#me: oh yes it’s national kiss a ginger day i’m gonna write you 5 cute kisses

[atmosphericflyboy]

Five times kissed bc fuck u i have a need

I NEVER REBLOGGED THIS MEME BUT IF YOU SEND ME THINGS I WILL WRITE THEM ANYWAYS? I GUESS? > @freckledcybernetics : always accepting? i guess?

Mild NSFW in section 3, continued under cut because this somehow became over 3,800 words and yeah wow it’s 7:46 a.m., I have no excuse.

Trying to think back on the beginnings of your relationship with your husband while playing tonsil hockey with him pinned up against your front door is—probably not a stellar idea, but Poe Dameron has never claimed to have good timing.

It’s just—he’s having a moment, okay, because after all these years he still can’t quite believes that Fergus is his and he is Fergus’ and they are theirs, ad infinitum. To have and to hold, for better or for worse—although in his mind there is no worse, has never been worse since the very first day they met.

Focus, Poe.

They break apart for air and Poe takes advantage of the brief pause to pick Fergus up. Still, he can’t stop thinking, This love story—how does it start?

Fergus’ lips find his own again, and his mind goes blank for a little while.

It starts, he thinks as he hitches Fergus’ legs a little higher around his waist and begins to walk them to the bedroom, gently kicking cats and dog out of the way. The two of us, we start, it starts—

1. With two cups of coffee.

The cute guy in a button-down and tie stutters. It’s adorable; Poe gives him his warmest smile and promptly gets caught up admiring those ginger curls and bright green eyes as he waits for the customer to finish his order. The early sunlight filtering in through the thick glass windows has a flattering effect on everyone, but especially so (Poe thinks) on this gentleman, painting a warm blush across soft cheeks that look positively delectable, they really do—

He jerks out of his reverie, realizing that the customer is done talking. “Alright, let me see if I got all that,” he says with a wink (because, as Finn is fond of reminding him, he is shameless). “One regular Americano with an extra shot and one large caramel macchiato, and can I get a name for your order?”

Rey shows up just in time to take over for him at the register. As he bustles about preparing Verin’s order, Poe keeps sneaking glances over at him, wondering who the other person he’s buying coffee for is. He pulls his special marker out of his pocket on impulse, adding a purple heart after Verin’s name on both cups before sticking them in a cardboard holder and handing the whole thing over to Verin with a smile. And, because he is truly, unapologetically shameless, another wink.

Verin takes a sip from the larger cup on his way out the door. Poe didn’t think he was a triple-shot-no-sugar sort of guy, anyways.

It takes close to four months of sporadic meetings and soul-sucking early shifts after even earlier-late night gigs, but Poe finally learns that A: the person Verin buys coffee for is his terrifying boss (Verin hadn’t actually described his boss that way, but Poe knows triple-shot-no-sugar types, and they are not to be reckoned with), B: Verin will drink anything with a lot of caffeine and sugar and milk in it, and C: the sunlight looks even better on those cheeks when said cheeks are already colored with a faint blush at one of Poe’s guileless attempts at flirting.

Oh, and D: Verin’s name isn’t actually Verin—that’s the boss. Cute suit guy’s name is Fergus.

(Somehow, the name makes cute stuttering guy even cuter. Albeit perhaps not so much when Poe remembers he learned that by mistakenly asking “Verin” out.

Fergus did say yes, though, so maybe the extra cuteness is warranted after all.)

Poe picks Fergus up at seven with a small bouquet of wildflowers and his most charming smile. Afterward, he walks him home, feels the blush he’s been admiring from behind the counter for so long warm the tips of his fingers as he leans in for a kiss.

It’s short and sweet and chaste, yet it makes the butterflies that have been in his stomach all evening shiver and flutter. He knows it’s too soon, but Poe’s falling for this man who kisses like he’s not entirely sure he knows how. Who looks at Poe with sparkling eyes and the softest smile, and always seems a little startled by his own laughter. Like he wasn’t entirely sure he was capable of making such a sound.

Poe hasn’t done slow and steady in a very, very long time, but he finds that he wants to, for Fergus. Wants to take him out to countless dinners and movies; wants to introduce him to everyone important to Poe, his father and godmother and band buddies (the coffee shop buddies have obviously already met him). Wants to have picnics in the park with him in summer and hot chocolate by the fire in winter, and to hold his hand until they have to kiss goodbye at his front door.

Wants his front door to be Poe’s front door, too, someday.

He strokes Fergus’ cheek and steps back before he can say something stupid like I barely even know you, but I know I’m stupidly in love with you. It’s too soon. Fergus deserves better. Poe knows how to do better.

“See you tomorrow?” he says instead. Fergus nods, mirroring Poe’s half-shy smile, and gives him the most adorable little wave before shutting the door.

Poe walks backwards down the road, hands in his pockets, reluctant to part with the sight of Fergus’ building just yet. A blonde woman looks down on him from an upstairs window with a gaze that could curdle fresh milk.

But then—a light comes on in the room next to her. The curtains are drawn, but Poe sees the fleeting silhouette of a slim person with a mop of tousled hair cross the window.

A grin spreads slowly across his face, and he turns and half-skips the rest of the way down to the subway station.

When Fergus comes into the coffee shop the next morning, there are two steaming hot cups covered in purple marker hearts waiting for him in a cardboard holder. And one barista (pretty hot, himself) behind the counter, with purple-stained fingertips and the dorkiest smile.

2. With a nightmare.

Poe has a secret.

It’s a good secret. He prides himself on being an open book (and no, L'ulo, it’s not just because he’s a terrible liar), but this is one secret he’s more than happy to keep.

The secret is this: He’s been taking private lessons in ASL in exchange for private guitar lessons. Paige is an old acquaintance, so he already knew Mrs. Tico raised her hearing children fluent in ASL and was quick to volunteer when he heard her sister wanted to pick up an instrument.

The not-so-secret part of the secret is that he’s doing this for Fergus. They’re going pretty steady at this point, steady enough that Poe’s settling in for the long haul. They’ve spent several nights together so far just cuddling and making out in bed like shy, awkward teenagers. And Poe knows he’s a sap, but already there’s nothing that makes him happier than getting to wake up and see that soft mop of red hair on the pillow next to him.

So, yeah, it’s a pretty great secret. A true act of devotion or whatever Finn calls it when he teases him about it at work; Poe may be a hopeless romantic, but he’s not doing this as some grand, symbolic gesture to be waved in Fergus’ face like a pennant.

No, he’s doing this because he wants Fergus to be comfortable around him, plain and simple.

Poe isn’t unobservant: Fergus doesn’t talk about his past before working for Verin and doesn’t like having attention drawn to his cybernetic implants. Has nightmares sometimes that leave him crying (and tried to hide it from Poe, the first time it happened when he slept over), and finds it difficult to speak aloud when he’s particularly sad or upset or tired.

Poe knows there must have been something deeply, terribly wrong done to him for him to act this way. For him to wake up in the middle of the night shaking with terror.

Poe doesn’t need to know how the cybernetics happened. He doesn’t want Fergus to tell him anything that Fergus doesn’t want to talk about. He does want the names of every single person who has ever caused his sweet boy harm, but he doesn’t need Leia beating him over the head to realize that that won’t help his cause. He loves Fergus, implants and all, and he never wants to push Fergus beyond his limits.

Which makes it difficult when he has to. When he has to get Fergus to put in his hearing aids just so he can ask “What’s wrong?“ in the dark. When he has to either guess blindly at what Fergus needs and wants or try and get him to talk, and by the time he gets the words out, the need or want has often been superseded by pure frustration.

It’s horribly uncomfortable for Fergus and it’s horribly ineffective for both of them, and Poe wants to understand when Fergus is unable to talk or type or write. He’s had enough of the heartbreaking loneliness in Fergus’ eyes as he signs over and over again like a broken record stuck on loop, because this is all he can say at present but Poe just doesn’t understand.

So, he’s taking ASL lessons, and he’s getting to be fluent enough that he means to tell Fergus soon. But Fergus’ subconscious, it seems, has other plans.

He’s a pretty light sleeper, so he’s alert and sitting up within moments of Fergus starting awake. There’s something different about the nightmare this time, something worse: Fergus is curling up into himself, shaking and sobbing, looking like he’s not entirely sure of where he is or whether the four walls of this room will hold against the force of whatever it is that plagues his dreams.

And Poe—Poe reaches out, almost without thinking, and gently taps Fergus’ hand till he gets his attention. Signs, slowly and a little gracelessly, You’re here with me and you’re safe, and I love you, and we’ll get through this together.

Fergus blinks. Poe signs it again, trying to project as much calm and reassurance as he can.

Next thing he knows, his arms are full of a sobbing Fergus. He hums softly and strokes Fergus’ hair, knowing Fergus can’t hear him but hoping the vibrations will soothe him anyways. Kind of like a cat purring, he reasons, except Poe-sized.

Afterward, he’ll blame his preoccupation with calming Fergus as well as his own exhaustion from squeezing those ASL lessons into his day on top of coffee shop shifts and band practices and gigs. But, in this moment, Poe doesn’t realize that that was the first time either of them had said I love you.

When Fergus’ sobs subside into small hiccups, he pulls back just enough to kiss him like it’s all Poe knows how to do.

You’re here with me and you’re safe, and I love you, and we’ll get through this together. He signs it again before pulling Fergus back down onto the mattress with him and tucking the covers in over them both.

When they wake up the next morning, Fergus signs it right back at him. And then, once he’s put his hearing aids in, proceeds to grill Poe on how he seemingly learned sign language overnight.

3. With their first time together.

Fergus is stammering and blushing, which Poe takes as a cue to stop putting his tongue to, ah, rather creative use. He pulls back, props himself up on his elbows, and raises his eyebrows instead.

Fergus gives up and curses him out in ASL. Poe smirks but relents, signing back, Tell me, what do you want me to do?

He—didn’t expect Fergus’ response to be quite so descriptive or profane. He’s impressed. He pushes himself up, ignoring the way his spine protests after standing behind the counter all day, and captures Fergus’ already swollen red lips with his own.

It’s not what Fergus just asked for, but Poe’s pretty creative with his tongue in this regard as well, so Fergus doesn’t seem to be complaining. A slight thrill runs through him at the thought of his boy showing up to work tomorrow, looking thoroughly kissed and very well fucked.

(This is followed by the realization that Verin will probably want to castrate him, and yeah, no, Poe’s never thinking of Fergus’ boss in the bedroom again.)

He pulls away, breathless and a little dizzy, to say “As you wish” like a total dork (he’d shown Fergus The Princess Bride for the first time a couple of dates ago). His back and arms both protest this time as he lowers himself slowly, trailing a flurry of kisses all the way down Fergus’ torso before setting about to do his love’s bidding.

When he looks up at a particularly well-timed moment, he’s lucky he has his mouth full so he can’t say something stupid like Now there’s an O-face I could get used to seeing. Not so lucky after all when the thought makes him choke, which results in the worst-timed bout of coughing and spluttering in the history of oral sex.

It’s embarrassing as hell and, once he recovers, Poe’s cheeks are flaming redder than Fergus’ well-kissed lips. Apparently, he’s a masochist, though, because he explains the whole thing to a thoroughly bewildered Fergus with a sheepish smile.

There’s a moment of stunned silence before Fergus bursts into peals of laughter. Poe finds himself joining in, the nerves he didn’t even realize he had dissolving under the weight of his relief.

They can barely look at each other for hours afterward without setting each other off laughing again. Poe’s whole abdomen aches and he can’t even see through his tears, and yeah, this is something he could really get used to.

(Even if Fergus never lets him live it down.)

4. With a home.

The day Poe’s band finally scores a record deal, he calls Fergus at work to ask, “Do you wanna move in with me for good?”

It’s something they’ve been talking about for awhile now. Admittedly, Fergus spends far more time at Poe’s than the other way around, but each of their places has long since been encroached upon by the other’s belongings to the point where cohabitation is no longer so much a possibility as a fact. Poe’s lease is up in a couple of months, anyways; it only makes sense to start looking for a place together, and the record deal means Poe can finally afford something a little bigger than the place he shares with Karé and Jessika and Snap in Washington Heights.

Verin, predictably, throws a fit and a half about Fergus leaving. She can’t exactly stop him, though, so they pack up the last of Fergus’ things and drive off one day while she’s out, giddy and giggling like students playing hooky for the first time.

Cinnamon, Raison and Toast yowl in unison when Poe’s dog greets them at the door.

Their new apartment in the Village still isn’t much to look at, but it’s enough for the two of them and BB-8 and Fergus’ cats. They spend their weekends putting together (then promptly christening) Ikea furniture; on weekdays, they make breakfast side-by-side while Raisin meows underfoot.

They hold hands on the subway all the way uptown until Poe has to get off, two stops ahead of Fergus.

He’s working fewer shifts at the coffee shop, but much longer hours in the recording studio. Fergus waits up for him. Poe feels bad about it, especially when he comes back one night to find Fergus already asleep on the couch.

He stands in the doorway for a long time, taking in the soft curves and lines of Fergus’ face in the flickering light of the TV.

When Fergus stirs and wakes, it’s to the gentle rocking motion of being carried to the bedroom in Poe’s arms. Poe sets him down carefully, then disappears into the bathroom: there’s the sound of running water, and the soft rustle of clothes.

By the time he returns, Fergus’ hearing aids are resting on the nightstand. Poe slides in next to him, signing Sorry I’m late and Love you and Get some sleep.

Fergus pulls him close and kisses him, sloppy and sleepy and utterly sweet. He’s asleep again almost at once. Poe wraps an arm round his waist, pressing another, lighter kiss to his forehead.

It’s not perfect this way. Far from it: once the EP is out, Poe will be playing concerts left, right and center to sell it. Then, if it sells, there will be a tour, and if it doesn’t, there will be another EP to make, or his band will be dropped by their label entirely.

He won’t go back to working early shifts at the coffee shop. They’ve come too far for that; he’s going to make this work, one way or another. That means sacrifice, and that means long hours at the studio or on the road, and that means days or weeks or months away from his love. He knows it’ll hurt them both and he hopes they’ll survive it, and he needs to talk about this with Fergus soon, because he wants Fergus to understand.

Fergus’ front door is finally Poe’s own. And it’s not perfect; far from it, when he’s too tired to even really see it as he stumbles through it after dark. But then he’s greeted by four soft fluffy bundles of fur and an even softer, even fluffier mess of ginger curls, and Poe knows he will never tire of coming home.

5. With a promise.

Poe loves touring with the band more than anything in the world—except his boyfriend and their cats and dog and cozy apartment on Greenwich Avenue.

Poe’s boyfriend also loves him and their cats and dog and cozy apartment on Greenwich Avenue more than anything in the world. Which is why, when the prospect of touring the world becomes a reality, it takes a great deal of time and effort for Poe to convince Fergus to leave the cats and dog and apartment behind and come on the road with him.

“A month,” he tells Fergus, time and time again. “That’s all it’ll be, a month! All these years you’ve worked for Verin and how much time off has she given you? She can spare you for a month. Come on, starshine, I want to see the world with you.”

In the end, Fergus only comes along because Poe’s dad flies all the way across the country to look after the pets and the apartment for them. Poe may have inherited his determination from his mother, but there’s a stubborn streak in old Kes yet.

The first three shows are in Dublin, London and Paris, which Poe and the band tackle alone. Nothing would ever make Poe force Fergus into coming back to the UK, not when it holds nothing but bad memories for him. Even France is too close for comfort. Poe looks hard at every middle-aged, red-haired man he sees, half-wishing [ Papa ] would cross his path so he could sink his fists into the bastard’s teeth.

Poe picks Fergus up from the airport in Amsterdam and makes sure he gets settled in at the hotel. Very, very well settled in, as it turns out. So well settled in that they both show up to soundcheck late, hair somewhat tousled and hastily dressed.

That night, Poe’s even more keyed up with nerves and excitement than usual; this is the first time he’s playing this particular set for Fergus, though he knows Fergus has heard the album a thousand times before and come to every single show the band has put on in New York. But then he steps onstage and the lights are blinding and the crowd is screaming and yeah, wow, Poe could do this for the rest of his life.

Fergus runs to him and throws his arms around Poe afterward, and yeah, wow, Poe could do Fergus for the rest of his life, too.

In fact, he will. Or at least, he hopes he will: the ring’s been sitting on the chain round his neck since he was six, and he’s known for awhile that Fergus is the one it belongs to. He’s just been waiting for the right time to give it to him.

The days blur into the usual rhythm of rehearsal-performance-rehearsal after that, interspersed with the small, self-contained bubbles of time that he gets to spend with Fergus. They get brunch together in Antwerp and dinner in Hamburg, walk along the remains of the Berlin Wall hand in hand and marvel at the Hofburg in Vienna. Karé and Snap tease the lovebirds but Jessika just waves them off with a knowing smile, and introduces Fergus to her girlfriend, so he’ll have someone to wander around town with during the long hours the band spends setting up for the show.

It’s Rome where Poe finally gets down on one knee, presenting Fergus with the ring on top of his coffee cup, which he’s covered all over with purple marker hearts. He wrote his speech in purple marker, too, on hotel notepaper that Fergus later has the good sense to find a sturdy envelope to pack in.

They’re both smiling a little too wide for the kiss to be anything but clumsy. Poe presses his forehead against his fiancé’s in the quiet, cobblestoned street, and together they laugh, and together they cry.

Karé is, predictably, the first person to spot the ring (which is half a size too large and keeps slipping off, they’ll have to get it resized) when they walk into soundcheck hand in hand the next day. Poe’s pretty sure her wolf-whistle reverberates around the entire world, but he’s honestly too happy to care.

(Wild fan theories about the lead singer’s obvious exuberance spring up like mushrooms in rain after the show that night.)

From Barcelona to Bangkok to Melbourne to Taipei, their wedding photo album begins to take shape. Fergus bought a little Polaroid camera for the trip; by the time they’re bracing for the fourteen-hour flight from Seoul to JFK, their suitcases are crammed full of glossy paper memories.

When they get home, BB-8 and Cinnamon and Raisin and Toast greet them at the door. Poe holds up Fergus’ hand with the ring for his dad to see; Kes looks at it for a long time before hugging them both tight, shoulders shaking as he cries.

It’s past midnight and they’re jet-lagged and exhausted and giddy with delight, and all Poe can think is that forever begins today. Maybe it began when Fergus first walked into his life stammering over his coffee order, or maybe it’s been beginning this whole time and the truth only sank in when he gave his love his mother’s ring.

Maybe there was never a beginning, only a forever that goes on and on and never ends. And yeah, maybe Poe’s a massive dork, but he’s promised Fergus his forever—and he can’t wait to spend forever promising his love to him, again and again.