised if any of this turns out inaccurate or straight up wrong, and do tell me I'd love to learn too~.

And that's all I believe! As usual, I hope you enjoyed~! :)

[obeymeluv]

Isnt devildom liquor weaker than human world liquor? Mc had beat Asmo in a drinking contest. How do you think it they'd act, completely hammered in the human world. I think harder liquor means stupider drunks.

Spoiler alert to the in-game MC’s “heritage” reveal. You know, the descendent/reincarnation thing. If you know, you know.

Below: Thoughts on Devildom liquor + the specific incident Nonnie is talking about with Asmo in game + THE ACTUAL ANSWER TO THE ASK. My bad, haha.

My thoughts on Devildom liquor at that point in the game:

The MC is not as affected because they are human/angel. Maybe the angel part fortifies MC and makes it harder for them to get drunk?

Maybe the HUMAN side of MC is what makes it harder for them to get drunk on Devildom liquor? Like...everything in the Devildom is made primarily for demons so maybe there are ingredients in there that specifically affect those with demon blood. Maybe humans don’t have the biology to be inebriated by those ingredients?

I am a little fuzzy on that point in the game but did Asmo pre-game? Like, a lot? Did we ever find out? I could see him being so emotionally distraught that his lovely MC is leaving that he just wants to be sloshed. Maybe he assumed MC beat him in a drinking contest because he forgot how much he already drank?

Maybe Solomon gave MC a heads up that Asmo was down for drinking and gave them a pre-game potion of their own to ward off the affects.

End hypothesis: Maybe Devildom liquor IS strong (for demons) but that potency just can’t translate in human bodies so the bros (Lucifer especially) don’t want MC drinking it because they’re not sure what it will do. They just ASSUME it will do to MC what it does to them.

Other thoughts: Because demons sprinkled little secrets to the humans over the course of history, gave them trinkets and magic and things, I’d like to think they gave humans the idea or process of alcohol-making but are TOTALLY not prepared for the end result. All the flavors, types, etc. 

As far as I understand it (at the point I’m at in the game), travel between the Devildom and human world was widely discouraged until Diavolo could make a program that united the three realms and improved the overall image. So basically everyone has been separated for thousands of years.

What if demons are equally bad at holding human world liquor? I could just see a drunk Asmo being like, “What is this? Sangria? This isn’t what I told them to call it.” as he’s trying to drink and (speed) walk away from Beel, who wants the fruit out of the pitcher.

I could just see them all getting TOTALLY wasted on human world stuff just because they thought “Ahh, we taught them this 5,000 years ago! Of COURSE we can handle it! We invented it!” (spoiler alert: they cannot). Like, I’d like to think their biology works against them here. They heal quicker and probably get over stomach aches and things quicker, so they probably metabolize alcohol quicker to restore bodily equilibrium so they probably get flash-drunk off of just about anything with a decent alcohol content. 

HOW THEY WOULD ACT (AKA: the real question)

The facts: 

They’re all going to be like drunk kittens, big bassy purrs and wanting to cuddle you or scent you. 

They’ll basically curl up in a pile together; you occasionally have to move body parts (so no one suffocates). 

Do a head count every now and then, give them some crackers/carbs when needed, and put water all around them like a summoning circle because when one of them wakes up, all of them will and they’ll act like big babies

Put a bucket near Lucifer and Asmo, they’re sympathy pukers.

Levi and Belphie need total sensory deprivation when they wake up. You may only breach the darkness to bring them things to settle their stomach and anything to kill the headache

Just give Beel bread and anything like Gatorade/Pedialite. He’ll help you with the others after three loaves or so.

Asmo will be especially pitiful and demand you take care of the others first. Once they’re decently able to take care of themselves he’s near teary-eyed, demanding tummy rubs and tell him he’s still pretty even though he feels awful. Please get him a sheet mask.

Mammon’s not functional enough to help with anything major but he’s standing the next day so he rubs that in everyone’s face. He’s the one shuffling around with a half-eaten sandwich, looking for any comfort item (heating pack, cold wrap for his head). He will demon screech at you if you touch any of the lights in the house.

As Mammon comes to, he demands dim lights and acts like a grumpy mom. He’s making porridge and they better shut up and eat it. Says it’s for him but there’s a suspicious amount of bowls nearby.

Satan just swears he’ll never drink again (like always). Dutifully waits for porridge. Spends most of his time letting cold water run over his head. Can’t spend too much time hunched over because he gets nauseous. Baby him a little. Find a way to let his head float in a bit of water where he can lay down and he’s as quiet as a mouse. 

Who can drink the most? (Best to worst - my opinions only)

1) Beel (body mass helps), 2) Mammon (party king), 3) Asmodeus (huuuge history with mixed drinks. Boy is READY), 4) Lucifer, 5) Satan (neck and neck with Lucifer - casual drinker only. Even wine is rare for him), 6) Leviathan, 7) Belphie (usually sleeping instead of drinking). 

Lucifer:

We’ve seen little gags about how ‘Lucifer got drunk and unplugged the router’ so this guy’s either going to be super cuddly, a hot mess, or both

You know the people who fluff their hair, comb it back, undo a tie or some buttons and just get comfy as they drink? That’s Lucifer.

He’ll smile a bit more, laugh a bit more, and there will be some color to his cheeks

He’s not sloppy, just cozy. 

Drunk Lucifer is not overly loud but he is honest. He won’t throw himself into groups or pester all the brothers, but he’s up for some accidentally-heartwarming one-on-one

When he’s drunk he’ll lay his head on your shoulder and let you play with his hair

Will not win any drinking games. Is actually a lightweight compared to his brothers (see best > worst drinker, above).

Mammon:

GO BIG OR GO HOME! MAMMON’S HERE TO PLAY FOR BIG MONEY! (AKA: bragging rights that he can handle more than his brothers)

He and Asmo are quick to get the drinks flowing because they want to try shots of everything. 

He and Asmo are pretty good at matching brothers to drinks and tasting subtle notes, things like that

Show Mammon beer pong once and it’s done. He’s betting the brothers he can whoop them and is somehow able to pull off ping pong ball math to get Lucifer shit-faced real quick (might do it even faster if Belphie or Satan slip him some money)

The type to be like “Bet you I can hit that cup right there--third row, second from the left.” and can do it flawlessly. You have to give him head pats or $5, that’s the rules.

He’ll be one of the bros you have to chase around and make put his clothes back on. Boy will try to strip and strut

Will definitely hoard his favorite bottle (picked it on smell) and spend a majority of the time trying to drink it and avoid the bros. (”YOU CAN’T MAKE ME SHARE IF YOU CAN’T CATCH ME!”)

Leviathan

Not the best drinker. Not a frequent drinker at all.

His envy makes him drink because as he starts to go on a tangent about how ‘it’s not fair! Everyone’s having a good time!’ when he realizes it’s as easy as picking up a drink. Like...he can join in too.

Levi won’t grab himself an alcoholic drink because he’s a nervous over-thinker. Asmo or Mammon will just hand him a cup like the resident Liquor Fairy and he trusts their judgement

The first one to let his demon form out just because the liquor is a little warm in his belly and he feels like he’s flying? Also comfortable?

The excited drunk who goes on animated, slurred rants

The loud laugher

He’s honestly so adorably animated that anyone who knew him would be surprised? He seems far from a shut in

Trade off: he can’t hold his liquor well

Boy probably trips on his own tail or thinks something snagged his ankle to bring him down when, in fact, he just fell down

Sways when he sits

When he’s done, he just wants a nice comfy lap to lay in and maybe play with his hair. 

Like Lucifer, liquor will make him confess all his feelings. 

Watch out for the tail. It will be all over you when he starts to lose the ability to wrap it around himself.

Satan:

It’s a toss-up as to whether he gets drunk before Lucifer or vice versa. I’d like to think his tolerance is slightly higher since he might run in the same circles as Asmo, but he is a part of Lucifer so I’m sure it balances out

He’s a drink snob and this is what hurts him the most. He goes to fancy tastings and random things he’s invited to, but this is a drop in the bucket

He’s never gone hardcore before because he’s afraid he’ll be prone to anger

He’s not. He’s actually a lot like Levi. He just wants to smile and laugh and have fun.

The one who knows a lot of random/interesting stuff and has unexpectedly awesome party tricks

He and Asmo act as instigators and somehow con everyone else into getting drunk. It’s mostly because he wants blackmail material, but he enjoys the mind games

He’s the one you’re going to have to carry BUT he’s super chill when he’s having a good time. You want him to wear a lampshade? Okay, but only if you call him Enlightened One (get it?)

Makes bad jokes. Lucifer definitely laughs

The one that randomly dances with someone at the party. But it’s a fancy dance or slow dance, not something crazy

Will try to prove he’s not as drunk as he is by reading or reciting something and just breaks down into snorts and giggles

Cat Mode: Activated. He wants to be all over you. Hug him and play with his hair, please.

Asmo:

Asmo isn’t really different from his usual self.

He’s a little social butterfly, making his rounds and checking on people

He’s the silent, sneaky drunk. No one notices he’s drunk until his face starts getting red and his eyes get glassy

The quiet cuddler. Just progressively gets closer to you until he’s resting his head on your shoulder, hugging you from the side and asking you to give him his drink.

Would be the happiest person on the planet if you literally just held his drink up to his lips and let him drink it when he wanted to. You just love him so much?! You’re so thoughtful?! He wants to cry

Guilty party #2 for ‘chase him around and make him put his clothes back on’

Next in line for ‘Liquor makes me tell the truth and my darkest secrets’.

Will try any activity at the party and will dance at least once with everybody

If he gets in a fight, that’s because someone doesn’t respect what he put on the party playlist. He knows good music, okay?!

Has a personal goal to steal one drink from everyone, drink it before they realize, and hand them back the empty cup as he slips away. Something about it just amuses him.

Wants to leave lipstick/lip gloss kisses on people. Thinks they’re the cutest accessory!

The one who loses something at the party and makes everyone look for it the next day

The one who’s passed out in a random spot and no one has the heart to move them but everyone checks on them to make sure they’re safe. When everyone’s turned in for the night, he is safely moved like the precious baby he is.

Beel:

The one who takes the longest to get drunk. You don’t know if it’s because of his build or how much he ate to offset the alcohol

Unofficial baby sitter of the group. Pays special attention to everyone but Belphie, Asmo, and Levi in particular.

Not super loud. Just vibes and enjoys time with his family.

He’ll participate in the party activities because he does have that competitive streak but he’s not as invested in it as Mammon. If he wins at least once he’s proved his point and is on to something else

Surprsingly, #3 to ‘you might have to chase him and make him put his clothes on’. Drunk Beel is convinced he’ll get over the alcohol faster with less clothes because of temperature regulation and something that doesn’t really make sense because he’s slurring

Will drink more if Belphie is nearby or if he can hold onto Belphie. Taking care of Belphie and knowing he’s okay (in a tactile way) makes him a little more carefree. 

Doesn’t really confess like the other bros but he’s the one no one can really hear talking because his purr takes over everything. His purrs are so loud and deep! Big boy is truly happy

Drunk Beel is affectionate as ever and this is where you learn that demons can express affection by licking people. Most of the bros end up with a Simba-style mohawk. It’s just one lick but Beel’s got a long tongue and it fucks with hair real good.

Will jump in for a song or two if karaoke is a thing at the party. A really good singer but wouldn’t do it unless he had a decent amount of alcohol in him.

He’s the type to trip over stuff trying to help clean up. If he falls down he says he’s just ‘taking a break’ and will ‘help in a minute’. Might not get up again.

Once Beel lays down, Belphie, Satan, and Levi drunk crawl/stumble/slither over to him for warmth. This is how the cuddle pile starts.

When he lays down, if you get anywhere near him, he’s begging you to lay down with him. Wants to whisper little compliments and lovely things. A big sap. Handsy but will definitely know when to lay off and will listen if you get uncomfortable. 

Belphie:

Honestly, doesn’t really drink. He’s more interested in the nap.

His biggest motivation is to get the others drunk so everyone’s quiet and he can sleep. Definitely wants Lucifer blackmail.

He’ll have a few things but he prefers a lot of something mild versus a mix or a few shots of something super potent

Will try the funnel drink challenge.

The third enticer. He wants to work everyone up (Lucifer especially) and get the booze going.

Borrows off of Beel’s body mass and ability to handle alcohol here and there, but it all catches up with him eventually

The type to have really diluted drinks because he’s already sleepy by nature and doesn’t want to faceplant with a shot glass.

Will slow dance with Asmo. When Asmo starts to struggle with his weight as Belphie gets cozy and sleepy, Beel steps in and you just see the twins purring and warbling to each other as Beel just scoops him up and lets him sit on his hip like a toddler.

Another one who wants to slither into your lap and take all your attention.

The type to do random shit like boop your nose and giggle about it.

The one who doesn’t want anyone else to touch you. If he’s laying on you then the others need to leave you alone. It’s not hard to understand!

[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.

[witchy-jadda]

rott spoilers ahead

so i’ve given myself some time to think about everything and try to process it all and here are some of my thoughts on trollhunters: rise of the titans...

- straight off the bat, i loved the intro. opening with blinky telling the story of what happened up until this point was incredible. i would have loved if they had circled back to this though (i saw someone else say it should have been him telling the story to jim and claire’s kids and i loved that idea!)

- i also liked that they didn’t waste time at the start, instead they just jumped right into the action which was fun.

- honestly, i thought jim’s plotline throughout the movie where he basically thought he was useless without the amulet was just really not fun to watch. i understand why it was there and it played into the climax but i really did not find it one bit necessary seeing as i felt that we have grown beyond that. i felt it was overused. we’ve been there before and jim is aware that he’s the trollhunter, amulet or not.

- douxie being so soft with nari was genuinely one of the most heartwarming parts of the movie. i feel that we were really robbed of so much potential with douxie in this movie though. we didn’t see nearly enough of him. it seemed that the writers were picking and choosing when to remember how powerful he is. switching with nari and connecting to her are two examples of when they actually used his power, but aside from that they just disregarded it a lot.

- and speaking of forgetting how powerful people are... i’m genuinely so hurt and let down over what they did to claire. do they not realise how powerful she is? did they just forget about her character arc? it sure felt like it. she got to use her powers a few times (connecting to nari, portalling the titan, etc) but mostly it felt like she was saying she was spent and therefore unable to do anything. she is so strong and so powerful, and that’s just so empowering - especially for young girls. and then it kinda felt to me that rott was reducing her to basically nothing more than jim’s love interest.

- okay another quick note, it kinda felt to me that krel’s potential was also pretty wasted? he barely did anything and i just think he deserved more too.

- ew okay i don’t even want to think about it but i know i can’t discuss rott without talking about the mpreg thing. seriously, what the fuck was that? at first, i thought it was going to be a joke. i thought aja and krel were gonna wind steve up and see how far they could go with making him think he was pregnant just for a little bit of comic relief. but then he was actually pregnant. and so i laughed, because even though it was dumb it was kind of funny. weird and unexpected, but kind of funny. but by the time the movie was over it just didn’t sit right with me. looking past the fact that it was just more of them making steve’s character into a joke, i couldn’t see the logic in giving so much time to that subplot when other characters (claire, douxie) and other relationships (claire and douxie’s friendship) were sidelined. maybe if he had gotten a whole season the mpreg thing could have been included as comic relief or whatever, but with such limited time i really don’t see the point of wasting so much time on something so pointless. 

- speaking of steve, i need to talk about creepslayerz... they really deserved more :( like i get that eli literally helped steve through child birth and then named one after him which was lowkey adorable but i loved their friendship so much and i was really hoping to see more of them. i was kind of hoping they’d get to do more as well. look i gave up on hopes of a romance long ago (even though i still really wished it would happen) but i hoped that at least we’d see some more of their friendship.

* by this point my brain has decided to forget absolutely every point i wanted to make... cue the brain fog (we don’t like her) and allow me to take a moment to read back and try to find my point again *

- i don’t think i can stress enough how much i loved the visuals in this movie. holy fucking shit it was just phenomenal. like wow. the art was absolutely fantastic and i’m really hoping for another the art of... book because i love the art of trollhunters and i feel that they could do with updating it to include the newer stuff. but yep, the animation quality was incredible and i don’t have a bad thing to say about it because just wow.

- speaking of art... a moment of appreciation for character designs. just wow wow wow. we love to see such intricately designed villains. we love to see growth in our other much loved characters. and the locations too? fantastic. beautiful. amazing. loved it.

- another moment of appreciation for jim. the hair. the scars. the injuries. the winter jacket. the fact that he looked a little older.... loved it. loved it, loved it, loved it. i cannot wait to spend hours pouring over reference pictures to draw them all.

- and claire... her armor being weathered and worn. her eyes!! her hair looked great as always. i just love her...

- nari nari nari... my goodness, her magic is so beautiful. i wish we got to see more.

- also, the jlaire moments were very cute. their kisses? so soft. they literally love each other so much. i adore them.

- what happened to the babies from the darklands btw? is not enrique just chilling in the lake’s house with a ton of babies? 

- barbara deserved better. i would have liked to see her and strickler happy.

- on that note, why the actual fuck did they think a few explosives would win against magic?? literal ancient magic and these dumbasses were like huh i guess we should blow it up. i’m sorry, what?? y’all are stupid.

* currently trying to think of every possible point that isn’t to do with the ending because i really don’t want to think about that yet *

- the whole thing with archie and charlemagne felt super unnecessary. like usually characters sacrifice themselves and it’s like sad and you can see the reasoning and stuff. but they literally could have gotten out. i really did not vibe with that. it felt like they just did that to leave douxie with no one.

- that trollmarket was beautiful though.

- speaking of trollmarket... they really restored the heartstone just like that? are you joking? i was not impressed at all. the heartstone was dead and gone, could not be destroyed. did they just forget that? half the shit in wizards wouldn’t have happened if the heartstone could have been restored. very pissed off by that. it was dead, that was it.

- okay back to jim... love that he pulled the sword from the stone. it was cute that it was a group effort, kinda would have preferred if it was just him but that’s just a me thing. and maybe me and my daylight tattoo are biased here, but excalibur is not half as pretty as daylight.

- not gonna lie, jim yelling come on trollhunters! kinda got me. i was very emotional watching this.

- i think the most in character jim moment of the whole movie was when he dropped excalibur, he didn’t have his armor, he was all alone and he decided to make a fist and fight the wizard/god with literally no weapon or means of defence. i don’t think y’all understand how much i love this dumb self sacrificing selfless boy. i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again, he is literally one of my most favourite characters of all time. i love him with all my heart.

- the armor!! wow wow wow. that was a fucking cool scene. beautiful.

- jim getting stabbed or whatever with that fucking spear thing nearly killed me.

- okay here goes... toby. my sweet toby. jim and toby’s friendship is one of my absolute favourites ever. my goodness. and toby getting in the van and going to save jim was incredible and such a toby thing to do. of course he would think of doing that.

- but like seriously... claire and douxie are so fucking powerful and they were both just like lol i guess we can’t do anything to help jim? i’m sorry what?? don’t tell me that claire wouldn’t go full on black and purple eyes and get herself up their to him. i just... i’m so bothered by the fact that they were sidelined y’all :|

- also, do not seriously try to tell me that aaarrrgghh!!! would let toby go on his own. he would have went with him. he would have followed him.

- literally as jim was falling the first thing that went through my mind was oh aaarrrgghh!!! is gonna run up and catch him.

- and while we’re on the topic of aaarrrgghh!!! why tf did they have such a build up that something was going to happen to either him or blinky for literally no reason? wtf

- aaarrrgghh!!! would not have let toby go alone!!! if he had been there, he would have protected toby, he would have saved him and none of that mess of an ending would have happened.

* ugh here’s the bit i was dreading... the ending *

- first off, i am choosing to ignore it.

- time stone? really? we’re... we’re gonna do this? literally one of the most original things i have ever watched is now - at the literal last possible minute - rip off another movie?? really?? whyyyy???

- i literally cannot express how much i hated it. it was so fucking unnecessary.

- he didn’t need to go back that far!!!

- i’m actually trying to block this out but i suppose i have to at least touch on it. jim would never ever put that burden on to toby. he just wouldn’t. before even looking at all of the other issues with toby getting the amulet, i need to say that. it just wouldn’t happen. he struggled so much with being the trollhunter, he wouldn’t put that on toby. 

- also toby literally never wanted to be the trollhunter?? he never wanted the amulet? he wanted to be a duke and have his war hammer and go on adventures with his best friend and his wingman and eat mexican food.

- okay so um i guess they all just forgot about unbecoming? cool cool cool.

- seriously though, was it not established many times that jim literally had to be trollhunter? and if he wasn’t it would be draal and everything would go to shit? did they just forget about that??

- having jim just decide to give toby the amulet literally takes away from the entire meaning behind jim getting the amulet and becoming the trollhunter. the amulet chose jim. merlin chose him. out of all of the creatures in the world, it had to be jim. he can’t just give that to toby!!

- and as much as i love toby, he would not last a day as trollhunter.

- and that’s not even beginning to mention all that jim erased by not becoming trollhunter. no father son relationship between him and blinky. they didn’t stop steve from picking on eli so no steve redemption and no creepslayerz. is he just going to allow enrique to be taken? toby will not have the same incentive to go into the darklands to save him if that’s the case. strickler will not show any sort of sentiment towards toby either. and then the big one...

- IS THAT FUCKER REALLY GOING TO ALLOW CLAIRE TO NOT GET HER POWERS??? WHAT???

- if jim isn’t trollhunter and the whole thing with enrique doesn’t happen then claire will never get her shadowstaff. let’s be real, strickler probably wouldn’t even need angor rot with toby as trollhunter. somehow i can’t see him making it that far...

- if claire doesn’t have her shadow staff then the whole thing with morgana won’t happen. she won’t destroy the shadow staff and then she will never develop her powers. would jim really rob her of that?

- okay i can’t do anymore, it’s too much for me now...

- i touched on this already in a separate post but i gotta say it again... i did not enjoy the destiny is a gift bit at the end. first of all, jim having toby find the amulet literally takes the meaning of that speech and his destiny away instanty. and second, i just could not stand hearing emile hirsch say the words that belonged to anton yelchin. it was just uncomfortable.

aaand i think i’m done. maybe i’ll have more later but i have a headache now from all of this.

[suginami-division]

Sazanka Zombeez Drama Track 2 - Fantasim Exorcism

Part 1

【 Alert Private Investigative Agency 】

Shuu: Is sencha* alright?

A gruff sound echoed through the Alert Agency’s office in response. Shuu could only smile and turn back to the little table set with the snacks and tea for incoming clients.

Internally, Shuu was complaining to himself like crazy. Just earlier when Shuu opened the agency’s doors, a very stern-looking elderly man barged in and made himself at home in the office’s couch. In Shuu’s mind, this could only mean one of two things: Either he was going to attempt to get Shuu to handle some petty event that the police couldn’t be bothered with or it was going to be something more personal. Messy, even.

Mentally preparing himself for whatever asinine request he was about to get, Shuu carried the tray over and set the teas down on the coffee table; One for the client and one for himself. Sitting on the couch across from the old man, Shuu politely smiled at him.

Shuu: So, what seems to be troubling you, sir?

Client: I need you to clear up some misunderstandings for me.

Shuu: (Great, here it comes…!) Really? What exactly do you mean by that?

Bracing himself for the usual cliche requests, Shuu was surprised by what the man said instead.

Client: I need you to investigate a haunting at my manor.

Shuu: S-Sorry?

Soon as Shuu asked that, the man let out an exasperated sigh. The intimidating posture of the man seemed to fade out quickly, replaced by that of a stressed individual.

Client: A rumored haunting. See, I managed to reclaim my family’s home after my grandfather lost it years ago, but I’ve been having some issues with the restoration. Workers refuse to do their job because of some spirit roaming the grounds.

Hearing this, Shuu felt more and more confused.

Shuu: Then shouldn’t you hire a paranormal investigator? I know this girl who-

Client: No, I will not let some made up story ruin this! This… Story…

With a shout, Shuu was stunned into silence by the old man’s reaction. Quietly, Shuu watched the man take a drink of the tea he had made and waited for the old man to continue.

Client: Please, I need someone who isn’t brainwashed by that nonsense to go investigate it for me. I want the truth. Not some fantasy story.

Shuu: I can do that for you, I suppose…

Grabbing a notepad and pen, the detective flipped to a page and looked expectantly at the client.

Shuu: Then, please give me the details pertaining to this haunting.

Client: So, you’ll listen to me? You’ll help me out?

Shuu: It depends on your story.

Client: Alright…Where do I start? See, I have yet to see this thing myself, but I’ve lost so many contractors to this ridiculous story. They describe it as a horned demon with glowing eyes. Nobody has ever really determined how many eyes, but they have told me it has somewhere between two to a dozen.

Already, Shuu was skeptical. It sounded like such a cliche story, albeit an interesting one to say the least. Still, he wrote down the details in bullet points the best he could without interrupting the client’s tale.

Client: These stories of it’s terrifying eyes and haunting cries just wouldn’t stop. Sure, they kept working, but it all came to a stop when one night, one of the workers was attacked.

Shuu: Wait, attacked?

Client: Yes. It was late at night and someone forgot to retrieve something from one of the rooms. That’s when something from the garden in the center of the house sped towards him and tackled him to the ground. The thing pierced the guy’s arms and leg before leaving him there. The others found him the next morning outside the manor, unconscious… But alive.

Shuu: It’s a good thing he’s alright…

Scratching the story into his notebook, the detective felt better having physical evidence on this particular case.

Client: Is my story good enough?

Shuu: Maybe… Do you happen to have more information about the victim? Something like a workplace accident report or photos? 

Client: Y-Yes. Here…

Shuffling about, the man handed Shuu a few papers. Legal papers, pertaining to the workplace injuries that the employee had suffered, with the more personal bits of information black out with marker. Everything regarding the situation, the injuries, and the witnesses that discovered the victim all written out. Photos of the manor were even attached, showing the gates outside and a very dark photo of the supposed garden.

Client: Is this enough to convince you?

Shuu: More than enough… Although I’d like to have the victim’s contact before you go, just in case.

Client: Really?! Thank you so much!

Shuu: You shouldn’t thank me quite yet. Save it for when I actually finish the job, alright?

The client makes a confused sound, but doesn’t seem to argue as Shuu stands up from the couch and walks over to his desk, placing the papers into the drawer and filing it away.

Shuu: I have to prepare myself for the investigation, so I probably won’t get to the manor until… Well, the end of the week at the latest. Plus, if there’s danger I should probably find some help-

Client: Help?

Shuu: Just one or two friends to have my back. For safety reasons, of course. You don’t mind if I…

From there, Shuu was able to discuss what to expect including the location of the manor and the time which he would go investigate the location with his own team. After they had settled on a price for Shuu’s services, the old man had departed from the office and left Shuu to hurry and work on the other cases he had to work on for the day.

ー Later, At Night ー

Finally, Shuu’s day started to slow down. The usual tailing of cheating spouses, to the visitations, to the endless piles of paperwork, Shuu was finally able to collapse onto one of the office couches, stretching his exhausted muscles out.

Shuu: Hnnngh! That was… A lot.

Recalling the morning interview, the detective started to mull over the situation. A haunted house investigation wasn’t something he typically did, but it shouldn’t be too different from dealing with a stalker. Just imagine it to be a dangerous demon, who randomly attacks construction workers at night…

With that, Shuu started to stressfully scroll through his list of contacts on his phone. So many names filled up his screen, but he wasn’t sure who to pick until he landed on a more familiar name:

Ryuko Umemoto.

Well, the contact was saved as Ryu-Ryu, but the idea still stood. From the handful of meetings they have had since they teamed together, Shuu knew him as the closest, most bravest guy in the city. So without thinking, the call button was pressed. After stumbling with the phone for a moment, Shuu jolted upright on the couch, shouting a nervous greeting into the speaker.

Shuu: H-Hey Ryuko! What’cha doing?

On the other side, a disgruntled groan came through the phone.

Ryuko: Shuu? What the fuck, it’s three in the morning…

Glancing at the clock in the office, Shuu would find that Ryuko was indeed correct. 3 A.M. exactly, the clock read. Probably was a bad idea to call at that time, but what choice was there now?

Shuu: Sorry. Hey uhm… I was wondering if you could help me?

Ryuko: Help? With what?

Shuu: And investigation. See, it’s-

Ryuko: You’re not doing anything stupid, are you?

The gravelly tone cut off Shuu. A low warning tone, that almost threatened the detective. Already, Shuu knew what Ryuko was thinking. How they met, the circumstances of their meeting, and the sort of risk Shuu had put himself in that day. It was something Shuu did his best to not repeat, although he wouldn’t be able to explain to Ryuko that he’s already been through similar, if not worse situations. Not yet, at least. With a dry laugh, Shuu could only respond in an almost joking manner.

Shuu: No, but uhm… How do you feel about haunted houses?

Ryuko: …

Shuu: Ryuko? 

Ryuko: ……

Shuu: Ryu-chan? Are you still there?

At that, there was a click, followed by a monotone beep. Startled that Ryuko had the audacity to hang up on him, Shuu slammed on the phone screen to ring up Ryuko again, which was promptly done so.

Shuu: Please, just listen to me before you hang uuuuuup!

Ryuko: I’m not losing my fucking sleep over your shitty ghost stories!

Shuu: But I’m being serious! Please, I’ll pay you a percentage of what I’m getting from this job, just please help me! I can’t do this alone!

Ryuko: How much are we talking here?

Shuu: Wow, you’re easily convinced.

Ryuko: Shut up and spit it out.

Shuu: U-Uh… Ten percent?

Ryuko: Fifty.

Shuu: Fifteen.

Ryuko: Seventy-five.

Shuu: Twenty-five!

Ryuko: A hundred percent.

Shuu: Do you know how bargaining works?

An unsure hum sounded from Ryuko’s side, eliciting a exasperated sigh from Shuu.

Shuu: You should be fine with twenty-five percent. Besides, all you’re gonna do is make sure I don’t get stabbed by a demon…

Ryuko: A demon? What the… Nevermind. I won’t ask. I just need the extra cash to make this month’s rent.

Shuu: Sounds good to me! Wanna meet up at my place… Tomorrow?

Ryuko: Define ‘tomorrow’.

Shuu: R-Right, two days from today! If you can’t take the day off, we can just do it after your work too. Late night paranormal investagation! Isn’t that fun?

Surprisingly, all Shuu had gotten was a simple grunt of approval before the line ended once last time. Pulling the phone away from his head, Shuu could only frown at the screen. Still, at least Shuu had his protection! All that was left was to wait for the day of investigation to come.

To be continued…

*Sencha is a type of green tea that is made from processed whole tea leaves as opposed to the powdered green tea that is also very common. Popular as a tea to serve to guests.

[beyondspaceandstars]

Around You Neck

Bonus: Part 3

Relationship: Helmut Zemo x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, penetrative sex, fingering, dirty talk, exhibitionism, voyeurism, slight degradation, choking, slight metal arm kink - 18+, minors DNI Summary: Something was sparked inside you after Bucky let Zemo watch you two. Now you want to take it a little farther with Zemo but you also want Bucky there as a bit of a...guide. A/N: this was actually requested (see below)! I never, ever thought the original Around You Neck would be taken this far but it certainly has gone on a journey. You don’t technically need to read each part to understand this one but if you’d like to see the progression, please feel free. I hope this lives up to any and all expectations!

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

As much as you didn’t totally want to admit it, you couldn’t stop thinking about Zemo. 

Ever since the sexual ventures you had partaken in with him and Bucky, your opinion on him had...shifted. While, no, you weren’t looking at him as some sort of romantic conquer (you were still very much dedicated to your boyfriend) you couldn’t help but wonder what it’d be like for him to join again. Maybe this time a bit more...hands-on.

Truly, though, you never thought you were actually going to act on these ideas. In fact, you figured you hid your wandering mind pretty well. Some sneaky glances at Zemo and brushes of hands weren’t much to raise any alarms, especially when you were constantly in close proximity with said person. It truly didn’t get closer than being in their literal home. But you forgot to take into account the fact Bucky wasn’t exactly of normal human nature. His senses were dialed up to eleven - especially when you were in the room. 

Your shameful confession came out one afternoon. Bucky had heard you giggle at something Zemo had said and nearly punched a hole through the nearest wall before grabbing your arm. While nothing crazy, he did throw you into the nearest room with some force, anger practically emitting from him in waves.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asked once the room to the door was shut. You backed away, quite surprised by the outburst, as Bucky stalked towards you, seething.

“W-What?”

“Don’t try to blame dumb with me,” he scoffed, arms folded with a pointed look on his face. “Why are you making googly eyes at Zemo?”

“Googly eyes-,”

Bucky cut you off. “And laughing like he’s the funniest fucking person on the planet? What game are you playing here, dear?”

That goddamn nickname made you cringe. Ever since Zemo restored to calling you that during the intimate encounter, Bucky hasn’t let it go, using it like some weapon. 

You shake your head, trying your best to play this off. Sure, you had some words of explanation for your boyfriend but you didn’t want it to come out right now. “I-I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t know what I’m talking about?” Bucky raised his brows in surprise. “So, you haven’t been shooting little glances at him? Or how about when your hand just so happens to end up on his shoulder? That’s definitely my favorite.” His tone was so lifeless. You gulped.

An awkward pause settled as you tried averting your gaze anywhere but at your annoyed boyfriend. This task proved to be impossible. “Bucky, please-,”

“You want to be with him, don’t you?” His question filled the room. “God, I knew this was going to happen. I never should’ve…”

You began shaking your head furiously. “Not in that way.”

“Not in that… Well then in what fucking way?”

You looked down at your hands, fiddling with your fingers anxiously. You took a deep breath. “I think we should… We should bring him into our, um, activities again.”

The silence that followed your confession was nerve-wracking. You didn’t have the guts to look at Bucky, just standing there patiently waiting on his response. The longer he stalled the more foolish you felt like you had actually cheated on him when that wasn’t anywhere near the truth. 

For a moment, you thought he wasn’t going to say anything, just storm out or something, but instead, he let out a nervous cough and asked, “In what way would you- would you want him to join us?”

You slowly gather the courage to face your boyfriend again. He looked genuinely curious, lacking any sort of rage you had assumed would be present. No, instead, he appeared interested, not even mocking you in any way. This all made you feel quite more comfortable about the truth getting out. You took a moment to recollect yourself and get your pounding heart under control.

“Well… I can’t deny that I want to sleep with him.”

“I knew it-,”

“But,” your voice raised, cutting off Bucky, “I want you there to sort of, like, l-lead him.”

Bucky cocked his head. “Lead him?”

You nodded, taking a few steps closer to your boyfriend, practically as close as you humanly could. “Tell him what to do, how to please me. Only you know that, honey.” You chuckled, placing a light hand on his chest. “Picture it: Another man wants to ravish me, but you… Only you know how to get me going. Only you know what I want, how to make me squirm. Only you can teach him and wouldn’t that just be…” Your words trailed off as your eyes fluttered shut at the thought, a soft moan leaving your lips. When you opened them again, Bucky was searching your face with great intensity. 

“You really want this, don’t you?” He asked. You shyly nodded. Bucky took a moment before continuing, “You want to be watched while you get fucked again?”

“Bucky…”

He let out a dangerous laugh. “My naughty little exhibitionist,” he shook his head, a knowing smirk playing at his lips now. You couldn’t believe he was coming around to the idea but the fact he was made your core already so wet. “Okay, doll. Let’s see what we can do.”

***

Bucky had decided to take the lead when it came to bringing this up with Zemo. Still ever such the dominant figure in your relationship, he instructed you to wait in the guest room you had been lent while he approached the Baron. 

Amazingly, you didn’t have to wait long. Within moments, your heart was dropping as the door to the room was pushed open by Bucky. Zemo followed swiftly behind with an unreadable expression.

Both men stopped at the foot of the bed, right in front of you. You looked up at them, curiously.

“So - So did you explain…”

“James did enlighten me with your...desires,” Zemo said, a little smirk playing on his lips. “I must say, dear. You are quite the little minx.”

Your jaw went slack at his words, unsure of what to say. Only Bucky liked calling you that. But you certainly didn’t hate it rolling off Zemo’s tongue like that. 

“Maybe you should cool it with the pet names,” Bucky snapped. 

Zemo glanced at him. “I don’t know, James, she seems to enjoy it.”

You clenched your thighs, unable to deny it. Bucky didn’t miss that little movement but chose to not acknowledge it. 

“I’m taking the lead here and if I say no pet names then there are no pet names,” Bucky said, his voice slow and serious as he stared down Zemo. “Got it?” You couldn’t believe the sight in front of you. Nothing had even explicitly happened yet and there was already a puddle forming in your panties. 

“Very well,” Zemo eventually agreed. Slowly, right in front of you, he began removing articles of his clothing. This was happening. “How would you like me then?”

“I-,”

Bucky cut you off. “When you’re done, undress her.” Zemo didn’t say anything but just nodded, stripping down until he was in all his bare glory right in front of you. You tried to not stare, focusing instead strictly on his face which held the tiniest smirk, as he began teasingly running his hands under the fabric of your shirt. 

You couldn’t believe how hot you were finding this. Your control was pretty much gone, all solely in the trust of Bucky and Zemo. A diabolical pair. You obeyed when Zemo motioned for you to lift your arms. Within no time, you were totally open and bare in front of the men. 

Zemo’s hand lingered on your face, stroking your cheek softly. You gasped at the motions. He came close to running his thumb along your lips but then Bucky spoke up, “Enough. Lay her down.” 

Zemo didn’t waste another second pushing you back onto the bed. He was crawling on top of you in no time, not waiting for another command before capturing your lips with his. It felt like a brand new world. His movements in the kiss, deep and powerful, were so unlike Bucky’s. Bucky’s had meaning, years of love behind them. There was nothing like that with Zemo, just the understanding of what you’re here to do. It took your breath away. 

Bucky scoffed when you two pulled apart. “I’ll let that slide for now. Start warming her up, touch her. It won’t take much, though. Can already see she’s dripping onto the sheets.”

Your cheeks burned at the borderline degrading words from your boyfriend but Zemo didn’t look phased. Instead, while one hand was planted next to your head, his other began running up and down you. His fingers were so light and teasing. They ran over your breast, pulling lightly at your skin, earning a surprised gasp from you. Zemo looked quite pleased with himself as he continued, his hand now making its way lower on your body. He stopped just above the apex of your thighs, hovering temptingly.

“Touch her,” Bucky commanded, his voice strained and...needy? You didn’t have much time to think too hard about it before Zemo was plunging two fingers right into your core, the wetness allowing the easiest of access. You cried out in surprise earning a low chuckle from Zemo. He seemed quite amused by how vocal you could be.

“Feel good?” He asked, mockingly. His fingers curled within you as they pumped in and out, your walls clenching around them desperately. You nodded weakly. 

Bucky groaned. “Touch her clit. Now.”

Zemo happily complied. The palm of his hand began pressing against your clit with every thrust, forcefully. At one point, he stilled his fingers in you, giving your clit his full, undivided attention. You yelped, twisting at the overwhelming sensation of the fingering and circling. 

Pleasure was running through you at an almost unbearing amount. It all escalated when your head lolled to the side and your eyes fell on Bucky. He was leaning against the wall across from the bed, hands fisted at his side, erection clearly pressing against the fabric of his pants. His gaze was hard, his pupils wide. He was watching so intensely yet with just the littlest hint of wonder. It hit you - Bucky was starting to actually enjoy this.

Zemo, on the other hand, wasn’t happy he lost your attention. A rough hand came up to your neck, forcing you to look back at him. He roughly pressed his forehead to yours, not letting your eyes wander even in the slightest. All you could do was stare back at his eyes while he fucked you relentlessly with his fingers. 

“Eyes on me,” Zemo gritted. 

“Watch yourself, Zemo,” Bucky snapped back.

Zemo’s grip on your neck got tighter and you were done for. That fucker really knew your weak points. The fingering was skilled but the grip on your throat... your body couldn’t take it all. You yelled out as your orgasm ran through you, your body jerking in response to it all. Zemo didn’t lighten anything up, though, forcing you to take it all until you were practically clawing at him, begging to stop. 

“That’s enough,” Bucky shouted. Zemo gave a dangerous chuckle before removing his fingers, licking each one as if they were a meal to be savored. But Bucky wasn’t close to being intimidated by the other man as he continued his commands, “I’d fuck her now if I were you. She’s getting antsy.”

“I think she’s always antsy,” Zemo sneered. “Maybe I want to make her wait a bit longer. Make her really cherish it.”

Your eyes were still forcefully locked on Zemo until Bucky stomped towards the bed and grabbed the man by the back of his neck, hoisting him away from you. His hand left your throat unwillingly. 

In a chilling tone you don’t think you ever heard from Bucky before, he whispered in Zemo’s ear, “I’m making the calls, Zemo, remember? You’re obeying me. If I say fuck her, then you fuck her.” He pushed the man back down, his head falling to the crook of your neck. When he regained his strength, Zemo pulled away to look at you. An unsettling smile played on his lips.

“As you wish,” he muttered and, in one swift, he entered you. Fully. No true warning. You gasped in utter shock at the boldness. You hadn’t expected it to take a moment or two for you to adjust to him. He was different from what you were used to with Bucky. Bucky had the length, but Zemo had the girth. He was stretching you in a whole new way and once you were past the shock, you soaked in all of it. 

Zemo just halted inside you, waiting for you to face him. You hadn’t even realized your eyes had closed until you were being forced to reopen them. Once you gave a little nod - your way of begging at this point - Zemo began moving in and out. His pace was strong, so determined.

He must’ve seemed like a man deprived because Bucky barked out, “Slower. Now you can let her wait for it. Let her feel it. She gets so needy sometimes she just has to be taught some patience.”

Reluctantly, Zemo complied, slowing his motions. You couldn’t even imagine the power-high Bucky must’ve been on at that moment. But you didn’t have much time to think about it as Zemo began dragging his full length out of you and reentering slowly, just as instructed. You moaned loudly as the pleasure built. 

“You like that? Huh? Sure sounds like it,” Zemo grunted in your ear. “You make the prettiest little noises.”

Your eyes fluttered shut once more as you weakly nodded. But your chance to get lost in the sensations was interrupted by Bucky. Suddenly, he was at the side of the bed, his metal hand coming around your neck and turning your head to face him now. 

“Use your words, doll,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving your worn-out expression. Your body jolted with each of Zemo’s thrusts. Bucky paid no mind to the other man, keeping his focus on you and continuing, “Tell him how you’re feeling. It feels good, doesn’t it? Do you like having another man fuck you while I watch? I gotta admit, when you first brought it up I was hesitant but you’re right. There is something about knowing what you need. What makes your little pussy all fucking wet. He may be on top of you but I’m the one controlling your pleasure. You scream for me.”

“Yes, Bucky, yes” was all you could chant as everything began boiling up inside you. 

Here you were screaming one man’s name while the other pounded you. There was the hand on your throat - the metal hand. Zemo taking his sweet time delivering his thrusts. The little pressure on your clit every time he’d push in you. Both of the men were only paying attention to you… It was so much at once yet exactly what you needed. Within seconds of Bucky finishing his little monologue, you were cumming hard around Zemo’s cock. It must’ve triggered something in Zemo as well because he wasn’t that far behind. 

“Faster,” Bucky suddenly demanded. “Until she can’t take it anymore.” 

Zemo sure wasn't hesitating on this one. You felt him fill you fully while his thrusts didn’t falter. He was making sure you two were fucked good. You clawed at Bucky’s arm, wanting something to hold onto as you rode out the orgasm. He kept his grip on your throat tight and careful, watching you with those overwhelming eyes as you came on another man’s cock. 

After a couple more weak thrusts, Zemo gave a final strong one before pulling out of you completely, making you whimper. Zemo gave you a soft smile before placing a kiss on your forehead. Once calmed down, he turned his serious self once again and began reclaiming his clothing items. You couldn’t believe how he could just turn it all on and off with a flip of a switch as if you weren’t lying on the bed fucked out mostly because of him. But that was what you had felt from him. It was all just about finding pleasure. And you both were successful.

Bucky didn’t pay any attention to the other man’s actions. He was still locked on you. His hand had left your throat now and was now caressing your cheek. You giggled at the softness, such a stark contrast to just moments before. 

Fully dressed now, Zemo cleared his throat, pulling you and Bucky’s attention away from one another. You glanced over at the man. He nodded to you both. “Thank you for the...invitation,” Zemo said. “Better than I could’ve ever imagined.” With that, he promptly exited as powerful and bold as he had entered. 

You were alone with Bucky now, unsure of what to actually say. 

“Did you enjoy yourself, doll?” Bucky eventually broke the silence. “Better than you could’ve ever imagined?”

You playfully rolled your eyes. His little tinge of jealousy was coming back despite being thoroughly turned on. Which reminded you… 

“I did enjoy myself,” you confirmed. “But I think I could have just a little bit more fun.” Regaining your strength, you shifted to a kneeling position on the bed. Your hand began creeping its way up Bucky’s jean-covered thigh to where his erection was still being strained against the material.

Bucky let out a low chuckle as your hand pressed over his covered cock. “You just don’t know when to quit, huh? My insatiable little girl.”

You blushed. “I just want to make sure you enjoyed yourself.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

[effei-s]

What shatter-me Warner would do.

The fastest character assassination I’ve ever seen.

Here’s the thing: Warner from original trilogy had character arch. More important: he was a character.

He was mean, villainous, cold, cruel murderer, with daddy who basically bought him regency (like come on, if it wasn’t for Anderson no one would even think about giving him that position; n for nepotism), but he also was deeply traumatized and abused his whole life and had little to none normal human interactions. I loved that fact that the only good thing he did (killing Fletcher because he was abusing his family) resolved into a complete catastrophe (Anderson killing children and wife) because Warner didn’t think it through. He tried to do the right thing and failed miserably, because he was more concerned with making a spectacle for Juliette. And after that he still had the audacity to paint himself as a hero who saved poor family from terrible tyrant in Ignite me.

I didn’t expect him to act and think like a human being. He didn’t need to act like a normal human. Warner gas lighting Juliette in the first third of ignite me is Warner’s thing to do. Him yelling and throwing tantrums and making scenes in Unravel me is Warner’s thing to do. Him forcing Juliette to do things she doesn’t want and traumatizing her in the process in Shatter me is Warner’s thing to do. Him wanting to torture Adam to death is Warner’s thing to want.

There’s a few reasons for this:

a) he doesn’t know how to communicate with people other than giving them orders or making threats;

b) he truly believes that he’s in the right here (he doesn’t see himself as a bad guy in Juliette story, more like a knight on a white horse);

c) he’s physically unable to be honest with himself and always has someone to blame for his own mistakes and failures;

d) he’s ‘results justify the means’ kind of guy.

Changes for good, with trauma that deep, when you basically don’t have a moral compass, don’t happen over night.

Was his ignite-me arch made sloppy? Yes. Everything was too info-dumpy and too convenient (Juliette forgetting that Warner was going to torture Adam to death; Juliette feeling that she’s the one who needs to apologize; Leila’s entire character used only for a sob story; Adam turned into a douchebag so Warner would look a more suitable love interest, etc). But it still was an arch. And the finale of ignite me was so open I really could imagine that, little by little, in the future, he will start to trust people more and really gonna help Juliette and co to make the world a better place. And his redemption arch wasn’t finished in the slightest, and I would even say that it was only the beginning of it, but it was implied that things will get better from there (the most important part of that being him genuinely wanting to make things right with Adam and James; he’s the one who makes the first step and initiate the bond).

So what went wrong in new three books? Ehm… everything, to be honest. Instead of developing a character that was already there, she decided to give him a new personality. Actually it can be said about every single one of characters, but Warner just happened to be the biggest victim of them all.

Let’s look at Restore me.

Okay, we have his pov, and I never thought I would say it but… Warner is kinda dumb. He’s supposed to be this military strategy genius, someone who knows how RE works from within and… it turns out that he just as clueless as Juliette. More than this, we never actually see him do ANYTHING except fucking Juliette. And for some reasons he never helps Juliette with her work??? There’s so much paperwork and instead of helping her to sort though it he’s… just not there???

Those stupid long monologues about how she’s capable to do anything mean nothing if he doesn’t actually help (as we can see at the end of restore me, when Juliette gets captured).

That fact that he doesn’t immediately check if Castle’s words are true? And instead of helping Juliette with Haider (telling everything he knows about him and his family, preparing her for the dinner) he fucks her??? This is a dumb bitch shit. And maybe you didn’t noticed but Shatter-me Warner wasn’t a dumb bitch.

After all, there’s a simple reason I never wanted the job of supreme commander myself—

I never wanted the responsibility.

It’s a tremendous amount of work with far less freedom than one might expect; worse, it’s a position that requires a great deal of people skills. The kind of people skills that include both killing and charming a person at a moment’s notice. Two things I detest.

Remember shatter-me Warner who wanted power because power meant that he could have control over his life? Remember shatter-me Warner who wanted to work with Juliette as a team to change the world? Yeah that’s him now.

No personal ambitions allowed when you’re a walking dildo, I guess.

Off the topic, but Mafi really enjoys making Juliette stupid as fuck:

“Oh, yes, of course,” she says, remembering. “I’ve gotten a bunch of letters about that. I didn’t realize it was such a big deal.”

Let's continue.

Hurting Haider would be enough to start a world war.

Warner says and then Juliette threatens Haider, a foreign official on a diplomatic mission, and instead of being even a little bit worried and think about possible consequences, Warner thinks this:

But I can only smile at her. I want to scoop her up and carry her away. Take her somewhere quiet and lose myself in her.

Okay, I guess it’s official, there’s sperm inside of his head instead of brain cells. I can’t find any other explanation for this clownery.

Shatter-me Warner would… Shatter-me Warner won’t be in this situation in the first place.

Someone tries to kill Juliette and Warner does… nothing about it. He never goes to check the body of the assassin himself. He thinks that Nazeera hides something and he still allows her to go around and doesn’t even interrogate her when Juliette says that Nazeera was there at the moment of the attack. He doesn’t find it even a little bit suspicious? That guy who had tremendous trust issues in the original trilogy? Remember him? Yeah, that guy. Shatter-me Warner would lock Nazeera and Haider up and demanded answers. Shatter-me Warner would be angry as fuck, and would try to kill Kenji with his bare hands, because Kenji was stupid enough to leave Juliette alone. Shatter-me Warner wouldn’t stop until he had answers (and the head of a person who wanted to kill Juliette on a plate).

New Warner is too busy feeling sorry for himself to actually do anything about it. And after one chapter it’s completely forgotten, like that fact that someone tried to kill her is not important at all.

And then Castle enters the picture with his stupid and sloppy info-dumping (I guess Mafi never heard of ‘show don’t tell’ rule). And says this:

“She can’t lead this resistance,” he says, squinting at something in the distance. “She’s too young. Too inexperienced. Too angry. You know that, don’t you?”

and if that wasn’t enough he also says this:

“It should’ve been you,” Castle says. “I always secretly hoped—from the day you showed up at Omega Point—that it would’ve been you. That you would join us. And lead us.” He shakes his head. “You were born for this. You would’ve managed it all beautifully.”

AND HE’S STILL ALIVE AFTER?

This is a fucking treason right there. And Warner A-OKAY with this.

Shatter-me Warner would strangle him right there. Or better yet, he would go along with this until he has 100% evidences of Castle’s betrayal and then he would kill him. Or he would kill him simply because Castle was withholding important information and earlier in books he put Juliette in a great danger by sending her to Anderson without telling her the truth (unravel me).

But not this Warner. New Warner is far more concerned with fucking Juliette then helping her or looking for a way out of this situation (because now he has dick instead of a brain).

After my father’s revelation, my thirst for information became suddenly insatiable. I needed to know more—who these people were, where they’d come from, how much we’d known—

WHERE AND WHEN DID WARNER IN PREVIOUS BOOKS DISPLAY THIS?

When I say that Mafi simply forgot her own characters this is what I mean. Warner from original trilogy didn’t give a flying fuck about them. He thought that they were weak and stupid.

I will lose her.

And it will kill me.

He said this shit and after he nearly had a panic attack because he imagined her dating someone else? Oh, come on, how more pathetic can he get?

There are words for this kind of behavior: toxic codependency.

Oh wait wait! I know! This is not Warner! This is Edward Cullen disguised as Warner! The mystery is solved!

Oh, he fucks her again. Apparently it’s the only thing he’s good at. What a character! The layers! The complexity!

And then Lena came into the picture.

Until that moment I was more or less okay with Warner. Yes, I was very confused, but I was ready to give Mafi benefit of the doubt. He lost his father and was dealing with grieve. We all can act out of character in the face of a tragedy or drastic changes.

“Why do you keep pressing this? Who cares if I’ve been with other women? They meant nothing to me—”

And there I felt in my guts, I’m not gonna like what next to come.

Haider was exhibiting suicidal tendencies. Self-harming. And I got really scared. I called Warner because I knew Haider would listen to him.” She shakes her head. “Warner didn’t say a word. He just got on a plane. And he stayed with us for a couple of weeks. I don’t know what he said to Haider,” she says. “I don’t know what he did or how he got him through it, but”—she looks off into the distance, shrugs—“it’s hard to forget something like that.

Oh, so Warner's words about how he never had any real interactions with anyone before Juliette were bullshit. About how he doesn’t understand people were also bullshit. About how Juliette was the first person who was not afraid to speak with him freely were also bullshit. Because all of the sudden he can help someone heavily depressed. Someone with suicide tendencies? Someone who harms himself? And now he has an ex-girlfriend who’s ready to beat the fuck out of him and calls him mean words (she clearly doesn’t fear him)?

Now his entire character in the first trilogy doesn’t make any sense. And his excuses don’t make any sense.

Bravo, Mafi! Bravo! This was the fastest character assassination I’ve ever seen.

She says that Lena was in love with him—really in love with him—but that Warner broke her heart, that he never treated her with any real affection and she’s hated him for it.

Oh, so he’s not only stupid and absolutely useless, he’s a fuckboy. And if there’s one thing I HATE, it’s fuckboys.

There’s a big-big-big difference between someone who has one-night-stands and THIS SHIT:

“You’re upset, I understand. But it’s not my fault you feel this way. I don’t love you. I never have. And I never led you to believe I did.”

“She and I,” he says, “it was—we were nothing. It was a relationship of convenience and basic companionship. It meant nothing to me. Truly,” he says, “you have to know—if I never said anything about her it was only because I never thought about her long enough to even consider mentioning it.”

“It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t two years of anything serious. It wasn’t even two years of continuous communication.” He sighs. “She lives in Europe, love. We saw each other briefly and infrequently. It was purely physical. It wasn’t a real relationship—”

So he despised her but used her for sex? WOW. Cool. He can go and trip over a fucking knife or fall out of the window for all I care.

“Everything in my life was different before I met you,” he says. “I was lost and all alone. I never cared for anyone. I never wanted to get close to anyone. I’ve never—you were the first person to ever—”

And how exactly he was able to help Haider with his self-harm then??? If he didn’t CaRe for anyone before Juliette?

This was the moment when Warner from original trilogy died in agony.

Okay, let’s see real quick what we have in Defy Me:

He thinks about escape but never really does anything to escape;

(anderson is the one who opens his cell;

he stands in front of a guy who murdered his mother and doesn’t even think about her, yeah I can see how important she was for him;

/again, shatter-me Warner would probably demanded answers, but not walking dildo, walking dildo cares only about Juliette. his excuse in ignite me 'i did it all for my mom' doesn't make any sense now, because he actually doesn't give a flying fuck about her/

he gets captures one minute after he “kills” Anderson;

nazeera is the one who gets him out of there;

super soldier taught his whole life how to survive, everyone. useless as fuck)

He doesn’t know anything about jewelry.

(super ooc, i know what Mafi was trying to do here: she tried ‘sherlock holmes doesn’t know that earth revolves around the sun’ thing Arthur Conan Doyle did, but the problem is WARNER IS A FASHIONISTA, or he was).

He wants to get married because…???

He sees a woman who tried to kill Juliette and he’s a-okay with staying at her place, because she said that it was actually a message (???).

Castle is still alive.

Nazeera who knew all this time about Anderson and was working for him is also alive and well.

Oh and he doesn’t care about Anderson being alive and being a real threat to Juliette (fucking her is more important for him, as usual).

His complete disregard for Juliette’s safety only makes me hate him more with every new book.

Imagine me.

First and foremost: don’t call imagine-me Warner shatter-me Warner. Don’t insult shatter-me Warner like that. With shatter-me Warner Anderson would have to try very hard to get to Juliette. It would be ‘Warner made 100 back-up plans, but Anderson knew him too well and created 101 plan and that’s how he managed to win’ kind of situations.

But walking dildo is too busy feeling sorry for himself (as usual), he just sits by her bed FOR TWO FUCKING DAYS, doing absolutely NOTHING to make sure she’ll be safe.

Nooira says that Juliette should be killed and she’s still alive for some reason.

He’s entire persona is that he’s rude to people (but not bbc’s sherlock holmes kind of rude, when he’s unbearable dick but he’s actually smart and really gets shit done, so we can tolerate him). He’s just rude.

He doesn't care about Adam or James's wellbeing (remember Ignite me Warner who really wanted a family? Yeah that's him now).

But he has gruppies now, because he’s hot and everyone in the sanctuary wants to fuck him.

Oh and he proposed to Juliette. HE PROPOSED. THEY ENGAGED! DO YOU HEAR ME??? THEY GONNA BE MARRIED! HE PROPOSED TO HER! AND SHE SAID YES! THEY GONNA MERRY!

Because god fucking forbid we forget about it.

(mafi really thinks that her readers have the mental capacity of a golden fish, huh?)

I lost count how many times walking dildo implies that he's gonna kill himself if Juliette is not with him (disgusting).

Then our walking dildo cures Juliette by the power of petting (it’s not power of love, lads and gents; you want to see love go watch defenders on netflix; mafi already copypasted elektra’s arch from that show into imagine-me Juliette, you can do yourself a favor and see how this trope can be executed without borderline on sexual assault petting scene).

18-old girl marries a fucking sociopath believing he’s actually a good person.

(we all know how shit like this ends, people like that don't change; and this 'he's different with me cuz i'm very special and i'm gonna teach him the right way' it's really harmful message considering that the audience of those books are mostly teenage girls).

Trust me, there's nothing revolutionary in this trope, it's tale as old as time.

Here's the thing, good written character always defined by connection to other people: friend, lovers, enemies, family, foes, acquaintances, even some random strangers. It's the easiest way to establish what kind of person they are.

Walking dildo doesn't have any of that because all of his "character" revolves around Juliette. He's not a person anymore. By the end of Imagine me he doesn't have friends (his relationships with Kenji or Haider non-existent), no family connections (no talks with Adam or James), even enemies or foes or even people that don't like him (because everyone wants to fuck him, because being hot is his only character trait).

His only family and friend is Juliette. And you know what? It's fucking boring, overdone and lazy as fuck. And insulting to the character he once was.

No redemption arch, no character arch at all.

Happy end.

[sweatersstyles]

or the one where you forget harry’s birthday and try desperately to make it up to him

just wanted to write something small to try to get back into writing after my break! thank you all for your encouragement, excitement, and patience and I apologize for it being a few days later than I wanted it to be! this is probably the closest to angst that you’ll ever get from me :)

thank you to @1980holland, @summertimestyles, @tbslenthusiast, @bigspoonstyles​, @angryinternetduck, and @iconicharry for letting me run my ideas by you and being so kind in general. more thanks to @tbslenthusiast and @bigspoonstyles for being the most wonderful beta readers and just lovely friends overall!

this is another part of my dad!harry series so as always they are linked in order if you want to re-visit them or read from the beginning if you choose to!

⭐ I Want Your Belly ⭐ Wonderful and Warm ⭐ Washed Away in You ⭐ Do You Want to Build a Snowman? ⭐ A Styles Family Christmas ⭐

word count: 3.6k

“Harry, I’m running late do you think you could drop Sterling off at the sitter’s on your way to set?”

You’re already dressed, pulling on your shoes and grabbing your bag and keys from where they were tossed next to the dresser from the evening before. You dart into the bathroom to quickly brush your teeth.

Harry pokes his head around the doorframe, a wrinkled shirt in his hand, rushing through his own morning routine, “Thought she was coming here?”

“She can’t today, remember? Today’s our day to drop him off.” You put your toothbrush away just as he joins you, taking the toothpaste from your hand to use for himself.

“Alright, yeah. Y’ll have to pick him up later though, think it’ll be a late one for me today.” 

“That’s fine. I’ll throw his bag together and leave it by the door for you to grab on the way out. He’s already been fed and changed so he should be all set. I’ll transfer his car seat to your car too, so you won’t have to worry about that.”

He still has the toothbrush in his mouth, so you stand on your tiptoes to give him a peck to the cheek, adding a “bye, love you!” on your way out the bathroom door.

“Wait..y’don’t have anything else to say to me before you leave?” His mouth now rinsed, he crosses his arms and leans against the doorway, a tired smile working its way across his lips.

“Um..be careful? Don’t drive too fast with Sterling in the car.” 

“I never drive fast,” He takes a quick peek in the mirror, running his hands through his messy curls before turning back to you, “S’that all? Nothing else to say?”

You search your brain, trying to remember anything else you may have forgotten, “Oh! Right..”

His face lights up then, thinking maybe he was gonna finally hear the words he’d been waiting all morning to hear from you.  

“Make sure you tell the sitter there’s an extra pacifier in the right side of his bag that she can leave there in his cubby in case we ever forget one..and that I’ll drop a pack of diapers and wipes off when I pick him up cause I know he’s running low.”

His brow furrows slightly with disappointment, but you’re too busy to notice, blowing him another kiss before rushing out the door of your shared bedroom and down the hall to get Sterling’s bag ready.

He’s still pouting as he opens his top drawer to select a pair of socks for the day.

He couldn’t believe you forgot it was his birthday.

In your opinion, 6 weeks was not long enough for maternity leave. You’re sure no amount of time in your happy bubble with Harry and Sterling would’ve been enough. 

You were somehow able to push those 6 weeks to 12, your boss kindly agreeing to let you do what work you could from home. Eventually, that extension had to come to an end though and there was no other way you could avoid returning to ‘normal’ life.

You’re an hour into your work day but you still can’t shake the feeling that you had truly forgotten something. Harry’s words from the morning ring through your head again and again but you still couldn’t pinpoint what was special about this particular day. It was a Monday..was there some sort of significant anniversary from your relationship over the years, something small but important to him? 

You grab your phone when you have a chance, a quick lull in your morning that allows you to scroll through your phone’s calendar to double check anything your phone may have not yet notified you about. There’s nothing saved, and it does nothing to jog your memory of what importance today’s date holds. 

A text from Anne comes through and your heart stops when you read the message: Tell the birthday boy his present from me is on the way! I was a day later than I should’ve been sending it out so hope he won’t be too upset with me. All my love to you and Sterling as well!

No. Oh no. Guilt bubbles up through your chest and you cover your mouth to stop from cursing too loudly and scaring your nearby coworkers. You have to steady your hand so you can navigate your way through your contacts to Harry’s number, trying to calculate where in his schedule for the day he may be now. It was too early for him to be taking a lunch break, but you silently prayed he would be on a break in between filming scenes that would allow him to answer.

He had told you in the past that even if he wasn’t able to have his phone with him, it was always nearby. Especially now that you had Sterling, he tried to make himself available no matter how busy his schedule would be for the day. Even if he wasn’t able to answer, he would always make time to call back. 

So when you try 2 times with no success of getting through, you stop. You had both agreed before that 3 calls was your distress signal, and you didn’t want his mind to think the worst when he did see you’d tried to get through to him. A text seems too informal, too little for the man you love and adore. He deserved better than that, better than you, a partner who forgot one of the most important days where he should be made to feel special and loved every second.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know this day was coming, you did, of course you did. Being a new parent had well and truly ruined your memory. Turns out birthing a tiny human requires learning a ton of new information to keep your little one alive, meaning that even almost 3 months later your brain hadn’t been fully restored and you weren’t sure if it ever would be. 

How could you make up for something like this? You suppose you could pretend that it was all a joke; that you’d had this elaborate plan all along to surprise him and make him think that you had forgotten his birthday. But you couldn’t lie to him like that, it would only cause you to hate yourself even more later for covering it up. Plus, Harry knew you too well and would see right through that, and then whatever hurt you’re sure he was feeling now would only grow. 

You know he would eventually forgive you, if he hadn’t already, but that didn’t stop guilt from overriding your thoughts. If anything it made you feel almost worse knowing that he would be so incredibly forgiving.

God, you could only imagine the reaction of the fans if they found out. Some of them already had some questionable opinions about you, a few even going so far as to speculate if Sterling was truly Harry’s child, claiming that you had somehow “trapped” Harry into a relationship with you and that it would eventually fail. Harry had tried to ban you from going too deep, but sometimes your curiosity got the best of you, prompting you to scroll through Twitter or Instagram occasionally. It usually ended with you getting your feelings hurt and Harry having to remind you once again to stay away.

You try to find something in your memory, anything that he may have mentioned wanting (or at this point even needing) over the past few months. Aside from the mundane, everyday things like laundry detergent and shampoo to add to the shopping list, you couldn’t recall a thing. You only had 6 hours before you had to pick up Sterling, so you had to come up with something fast, something amazing.

What do you get for the golden boy who has everything?

You couldn’t believe you didn’t think of it before. It was something you had discovered not long after Sterling’s birth, but like many other things it had gotten easily dismissed and pushed down to the bottom of your list. 

Today, it only takes a few clicks through the website, a double checking of the spelling of the name that will be on the certificate, and a quick selection of a location for where you want it to be for Harry to now be the (hopefully) proud owner of his very own star in the sky.

After all it was Harry who found the name Sterling for your child, it was him who whispered “buonanotte nostra piccola stella” each night as he helped you put Sterling to bed; a phrase he had been most pleased with himself for learning, the Italian to English translation being “goodnight our little star”. If he couldn’t be there to say it, he made sure you knew the proper enunciation of the expression so that you could pass it along from him. It was always followed by 3 kisses to the top of his son’s head.

Thankfully, you were able to use the printer at work to print out the certificate and the map, slipping them both into a manilla envelope and tucking it away in your bag before you clock out for the day. Though you wished you had time to stop and select a nice frame, you only have 30 minutes before having to pick up Sterling, so you opt for a speedy trip to the nearest bakery and grocery store to gather what other supplies you’ll need for the rest of the evening.

By the time you and Sterling make it home, you still haven’t heard anything from Harry. You send up another silent prayer, more for his safety than anything, but also selfishly for yourself and his forgiveness towards you. It wasn’t unusual for you to not hear from him most days, and you remind yourself of his words from that morning about most likely having to work late. 

You push away the guilt that threatens to invade your thoughts again, doing what you need to do for Sterling to keep him content while you start preparations for dinner. Once you have him settled in his swing nearby, you take a moment to scroll through your music selection on your phone, deciding that having something playing in the background would be better than being alone with your thoughts while you work. 

You’ve just washed the veggies to chop for the salad when your phone dings, indicating a new message. You know it’s from Harry, and you’re almost scared to look. Instant relief floods your body when you do have the courage to take a peek: Home in an hour. Love you! Give bub kisses from me xx

The “love you” fills you with overwhelming comfort; takes you back to the day you first met him and how your heart skipped a beat when you realized it was you he was trailing through the crowd of people to approach, a cozy smile plastered on his face. You’ll never forget the gentle way he had spoken and how even though you were surrounded by at least a hundred other people at the party, he didn’t take his eyes off you the whole night. You let out a huge sigh of breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in and contemplate the best way to respond, finally concluding that simple was better.

Be careful, baby. Love you more!! Bubs and I miss you

His text gives you more motivation than you already had to power through making his favorite meal for him. An hour is plenty of time to get everything done, so when Sterling gets fussy and wants to be held, you tuck him against your side, doing what you can with one hand while keeping a tight grip on your son. You know he had missed you when he almost instantly relaxes at being close to you, and your heart hurts at the thought of ever being away from him again, even for something important like your job.

It still takes you a minute to get him calm enough to rest his head on your shoulder, so you don’t hear the sound of the door, or the clink of Harry’s keys or the sound of his footsteps falling down the hallway.

“Need some help, lovie?”

His voice, which normally calms you, nearly makes you jump out of your skin. So when you turn and say, “I thought you said an hour!” it comes out more like an attack than grateful to see him again.

“S’what I thought but we rushed through so I could leave earlier. Is that a problem?” His face is unreadable, somewhere between confused and disappointed with your tone.

“No! Of course not, Harry, I just..” That’s when your voice breaks, your guilt and emotions of forgetting his birthday finally being too much to hold back.

“Hey, don’t do that,” He’s moving the rest of the way through the kitchen to you, a hand smoothing a small circle over your back as you try to wipe your tears, “Please don’t cry.”

“I just wanted to have everything ready by the time you got home, to make up for this morning. For forgetting it was your birthday in the first place. I’m so sorry, H.” 

“You’ve got nothin’ to apologize for, angel. You don’t have to make anything up to me. We’ve both been crazy busy lately, I’m surprised I even remembered what day it was. Here, why don’t I put Sterling in his swing and help you finish dinner?”

“No, absolutely not. It’s your birthday and I know you’re tired. Plus, I think he missed us today. You know how much he loves his swing but I didn’t get very much done before he got upset.”

“Alright, well, I’ll take him while you get everything else done. How’s that sound?”

You nod an agreement at his plan, transferring Sterling from your shoulder to his. There’s a few whimpers of disapproval, but he lets out a small sigh of contentment once he realizes it’s Harry who holds him now. Harry turns his head to smack a few kisses to the baby’s cheek to further pacify him. Sterling’s eyes open briefly, gazing sleepily up at his father. 

“Hi, bub, missed you. Let’s go see what kind of trouble we can get into while Mummy makes dinner, huh?” 

“Not too much trouble, boys. It’s almost bedtime,” He winks at you as he turns to leave and you stop him, “Hey, wait, try this. Tell me if it needs anything.”

You stir a spoon through the pasta sauce you’ve had simmering away on the stove, bringing it to his lips with a hand underneath, careful not to drip it down the front of his white button-up or the top of Sterling’s head. He lets you feed him the spoonful, but doesn’t take his eyes off your lips.  Before you even have time to ask him how it is, he’s trapping his mouth against yours, a satisfied hum at the sauce mixing with the taste of you.

“Delicious.” He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, catching a bit of sauce that ended up smudged at the corner of his mouth.

“Really?”

“Really, darling, it’s perfect.” 

At this point it’s obvious he’s not talking about the sauce, and you push yourself up to plant another kiss on his lips.

“Another,” He gently demands, and you oblige, but he doesn’t pull away yet, “C’mon, few more.”

“Looks like Sterling’s not the only needy baby in this house tonight. How many more kisses do you need?”

He smirks down at you, “It’s my 27th birthday, innit? Think I deserve 27 kisses, don’t you?”

You send him away with the promise of fulfilling his request for the rest of his kisses later, finally able to rush through finishing the last of what was needed to complete the meal and call him back to see the table full of everything you’ve prepared. 

Sterling is bright eyed in Harry’s arms again, and you hope that feeding him will lull him back to sleep for the night. With him having to stay with a sitter on the days that you and Harry were both working, you’d recently had to switch to using bottles for some of his meals. The sitter had assured you that he was adjusting to the bottle well when he was with her, but it had been a frustrating transition for you. 

“You’ve just spoiled him to the usual way, love. It’ll get easier. Want me to try?” He holds out his hand, offering to take the bottle and Sterling back, but you refuse. You know Harry’s right, it will get easier eventually, but right now you know he’s just still tired and hungry. So you give in, lifting your shirt and tossing a blanket over him while he eats. 

“Eat so you can blow out your candles and then open your present.”

He sets a plate of food in front of you and passes you a fork so you can eat with your free hand.

His mouth is full of food but his green eyes light up when he looks at you, “I have a present?” 

“Of course you do. It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” 

“Can we skip cake and do the present first?”

You giggle at his excitement, but the truth is you’re nervous. You know he will be nice enough to tell you he loves it, but you also know him well enough to read the truth on his face. 

“Sure, birthday boy, whatever you want.” Sterling’s finished eating by now so you rest him on your shoulder, tapping his back a few times until you hear a small burp. Harry’s plate is mostly empty now, as is yours, so you tuck Sterling into his swing while you go to retrieve the envelope from earlier in the day. Your heart races as you may your way back to where he sits at the table, his eyes covered dramatically as he waits.

“You can open,” You slide the envelope in front of him and prop your chin up on one of your hands as you watch his fingers work to open the clasp. The papers sit upside down on the table and you inhale a deep breath as he flips them over. His face is full of curiosity as his eyes scan the page. 

“Did you..is this real?”

“Well I’m not sure how official it is but, yes, it’s real.” You take the map from behind the certificate and point out the location, “According to this it’s..”

“Is my star right over our house?” His eyes are wide as he studies the coordinates, “Can we go see if we can see it now?”

How can you say no to that? You let him lead you out the back door of your home and out into the cool air of the night. He only lets go of your hand when he reaches the edge of the yard, pointing straight upwards.

“It’s gotta be that big one, right? That mine, right?” You look over his shoulder down at the map and then back up to where he’s pointing.

“Yep, I think that’s the one. Unless..do you have the map upside down?”

“No! Do I?” He squints his eyes, bringing it closer to his face in an attempt to read it in the dark. 

“You definitely did. It’s that one there..to the left of the big one we thought was yours.”

“S’gorgeous, baby,” He tugs your hand until your smushed against his side and he tosses his arm around you, letting out a deep sigh as he continues to stare up at the sky, “Thank you so much.”

“You really like it?” You’ve got both arms wrapped around his middle now, enjoying the feeling of his chest rising and falling.

“I really do, angel. Can’t believe you named a star after me twice.” 

“Twice?” You tilt your head upwards to look at his face.

“Yeah. Twice. That one,” He points up again, “My favorite one though, the greatest gift you will probably ever give me, is probably snoring in his swing right about now.”

As sweet as the moment is, you can’t help but snort out a laugh at that, “If he’s anything like you, he’s definitely snoring right now.”

“Hey, I don’t snore!”

“Oh yes, you do. Feel like I’m sleeping in a cave with a bear sometimes.”

That earns you a big, booming laugh from him, and he pulls you even closer to kiss the top of your head. You turn your body to face him, squeezing him once and kissing his chest through his shirt.

“Happy birthday, Harry.”

“Thank you,” He places his hands on either side of your face, thumbs rubbing along your cheeks, a slow smile sneaking its way across his face, “Can I have the rest of my kisses now?”

The next time Anne and Gemma come to visit, he’s sweeping them down to the end of the hallway leading into your living room, to where he now proudly shows them the framed certificate and map sitting side by side on the wall. Of course they had both already heard about it before. The day after his birthday he had spent 10 minutes on the phone with each of them bragging about it. He’s got Sterling in his arms as he shows it off now. He holds him up next to the two frames.

“How lucky am I, huh? Not every man can say they have two stars named after them, can they?”

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!

as always likes, reblogs, replies, and feedback are welcome!

tag list: @1980holland, @summertimestyles, @la-cey, @tbslenthusiast​

[cafeinthemoon]

The Home I Crave - Chapter 9

Title: The Home I Crave

Genre: Fanfiction

Pairing: Tobirama Senju x reader

Rating: teen and up

Word count: 2654

Chapter: 9/?

Symbols: ⭕ | ➕ | 💛 | ▶️▶️

Read the previous chapters here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

N. A.: So I changed it! Maybe I should have chosen a gif where he's making one of his 😳 faces but well

Chapter 9 - Nausea

You kept your eyes on the bowl before you for so long that you almost forgot your surroundings. When your meal was served, you were enchanted by the warmth and the smell of condiments, but now the steam was gone and your nostrils were used to the scents, and you were just holding your hashi pretending to listen to the conversation around you.

The hardest part was to know that, if the circumstances were different, you would be enjoying every minute: the company of your brother-in-law and his wife was as pleasing as can be, the food was well prepared and the environment was light, comfortable; you even felt like part of your burden was taken off your shoulders with their reception.

During the dinner, Mito made a few questions about your adaptation to the new place and how you were dealing with the practical matters; you did your best to answer them without revealing too much, but you could tell that she wasn’t entirely convinced of your well being: unlike your previous meetings with her, you didn’t make a single question now, and were choosing your words with excessive caution, as if you didn’t want to give space to any discussion. You didn’t want to discuss anything now: your thoughts were all with your family, your sister on the compound. So far from you. You had no idea of how things were going with them, and what you could do to help.

Yet you were there having dinner with your new friends, who expected you to smile, to talk and cheer up as they were doing.

You started to think of their life together.

During the days you spent in the Hokage’s house, you had countless opportunities to observe him and Mito together, and the signs about their good relationship where there for anyone to see: the way they talked to each other, joked on each other and complimented one another while talking to other people revealed not only the existence of a romantic connection, but a solid friendship, built on mutual knowledge, respect and appreciation. They lived happy together, and were happy to live together.

Why couldn’t you have the same, then? You knew they had to work hard to find a way to build their good life despite not knowing each other and not choosing to be married, because not only their happiness depended on it, but the entire structure of an alliance. You were aware of this too; you were taught about this since you’ve heard about the possibility of an arranged marriage for the first time. You’ve been preparing to it, and were sure you’ve been doing your best to do your part. However, you didn’t feel your efforts were being acknowledged, not in words and even less in actions. Tobirama didn’t seem to make any effort to be with you except when you had work together, and even in such occasions he barely looked at you; your questions and other requests were received and processed with all the possible formality, as if you were strangers instead of two people who lived under the same roof. And now you just found out that some things were being kept out of your knowledge, just like you were an inexperienced assistant instead of a shinobi who worked directly with the head of your clan, exactly like your husband.

Even during missions with your own people in dangerous territories and in teams where you didn’t know everyone so well, you received a better treatment.

You started feeling something revolving inside your stomach, something that would surely come out if you stood there smelling that bowl for one more minute. It was when you noticed the conversation around you ceased and now someone was calling your name.

It was Hashirama.

- Y/n-san? Are you feeling well?

You raised your eyes to him, not knowing what to say.

- I was asking if you’re feeling well – he asked for the second time – You look pale.

You alternated your gaze between him and the bowl.

- I… I think I’m not going to finish this – and shaking your head – I’m sorry.

- You did not eat well during lunch, y/n-san.

It was Tobirama’s voice beside you. He was paying attention too. Should you be surprised to hear him telling you that you were supposed to eat well when your sister was sick and you wouldn’t even know if it depended on him?

- You should compensate it now.

You almost left him without a verbal response, but you didn’t want to look rude in front of Mito and Hashirama.

- I’m not hungry. I won’t be able to eat anything else tonight.

But that was not enough for him: he started to try and convince you to not leave with your stomach empty, which would interfere in your sleep and then in your performance the next day when you would have work waiting for you and etc.

- We will probably spend half of our day working at my brother’s office tomorrow. You need to be prepared.

- I know. But I’ve reached my limit today…

While Tobirama insisted on that, his brother and Mito tried to fix the situation, pointing out the same things as him but in a softer manner. You tried your best to put an end in that conversation, both because you wouldn’t eat and because you didn’t want to hear his voice for any longer. Why was so hard for that man to understand what no means?

And then came the moment when your patience was gone.

- Y/n-san, you...

- I said no!

When you stopped speaking, the silence that fell around you was heavy. Tobirama, who finally gave up on making up your mind, only stared at you, his lips shut so tight they became paler than the rest of his skin; if it was shock or anger what you saw in those red eyes, you couldn’t tell. You looked down at your hand holding the hashi and swallowed when you saw that you broke it in half.

You didn’t have the courage to look around or say anything else. You dropped the broken hashi on the table and left it, mumbling an inaudible “Excuse me” and almost running toward the bathroom.

***

Since you haven’t eating well that day, you didn’t thought it was possible to throw all of that out of your mouth, but that was exactly what you did. The thing you sensed in your stomach when you were at the table was finally expelled, and you were glad that you managed to reach the bathroom before it happened.

When you were done with it, you needed a moment to restore your normal breathing. Your vision, which has darkened after you left the table, came back, and you could leave the cabin and go to the sink to wash the bitter taste from your mouth and the sweat on your face; fortunately, you weren’t a fan of heavy makeup.

You heard a soft hand knocking on the door and knew it was Mito.

- Y/n-san? Are you okay? – and after a pause, to which you didn’t respond – Can I come in?

Again you said nothing, but after cleaning your face, you opened it.

The princess looked at you with a worried gaze, but the shock for your state didn’t affect her capacity of action. She entered the room and locked the door behind her before anyone could appear, then turned to you.

- I knew things were not going well since I came to your house this morning. I guess you understand why I invited you here – she held your shoulders with firmness, but the gesture didn’t lack gentleness – Tell me. What’s going on between you?

If it was because of her direct question or because you just threw up, it didn’t matter. You felt your legs weakening, your head getting dizzy and your eyes burning with a new flow of tears. You hid your face in your hands and for minutes, you weren’t able to say a word.

You felt Mito’s arms holding you in a tight hug, which prevented you from falling. When you were able to look into her eyes again, you already knew you couldn’t lie; to be honest, you wouldn’t be capable of doing so. Not in those conditions.

You just let everything out.

- I… I can’t do this, Mito-san… Not this way…

She frowned.

- You can’t do what? What are you talking about? – and lowering her voice – I can guess you just threw up. Are you expecting?

The anger and the deception you felt when you heard the word expecting almost made you throw again.

- How can I be expecting if that man haven’t touched me at least once? – you raised your eyes to hers – He never even tried! He barely looks at me! He has no interest in me! – you wiped the tears as you spoke – He prefers to sleep in his office than by my side!

Despite the visible preoccupation, Mito was not the type to lose her judgment in front of problems. Even more in that moment, when the stability of a treaty was being tested.

- Listen to me. I know Tobirama is not easy to deal with. I know. But what exactly did he do to make you feel this way? – she approached you and whispered – When I visited you today… You just had an argument. What happened there?

You nodded and described the situation involving the letter and your sister the best you could. But the Uzumaki wanted to know more.

- And this was not the first conflict you had, wasn’t it?

You explained that it wasn’t, though it was the first heated argument you had. You told her about that time when you tried to speak to him about the conditions of the treaty, the travel, your people and other necessary topics, but he wasn’t willing to make any concessions; speaking the truth, he barely heard what you had to say. He didn’t like to be contradicted and was convinced that he found the best solutions to the needs of your clan, even when both your father and his brother agreed with you on the said matters in the meeting, in which he was not present. Besides, you knew the circumstances of your people in a way that he could only dream, but that didn’t seem enough for him to give you the credit you deserved.

- He has no respect for me or my work, Mito-san – you confessed with bitterness – He doesn’t see me as an advisor, even less as a shinobi. He thinks I am some amateur who only got her position thanks to her bloodline but never learned how things really work and believes that only her passion is enough to make everything happen – your anger grew as you spoke; it was becoming harder to control your tone – I’ve never faced such disdain in my entire career, and I can tell you that I’ve seen many things during these years. I can stand the worst environments in a mission, but this I can’t tolerate. My people don’t deserve to be in such hands.

Mito’s expression changed when you mentioned your people. If she was guessing your struggle to live with Tobirama and was thinking of ways to help you, now she had no doubts about the gravity of the situation.

- This marriage, this treaty… It’s impossible to go on with this. Impossible! – you continued – I always knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but since the start I’ve sensed that something wasn’t right, and yet I tried to make it work, I gave my time, my effort, I did what I could to maintain peace inside his house, to do what was best for us, to talk, to… – and speaking lower, slower – I should have trusted my guts and warned my father about this. No one can live in peace with that man. No matter how hard you try. He was made to be alone.

The princess was now more serious than you ever expected to see her. She didn’t judge you nor interrupted you, but she had some things to tell you before taking any measures.

- Y/n-san, listen carefully – she held your hands with unusual firmness – I understand this feeling of… regret you are experiencing now. I understand it better than I’d like to tell you. You wish you’ve heard your inner instincts and spoke to your father about this, but for some reason you decided to go ahead and accept the terms and now that you found out that things are harder than you could predicted, you can’t help thinking you’ve made a mistake. I know, I get it. But you were also aware that many things would depend on you two keep living together in Konoha since the start. We are not speaking only of two people here. We are speaking about an alliance between two clans, which includes all the measures taken to maintain peace between them above all. If we want peace, the things we do now must follow this condition.

Those words touched deep inside you. They were the last thing you wanted to say to yourself, yet the very thing you needed to remind yourself of. Not so long ago, war was everything each clan knew and cared about; an alliance between them was something impossible, and a sequence of alliances that later would result in the foundation of the first Ninja Village in the world was less than a dream. Thanks to the hard work of many people – including your husband – this dream came true. Now that your clan was included in this, you would have to be careful as you’ve never been in your life – your actions could mean the maintenance of peace between your clans, or the death of it.

You and Mito exchanged silent looks that let it clear that you were aware of this responsibility. You took a deep breath.

- Thank you, Mito-san – you gave her hands a soft squeeze in response to her help – I know exactly what I have to do. I always knew. I just thought… my husband didn’t. His actions and the way he spoke about my people didn’t let his peaceful intentions very clear to me. It made me wonder if we would ever be on the same page.

The princess nodded, clearly relieved that her work there was successfully done.

- What are you going to do now? – and with a distinct bright in her eyes – Are you going to make sure you two will be on the same page?

You shook your head in agreement.

- Of course. This is why I was sent here in the first place.

She smiled.

- Alright – she turned to the bathroom’s door – Let’s go back to the table and see how the boys are doing without us.

You didn’t move; Mito was going to open the door, but gave up when she noticed your hesitation.

- What’s wrong?

You crossed your arms.

- I’m just not in the mood for dinner. I’m going back home.

She raised an eyebrow.

- Yes, you’re still a bit pale, after all. Maybe it’s better for you to go home… – she stared at you – Is that all?

You chose to be honest with her.

- Can you go with me, or at least say to them that I’m leaving? – you swallowed – I need a moment for myself. I don’t think I’d stand being alone with him right now.

- I see. Well, wait here. I’m going to talk to them, then we go to your house together.

You hugged her, no hiding your relief.

- Thank you for this. And can you please tell your husband that I’m sorry for the hashi?

Mito laughed at this.

- As you wish.