#we dont talk about that second head in panel

[down-a-dark-allie-way]

Its so rare but, dontcha just love it when the expression comes out JUST the way you wanted it to?!?! Like not anatomically but, vibically.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Love's Bullshit.

Summary: maybe love wasnt bullshit after all.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 5225

Warnings: a tinyyy tiny bit of angst, pining, unrequited feeling but requited in the end, sad rhysie poo healing but we dont really get into that. uh i think thats it? let me knowif theres more i need to add <3

A/n: let me tell yall, when i wrote this i think i had watched some pasta videos and helped my mum clean up some green veggies lmaoo, so Y/n's thoughts are just me yapping lol.

rhys would be happy i finally wrote something fluffy for him lmao

I LOVED WRITING TIS SM OML I HOPE YALL LOVE READING IT AKFJHDFH

(im sorry im back to my p.s bs again cus thank you to my wifey for, again, helping me plan this fic out and also this fic is again based on an indian song 😭)

anyways, enjoyyy🥹🤭

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

It had almost become a ritual, standing around the coffee machine and waiting to grab the two cups of coffee.

It was a ritual, stalking back to the office with two cups of steaming coffee in her hand.

It was a ritual, trying her best not to blush when her boss smiled at her, his fingers brushing hers as he took his black coffee from her hands, a soft thank you slipping past his lips, his attention already focused on the screen of his laptop.

Y/n did not know how she hadn’t yet told him she loved him, but whatever force held those words captive in her chest, she thanked it every day.

Today was no different as she made her way into the elevator, nodding to the others who filed in after her with a small smile. Silence filled her ears, only broken by the ding of the elevator doors as it opened to let a couple of employees out onto the second floor. Y/n leaned back, sighing as the doors dragged close again, her head resting against the shiny metal as her eyes fixed themselves on the little panel above the door.

5.

7.

10.

13.

15.

25.

Ding.

Y/n walked out, subconsciously searching for that familiar figure of her boss. The final floor of the building had been turned into a huge office for the CEO and the owner and his two best friends who helped manage the place, so it was not hard to find him, standing hunched over the huge mahogany desk as he scribbled something in a file.

She moved forward, lips stretching to accommodate the smile that spread on her lips without permission.

"Good evening, sir."

His head rose, the black rimmed glasses perched on his nose caching in the light. "Good evening, Y/n." His violet eyes tracked her movements, an easy smile on that full mouth.

He turned around the moment she set his coffee on his desk, attention already flitting away to focus on more important things.

It irritated Y/n to no end that he would not even try to talk to her- or anyone, really- unless it was related to work.

"Uh, have a good day, sir."

He nodded, and Y/n took that as her que to leave. She walked towards the desk that Y/n occupied. Being the CEO’s secretary, he wanted her close by in case he needed anything. Thankfully, the two managers were too busy with their own work to look at the blush that covered Y/n.

Time flew by as she settled down again, forcing herself to stop thinking about how those eyes would shine from up close, and started typing away in her laptop, her surroundings fading into nothing.

The next time Y/n stood to stretch her back, it was already dark outside the huge glass walls, and she leaned back, her back curving before it finally popped. The other two men that worked on the top floor, Cassian and Azriel, had already left half an hour ago, after bidding Y/n and Rhysand goodbye.

Relieved breath escaping her lips, she turned to find herself alone with Rhysand, who now sat with his back straight. So straight that Y/n was concerned that it would hurt him.

Something was wrong.

Before she could inquire, the elevator doors slid open, and the loud clicking of stilettos filled the silent atmosphere.

She’s beautiful.

That was Y/n’s first thought.

Long, straight light brown hair, almost bordering blond, the woman stalked straight up to the rich dark wooden desk, ire blazing in her eyes, anger seeping from every pore in her body.

Y/n should have left, she knew she should have.

But she didn’t, even knowing she would regret not leaving when everything seemed fine.

Rhys, eyes wide, stumbled to his feet.

Y/n had never seen that man ever stumble.

"Did I not tell you to stay away from me?"

His mouth parted, and Y/n watched with bated breath to see what would happen.

"Hello to you too, Feyre d-"

"Call off your stalker."

Fingers of ice skated down Y/n’s spine. Stalker?

His eyes hardened, jaw clenched. "He isn’t a stalker."

The woman let out an incredulous laugh. "Oh? Then what is he?"

"He’s there to protect you-"

"And what is he protecting me from? The trees in my backyard?"

Y/n swallowed, eyes flitting away. The elevator was near her, but it would draw attention. But it was definitely better than standing and watching the two like a creep.

"Feyre…" It was dark, but Y/n knew that Rhys glanced at her frozen form. "Let’s talk somewhere else, please. You’re making a scene-"

"No. I’m not going anywhere with you."

He released a frustrated breath, and Y/n finally got herself moving.

She grabbed her purse and hurried towards the elevator, hoping he did not think that she was judging him. Even as hard as she tried to be quiet, her heels clicked, and she froze, panic seizing every muscle in her body as she felt his eyes on her.

Swallowing, she hit the button on the silver panel, and the doors slid open, thankfully revealing that the elevator was still on their floor. As soon as she walked in, she hit the button to close the doors continuously, then pressed the button to the ground floor.

Idly she watched herself in the glass in the back of the elevator, her eyes travelling over her own figure.

Hmm. Pretty, but not as much as that lady.

It was clear that Rhys and she had something together. If not now, then before. And with the way Rhysand’s eyes had lit up with love but also sadness, she knew it was romantic.

Eh. Never really stood a chance anyway.

The elevator finally stopped moving, and Y/n walked out to greet a few lingering employees, who smiled and nodded at her. She smiled too, her mind already wandering to what she would eat for dinner. Maybe she could just get takeout-

She couldn’t.

Ugh.

She groaned as she remembered that her car had broken down the day before, and she’d had it towed to a mechanic shop, who had taken one look at the old, run down vehicle and said it would take them at the very least one week to fix.

Uber it is.

As she walked towards the exit, Y/n shoved her hand into her purse to grab her phone, but everything that came into her hand was not in the shape of that specific piece of rectangle.

Please. I don’t want to go up there again.

Pausing a few feet away from the automatic sliding doors, she peered into the little black purse, and sure enough, she could not see her phone.

Great. Just what I needed.

It didn’t have to be a big deal, Y/n told herself. She would just run up through the stairs, quietly grab her phone and leave.

Sure, you’ve got the energy and bones to run up twenty five floors.

Maybe she could just ask someone else to order a cab for her and she could just take her phone tomorrow-

It was Saturday tomorrow. No office.

Sighing, Y/n turned back, only to find the elevator doors opening and the same clicking of stilettos that had heralded the arrival of that pretty lady. And sure enough, when Y/n looked up from her purse while still cursing her own existence, the woman was walking towards her.

Y/n watched in awe as she stalked past her and out the automatic doors without sparing the countless onlookers a single glance, as if they all were a mere insect and she the god.

If Y/n was being honest, she envied her confidence while also respecting her for it. Y/n could only wish she was that good at being self assured to not trip and faceplant in front of everyone.

Y/n watched till the lady got into the back of a shiny white Audi and drove away, and only then did Y/n remember why she was still in the building.

She hurried into the elevator, her impatience mounting everytime it stopped on different floors for people to get on and off, but by the time she reached the top floor, she was all alone in that metal box. Her heart beating in her throat, she tried to walk as quietly to her desk as she could and snatched off the little device that lay beside her office laptop.

"Y/n?"

She had just turned around to sneak back to the elevator, trying not to look at the silhouette of her boss who stood gazing outside the floor to ceiling glass windows when he called. The low timbre of his voice made her freeze midstep, then glance at him as she brought her lifted leg to rest next to her other one.

"Yes, sir?"

He said nothing for a moment, and Y/n looked around, unsure of what to do. Just as her eyes came to rest on the elevator, it left to go down.

Y/n eyed the metal doors with disappointment when Rhysand asked her to come stand next to him.

She obeyed quietly, the only sound in the silent office that of her of her heels clicking on the marble floors.

He remained quiet when she stopped next to him, his dark blue eyes that bordered on looking like violet under a certain angle of light fixed on the glittering city beneath. Y/n too turned to gaze out of the huge windows when he refused to let his attention move.

It was beautiful, the city. Tall buildings lit up with lights on the inside, their glass reflecting light coming off of large billboards, the red and white lights from cars speeding by blurring together in a beautiful scenery of night, complemented by the full moon that hung amidst a sea of stars.

"It’s beautiful, isn’t it?"

Y/n blinked, coming out of her reverie and taking note of her surroundings again before replying. "Yeah, it is."

He sighed after a moment, glancing at her. "Have you ever been in love, Y/n? Do you believe in it?"

Y/n glanced at him, taken aback by his question.

"I- I guess so. I am currently in love, if it matters."

He nodded, his lips tilted up slightly at the corners.

"Does he know?"

"He… no. And I don’t think I will tell him." A pause, then- "what about you? Do you believe in it?"

"No. Not anymore. It’s bullshit and all it does is hurt people."

"Oh…" Y/n mumbled, not knowing how to respond to that.

He glanced at her uncertainly, then dropped the topic.

"You must have questions."

Y/n met his eyes that glittered like sapphires in the darkened office, then shook her head. "I don’t think I should have questions, and even if I did, I won’t ask them. You have a right to keep your private life private."

He nodded, his eyes unwavering. Y/n could not for the life of her figure out what he was thinking, so instead she focused on her own faint reflection on his black rimmed glasses.

Is there something in my teeth?

He took in a deep breath, looking away.

Nah, there’s nothing. Thank god.

"What did you come back for?"

Y/n blinked, then perked up. "Oh, my phone." She lifted the thing and waved it. "I thought I’d leave it and collect it on Monday, but then I had to order a cab, so-"

"Cab? Why? What happened to your car?"

"Ah, it broke down yesterday. It’s at the mechanic’s. It will take at the very least a week to get fixed, so." She shrugged.

"Well, if that’s the case, let me drop you off."

Y/n’s eyes widened, and she shook her head as if trying to dislodge his offer. "No, sir, please. I can go by myself-"

"Never said you couldn’t." he mumbled, a hint of a smile on his face as he began collecting his phone and keys from the drawer under his desk, rummaging around for whatever it was he needed before straightening.

"Sir-"

"Come."

With that, he began stalking to the elevator, leaving Y/n no choice but to hurry after him.

He ignored all her protests and didn’t even let her get off on the ground floor when she decided that she was going to get a cab nonetheless, and grabbed her hand to force her to stay still.

Of course, the moment his skin touched hers, she froze and then quietly followed him to his black Mercedes in the underground parking.

The ride to her home was mostly silent, the quiet only broken by his deep voice asking for directions and her mumbling when to turn.

If Y/n was being honest, she did not know what to do with herself. She was in a car with her boss who she was in love with, the one who she’d just witnessed get accused of stalking his lover- ex?- and then he was ready to answer her questions about his private life and-

She knew her mind was going into overdrive.

Calm down. He'd think I’m a weirdo.

And him thinking she was a weirdo will just not do-

He probably already thinks I am a weirdo.

Y/n sighed quietly, then told him to stop under the apartment her parents had left her. It was one of the finer things in her life.

"Thank you for dropping me off sir, you really didn’t have to do that." With that and a word of goodbye from Rhysand, Y/n turned to step out of the luxurious vehicle, then stopped.

She did not have time to debate whether offering him to follow her would be a good idea because the damning words were already spilling out of her lips.

"Would you like to stay for dinner sir? Let me cook you something as a thank you."

He smiled, then nodded and asked her where he could park. She directed him to her usual parking spot because her car was not occupying the space.

She cooked her special pasta that night. It was something that her friends always begged her to make whenever they were over and it was also very easy and quick to throw together.

The two of them made friendly conversation throughout the time he stayed over, with the night ending with Rhys asking her to be a part of their friend group that included him, Azriel, Cassian and Rhysand’s cousin.

As surprising as it was, Y/n shyly agreed, considering she hated socialising as much as she hated mushy vegetables.

"Perfect." Rhysand grinned as he stood at the door, ready to leave. "I’ll text you the address for the dinner next week. I can’t wait for you to  be a part of us."

With that, he left Y/n to herself and her thoughts.

That night, she fell asleep thinking about Rhysand.

She knew she could never have him romantically, and that was okay.

As long as she became friends with him, it was all that mattered.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Y/n stood, watching the horizon twinkle with golden lights and hints of colour, their reflection in the river between hypnotising.

In the past months, Y/n had gotten closer to Rhys and his friends. They almost were the family she never had, the sibling-like bond they shared cherished beyond expectations.

Somewhere along the two months, Y/n had stopped focusing too much on how much she wanted to be with Rhysand, and yet, she knew she began to fall for him even more than she already had. Worse still, she now had more time to focus on all his little habits and quirks now that she hung out with him outside of office hours.

"Y/n. I think you need to get over whoever that asshole is, you know."

Y/n blinked, turning to face Rhys as he came to stand against the railing next to her.

"What?"

"You know, it’s been a long time since you told me about him. And if you’re still not dating, then I think you need to either tell him or forget him."

Y/n sighed. "It’s not that I don’t want to tell him. I know he would never love me back."

He nodded solemnly. "You said it yourself then. He would never love you. You might as well find someone new to love."

When Y/n rolled her eyes and turned back to stare into the dark waters, he tried again. "At least tell me who this love interest of yours is. Maybe I can knock some sense into him- or her, if you’re into that. I’m tired of seeing you be painfully single."

Y/n shook her head with a rueful smile, wondering what his reaction would be if she actually told him who this ‘love interest’ was.

Since Rhys had asked Y/n to be a part of the friend group, he had managed to get out a confession from Y/n about this ‘mysterious daddy of yours’. His own words, not hers.

He would try to find out who this guy was, he was adamant even, but every time Y/n would manage to escape without revealing who she was head over heels for. She had a relationship with Rhysand that was very precious to her, and she was not interested in jeopardising that.

It was better to just go on a date if it meant he would stop trying to get her to confess.

"Alright. I’ll go on a date."

Y/n could see him perk up. "Really? Let’s find you a guy. It will be so fun."

Y/n offered him a smile before he slipped away, then let the smile drop.

Having grown up without a real friend due to her social anxiety, Y/n cherished the friendship she and Rhys shared.

Initially, she had thought that becoming friends with him would be the best thing to ever happen to her. And it was, but it was also one of the most hurtful things she had gone through.

Being able to talk to him whenever she wanted to, being able to do everything she had ever wanted to do with him, yet not being able to love him the way she truly wanted was a curse in itself.

Sighing, Y/n told herself to stop thinking too much and walked away.

The next two days went by uneventfully, but then the third day, of course, Rhysand had to disrupt Y/n’s peace as she tapped away on her laptop, Cassian hot on his heels.

Those grins on their faces never meant good.

She raised a brow at them, eyeing Cass as he climbed on her table and settled down, pushing away the files in his way.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, actually." Cass giggled before a word could escape Rhys’s mouth. Rhysand brows rose. "What do you think I should do for Nesta on her birthday?"

Y/n blinked, then leaned back in her seat, scratching her head. "Hmm. She likes to read, right? There’s a new book store that opened recently, it's very big and beautiful. She would love to go there. Make a day out of it. Take her there, then maybe a coffee date and movies-"

Rhys cleared his throat with a pointed glare at a very serious Cassian, who nodded at every word out of Y/n’s mouth and pulled out his phone to note down what to do. "We were here for another thing. Remember?"

Cassia grinned sheepishly and nodded, putting away his phone.

Rhys turned back to Y/n then. "You know, I recently got in contact with an old acquaintance from college." Y/n waited for him to drop the bomb on her, because there was no way he looked so serious just because he wanted to tell her that.

"I set you up on a date with him."

Y/n was rendered speechless. She did not know what to do, what to think. It was like even her mind had stopped working.

Just amazing. This is perfect. The man I love is acting like a wingman. What more could I have asked for?

When she remained silent, Cass and Rhys exchanged an uncertain glance.

"Uh, he’s well off, he’s good looking. He drives a BMW I believe, and-"

"Hmm. Just let me know the time and address."

Rhys blinked at Y/n, surely taken aback by the lack of emotion in her monotone voice. "I- okay yeah but-"

Just then, her phone rang. It was the receptionist. Y/n smiled, thanking every being she could think of for this distraction. She had plans of lunch with the girl who was like a friend too, and so it gave her the perfect escape.

But as she excused herself and all three friends went their separate ways, she could not help but feel someone's gaze on her. And sure enough, as she turned after entering the elevator, she found Rhys studying her, his gaze intense as it met hers.

But the eye contact was cut short as the doors slid closed, and Y/n sighed, blinking away the prickling in her eyes.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

She did not want to get dressed, but she also did want Rhys to stop bothering her about her love life, and so she had pulled out her favourite dress from the back of her closet and put it on after taking a shower.

She had just finished putting on some mascara and blush when the doorbell rang, and Y/n paused, staring at herself for a moment before deeming that enough makeup and standing, making her way out of her room. Surprisingly, at her door stood a grinning Rhys.

Y/n was taken aback. He hadn’t informed her of his arrival.

"Hey Rhys, what are you doing here?"

"Why? Are you not happy to see me?"

Y/n rolled her eyes, turning away to go to the kitchen, leaving him to close the door.

She grabbed a glass and filled it with water, then handed it to him when he followed her into the kitchen. She then turned and leaned against the counter, crossing her arms across her chest.

"So. What brings you here?"

He put away the glass after drinking half of the liquid inside, raising his eyebrows playfully.

"What, I can’t come to see my friend without a reason?"

Y/n just watched him, not buying his lies. When he refused to speak more, she sighed. "Rhys, we both know I am not believing the shit you’re spewing right now, so just tell me why you’re here."

He exhaled, leaning his hip against the counter opposite Y/n. "I just wanted to check up on you. You didn’t seem too excited to go on this date."

Y/n unfolded her arms, looking away from his concerned gaze perusing her form. "How can I be happy about going on a date with someone who’s not the man I love?"

"Then tell me who he is Y/n, I could set you up on a date with him." Gone was the friendly warmth he usually talked to her with.

"I can’t Rhysand."

"Why not?!"

"I just- I just can’t, okay? And anyways, I’m trying to move on."

"Who is he?"

"Maybe today I will go meet that friend of yours-"

"Who is he?"

"-and fall in love and I’ll forget him-"

"Tell me who he is-"

"I can’t."

"Why not?"

"You want to know who he is that badly? It’s you, Rhys! It’s you."

His eyes widened, his lips parting as he stared at her. "You- what?"

Y/n refused to look away from him, cursing herself for shedding that one traitorous tear. But then she turned away. "I’m running late. He must be waiting for me."

With that, she walked out the door, ignoring his calls of her name.

Love really was bullshit. It just hurts people.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

The two hours she spent with George- Greg? Gregory?- went by too fast. She did not even remember what he said. She could not stop thinking about Rhys and how she had confessed to him before coming to meet with the homo sapien in front of her.

He wanted to talk about himself, which Y/n did not mind one bit because she could not for the life of her listen. He was happy to yap and did not realise Y/n was zoned out the whole time he sang praises of himself, and was all too happy when Y/n paid for herself and then bid him goodbye, his eyes already fixed on a blonde across the restaurant.

Y/n did not want to go home yet, not knowing whether he left or not, so she decided to go sit at a beach near her home. It was empty at this time, most people either at home or out partying. It was a Saturday night after all.

Y/n felt like she had control over nothing. Since the day prior, all she could think of was how she wished she was prettier and had a chance to be with Rhys. She loved herself and her appearance, of course, but she could admit, she was nothing compared to that lady who had stormed into the office that day, telling Rhys to call off the stalker.

Y/n had never had any hope from the beginning. She had known that her feelings could not be anything but a crush, even if she wanted them to be more. Rhys was simply too good for her, and she was not above accepting that. She might have been delusional, but she wasn’t delusional enough to think he could ever return her feelings.

"I was waiting for you."

Y/n froze, suddenly aware of the sand grains between her toes, her heels discarded next to her, knees pulled up to her chest.

She did not respond, simply because she did not know how to. Now that she had been pulled out of her thoughts, she could hear him walking towards her, his steps cushioned by the shifting sand.

She decided to focus on the wind in her hair, on the soft, soothing melody of the water.

He settled down next to her, and she could not help but notice that he sat a little too close to be casual and friendly.

He said nothing for a long moment, and Y/n decided that in this moment, she could pretend to be his. She could pretend that he was hers and that they were madly in love. That he did not track her down here somehow and that the two of them were simply having a date night out.

"Her name is Feyre."

Y/n glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, unsure what he was talking about.

"She’s Nesta’s sister. That was how Nesta met Cassian, to be honest. She and I had been dating since we were in college."

It clicked for Y/n then, who he was talking about.

Tall, pretty, gorgeous hair and eyes. On top of that, a pretty name too? A jackpot, honestly.

As soon as that thought occurred to her, Y/n willed herself to stop thinking and just listen to the storytime by grandma Rhys.

Grandma Rhys??

All that was left was a rocking chair and some knitting needles and yarn.

He’d rock that fit too.

"She and Nesta… they grew up in conditions that were less than livable. Their father had lost his business and traumatised by the losses, he started staying home. Feyre had to work to keep the family going. She got to go to college because of scholarships."

Instantly, Y/n wished she could just give the lady a hug. But instead, she laid her head on her raised knees, turning her head to watch Rhys as he spoke.

"I had grown up in a filthy rich family, getting everything I wanted at my beck and call. Back then, I was smitten. Knowing what she had gone through, I wanted to provide for her. I took over my father’s businesses, began my own. Just so I could give her the lifestyle she deserved.

"While I was busy trying to get her to stop working… She wanted to provide for herself. It gave her a sense of independence, I understand that now. Having to depend on others before made her want to have freedom, and me trying to get her to stay at home made her feel suffocated. It led to a lot of arguments, more than was healthy. It upsetted me. I always wondered why she did not want to rule the empire I brought to her feet."

Y/n blinked, wondering what she would have done in that situation. Would she also have left Rhys?

"Eventually, she left me. Yet I could not bring myself to let go of her, always concerned about her safety for some reason. That’s when she came to the office, remember?"

Y/n did. A little too well.

But still, her heart hurt for him and her. She understood both sides, and she wished the two had just communicated better. Y/n knew they had loved each other a lot, it was clearly visible on their faces. At least on RHys’s. And from the way Rhys talked about her, Y/n could not help but like her too. She sounded like a nice person, someone deserving of someone as awesome as Rhys.

Even if that would have made Y/n’s chances of being with Rhys zero, she wished they had stayed and worked through their problems together.

He sighed, then turned his head to look at Y/n. "Do you know why I’m telling you this?"

Y/n shook her head, lifting it from her knees, trying to crack the tiny cramp.

He smiled. "I… while you were on that date, I sat and thought about it. Maybe it’s time for me to move on too. And now that I’ve acknowledged stuff I was too scared to before, I think I am ready."

His eyes held something so soft, so vulnerable as he gazed into Y/n’s eyes.

"Look, I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete creep and like an asshole, but I’m hoping you won’t judge me, but it’s fine if you’ve changed your mind and-"

"Just say it Rhys." Y/n laughed, already feeling like she knew where this was going.

He sighed. "I… do you want to go on a date with me?"

Y/n grinned. Flustered Rhys was something to cherish. "Sure, why not."

He perked up. "Really?"

She nodded. "As long as you actually want this and I’m not a replacement for Feyre-"

"You’re not, I swear! I’ve been feeling different towards you for some time now, I promise-"

"I believe you."

He blinked. "Really?"

Y/n nodded, and he relaxed, resting his head on her shoulder.

"This was easier than I thought it would be."

Y/n giggled.

It really was easier than expected.

Maybe love wasn’t bullshit after all.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Permanent Taglist: @berryzxx @sarawritestories @milswrites @throneofsmut

@daycourtofficial @sweetorangeblossom @secret-third-thing

Acotar Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686

@cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1

@hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21

@mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @lady-of-tearshed @starsinyourseyes

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @byyalady

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@sunnyspycat @artists-ally @milswrites @kingdomofstarrynights

@berryzxx @buttermilktea11 @loving-and-dreaming @yucanbmylxdy

@mellowmusings

Rhysand Taglist: @kennedy-brooke @hnyclover

[jounossloverr]

TALKING ABOUT THE BSD CHAPTER 121‼️

Chapter 121 spoilers + the whole arc

Today I'd like to talk about 3 things in this new chapter.

1. About Atsushi

2. About Fyodor

3. About "Hallucination Dazai"

ATSUSHI:

This scene reminds us of something, right? This is now the second time that Atsushi got tricked by Fyodor, also a few minutes after the last trick.

Why did he let himself get tricked when it was so obvious?

Atsushi cares deeply for the Agency members as we know and right know he tries to bring them back again. He probably had a feeling it'd be a trick, but he clinged onto the hope to save everybody and didn't want it to let go, even when there was a high chance it wouldn't be that easy. The "what if" thoughts were in the back of his head and the "I'll save them" thoughts were right at front. He putted his emotions before logic, because that's how much he cares about the Agency.

FYODOR:

Why would Fyodor do this in such cruel way?

Many people who claims that Fyodor does all this because "he feels like it" will claim that he did this because he loves seeing suffering and hurting people.

My opinion is, he did that because he wanted to destroy Atsushi's hope once and for all to save the Agency. The agency was in Fyodor's way, that's why they died and Fyodor knows the Agency is very strong willed, they won't stop until they're dead. So if they're gonna get killed anyway, why bring back the dead? There was no other way then to kill them if they were getting in the way, and Fyodor does not want that. That's why he ripped it infront of Atsushi's eyes, wanting that Atsushi stops having that hope, when that won't happen. Maybe he also wanted Atsushi to see that it will be better if no abilities exist in this world, for the greater good.

And that's also the reason why when Atsushi broke down and lost the hope, Fyodor said: "That's what I wanted to see."

HALLUCINATION DAZAI:

Always when Atsushi is in despair, a hallucination of Dazai comes in his mind, helping Atsushi with his way.

Why does that happen and why Dazai?

I have two theories on that.

1st theory:

I think that Dazai is someone Atsushi looks up to. He is his mentor and helped him with his self esteem and personal growth.

And my opinion is now, that the words Atsushi always hears from the Hallucination is actually his own. He just doesn't know it because of his low self-esteem and the words are deep buried. And like I said before, the person is Dazai who he is hallucinating is because he is the reason why he is more confident than he was in the past.

2nd theory:

We know that Atsushi also had hallucination of his Headmaster in the past, it was negative though, but he healed from it. There's also a high reason that the Hallucination Dazai we see, can actually be the Headmaster.

But why do they show Dazai then?

When Atsushi hallucinated the Headmaster, it was always negative and it was very bad for his mental health, it triggered him every time he showed up in his mind. And like I said before he healed from it and it didn't appear again. So it can be because of that, someone who Atsushi cares about shows up instead. Dazai.

The Headmaster abused Atsushi very bad after the orphanage found out that he has an tiger ability. But we know the real reason behind it. The Headmaster wanted to teach Atsushi in a tough and abusive way how harsh the real world is and wanted to prepare him. He also wanted him to protect the weak with the ability of his and save them. That's why he told him:

And two other reasons why I think that can actually be the Headmaster is because of this panel:

"Save lives" really reminds me of the Headmaster when he told that Atsushi. Because of those words, Atsushi realised who that hallucination really is.

And the second reason is...

I dont think that this person is Dazai. Doesn't Dazai have hair by his cheeks? In this panel there's no hair by the cheeks. This is the Headmaster. That's why Atsushi looked so shocked too, because he realised it.

It also can be that the Hallucination is a mix of Dazai and the Headmaster!

That's all! If this is true then I'll be really happy.

[thenixkat]

Chilchuck smokes and drinks excessively (with alcoholism running in his family and knowing his dad died of it), not a peep from any of the other characters.

Laios might gain excess weight from overeating? Gets lectured about the dangers of obesity and how it's bad for his health.

Me: Ah yes, of course, that makes sense. Not fatphobic or anything.

*Edit because fuckers really feel the need to come out of the woodwork to defend Dungeon Meshi when people point out the fatphobia in it.

Consider, instead of arguing that a scene isn't fatphobic b/c of your fucking *headcanons* of the other implications of Laios' condition. Perhaps, maybe, actually acknowledge the fucking text and images on the actual fucking page.

[ID: A panel from Dungeon Meshi showing Chilchuck (short humanoid in a dark top), Izutsumi (cat person; only the back of her head is visible), and Laios (tall humanoid, in this panel depicted as fat as an imagined scenario) with the words 'Human's Body' behind his head.

Chilchuk says, "That means you're gonna gain a ton of weight,"

Izustumi continues, "Because your body is still human." /End ID]

[ID: A panel from Dungeon Meshi showing Senshi (bearded humanoid wearing a horned helmate) talking to Chilchuck with a distressed Laios in the foreground.

Senshi says, "We need to closely monitor his food intake from now on so that things dont get out of hand."

He also says, tho the words are in the background of the panel and partly obscured, "Obesity is the result of an unhealthy lifestyle and it is a contributing factor to a number of diseases."

Laios says, "Wait just a second..." /End ID]

[russetfoxfur]

so i dont usually do liveblogs because i never show up to streams and also im not very good at reacting to stuff. However. i will make an exception because HGCZ IS OUT!! and i have seen so much hype about it that id be a fool to not at least read it. livereact will be under the cut for spoilers and. stuff.

- ok we arent even on the actual ZINE and the opening dedication?? "Of the arts, storytelling is one of the oldest: humanity weaves an endless tapestry of heart, hope, and home that continues to shape us all to this day. To tell a story is to bridge the gap between yesterday and tomorrow; to tell a story is to inextricably connect us all." THAT OPENING PARAGRAPH DUDE

- interesting premise. im intrigued. though i am a little concerned about the "classist violence" and "body modification" warnings. I suspect this is not all Fun and Games

- "I gotta say, "Hot"Guy, this is pretty disappointing. You can be AverageGuy. MediocreGuy." "Oh! "Guy"!" the best part is this is so in-character for them to do

- the ENTIRE EXPLANATION bit omg. joel trying to interject and comic-style getting talked over, lizzie robbing cats instead of cash... and her backstory...

- i. that sudden style shift is not in fact comical and i am now eyeing the unreality warning at the beginning of the zine with sudden alarm. should i be alarmed by this? maybe this is fine. lets say its fine

- JELLIE! hcing her supername is HotCat. she DEFINITELY needs a matching HotGuy costume. and i am somewhat more reassured!

- wait hold on. went back to that first hotguy comic to see the warnings (hidden in the title, missed them) and. WAIT WAS THAT REWRITING FUCKIN MIND CONTROL

- UNREALITY MINDCONTROL SCOPOPHOBIA AND INJURY??? WAIT HOLD ON IM REREADING THIS

- wait. WAIT THAT PANEL. THAT ONE WHERE JOEL SEES HOTGUY REWROTE THE ANIMAL CONTROL VAN TO BE A MONEY VAN. WAIT A FUCKING SECOND WE ARENT EVEN TEN PAGES INTO THE ZINE AND HOLY SHIT

- joels the only one who can SEE HES DOING THIS SO HOTGUY WRITES HIM OUT. JESUS FUCKIN CHRIST. HOTGUY??? UFHODQPHFWJPFAP AND THEN HE "GOES BACK TO THE DRAWING BOARD" AND FUCKIN REWRITES REALITY TO MAKE HIMSELF SEEM COOLER. BUT REWRITTEN HOTGUY HAS THE SAME PLASTIC EXPRESSION. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THIS IS ONLY ONE COMIC I THINK YOURE LYING ABOUT HIS SUPERPOWER MUTATION WHATEVER

- ALRIGHT SWIFTLY ON. WE WILL EYE HOTGUY WITH CONCERN BUT MOVE ON NONETHELESS

- :0 cuteguy appears! doody did rlly good work on this one!

- CUTEGUY IS AWESOME!!! those WINGS... agh i love comic bubbles they just have so much personality and those icy words... and cuteguy pointing HOTGUYS OWN ARROW back at him..... you could not have made a better introduction holy shit

- and then he just flies off. awesome. we should all aspire to be the same level of cool as cuteguy.

- ren would be able to just say hotguy like that. also sidenote i am hearing all these lines in my head as im reading so writers youve all done fantastically!

- UNIONIZE! UNIONIZE! UNIONIZE!

- is pearl... a journalist? or is this the wrong gal? if she is a journalist then good for her!

- oh :( everyone hates unionizing the vigelantes. sad but realistic :(

- MUMBLR?? DID MUMBO K JUMBO BECOME THE OWNER OF TUMBLR IN THIS AU? DID HE KILL MATT PHOTOSPACE WHOEVER THE CEO OF TUMBLR IS? DID THEY FISTFIGHT TO THE DEATH? THAT HAPPENED RIGHT. THATS THE ONLY THING ILL ACCEPT AS CANON. IN THIS AU MUMBLR IS TRANS-FRIENDLY! 🎉

- sweetferaline (bahm bahm bahhh)

- ok this is incredibly funny. teeth dog ftw

- CHATTER AND M JESUS CHRIST THIS IS NOW THE BEST SEGMENT IN THE ENTIRE ZINE. AMAZING COMEBACK THIS IS SO REALISTIC

- and the reply sections are always a cesspool! glad they got that right

- PIXLRIFFS RUNNING A BLOG ON TUMBLR TO EXPLAIN HERMITOPIA. THIS IS SO IN CHARACTER

- THE MAPLE PRINCE. THE MAPLE PRINCE

- THIS ENTIRE MUMBLR DASH WAS PURE COMEDY GOLD. FIVE OUT OF FIVE STARS & HATS OFF TO THE WRITER

- ARIANA GRIANDE!!!! WOOOOO <3 <3 WE LOVE YOU GRIANDE!!!!!

- and now permit office grian! we are going through so many different iterations of grian... imagine we get poultry man next

- is that GEM??? IS GEM A VILLAIN? also i dont really know who the hippies are... idk its just hard for me to recognize this artstyle ig

- WAIT. HAS GEM BEEN SPYING ON GRIAN'S DETECTIVITY? or am i just reading this all wrong? i might be reading this all wrong

- alright i might have to reread that one-- WAIT MORE MIND CONTROL. AND BODY MODIFICATION??? THE MISSING CUB... guys if this is sculk!cub im gonna maul someone

- AAAA BEHIND YOU HOTGUY (i called it)

- also love how i instantly went "oh a tibbycaps comic!"

- ok i LOVE this panel where they figure out Arson. the way both conclusions are reached in tandem! and also YAY WOOO ARSON THIS BITCH UP 🔥

- OH MY GOD THIS IS HILARIOUS I LOVE HOW THE abrupt cut to disaster WAS DONE IN COMIC FORM

- THAT MERCH DESIGN IN THE NOTES APP ABSOLUTELY FUCKING SENT ME DUDE

- "i use sculk to season my pizza" ah. I see. typical cubfan behavior. carry on

- "None of us are perfect, despite what you say might feel when you look at me" this Bdubs email is SO IN-CHARACTER

- " i replied to some of these but then i kinda got bored and started sending links to cool space facts instead" honestly this is what i would do too. and i would be happy to get cool space facts in return for my hotguy email. i dont see what the issue is here

- oh is cuteguy taking issues with the supernovae. skill issue tbh

- this whole cuteguy-cub email chain is HILARIOUS. scratch that this whole email segment is hilarious jesus christ. grian is being SO BITCHY and im HERE FOR IT

- PEARLIPOP IS A REPORTER! YES! and zedaphs in this au! he isnt even going under wormman??? shocking (< says a zedaph fangirl who is completely fixated on one passing mention of him)

- oh my god this is the best storytelling format ever. the panicked exchanges between cuteguy n cub, pearl reporting as she is wont to do... genuinely i love this so much i am giggling so much im actually gonna stop liveblogging because i just want to read this. ill be with yall in a moment

- actually never mind "if he waits too long to answer it starts to play the whole Lilo and Stitch movie audio" cub i love you so much. hgcz i love you so much i almost forgive you for that very jarring first comic

- it looks like we have seven or so more years before hotguy becomes a reality... new reasons to live. also the chatter discourse is insane from what ive seen doc does just act Like That on twit/chatter

- "sumagram" well i guess we know who owns that now

- :000 HOTCAT APPEARS!!!!! WE LOVE YOU HOTCAT <3333333 EVERYONE GIVE IT UP FOR OUR BELOVED HOTCAT!!!

- THE AWKWARD EXIT. i love it

- I SEE THAT BIG SALMON DONT THINK I DONT

- SHIRTLESS SCAR.... im aroace but like. i can still admire a shirtless man cant i. artist did a good job

- NO YOU DID NOT PUT A LILACS AND POPPIES REFERENCE IN THIS COMIC I AM GNAWING THE ARTIST OF THIS COMIC WITH MY TEETH YOU ARE MAKING ME INSANE DEAR GOD THEY TEAMED UP BUT HOW IS THIS GOING TO END AAAAAA HOTGUY DONT DIE IN THE CACTUS RING PLEASE BUDDY

- CREEPER AW MAN

- horsegirl hotguy... wild stallion cuteguy... someone needs to write this au. i should write this au. actually hold on *scribbles furiously in my "crackfic ideas" notes* carry on

- update: now listening to scheming weasel for atmosphere.

- “Who’s the more foolish: the fool, or the fools who follow him?” stellar line. only a certified HotGuy can produce lines like these

- "after a tick or two" if hermitopians measure time in ticks like minecrafters do then thats such a cool worldbuilding detail

- FOR A MOMENT I THOUGHT THEY WERE GOING TO BURN DOC AND HIS LACKEYS ALIVE. THANK GODS THEY DIDNT

- testing of new weapons montage! i know hotguy is the star of the show here but god i love cub so much more. can cub be the "protagonist" here instead actually

- i. i have suspicions that cub is not sculk-free. or is this a flutterbat situation where it is all dealt with but its not but actually it is but it also kinda isnt? yknow. im gonna write this off as a flutterbat thing but i will still be keeping a very close eye on cub

- *snort* deep enough to hold twelve pieces of bamboo (i am such a sucker for in-jokes)

- grian is warming up to scar... also hotguy bandaids

- AND I GET THAT REFERENCE TOO!! very clever! grian shut up its two in the morning! "Scar doesn’t seem to know how to react, his mouth falling open and then promptly shutting again." same grian why would you bring up the nose hair incident and to an unsuspecting hotguy no less smh learn sone manners

- you know what if grian can learn first aid from the nose hair incident in alaska then scar can get injured in a volleyball incident (i have never watched scar which yes is a skill issue but also if this is also a reference i would not get it). beloved desertduo who cannot lie to save their fuckin lives

- THAT ENDING COMIC IS HILARIOUS. SUCH A SCAR THING TO DO

- alright im gonna take a break from liveblogging rn! i will be back in (my) morning with scheming weasel and a renewed spirit. goodnight yall! <3

[majorproblems77]

Recalled update! So I am here to yell about it for 30 minutes thanks :)

*Scrambling to escape the void that has consumed me over the last few weeks.*

HI, ITS ME

Okay, so we've got a recalled update! Im very excited and have been pouring over this update for a while.

Uni is consuming my life haha.

they are headed towards the castle while having some very important discussions. Mainly, what on earth do we call you all. (Which in its own right I find amusing haha. )

Okay, time for the important things! Recalled and all panels belong to @recalled11 and its wonderful artist @l3ominor. Go check it out!

You can find the comic page here!

Now lets get started because if i dont scream about my blorbo in approximately 5 seconds I'm gonna die

I love group photos of any Calabar, it's awesome to see them all together. And watching fabrics flow is detail that I am obsessed with thank you.

ALSO HIS WIFE AHHHHHHH I LOVE THEM

Its the blorbo, look at hims.

Also i love how chill he is about this. Like, 'oh more problems? Awesome, I needed something to do today' kind of vibe I love it.

Sky's walking stick! I love how inclusive of all sorts of things this AU is i thoroughly enjoy it. He gives me the I can kill you with this walking stick, but also have you met my wife vibes and i love him.

Time and Malon running off like this brings me great joy i love them.

And, sky. Are we talking about your journey or something else cause that's pretty ominous there. foreshadowing? Are we gonna get more about the past of these heroes at one point I'd love to know more about them.

It is a massive Hyrule, espically when you think about just how long it takes to get across each of them in-game. Wild's game it actually takes so long to get across even just Hyrule field.

Time please step back from the edge you're giving me anxiety.

Also backgrounds my beloved. Beautiful i love them.

PFFFFFFT

OMG

When i tell you i was laughing at this for a few minutes i mean it oh my god this is wonderful.

And Malon?! OMG

I find this so damn funny. Its wonderful.

Im so glad everyone is confused it makes this 10x funnier.

(You think when they get to know each other better he'll let Sky/Sun have a go? I would love to see that so much.)

Also seeing Wild smile, Like really smile. The boy deserves the world.

Im glad he's having fun. Its also great to see Zonai tech being used after the events of the 2nd game like this.

Yes, let's step into the wooden box of who knows what together? It'll be fun! :D

Flower, you gotta remember that these people have never seen this sort of thing, please explain.

Like you're doing right now flower? Like you're doing right now?

Everyone is so trusting of this box. I love it.

Just gonna say how GENIUS this is? LIKE A LIFT USING ZONAI WHEELS

I LOVE IT

This tells a lot

Sky is just impressed, look at how happy he is. Wonderful bean

Sun is hanging out, (Is she holding his hand? Thats cute) :D

Captain the professional as always.

Malon and Time are the absolute chaos of the group. Just look at them, Time has obviously never seen something like this and so him being the one who's like basically fallen over here makes so much sense.

Got me cackling again tho, I love this group of idiots a healthy amount.

Them <3

I was thinking about it tho... And the sailcloths they are identical. And we know they are married...

What if the sailcloths are a sign of marriage in this universe? Why else would they both have the same one, down to the blue outline on the edge that is closest to them. Like you give your lover a meaningful symbol to show your love for them, and in Sky's case he made a sailcloth for sun after she made the one he's wearing for him during the events of Skyward sword.

I think its the same one because his one looks significantly bigger than hers, which to me tells of a practical use as well as a decorative or symbolic piece. 332

Like im probably reading too much into this but then again. They are so cute that they would actually do that.

Captain pulling the absolute shenanigans of a group back on track. He is the brain cell of the group you can't change my mind.

HE CALLS HER SUNSHINE AHHHHHH

I LOVE THEM

THESE TWO MEAN EVERYTHING TO ME

Why is everyone in this comic so damn adorable okay, these guys are just cinnamon rolls who saved the world.

Just look at Time's face? You can't tell me he isn't the most cinnamon of the rolls.

AWWWWWWWWW

Have I mentioned how much I love Captain? Cause he is just so chill, but also professional. Professionally chill? Sure.

I can see a stressful situation coming up, and he just is the stoic leader who gets everyone in line and ready to fight the threat.

And flower, Who is just so sweet. I can understand not wanting to be referred to as princess now that their Hyrule is like how it is. I'm surprised this hasn't come up sooner. But it's cute.

Oh the silent princess. How symbolic you are.

I know people are not really into the flower thing but I am, you think we will see some nightshade at one point?

The flower.

The 2 flower heads, one open, one closed, The blue into white. With the yellow detail. It's Flowers colour pallet to a T and I love it. Maybe as we progress through the story we will see pictures of the silent princess again but with a flowering bud or maybe if something bad happens a slightly sad looking one?

I am obsessed with symbolism, so if those become a thing watch this space cause I will be excited about it!

(In fact looking at it I think, the stem in the middle and the yellow on her clothes are colour-matched. A nice detail!)

Okay thats all from me! :D

Have a great day/Night!

[sleepsentry]

Hi hello I just popped by to tell you just how much I absolutely LOVE your art. The dynamic poses, the color, your shapes, you’re very much an inspiration to me for my own art. I was curious if you’d be willing to share your own inspirations/process in drawing? No need to if you don’t feel like it though. Again, thank you for sharing your art with the world.

Gosh, I'm not sure where I'd even start for that...

I don't think I can get into process atm because it changes so much in such tiny ways all the time. I have a basic skeleton of a process, but the rest is all over the place.

As for insperations:

I follow many many artists online and have picked up many small things just from looking at their work and trying to "reverse engineer" their process in my head.

I've noticed I tend to subconsciously "study" artists just by thinking "how do I draw this? Oh this artist drew it that way! Lemme try..." and I do that many many times while drawing.

Example: I look at the way an artist draws hands, then I look at my own hand and try and mimick the position in the artwork.

I study both and try to connect the dots between them. I feel the way my hand moves and the way the bones and muscles flex and relax.

I try and draw broad shapes, then the underlying mechanics of the hand, then I finish things by drawing what we actually end up seeing on the surface.

I dont draw the bones and muscles of a hand and then the skin just to be clear! I just try and keep them in mind as a draw the outlines.

Like a sculpture having a "skeleton" made of two bits or wire. I don't draw the skeleton, I draw the rough blueprint of where everything goes in quick simple lines. Then I build the "clay" on top.

I don't go that in depth every time but it helps to stop and "be more considered" if you have the time and energy.

Now that I think about it, watch sculpting videos!

It's a very similar process to drawing but 3d instead of 2D! I recommend clay sculpture but I'm sure 3d modeling has similar principles too, even if a very different approach overall.

Here are some channels I recommend:

For cute character dioramas with ridiculous fidelity while being very stylised

For impressive fake food that really shows just how much of an illusion art is

For amazing Dino statues with an eye for detail and convincing naturalism

For 2d artists I follow current professional and/or hobby artists, or even old masters who's work is archived in artbooks and social media accounts. All ranging a wide variety or styles, cute, horror, cartoon, realist, ect... and most importantly, the styles wich aren't as easily definable.

The variety of influences is great! As long as you figure out how to pick and dissect the elements that drew you to the work and how to apply your findings to your own work.

My biggest inspirations as a kid where animation (Disney, pixar, ghibli, ect...), manga, Belgian/French comics my dad had as a kid.

I didn't have the patience or means to learn to animate, but these comics had so much life and motion in their panels! I always found American comics really stiff and more difficult to read because of the detail and "realism". I know American comic art can be very expressive and fluid, but for my undiagnosed eye/brain issues...

This:

Was leagues more "readable" than:

They where literally easier to read.

That comic cover takes me a good few seconds to dissect and process, whereas the two examples above it are instant.

I'm terrible at studying from life due to my poor eyesight and spacial awareness issues, also I have ADHD so, not only is the information my eyes are giving to my brain suboptimal, but my brain is also terrible at processing and reconstructing that information.

Also tracing is a valid way of studying btw, that's how I learnt as a tot and it can be great to try and reverse engineer a finished peice and break it down to it's construction.

Obviously it's not the same as building something from scratch but we're talking within the realms of practice.

I also started trying to "re-learn" some art fundamentals in ways that work better for me, and it's been massively helpful.

I'm already working with fuzzy simplified abstractions of the world around me, so it's horrible trying to see accurately and THEN re-simplify it onto paper.

So something that has helped a lot and I mean A LOT with teaching my brain art basics in a digestible, step by step way, has been:

ART ACADEMY for the DS!

It's great for walking you through art fundamentals in a way that is digestible and no where near as overwhelming as just jumping straight in to a massive, complex, digital art programme.

It gets all the fuss of materials and subject and reference out of the way and let's you just focuse purely on the process of making art itself.

THIS:

WAS MADE WITH THIS:

This is the first drawing lesson:

This is the lesson after that:

This is all with the original DS version!

On a tiny screen with very primitive approximations of pressure sensitivity and no opacity or pen size options.

It mimics traditional art making in the sense that you make what you can with what you have and that limitation allows you to focuse on practice rather than get overwhelmed and over correct everything digitally.

These where tiny, crunchy, microcosmic, simplifications of digital art making back in 2009!!!

It's so refreshingly accessible and manageable.

I haven't even started the newer 3ds game that came out.

So if anyone reading is struggling with their art I highly recommend this little art exercise giver! It's helped me a lot.

OK hope that's readable and helpful. ^^

[suckishima]

haikyuu rewatch s01e02

episode 2 wheee. i dont remember the actual details of the rest of season one as clearly as i did episode 1, i think its been 4ish years since ive properly sat down and watched each episode so this will be interesting from here on out, im excited!

lmao interesting that the first thing the camera zooms in on when hinata sees kageyama in the gym for the first time is his shoes??? and then the "karasuno" on his school pe uniform and THEN his face? were his shoes an iconic identifier to hinata?? lmaooo

rules for myself on this (or any tbh) rewatch: never skip the intro songs

i have such a special place in my heart for "imagination." it has unlocked something in my soul

honestly its such a compliment that kageyama remembers hinata, especially when we see into his thoughts a bit here and the things he remembers arent that hinata was some who cried about beating him next time they see each other, but rather he remembers hinatas crazy athletic ability and how much it irked kageyama that hinata wasnt living up to his potential lmao

this is the first indication we get that kageyama doesnt like being called 'king.' in the first ep hinata call him king to his face and kageyama doesnt react at all, but here it bothers him immediately. which of course, makes sense bc The Incident hadnt happened yet when they first met and now it has, but interesting to notice now bc i dont think i caught on to the difference my first time through. i dont think most people would lol and its a nice attention to detail

lmaooo tanaka already making faces

and whyyyy is hinata skirting around like hes trying to herd them like sheep?? ashjaska

hmmm translation error or dialogue error that tanaka is calling all three of them third years? my japanese isnt good enough to tell hmm. just checked the manga panel and its more like hes telling suga to show more 'third year intimidation' rather than including himself in that like the show's subs do. probably a translation thing where it was vague in terms of who it was referring to and that was the interpretation they went with before its confirmed that tanaka is a second year

awww yeah its nice that suga daichi and tanaka remember hinata too!! i wonder if they talked about that match afterwords lmao

"youre way short and sucked bad, but you've got guts!" "thanks!" lmaoooooo

ive never watched the dub but ive seen a few compilation videos and i cant look at this face tanaka's making and think anything other than 'cojones' lmaooo

'youve trained at this with the old ladies' ajkhsajks

waaaahhhh moment of silence for all the beautiful serve/spike pencil sketch animations that we'll never see again. you were so gorgeous and we loved you so much, im sorry youre gone

hinata slides in so quickkkkk for that receive, and ive always loved how slick and epic it looks only for the ball to immediately ricochet up into his face l m a o so good

vp's cinematic cheek ripple and flying wig is just a bonus lol

ooooo more small detail! the shot of the vp's bald head where hinata is surprised kageyama couldnt tell the hair was fake - hinata has all these little red marks on his face where the ball hit him!! nice!

also daichi is so resigned when he takes the wig off his head lmaoo

aww ive never noticed these quick shots of young daichi walking thinking about going to karasuno, cute!

the way they both immediately start begging to be let in and like 'just tell me how to be teammates ill do it!!' they love vb more than anything, they just wanna playy

kajhsaksa and kageyama literally pushing hinata away before declaring that he'll get along with him 😭 bro has no idea how to get along

"let me ask you something. are you actually stupid?" baksjhagsas hes so genuineeee, and hes right aghsajsa

oooooooo yesss love this wide shot of team practicing block follows only to pan out past the bars of the window to show hinata watching from outside yessss

"if i can play volleyball, i'll endure anything" 😭

right.. the unnecessary anime-only shimizu ""fanservice"" shots. furudate would never (and did never). interesting that this sort of thing never really happens again after a certain point. i always wondered if they realized their core audience wasnt here for that kind of thing at all so they dropped it (and bc like i said,,, its not in the manga lmao. the closest thing is the nishinoya/kanoka thing and the saeko/yachi jealousy thing and both of those are 1 for humor rather than sexualization and 2 make sense for the characters whereas this anime moment is literally just the camera being a creep for no reason lol) (you CANNOT convince me it's meant to be kageyama's pov checking her out. possibly hinata would but im still doubtful lol)

the first appearance of tanaka's big ear lmao, love that this becomes a thing whenever he's overhearing

gotta love how passionate kageyama is about being setter, fully talking with his hands lol

how did i not fall in love with tanaka sooner, i thought he was so weird and meh my first time through. i was so wrong lmao. look at him initiating them to come early to use the gym, and showing up TWO HOURS early himself with the keys??? i love himm

okay thats about it for this one, lots of fun this ep! i always forget how ridiculous the wig part is lmao, the series loses a bit of that completely over the top silliness as it goes on, but it gains humor in other ways just through the character dynamics that feel a bit more real imo so not a real loss personally

[exquisitelyrandom]

hi i know one of them is kinda old but if you're okay with it i would love to do a fic of either of these tacophone comics of yours, maybe even both (with credit ofc)

https://www.tumblr.com/exquisitelyrandom/690825927273463808/draw-something-tacophone-related-and-if-you-dont

https://www.tumblr.com/exquisitelyrandom/713112801221263360/angst-because-the-sillies-are-on-my-mind-again

oh my god ofc you can w credit holy sh

YES!!!! AAUGQHZHHQ I'D LOVE FOR YOU TO!!!!! yuo have no idea how much I've been looking for reading content of them plsplspslsplspls

btw where would you be posting the story? I'd love to read it,, if you do make a fic of them, please tag me/send me a link!! ^^

going into small detail abt the ideas behind the comics below because im insane abt them vvv

they're actually very similar to each other so they may as we 🐝 connected/have the same situation lmao

first comic is leaning more on mic's. side

;After getting into the hotel, she's. absolutely miserable but keeps trying to pretend she's fine (she is not). Of course, Soap and the others notice her mood and one of them eventually get to talk to her about it. But even as she does open up, she never outs Taco. Ever. And blames it on the contest. Soap/Whoever confronted her knows it isn't true, but doesn't push further. After the talk, Mic basically just sits there and contemplates, before deciding """past is past""". Eventually, she starts thinking about the whole thing less, and she's smiling a lot more the next few days/weeks. Er. Until. That one night.

The second comic - or, in both comics - , here's Taco's side

There was actually gonna be more similar..things.. in both of the panels i put up above,, but i decided they'd look too similar to each other so Taco looks angrier in the second one

It all starts when Mic walks through the portal. Yeah. She didn't expect that. Taco's not someone to be caught off guard; her moves are calculated, and she knows the outcome of something even before it had a chance to start. She's memorized the puzzles and patterns on an object's mind, knows how to use it to her advantage - knows how to manipulate it into what she needs it to do. So why was it that she..?

She's teleported to their little spot, and her emotions are. overwhelming. At first, she feels.. sad. Distraught. Distraught that Mic left. Then, she feels.. angry. Angry at Mic for even leaving without any further word. Angry at Mic to have the AUDACITY to blame ..her. And she's angry.. at herself. Then, she's sad again. Her mind goes back to the words Microphone last spoke to her, and it stings, just as much as when she first heard them, if not more. She sits on the log -[soft thud]- oh, nevermind, she's on her knees in the soft grass, head in hands. She grips her shell tight and tries to shout, to let out the scream that's been trying to claw its way out of her throat, to get all of the overwhelming thoughts out of her head, but all she can manage is a choked sob, her throat tightening as she curled into herself.

And I'm only now realizing I'm getting WAY too carried away so fast forward everyone:

Taco thinks back on all the mistakes she's made, and back at one of her.. biggest mistakes yet. And, after a while, she decides she's done running, and she's not letting her slip from her grasp that easily. Not again. Not like him.

So, she writes, and writes, and writes, and writes. Until, after over fifty crumpled papers and about three half empty cups of - now cold - tea, she's finished. A letter to Microphone. She spilled her heart out on it, not leaving a single detail on everything she's done, opening herself up completely to the object never expected to break down years worth of built up walls. She's a little hesitant as she sends it to the hotel's mail, and then she waits.

She doesn't respond. Its not the first time. She takes a deep breath. No, she's not letting it faze her. She needs Mic to see she's being genuine. Why couldn't you be genuine from the start? When she most needed you to be?

She sends another letter, this time, directly into her room. She drops it through the little window, and she runs off before anyone notices her. A week passes. She doesn't respond again. She doesn't give up. She sends another letter, and another, and another, and another..

Two months has passed since then - has it really been that long? - And she's on the floor, miserable. The cracks have gotten worse and she can barely see with her right eye, she can barely stand, and her knees feel weak. Her head feels heavy, and her mind goes back to quiet picnics, white bowties and purples hues. And it just.. hurts. It hurts. It hurts, so much and she doesn't want it to. It hurts, and she's angry. Angry at herself for even considering to leave Microphone after they get the million. She's angry at herself for not paying attention to what may have caused the whole thing. Angry at herself slipping up the one good thing she had.

Did you ever have her?

She's angry at herself for being the reason Microphone left.

She feels lightheaded, yet her head feels heavy. And she's so, so tired.. she blacks out

The next thing she knows, she's on her way to ..hotel oj.

Uh oh

so um when I said "small detail" i may have.. lied HEJHSJQJZNNQJXN I WAS GENUINELY GOING TO JUST DESCRIBE MY IDEA FOR THE COMIC IM OSRRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY i had many things to say about tacoy

YOU DONT HAVE TO FOLLOW THROUGH W THE PLOT I'd love to see ur take on the comic!! Ignore my gay little writings hehr

[gangstalia]

hi hetalia fandom how are we doing Btw gangs talia au germany exists and i love him so much himaruya drew him so cunty like Boy………. hima drew his tits so defined i know the au came out like 3 months ago but i am still obsessed with germany as if his design came out 3 seconds ago???????? i really like how hima drew his whole face n hair its just aahhhbbbb i don’t know what i like about it but i know i do love it

also i said this already but HIS BODY??? his body is so tea holy shit . peep him on the top right of the first image/panel like ???? i know he’s stretching but HIS SIDEEEE👅👅👅 ouughhh he’s so big /nsx im so normal about him . and then the little page we get where he’s wet in the rain??? i don’t think i need to explain why i like it but i will Um anyway everything. let me start with his HAIR oh my God his HAIR is crave more scenes either in the anime or in the manga where his hair is down and i m so happy himaruya delivered with this many months ago and then his face OIUYGGHH there is something about germany’s constantly serious and or stern face that makes me go Crazy but in this little page specifically it does Things to my brain …… and then i think it’s obvious why i like his clothes and or body but like yayyyy i love it when his curves if you could call it that? maybe it’s not curves nvm maybe like. his muscles yeah that is a better word ^_^ i love it when his muscles are exaggerated or just shown more (e.g tight clothes/no clothes as in like a shirt off or something) and maybe it’s just cause i am very very new to the fandom so i haven’t experienc3 it yet but has anyone ever talked about how amazing germany’s legs are . like i dont expect every post to be praising or loving on germany /gen but idk if its ever been talked about and if it hasn’t then i will talk about how much i want to be crushed like that spoon america abolished with his bare hands in world stars anime but instead of americas hands and with a spoon i want it to be germany’s horribly thick thighs and with my head or just any part of me. i would let him shatter my lifeblood and very soul with those plump legs on him. and for a less vulgar explanation i would totally put a pillow case around his both of his entire legs and lay on his thighs to use them as pillows for the night. will the pillows be warm? yes. will i enjoy it thus one time? more than yes. imagine an even squishier pillow than the one u have rn OUUGHHHH i love his legs. i want him to do a wall sit/imaginary chair exercise and i will spot him by putting my entire weight on his voluptuous thighs .

also i like the smile/smug look he has on the last image it’s so cute

[girlofwonder]

wanted to re-read wonder woman #5 to get panels to edit.. but i can't get through it. this is gonna go down as one of the worst iterations of either character ever…. rant below: spoilers obviously.

the only good thing about this run is that the amazons are gorgeous. tom king keeps pushing this idea that the amazons are spiteful & hateful towards each other & do nothing but fight like they haven’t been… established as the pinnacles / stepping stones of peace & compassion for 70 years; like they don't constantly uplift each other even during / with their differences. the inconsistencies are insane. like diana would disrespect someone she’s called SISTER & FRIEND like that. like she would FIGHT her sister WILLINGLY. like diana would hate having a sidekick whilst also being the reason yara has that fucking tiara on her head & being the reason why donna & cassie got a second-chance at family & community. & like yara would disrespect the beacon of peace she's trying to live up to one day.

everyone is just so out of character for the sake of 'shock value' & this is piss-poor excuse of a gender - war but it's not even good nor shocking. ( & we’re not even going to get into the random ass language change bc… we can all see a white man’s writing from a mile away right ? like we know.. )

i do not understand why he was given this title in the first place.. when he has expressed LOUDLY that he didn't want to write nor likes wonder woman nor her fans. & then he's allowed to take a crack at ALL THE WONDERFAM & write them all POORLY. like???

LIKE WHAT???? ARE??? WE???? TALKING???? ABOUT????? OLD FOOL???? OLD LADY???? HUH????? YARA BLEEDING FROM AN ARROW WHEN SHE HAS THICKER SKIN THAN THAT?

DIANA GLOATING???? I DONT GET IT. ITS SO DISAPPOINTING.

[thenixkat]

[This Post contains spoilers for the end of Dungeon Meshi]

Chapter 97, pg 8

[ID: A panel from Dungeon Meshi showing Chilchuck (short humanoid in a dark top), Izutsumi (cat person; only the back of her head is visible), and Laios (tall humanoid, in this panel depicted as fat as an imagined scenario) with the words 'Human's Body' behind his head.

Chilchuk says, "That means you're gonna gain a ton of weight,"

Izustumi continues, "Because your body is still human." /End ID]

Oh no. SO tragic. Our hero might get a bit fat from having an insatiable demon appetite. Truely we should be worried about him putting on some weight and not rupturing his organs due to eating more than his stomach can hold b/c he literally can't feel full.

[ID: A panel from Dungeon Meshi showing Senshi (bearded humanoid wearing a horned helmate) talking to Chilchuck with a distressed Laios in the foreground.

Senshi says, "We need to closely monitor his food intake from now on so that things dont get out of hand."

He also says, tho the words are in the background of the panel and partly obscured, "Obesity is the result of an unhealthy lifestyle and it is a contributing factor to a number of diseases."

Laios says, "Wait just a second..." /End ID]

Ok. Cool. Cooool. Cool. Yes yall should be monitoring Laios' intake to make sure he doesn't become obese (which in Laios' case with his current overweight BMI would only mean gaining about 30 or so more pounds) b/c we don't want him to get fat b/c that's harmful to his health automatically in every context because being fat is bad and unhealthy always. And not b/c he could literally rupture an organ and very quickly die b/c he can't feel full.

Cool. Cool. Remember folks to have a good relationship with food, eat properly, get in moderate exercise, and don't be fat. That's a great message to end this on.

But also if Senshi is so knowledgeable of the dangers of obesity, why doesn't he change his unhealthy lifestyle, monitor his food intake better, and drop some weight himself. Since, with that BMI of 36 his ass is obese. Class II obese even.

Come on Senshi, you can reduce. Drop all that fat. Trim the excess muscle. Reduce the density and thickness of your bones. Come on, you can achieve a healthier BMI for someone your height and age if you try hard enough.

[magnoliasandbeardedtooth]

@heeheehoohoobeans

under a readmore cause this got long again haha whoops

disclaimer that this is not a STUDIED theory, just my feelings on the universe, and so its probably not going to encompass every detail. a lot of this game is intentionally very up to interpretation, and this is just mine

personally my feelings on how the head housemaiden describes the wish that keeps sending sif back arent as strong as what I mentioned in the first part of this post. the phrasing "broken, failing, rotting" is used in one of the comics that isat comes from, so it predates who knows how much of the game / story development. theres a chance the phrasing is very specific and intentional, theres also the chance the dev kept it because, frankly, its cool as fuck.

in accordance with this theory, though, heres what I think.

The head housemaiden clearly doesnt actually know whats happening. She doesnt notice anything wrong until the last second, and she has a completely inaccurate idea about why exactly time keeps resetting. None of her lines (that I remember) really serve to directly further the knowledge of the world and how it works. Rather, it seems like her main function is to serve as the skipping record that triggers sif's loop at the end, and to deliver lines that take on a loaded meaning with more context later.

Which is why I dont take her description of "broken, failing, rotting" toooooo literally? None of the other information she gives about the wish is very accurate, so why should that be the one thing thats correct?

What I think is happening with her is that she is very skilled at sensing craft, like how sif can sense a frozen person around the corner, or how Mira can sense everyone in vaugarde unfreezing. Theres the possibility that she can also sense some of the mechanics of the wish, or maybe even the ghosts sif leaves behind.

The wish that sends sif back in time is powered by his desire to stay with his family. The moment he talks to the head housemaiden is the moment that defines the end of their journey, and so is also the moment where he is most desperate to cling to that desire. I believe whats happening is that she can sense the craft that powers the wish begin to come together, can tell what kind of craft it is and what its going to do, draws the conclusion that its happening because the people of dormont did something to corrupt the wish (which we know is inaccurate), and in a panic, apologizes about it to sif. I think she can sense it the "first" time sif gets to her because his desire to stay with his family and the wish to make it happen are there already. He doesnt need to be insane or tortured for it to happen, this whole story takes place because it was already there to begin with.

And like a few of her other lines, the description of "rotting" comes to take on more meaning as sif deteriorates. Its not just a way to describe the fact that somethings wrong with the world anymore. As sif becomes more conflicted, it also describes his whole emotional state, and the inner conflict of wanting to give up on his wish vs his dependence on it to stay with his family.

So to answer "is the 'rotting' the wish or the universe," I think its neither. In my mind, literally, its a misconception the head housemaiden comes to, and figuratively, it's sif's emotional state, which directs the wish.

technically they are both part of the universe, but you know what I mean

edit I didnt remember while writing this whole thing that the line "broken failing rotting" is mentioned in euphrasie's breakdown, which, in the context of this theory, makes its use very intentional

in that case, I think the universe is talking about the wish. not really the mechanics of it, but its fuel, its control panel, sif's desire to be with his family, is broken, failing, rotting

I still believe when euphrasie says it, shes sensing something wrong in general and is trying her best to describe something she cant understand. when the universe says it, its talking about sif

thinking about the relationship between sif and the universe, and related theories / headcanons aka I listened to a song and I need to get these feefees out of me

this is a lot of prelude for something that can be shown with just the video clip, but I want to include all the strings that make up this knot

Its not explicitly stated, but I believe it's pretty clear that whenever sif repeats something three times while hoping for something (sharpening the keyknife, carving in general, praying to the change god statue in dormont), he is performing wish craft.

however, he doesnt repeat anything three times when getting the keyknife. he doesnt even need to pray to get it at all, the change god just gives it to him. they say themselves that they dont care for rituals. they never even take credit for the stat buff, they only take credit for the keyknife

when sif changes how they pray at the change god statue, their method more strongly resembles the ritual to make a wish at the favor tree (picking the one you like best), and as a result the buff gets better. it is the wish craft ritual that is the important part of the prayer to that statue, not the change god

one thing that IS explicitly stated is just how powerful wish craft is for those who know the rituals, and how dangerous it is in the wrong hands. between the disappearance of colors (Im pretty sure that was the result of a wish, I may be misremembering), the disappearance of the country, and the king being nearly successful in freezing all of vaugarde in time, it only takes one wish to take out massive chunks of the world at a time

we know that wish craft is very entwined in the culture of the country (the story written about in the journal is told as a cautionary fairy tale, the rituals themselves are so deeply ingrained in sif that the wish to forget the country did not restrict his memory of the rituals, and he can perform wish craft without even being fully aware he is doing it)

it seems reasonable to me that the reason for the country's disappearance was to hide the existence of wish craft and the rituals to access that power from the rest of the world. considering sif didnt even remember his culture AND had good intentions, and still nearly ended the world, seems like that concern is pretty well founded. however, thats not the important theory Im making this post about

the country has knowledge of wish craft in conjunction with worship of the universe. "the universe leads, we can only follow," "the universe willed it," seems pretty safe to say that sif's Universe is the "entity" that is granting wishes

the way wishes are described, they dont seem like something the universe grants based on who worships it. as long as you know the ritual, you get the wish. everyone is part of the universe, after all, worshiper or not

Admittedly, its a bit of a stretch to say that the universe as a collective force has any sense of empathy for human struggles. but using the change god as an example, as spiteful as they are to sif, and unsympathetic to anything other than a human's role in the concept of change, they still show a great deal of care and favor to mira, someone who loves them. it is possible for a deity to care for those that care about it

sif, despite no longer having access to his culture or why he cares about the universe, still loves the universe, very very deeply, just as much as mira loves change. the change god says that sif's deity will never answer him, but I dont think thats the case

and this is the important headcanon that I am making this post for

sif is performing the rituals, so he gets the wishes, simple as. but I feel strongly that his wishes getting granted in very small but noticeable ways, despite not knowing how or why hes doing it, is the presence of his universe helping him, caring for him, even when he doesnt remember it

the strongest evidence for this, and the basis for this whole thing, is exactly how euphrasie breaks down in act 5

at first I only really noticed when she laughs, it reminded me very much of how the change god, a being who uses sprites of other characters and has done a whole possession, laughed during their encounter. they and euphrasie are the only two that use anything other than "ha," and right after this laugh is when her breakdown pauses and she says the lines

"... Soon you'll be able to go back to your normal lives. Away from battle and strife. Finally, you'll all be able to go home!!!"

which, knowing the end of the game is coming, is incredibly relevant. very deliberate

before this pause, her breakdown seems pretty chaotic. the characters and the player are just coming out of one harrowing experience, and are clearly headed for another. the cohesiveness of this glitchy breakdown amongst a mess of the rest of the world doing the same isnt really high up on the list of priorities. none of the characters notice anything beyond the fact that reality is breaking, not even sif. it just sounds like scary nonsense.

but with the context of euphrasie being possessed to talk to sif, every single one of her lines makes perfect sense

(footage from Zhain Gaming on yt)

the universe is there its talking directly to him, it was there the whole time

the Universe loves Sif so much

[winderlylandchime]

3/3 and then Randy said him and gale talked about it a little while ago ‘oh? You talked about prom a LITTLE while ago? WHY CANT THESE CONVERSATIONS HAPPEN IN PLACES I CAN VIEW?! Wait the high schoolers were real AND homophobic? Man..fuck them kids. EVERYONE BASHED HIM IN THE FACE? I remember Michael doing it but everyone? They had my man do 70 takes just so the crew could get in a hit..nice’ ‘straight women were the ones who watched the show? Suddenly I dont feel so alone. (Ron mentions women/children thing) ah fuck, i dont have kids. I just stuck around for those two’ Here is where they mentioned a reboot and I have never seen this man get up so fucking fast ‘HUH? *he starts laughing like a madman and turns to me and goes* please rewind and watch Gale, he looks like he’d rather be dead. Look how he smiles at Peter. But he will have to suck it the fuck up because I HAVE PLANS FOR THEM! Oh Blondie also looks like he’d rather be dead. Once again I HAVE PLANS SO DEAL WITH IT.’ Ron makes the new cast joke ‘I DONT FUCKING THINK SO! See! Peter is there to humble them. No, no grandpa, i have plans! You shush!’ Ron talked about how its great if youre married or not and that doesnt make you less and he paused it and went ‘Then why in the fuck did you keep everyone in Brian and Justin’s business? Why the fuck did i have to watch that fucking proposal? I will fight you grandpa! I dont like them’ ‘i wonder how Gale’s parents felt about him being Brian..especially cause you know cult.. Is there any other Gale interview I can watch? I miss him already’ they are now talking about how they decided to end after S5 ‘SIX SEASONS?! So they couldve fixed that finale? But chose not to? Or end it at bike ride! That was good enough. Why did they decide to make me suffer’ peter than mentioned renegotiating contracts and he paused it and went ‘Ohhh now i wonder how they were paid. Do you think it was equal? Like how Friends did it where they all got together cause David suggested it? Or were Gale and Randy paid more cause theyre leads? Imagine what all sent on behind the scenes, im usually not nosy but thats because social media gives me access to everything’ and then the host said a lot of fans wanted the wedding and he paused it and yelled ‘WHO THE FUCK WANTED THAT?! People actually liked that? Like for real? Not in a sarcastic haha way? The fuck?’ He was so offended. And now they’re finishing the panel with Britin obviously seeing each other and the poem ‘sweetheart, there was no other option than for them to still see each other but Brian couldve gone with him because that was his dream too you old grandpa! *rons starts fangirling about Britin traveling* oh fuck, he is me. That is me. (Ron starts talking about only time and reads the poem) i liked that Only Time line. That was nice, it hurt like a motherfucker and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since but it was nice. Shakespeare? *ron finishes the poem and my brother nods his head, lifts his cast a little like his usual fist thing and whispers* Shakespeare.’ And then he went back to watch the poem again and he saw Gale hunched over watching ron and he goes ‘oh that man is obsessed with Shakespeare, huh? OR he too thinks the finale was shit..i prefer the second option’ And then the panel ended and he goes ‘so basically, Gale and Randy just came to this thing to show everyone that theyre still pretty and to sit there and laugh at Peter. I support that’

Afterwards as a little treat, I did show him the clip of Randy whispering ILY. And he fucking lost his mind. He watched it like 5 times and went ‘how did we get from THIS to shy as fuck?Who do I have to fight? Who hurt my boys? This shit was the most adorable shit I’ve ever seen! WHY ISNT THERE MORE INTERVIEWS WITH THEM?’ And after that he went through every recommended video on youtube. And that’s how he found out about the 2018 reunion…

The belief that it was straight women making up the audience pisses me off because so many queer women and AFAB folks love this show. MAYBE it’s because the straight women were the ones crossing boundaries at the cons asking inappropriate questions because queer women would NEVER (queer women don’t let me down, let’s maintain the 4th wall, mm’kay?)

END AT THE BIKE RIDE. Yes, I have always said this. Your brother and I are on the same wavelength!

The clip of Randy whispering ILY is everything.

I am loving this!! Sorry I’m not writing more, I’m doing this in the midst of absolute chaos lol. There’s a dog barking and a bunch of people having conversations.

[just-some-random-blogger]

i wont go home without you

Jay Park x Idol!Reader

Summary: Jay has had a crush on you for years, but you were always too busy or out of reach for him. But now that he's got you walking around his company because of your collaboration with Simon Dominic & Mokyo, he thinks it's a good time as ever to get the show on the road.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: Pining, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: idk why i felt really inspired to write this but here you go! I hope you enjoy it @bird-pinkxx lol i hope i dont have too many typos i havent gone through this yet.

I open the door and poke my head inside the studio. I break into a smile when I see Ssam-D and Mokyo staring into the bright screen wordlessly while arranging some .

"Ooohhh, so serious," I tease as I walk in. The two turn to me and I hold up some iced coffee drinks, "want to spill this all over the mixing panel?"

Mokyo chuckles while Simon Dominic clicks his tongue, "ya, you really know how to drive Jay nuts."

I knit my brows as I hand them the beverages, "this has literally nothing to do with him, but okay."

"Ya, everything you do here has everything to do with him. He owns the floor you're standing on."

I narrow my eyes at him, "okay? What do you want me to do, levitate?"

Mokyo snorts at that as he gets his share and passes Ssam-D the other, "he's trying to be a wingman for Jay." He sips on his drink, "he came in a minute ago, thinking you were here, then played it off and left when you weren't."

"Right," Ssam-D agrees, sipping on his drink, "he's so stupid when he's around you. It was cute at first," Kiseok sighs, "now it's so annoying."

I purse my lips and shrug, "again... not sure what I'm supposed to do with that information."

Kiseok takes a big gulp then pulls the straw away from his lips, "what do you think of him anyway?"

"Wah," I shake my head and raise my hands, "I think he's Jay Park."

Mokyo makes a dramatic pained sound and places a hand on his left rib cage. I raise a brow at that and narrow my eyes. I proceed to shove him just as he's about to take a sip. He pulls his cup away and looks at me with wide eyes, "Ya! What would you did if this gets on the equipment?!"

I click my tongue and give him a look, "make Jay daddy pay for it, obviously."

Kiseok wheezes and cackles at that , nearly shooting out of his seat in amusement. I break into a chuckle as Mokyo snorts.

"But seriously, I don't you like him, even just a little bit?" Kiseok inquires.

I take a moment to respond, "I mean, we don't really talk much and I personally don't like guys who can't even admit they like me, you know."

Kiseok nods his head slowly at that. Mokyo agrees, "Fair."

The three of us brainstorm and talk about our ideas and vision for our collaboration. We've been going through stuff all day now and only just had a break. For a while, we take turns discussing our thoughts, then we begin to freestyle verses.

Having had a eureka moment, I am promptly told to go into the booth and record the tune we suddenly thought of.

I walk into the room, put the headphones on and practice the bars we got. I pull out my phone and go over the lyrics we made. I repeat it a couple times and do some spontaneous riffs.

"Wah!" I hear an exclaim.

I look outside the booth and see their looks of astonishment. Mokyo chimes in, "can you repeat that again?"

"This one?" I ask and proceed to repeat what I did last.

I am quickly praised and encouraged.

The minutes melt like seconds as I'm singing my heart out to this improv. I have only one side of the headphones against my ear and I close my eyes as I throw my head back and belt.

I nod each time I get a signal to repeat, redo, or tweak something but keep my eyes fixed on my phone, typing away the pointers I'm given.

By the time I'm done, I finally look out the booth and shape my hands into a heart. Only then do I notice Jay is outside smiling back at me with the other two in his label.

"Great job," Kiseok praises, raising a thumb, " I got chills when you did the riffs."

Mokyo agrees and so does Jay. I break into a laugh and shake my head, but nonetheless thank them.

I turn to Jay, who was already looking at me, "oh, you're here? When did you come in?"

"In the best moment, I think, when you were going over the end of the verse," he says with a grin.

"Oooh, I really like that part too."

Simon Dominic and Mokyo exchange looks, the former clears his throat, "yeah. I think we're good for today. We can contine tomorrow."

I nod, placing a hand on my belly, "I'm starving. It feels like I didn't have lunch."

Concerned, Jay's eyebrows quirk, "you didn't have lunch?"

"No, I said it feels like it," I click my tongue, "I had lunch, but these two stayed back and recorded some rap lines."

Jay lets out a breath. Mokyo defends himself, "we ate a big breakfast!"

I roll my eyes, "and you should have ate your shoes while I ate a sandwich for lunch."

"How about we," Jay raises his hands and claps them together, "all have dinner together? My treat."

The two of them instantly agree but I don't, which is why all eyes fall on me. I hesitate, "I don't know."

"Ah ya," Kiseok scolds, "you're not going to skip dinner on my watch."

"Trust me I won't. I just have an early schedule tomorrow and I know you'll all be drinking and I'd rather not drink and be shitfaced the next day."

Jay doesn't miss a beat when he responds, "I won't drink either."

The three of us turn to him. Mokyo snorts. Kiseok calls him out.

I take a moment to respond before ultimately shrugging and agreeing.

On our way to the restaurant, Jay does nothing but compliment me as he drives. Although the three of us decided to sit back and make it look like Jay was our driver, he didn't mind and still went out of his way dote about everything, from my appearance, to my singing, to my career, to my personality, to downright things that he probably only just thought of in the spur of the moment, like being able to put up with Simon Dominic and Mokyo at the same time.

I mean, I don't know what they're like around him but they aren't that insufferable.

We promptly arrive to a restaurant and walk in.

We arrive at a table and Jay pulls out my chair for me. I thank him, adding a polite smile.

"Ya," Kiseok kicks Jay after helping me sit down, "quit it. It's too much."

Jay turns to him and breaks into a chuckle, "ya, you're the one who said our vocal star likes dudes who are upfront about their emotions and I'm about to show everyone just how upfront I can get."

Mokyo sighs and sits down next to me.

Jay turns to him, "Ya."

I turn to Jay and Ssam-D, "of course you two talked about me."

Kiseok clicks his tongue in annoyance, "the idiot won't shut up about it. I had to throw him something."

The two sit down. Jay decides to sit in front of me after Mokyo's adamance to staying in his seat.

"So," Jay leans in, elbows resting on the table, "are you seeing anyone?"

I snort. The other two collectively groan.

"I'm sure you can be seen just fine," says Mokyo.

I can't help but mirror Jay's actions though, placing my elbows on the table, "I'm not."

Jay dramatically leans back and places a hand on his chest, "wah, my heart just skipped a beat after being so near your pretty face."

Mokyo is disgusted. Kiseok is oddly endeared and can't help but grin at the interaction.

I decide to jest, "Too bad the feelings aren't mutual."

Jay leans forward and taps the table with his finger, "how do I make the feelings mutual then?"

"Good evening, are you ready to order?"

We turn to the waitress and I break into a smile, "Chicken and ice cream."

Jay firmly pats the table then points, "okay, chicken and ice cream for my future lover."

"That's it," Mokyo pushes himself back and stands, "I'm fucking leaving."

"Ya, Choi Myung-hwan," I turn to him and catch his shirt in my fist, "sit down."

Mokyo sits down.

Jau randomly blurts, "that was hot."

It's Kiseok's turn, "Ya!" he breaks into a chuckle but then makes an annoyed sound, "how was that hot."

Jay doesn't spare him a look and smacks his lips, "well a hot person said it."

For the first time in our banter, I find my cheeks tingle at his comment. I clear my throat and motion to the lady standing by our table, "ya, she's been waiting for our order for five years."

The rest of the night continues like this. Jay says something cheesy, the two grow more annoyed, and I grow a little bit more willing to hear him out more.

By the time we finish eating, Jay purposefully calls out that he's only driving me home. I'm about to protest, but the two quickly agree that there was no way they were going to listen to Jay's compliments for me any longer.

The lack of people present in the ride back, partner with me now sitting in front out of courtesy made the first few moments of the drive a little awkward. Jay was quick to lighten up the mood though.

"Now, imma be real with you," Jay says, eyes fixed on the road as he makes a turn, "you drive me insane cause I have to actually will myself to be confident around you. You get it? I will myself to be confident."

I turn to him as he says this.

He continues, "I don't know what it is about you. Maybe the fact I've know you for a long time and yet we don't really talk, or maybe it's cause every time I see you have another great comeback after another great comeback and you just look prettier than ever."

I bring my hand to my lips in an attempt to hold back a smile.

Jay turns to me and catches this, chuckling at that, "gosh you don't know how elated I am to have you finally acknowledge my presence."

"Ya. Why are you acting like I've been ignoring you?"

Jay raises a brow, "well I couldn't get one good conversation out of you before, so it's just as good as being ignored."

I roll my eyes, "so dramatic."

Jay scrunches his nose, "so cute. Gah. A big part of my brain is yelling that I shouldn't go home without you but I don't play like that-- unless you want to, of course."

I clear my throat and cross my arms, "save that for another time."

I am taken aback by Jay suddenly bursting out laughing and gripping his fists in victory, "hell yeah! Here's to another time coming soon!"

[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.