#i think that opening of the pilot is the closest they came to showing it on screen and didn't really communicate just how wild it is

[imunbreakabledude]

lol also they really keep serving #maevecrumbs in gen v and they definitely are not making me STOP thinking there's some grander purpose to them... like... she has been referenced more times now than homelander or any of the rest of the seven, huh? am i insane? is this coincidence or is this truly a case of law of conservation of detail they are trying to remind us that she exists?

i love being delusional but more than that i love how the show continues to explicitly affirm that she's on footing with Homelander in terms of strength lol

#queen maeve #tbh even though her super-jump power was referenced on the show #i think that opening of the pilot is the closest they came to showing it on screen and didn't really communicate just how wild it is #compared to sam's jump in tonights episode #so now picturing she could do that too i mean damn #who needs to fly tbh #she shoulda just jumped up to flight 37 let her cook #queen maeve sp #gen v #gen v spoilers #yes i do go check the x ray trivia after each ep now to see if there is anything about maeve #its paranoia ingrained in me after i missed 2 (relatively speaking) important facts about maeve's backstory from the main show that were #only in the x ray facts

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 3

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Plus size!reader

Summary: You're new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: cursing, maybe. I don't think anything else. Sorry if there are typos.

Words: 1720

The One I Want Masterlist

---

Jake Seresin is a wizard. Or a mind-reader. Or some creature with wildly sensitive hearing. You’re sure of it. 

In the month since you moved into the apartment, your only moments alone come when you lock yourself in your bedroom. Otherwise, Jake is near you—sitting next to you, looking at you, talking to you. If your door opens, he follows not five seconds later. If you sit down at the island with your breakfast of bland cereal, he enters the kitchen within two minutes to prepare his own meal; the same meal every morning. Eggs, Canadian bacon, and a protein shake. If you dare to switch the television on, turns out he’s been meaning to watch that show for weeks. You had no idea he was into movie special effects competitions. 

It isn’t irritating, exactly—though, it wouldn’t shock you if others experiencing similar treatment would feel that way. You just can’t figure him out. He’s unfigure-outable. You’re pretty sure that’s a thing. If not, Jake Seresin just brought it into existence. And here you thought you were the mystery. 

“So I was thinking,” he says. 

You close your book without a second thought, having barely read and retained a line in the last fifteen minutes anyway. From the moment he came out of his room and plopped down on the couch—his leg bouncing and eyes trained ahead on nothing—you’ve been waiting for him to snap the tense band of silence between you.

His fingers clasp together, thumbs subtly twiddling when he finally looks over to you. “Maybe you could meet my friends. They’ve asked about you, and you’ve already met Nat so it’s really only the guys.”

That was perhaps one of the last things you imagined he would say. You’ve heard very little of his friends. They’re also pilots. His team. They all have weird nicknames. Half of those nicknames are animals. 

There are other tidbits Jake casually mentioned as well. Coyote is his closest friend. There’s a Rooster who recently found himself a chick. A Bob and a Phoenix—who you learned is Nat—are particularly attached. 

But every bit of that information you figured he was simply spilling to fill moments where you were in the same room but not speaking. Or perhaps it’s some method to draw out feelings of trust so you might participate in his little game of show and tell. In his eyes is always the hope that you’ll share something of your own, but you have yet to find the courage or need to do so. 

“Oh,” you reply, trying to gather the correct words to turn him down. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not really up to meeting a group of people today.”

You hate the way his face falls. Like a puppy denied a treat. But it lasts only a second as another thought brightens the green hue of his irises. 

“What if we went somewhere? You and me.”

“What?”

His body shifts on the couch, more of him now facing you. He’s wearing a shirt today. He’s been wearing shirts around you since you made the request weeks ago, but they’re weak at disguising the body underneath. Thin fabric pulled tight like a second skin. 

“You said no bars,” he continues. “How do you feel about diners?”

—

It’s an odd image—Jake framed in this setting. He’s all lean muscle and neatly styled hair with a clean-shaven jawline surrounded by greasy food and booths so old their plastic seats are cracking. As others watch him—particularly the hostess who cannot for her life keep from glancing his way every thirty seconds—he watches you. Says nothing; just watches until the waitress returns to set a few plates and mugs in front of you both. 

“There you go, kids,” she says. She’s older, and her hair is done up in a style that hasn’t followed the turning of the decades, but you like that it suits her; that she hasn’t paid attention to the change around her, or simply doesn’t care. With her hands on her hips, she says, “Now Jake, if I knew you were bringing a girlfriend I would’ve set aside some of that pie you like.”

Your eyes bug so much they could’ve fallen right onto the table, but Jake chuckles, smiling at you before directing it to the waitress. “Don’t spook her, Mags,” he teases. Then, “This is my new roommate.”

Her lips form an ‘O’ that holds for a few seconds too long before she blinks and tilts her head to the side. “Didn’t work out with the other one, honey?”

“Not so much, no.”

“Well, that’s just fine. I wasn’t a fan.” Mags takes a breath and straightens out her little apron; a costume element you’d rather die than wear, but much like her hair, Mags seems to take pride in it. You can’t fault her for that. You wish you could find a job you enjoy. Or a job at all. She shoots you a grin; nothing like the rehearsed smiles from someone in a customer service job, but a genuine curve of the lips that creates a warm little ball in your chest. “You, on the other hand, look like such a sweetheart. So be good to my Jake here.”

You don’t have the opportunity to disappoint her because she doesn’t wait for a response. Be good to her Jake. Not an ask. A demand. An unspoken ‘or else’ hanging in the air. And though she’s got at least forty years on you, you’re pretty sure she’s spry enough to follow through on her sneaky threats. 

Mags squeezes Jake’s shoulder and departs, leaving you in a confused state of mixed energies. Shock and discomfort radiate off of you like heat waves, meeting the cool calmness emanating from a beaming Jake. 

“Will you tell me more about yourself now?” he asks. 

Shaking off the questionable tone of the older woman, you reconnect yourself to the man in front of you. His words soak in; another unexpected curveball Jake has thrown you within one day. His friends want to meet you, and now your personal details are on his mind. What would come next? Does he want to know the last time you were thoroughly kissed? Your high school GPA? Height and weight? If so, he’s going to be terribly disappointed. 

Steaming, wispy tendrils invade your vision, and you finally register the blueberry hint hitting your nostrils. Jake had whispered the order to Mags with the explanation that he already knew what you wanted. And being the mind-reading wizard you’re convinced he is, on a menu of nearly one hundred items he magically happened to pick something you enjoy. 

You hold yourself back from digging in, instead meeting his eyes as you cross your arms over your chest. “You think free pancakes are a good trade for my life story?”

He slowly slides a mug closer to you. “I got you coffee as well.”

When you raise an unenthused brow, Jake sighs. 

“Fine. You’re leaving me no other choice than to guess,” he says. “But if I get it right, will you be honest?”

With a snort, you pick up your fork and take your first bite of the sweet fluffy cake. It’s undeniably delicious. Fucking wizard. “Sure,” you say, and akin to a child, Jake’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. 

He ignores his own food and drink to once again watch you. Observing. Your eyes to your lips to your neck and back again. When he comes to a conclusion, he leans back in the booth. “You are a fan of the beach and before you die you intend to live in every beach town this country has to offer for at least two months each.”

Your fork pauses halfway to your mouth. “Are you kidding?”

“Well, since it appears that I am wrong, I’m going to say yes I am kidding because I’m very funny like that.” He stares some more, eyes narrowing. “You’re searching for a long-lost family member.”

“No.”

“You are only attracted to Navy men and thought you’d travel to a hub.”

Again, as he likes to do, he leaves you lacking words for a moment. “That better be another one of your ‘I’m very funny like that’ attempts,” you eventually manage to say. “And you know I wasn’t aware this was a Navy town.”

Jake nods and then leans forward in his seat, arms overlapping on the linoleum tabletop. You can sense the sudden shift; a new energy. The glint in his eye doesn't quite go with the steady seriousness of his voice. Like mismatched puzzle pieces. “So you’re not attracted to Navy men?” he asks. 

Your head jerks back to regain the distance he lessened. “Not exclusively.”

“Damn,” he replies, full playful tone back in place. “I wanted to at least get that part right.”

There’s another bright smile from him. A wink. You look to your right to find Mags' watchful gaze; motherly and hopeful.

After another swallow of pancake, you say, “Alright, you’re done for the day.”

“Oh, come on,” he whines. 

When you shake your head, he picks up his fork and begins to poke at the eggs on his plate, and you bask in the silence of his disappointment. Peace and quiet, with the exception of the diners surrounding you. No questions. No attempted agonizing small talk. You have a moment to breathe. 

It’s not until you’re halfway through your food and the coffee is nearly drained that Jake lifts his head. 

“I’m going to figure you out,” he says with an unwelcome note of determination. 

Your eyes snap up. 

The feeling behind his statement is hard to nail down. You would’ve said delving into your history was something fun for him to do. Something to pass the time with the new person in his home. But now it comes off more like a need. A little prick in his side that he can’t shake. 

You so badly want to be wrong in your interpretation. You want him to give up; to surrender to your stubbornness. Ideally, sooner rather than later. 

“You really don’t have to,” you say.

Jake doesn’t miss a beat. Nothing about him—not his breath, not his stare—stutters at your response. Instead, he returns with, “But I want to.”

---

A/N: Sorry it's a little short. Next chapter will be labeled 3.5 and will be from Jake's POV.

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado @have-a-nice-day-k @inkandarsenic @kidd3ath @coldmuffinbanditshoe

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun hangman #top gun #jake hangman seresin x y/n #tgm #tgm fic #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin x plus size!reader #jake seresin angst

[averagewriter-inthedark]

It’s A Long Way To The Top 🎸 | Pete Maverick Mitchell / Top Gun Maverick Imagine

Takes place after the events of TGM

Top Gun Maverick Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x 80s Rockstar!reader (romantic), Bradley Bradshaw x reader (mother/son-type relationship), Dagger Squad (platonic) Hondo (platonic)

Content warnings: Fluff, slight profanity, flirtatious banter, light suggestive content, mentions of past drug use. | Female!reader (she/her) | wc: 13.5k

Social Media matching HC

Premise: The Dagger Squad didn’t know much about their former instructor turned friend, Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell. Only Rooster had insight on all there was when it came to the famous pilot, and his love life certainly fell into that. When the squad shows up unannounced to Maverick’s San Diego home for his birthday weekend, they are greeted with the shock of the lifetime when it’s revealed Maverick’s lady once ruled the radio of the decade they were born in. And what better way for them to properly meet one of the greatest rockstars to ever exist than by attending the bands reunion concert that night.

Note: So TC was born in 1962 and that what it also says for Maverick (although with his rank I doubt it lines up but Imma just go with it), so for this imagine you were born in 1964 and were the front woman of a famous 80s rock band who Mav meets after the events of Top Gun. I love rock music and have been listening to it nonstop the past week and this inspired me. At first I was gonna do this with Rooster or Phoenix with a modern day rockstar, but then I thought Mav was better suited for what I had planned.

Also in my research I found that the Staples Center (which is going to mentioned a lot) opened in 1999 and is now called Crypto.com Arena, but for this just imagine it opened in the 80s and is still called the Staples Center. Personally I will always refer to it as that even though it got a new name. Last thing, my favorite band is AC/DC and i use two of their songs as ‘your’ songs verbally said. The album/era names are ones I thought of off the bat, and feel free to imagine your friends as your bandmates, I just gave them names to make it easier when writing. And the photo on the collage is to show the outfit reference—I don’t write with any indication of race/ethnicity/etc unless it’s for an OC. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

————————————

“Are you guys sure about not warning Rooster we’re coming?” Bob voiced from the passenger side of Nat’s car. In the backseat were Mickey and Payback while Hondo drove the car behind them containing Hangman and Coyote.

“Bradshaw will spoil the surprise,” Fanboy reminds him, “And the whole point of this is to surprise Mav. We haven’t seen him in months and this is the first time we’re all together again.”

“I know,” Bob sighs, leaning back into his seat before glancing at Nat, “How did you even get his address, Nat?”

She doesn’t stray her eyes from the road as she responds, “I may have convinced Admiral Simpson to give it to me, saying we all wanted to send Mav a birthday gift but didn’t have his permanent residence. I know he’s often in the Mojave desert during his vacation, but Cyclone gave me his San Diego home address.”

“Hondo didn’t even have Mav’s address?” Mickey says more to himself, surprised the man did not. He was Mav’s closest friend and had been with him since the Darkstar project.

“Hondo only had his Mojave camp—which isn’t really an address when you think about it. It’s quite literally on an old airstrip that’s not even used by the Navy anymore,” Nat tells him, “Mav lived there during their assignment so it makes sense why he only had that one.”

“So what I’m hearing is you deceived Admiral Simpson so we can show up on Mav’s doorstep like ‘surprise! We’re here!’ And Cyclone just gave it to you with no questions asked?” Payback raises a brow, catching her eyes in the rear view mirror.

“Not entirely,” she defends, “I mean we are sending him a birthday gift…..it’s just we are the birthday gift.” At the laughs from the men Nat rolls her eyes, “Y’all are in this too, so I don’t know why you’re laughing. We’re almost there. GPS says ten minutes.”

The Pacific Ocean was to their right, the sun high in the sky as the time reached one o’clock. They noticed as they traveled down the road that the houses were becoming more distant and eye-catching. “Damn,” Fanboy whistled under his breath at one point.

When they got to the turn to enter the neighborhood, they were greeted with a closed gate and security. Nat mentally cursed, not anticipating Mav lived in a gated community.

Now the jig was up and they were gonna have to call Rooster.

While Nat spoke with one of the security guards Bob was already dialing Bradley, who answered with a confused, “Hey, Bob. What’s up?”

“Rooster, hey, I’m sorry to bother you but the squad and I were planning to surprise Maverick for his birthday tonight and well….we’re kinda at the entrance to his neighborhood. We didn’t think it would be gated and needed confirmation from the resident to get in.”

“Ah damn,” Bradley said with a laugh and Bob could hear him fiddling with his keys. “I wish y’all would’ve told me, but then again I know I probably would’ve ruined it.” It was the truth, Rooster could not keep a secret if his life depended on it. Last year he unintentionally spoiled Nat’s surprise party when she got promoted. Soon it became a running joke amongst the group. “Just hang tight, I’ll be right there.”

“Wait, are you at Mav’s house?” All eyes in the car turned to Bob, the WSO catching the sound of Rooster’s Bronco starting up.

“Yeah, I’m on the list and can get y’all in. Hang on, imma tell him I’m running out to get beers.” There was a pause on the receiver before a car door shuts and Rooster says, “I’ll be there in two minutes.” Bob stayed on the line before hanging up when they caught sight of the bright blue vehicle approaching from the other side of the gate. Rooster pulled off to the side, exited the car and approached the security hut where another officer met him in the middle. The team watched as they exchanged words before the guard Nat spoke with was called over.

When he returned seconds later he said, “we’re gonna open the gate and if you could please pull off to where my buddy directs you and step out. We have to check the cars.”

“Sure thing,” Nat says with a wave as he goes to relay the same to Hondo. Passing the gate, she parks the car where the guard instructs and all four step out from the vehicle. Hondo pulls up seconds later with Hangman and Coyote coming over to stand with the group as Rooster approaches.

“Well this sure is some special treatment,” Hangman jokes when an officer comes up with a metal detector to begin scanning the squad while the two search their cars. He notices one of the officers writing down the car information, including the license plate number. “Never seen this before when I’ve been to a gated neighborhood.”

“It’s just precaution since it’s your first time” Rooster says, dabbing up the guys when they are finished being scanned. “It’s good to see you guys.”

“It’s good to see you too, Bradshaw,” Nat gives him a hug and appears apologetic. “Sorry we didn’t let you know in advance.”

“Ah it’s all good. Like I told Bob I probably would’ve ruined it.” They all laugh, some muttering sounds of agreement. It was all in good heart though, Bradley wasn’t offended. He was just happy to see his friends again and celebrate Mav’s 60th with them.

The only thing….they were in for their own surprise when they got to the house.

“Does the governor of California live here or something?” Javy jokes, but judging by the way Rooster reacts he’s certain there is some truth to it.

“All clear!” The main guard shouts, nodding to Rooster. “Y’all are free to go, just make sure to call in if you leave the area and return later on.”

“Will do,” Rooster salutes, shaking his hand afterwards. “Thanks again, Frank.” Telling his friends to follow behind him, they all got into their respective vehicles and headed down the road leading to the neighborhood.

“Sheeeesh,” Mickey says in awe at some of the houses they passed. They looked to be a million bucks. Literally. They were distanced quite a bit like something you see in Calabasas and had long entrances. “Mav should be on MTV’s cribs. How the hell does a naval Captain get something like this?”

“Probably by saving for that perfect retirement home,” Nat comments, eyes lingering on one house that caught her eyes.

“Nah,” Payback shakes his head, “I’ve seen Admirals with places not even to this extent. No offense to Mav, but I don’t see how an O-6 could afford a place like this.” About a minute passed before they were turning into a long driveway, all four jaws dropping at the sight of the home.

Yeah they needed to know Pete’s secret.

It was a gorgeous two-story mediterranean style home with an iron gate surrounding the perimeter. The exterior was beautiful, with flowers and various plants on the grounds. A front enclosed patio was the first thing they could see connecting to a foyer where the front door was located. Only one word could describe the home: marvelous.

The driveway was crescent shaped and could fit at least four cars with a side entrance leading to the garage. Rooster pulled up to the furthest spot allowing Nat and Hondo to pull up behind him. “Holy shit,” Fanboy says in awe, hopping out of the car and shutting the door behind him.

Shutting his own door, Hangman whistles, “If this is what retirement looks like, I can’t wait.”

“C’mon,” Rooster chuckles, nodding his head to the entrance. “Mav’s in the garage working on his bike.” The squad all rushes to get the gifts, beer, and food they had brought for the pilot, following behind Rooster while trying to not make it look like they were gawking at the home. They hadn’t even seen the inside yet but could already tell it was going to be as incredible as the outside.

Putting a finger to his lips, the group remains quiet at Rooster’s command as they ease their way into the garage. It was very similar to the one at his camp hangar in the desert. Pictures hung on a wall with several plaques. Motorcycles lined up and sitting in the corner was a gorgeous 1966 Dodge Charger. Coyote had to put a hand to his mouth to keep from making a sound when he saw it.

“That you, Bradley?” Mav said with his back to the group, unaware his practically surrogate son was not alone. He was dressed in a greased up white tee with some old light washed jeans and boots. Playing on the radio was the 80s on 8 channel from SiriusXM.

“Yeah it’s me,” Rooster places a case of beers the squad brought on the counter near the fridge. “I brought some strays too while I was at it.”

“Strays? What—?” Mav laughs, moving to turn around which resulted in his mouth dropping and wrench clinking to the floor.

“Surprise!” Everyone shouted, grinning widely at their former instructor who was completely speechless. “Happy Birthday, Mav!”

“Wha-oh my gosh!” The pilot's feet moved before he could stop them, embracing Phoenix first since she was closest before doing the same to the others. As he pulls away from Hondo, patting his back Mav goes, “What’re you doing here?”

“Surprising you for your birthday, old man,” Hangman lightly punches his shoulder. “You’re turning the big six-zero, there was no way we were missing it.”

“Aww thanks guys,” the man blushes, grinning when they bombard him with gifts. “It’s so good to see you all—I-I wish I would’ve known you were coming.”

“Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise, Cap,” Fanboy points to him with a knowing look.

“True,” Mav laughs, directing the crew to put the bags and all on the counter in the garage where the sink was located. “Thank you all so much, you really didn’t have to do all this.”

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen ya, Mav,” Phoenix tells him, accepting the beer Rooster offers her that was already in the fridge. He passes them out to the crew, except Bob and Mav who kindly decline. Phoenix waves a hand, “Quite the place you got. Rooster had to come save us at the gate.”

Mav raises a brow at Rooster, “You didn’t know about this?”

“Nope,” he pops the ‘p’, “I’m sure you can guess why.” It takes Mav a moment, but then he chuckles, thinking back to the many times Bradley did ruin a surprise. Nat’s promotion party, Hondo’s birthday dinner, and the tickets the group got Mickey to attend SDCC’s Star Wars reunion panel.

“We hope we didn’t catch you at a bad time,” Bob says. “Dropping in unannounced. We weren’t sure if you had anything planned this weekend, but we all took a few days off—got rooms in TLF back at Fightertown, so we would love to take you out for dinner or something this weekend.”

Mav glances at Rooster, who gives a knowing look to the pilot while sipping his beer. The two share a silent exchange of words before he scratches the back of his neck….a few catch the reflective metal of a gold on his left ring finger. Phoenix and Bob’s eyes widen, looking around to see if anyone else spotted what they did.

“Um, well we did have plans tonight—but I can make a call and figure something out. Tomorrow for sure I’m free all day so whatever you guys want to do I’m game.”

“What kind of plans?” Coyote asks before Payback and Hondo nudges him for being nosy. “Owwww.”

Hesitant to reply, Mav gives Rooster another look before nodding his head to the door, “why don’t you guys come inside. Make yourself comfortable while I make a quick call.”

“Are you not going to—,” Mav is quick to cut Bradley off with a wink. Confused, the entire squad look at each other with the same expression before following behind Mav while Rooster is the last to enter and shut the garage door.

Pete doesn’t have to turn around to know they were all gawking at the interior of the home. The first rooms closest to the garage were the laundry room, open kitchen and dining room. Sounds of approaching steps alerted the group and several audibly reacted to the adult Dalmatian, white husky, and golden retriever puppy racing after them.

“Oh my gosh,” Javy kneeled down to pet the Goldie pawing at his legs. “Your dogs are adorable.” The husky was licking at Jake’s face while Phoenix and Bob were occupied with the Dalmatian before each dog inspected each of the guests. “What are their names?”

“That’s Ice,” he pointed to the husky first then the Dalmatian, “Bella.” Lastly he pointed at the puppy, who was kissing up on Mickey, “and Goose.” They spend a good three minutes right there in the kitchen allowing the dogs to receive attention from the squad before Mav directs them to the living room.

And that’s when they pass the cabinet.

A cabinet that was just one of many.

“Uh, Mav,” Payback stops, causing those behind him to do the same, gaze locked on the floor to ceiling glass cabinet—if you could call it that, it was more like a shrine.

Dedicated to one of the world's most renowned rock bands.

“Yeah?” Mav already knew what they were looking at. And that was only scratching the surface compared to the others in the house.

“Say, uh—,” Payback tilts his head, pointing to the cabinet, “Are you like, obsessed with ‘Y/n & the Romantics’,” several eyes trailed along the various shelves lined with actual Grammy awards for ‘Best Rock Performance by a Duo/Group’, ‘Best Rock Album’, ‘Best Rock Song’, ‘Record of the Year,’ & ‘Album of the Year,’ going back as 1980 to 2021 as the most recent. Other awards included almost a dozen in MTV Moonmen, Billboard Music Awards, American Music Awards, and an Oscar for ‘Best Original Song’. Framed photographs of the band hung on the walls and perched on the shelves. Some included them with famed music legends like Cher, Prince, Micheal Jackson, Cyndi Lauper, Lionel Richie, Def Leppard, and Duran Duran….those of which the squad could make out the signature on the photograph itself. An eye catcher was the USA for Africa signed photograph of every artist, including the Romantics, featured in Michael Jackson’s “We Are The World.”

One shelf pretty much was reserved for all the times they were the musical guests on SNL. Four times to be exact. Another shelf, that had their eyes boggling, was dedicated to their 1999 Super Bowl Halftime performance with a football signed by the band and head coaches of the teams that played that year.

Fanboy nearly shit his pants when he saw the guitars mounted on the wall. Not only were they signed by absolute icons, including Elvis fucking Preseley, but one of which was the iconic checkered neon pink Fender Stratocaster frontwoman Y/n L/n played in the 80s.

Y/n L/n. Dubbed the ‘daughter of Rock ‘n’ Roll’ with a voice that had people say she was what an angel would sound like if they rebelled from God to become a rockstar. Together with some of her best friends from high school, formed the group ‘Y/n & the Romantics,’ signing with a small label in Atlanta, Georgia in 1978 at aged 14 after being discovered on the corner of a street playing covers of Elvis, The Beatles, and Billie Holiday. What had the producer write up a contract right there was when he heard Y/n’s rendition of ‘Crybaby,’ by Janis Joplin. It was as though Janis had been reincarnated. Her voice was unlike anything he’d ever heard.

They released their first single on New Year’s Day of 1979. That first single that had RCA Records knocking on their door and shot them into becoming one of the best selling rock bands of all time. When MTV launched on August 1, 1981, their music video for their Grammy Award winning single was the third to be played after ‘Video Killed The Radio Star,’ by the Buggles, and ‘You Better Run’ by Pat Benatar. Y/n & the Romantics became teen sensations, dominating the 1980s and 90s before going on hiatus in the early 2000s. Y/n was not only known for her recognizable, unique voice but also her split dye hair, leather outfits, stage presence, and signature pink guitar she named, ‘Dirty Shirley.’

And it was in Maverick’s house.

“Holy shit,” Phoenix breathed out, patting Payback to look to the left. That’s when he noticed the wedding picture hung on the wall not too far from where they were standing. The bride, kissing Maverick in the photo, was the same woman holding a Grammy with her bandmates.

Eyes bulging out, Payback whistled and asked what they were all thinking, “Or…. you got something to tell us?”

August 15, 1989. Los Angeles, California. Club Electic Idol

“Tell me, Pete—or do you prefer Maverick?” The blue light shining above her in the bar had the glitter on her face reflect. She was dazzling. Unlike any woman he’d ever met. And Pete met a lot in his career, though they never captivated him like she was now. He wanted to dance with her forever

Arms around his neck, their bodies pressed together as they swayed to the beat of ‘When Doves Cry,’ by Prince. The leather adorning her body was smooth against his fingertips. Completely ignorant of the flashing of cameras from the side and envious gazes of both men and women around them. Never did the pilot think when he, Ice, and Slider agreed on coming to that bar after the concert that he would end up with the frontwoman in his arms. They were just looking for a place to grab a quick drink, maybe dance with a girl or two, and chill before heading back to their hotel.

Guess Y/n & the Romantics were looking to do the same. Fate seemed to bring them together.

“Either is fine, sweetheart.” She smirked at the nickname, finding it amusing. God, even her smirk was sexy. Everything about her was.

“You do that little show of yours each time you see a pretty lady? Or am I just special?”

Damn she caught him.

Truth be told it scared the shit out of him to even think about doing it. Had it not been for the light buzz from drinking a couple beers and encouragement from Ice saying, “You’re the only bloke in this bar who could probably get her into bed if you tried, Mitchell. I saw her eyeing you when you went to pick a song on the jukebox.”

At first he refused. It was Y/n fucking L/n of all people. And there were plenty of people, men and women, who were taking a shot at swooning the rockstar. Left and right they were offering her drinks and asking her to dance. Mav would only go up to her if Ice and Slider sang with him. There was no way in hell he would embarrass just himself. Especially if it didn’t turn out the way he wanted.

The fact it actually did work had the pilot thank his guardian angel, who no doubt had to have been Goose.

“I’ve only done it a few times. The first crashed and burned. Second time actually got me a date,” his lips curled up, “Now I’m hoping the third time’s a charm.”

“I see,” she hummed, never taking her eyes off him. The silence that indicated she was deep in thought. “What are you hoping to get out of it?”

“Honestly, maybe a kiss when the night comes to an end if you’d allow me the honor. But if not I would want you to never forget me. Just like I won’t ever forget you.”

“After a performance like that, Lieutenant, I’ll remember you till the end of time. And about that kiss….” She brings her mouth closer to his, but still enough distance to keep them apart. Pete felt his heart skip at the proximity, the perfume she wore filling his nostrils. “Keep impressing me and it just might come true.”

Present Day

“Wait-wait-wait,” Phoenix laughed with the guys as Maverick finished telling the story of when he went with Slider and Iceman to see Y/n & the Romantics perform at the Staples center in 1989. They were all seated in the living room—which had more framed photos of not just Y/n and her band but also of her and Maverick over the years and Rooster as a child.

Jake took photos of that on his phone to hold for blackmail. Now it made sense why Rooster was always singing their songs on the piano when they would go out.

After giving a quick tour of the first floor of the home, they all settled in the living room with his dogs as Mav sent a text to his lady to call him after soundcheck. Beers were brought out and some snacks, the crew still processing the news as they took it all in. Eventually after a quick explanation, Pete answered the many questions they had, including just how the hell he managed to pull one of the greatest rockstars to ever exist.

Whose band literally had a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and were being inducted into the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame in just a few months.

“So from what I’m gathering,” Nat points to her forehead, as though she were deep in thought, “If my brain is right on track here….you were, to put it lightly…a groupie?”

“Now hold on—.” Mav tried to say but was cut off by the obnoxious laughter that was Javy, Mickey, and Jake while Bob and Hondo just shook their heads, although they were grinning wide at the insinuation. Rooster was smirking like, ‘told you so.’ Mav sighed, but he was smiling as the laughter died down. “I was not a groupie. Okay—yeah I had the hope I would meet her after the show, but I didn’t go out of my way to make that happen. They just happened to come to the same bar that night—I swear!”

“That literally sounds like what a groupie is, Mav,” Hondo pats his back. “You just got lucky it went in your favor.”

Blushing, Mav coughed lightly as he laughed with the group before adding, “I’d like to point out that nothing … you know, happened, alright? We simply had some drinks, danced…I may have tried serenading her with my rendition of ‘You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling,’” the laughter got louder, making his blush deepen, “and then we exchanged addresses to send each other letters—because that’s what you did back in the day or call on the landline. It was history from there.”

“Don’t forget, Mav,” Rooster points at him. “You guys made out and then you exchanged addresses before leaving.” Mav has to cover his face to hide his blush when the group hollar and cheer.

“So how long y’all been together?” Rueben asks, finishing off his beer.

“Since 1990. But we didn’t get married until 2002 after the band went on hiatus.”

“How come?” Phoenix tilted her head curiously.

Though Phoenix and most of the guys were not die hard fans of Y/n & the Romantics, they were familiar with their music of course. As one of the most influential rock bands of all time everyone had heard of them in some way, shape, or form. Their parents often played their records, or they’d hear them on the radio and in movies. The squad were all born in the 1980s & early 90s so by the time they got into their teenage years the band had already stopped releasing music. It wasn’t until late 2020 they announced a reunion with the release of their latest album and were currently on tour across North America. During the hiatus however, Y/n still wrote songs for other artists and even released a few solo records. Some of the Grammy’s in the case belonged to only her and not just with the band.

Personal lives of the band members were not something they knew too well. The only people in the group who had knowledge of some details were Mickey, who was a big fan growing up, and Hondo. Bob was also a fan, having played the drums as a teenager and cited them to be a big influence. On google information showed that the group consisted of Y/n, the lead vocalist who also played guitar, Maya the bass player, Evan the lead guitarist, Danny the drummer, and Ronnie on keys. All of them provided backup vocals on tracks.

Maya and Evan ended up falling in love, confirming long time rumors they were together in 1987 and had three kids over the course of the 90s. Danny married a famous actress in 2000 with whom he had a son. Lastly Ronnie was once married to the lead singer of another rock group before divorcing and finding love with a movie producer from when she landed a role in a tv drama, the two adopted a son and daughter in the early 2000s.

Y/n’s information did actually include the fact she and Maverick met in 1989 when they played at the Staples center, that he was a Captain in the Navy being the only man to shoot down five enemy planes in the last 40 years, and were together for over a decade before finally getting married. They did not have kids and the text read how they liked to keep their personal lives private.

Rooster of course knew everything. The first time he met Y/n was in 1991 when he was 7 years old and looked at her like a second mother growing up. She taught him piano and guitar, let him attend shows when the group were on tour in Virginia, and was always a phone call away even after he and Maverick were at odds. Since she didn’t have kids, Bradley was the closest to what it was like having a son. There was no way she was going to let them drift apart after vowing to Carole she would take care of him. They spoke almost weekly with Rooster updating Y/n on his career and asking when she was getting the band back together, knowing she missed going on the road and performing.

“Soon,” she would tell him with a laugh, “I’m working on some songs in the meantime. We all agreed once the kids are older that we’ll come back.” That was in 2012. Now it was 2022 and finally Y/n & the Romantics were on stage performing for a sold out crowd full of people from all ages. They were all in their late 50s but still knew how to rock n’ roll like the good ole days. Y/n never lost her stage presence, the audience thrived on it. Over the years she took care of her voice so she would sound exactly like she did in the 80s. It was her staple after all.

Answering Nat’s question, Mav gave a light shrug, “It just sorta happened that way honestly. We were happy with how things were—marriage was not for us until then. I should say legally married actually, because here in California the relationship was viewed as common law marriage since we had been together for so many years,” Mav explained before taking a sip of water, “Around the time they disbanded the others had young or were starting to have children so they decided to take a break until the kids were grown up.”

“I think that was the first time I saw my mother cry,” Bob chuckled, fixing his glasses as all eyes turned to him. “My mom was—is a huge fan. Anytime we went on road trips she’d play one of their albums. I think she even saw them live when she was in college—said it was one of the best nights of her life. She had a crush on Danny if I’m not mistaken.” Mav smiles, not surprised it was Danny. In the 80s the man was quite the heartthrob.

“How come you never told us?” Mickey cut in. It was a question all were curious to know. Hondo knew Mav was married, but not to whom. He and Penny had history and were friendly at the Hard Deck so they assumed they were together or possibly going to. Finding out he’s been in a long time relationship with Y/n L/n was the shock of their life.

“We like our privacy. It’s why we waited to get married also, because of how big they were in the 80s and 90s. I got followed by paparazzi in the beginning—which was causing problems with my job. We actually pretended to break up in the late 90s to get them off my back,” Mav shrugs again, “I also don’t like the idea of bragging that my wife is Y/n L/n. I love and respect her so much. Yeah I was a fan of her music, but what made me fall in love with her was getting to know her for who she was. Not Y/n the rockstar, but Y/n the girl who replays her favorite songs if someone talks during it. Who can quote every single line from ‘Dirty Dancing’. Who will scold me for leaving seven half filled water bottles on my nightstand.” Laughs rang out at that. “We personally enjoy letting people discover it on their own, rather than telling them upfront.”

“I still can’t wrap it around my head,” Jake waves a hand to emphasize his point. “That you pulled pretty much the woman all our dads, maybe even moms, had a crush on. Your game is on another level. Like please tell me your secrets, pops.” Phoenix playfully slaps Hangman on the shoulder.

Before he could answer the pilot, Maverick’s phone rings causing him to jolt from the couch. “Give me a moment guys,” excusing himself he goes around the corner into the hallway before answering, “Hey, honey.”

“Hey, is everything good? Your message sounded urgent.”

Mav heard sounds in the background, possibly the crew setting up the stage for the night’s show. “Everything is great….uhh-say is tonight’s show sold out?”

“Yessss,” he could hear the confusion laced in her tone. “At least that was what I was told by Hank. Why? Did Bradley want to bring a friend? I’m sure I can get a pass.” Mav let out a sigh, scratching his chin.

“If it’s too much to ask then don’t worry about it, I know you gotta get back to soundcheck and have a few hours until the concert starts. But my former students from a few years ago surprised me today to celebrate my birthday. They’re here at the house—Bradley didn’t even know they were coming, honey.”

Y/n laughed, “I wouldn’t have bet money on him to know,” they laughed together, Y/n following with, “But that’s so sweet of them! I know how much you’ve missed them since you retired last year. How long are they in town?”

“Just for the weekend. They all got rooms on base and were hoping to take me out either tonight or possibly tomorrow. I told them I had plans tonight….”

“But you didn’t tell them what plans, huh?” Mav could picture the smirk on her face. “Do they know?”

“About us? I just finished telling them why I never mentioned anything. They seem to understand and were apologetic for dropping in unannounced. But…..I have not told them that the last stop in your tour is tonight at the Staples Center and Bradley and I were going to be leaving in a few hours.”

“Who all is it?”

“My buddy Hondo from when I did the Darkstar project—I think I’ve told you about him, the two foxtrot teams I did the uranium mission with and two of my reserves. So seven total.”

“I see,” Y/n humed, finding her husband’s situation amusing. He let out a groan, apologizing but she just laughed and said, “Well since it is your birthday and I’ve been wanting to meet your little dagger ducklings forever now,” he smiled at the nickname Y/n had given the pilots. They really were his ducklings. “Let me talk with Hank and the venue manager. Show doesn’t start till seven so there’s plenty of time. Just hang tight and I’ll call you back, okay? I know you're probably losing your mind because you don’t want to miss tonight’s show knowing it’s the last of the tour, but you also want to spend time with them while they're in town. Imma make sure you get both, pretty boy…..and maybe a little something more when the night comes to a close.”

Fuck that got Mav blushing, knowing exactly what she was implying. “Y/n…”

“Love you, Pete. Wait for my call.” Telling her the same, Mav hangs up the phone and reenters the living room. Rooster immediately meets his eye, lifting a thumbs up to which Mav returns with a gesture to signify he was working on it. For the next thirty minutes the squad makes small talk until his phone rings again. “Hey.”

“Would it be okay if you put me on speaker?”

A smile forms on his lips, “Sure thing,” he looks at the group to catch their attention, “Someone wants to say hi,” they all, minus Rooster who’s smirking, watch with confused expressions as Mav hits the speaker button and places the phone on the table. “What have you got for us, honey?” The second the pet name leaves his lips, Mav sees Fanboy drop his now empty cup of water, Phoenix slap a hand over her mouth, Javy pushing Jake and vice versa muttering ‘holy shit.’ Everyone else pretty much does something similar when Y/n’s voice echoes through the receiver, “Hello hello, aviators.”

“Oh my God.”

“Yo this ain’t happening right now.”

“Guys, guys, shut up—holy shit.”

Y/n laughed at the reactions. “It’s so nice to finally—even if it’s over the phone at the moment—meet you guys! Pete talks about you all everyday.”

“I-I wish we could say the same about you, ma’am,” Payback nervously laughs. “We didn’t even know the man was hitched until an hour ago. Also we apologize for the fanboying-fangirling, it’s an honor to speak to such a legend. You’re an icon.”

“Oh you’re too kind,” she awes, “thank you so much. I hope you guys can forgive him for not saying anything—he meant well.”

“We understand,” Phoenix says on their behalf. “We’d also like to say sorry for showing up to your house uninvited—your home is beautiful by the way. We-we just wanted to surprise Captain Mitchell since it’s been so long since we were all together and he’s done so much for us.”

“I think that’s so amazing you guys did that! I wish I could’ve been home to greet you guys and see the look on his face. Did he cry by any chance?”

“Honey please…” Mav pleaded, causing everyone to laugh.

“I’m sorry, babe. Anyways, Pete tells me you guys are in town for the weekend and well……tonight the Romantics and I are playing our last show in L.A at seven. Bradley and Pete were set to leave San Diego around four to make it on time and if y’all are up for the short drive…..I have seven passes reserved with your names on them.”

The reaction of the dagger squad could only be described with a singular word: chaos.

First it was more of denial, but then they saw Maverick and Rooster’s face and realized Y/n was in fact serious. She was inviting them to her concert. The final show in her band’s reunion tour. The soon to be Rock n Roll Hall of Famers.

Yeah, they about lost their minds.

“I gotta call my mom—she’s gonna flip!”

“How the hell am I supposed to continue living life after this?”

“This is your birthday Mav!” Phoenix pointed at him while Bob had his hands in his face, expression unreadable. “You’re not supposed to be giving us anything, it's the other way around!”

“Nat, I would love nothing more than to spend my birthday with you guys at the concert tonight.” That just about made her tear up.

“Yo so this is legit?” Coyote held up a hand, trying to calm his excitement. “We’re actually going?”

“Hell yeah!” Jake said, Rooster and Payback agreeing with a high-five. “What the birthday boy wants, the birthday boy gets.”

“Y/n, thank you so much,” Hondo said on their behalf. “I’m sorry if you can’t hear over these clowns in the background, but I’ll speak for everyone when I say that we are so grateful for you to invite us to experience your show together and celebrate Mav’s birthday. I don’t think we’ll stop thanking you so be warned.”

After a few more minutes of mainly the squad bombarding the rockstar with words of gratitude and thanks, Y/n informs Pete of where to go when they get to the venue and she’ll meet them backstage to give them the passes. When they say their goodbyes and hang up, Coyote goes, “Okay so I don’t know about y’all…but I cannot walk into a rock concert dressed like this,” he gestures to his gray Navy t-shirt and torn jeans, “How much time we got, Cap?” The question has Pete check his watch.

“If we wanna get there before the doors open, I’d say we should leave in about two hours. It’s gonna take at least two hours to get to L.A, and we gotta consider traffic.” Mav thinks for a moment before saying, “I may have something that can help. Follow me.”

In one of the many closets used as a storage place, Pete removed a box from the self and opened it to reveal a bunch of vintage t-shirts of Y/n & the Romantics.

“Oh my gosh this is so cool,” Fanboy awed. Some of the shirts were literally from the 80s and 90s but looked to be in new condition, meaning they must have been extras Y/n kept for safekeeping. Nowadays it was hard for someone to get their hands on anything with the classic logo of Y/n & the Romantics unless it was from Etsy or a private seller. Stores like Hot Topic, Spencers, and those dedicated to the 80s or retro-like were the only places to buy the new style of merchandise. But these in the box, they were classic.

“Look through and see if you can find anything. There’s several sizes and styles—most of these were from their ‘Heartbreaker’ era but you may find some from ‘Love is the Eighth Deadly Sin,’ or ‘Rock ‘n’ Rolling to Heaven.’ We have some leather jackets I’d be happy to lend you guys—and Nat, Y/n wanted me to tell you that you’re more than welcome to borrow anything you’d like.” Her eyes go wide.

“Oh I couldn’t possibly—.”

Rooster claps his hands excitedly, cutting Nat off much to her annoyance, “Time to turn you guys into rockstars. Fuck yeah! This is gonna be the best night ever!”

So that’s how the famed naval aviators ended up in their vehicles on a two hour journey to Los Angeles. It was far from what they expected when they set out to surprise Pete Mitchell, but in Maverick fashion things take a different turn when one least expects it. The couple’s dog sitter was called to tend to their animals since it was likely they would not be coming home till the next day. Just after 3:30pm the squad, now dressed like they were straight from the 80s by cutting holes in their jeans and wearing leather jackets and chains Maverick provided, gathered in the cars and hit the road. Maverick and Rooster ended up driving, with Hondo, Coyote, Hangman and Payback in Mav’s SUV and Fanboy, Bob, and Phoenix with Rooster in the Bronco.

Upon instance from Y/n after chatting briefly with her on the phone to make sure it was okay, Nat relented on wearing the red leather Prada two piece set the rockstar wore at the 1994 MTV video awards. It fit like a glove on the pilot, jaw dropping when she looked at herself in the mirror, “Damn.” While in the car she applied some black eye pencil and smudged it out to give her that 80s grunge appearance, to which she made Fanboy and Bob do the same, “Bradshaw, I expect you to rock this too.” At a red light he applied it like a pro, like he’d done it many times before not even needing to fix it.

The entire way both vehicles played Y/n & the Romantics decades worth of music. It surprised a lot of the crew when they recognized some songs from movies and tv shows they had no idea were by them. “This was in Stranger Things!” Coyote shouted over the sound, head banging his head along to the beat. Another song had Bob go, “Wasn’t this in the Guardians of The Galaxy?”

By the time they got to L.A the city life was at its prime. Traffic was insane as usual but thankfully they made it to the Staples Center just before six o’clock. The sign outside the venue glowed bright with ‘Y/n & The Romantics—Rockin’ Down Memory Lane Reunion Tour. TONIGHT ONLY—SOLD OUT.’ Pete pulled in front of Rooster to speak to the guard when they got to the back gate. After speaking through a radio for confirmation they allowed the two cars to enter and directed them on where to go.

When they get in the building it’s buzzing all around them. Crew members of both the band and the venue run past and speak into radios. They could barely make out the words combined with the faint rumble of the crowd inside. Before a security guard could ask why they were there, Y/n’s managers, Hank and Tasha Robinson noticed them and rushed over. “Pete! Great to see ya!” The pilot exchanged hugs with the couple. They then greet Bradley, who they’ve known since he was a child, and the squad, “You guys must be the pilots! It’s nice to meet you all—are you excited for the show?”

“Absolutely.” “Can’t wait!” “We’re so excited.” “Thank you for allowing us to come on such short notice.”

“You all look great!” Tasha grinned, gasping when she saw Nat’s outfit, “Oh my goodness. Hank, look! You recognize this?” Blushing immensely, Nat didn’t know how to react besides laughing nervously as they complimented her. “You look fabulous, darling.”

“Thank you. It’s an honor to wear it—I-I hope I did it justice.”

At that moment Y/n came around the corner, a slight skip in her step until she was lifted into Pete’s arms causing her to break into giggles. They hadn’t seen each other in almost two weeks while she was touring the west coast cities. It filled the squad with warmth seeing their mentor/friend so happy. Nerves filled them, they were about to meet one the greatest voices of rock music.

Mav spun Y/n around before setting her back down, the two sharing a sweet kiss. “Missed you, baby.”

“I missed you too,” he says against her lips, kissing them once more before guiding her to the group. Bradley is the first to hug Y/n, who squeals in delight since it had been months since they last saw each other.

“Hey sugar, look at you! It seems like every time I see you, you got a new look going on,” she fluffs his hair which was now lighter in tone after he got some highlights. “You look good, Roo. Is this a new shirt?” she gestures to the Hawaiian shirt beneath the leather jacket Bradley was wearing.

“Had to pull it out for the special occasion,” he gives her a sweet kiss to the cheek while handing her the bouquet of flowers he and Mav got. Thanking him, Y/n grins at the sight of the group standing behind him.

“And you fellas must be the famous dagger squad I’ve heard all about!” They were literally speechless as they stared back at the singer. She literally was what one would envision when they thought of a rockstar. Smudged eyeliner with sparkly eyeshadow framed her eyes, dark red lipstick and her outfit was black leather that showed a bit of skin due to some cutouts, but was still modest. Where the skin showed they could make out intricate tattoos and both her arms had half sleeves of ink. She had on a harness with silver chains, thigh high boots with studs along the sides.

She was THE rockstar.

Though in her late 50s, Y/n was still breathtakingly beautiful. Yeah there was some grayness to her otherwise shiny, healthy hair, and some age lines around her eyes and mouth that poked through the makeup, but Y/n could literally pass for mid to late 40s. Same with Pete who just turned 60 and looked amazing for his age. Standing next to each other, they were one hot ass couple.

“It’s so wonderful to finally meet you guys—in person now! Ah I’ve been buzzing with excitement since we got off the phone earlier,” she clapped her hands, moving to Fanboy who was internally losing it like his namesake.

“I-I hi, w-wow. I’m Mickey Garcia—or talk about irony, you may call me Fanboy. It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. L/n—Mitchell uh-I’m sorry. I’m a big fan.”

Y/n giggled, shaking his outstretched hand before bringing him into a friendly hug. “Oh honey, I don’t even know what to call myself sometimes. But, please call me Y/n. You guys are family now.” She goes down the line to meet each pilot, shaking their hand and hugging while saying their name back to instill it in her memory. Of course she knew their names and faces from photos, but meeting them in person was completely different and Y/n wanted to make sure she would remember who was who. When she gets to Natasha’s she can’t help but shriek, “Yay you wore it! You look amazing-oh my gosh!”

“Thank you so much,” Nat blushes again, this time because the owner of said outfit she wore was gushing over her. “Thank you for letting me wear it—I will do my best to not let anything happen to it.” Y/n assures her to not worry about it and the two have the band photographer take a couple photos of them. The guys video the whole thing causing Phoenix to flip them off at times which has the married couple laugh. Soon the band comes out, causing Fanboy, Bob, and Coyote to almost lose it and before they know it everyone is conversing like it was an ordinary Friday night. Hondo, Mav, Y/n, Phoenix and Payback are off to the side with Maya, Evan, and their kids while the others are chatting with other members and their families who came to the show.

“It’s unreal to think this year marks forty-four years,” Evan said, sitting on one of the chairs with his hand on Maya’s lower back who stood beside him.

“Yeah,” she agreed with a smile, “just a group of kids we were then. With a dream only the effects of good ole weed could give us the confidence to have our asses out at that park and hope someone would hear us.”

Y/n drops her head laughing, aware of the somewhat surprised looks of the aviators and Hondo. “Wait-really?” Y/n was known for her exhilarating stage presence. She was like Elvis, Janis Joplin, and Micheal Jackson, always captivating the crowd and keeping them hype. When watching the performances it was like Y/n was in her own little world and thrived on the energy.

“It was the 70s,” she shrugged, still smiling which made her eyes crinkle. “Believe it or not we all used to have stage fright—especially in the beginning when we first started performing. We were….gosh fourteen when we signed, fifteen when we performed on Johnny Carson. Good Lord I was shaking in my boots in the dressing room,” she gave a mock shake of the shoulders, reliving the memory, “The only way I could get up there and sing was if I had smoked. Took the edge off.” Maya and Evan nodded in agreement, Y/n leaning into Maverick’s arms as he stood behind her chair. “I think it was after we toured in ‘85 for ‘Love Is The Eighth Deadly Sin,’ that I could perform without anything. Though I still did it at times,” her smile fell into more of a sad expression, adding, “and unfortunately being in the industry at that time, and being so young, we were exposed to other things.”

She didn't have to explain to the aviators, for it was public knowledge when they read up on the band during their drive that Y/n, Ronnie and Danny had admitted to experimenting in the 80s with cocaine. It was common in that era, with many artists and actors in Hollywood able to get their hands on it easily. For Y/n, it was the frontman of another rock group she’d been romantically linked to who introduced her to the drug. Thankfully nothing ever happened that caused a big scandal or had the members needing professional help. They had their family, the support of their crew and each other so they never let anyone fall too deep to where they couldn’t get back up.

“But we survived,” Maya emphasizes, beaming at her husband, “and it sure has been one hell of a ride since. I can’t wait for November—I think I’m more excited for the induction ceremony than I was for the Super Bowl.” Evan goes on to playfully reject the claim, insisting his wife was way more excited about getting that call over 20 years ago than the news just last month about the Hall of Fame.

Y/n just shakes her head with fondness, leaning more into Maverick, who kisses the top of her head.

“Brings back memories, huh? Here at the Staples Center again after so many years.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, his friends chatting with the guitarist and bassist. “I just wish Ice and Slider were here. Then it would really be a blast from the past.”

“I saw Slider when we played in Florida. He brought the whole family—it was amazing.”

“Yeah he called me afterwards. Said you guys put on the best show of the year,” his lips curled up, leaning more towards her ear, “he also told me you threw in a song in the set I was going to get a kick out of.”

Y/n mirrored his smile, eyes full of mischief, “Oh you will, but I ain’t saying nothing, hot stuff. You’ll have to wait for when it comes up.”

“Can’t wait,” he chuckles, kissing her cheek lovingly.

Roughly ten minutes later the stage manager was rushing over, “We’re down to t-minus twenty till showtime people—we gotta start clearing!” Immediately the band are hurrying to say their goodbyes. Y/n practically runs to find the person needed to take the group to their seats. When she does, they hand out the passes to each person, “Julius is going to take you all up to the room. It’s gonna be one of the VIP boxes, the closest to the stage I believe, and it should have sodas, water, alcohol, and food. But if you need anything then just run it by him.”

They all spit out words of gratitude, blown away by the special treatment they were receiving. Y/n takes her time to hug each one of the pilots, who wish her good luck and thank her again for everything. Rooster lets his hug linger a bit longer, as does Maverick who brings the woman into a passionate kiss. “Thank you for doing this, baby. I owe you.”

“It’s your birthday, Pete. You know I would do anything to make you happy,” she lowers her voice into his ear, kissing the area just below, “Sorry it couldn’t be like the good ole days when I would sneak you into my dressing for some fun.” His hands squeeze her hips, sighing at the memories as she giggled.

“There’s still the after party,” he warns her, tone thick with something she knew all too well.

“I’m well aware, hot stuff.”

They share another kiss. And another. And another before Y/n pushes him away at the teasing shouts of everyone around them, Pete bidding good luck to her and the band before he sets off with the group. Rooster nudges him, smirking at the retired pilot, “well that kiss sure would motivate anyone about to go on stage.”

“Don’t start, Bradley.”

By the time they reached the room, they could literally feel the rumble of the crowd when the lights in the arena shut off. “Holy shit,” Mickey said, the first to open the balcony door of the room where they would view the show. Inside were couches, chairs, tvs, and refreshments. Coyote had his phone out, videoing the scene for his instagram story as they all grabbed beers and water before taking spots on the balcony.

The sight was surreal. The stage was to their left and extended out, splitting the floor in half. Approximately 20,000 people could fit in the Staples Center, and from the looks of it 20,000 people were in attendance. It was a sold out show after all. People from all age groups were there. Hell Bob swore he saw some young kids on the shoulders of their parents. The most were obviously the older crowd who likely grew up in the 80s, but there were definitely college kids and Millennials.

It got louder and louder when the two minute countdown appeared on the Jumbotron, along with a video montage of the band. Some clips showed them when they were first starting out up to them preparing for the reunion tour. As it drew closer to zero, the video showed a pre-taped montage of each member taking their place on stage. Maya wrapping the strap of her bass around her shoulder, Evan with his guitar. Ronnie taking place in front of the keyboard and Danny sitting at his drums. Lastly Y/n strutted up to the microphone, the clock hitting zero the moment her hand raises in the air and the arena goes black.

Not even a second passes before Evan’s opening guitar riff sends the crowd roaring. It was the opening to, ‘Thunderstruck,’ a song that literally was in almost every modern day action movie known to man. It was hilarious to see the guys and Phoenix lose their shit, recognizing the iconic song. There was a black curtain keeping the actual stage hidden from everyone's view, but chills came onto everyone’s arms when Y/n’s voice filled their ears

“I was caught in the middle of a railroad track.” The crowd echoed the ‘Thunder,’ with the band. “I looked ‘round and I knew there was no turning back.”

“THUNDER!” The squad shouted, fist pumping and beginning to dance. Already they knew it was going to be the best night of their lives.

When the curtain gave way as Y/n hit the chorus of the song, the audience literally exploded, increasing in volume when she shouted into the mic, “Los Angeles let me hear you!!!!” The camera’s were glued to her as she strutted down the middle of the stage where it split the floor. Her voice carried with each lyric, living up to the hype and sounding as though it was still 1985.

Nat—scratch that all of the guys, especially Maverick, were in awe. Jaws dropped, except Rooster who was living his best life having experienced a Y/n & the Romantics show as a teenager. Now as an adult man the aviator was overjoyed seeing his second mom performing on stage again with her best friends.

“Cap, your wife is the coolest person on earth!” Hangman shouted against the loud music. Maverick simply beamed, eyes never leaving his wife, “I know.”

When the song came to an end, Y/n sighed lovingly, “Ahhh it’s good to be back. We’ve missed you all dearly. Did you miss us?” She paused, screams igniting before adding, “That’s what I’m talking about, baby. It’s been twenty years since we last performed here at the Staples Center in Los Angeles, and we’d like to thank you all immensely for welcoming us back. We’ve worked hard the past two years putting this show together for you, the fans. For all of you regardless if you’re just discovering us, or have been rockin since 1979.”

The energy was off the charts the entire concert. Y/n was feeding off of it on stage, and in turn her presence was feeding the crowd. In between sets she interacted with her friends/bandmates, often coming close to those on the floor to ask how they were.

“You having fun tonight?” Everyone nodded frantically, a woman close to the stage shouting, “So much fun! We love you!”

“We love you too, doll. Don’t worry the night is just getting started.” After the first couple songs Y/n informs the crowd, “I hope you all don’t mind, but as you know this is the ‘Rockin’ Down Memory Lane’ tour,” cheers erupted from every angle, “so as a treat for you fine folks this evening, we won’t just be rockin down our own memory lane. We wanna give some shoutouts to some of the greats rock music has ever seen, and some of the friends we made being a part of this world thanks to all of you. And what better way to start than by kicking it off with the song that got us discovered in the first place.”

The audience was going crazy, die hard fans knowing damn well what song the rockstar was referring to. “Whoooo!!!” Coyote felt the chills when Y/n belted out the opening of ‘Cry Baby’ by Janis Joplin. “Damn girl, sing it!” One of the hardest songs to sing, Y/n had so much emotion it nearly brought a tear to some of their eyes. Rooster brought his finger to his mouth to whistle when the song finished.

The band would do three more of their songs or a medley before covering another artist/group. “Y’all may have heard the rumor…..of the special club we’re being invited to join this fall,” Y/n smirked, hand on her hip next to Maya. Cheering indicated the crowd were aware of the news. “We’re not the only ones. Some friends of ours were also invited. You may have heard of them….Duran Duran?” She pauses to let them scream, the woman chuckling before bringing the mic back to her lips. “They just played recently at the Garden and gave a special rendition of our ‘Highway To Hell,’….so we thought to return the favor,” pausing again, Y/n nods to her band where they begin their cover of ‘Hungry Like The Wolf,’ sending the audience into a frenzy.

“I fucking love this song!!” Nat screams excitedly, passing her beer to Rooster so she could freely dance without worrying about spilling it. The outfit she wore likely cost more than her college tuition. She’d be damned if she let anything happen to it.

“Darken the city, night is a wire,” The smile never left Y/n’s face, “Steam in the subway, earth is afire.” Chills happened along her arms when the entire stadium echoed, “do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do.”

She couldn’t wait to see how the guys of Duran Duran, who she and the Romantics were lucky to call friends, react to them singing their song. On Twitter she hinted at wanting to do another collaboration after seeing the video of the band perform their ‘Highway To Hell’. In 1988 the two groups released a single together, topping the Billboard charts for nearly 30 weeks. Plus both were being inducted in November to the Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall of Fame. Surely it would the collab of the century if they did.

Halfway through the show they took an intermission. During that time everyone had a bathroom break, ate some of the food provided and grabbed more drinks. Thankfully Mav did inform them Y/n’s managers got them hotel rooms not too far from the venue so they didn’t have to worry about driving back to San Diego late. When the band returned on stage for the second half of the show it appeared they had changed outfits. Y/n now sported black leather shorts that ended midthigh with fishnets tucked into her leather knee-high boots and a cropped Def Leppard shirt. The sides were cut out showing off her lace bodysuit beneath it. They went straight into songs from their ‘Love & Thunder’ era that took place in the early 90s.

Not too long after she was flagged down by the stage manager, Rick, who was in front of the floor barricade. “What do we have here?” She hummed curiously, taking the two evelopes from him. Rick shouted that it was from the couple directly behind him, who were waving frantically at the singer. The envelop on top said ‘read first.’ Confirming she could read it aloud, Y/n brought the audience to a low tone so everyone could hear.

“Dear Y/n, Maya, Evan, Ronnie, and Danny,” she read off into the mic, glancing to her friends who appeared just as curious as her. “Our names are Damien and Alana Michaels, we’re both 31 years old and met six years ago because of our shared love for your music,” Y/n awed, beaming at the couple then laughed when the letter followed, “We met at a record store and practically fought over the last copy of your limited edition vinyl of ‘Rock n Rollin to Heaven’. We were over the moon when you announced the reunion tour and feel we’ve come full circle tonight seeing as that we fell in love because your music has been an influencial part of our lives. Alana is five months pregnant with our first child,” cheering erupted, causing Y/n to speak louder into the microphone with a giant grin, “Would you do us the honor in revealing the gender of our baby?”

Y/n let the crowd scream for a moment before calming them down again, settling her gaze on the couple, “This envelope right here,” she holds up the unopened document, “has the gender of your baby?”

“Yes!” Alana shouts in glee while Damien nods, mirroring his wife’s expression.

“Give me one moment, honey—don’t go anywhere.” The stadium watches the rockstar rush to her friends, calling them over away from the mics to have a quick chat. Opening the envelope, the camera catches their reaction for the screen and they all talk for a moment before taking back their respective places.Y/n runs over to the couple again, a little out of breath, “Alright! Alana, Damien, congratulations are in store. You are bringing a new life into the world, and the Romantics and I think the best way for you to welcome them is by singing this song when they arrive,” she then looks to the crows, “To anyone who knows the words, feel free to sing along. On three guys,” she points to her friends and counts off, “One…two…three!”

“Isn’t she lovely?” Alana visibly broke into tears while Damien jumps up and down in joy. The band where harmonizing with the frontwoman, the stadium so loud it was hard to hear at times, but thankfully the speakers were at full amp to hear them sing. The couple embraced each other, consumed with happiness at the news. “Isn’t she wonderful?”

“Isn’t she precious?” Staples Center practically echoed with 20,000 people singing Stevie Wonder’s song. Y/n grinned, loving ever second of the coordinated tune. “Less than one minute old.”

“I never thought,” Y/n belted out, “through love we’d be.”

“Making one as lovely as she.”

“But isn’t she lovely, made from love,” Drawing out the ‘love’ Y/n finished the verse by shouting against the screams, “IT’S A GIRL!” Handing back the envelope with the gender to Rick, Y/n asked if she could keep the letter to which the couple agreed. Pocketing it in her shorts, Y/n says, “Congratulations Alana and Damien! Thank you for allowing us to be a part of this exiting moment. On behalf of the Romantics and everyone in attendance, we wish you the absolute best on bringing your daughter into the world and may she be blessed with joy all her life….and maybe unleash her inner rockstar from time to time,” laughter erupted, “give it up for Alana, Damien, and Baby girl Michaels!!”

Fifteen more minutes pass of the band performing their songs before taking a five minute break to set up for their next cover.

“Alright,” Y/n takes a breath, walking down the end of the extended stage. “This next trip down memory lane, has me want to ask you all a question. Ready to hear it?” When they respond with an echo, ‘yes!!’ Y/n allows the smirk to appear, “Do you guys have that one song…that you would call, your stripper song?” A laugh escapes her by the increase in volume from the sold out arena. She could just picture what looks her husband received from his former students. “You know that one song that has you thinking, ‘Gosh give me a pole and I will work it better than anyone has before,’ that kind of song?” Y/n stops halfway through the long stretch of platform, glancing around to the various sections of people.

“I would like to sing for you my stripper song—o-oh okaaaay that’s a nice reaction,” she chuckled, winking at a few spectators on the floor who were like, ‘Hell yeah!’ Pointing a finger out to a random direction, she says with a knowing look, “Now if this happens to be your stripper song too, don’t you get naked—this ain’t that kind of show,” laughter fills her ears, “Plus there's children here tonight, so technically this is a family show. So I would like to apologize now to the parents, but then again, this is a fucking rock show,” the cheers escalated, agreeing with the woman on what she was about to say, “So if you didn’t want them to see us in our element, you should’ve left them at home. But please, for the love of God, keep your clothes on if this song happens to get you in the same mood it gets me. Ready guys!”

“We're ready, babe!” Maya shouts with Evan, Danny and Ronnie giving a thumbs up.

“Step inside!” Y/n yells into the mic.

“Walk this way!” They shout into their own.

“You and me babe!”

“Hey! Hey!”

unworldly, was the way best to describe the Staples Center when the opening chords of Def Leppard’s ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me,’ sounded through the speakers. No wonder she wore the band’s shirt, hinting they were going to cover one of their songs at some point. Fans went crazy when Y/n did some of her iconic moves like crawling on the floor, flipping her hair back and forth and even usuing the mic stand as though it was a pole. She was in her element, the stage was truly where she shined.

Some of the guys were hollaring, patting Maverick on the back with knowing looks. The older man was blushing mad when they realized something was on his mind with the way he was staring at his wife. It didn’t help Y/n was biting her lip, running her hands along her body during the ‘Sugar me sweet,’ line. The camera was glued to her the entire performance.

“I know that look!” Hangman pointed out the Captain’s expression.

“Yeah, Mav, if you plan to sneak off to the dressing room after the show, don’t worry we won’t say anything.”

The band went straight into ‘Hollywood Nights,’ by Bob Seger as way to pay homage to the fact they were performing in Los Angeles, Hollywood not too far away. Jake was a big fan of the song and Rooster videoed the pilot dancing his heart out, spinning Nat around at times as they belted the lyrics.

Coming down to the final 30 minutes of the show, Y/n called the crowds attention, “This next song….is dedicated to someone very special in the audience. He’s turning 60 tomorrow and I’m celebrating twenty years of marriage with him in October.” Her smile became wider at the cheers, walking to the side of the stage closest to where Pete and the gang were.

“That’s you, my man!” Rooster playfully shakes Mav, the squad cheering when the camera pans to him. Giving a little wave, Pete blows a kiss to Y/n, who pretends to catch it.

“Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell everyone,” she pauses lightly, “With him tonight is someone who is practically our son—Lord knows I treat him like one,” Rooster does a little dance, the camera zooming out from Mav to capture the aviator next to him. “And some of his former students, the Navy’s finest fighter pilots, who I like to call his, ‘Dagger ducklings.’” The squad awed at the nickname, Fanboy and Coyote hugging up on the man.

“Does this mean you’re our papa duck, Mav?”

“Imma let y’all in on a little secret,” Y/n leans into the mic with a whisper, “That whole thing about us breaking up in the 90s? Yeah, it didn’t happen.” Laughing, Y/n stands back straight, “Right now I’m feeling a little sentimental. Pete and I actually met at a bar about two blocks away after we played here in 1989. It was there he….to put it lightly, swooned me like nobody had ever done before.” Dropping his head onto the railing, Pete’s shoulders shook as he laughed, the memory of that night replaying in his mind. “Maya knows what I’m talking about.”

“Sure do,” the bassist replied. “I think he put on better show than we did.”

“Oh God,” Maverick put a hand to his mouth to cover his grin. So many emotions were flooding him. Mostly warmth, but a tad of embarrassment.

If only Ice and Goose were here to see this.

“He sure did. And tonight I wanna take him and I down memory lane. So ladies and gentlemen, this is for anyone who’s lost that lovin’ feeling.”

Words couldn’t describe what Pete felt listening to Y/n sing, ‘You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling.’ Maya and Ronnie provided the back up vocals, harmonizing with Y/n during the chorus. The entire time she sang Y/n was swaying and keeping her body faced to the section Pete was at. The two connected eyes at times, lost in each other’s gaze causing the two to feel the love radiate one another.

She sounded so beautiful. Of course it was well known Y/n was very versatile with her music and voice. She could take it high and low, mellowing out for a slow tune. There was a lot of soul in her and the band, which is not surprising since they starting in Atlanta. They grew up on blues, jazz, and classic rock. Inspired by the greats like Billie Holiday, B.B King, Janis Joplin, Elvis, Little Richard, and the Mama’s & Papas.

Pete cheered the loudest in their group when the song came to end, whistling along with Rooster. Y/n blew him a kiss, “Never lose that lovin’ feeling with me, honey.”

Not too long after it came time for the final number. “Imma need ‘Dirty Diana’ for this one,” Y/n announced, moving to the middle of the stage where the mic stand was. A crew member appeared from the side, handing over a neon green Fender Stratocaster. She pulled the strap over her shoulder, “Los Angeles, as we come to tonight’s closing I want you to know you all have, without a doubt, been the best crowd ever. L.A, you know how to bring the energy and we can’t thank you enough for what a blast it’s been playing for you all. What a way to end our tour—can’t believe it’s already over, but fear not…we’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

Evan, Maya, Ronnie, and Danny all say a few words, then they all thank their managers, crew, friends, and family for allowing them to put on a great show. Lastly they thank the fans in an tearfelt speach, finishing it off telling everyone to have a safe journey back home and to keep rockin n rolling. Y/n closes it out with, “Los Angeles sing this last one with us. It’s been a long way to the top,” the screams got louder, “but worth every damn second.”

Staples Center erupted, Y/n letting her hands work magic on the guitar as she played the opening riff of ‘It’s A Long Way To The To (If You Wanna Rock ‘N’ Roll) .’ Then Evan came in his riffs followed by Danny’s drums. Maya and Y/n banged their head together, leaning toward one as they feed off each other’s energy.

“Oh shit!” Payback whistled, shaking his shoulder along to the beat. This was a song he used to dance to in college with his buddies. It brought back memories for the pilot, nostalgia filling him just like it was to many in the crowd.

“Ridin’ down the highway. Goin’ to a show. Stop in all the byways. Playin’ rock ‘n’ roll.”

“Gettin’ robber, gettin’ stoned, gettin’ beat up. Broken-boned. Gettin’ had, gettin’ took. I’ll tell you, folks, it’s harder than it looks.”

Pretty much everyone shouted the lyrics in the chorus, one of the most recognizable ones in music history.

“It’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock ‘n’ roll!”

“It’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock ‘n’ roll!”

It went crazy during Y/n’s solo that had all the pilot’s, minus Mav & Rooster, jaws drop. The entire show she hadn’t played the guitar much save for maybe two songs, but it was not to the absolute greatness she was displaying now. Evan guitar solos were off the chain, as were Danny’s drums. Then they had Ronnie tearing it up on the keys with Maya crowning herself the queen of the bass. The voice of the band, Y/n showed she was as talented with the instrument as she was putting lyrics to paper and belting them out for her heart’s desire.

They truly were one of the greatest rock bands to exist.

Even after the song ended they were going hard on the instruments, finishing the show with a literally bang. Lights were flashing, every single person on their feet, Danny and Evan hitting one last solo and instilling the moment as one for the history books.

“Thank you, Los Angeles!! We’ll see you next time! Good night and keep on rockin’!!”

11:58 pm, two blocks away at Melvin’s Planet Enterprise Bar

“Feels like deja vu,” Y/n laughed, dancing with Pete to the tune of ‘When Doves Cry’ in the familiar bar. Though it had a new name and owner, it still gave the same effect as it did in 1989. This time, however, there were posters of Y/n & the Romantics, one of which was signed and framed just above the jukebox playing classic hits and even some of theirs.

Y/n had changed out of her clothes again, wearing black jeans and tank top with a blue leather jacket that had studs and chains attached to the sides. Her makeup had been touched up, hair pulled in a ponytail. It was almost comical how the scene was just like that night in ‘89 with blue strobe lights shining down on them, making her look illuminated.

The dagger squad were in their own little world, dancing and drinking with each other and the band’s crew members. Jake was getting along quite well with someone from Y/n’s glam team, Nat chatting with a member of the security. Then there was Coyote dancing with the oldest daughter of Maya and Evan. They had rented out the place after the show, everyone hauling ass to celebrate the end of the tour. All grown up, the children of the Romantics could enjoy the night as well, not having to worry about being underage now that the youngest of the bunch had turned 21 the previous month.

When they arrived the party was in full blast, Rooster pulling Y/n to the dance floor to share a dance. Then they duetted ‘Great Balls of Fire,’ with him on the piano. Everyone sang at the top of their lungs. Pete held Y/n, head banging with her at the ‘Mine! Mine! Mine!’ bit and sneaking kisses during, ‘kiss me, baby!’

When her feet started to hurt from standing, Y/n sat in Pete’s lap and nursed a cocktail while they chatted with Hondo and Ronnie’s wife. Over in a corner Bob was on the phone with his family after his sister saw Phoenix’s instagram story, “You saw Y/n & the Romantics tonight!?! How the hell did you manage to get tickets—they were sold out!”

“Uhh….you remember my instructor from that mission awhile back? Turns out he’s marrried to Y/n L/n.”

“WHAT!?! Pete Mitchell was your instructor!?” Bob swore his mother about went into cardiac arrest, screaming when Y/n appeared on screeen after he politely asked if she would mind saying hello to his mother. The rockstar of course said yes, she loved interacting and meeting supporters. They were the reason she got to live her dream. Bob nearly cried seeing his mother in tears, overcome with emotion at the fact she was meeting her favorite singer of all time. After the call ended Y/n gave the WSO a tour program she had all the members sign, “give this to your momma for me. Tell her I hope to see her on the next tour.”

The dagger squad were literally becoming Y/n’s adoptive children by the second. Mickey couldn’t believe he got her to do a tiktok with him, then she had a shot of tequila with Reuben. As Nat danced the woman hyped her up with Maya and she had a semi dance off with Javy. Throughout the night stories were told about meeting Princess Diana in 1995, playing in New York on New Year’s Eve of 1999, the Super Bowl, and their iconic performance at the first MTV video music awards in 1984. They were like children gathered by the Christmas tree listening to her read a book. All they could think was how cool she was and the fact the band had truly changed the world of music over their spand of 40 years.

Prince’s iconic ‘When Doves Cry’ started to play just before midnight and it was like slow motion for the rockstar, moving to her husband who was already staring at her with the same expression. Now they really were back in 1989.

“It does,” Mav beamed at his wife, the song hitting it’s second verse. “Only thing missing are the cameras flashing, Ice and Slider sending me a thumbs up, and jealous looks from patrons.” His words make her giggle, throwing her head back slightly.

“Ice is definitely giving you a thumbs up with Goose,” her voice turns soft, stroking the side of his neck, “Bradley’s got his phone out. No doubt videoing us as I speak. He knows how significant this song is.”

“Remind me to have him send me it,” he tells her, dipping her suddenly causing her to squeal. Lips press to her cheek when he pulls her back up.

“Wanna know something though, hot stuff?”

“What?”

The light hitting her eyes shows off the mischief matching her smirk, “This time ‘round, you won’t just be getting a kiss goodnight. You actually get to take me home.” Thank god the lighting hid the color of his face, otherwise she would get a good look at how red it was.

It didn’t stop her from seeing the smile however, Mav shaking his head playfully. He didn’t have to reply for her to know what he was thinking. Just his laugh was enough.

As the clock stuck midnight, Y/n brought him into a sweet kiss, “Happy Birthday, Pete. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby. Thank you.”

The rest of the night was filled with celebration, not just for the epic end of the tour and impending induction as Rock ‘N’ Roll hall of famers, but also the life of the Navy’s most famous pilot. Until it came time to leave, not a single minute was wasted in having the best night of their lives.

All of which happened because two souls decided to go to the same bar after a concert. One a spectator, the other the performer. Both who made names of themselves in their own right, embedding their legacy forever for generations to come. It took a hell of a time to do it, but as one knows….it’s a long way to the top you wanna rock ‘n’ roll.

……………………

TGM tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan, @caitsymichelle13, @poppyalice2001, @cutelittlepotatofry

#Spotify #pete mitchell imagine #pete mitchell x reader #captain pete maverick mitchell #maverick x reader #maverick imagine #top gun maverick #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fanfiction #Bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #natasha trace imagine #captain pete mitchell #pete mitchell x y/n #rockstar!reader #fluff #pete mitchell fluff #dagger squad x reader #dagger squad imagine #dagger squad #singer!reader #top gun maverick headcanon #rooster imagine #rooster x reader

[tiktaalic]

concerts. not ranked. just chronological:

twenty one pilots pit. my first concert. i was eighteen had graduated high school 2 months before i had bad taste and was deeply suicidal to the point that i DID unironically go ok suicide postponed until after i go to the top concert with my friend ... so you can imagine how polished and wonderful the experience is in my memory. rank: thumbs up

panic at the disco. honest to god it was so underwhelming that as i walked out. i consciously thought. this sucked. i think live music is a scam. i'm not buying concert tickets anymore. this sucks. and then i bought zero (0) concert tickets until 2022. rank: 0/10.

orville peck: bought it on a whim. i'd listened to him for the first time like a month prior BECAUSE i'd bought the ticket. it was a small venue and the most beautiful experience of my life i walked out and went brendan urie how could you take live music away from me for years this was transcendental this made me anew this is the closest thing to magic we have in this world and follow up question am i a gay man? should i be? rank: like seeing a firefly for the first time in your life

bikini kill: girlbossed too close to the sun this was the monday after the friday orville show i had just gotten off work i was sitting in a chair and the whole time i was thinking about how fucking loud it was and how bad traffic would be when i left and how early i had to get up for work the next day. the opener slaaaaayed tho. #plug for hunx and his punx . rating: in another world. where i dont have to fight dallas traffic in the middle of the night and be up for work at 8am. i would have really liked staying for the whole bikini kill show.

my chemical romance: i was doing a bit. enjoyed the bit. rank: yeah i get it. i get it.

taylor swift: came out of it with a newfound respect for the woman. tided her through an entire 2 months of #nocriticism from me before it wore off. rank: i followed eras tour resell and was like oh haha wouldnt it be silly if i managed to snag night TWO tickets as well. walked out of night one. and went i am NOT doing that.

beyonce: another ticket bought on a whim another one where i emerged into the world molded into someone new. starry eyed. this isnt the closest thing to magic in this world this IS magic in this world. live music forever and ever. credit card debt isn't real. live music is real

#etxt

[youremyonlyhope]

The Giggle

Final Fourteen episode*. If I've added an asterisk it means that I correctly interpreted the vague spoiler I saw and am not happy. (Edit: Yep added the asterisk.)

Anyway. I'm just glad this means we'll finally get Gatwa!Doctor. We should have had him already.

Also forgot to put this in the last post. But. Pandemonium, the world ending, people going insane, and a Toymaker. My prediction for the plot of this episode: StarKid's Black Friday.

Sorry, all I can hear is Barney Stinson. I'm sure he did a bad German accent at some point in HIMYM. I like dolls but these puppets are creepy even to me. "Sunnier climes" OH, SO HE'S A RACIST. Hey dude. Tell Baird about the human hair before it blows up. "Imagine if it could talk." No no no. Be careful what you wish for.

Something I forgot to say much much earlier. I don't know how I feel about the intense zoom-in on the TARDIS in the opening sequence. It's almost a Torchwood level of dramatic zoom.

Very carefully not showing us Wilf's face. I wouldn't have wanted Bernard present for all this chaos either though. I'm sorry. UNIT has an Avenger's Tower now? I don't like that. I liked the Tower of London. But I guess Kate wanted to make sure they definitely didn't get shut down again. I was chanting "Slap him, slap him, slap him" as Kate walked up and when she hugged him I said "Aww" in disappointment. Oh Mel! I had been vaguely spoiled of her showing up too. RTD2, I would have preferred an Old Who companion showing up in the 60th special episode that was closest to the actual 60th, but oh well I guess I should be happy we got something Old Who at all since this really was getting close to being a purely RTD focused anniversary. "The pilot declared his right to land wherever he wanted." Greaaat. Sounds like an average day here in 'Murica honestly. "Why should I care about you?" I mean look everything I've ever seen of the Tories tells me that's just what they're like anyway. What is a Vlinx and why is it here and why do we trust it? I don't trust it. Ah. Bad idea to deactivate it for even more than a couple words honestly. So is everyone just prejudiced now? Like the racist toymaker?

TRINITY WELLS!!!!! NO WAY. NO. WAY. THEY GOT MY GIRL TRINITY BACK ON MY TV!?!?!?! THAT'S MY GIRL RIGHT THERE. I LOVE HER. Ohhhh Trinity deserves the big font for that.

I've found the one bit of RTD era nostalgia that instantly gets to me. Have Trinity Wells show up. I guess this is how everyone else has felt the last few episodes. Not even Wilf got that reaction out of me. I literally just SCREAMED "Trinity Wells!" Out loud. I can't even be mad she's spewing stupidity and is "anti-Zeedex" I am just happy to see her. That's my girl.

If nothing else comes from this episode, if I don't care about anything else, I got to see Trinity Wells again. Ok that really made me so happy just now. The Trinity Wells Show. Really showing us it's her. Ahhh I love her. Seriously I'm reacting the way I probably would have reacted if they ever acknowledged Frobisher during Twelve's era. Only Martha showing up could get a bigger reaction out of me right now. Truly that was a cameo aimed at me and only me it feels like. So like the Master's network? "It's not like the old Archangel Network." Ok never mind. Oh so Rose only came out as trans 6 months ago. I WAS GONNA SAY THAT THE CHILDREN'S VOICES WE HEARD BEFORE THE TIME-SKIP WAS MY VOCAL WARMUPS. God I need to write things down when I think of them. NOOO. I THINK I KNEW ABOUT THE FIRST TV VIDEO BEING A PUPPET OR SOMETHING. THIS SOUNDS FAMILIAR. I don't mean to be That Person but the whole human race isn't connected by Internet yet. We still got uncontacted/limited contact tribes and groups all over the place. Hundreds if not thousands of people who have never seen a screen. Oh yeah! They're President of the World!

(I took way too long searching to find that specific gif. But I love that gif so much.)

"120 plus five weeks holiday." "Done." YAS GET THAT MONEY DONNA. Also find Martha to see if she's still freelance or not. "So you talk about no one. Ever." I don't mean to quote Jack Harkness, but not if they're blonde... Doctor. You are. Avoiding. Still so much Thirteen in you. NOPE. LOL at them having to use basically refurbished still images from the lost episodes. BBC, this is only the fault of your own that they're missing. I hope you two have learned from last episode to STAY TOGETHER. Rules of play. Lawless. Hmm. So the Toymaker made everyone act like kids where the world revolves around them and only them? WHAT DID I SAY. STAY. TOGETHER. Oh no he's way too light. That was way too heavy for the Doctor to lift. Who's your mummy? Not an Empty Child reference just me being convinced his mummy is going to be someone. Oh nooooo not the "mama" and the teeth. OH RECAP TIME. Is this because they know a bunch of people skipped Twelve and Thirteen and even Eleven? Oh well. At least some acknowledgement. Still wish it was in the first of the specials but ok. "Oh, well, that's all right then." Ok look Toymaker has got a point for those three "surviving" but dying. Why only reference the Flux and nothing else Thirteen went through? Part of me is upset at no mention of the Fam and Dan, not even at least Yaz since Fourteen would have seen her only days earlier, but Thirteen had a clean track record of companions surviving so it's ok. Ok NPH's using his Barney magic trick skills ok. I see you. What do you mean a jigsaw of the Doctor's history? WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT. PLEASE BE A REFERENCE TO THE ORIGINAL OLD WHO EPISODE. DON'T BE A HINT THAT RTD2 IS GOING TO TRY TO RETCON THE TIMELESS CHILD. JUST LET IT BE. I'm sorry the Master is in your WHAT. "The one who waits." Amy? Rory? They both waited. "That's someone else's game." huh. Sorry, all I see is Barney Stinson even in the mannerisms. I was wondering why if they went back in time that things would still be bad in the future. Since if they fixed it in 1925 it wouldn't happen. The Toymaker wouldn't be there. But no wibbly wobbly timey wimey just a different order. They should take the little toy box. Oh good took it. Don't you dare kill of Mel right here while she's watching the box. Don't you dare. I haven't even seen any of her episodes but I swear if you kill her.... WHAT. IS. THE. VLINX. THOUGH. Hey Doctor, at least tell Kate what you're up against. I was about to say that NPH was pretty perfect casting for a role like this, then the Toymaker threw Kate into a wall and too I'm mad now. DON'T HURT MEL TOO. Oh no. Kateeee I love you I do but listen to him ok? NOW you tell her about the Toymaker. Maybe some warning next time? Eh. He can shoot it. I didn't like this new UNIT building anyway. This is very Christmas Invasion. [thud] [glass shattering] OK that was dark. Wait celestials were a thing in Do You Hear Me? right? "And yet, I have fallen in love with humanity." Really hitting the nail on the "just like the Doctor" head here. OH. WOW. OOOOOOOOOOH. Next Doctor. Oooooooooooh. "It doesn't matter who. Because every single one of you is fantastic" RTD2 that better be a purposeful Nine reference though I know it's not. Don't you dare say "I don't want to go." for the third time. "Allons-y." Ok I'll accept that.

NO. NOT AGAIN. WE ARE NOT DOING ANOTHER TEN REGENERATION FAKE OUT. NO.

"What?" No. Nope. The spoiler came true and I am not happy about it. Time to add that asterisk. No. Is he not even wearing pants? Oh but I love Gatwa as the Doctor already so much. He's here. Oh Fifteen (fine I will say the number. I think this is the first time) gets to keep the tie. I meant to say I liked the grey knit tie earlier like 2 episodes ago. And the shoes. Oh and Ten's in an undershirt, I thought the shirt multiplied somehow just to not leave Fifteen totally naked. "Someone tell me what the hell is going on here?" I am so happy to see you. Why must your first scene involve you not wearing pants though? The disrespect. "I think you're beautiful." "Do you come in a range of colors?" "Yes." I... do not know how I feel about that line. I really don't like that Fifteen has to LITERALLY share his start with Fourteen. I was saying it when Gatwa was first announced as Fourteen and then not Fourteen because then Tennant got announced. And now it's literally happening. They're sharing the lines, the scene, 1 of 3 specials. Really more like half a special if we're being generous. I really wish we had just not done this Tenthree thing at all. See even Fourteen got to say "I'm the Doctor" first while Fifteen said "And I'm the Doctor." like. Come on. At least let Fifteen have that first line. HEY. THE CAPTIONS SAY [TENTH DOCTOR] NOT FOURTEENTH. SO WHICH IS IT. WHAT IS THE TRUTH. DOES THIS NOT COUNT?

Ok seriously. Give the man some pants. Like come on.

Eeek did he have too many teeth? He looked like he had too many teeth. Flat, 2D, like Flatline? "My legions are coming." Ok and that means... Oooh I did not like that the laugh's arpeggio didn't resolve. "And bind it in salt." SO. IS THIS SALT THING. REALLY A THING NOW? REALLY? Or is it just because the Doctor mentioned the whole salt thing being the leak that let the Toymaker in? And what about mavity? There's 15 minutes. The ball fell but did it hit the ground yet? Gravity? Maybe the game didn't end? The Doctor kissed themself. Not in the way the Master did but still.

Give him some pants please.

NO. NO. NOT ANOTHER LADY WITH RED NAILS PICKING UP SOMETHING THAT HAS THE MASTER INSIDE IT. NO. SERIOUSLY RTD WHY ARE WE DOING THINGS OVER? Unless it's Dhawan!Master. Then I will accept that. I will gladly have Dhawan!Master back. BUT OTHERWISE NO. I REFUSE. Why is Fourteen explaining this to Fifteen, he should remember it since he's him. Like come on. "This is great. I think. Is it?" That was a Thirteenism right there. "One thing you need in this place is a chair." see that's the Doctor channeling Bill judging Twelve not having chairs close enough to the console. "Adric." "Adric." ADRICCCCCC. Seriously that hurts me and like I said I haven't even watched that part of Old Who. God. Stop bringing up Rose come on. OH WAIT. WAIT.

WAIT.

"I loved her. And Rose." OH MY GOD. I hate Tenrose but even I'M freaking out that the Doctor just admitted to loving Rose out loud. OH MY GOD. I mean still fanservice pandering. But FINE. Fine. Tenrose shippers take this one I'm giving it to you. I got so distracted by my annoyance at the still constant bringing up of Rose I almost missed the weight of what that meant. Still mad about the Rose-colored-glasses of the RTD era but good for you guys getting this.

Mavic Chen? Remind me to look that up it sounds really familiar. Ah, wish I didn't look it up, gotta love that 60s racism. Rehab in reverse. So you're saying we're gonna check back in on Fourteen in the future and he'll properly regenerate and/or kind of pop into existence in the moment that Fifteen bi-generated? Maybe? Hopefully? God if I had a nickel for every time RTD had a second Doctor separate from the main Doctor and had Tennant's face stay on Earth with a companion, I'd have two nickels. Don't you dare split the TARDIS too. That's too much. I assume this hammer is an Old Who reference. If so, very cute. They split the TARDIS. And Fifteen gets the second TARDIS. I can't really describe my mood besides -_- "I am so sorry." Yeah you better apologize to her. Ok that's cute the ramp. Why the jukebox though. Traditional Earth ballad? If Billie Piper shows up I'm literally stomping across the pond to RTD's house and killing him because that'll officially be Too Much. I can't even be completely happy at Gatwa's first proper TARDIS flight. "You weren't going to leave without saying goodbye were you?" Of course he was. Ask Sarah Jane. ASK SUSAN. "As if I would ever do that." At least you're self aware. Have these two been the first Doctors to hug? So Fifteen tells people he loves them. Willingly. Openly. Frequently. And a lot. I like that. (Yes Fourteen said he loved Wilf and River but shhh that was over the course of days. Fifteen has said I love you twice in like 3 minutes and was very affectionate to Mel)

Can we PLEASE put this man in some pants though!?

The little 2-finger salute from Fourteen is cute though. "The eyebrow story." TWELVE? Nope an alien species. "Oh, you're family, darling. Sit down." AWWWW. AWWWWWW MEL GETS A FAMILY. Ok. Ok that's really sweet. That's what I care about. Not even Tenthree/Fourteen getting a family. Mel gets one. Empty chair. It's for Wilf yes but let me pretend Martha's just running late to dinner ok? Ok. "I've never been so happy in my life." That's good. Fifteen really split off from Fourteen and was like "Ok you carry all the trauma and deal with it. I'm gonna keep running away."

I knew the Vlinx was voiced by Nicholas Briggs. What IS the Vlinx though? Because I really was waiting for it to be like a plant by the Toymaker.

God I can't believe we're really gonna do the same thing all over again with the Master. Like I said, if it's Dhawan!Master then I'm overjoyed. If it's another, I'm not as happy. I'm hoping that because it was the same way Simm!Master had came back as himself, it means Dhawan!Master will too. We'll see. And who grabbed the tooth this time? At least last time the ring was in a forest. I could believe someone was nearby to take it. But they're on a HELICOPTER LANDING PAD. In the secure UNIT building. Seriously who picked up the tooth?

GIVE. MY MAN. SOME PANTS. I feel so insulted that Gatwa spent all of his moments in his first episode IN HIS UNDERWEAR.

The absolute highlight of the episode was seeing Trinity Wells. Literally the most excited I've been about any of these fanservice moments. That feels like it was fanservice just aimed directly at me. As if RTD2 was like "Hope's not gonna enjoy this. What can we do? No no I'm not bringing back Martha. Oh! Trinity Wells!"

*Asterisk time! I can only hope that Fourteen is just another Tentoo and will live and die a normal human life but that's not what seems to be the case. I don't like that there's just another Doctor floating around. I had been spoiled for it. I hoped I had misunderstood the post since I hadn't properly finished reading it once I realized it was a spoiler. But I interpreted it correctly. If it ends up being that Fourteen does eventually regenerate and kind of hops back into the moment the body splits into Fourteen and Fifteen, then fine. But like. Otherwise, if there's now just a separate branch of Doctors and regenerations and then Fifteen technically has to share the title of Fifteen with whoever regenerates from this Fourteen then I will be so mad. Is this Fourteen really Fourteentoo? Or Tenfour. CAN WE JUST STOP REGENERATING INTO DAVID TENNANT AT THIS POINT. Just have him come back as Ten, he doesn't need to be three maybe FOUR different Doctors!

Oh my god. If RTD2 pulls a "Fugitive!Doctor is actually a Doctor AFTER Fourteen and regenerated and forgot everything and then met Thirteen" instead of being a pre-First Doctor then I'll actually riot. If that's the meaning of the jigsaw of their history, I'm really gonna actually riot.

Of the 3 specials. The Meep was eh. It was fine. Pure nostalgia and a nightmare fuel alien monster of the week. However, I REALLY enjoyed Wild Blue Yonder. That was right up my alley combining aspects of a lot of my favorite past episodes. And the Giggle was fine. Better than the Meep, definitely. I love Fifteen. I'm mad about the bi-generation thing. I would have preferred if after the Toymaster was gone for a bit that Fourteen got sucked back into Fifteen or something as a way of the Universe correcting itself. I'm mad that for most of Fifteen's scenes, it felt more like he was Fourteen's companion. Not the next Doctor. ALSO WHY COULDN'T WE GIVE FIFTEEN SOME PANTS PLEASE. AT LEAST IN THE LATER SCENES.

Also is it still mavity? Did Donna really just ruin all of human history with that one joke?

Oh I just started proofreading and I realize my prediction of Black Friday was wrong. I really thought the Toymaker was gonna make everyone go crazy over a puppet toy.

GIVE FIFTEEN SOME PANTS.

#hope watches doctor who #dw spoilers #doctor who spoilers #the giggle #my non-spoiler verdict: pants #also: a cameo that only i would freak out over #(no it's not the obvious person who you think it is. if it had been i'd be a crying mess probably)

[dynamoe]

I wrote a Hipster Animals pilot script in 2011, but no one cared.

In 2013 with two co-writers/business partners (w/ way more clout), I rewrote it into an animated sitcom pitch called Busyburg. We had real meetings in depressing boardrooms of IFC, FX and Cartoon Network.

Adult Swim liked the idea enough to pay us to write a pilot script, which took three months. Then the head of the network changed and the new guy said "fuck this!" We got money to go away (a "kill fee").

After that, I came up with a different Hipster Animals show idea called Wild Wild Life (an animated sketch show) and started to pitch that, but then a publisher wanted a book instead of a show.

The business partners came back and said "Now that it's a book we can pitch again!" but I said nah, this idea feels tired. Hipsters don't really exist anymore. I wanna stop.

That's showbiz!

THE LONG VERSION of the STORY

(I checked with my writing collaborators on this project who said it was not tacky or pathetic to share failed pilots on social media, so I'm going for it)

It's been 10 years now so I can tell how Cartoon Network optioned Hipster Animals to make into an adult-audience animated show, the closest I've gotten to Hollywood success.

In 2013, Hipster Animals was just a slightly viral blog with a couple of year's worth of animal designs on it and good press. It wasn't making money off it; no ads or anything. I hadn't done anything with the designs, just a couple times a week I'd upload a new character.

Within the first year of posting I was already trying to get a narrative in it. I found scripts going back to 2011 and I think I sent a vague pitch for a show around to people I knew in New York but there was not much interest.I had no TV writing credits, just years of doing comedy in NY.  (My credits doing the Mad Men illustration & book were irrelevant to pitching.)

I asked my old bosses from Modern Humorist (who were in Hollywood and had worked on several animated shows already) what I should do with it. They had tons of credits and clout. They thought Hipster Animals was a sell-able idea and came in with me as writing partners. Through their contacts, they got a production company attached to help sell it and now the head of that production company was also pitching it. (If you go to a network with the idea AND a way to make the show already together it was that much more appealing for them.)

Our angle on the pitch highlighted the parallels to Richard Scarry's children's books (which had been made into children's cartoons)— a large cast of animal-people living in a community. Crack open What Do People Do All Day and you'll see the hipster ideal: a walkable city with no chain stores where animal-people work as independent craftsmen in local self-owned businesses  The title became BUSYBURG, after Scarry's Busytown + Williamsburg, Brooklyn, the ground-zero of American hipsterism (even though by then the hipsters had been priced out of Williamsburg and moved to Greenpoint.)

Calls were made. PDF packets with sample art were emailed. Eventually, real in-person meetings were booked. I was living in NY so I flew out for the week to go to FX and Cartoon Network and IFC and maybe other places I can't remember. We had at least three in-person pitches, but all the empty boardrooms we sat in looked the same so it was kind of a blur. (Streaming platforms only kind of existed and none were commissioning original shows at that point). I had pitched shows before in New York a little bit but this was the first time I ran the gamut of doing the same spiel at multiple locations, movie montage style.

Cartoon Network got back to us and wanted us to write a pilot script (and paid us money), which we did over the next 2-3 months. I have to say, writing a script with three people vs. writing it solo is a drag. Even when all parties were reasonable; it's just too many points of view and we're not in the same room so we can't even tell if the jokes were funny. Very hard way to work. Then the script had to be passed by our producer and then to Cartoon Network. We did multiple drafts for them.

Then there was a shakeup at Cartoon Network/Adult Swim where the CEO of one became the CEO of the other. I don't even understand what happened, but a new boss came in, said "what's this shit? get it outta here" and we were awarded a kill fee. That was the death of Hipster Animals: the Animated Series at Cartoon Network/Adult Swim.

On my own, I re-formatted the idea from an animated sitcom to an animated sketch show, now titled WILD WILD LIFE (after the Talking Heads song about blow). Then I learned from a producer you're never supposed to say "animated sketch show" in a pitch, but rather invoke the Simpson's episode 22 Short Films About Springfield.

I also learned that artistically competent character design is a huge NO in writer-driven adult-audience animation. Only children's animation can look good. Adult shows must look like Family Guy or they are perceived as too childish... that's why they all look the same.

After that I was contacted by Three Rivers Press about turning the blog into a book (Hipster Animals: A Field Guide) which was a whole other kettle of shit I won't get into.

Modern Humorist came back and said "Since there's a book now we'd be in a stronger position to pitch it again," but I said with all honesty, this idea feels really stale now.  Bojack Horseman had already premiered which felt too close to our "hook" of animal-people doing socially destructive adult things.

And that year they sold a sitcom pilot to CBS now on its third season so they're set for life.

#hipster animals #how NOT to make a cartoon #animals #character design #cartoon #animal art

[highwaytothedangerzone502]

Ghost Story - Chapter 11

Pairing: Rooster x Female OC

Word Count: 2751

Warnings: None

Summary: No one will miss a ghost. It'd been a running joke for as long as anyone could remember, something Ghost herself started, and she always said it with a smile on her face or with mirth in her voice. The untouchable stealth pilot in every sense of the word, no one could've predicted the depth of her turmoil over recent events, nor the extremes she would go to in order to protect the man she loved, not even those closest to her. Now, all that was left of the young aviator for Maverick, Hangman, and Rooster were the memories of the past, which would slowly fade with time. She'd come into their lives and made an unforgettable impression, and then, like a ghost, she was gone... Then again, ghosts can't die a second time.

Notes: The chapters/parts in italics are flashbacks. Also, I know I used Melissa Benoist as Juliette in India Lima Yankee but I really love her as an actress okay...

Chapter Songs: Slow Ride Enchanted

****

Ghost

A week's worth of rest, medicine, and exercise did wonders for Ghost's injuries, and by the time New Years' Eve rolled around, she could move without hurting overall. This was great since helping Maverick repair her motorcycle required some lifting and contortion of the body to reach specific spots. Ghost's gratefulness for Maverick's help exceeded words because just the cost of the replacement parts put a dent in Ghost's paycheck. The labor would've taken up another.

It also allowed her to bond more with the captain, her idol. More than once, she used the knife he gave her to open a package in his presence, and Ghost could tell by the look on his face he hadn't expected her to whip it out like that, let alone to be carrying it on her. Truthfully, the weapon never left Ghost's being. It was always tucked in the back pocket of jeans, inside her boot if the jean pockets weren't deep enough, and if neither sufficed, her bra. Thankfully the padding in it prevented anyone from noticing the weapon stuffed inside. Maverick remained unaware of how much the knife meant to her, and its value to her chiefly originated from the fact that he considered her part of this elite group he'd bonded with, a group no one else could reasonably be considered a part of, yet here she was. More than once, Ghost found herself fiddling with the pocketknife, opening and closing it, fiddling with it while closed, and finding any reason to use it. She loved the color of it, which she learned was called Vantablack, the blackest of blacks. She adored how her name appeared when the blade flipped out and disappeared when she closed it. Most of all, she treasured the sentimentality and thought behind the gift.

"Hand me the wrench, please," Maverick requested, lying on his back to fix something on the underside of the motorcycle. Ghost obeyed. As he worked on it, he asked, "I've been meaning to ask, did your mom ask anything about the pictures you requested of me?"

"Yeah, but I told her that you and Rooster were speaking again, so I wanted to include pictures of you in the book. I haven't told her I've met you yet," Ghost said, checking her phone when it buzzed. A text from Bryn flashed on her screen, showing her excitement for tonight's celebration at the Hard Deck. Ghost ignored it, choosing to respond later.

"How come?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I have this feeling it'll open a can of worms I don't want to deal with. My instincts tend to be accurate, so I'm going to continue listening to it."

"That's smart. To follow your instincts, I mean. You do that up in the air?"

"Always. What they teach you in class and at Top Gun from the book is a great foundation, but I learned quickly that if you think up there, you're dead. I learned following my instinct always served me better. Drove my superiors and teachers nuts at the Academy, but it got me results, and I could handle any of the reprimanding that came my way."

"Your file did say you were a wildcard," Maverick noted, handing her back the wrench. "You sound like me back in my heyday."

"As if your heyday ever ended. You're still the best naval pilot around."

"In the reserves. If I get called back, you know it's bad," he joked.

"Or someone knows you're the best to have on their team. On a different note, are you going to the Hard Deck tonight?"

"Yeah, I told Penny I'd help out. Not sure how much of a help I'll be behind the counter, but we'll see how it goes."

"I'm sure you'll do brilliantly! If you can fix my bike, you can help Penny."

Maverick smiled appreciatively at her. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ghost. Speaking of your bike, want to give it a go? It should work."

The female aviator nodded and straddled the machine, praying it turned on without issue. Much to her relief and excitement, the engine hummed to life, purring smoothly beneath her.

"Give it a whirl around the block, see how it does," Maverick instructed. Ghost eagerly did so, and when she returned, proudly announced it ran like a dream. Maverick beamed. "Glad to hear it! If you ever need help with it again, let me know."

"Thanks, Mav. I really appreciate it. Do you and Penny need help with anything before I go?"

"No, you're all good. I'll see you at the Hard Deck."

Bidding Maverick goodbye, Ghost cheerfully hopped onto her bike and sped onto the road, feeling free and alive and stress-free as the wind enveloped her in its cold embrace. She arrived at her condo too quickly, but it gave her plenty of time to shower and dress for the party at the Hard Deck. She wasn't required to wear color again, thankfully, so Ghost threw on a little black skater dress with her black lace peep toes she wore to the Christmas party. She styled her blonde hair into stunning, perfect waves and wore eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man. She then ordered an Uber and caught a ride to the bar. Upon arrival, she saw a few people lounging around the pool table, but none of the Daggers could be found. Ghost didn't mind, though, because Maverick and Penny were already at the bar, the latter teaching her boyfriend how to pour a pint correctly.

"You're early, Winchester," Penny remarked, sharply attired in a navy blue dress. "Come to watch Maverick struggle?"

Laughing, Ghost said, "No, I can't laugh at the man who fixed my precious bike. Is there anything else you need help setting up with tonight?"

"Actually, yes. I need some more decorations hung from the ceiling above the booths and tables. They're in the box over in the corner."

"Say no more." Ghost grabbed the decorations and set to work, carefully stepping up on the wooden booth and hanging them from the ceiling. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Rooster strut into the bar, wearing his signature Hawaiian shirt and aviators. He stopped at the top of the stairs and surveyed the scene, searching for familiar faces. His eyes landed on Ghost, and he swaggered over to her.

"What the hell are you doing?" Rooster asked, looking up at her and placing a steadying hand on her calf when she swayed backward a little.

"Helping Penny with decorations while she teaches Maverick to bartend," Ghost responded, watching the star she'd just hung up dangle for a moment to ensure it didn't fall before stepping down with the assistance of Rooster. "I have a few more to hang."

"Why don't I do that, and you supervise? I keep thinking you're going to fall, and it's giving me gray hairs."

"I won't say no. I feel like there are eyes on me while I'm putting those up."

"Ghost, you may think you're invisible to a lot of people," Rooster said, placing a hand on the lower part of her back as he leaned in and added, "but you're not invisible to a bunch of creepy old men who are checking you and your long legs out."

"I appreciate the subtle compliment you slid in there."

"Any time." He winked at her, then stepped up into the next booth. Ghost handed him the next star, and the two of them worked side by side, chatting like the old friends they were, neither thinking of the distance that had come between them for the last few weeks. Unfortunately, the universe swiftly decided to remind Ghost about it when she heard Bryn's voice behind her.

"Hey, you two!" The youngest Kazansky girl said with a bright smile. 

"Hey!" Rooster replied, jumping down to greet her. "You're early."

"You can blame Tommy for that." Bryn glanced over her shoulder at her older brother, who was blatantly flirting with Halo. "He wanted to get here to see her. Been in love with her ever since Penny's birthday."

Rooster chuckled. "I can see that. You two want something to drink?"

"I could definitely use one. Ghost?"

"Yeah, I'll have one," she said, silently thinking: I have a feeling I'm going to need it. The trio strode to the bar, and Ghost took a seat next to Maverick after ordering. Tilting her head, she remarked, "Shouldn't the bartender be on the other side?"

"Penny decided I was going to be more of a hindrance than a help," Maverick answered sheepishly. "Threatened to have me thrown overboard. Again."

"Do you need help tonight, Penny?" Ghost offered, hoping it'd give her an out from having to hang out with Rooster and Bryn all night.

"No, Jim's on his way," she told the aviator. "Besides, it's New Years'. You're supposed to have fun!"

"It's only fun when you have someone to kiss at midnight, and I don't."

"I think Hangman might be willing to change that," Rooster joked, although his usual humor was lacking when he made the statement. 

"I don't think that'd be a smart decision, but then again, who makes bright decisions when they're drunk?"

"I can name a few." Ghost locked eyes with Rooster. While the words sounded innocent enough to a stranger, his insinuation remained unmistakable for Ghost: sleeping with her had been those 'smart' decisions. A bold statement for him to make while standing next to Bryn.

"You'll have to tell me about those sometime," she said, taking a large sip of whiskey. Anxious to drop her gaze from Rooster, Ghost turned her attention back to Maverick. "So, what exactly did you do that made Penny kick you out from behind the bar?" 

Rooster and Bryn hung around for a bit, but mercifully, they migrated away to play pool with Fanboy and Bob. Ghost remained at the bar with Maverick and Penny, shooting the breeze with them as the Hard Deck became more and more packed. Claustrophobia started settling in when people swarmed around her and the bar, and she calmly excused herself, escaping to the pool table where the crowd was a little thinner. She stayed on the opposite end from the Rooster and Bryn, but neither seemed to notice her presence, too wrapped up in each other.

"There you are," Hangman said, slipping an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek. "I was about to join you at the bar, but you disappeared."

"It was getting a little crowded over there for me, so I came to join y'all," she replied, leaning into him and enjoying the comfort he provided. Perhaps they were no longer a couple, but Ghost still loved Hangman. She always would. He'd been there for her more than anyone else, including Rooster. Even during their rough patches, he found a way to reach out if he heard something happened to her or her family. 

"What's going on with Bradshaw and Kazansky?" Hangman whispered, keeping his mouth right next to her ear so no one could risk overhearing him.

Ghost shifted slightly in front of him so she could tilt her head back onto his shoulder. "You're the best of the best. I think you're smart enough to figure it out."

"You okay with it?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Ghost countered, unnerved by the fact Hangman knew of her crush on Rooster. She'd never told him, nor had she planned on it. How could he know?

"I've known you for as long as I can remember, and I mean that literally. I can see when you're into a guy."

"You couldn't tell when I was interested in you," Ghost pointed out, hoping the comment would distract him from his line of thought and make him double-guess himself on his assumption about her crush on Rooster.

"Yeah, because I thought you liked Bradshaw at the time."

He's not wrong, but I'm not telling him that. "Why the hell did you think that? We fought the majority of the time for the first year or so that we knew each other."

"Yeah, but something changed between you two on the ski trip, and I didn't like it."

"I know you didn't. We got into an argument about it, remember?"

"Yes, but something great came out of that, so I'm not complaining about it." Hangman wrapped his arms around Ghost's waist, pulling her snugly against his chest. He rested his chin on her shoulder. 

"We worked well as a couple back then, didn't we?"

"Yeah, and I daresay we still would."

"Are you trying to hint at something?"

"No, I know better. I know where I stand with you, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to try and get away with things on occasion."

Ghost kissed him on the cheek. "You wouldn't be the Jake I know and love if you didn't."

"What are you two whispering about over here?" Bryn asked, slurring her words a little.

"Oh, nothing, just chatting and trying to hear each other over the ruckus," Ghost said casually, glancing around at the boisterous crowd in the Hard Deck. She briefly glanced at Rooster, who wore a stoic, unreadable expression. His hard gaze, however, made Ghost gulp. Whatever ran through his mind at that moment wasn't good.

"I was about to ask my beautiful partner here for a dance because unless I'm mistaken-" Slow Ride by Foghat started playing over the speakers. Hangman grinned his hundred-watt smile and locked eyes with Rooster. "I love this song."

Grabbing Ghost by the hand, Hangman escorted her away from the group, but not before she saw Rooster's annoyed eyeroll and heard Bryn ask, "What was that about?"

"Don't ask," he muttered.

Ghost didn't have much time to ponder his response because Hangman whisked her into a passionate dance that would've had Ghost blushing had she been sober. Maybe it was the alcohol or perhaps the desire to push Rooster and Bryn out of her mind, but Hangman's lips were looking more and more kissable the longer they danced together. It didn't help that his strong arms kept her flush against his rock-hard, muscular body, sending her buzzed mind back to their earlier years and memories she'd long forgotten.

When the song ended, neither of them parted from their close proximity. Hangman's green eyes bore into hers, an electric charge between them, and had Ghost been a little drunker, she might've fallen for them. Instead, she said, "You're as dangerous on the ground as you are in the air."

He broke out into a grin. "I know."

Ghost's hand reached up and traced his chiseled jawline, a stupid thought rearing in her head. Rooster was taken, and she had no chance of being with him anymore, and here stood a guy before her whom she knew better than anyone and a guy that knew her like the back of his hand. What was stopping her from having a little fun with Hangman again?

"OVERBOARD! OVERBOARD!" The chanting crowd broke the trance between Ghost and Hangman, and they turned to see Coyote and Payback finagling their way to the bar, a red-faced patron glowering at Penny.

"I'm going to help the boys, but I'll be right back. I'll bring drinks too." Hangman pecked her on the cheek. Ghost watched him go, fiddling with the fabric of her dress at what had just transpired between them. She still felt nothing romantic toward Hangman anymore, but she couldn't ignore the fact that she'd been more than a little lustful with how he danced with and treated her. What was stopping her from having a little fun with him? He'd certainly been showing interest in her, she thought, as Ghost watched him carry the irate patron out of the Hard Deck. It's not like she could ever be with Rooster or-

You had to think about him. Ghost silently criticized. Her eyes involuntarily drifted to the pool table where she'd last seen him. Instead of seeing his handsome face, she saw the back of his head with Bryn's hand woven in his thick brown hair, and his lips were on hers. Everyone around them cheered, and the deafening noise barely masked the sound of Ghost's shattering heart.

****

Tags: @supernaturaldawning @shanimallina @polikszena @lgg5989 @callsign-milano @bradshawsandbridgetons @harper1666 @shadeops21 @double-j @copaceticwriter @rotating-obsessions @sharkprestige @thedarkinmansfield @lapilark @mickeyluvs @starshipfantasy @bennypears00 @mandowife221b @the-navistar-carol @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @carmellasworld @0hb0llocks @nicangelinee @summ3rlotus

Chapters: Chp 1 Chp 2 Chp 3 Chp 4 Chp 5 Chp 6 Chp 7 Chp 8 Chp 9 Chp 10 Chp 11

#top gun #top gun maverick #fanfiction #fanfic #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #tg #maverick #rooster #hangman #phoenix #bob #coyote #fanboy #payback #halo #fritz #omaha #harvard #yale #charlie #ghost #ghost story #winchester #bradley bradshaw #top gun 2 #iceman #penny benjamin #christmas #new years

[adultswim2021]

Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! #1: “Dads” | February 11, 2007 - 11:45PM | S01E01

February 11th 2007 was a momentous day for Adult Swim. The block had been stacked with premieres towards the end of 2006, putting out obscene amounts of material every Sunday Night. The premieres petered out, then Super Bowl Sunday rolled around and then they really Petered out with a Family Guy marathon (LOL! Great job.). February 11th marked not just a return to premieres, but also the debut of LIVE-ACTION programming. This was the first-ever live-action show to appear on the block.

I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’m a huge Tim & Eric fan, and I’ve revisited Awesome Show more than most shows on the block. The main thing I remember about the show is that it was very strong in season one, and became a little more hit-and-miss after that. I think that’s because Tim & Eric realized they had a chance to crank out a lot of material in a short amount of time, and decided to take that chance, which meant that they treated those subsequent seasons less preciously than they did the first. I respect them, and I respect this decision.

Awesome Show was basically the show Tim & Eric should’ve been allowed to make all along. Before Tom Goes to the Mayor, they’d made a lot of short comedy videos. They’d made two “Tom Goes to the Mayor” shorts and it was the closest thing to animation that they had to their name, so that’s what wound up getting pitched to the network. Before Tom Goes to the Mayor they produced a 30 minute sketch comedy pilot (sold on DVD-R from their website TimAndEric.com; I think the show might’ve been titled TimAndEric.com, but it’s not on IMDB so IDK). During Tom Goes to the Mayor they produced a video podcast, but more on that later.

I just remember being so hyped for this show, and excited for live-action on Adult Swim in general. It seemed like if any network was going to take a chance on good sketch comedy again it would be them. And they did! LOOK! We’re covering the first episode of it now! Okay here are the sketches:

The opening sketch is, uh, a weird little stock image slideshow with Eric speaking in subtitled German and announcing an instructional video called “How to Make Love Without Touching”, interrupted by a big scream from their mascot “Chippy”, a hirsute baby whose main purpose is to spook the audience. It’s weirdly unremarkable, and I actually forget about it being the very first sketch every time I watch this. (NOTE TO SELF: A list ranking every first sketch of every sketch comedy show. Good idea?)

The show settles into a formula almost right away. A recurring “hosting” sketch, that’s usually fairly simple. In this episode, Tim gets a gift basket from his dad but it’s actually addressed to Eric. This one simply begins and ends the show. The second part of this sketch is at the end of the episode. 

Hacky Sack Extreme is the first “real” sketch, and is presented in a couple parts. This is the first part, where we get cool intro screens introducing C-Boy and Leif. Tim is dressed like a corny cowpoke while Eric is all about the ganja (costing him his first round of hacky sacking). The humor is mostly in how stupid everything looks. The hacky sack is very obviously added in post. The blustery announcer gives seemingly arbitrary points to each contestant while announcing their silly-sounding moves. It will vaguely remind you of either a video game, a bad reality show, and a live-action cartoon all at once.

The first Steve Brule sketch occurs on the Married News segment, which was itself a carryover from Tom Goes to the Mayor. I remember Brule was definitely considered a highlight at the time, and it’s no wonder they spun this guy off into its own thing. Who knew that John C. Reilly would be so goddamned down? According to the commentary, they asked him to be in the show and he basically came up with this character himself, and showed up with cheap glasses and his hair teased out. He called himself Brule because that was the word he and his friends used for how your stomach felt when you drink so much you start getting the shits.

I remember thinking this sketch was a mixed bag. The technical difficulties are portrayed a little too cutesy for my taste, and the weird mugging the news team does just comes off as desperate to me. I could be alone in this, but I think most Married News sketches would highly benefit from them taking it down a notch. I don’t think the characters are bad, I just think they go a little too broad with them sometimes. 

Next up is Casey and His Brother, performing a fun song about going into space. This is a nice one. Like the Married News, I also feel like Tim & Eric have a penchant for going too broad with these guys, and I think my favorite version of this might be the Right Way to Rock promo they did for Tom Goes to the Mayor. Casey’s condition is a little more advanced here. Still, this is one of the stronger Casey Awesome Show bits. 

This is followed by Hacky Sack Extreme. Look, I get it’s a comedy sketch, but it does bother me that they CARB UP after C-Boy’s round, giving Leif the edge. When Leif wins it should be no surprise. The show was against C-Boy. C-Boy is only capable of taking it out on himself, with a great ending bit where he looks forlorn at the beach. He really is a cousin of Tom Peters. 

Then there’s a short Brule’s Rules, where he just tells you to stop and roll if you catch on fire. That’s actually pretty useful, thanks. 

The Old Waiting Room sketch was created because they originally had a cartoon starring Gibbons and Friendy, which was mentioned on the DVD commentary for Tom Goes to the Mayor as a potential spin-off. Well, it didn't’ even sustain an entire sketch, as it turns out. This bit is briefly seen on a TV screen in, I believe, the very next episode. I seem to remember viewing the entire sketch at one point but I don’t think it’s on the season one DVD, unless I missed it. I could have. 

Anyway, this sketch is just Tim & Eric horsing around senselessly at 3 in the morning, filmed in the halls of Abso Lutely studios. It was created specifically to fill the void that Gibbons and Friendy left behind. It’s a genuinely dumb bit, but it does capture the freewheeling giddiness that makes Tim & Eric so goddamn charming. It seems to have given birth to the “Great Job” bit, where a particularly stupid moment in the show gets freeze-framed, turns black & white, and the words “great job” are drawn in the corner, with Bob dryly saying “great job” in voice over. 

B’Owl was a sketch originally written by Doug Lussenhopp, but it had a completely different premise. The only thing Tim & Eric liked about the sketch was the term “B’Owl”, so they turned it into a toy commercial instead. What follows are some cheeky jokes where two little girls announce things like “My B’Owl is so pretty”. I’m not sure if my brain was more poisoned then or now, but the fact that they were dragged by PizzaGate believers for stuff like this is difficult to push away. For the record: I do not think Tim & Eric meant anything other than to be amusing with this sketch, and it’s a goddamn shame that they attracted this kind of attention for it. 

B’Owl is funny, and has a lot of great Tim & Eric touches, like the weird shot of B’Owl being “for boys”, which includes this weak-chinned boy hanging out by a brick wall while a police siren flashes over him. He’s dressed like a tough guy, and gives this big stupid smile to the camera. The end of the sketch has Bob giving a huge list of things you can do with B’Owl, the last of which is “throwing away”, demonstrated on camera with a smug nod. This part of the sketch was a bob contribution, and seems like it might have been birthed in the recording studio. It’s hilarious.

The last notable sketch is a prank phone call, which Tim & Eric did more of on their website back in the day. It’s one of the things that seems to have gone by the wayside with them, and who could blame them? Prank phone calls are a young man’s game, unless you’re Longmont Potion Castle (the king of them all, and still going strong), and even he had a brief moment where he saw fit to throw in the towel, probably for the same reason.

The prank doesn’t really seem to deceive anyone, it’s just a very dumb premise being explained to a man on the phone who seems to be humoring Tim. Tim wants to paint “Happy Birthday Spray, I’m disappointed in you” in honey on his wall so that bees will swarm it, spelling the phrase out in bees, to teach his son a lesson (for getting bad grades). This has a great moment when Tim tells the man on the phone that his son’s full name is “Spraynard Kruger” and it cuts to the stock photo man frowning. 

The last bit of the show is Tim trying to prove once and for all that his father is actually proud of him, by bringing him on. Eric sees through the ruse immediately and calls him out for bringing on an imposter. This imposter is Richard Dunn, a maladroit elderly actor who clumsily recites his lines in a beautifully hilarious way. He was first glimpsed in the promos for the show, where they feed him his line, and he goes up on it, just muttering the words “Great Job”. 

Speaking of the promos, I remember the first “sneak peek” for this show was comprised of the first Hacky Sack Extreme segment, followed by “B’Owl”, so when that first Hacky Sack Extreme sketch ends I still anticipate B’Owl to come right after it. I’m not like, pissed off about it, or anything, I just thought it was an exceptional trailer and made me even more excited for this show. It truly was a great job.

EPHEMERA CORNER

Tim and Eric: The Podcast (2006)

I can’t remember if I “missed” this when it came to writing EPHEMERA CORNER, or if I decided against including it as ephemera. I think that non Adult-Swim-produced Tim & Eric stuff is a slippery slope. I think I’m also pained by the fact that at one point I had a pretty respectable archive of old Tim & Eric vids that I painstakingly tried to put in chronological order. Like a lot of obsessive projects that I felt weren’t complete enough to share (or was simply too embarrassed to show how much time I waste on stuff like this), they wound up getting swallowed by a dying computer. They might actually still exist on a hard drive that might still work, but I’ve yet to get my shit together to the extent that I would know for sure. Sad!

Tim and Eric: The Podcast was actually a fairly significant step towards Awesome Show. It was basically like a cheaper version of Awesome Show. I don’t remember if it was compiled from older stuff; I could have sworn Billy Williams was a standalone video from before Tom Goes to the Mayor even. They are worth a watch if you haven’t seen them. I am (thanks to my wife who actually bought it back then and decided was too big for her) the proud owner of a Billy Williams T-shirt. It still gets worn.

MAIL BAG

You forgot Boat Show!

I DID NOT! For some reason, that post was flagged for being too “adult”. I’ve contested it and hopefully it becomes more visible, because I read the guidelines for what constitutes an “adult” post and I don’t think my write-up actually qualifies. But we’ll see, I guess.

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #tim and eric awesome show great job

[wmf]

I remember talking about all the concerts we would go to together in the future. Sharing so many favorite bands and artists. Of course, without a doubt, you claimed to introduce them to me, but the truth was I knew of them but never cared to remember the artist or the name. I would look for a Playlist and just listen to them, did you believe me? Of course not. It's been years since our friendship ended, so why does it hurt me so much seeing people I never knew were close to going to those concerts with you? I don't ever think I would describe this feeling as being FOMO or jealousy. I think I'm still in agony, you're probably doing better than me honestly. Finally doing what we both dreamed of with the people you're the closest to. I remember you comparing your hurt with mine and yours would always surpass me because death is the worst event to go through. But if you knew what struggles I've gone through since our friendship ended, would your life events still be worse than mine? If I could have a life update with you, I don't think I would even show up, because no matter what I've gone through, my feelings never mattered. After our long-term friendship, people's feelings always come before mine, right? Maybe I should thank you for teaching me worse problems are going on than what I'm going through. I'm being overdramatic with my life events, right? I guess that's why I minimized my problems and numbed out my emotions when it came to my personal life. I know I'm over our one-sided friendship, so why do I always feel shaken up by seeing a picture of you? Should I just block all of the mutual friends we had? Should I erase all of my socials where I'm bound to see you? Should I truly replace you as you asked me to do so? Out of our time together, I always thought if we fell out, we would at the bare minimum agree to remain acquaintances. So why did you wish me good luck with my life?

"i completely understand and i felt this distancing as well and i just wanna say thank you for being a part of my life and helping me make memories. i hope you accomplish all your goals and dreams. thank you for everything"

This was your last message to me, if you were to read this, would you have worded it better? Or would you have not sent it at all? I sometimes wonder if we were face to face and you had no time to plan a message, would it have been the same? I thought I knew you as a person and a friend, but I didn't even know you. Sadly, you didn't know me either.

This song goes out to you dear old friend, a song we both enjoyed together. We sat outside of the school door along with all the other car riders waiting for the doors to open and let us in. Sharing earbuds while sitting on the cold cement. The simple times when we shared our life stories and opened up to one another. A time when our only worry was getting to school on time to warm up our favorite spot before the other arrived.

#spotify #journal entry #vent post

[jackiestarsister]

OUAT Rewatch: Overall Thoughts

~ The difference between binge-watching and watching it week by week, season by season is huge. I was more patient with the drawn-out storylines and filler episodes.

~ I don’t think a series like this would have been made after the Trump presidency, covid pandemic, and other events since the mid/late 2010s. Its themes of hope and redemption already seem old-fashioned and idealistic, but I think they may be needed now even more than when it first came out.

~ There are great themes throughout the show: seizing the present moment, being open to love, giving people second chances, looking to the future with hope rather than fear.

~ This time around, I was more aware of the music score and how different characters have their own leitmotifs. I love it!

~ For many shows, the pilot/premiere episode is not great, and it takes a while for the story to find its footing. But the first episode of OUAT is absolutely perfect and one of the best in the series.

~ The first few seasons and last couple seasons were great. I much prefer the seasons when the characters are in Storybrooke dealing with a variety of problems and antagonists, rather than introducing a particular world and/or character and focusing entirely on them for half a season. The writing suffered most in Seasons 4-5, to the point that it felt like the writers were creating drama purely for the sake of drama, even at the cost of consistency in themes, plotlines, worldbuilding and characterization. But even in their worst parts, there are still great moments here and there.

~ Although I don’t always like the costuming choices, some of them are great! The Camelot styles are probably the closest to the European medieval fairy tale style one would expect.

~ It’s great to see a show with so much emphasis on parenthood and family, including the breaking of intergenerational cycles of trauma.

~ It’s great to have a female-centric show (Emma, Regina, and Snow White are the main characters for most of it), but it sometimes feels as though they would have benefited from more women in the writers’ room and wardrobe department. This is most painfully felt through the duos and trios of sisters during the “Frozen” arc; it sounds like men trying to write about the bond of sisterhood with no actual understanding of that dynamic.

~ The most compelling thing about the first few seasons is Emma’s effort to connect first with her son and then with her parents. The later seasons explore other aspects of her identity, particularly her fear of losing the people she loves.

~ Cora Mills is the best villain. All the others are just trying to live up to the standard she set, and they all start to sound repetitive after a while.

~ As someone who was obsessed with “Peter Pan” as a kid, I wouldn’t have expected to enjoy a story that depicts Captain Hook as a hero and Peter Pan as a villain, but it works so well! Colin O’Donoghue’s Hook is fantastic, and Robbie Kay’s Pan is truly sinister.

~ Rebecca Mader was great in “Samantha: An American Girl Holiday,” but I hate her as the Wicked Witch. She’s so sickly sweet and poorly written in her first few seasons, only becoming tolerable later on.

~ As a lover of “Beauty and the Beast,” I loved Belle and her relationship with Rumplestiltskin in the first few seasons, and was saddened to see both the characters and the relationship decline later on. They try to make Belle a strong, active character, but she is still too often swept off the chessboard, and their relationship devolves into toxicity and abuse before finally being resolved in the end. It feels a bit demeaning, like it’s living up to modern, literal interpretations of B&B rather than leaning into the symbolism and psychology of the story.

~ Emma and Hook’s relationship strikes a beautiful balance between epic love story worthy of legend and ordinary couple navigating the day-to-day difficulties of dating. I think Emma’s struggles with trust, vulnerability, and commitment are very relatable to young adults today.

~ Rumplestiltskin did not need that many love interests. Seriously. I lost count of how many women Robert Carlyle got to kiss in this show. He’s supposed to be a physically and morally repulsive villain, the Beast that only Belle can truly love. Making him an object of so many women’s desire undermines that.

~ The script throws around a lot of religious/spiritual words—like hope, faith, grace, redemption—without really digging into what they mean.

~ The worldbuilding is inconsistent and illogical, particularly with the Dark One, the Author, the rules of magic, and the existence of different realms.

~ I don’t like that they treat the Disney versions of so many stories like they are the official canon, rather than retellings of much older stories. The incorporation of characters from more recent movies like “Brave” and “Frozen” is kind of hit or miss. I will say, though, that the casting for Anna, Elsa, and Merida was spot-on!

~ The writers and characters go back on their own word a lot. The biggest example: the first few seasons emphasize that “magic comes with a price,” but the later seasons use magic as a cheap plot device and shortcut.

~ It’s great to see redemption arcs for many villains, but many of them involve character regression just for the sake of stretching out the drama. And because sometimes they simply kill of characters

~ The writers seem unable to decide whether they want the show to be idealistic or realistic.

~ I don’t like how the show leans into negative stereotypes and misconceptions of foster care. I remember watching the show back when my own family was hosting foster kids; it was extremely awkward hearing the characters such awful things about foster homes.

~ It seems like the writers struggled to decide which characters should be leads, supports, recurring, or limited to a certain period. They kill off characters that might have been better off staying alive, and resurrect characters that might have been better off staying dead. It makes me wonder if they looked at Grimm’s fairy tales and thought “Hey, these are full of people dying and coming back to life, we could use that!”

~ The show sometimes seems to reinforce the very labels it tries to transcend, particularly the concepts of “hero” and “villain.” It tries to be deep and nuanced but sometimes ends up sounding shallow and dissonant instead.

~ I was prepared to thoroughly dislike the seventh season, but I found myself enjoying it a lot! It managed to capture at least some of the sense of intrigue and suspense that characterized the first season. My main critique is that it should have been a separate spin-off, not tacked on to the rest of the show. It doesn’t really build on the previous seasons’ storylines; it just puts the action in a new setting and mixes old protagonists with new ones.

#Once Upon a Time #ABC's Once Upon a Time #analysis #reactions #OUAT reactions #Once Upon a Time reactions

[colecassiidy]

Skill Sets: Piloting & Hand-to-Hand Combat

strap in boys, this got long lmfao

i. piloting - so canon's dropped that cole knows how to pilot and tbh i got the feeling he finds going from pt A to pt B p boring. i think he gets a better appreciation for it as he gets older into his 30's and finds it relaxing, but i am thinking abt my conversations w spacy on lena talking to cole abt the excitement of being up there, the sensation of freedom being so far removed off the ground - and i think for cole the appeal of piloting is more of being subjected to g-forces, being tossed around and doing sharp maneuvers/out-maneuvering enemies (not to put words in the horse's mouth that lena doesn't also enjoy these aspects of flying askdljfs). i will leave it open for who he was taught by for any future plot considerations, but i would think he was taught during his enlistment in BW/OVW. for his modern verse, i think the closest he's probably ever gotten was a crop duster and it was a single lesson that was informal as hell, a real shot-gun shit-show w a kookie ol' pilot with him at the age of 15. as per everything with him, this was some one-off round-about circumstance that came to be and not some actual paid-for-lesson; predictably there was a point where he thought they were going to die-- :skull:

ii. hand to hand combat - aight i wrote some sorta blurb ages ago about how cole's the sorta guy who drives his punches w an efficiency in the same way every shot w a revolver's got to count; that people will take his seemingly slow and grounded vibes to translate into his fighting style and that they are caught off guard when he purposely uses this against them by: 1) changing up a rhythm that's been established and 2) forcing openings by false telegraphs and by whatever other mean that will catch the opponent off guard. he lumbers, he does not actively sway and try to make his footwork look unpredictable by bouncing on the balls of his feet; he will spot-dodge, or take hits in order to just yank you or grab you, with the latter being more frequent (he is very?? stubborn and will just TAKE hits.)

the closer for him, the better, he's not exactly the sorta spry guy that likes to do explosive jumps or maneuvers that will have him going in and darting out and darting back in again as u might expect from somebody like genji. (that said, if you are trying to utilize SPACE between urself n him in a fight,,, in a verse where he's in his 20's to even his late 20's, dont be surprised if he loses patience n just launches himself after u-- :skull: just bc he seems lumbering n slow, doesn't mean he won't just brute force a confrontation if he realizes the other guy's pussy-footing.)

i'm not too informed on fighting styles, but cole's been taught hand-to-hand and grappling and he's fairly good at both. he doesn't utilize kicks very much, he's more upper-body oriented; it's very likely you can actually catch one of his kicks before he can reel it back in, just be careful not to let him use that to his advantage to turn the fight into a grappling thing (can he choke somebody with his thighs? yes,). his natural tendency is wide hooks that follow through his entire body - very brawler style - but the downside is that they're very readable, easy to block and grab, so he doesn't actually get to utilize them in high stakes opponents, but will probably do so if he's drunk, sloppy, and in a bar fight.

cole will weaponize his environment fairly normally and this is just some vestigial thing from his scrappy youth. he will throw dust in your eyes, he will kick chairs out and grab them by their backings and hurl them at somebody, he will throw a gun johnny-wick style when the rounds are empty, and in ashe's case throw out a convenient rack of grenades and shoot them into explosives.

in his start with BW, he was fairly readable with his eyes. they would telegraph fairly frequently what he was thinking about using or hitting or targetting. during his time with the GANG, this weakness was mostly hidden by the shade of his hat, but out on a sparring mat where he's gone hatless, you can see him and the cogs turning. this is also a habit of his youth, like, asljkdf you can tell the exact moment when he's about to make a very bad or impulsive decision by the look on his face and outright staring with blown out pupils-

i would like to think a SEP character would point this out to him, whether this be reyes or jack, but i will leave this open. he out-grows this eventually, and the path of him bypassing it was thru the way of Flow; wherein the usual thing that happens when he's finally in the heat of adrenaline and in a fight. his body relaxes, his gaze steadies. he will do long, sweeping looks, and then force the opponent to look at him by locking gazes with them; enforcing presence, intimidation, and control.

#hc: head up in the clouds;; #hc: skills #but tek what abt him rolling arnd all the time- #alkjsdfasl he rolls to keep low to the ground and move fast between elements of cover beneath the heat of gunfire

[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.

#poe x reader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #reader insert #Smut #no-droids

[dissociativesworld]

Patience

Pairing: Wrecker x reader

Tags: little bit of angst, dom!Wrecker, cock warming, sex in the pilot seat (sorry tech), overstimulation, implied squirting, probably some other stuff I'm not thinking of

A/N: I had no idea how to end this so it's a little hasty at the end hope ya'll don't mind. Also no idea if I'm tagging people correctly

Taglist: @4rosydreams @kesshou-otome @cobiwanbanobi

NSFW below the cut

A shower had never felt so good. You didn’t even care that it was cold, after months on that godforsaken planet you were finally home. As one of the few females on base, you got your own room but you also knew that more than likely Wrecker would probably be passed out on your bed once you opened the ‘fresher door.

He hadn’t followed you to your room after the mission like he normally did. Hopefully, it was just because he wanted a shower just as badly as you did. But you also couldn’t help but think it probably had to do with your behavior on the mission which you still needed to genuinely apologize for. You’d lost your temper when he made a risky decision, not following the plan.

“Why can’t you be patient for once?!” You’d shouted at him.

In the few years, you’d known the Batch, you’d never raised your voice to any of them. And definitely not Wrecker even in the past year you’d been dating. It was out of character for you and it startled the entire team. Even Crosshair was shocked. And the look your boyfriend gave you broke your heart. But you didn’t want to admit you were in the wrong in front of them. You just wanted them to be safe and if they thought they’d piss you off by doing stupid shit, then you’d be the bad guy.

You turned the water off before wrapping yourself in a towel, the standard-issue military towel almost too small to cover you properly. Walking through your room to grab your blacks you were disappointed to see that Wrecker wasn’t there. Well, you needed sleep anyway. As you crawled into bed, it felt wrong. Too empty without being snuggled up to the large trooper. Maybe things would be back to normal in the morning.

~~~

The next morning you wandered down the halls of Kamino looking for your squad. Peeking into their barracks you were disappointed to see all of them, minus Wrecker.

“If you’re looking for Wrecker he slept in the Marauder last night.” Crosshair all but growled at you.

You made a face, “what? Why?”

“You really have to ask?” He scowled at you, normally he was pretty neutral toward you but he obviously didn’t appreciate that you hurt his brother’s feeling.

Sighing you doubled back to the hangar. You could see him sitting in the cockpit, a pout on his lips as he stared into space. You walked quietly onto the ship, quiet enough that he didn’t look up as you walked up behind him.

“Is it okay if I join you?” You asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Wrecker glanced up, suddenly having his trademark smile on his face. “Mesh’la, I was just thinking about you.”

He pulled you down into his lap, his half-hard erection emphasizing his words.

“I came to apologize.” You smiled up at him.

He chuckled darkly, “I have a way you can make it up to me.”

You quirked an eyebrow, wondering where he was going with this. His sudden change in attitude with your appearance had you wondering what he was thinking. Granted his smile was a welcome change.

“What did you have in mind handsome?” You asked.

Wrecker pulled you back against him, his cock hard against your ass. He kissed your neck, the other hand pulling your shirt up.

“You realize that anyone can walk into the hangar and see us?” You whispered, now wanting to admit that the thought went straight to your core.

He just hummed in response, his wandering hand moving up to your breasts, squeezing your breast none too gently. You gasped in response, grinding yourself against him.

“I’m going to test your patience sweet girl.” He growled low in your ear.

Your heart was in your throat. Wrecker was one of the most kind-hearted people you knew but since getting to know him a little more intimately you’d learned he wasn’t all soft and sweet. And since he learned you weren’t as fragile as you seemed, he’d enjoyed pushing your limits quite a bit.

“I was plenty patient during that mission mesh’la, considering I wanted nothing more than to lean you over the closest surface and fuck you.” His voice was a low grumble.

You whimpered in response, you could feel your slick soaking your panties.

“Look at you all quiet now, where’s my angry girl?” Wrecker asked as he nibbled on your ear.

Your face was uncomfortably flushed, your cunt was throbbing. Not thinking you moved your hand down to touch yourself through your blacks. Wrecker hooked his chin over your shoulder, watching your movements for a moment before putting his hand over your own.

“I haven’t even started yet cyare, are you sure I’m the impatient one?” His hot breath fanned down your neck before kissing your pulse point.

“Maybe not.” You murmured, leaning back allowing the hand up your shirt to pull it up over your head.

“No bra mesh’la? Naughty girl.” He chuckled, pulling his own shirt off before pulling your back against his chest.

Despite being together for so long you’d never get tired of feeling his muscle-bound body against yours. You could feel every movement against you as he wrapped his arms around you, pinning your arms to your sides, a hand dipping between your legs. His touch was teasingly light, kissing your bare shoulders before biting down on the junction of your shoulder and neck, sucking a bruise there.

You whimpered again, squirming in his lap, desperate for more friction.

Wrecker paused his actions. “Don’t draw too much attention to us cyare, you don’t want anyone to see us do you?”

Instead of responding you ground your ass against his cock earning a growl from him.

“Or maybe you do, naughty girl. You want one of my vod to see how riled up I get you? See how good I fuck you?” He bit another spot on your shoulder.

“Please Wrecker.” You whined.

“Pants off, now.” Wrecker all but pushed you off his lap roughly, pulling the waistband of his pants down enough for his cock to spring free.

You pulled your pants down, you’d just barely gotten it below your ass when Wrecker pull you back down onto his lap.

“Giving the rest of them a show mesh’la? Why not just walk the halls naked?” Wrecker growled, hand grabbing your thighs roughly, pulling them apart so that they were hooked over his own.

He pushed your shoulders forward so that your ass lifted off of his lap, with his other hand grabbing his cock and rubbing its head through your folds. You knew you were dripping already, his quiet moans indicating he was enjoying the sight. He pulled you down onto his cock, the thick length spreading you open.

“Take it cyare, such a good girl.” His voice was deep as he reached around you to wrap a hand around your neck just below your chin.

He filled you more than you’d ever been before, you couldn’t move without his cock pressing against a sensitive spot inside you. His free hand went down to your clit rubbing lazy circles. You moved your hips, wanting movement but he stopped you, the grip on your neck tightening and pulling you back roughly. When you swallowed you could feel the strength of his hold.

Again you started squirming, the full feeling of his cock inside you building tension especially as he applies more pressure to your clit. He again tightened his grip, this time pulling your head back to his shoulder.

“I can sit here buried in your pussy all day cyare. I don’t think you deserve to cum after the attitude you gave me on that mission.” His voice was low but you could detect a smirk from him before he kissed your cheek before tilting your mouth to press against his.

“Please Wrecker. I want to feel you cum inside me.” You begged.

“Nice try mesh’la.” He chuckled, fingers against your clit pressing against you roughly.

The building tension was threatening to snap, arched your back, pressing yourself into his hand desperate for release. Wet heat radiated from inside your cunt, you could feel your wetness dripped down his cock and thighs as pleasure shook your core.

“Look at that cyare, squirting everywhere making a mess. You like my fingers and cock that much?” He teased. “Let’s see if you can do that again.”

His hand returned to your clit, now even more tender than before. The crescendo of pleasure building quickly again still riding on the pleasure of your last orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You whimpered a chant under your breath as you felt yourself tighten around his cock again.

“That a girl, let go.” He moaned, kissing your neck.

Your second orgasm was more intense than the first, your vision blurring as pleasure flooded your body with the snap. Wrecker’s hips thrust into you with a few shallow thrusts before he moaned loudly, his cock twitching inside you as he came.

You stood on shaky legs to lean against the control panel, needing to get away from the stimulation but unable to stand on your own.

“You okay mesh’la?” Wrecker asked, concern evident in his voice as he gently touched your thigh.

You laughed, trying to brush off his concern. “Yeah, that was just a lot.”

You could hear him shifting behind you, assumably pulling his pants back up.

“C’mere cyare, let me hold you.” He murmured, pulling you back onto his lap, gentler this time.

You snuggled against him, his warm body gone from rigid to soft and comforting. His arms wrapped around you, cradling you to his chest. You two stayed like that for a few moments before you dressed and both of you made your way back to your room before you both passed out in each other’s arms.

#tbb wrecker #wrecker x reader #tbb wrecker x reader #wrecker x you #tbb wrecker x you #bad batch imagine #bad batch smut

[jeyramarie]

The recruit- Yelena Belova x Reader (Part 8)

summary: sometimes things are too good to be true

wc: 2,629

warning: blood, guns, angst, cursing 

a/n: omg!! two parts left, aaaah!! lmk if you like it, feedback is appreciated! if you wanna be tagged lmk and happy reading  🦋

part 1~ part 2~ part 3~ part 4~ part 5~ part 6~ part 7

The sun crept through the curtains, shining on Y/n’s face causing her to stir awake. She turned on her back and began to rub her eyes, opening them slowly to look at the crack ceiling. Her fingertips traced her lips softly as she remembered what happened the night before. They had finally kissed and they also finally realized the feelings that were involved. Feelings that have been in each other’s heart for quite some time but they were both scared to admit it. 

The y/h/c threw the covers off her body and stood up from the bed while stretching her arms up. She walked out of the room, trying to be quiet since Y/n didn’t want to wake Yelena up. The blonde was in the next room and is a light sleeper. The first thing Y/n did once she arrived at the kitchen was make coffee. It was extremely crucial, especially after the night before. 

After a few minutes, Y/n finally had her coffee in hand as she leaned against the kitchen counter while looking out a small window. The only thing roaming through her head was the feeling of Yelena’s lips on hers. The way she tasted, the way her hands felt soft on her face. All she wanted to do that second was go and cuddle with the blonde. Y/n was so lost in her thoughts that she never heard Yelena wake up nor saw her standing in the kitchen. 

“Morning.” The blonde said, making her partner jump in surprise. 

“Hi.” The y/h/c said nervously as she traced her finger around the rim of her mug. Silence fell upon them once more as Yelena prepared her own coffee mug. They both felt awkward, neither of them knew what to say. They didn’t know if they should talk about the kiss or not. Y/n moved to the dining table and sat down, staring out the window in question. 

“I think we should talk about it.” Yelena muttered, her accent sounding thick. 

“Talk about what?” 

“You know what.” Y/n looked up and leaned back on the chair as the blonde moved to sit in front of her. 

“I’m sorry for kissing you.” She whispered, tapping her fingers on the mug. 

“Don’t apologize… I liked it.” The blonde whispered back with a smile. 

“What’s gonna happen now?” The y/h/c asked looking with hopeful eyes. 

“I don’t know..” Yelena whispered as Y/n leaned forward with her elbows on the table, closer to her partner. 

“We can um… we can just wait and see where it goes… if you want.” The blonde nodded and smiled, pushing her chair back to move to the stove. 

Yelena made breakfast that day, for the first time in the whole mission. Y/n was surprised it was actually good which caused the blonde to be low key offended. 

“Why would you doubt my cooking skills?” She asked and drank from her juice. 

“Well because I've never seen you pick up a knife with the purpose of cooking, it’s always to kill.” Y/n laughed and popped a piece of fruit in her mouth as the blonde chuckled along. 

“I don’t hear any complaining.” Yelena mumbled with her mouth full as the y/h/c smiled. 

“No complaints, it’s very good.” She smiled widely, interlocking her fingers and placing them under her chin. Y/n looked at the blonde as she continued to eat. Yelena looked up to meet her partners y/e/c eyes, which were already staring. 

“We should um… probably think of what to do with Neculai.” The y/h/c whispered as the blonde nodded. 

“Do you have anything in mind?” Yelena asked, grabbing both plates and pushing her chair back to stand up. 

“I mean… we’re a bit far away and hunting him down is a bit dangerous… but we’ll be free quicker.” 

“I think we will be better off if we just find him and kill him. Valentina too.” 

“Yeah but they can either find us or kill us first. Both ideas have their downfall.” Y/n said as she pushed back her chair to take her coffee mug to the sink. Yelena was washing the dishes when the y/h/c’s arm came in front of her, placing the dish down. Suddenly, soft lips came in contact with her cheek making her stop and turn to her partner. 

“I’m gonna uh… go look for my computer..” Y/n stuttered nervously and walked off, leaving  Yelena a blushing and smiley mess. 

Somewhere over Europe

Neculai walked back and front inside his private jet as he scratched his chin in thought. He had just left St. Petersburg after questioning Melina and Alexei about where the women may have gone. 

Valentina wasn’t good either. She was staring at her hands as she poured herself a glass of whiskey. They were ruining her plan and all Valentina desired was to kill them herself. Get them out of the way.

“Yelena wouldn’t leave without knowing where to go first.” She said and turned to the romanian man who was already staring at her. 

“She never moves without a plan. She knew where to go before getting into that helicopter.” Valentina continued, pointing out the window. 

“Where do you think they went?” Neculai asked, walking towards her. 

“I-I don’t-“ 

“They can be anywhere by now, Valentina!” He shouted in anger, making her take a few steps back. 

“Domnule, am găsit un apartament. Este sub Romanoff la Budapesta. (Sir, we found an apartment. It's under Romanoff in Budapest.)” One of Neculai’s men said, walking towards them with files in his hands. He handed them his boss and nodded his head, excusing himself. 

“Mulțumesc, Soran. (Thank you, Soran.)” Neculai mumbled as the man walked away. 

“Budapest.” He almost whispered as his eyes scanned the files in his hand. 

“It’s not far from here.” Valentina muttered and took the last sip of her drink before putting the glass down. 

“Micah! Întoarceți acest avion… mergem la Budapesta. (Micah! Turn this plane around… we’re going to Budapest.)” Neculai shouted at the pilot and turned back to Valentina, lifting up his glass in a toast. 

“We can’t just show up there.”

“Who said we can’t? It’s better like this, we can kill them faster.” 

The apartment was quiet, the only thing you could hear was Yelena’s shower and Y/n typing away on her computer. She was trying to look for a way to find Neculai first so she went back to the surveillance footage and phone calls from his office. The y/n/c stood up and walked to the kitchen counter to make herself a snack when she heard a door creaking. She believed it was Yelena walking out of the bathroom so Y/n didn’t do anything. 

“Hey, so I was thinking we can order chinese today! I really wanna eat out of those cardboard boxes with the chopsticks!” She shouted so the blonde could hear. When she didn’t get a response back, she turned her head towards the hallway in question. 

“Yelena?” She called out and saw a figure out of the corner of her eye making her turn and gasp. A metal rod came in contact with her temple, knocking the y/h/c out cold in an instance. 

A few minutes went by when Yelena finally stepped out of the bathroom. The apartment was unusually quiet which caused her to be on edge. She walked slowly towards the bedroom and grabbed her gun before walking out to the hallway again. The blonde put her gun up immediately looking into every room until arriving at the kitchen. Her heart broke when she saw Y/n unconscious on the floor causing her to lower the gun and run to her. 

“Y/n? Y/n? Hey, come on.” She muttered, turning her body around to see her temple all bloody. 

“Y/n-“

“Oh look who it is!” A female voice exclaimed, making Yelena grab her gun immediately. 

“No need to shoot… I come in peace.” Valentina smirked and she held her hands up in surrender.  

“Where’s Neculai?” The blonde muttered. 

“Why? Did you miss me?” He asked, walking next to Valentina with a cigar in between his index and middle finger. Yelena looked at them in anger and shot her gun, taking them by surprise. She purposely shot the wall closest to them to make them duck and hide. The blonde took the opportunity to take Y/n and drag her into the bedroom to protect her from them. 

“Y/n, hey! Please, wake up. Please, come on, open your eyes.” She said, tapping the y/h/c’s cheek repeatedly. Bullets began to hit the wall and the door making Yelena duck her head and cover Y/n’s body with hers. 

After some time, the bullets stopped making the blonde stand up and run to the closet to get the machine gun. The bullets were prepared and she was fully equipped when she decided to open the door. She turned the knob slowly, opening the door as she made sure it didn’t creak. Yelena turned to Y/n one last time before closing the door. The blonde automatically put her gun up and began to walk around the apartment. 

She saw movement from the end of the hallway, making her turn and shut from her gun immediately. The bullets hit the wall and she hid behind a column before the other man shot her way. The blonde peaked her head to the hallway and pointed the gun at the shooter, quickly shooting her gun. The man yelled in pain and fell to the ground making Yelena walk out and run to him, to see him struggling. She shot him three more times before taking his gun, putting it in the back of her jeans. 

Yelena looked up, searching the place for Neculai or Valentina. Someone shot at her from the bathroom, making her run into what was her bedroom. Bullets hit the wall next to her making the blonde cover her head while they stopped shooting. The room turned quiet signaling the russian that the person had stopped shooting. She took that moment to move behind the door of the bedroom as heavy footsteps were heard down the hall. The masked man walked into the bedroom slowly with his gun up, walking away from the door. Yelena took the gun from her back pocket and fired the gun, shooting him in the back of the head. 

“I know you’re here, Belova!” Neculai shouted from somewhere around the house.

“Come out and fight like a real widow!” Valentina followed, making Yelena clench her jaw in anger. She replaced her small gun with the big on and stepped out of the bedroom. 

“I’m not hiding, especially from you!” The blonde said loudly, making her way down the hallway and into the kitchen. Neculai stood with his back towards Yelena, not expecting her to be there. She put down her gun and quickly kicked him in the back of the knee to make it bend. Her arm went around his neck, beginning to choke him as his hand went to his pocket to get his little knife. He took it out and waved the knife towards her, slicing her arm. 

The blonde yelled in pain and released her grip, making the romanian turn to her immediately. She kicked his hand, watching the knife slide across the floor and kicked his face causing him to fall back. Neculai extended his hand and grabbed her ankle as Yelena swung her other leg to kick him off. As she stood she grabbed her small gun from her pants and pointed it at him as he stood up as well. 

He gave her a bloody smile as he caught his breath before bolting towards her. Her finger pulled the trigger causing a loud bang followed by a shout of pain. Yelena shot him on the leg, to slow him down. Necuali stayed on the floor, clutching his thigh as the blonde moved to the living room to see Valentina already pointing the weapon at her. 

“Put it down.” Yelena muttered, walking closer to the black haired woman as she took a few steps back. 

“Not before you do.” She laughed dryly as they walked around the room slowly.

 The blonde stomped forward and grabbed Valentina’s hand as she lifted her foot to kick her in the gut. The black haired woman stumbled back while Yelena walked towards with her fist clenched. The woman dodged her fist and tackled the russian to the ground.

 Valentina straddled her and wrapped her hands around the blonde’s neck, keeping her grip strong. Yelena slapped her arms and pushed her face away but nothing seemed to work. Her oxygen levels were dropping fast, her lungs screamed to breath and she was beginning to look purple. 

Suddenly, a loud bang was heard followed by a painful shout from Valentina. She immediately released her grip from Yelena’s neck and fell to the floor as she clutched her arm. The blonde sat up slowly and turned around to see Y/n holding up a gun, still pointing it at the injured woman. 

“Lena, get up.” The y/h/c stated, never lowering her weapon as her partner hurried towards her. 

“Get our things, we’re leaving.” She whispered and Yelena nodded, running towards the bedroom to pack their bags, again. Y/n was left alone, pointing at Valentina as she screamed in agony on the ground. 

Suddenly, a piece of fabric went around her neck, pulling her back to crash into a hard chest. The pressure was cutting off her airways as she tried to fight the person off. The y/h/c was lifted slightly off the ground as she heard an evil chuckle next to her ear. 

“Looks like I got you now, fetiță dansatoare.(little dancer girl.)” Neculai said with a bloody grin as Y/n’s nails dug into his skin. She tried to gasp for air every chance she got but she couldn’t. Her vision began to fog as her lungs continued to scream for oxygen. She moved her arm down the side of her thigh, pretending to let go but instead, she grabbed the knife placed under a little pocket on her jeans. Y/n lifted her arm and stabbed Neculai on his leg causing him to scream out in pain as he released his grip around the y/h/c. She quickly turned, knife in hand, ready to defend herself when she felt a presence from behind her. 

Valentina swung her gun, hitting Y/n on the side of her head causing her to stumble over an already broken coffee table. The y/h/c turned to face and kicked her leg but was quickly grasped by the black haired woman. She laid still for a minute, thinking of an escape plan as she looked at Neculai walk towards them. 

“Two against one? Seriously, this is unfair.” Y/n chuckled dryly as she shook her head. She pulled her foot towards her chest causing Valentina to stumble forward, closer to her giving her the opportunity to punch her in the face. 

The y/h/c stood up and began to block Neculai’s hits until she was an inch away from the wall. Her body turned and the man’s fist went through the wall as she ran down the hallway towards Yelena. She kicked every door open, hoping to see the blonde with the bag packed. When she kicked the last door, the room was empty and the window was open. Y/n’s face softened as she frowned, noticing that everything was gone too.

yelena taglist: @evansmermaid @ilovefandoms102 @imfuckinggenius @yasmina-aesthete @yelenabelovv @halsmultibitch @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @daniescady @ilovewinter101 @s1ut4nat @nebulablakemurphy @wandanatvoid @lavendernonsense @theshippergal @kacka84 @trin-berly @sav06nat

#yelena belova #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x y/n #yelena belova fluff #yelena belova angst #yelena belova smut #yelena belova fic #yelena belova imagine

[anasticep]

Why Julie and the Phantoms is a masterpiece of a show. Part 1 of 3

· NOTE: if somehow you happen to like my gifs, please, feel free to use them. But, please, don’t crop or change.

· NOTE 2: This meta has been flourishing in my mind for quite a long time, but it was @catty-words meta on Perfect Harmony that inspired me to actually put it all on paper

· NOTE 3: I planned two parts of this, but ended up with far more gifs than a post allows. I dunno. Not sure if anyone will actually be interested in this rumbling. Probably it won’t even be a new and outstanding thinking. I’ll see how it goes.

What sets a good show apart? I’ll tell you exactly this: the pilot and the finale.

Whether it’s a season finale or a grand finale, it doesn’t matter for a scenario. People tend to forget the middle, that’s why all we remember about LOST is this weird full of dead people church that simply left the fans heartbroken. But frankly speaking, LOST ended so much better then most modern shows. And honestly I get why it’s so hard to keep track on things after 6 years and such a long row of characters. That’s why making a season in one take is so much better, when writers do not depend on what the fans think or like or ship. They simply do their job.

Do I need to say that our brain clearly remembers everything we throw at it? We think we forget, but that’s not quite true. That’s also the reason how we distinguish what we like and dislike – we remember all the small things and foreshadowing. Also that’s why we keep re-watching the shows we love: we simply acknowledge what our brain already knows. We simply find that thread that links everything together.

And they can be simple things. But first on what made this script a masterpiece for me: first and last scenes in the studio (+some things from 0102 band circle scene of 0109).

1. The Studio Intro

In 0101 Julie hesitates to go in the garage. She was reluctant to go in the first place. It signifies everything she’s lost: mother, music, voice. She inhales deeply, steadying herself. She can do this.

In 0109 it’s quite the opposite. She wanted to go there even though she knew the guys had already crossed over. Now this place signifies everything she gained back and more: music, voice, friends and, of course, a way back to her mother. She did it.

And this is a perfect visual explanation of the line “It’s not what you lost, it’s what you gain raising your voice to the rain”

2. The Band Intro

Can you see it the way I see it? It’s not a coincidence, it’s been done on purpose. Julie is mortified both times but for completely different reasons. In 0101 she is scared OF them. In 0109 she is scared FOR them. It’s so heartbreakingly beautiful it even hurts.

3. Personal space

In 0101 Julie and Luke are both scared of each other. See that extra step she did to push him away? Or the way he acts as if Julie is really a witch that could curse him? And who needs any personal space in 0109? These scenes show their journey in the best way possible.

4. You have to leave

In 0101 after accepting the fact that she was sane enough and these three ghosts really existed Julie is simply annoyed. She orders them to leave. She doesn’t what them to exist in her life. She has no time to deal with these dead cute boys. She wants them gone.

In 0109 after acknowledging that their plan has failed she also wants them gone. She orders them to leave again. But she wants to save them and for now that’s the only way she can think of. It’s better than not existing at all, even if it means not existing in her life.

And just look at the directing. The shots are almost twins! Julie mimics the scene from 0101 almost entirely, although it hits on a different level. I don't exactly know why it makes me so excited, probably I'm just very tired of mediocre scripts.

5. Maybe she’s a witch

I’m sure she is at least to some extent. It’s such a wonderful foreshadowing. I hope in season 2 we'll find out more but I think the perception on this in "Feels like I’ve opened my eyes again" by @pink-flame is very close if not almost entirely accurate to what I thought about season 2 and all this magic thing. Such a masterpiece of a fanfiction btw, I wish I found the show sooner and was reading it chapter by chapter. One of the best things I've read so far in any fandom.

6. Attached to our souls & 7. She's warming up to us

Do I need to say much? That’s the magic Julie has: her love for these boys. They are attached to her soul.

8. We had nowhere else to go

To think about it, they didn’t need Julie’s permission to stay in the first place. Like… How on earth would she even get rid of them? But that’s what defined these friendship from the start. They asked for permission in 0101 and in 0109 Luke’s words are almost apologetic that they ended up in her garage again.

9. I'm sorry we came into your life

Again, look at how both episodes have been shot. 0101 they stand apart, not knowing anything about each other yet. They both are not very comfortable with the whole situation and Luke voices what Julie might be thinking: why me? In 0109 Julie answers her past self that it was a blessing and a miracle. They are the closest they've ever got to be and the most sincere.

10. I have space for only one more gif and I'm simply fond of this parallel. We need a Witch!Julie AU)))))

________________________

Due to the pics limit I have to stop here. But there is so much more to say. So stay tuned to see Parts two and three if you liked this one. God, I hope you did

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie molina #luke patterson #reggie peters #alex mercer #my first real post here #jatp meta #jatp analysis #my gifs #my edits #don't crop #please be nice

[kiribaku-headcanons]

CAN CAN WE PLEASE GET MORE ANGST HCS,,,

kiribaku + angst (tw // homophobia)

there has never been an openly gay pro hero. agencies told queer heroes to stay in the closet and keep it hidden. that their society was not ready for an open and proud queer hero.

kirishima and bakugou were graduating from u.a with their classmates. kirishima was signed on to work as a side kick at fatgum’s agency. bakugou signed on to work with deku and todoroki at endeavors.

they were open about their relationship. they’ve been together since first year. fatgum supported them. he’s been advocating for them and their relationship ship since the beginning alongside tamaki. he always told kirishima he would support him no matter what whether he wanted to publicly come out or not.

bakugou didn’t have that. endeavor knew of his sexual orientation and his relationship. as bakugou signed on with him endeavor told him that it was not wise ‘to continue down this road’

endeavor told bakugou to either end it or have their relationship go into secrecy. bakugou was going to ask kirishima to hide their relationship.

until kirishima came back to the dorms one day after a meeting with fatgum and said that he wanted to publicly come out. that fatgum and tamaki were standing behind him for any fallout it may cause in society.

bakugou saw how happy kirishima was. how proud he was of who he is. and bakugou couldn’t take that away from him. but he took endeavor’s advice to heart.

after graduation bakugou broke up with kirishima. he told kirishima they were heading towards different goals and he needed to focus on himself and his career. he knew he was spewing utter nonsense. he was sobbing around his words. he was always so sure of himself but in this moment his words were all over the place. he was stuttering. he was a mess

but what hurt the most was how understanding kirishima was. bakugou didn’t look at kirishima once while he spoke but after he finished he looked at him. and despite all the tears in his eyes kirishima was smiling. “if that is what you think is the best i won’t fight it. i just want you to be happy katsuki. and if this is what will make you happy then i’m happy for you.”

but bakugou wasn’t happy. he was miserable.

he started working with deku and todoroki. he was quickly rising through the ranks at endeavors agency and making a name for himself. everyone talked about how one day he was going to be the #1 hero. people constantly praised him. heroes wanted to work with him. he had deal after deal signed. but he wasn’t happy. he couldn’t find himself enjoying any of it.

it was affecting his performance and work. he knew despite what everyone believed he wasn’t doing his best. he just felt so drained and tired all the time.

deku and todoroki tried talking to him. sero and kaminari tried talking to him. mina was ignoring him. his classmates randomly checked in on him. they all thought he was so stupid for what he did to kirishima. he couldn’t blame them.

kirishima tried reaching out to him. but bakugou ignored him because it hurt too much.

it hurt seeing kirishima. seeing him on the news or hearing people talk about him. any mention of kirishima hurt so incredibly bad.

and he was ashamed of himself. for kirishima did what he wanted, he came out publicly after graduation and officially starting work as a hero at fatgum’s agency. he received an onslaught of hate. people questioned his ability to be a hero. said he was a bad influence and role model for children. people booed him when they saw him on patrol. people sent hate and death threats. people lost faith in fatgum and tamaki for their constant support for kirishima. their friends received the same when they stood up for him.

at a press conference a journalist asked deku todoroki and him how they felt about a gay pro hero while using demeaning and derogatory speech in terms of kirishima. and bakugou sat there not saying a word while todoroki ripped the journalist in half for speaking about kirishima in such a manner while deku spoke with security to have him removed.

and people saw this has bakugou agreeing with the journalist. rumors began to spread that bakugou did not agree or support kirishima. people collected evidence of how everyone in their class (even mineta at one point) had stood up for kirishima. everyone but bakugou.

but bakugou was afraid if he said anything he would slip up and accidentally reveal who he truly was. not after endeavor has spoken so many times to him about keeping his private life private.

this went on for months. he’s come to stop responding to his classmates because he didn’t want them asking him how he was. he kept contact with deku and todoroki only because of work but even then distanced himself from them. he was going through life feeling completely empty.

and then a villain attack occurred. fatgum’s agency was the closest and they were immediately called in. they were members from the league of villains though none of the main members. but they were still incredibly powerful. their quirks were perfect against kirishima and tamaki’s. they were quickly becoming overpowered.

there were random attacks throughout the city and every other hero was currently dealing with that. kirishima and tamaki were the only ones at the main fight. it was 2 against 7.

it was being televised everywhere. bakugou was at a scene currently finishing up with a few villains. but the screens all around them were playing the main fight. tamaki was injured but continued to fight. he was struggling to see around the blood in his eyes. and kirishima was struggling. he was beginning to get to his breaking point of unbreakable. his skin was cracking and splitting. he was against four of them while trying his best to back tamaki up.

bakugou went on auto pilot. he left deku and todoroki to deal with cleaning up the scene. they had captured all the villains they didn’t need him.

bakugou arrived at the main fight just in time to see kirishima fall. he was down on a knee struggling to get back up. tamaki was still going. they had managed to take two villains down but five still went strong.

a villain went in for the killing blow to kirishima and bakugou lost it. he placed himself in front of kirishima. he went on a rampage. he held nothing back. tamaki saw and pulled back to get kirishima out of range. he pulled him off to the side where they could catch their breath but close enough they could jump back in if needed.

but bakugou did not need help. he was fueled off the memory of kirishima injured and a villain going to kill him. he held them all off. their quirks perfectly fitted to go against tamaki and kirishima’s but they couldn’t hold against bakugou.

just as deku and todoroki showed up on scene bakugou was finished. the villains were unconscious on the ground or gravely injured. he did not stop to round them up and arrest them.

he ran straight to kirishima. he did not care that the whole country was watching. he did not care there were dozens of cameras pointed at them and news anchors documenting their entire moves.

bakugou flung himself at kirishima and kissed him. it was desperate. bakugou kissed him with all the pent of energy for the past half year. he gasped and cried into the kiss. clinging to kirishima with all his life.

kirishima kissed back just as desperate. whispering to bakugou between kisses that everything was alright. that he was fine. that they were okay.

“i love you” bakugou sobbed. his words being recorded for the entire nation. “i love you” and kirishima said it right back. and despite all the blood and grime and all the injuries he sustained kirishima couldn’t stop smiling. he had waited for bakugou to come back. he would have waited an eternity for bakugou.

they could not care about the consequences of what had occurred. they did not care in that moment that their reunion would be more discussed than the villain attack. they did not see todoroki and tamaki blocking baku and kiri from reporters who hounded the scene as soon as the villains were cleared away. they did not see mina and ochako try and distract journalists to get them away from the couple.

all they cared about was they were finally holding one another again.

#i hope this was angsy enough #i had to go with a happy ending bc it what they deserve #bakugou #bnha #kiribaku #kirishima #mha #bakugou x kirishima #kiribaku headcanons #anime #bakushima #bakugou headcanons #kirishima headcanons #bnha hcs #bnha headcanons #mha hcs #mha headcanons #poprocks #dynariot #my writing #hcs #headcanons #angst #angst with happy ending #tw homophobia