#dont even get me started on the way they just slot in next to each other as ppl too

[downinthedevildom]

Hi! I hope u are doing well, i saw u were doing match ups and i wanted to request one.

Idk whT to put uh ill explain my personality.

I have a mmbti what whatever as enfp, i am also an aries.

Im 5’4

I am shy at first but once u get to know me just am very outgoing.

I have bad handwriting and insecure alot but even then i act social and put a front up, making sue no one around me is sad. Though i tend to babble and ramble alot;

Anyway uh i like to bake and draw, i dont like to party nor stay inside slot so im in the middle when it comes to being social and not.

Even though im a scaredy cat im not afraid to stand up for others. I am an air head but love to read and learn new things. Thats all ill put lol but ye

Ty!

-🍒

Hello lovely 🍒 Nonnie <3 it's been a HOT minute since I've written any kind of match-ups so please forgive me if it's lacking. I am but a weenie wiggling my way back into the word vomiting :') (Matched by Angel💜 ) ANYWAY! ONTO THE MATCH UP!! I match you with Lucifer!

At first, he would probably not pay much attention to you, your shyness keeping you quiet and reserved. (out of sight out of mind vibes.) However, as you grow more comfortable in the House of Lamentation and grow more bubbly and open his eyes will start to drift to you more and more and over time he will find your personality endearing and infectious.

Your handwriting? not an issue, I mean... I HC that Mammon's handwriting is a garbled mess of scribbles so he would probably be used to it. Though he may tease lightly, as long as it doesn't upset you too much or even convince you to practice. though that would be more for his enjoyment. what do you mean you can't concentrate sitting on his lap? Obviously, this is the best position to be in so he could circle an arm around you, grasping your wrist to assist you in learning cursive ;)

You bake? instant up points for 1, you will be able to make delicious desserts when it's your turn to make dinner, and his baby brother Beel will be happy. (yes, he will also demand to try your bakes before anyone else. he has to make sure they are suitable after all.) and 2, being in the kitchen with you, you baking and him sitting at the kitchen aisle while he drinks his coffee watching you go about your work, well I believe he would find those domestic moments to be a perfect recharge for him. Finally allowing him a moment of respite and a few perfect moments to recharge.

Your middle ground of sociability would be a good thing for Mr Morningstar. We all know this man has to be social when needed or when accompanying Dai to functions or whatnot, but he also thrives in his alone time. Thus you will always be the perfect plus 1 for him, matching his middle-ground energy and he would have to worry too much about you getting out of hand at parties. When you both feel a bit too socially drained? time to make a little escape together and recharge without anybody questioning it.

Finally, your bravery would be a huge point of pride to him. Sure you may be scared easily but you do not let that fear control you when you need to protect what you love. Standing up in the face of danger regardless of how terrified you are? well, that's true bravery and you should be proud of yourself. He probably would tell you so at some point. after a particularly scary moment, he will let you know how much he respects you and how you should be proud of yourself. Fear does not control you, you control your fear.

Honorable Mention - Satan!

Again your half-and-half social standing gives cat vibes. we all know Satan is a cat in demon form at this point. one moment getting all the attention and the next he vibes in his room to read and chill out. you could both spend hours just relaxing quietly together in his room, spending time together reading without saying a word to each other. but those moments are so important to him because you are there. But then again, when he gets invited to any restaurant opening, concert, sports game, or anything else from his mass of contacts? well, you will be right there with him. perfect spontaneous date nights are inbound! :3

#🍒 nonnie #a wild anon appeared! #obey me #obey me! #obey me matchups #obey me! matchups #obey me! lucifer #obey me! mammon #obey me! satan #obey me! beelzebub #obey me! belphegor #obey me! beel #obey me! self insert #obey me x reader #( matchups . ) #answered ask : angel💜 #i have complety forgotten how to tumblr. please hold while i smash the knowlage back into my smooth brain :3

[bluevelvet-room]

been trying to get into persona 1, would you recommend doing sqq or sebec route first? also, which optional party members would you recommend for each route? (idrm about ingame strength im moreso looking for a strong personality/arc/relevance to the story) ^^

ok just to start off here i will say. it is 7am est and i was about to go to bed (i stayed up all night drawing maki but i'm batch posting those later) but getting this excited me so excuse me if it is rambly. in addition, i was really bad at playing persona 1 so i'm glad you're asking about arc/relevance to the story because i would NOT be able to tell you the best builds or anything

answer under the readmore:

know in my heart of hearts that i wish so hard to tell you to get yuka ayase no matter what because i stan her so hard and that is what i did in my first playthrough. however. i will not be saying that, because you asked about relevance to the story and she does not have any in SEBEC. also, she's a weak player oops

the main (canon) storyline is in SEBEC. sq is sort of just an extra thing (though still interesting), to the point that they fully did not even include it in revelations initial american release (assholes). so i would play through SEBEC first and then move on to sq

in terms of optional party members, in SEBEC you'll be offered a choice (slowly) between brown, elly, yuka, or reiji. you only have one open slot, you have to reject each one in order to go to the next one and that is the order they'll appear. reiji is the "canon" SEBEC quest member, as the others appear in sq and therefore arent as essential. also, he's relevant to the story.

unfortunately he's also a bitch to get, so i'd look up a guide before you do basically anything at all in the game if you want him. if that fails and you don't want to reload then tbh just pick ur fave from the first three (yuka is the correct choice, but once again she is pretty weak, and i like elly and brown a lot too)

as for snow queen (which i would make an extra save slot before you leave the school the second time if you dont want to play the beginning of the game again, because choosing to stay is how you activate sq) - this quest is harder than SEBEC and also way different in terms of set up, with very little relevance to the overall important events of persona 1.

this time you'll have two slots to fill, with yuka and yukino being there as required party members. you get the option between elly, brown, and nanjo. if you want to see all the characters in one playthrough (spread between SEBEC and sq) then you should pick elly and brown, because nanjo is default in SEBEC.

that's all the important technical stuff that you asked about and i would just like to say, anon, from the bottom of my heart, that i love that you asked me of all people based on my frankly incoherent ramblings about smt persona. i hope you enjoy the game!!!

(i will not blame you if you hate it. smt persona sucks so hard to play it made me want to bash my skull in multiple times but i care about it so much)

#persona 1 #kat answers #literally launched myself out of bed and to my laptop to answer this anon i hope you know #also if any persona fans want to correct me feel free to do so i am tired and mightve missed something #anyways goodnight

[lostinatrainofthoughts]

So! Two days ago, he mentioned that their college was having an open day (he’s 24, a little concerning to me that he chose to continue studying rather than working because he already has a diploma but again! Friends, friends. Not potential lover. Wake up!!!)

Now this open day was for 3 days and the last day being my day off from work. What was funny was that, he invited me on the last day! The guy who said he didnt want to meet is now inviting me to meet him! I was confused.

And i was like “huh?” Why would i go? Im part of the working class now, im not interested in college 😂 but he was like i can bring you around for a tour! And i told him i already had plans that day (which was planned like 2 weeks prior for the whole afternoon to evening and im severely introverted so i can only meet one circle of friends at one time before my social batt runs out completely). And he was like well theres your chance! And i was semi-frantic. like shit what if we really dont meet each other at all then all this would just stay as online interactions which i dont want!!!!!!! Anyway was that manipulation? What he said? I dont know but i gave in anyway. I had time in the morning so we agreed to meet then.

I wasnt too pressured which was crazy. If someone actually suggested to meet from online years ago, i wouldve FLED THE SCENE bc the fear of being seen scared me. But the nerves started developing a few hours before meeting him. That same fear of: shit what if i dont look like the girl in my pic or what if i seem uglier in person bla bla. And again i also dont know how he really looks like which made me more nervous bc what happens if he isnt cute. BUT AGAIN i told myself why am i thinking these things. This dude literally said to be just friends so friends dont need to impress each other. So that was what got me through my nerves.

a few mins before heading there, he sent a photo of himself for ref and NOW he looks short 😂😭😭😭 i was like @ god: god if you hear me please atleast let him be taller than me pls. And btw he looks okay! Hes not as he claims to be lmaooo. He said on text k oppa and hes quarter chinese. And he said once a korean dad wanted to intro him to his daughter. So that means handsome right? Well i guess his looks might pass for others. But in a different scenario, and we met before, i wouldve just walked past him without looking up so LOL.

Anyway so i came at 11:30 and met him! Thank god, hes taller than me 😂😂😂😂😂 but just by 4-5cm? Hes really sweet and i like his voice and hes very gentle, you can tell by his gestures. And how he uses like a softer tone when hes speaking to me. And if he didnt tell me he was an introvert, i wouldve assumed he was extroverted. Because its the way he goes around talking to people so casually makes me think so. Hes in student council so hes a pretty busy guy.

we only talked and walked for an hour before we had to go bc he had stuff to do, and i needed to slot in a quick nap before meeting my friends in the next hour (spoiler: i didnt get my rest😭😭) Basically the whole thing was okay and i would love to sit down and meet him again. We still texted after meeting up so i assume he thought i was okay too. But AHHHHHH AHHHHHH i cant believe i did that AHHHHHHHHHGHGH who is sheeeeeee im still recovering from all that social interaction huhu :(

#update 😂 #personal but not so personal

[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

[bratkook]

like you used to. jjk

“So kill me like you used to...”

part two.

pairing. ex boyfriend!jungkook x reader genre. angst, mentions of smut, toxic exes warnings. very toxic depictions of relationships, hints at infidelity, drunken mistakes, they’re both very toxic for each other and just can’t stay away, brief mentions of smut word count. 2.9k note. this is just a lump of angst that my mind conjured at 1am last night, i just love angst and messy relationships that are destined to fail 😌(its not edited so if u see a typo no u dont)

It always started with a phone call. 

Whether it was from you or him always changed. Sometimes he’d get the call at two in the morning, vision blurry as he brought the phone to his face and saw your name illuminated on the screen, that old goofy selfie you had together still set as your contact photo. He’d hesitate for a moment just to keep you on your toes before pressing accept, already getting up and putting pants on because he knew just what you were calling for. 

Tonight was your turn to be on the receiving end, laying in bed comfortably as you scrolled through random posts to try to help you sleep, the flash of his face fills your phone, it’s a random close up photo of his eyes staring right into the camera, crinkled up in a smile. Even though his name is changed in your contacts, no longer having the cute bunny emoji tacked to the end, you know you’ll still pick up in a heartbeat. And you do. 

The second you press accept you’re met with the familiar sound of his voice, slurred and thick as he speaks so jumbled up you would barely be able to understand him if you didn’t already know what he was saying. It was the same things he always said whenever he got like this, proclamations of love that only cut up your freshly scabbed over wounds, salt rubbing into them when he cries about how he misses you, promises to change. 

They get cut off when the phone is yanked away from his grasp, the second familiar voice belonging to his buddy Yugyeom now speaking into the receiver. “You gotta pick him up Y/N.”

The annoyance is evident in his voice, the babbling of Jungkook still heard in the background along with the dull beat of whatever place they were outside of. 

“He’s not my responsibility Yugyeom.”

He simply sighs into the phone, staring at his mess of a friend before rubbing his jaw, sore and aching from where he had just been socked after attempting to force him into an uber. “Yeah well he won’t let anyone else take him home, he’s drunk as fuck. I’ll send you the location.”

Not waiting for a response he hangs up and sends you a pin of where they’re at, thrusting the phone back into his friend’s hands before getting into that uber and leaving Jungkook alone while he whines against the dirty bar wall, crouching down onto the filthy sidewalk as the car drove off. 

Yugyeom knew you would come to his rescue like you always did, never once saying no and letting Jungkook fend for himself because on the rare occasions where you’d call him drunk and crying he’d do the same. 

Getting into the car still dressed in your pajamas, shoes thrown on without being laced up, hair still messy, it felt like routine now from how often it happened. Jungkook called you sober, text you while in a sane state of mind, but without fail at least once a month he’d get absolutely shit faced and call you, leaving you what he thought were heartfelt voicemails if by some chance you didn’t answer. 

It was the same bar every time, a bar you used to frequent with him, knowing the location and all the small side streets to get you there without needing directions. Doing this felt like such a normal part of your life it almost made you forget that you and Jungkook weren’t together anymore. It’s been a year since you split and you still find yourself thinking if things could be different. 

Would it have been best if you never confessed to each other, never admitted to the small inkling of a crush before it was able to fully blossom? It was hard not to wonder how different life would be now if you had walked away the first time things went south, if he had walked away after the first argument. 

Whenever he called you, pulled you in with those drunken promises it was easy to convince yourself that your relationship was perfect, that it was worth all of the struggles. Your brain morphed each fight, each time you cried alone, twisted it around and molded it to make it easier to consume, easier to believe you were meant to be. 

You thought you were soulmates, and maybe you were, two people destined to be together, meeting at the wrong time, under the wrong circumstances. What was meant to be perfect puzzle pieces connected had slowly turned into jagged edges that no longer clicked regardless of how hard you tried to jam them together, foolishly thinking you could spill your love into the gaps to mend the spaces, making the pieces whole once more. 

Love was never enough. 

Love made you stupid, made you blind and gullible, smiling through lies to avoid arguments, going to bed angry until he was hovering over you, coaxing you into forgiveness with soft kisses and gentle touches. It always went this way, regardless of who’s fault it was without fail he’d end up slot between your legs, the only time the puzzle pieces connected perfectly, allowing him to fuck you as if he’d never see you again. Murmurs of love and adoration were passed between panting breaths, sloppy kisses, shared moans to mask the empty promises you made every time.

Staying away from each other was a hard habit to kick, the two of you stuck on an endless game of seesaw, neither of you having the guts to get off and move on. All it took was a simple drunk phone call for you to go his way, the slur of his voice as he cries into the receiver about how much he loved you, missed you, needed you next to him, wanted to try again. It reeled you in so easily, winding you up until you were hauling your sloppy ex boyfriend off the dirty floor and into your small car. 

He remembers none of this, he never did, not fully anyways. Small tidbits of words he said flash in his mind as he comes to, drool on his cheek and neck sore from the unfortunate position he had slept in, groggy and unaware of his surroundings. 

He knew your apartment too well, recognized the green wall he had helped you paint, now holding endless pictures of you and your friends. None of Jungkook anymore. 

All of those photos were gone now, not burned or shredded in some ritual to get over him, simply tucked into a box and shoved so far into your closet you hoped you would forget it. You never did of course, the way the box laid dust free made it clear how often you pulled it out and sorted through the photos whenever you had too much wine, whenever you had off days where you just felt so alone and wished you could go back to the times you had convinced yourself were better. They weren’t, you knew they weren’t once you sobered up and balanced out your emotions.

Jungkook doesn’t feel bothered that not a trace of him remained visible in your home, he knew his presence lingered in the cracks, buried so deep in the crevices of your mind he knew you would always think of him. 

He groans softly as his eyes roam the interior of your home, the throbbing in his temples making him stop and shut his lids, not needing to analyze the place he was at less than two weeks ago when you had called him over. Jungkook briefly wonders if he should sneak his way out, not used to waking up on the couch instead of in your bed right beside you, maybe he had said something last night that crossed the line and landed him on the couch as a punishment. 

As you finally emerge from your room his plan of escape is put to a stop, his eyes gravitating towards your bedroom door, seeing the way you cautiously step out. Having heard Jungkook wake up since you had already been awake for the past hour, your body not allowing you to sleep while knowing he was in the other room, it took a few minutes of courage before you were able to face him. 

Spotting him on your couch shows how much he doesn’t belong, the pinned leather jacket he wore looking so harsh against the light coloring of your furniture, his dark disheveled hair contrasting with the tidy way you organized your apartment. He senses it, the skin crawling sensation that spreads the longer you stare at him, how he felt so out of place somewhere he used to call home at one point. 

“Thank you for picking me up.” He chooses to break the silence, voice raspy, his internal self screaming at him for always doing this. His eyes are sincere, genuinely meaning it, knowing just how messy he got when he had too much to drink, how his friends could never handle him when he crossed the line and began to call for you. 

Like always his words were routine so he expects it when you huff and say, “You need better friends Jungkook.”

“I know.” Because he did, he knew his friends enabled him, riled him up and once he became too much they pushed him onto you, knowing Jungkook’s grip on you was still too strong for you to ever say no. 

“What if I hadn’t picked you up? Would they have left you on the side of the bar to fend for yourself?”

“Probably,” he shrugs, from past experiences he knows very well they would have. His friends had dealt with Jungkook crying over you far too much, their patience fully stamped out, no longer able to tolerate him when he became like this. 

Not even realizing when he begins to smile as he thought of the nights you didn’t pick up, how he had ended up in the most random locations because he refused to go home to a place you weren’t, he snaps out of it when you scoff. “It’s not funny Jungkook, you could have gotten hurt or something.”

There it was, the reason you were upset. Not because he had called you and spewed the same bullshit he always did, no that you could tolerate. You were upset, and worried, that you’d get a following call from someone stating he had injured himself while calling for you. 

“I know.”

You pause to breathe, his short responses not irking you like it should, arms crossed over your chest as you observe your ex boyfriend still sitting on the couch, looking like a scolded child. 

“You can’t call me anymore Jungkook.” How you have the nerve to say that to him is funny, acting as if ten days ago you weren’t the one doing this to him, telling him you missed him, securing your anchor around his foot and dragging him back under with you. 

This is the checklist you needed to go down, a formality of the morning after so he doesn’t mind it. Instead he frowns at the way you continue to say his name, the way it rolls off your tongue makes him wince, missing the way you’d call him Kookie, playful pet names like Bunny, something he swore he hated but secretly loved. Jungkook wished he could hear you say it again, humor you with that damned bunny eared headband he’d wear to hear you laugh, squeal as he posed and dance for whatever silly video you recorded as you shouted out the ridiculous nickname. 

The last time he heard those words spill out of your mouth had been too long ago. 

“I’m sorry.” he admits, he knew he had to stop, couldn’t continue to hold onto the past, knowing how wrong you were for each other but he wasn’t the only one. Those were the same words you told him ten days ago, apologizing with guilty eyes for asking him to come over when you were lonely, needing a familiar body to occupy the space next to you, wanting his hands to soothe you, make you feel whole again just for a night. 

Once the sun came up it was back to normal, the two of you having the repeat conversation you had every time, the exact one you were having now. A formality. Nothing more, just mindless words that you would both agree to just to move along, to make you both feel better, more secure with yourself until the next time the phone rang. 

Your heart twists in your chest as you look at him, the same toxic love you had for him brewing in your heart, spilling over and burning you but you ignore the pain, convince yourself you don’t feel it as you breathe in. That same rope latches around Jungkook’s ankle as you avert your eyes for a brief second before looking back at him with a small sigh. “Do you want breakfast? I know how you get when you have a hangover.”

He smiles for the first time, charming as always, looking up at you through the subtle waves in his hair. “I probably shouldn’t.”

You know this. He definitely shouldn’t because breakfast will turn into words exchanged, civil at first, flirty the next, a coin flipped to decide if a petty argument would begin or if you’d reminisce about the good times. Regardless of the outcome, what always followed ended with you moaning out his name as he rocked into you, those same empty promises spilling through his lips that you swallowed with a kiss. 

A brief moment of bliss, a small dose of the past that only serves to hurt you further but you crave it, loving the small rush that came with arguing, the roughness of his hands as he pushed you around before sliding home, burying his face into your neck as he broke you down all over again. 

Normally you’d try to convince him further, but as your mouth opens to protest you get flashes of the night before, how you had carried Jungkook up your flight of stairs, hearing him ramble about nonsense so slurred together you paid it no mind. You would have had him sleep in your bed beside you like you always did but when you fish his phone out and begin to slide his jacket off it buzzes to life. 

Always being nosey you type in his password, smiling when you realize it was still your old anniversary but when you unlock it and see a flood of messages from a girl named Natalie, calling him babe, asking where he was, the smile falls from your face as you start to snoop. 

It doesn’t take much scrolling through their thread of messages to easily discover she was his girlfriend, blissfully unaware that he was shit faced and calling you, confessing to his love for you while she laid at home and wondered if he was having fun with his friends. She reminded you of yourself, of the way you used to be with him and it left a sour feeling on your tongue. 

“Yeah you probably shouldn’t.” 

He stands up now, following you slowly as you approach the door, heavy boots thumping on the hardwood as he reluctantly steps closer to the exit. He doesn’t want to leave, wants you to try to convince him to stay, not knowing that you knew the dirty secret he was hiding buried in his phone. 

You don’t decide to tell him you know, it was pointless. That was just how Jungkook was wired, so much love to give he had to spread it out, give everyone a fair share of it, choosing to pretend he wasn’t being selfish. It was naive to believe it, to think all the love he held was strictly for you, it was why he was able to pull the hood over your eyes so easily. 

Even when you pull the door open and give him a tightlipped smile he knows you’ll still call him, forget all about Natalie when you’re lonely once more. So when you look him in the eyes and sigh, “Goodbye Jungkook.” He knows it’s not for long, maybe a week or so, maybe less. 

He simply smiles, stuffing his hands into his jeans as he shuffles out, turning to face you as he steps backwards. “See you later Y/N.” And his words sting in a way he doesn’t mean, knowing just how right he was. 

Jungkook would never mind how heavy the anchor you hooked on his ankle was because he knew you would forever be a sucker for him. 

As you shut the door behind you it feels like a small weight starts to hang from your shoulders, the same tug starting from your chest, guiding you into your room until you’re pulling out the cursed box and sorting through those damned photos. With stinging eyes you flip through them for a moment, focusing on all the laughs captured on film, blurry vision moving to your phone beside you, hands already itching to call him again. 

It’s as if he knows, still inside your building, lingering in the lobby to give you a moment and it doesn’t take long. Once his phone starts to vibrate he smiles, staring at the photo of you as you call him like clockwork. With a clear of his throat he answers the phone, barely saying hello before he hears a small sniffle through the speaker. 

“I miss you Kookie.” 

Jungkook lets his eyes shut as he presses the elevator button, loving the feeling of being needed by you, already knowing to head back up because this was routine. 

“I know you do baby, I’ll be right up.”

And just like that you’re once again desperately trying to make those stupid puzzle pieces fit together, hoping that maybe this time love would be enough.

#ficswithluv #goldenclosetnet #heartsforbts #btsghostie #btswritingcafe #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts angst #jeon jungkook #new

[4dtk]

based on a lil discussion with me and @moonboohoo btw this is a little ooc since sukuna is a cat lol. enjoy!

[yuji is typing...]

oh my godddd you're ordering food? i want food too wtf

anyway. i hear u about your problem. why not just ask the first person you see when you get back home?

[(y/n) is typing...]

you want me to ask my cat??????

[yuji is typing...]

oh no not the cat, that feline is the devil himself im sure

the person delivering your food, ask them!!! maybe they'd be willing to give you a chance

[(y/n) is typing...]

hey!!!! :( dont be mean to sukuna :((

your maine coon curls up against you as you flop down on the couch with phone in hand, the other switching on the television with not much thought. your hand naturally strokes the cat's fur, jumping channels from one to the next in boredom as you wait for the delivery.

sukuna's purring carry on even when the doorbell is rung, accepting the food with a smile and careful hands. when you don't return, however, the cat perks up in curiosity, seeing the familiar twirl of your hair around your fingers as you engage in a conversation with the person at your door.

"so... is tomorrow okay?" you ask, tired of waiting for the perfect partner to come and sweep you off your feet. the other goes to answer, but sukuna interrupts before they can, hissing with the swishing of his bushy tail. it's as if he was a human himself, staring down at the delivery person despite the massive height difference.

"ah, s..sorry," you rush to place the food down, picking up the majestic cat into your arms to cradle him, "my cat's pretty aggressive to strangers."

"we could always reschedule it?" they say, shrugging their shoulders, "doesn't look like your cat wants me in the house if i were to come over tomorrow."

you smile apologetically, "'m sorry again."

they wave a hand, both in goodbye and dismissal of your apology for such a trivial thing.

the cat descends from your arms gracefully, walking off like he hadn't just cost you a future partner. as sukuna prances off, you roll your eyes at his dramatics, reaching for the food before finally settling down in front of the television again. at least now you had a purpose of going channel surfing.

it wasn't a very productive day, clocking out at an early 11pm to get ready for tomorrow. scrolling through social media was your favourite pastime, slotting in a bit of 'me' time before succumbing to sleep with sukuna snuggled up against your side. 

the next morning wasn't merciful; with its bright rays shining through the window and the annoying construction going on from across the street, you could almost feel your annoyance levels rising before you got the morning routine.

"she wanted to invite them into the house? thank god i swooped in before they could agree. what right do they have to hang with (y/n)?"

what's worse is there was murmuring just at the foot of your bed, the pacing of their footsteps deemed too loud by your groggy, grumpy self.

wait.

"who's there?!" your shout catches the attention of the male, hand pointing at the owner of the noisy-ass footsteps with fear.

his messy pink hair was enough to catch your attention, but the tattoos littered across his arms and face was enough to make you gasp. you keep your mouth shut when he looks you over with red eyes, meeting yours with a tilt of his head. it's a sukuna habit, even when he's a human.

"who... are you?"

"seriously?" he asks unimpressed, crossing his arms over his exposed chest.

"sukuna!" you jolt in surprise at your missing cat, "sukuna?"

there's genuine concern and confusion when you repeat his name for the third time, coming to terms that he might really be in front of you.

"s...ukuna?" you whisper in caution, inching towards him as he keeps his eyebrow raised at your clueless state. tracing your hand across his carefully drawn tattoos was the first thing you did before moving on to his unkempt pink hair and mouth, where he still possessed his canine teeth.

he recoils as part of instinct, an uncharacteristic blush appearing on his face.

you overlook his behaviour but instead groan, falling back into the bed behind you in panic from the situation you've just encountered. your head comes up to gaze at the other, frustrated that he hasn't gone away after slapping your face, blinking your eyes or even falling off the bed.

"fuck. so you're real then."

"tch, then what am i? am i not matter, a material that constitutes the observable universe and, together with energy, forms the basis of all objective phenomena?"

you blow a raspberry, "did you get that from my science notes? god, whatever, let's get you some clothes."

luckily, with your wide array of oversized shirts, you were able to dress him decently. despite your confusion, you still were very interested to know how he came to be in your small apartment. with a skilled hand, you brew some coffee for the both of you, handing him a steaming hot cup after a few minutes.

"i change every night," sukuna says nonchalantly, immediately spitting out the bitter drink in repulsion.

he makes a disgusted face, “what the fuck is this?”

you deadpan, "really? all over my floor?"

getting up, your hands reach for the paper towels to clean up the mess that your cat-turned-human made, cringing at the way the paper towel turns brown with the immediate soak-up.

“but this is the first time i’ve struggled to change back. i’m not sure how i do it normally, but jeez, drinking your goddamn coffee makes me wish i was a cat again.”

with each passing minute, he gets on your nerves and by now, he’s shoved the drink back to you. standing up, he stretches his muscles like how he usually does in the mornings, allowing for every part of his toned body to show itself.

there goes the annoyance...

"well, i can't say i'm not attracted either..." you mutter to yourself, gulping down the extra cup before placing them in the sink. the laptop you frequent makes its way onto your lap not so long later, bringing up a essay due in the next week. you decided to start early this time and made sure to pace yourself, trying to rule out the last minute rushes you always settled for.

an arm encircles around your waist, taking you by surprise when you let out a squeak. sukuna is nuzzling himself into your arm while you try to frantically delete the out-of-topic sentence that was making its way onto the word doc.

"what are you doing?"

"morning routine," he simply says, laying his tongue on you without any warning.

"oh god, sukuna, no!" you groan, pushing him away from his tight grip on you like he usually does when his body is propped against your chest. you've woken up too many times, struggling to breathe because of his weight.

he retreats reluctantly, really wishing he was a cat again as he grunts at your behaviour.

"have it your way," sukuna mumbles, his naturally grumpy self amplified by your rejection. you thought back to the times your maine coon normally sat beside you quietly, basking in the way your fingers typed on the keyboard.

what could be any different? plus, you'd have a reciprocation of your head pats.

there's a tug on the other's wrist, "you can lay. just no- no licking, okay?"

you almost scoff at the sukuna rolls his eyes, but his actions betray him anyways because he's laid down beside you, curling into your side as he places his head into your stomach.

the desktop's illumination shines brighter than the morning's rays, hypnotising sukuna into a slumber as you play with his hair.

you wouldn't have noticed the male if he hadn't introduced himself, but his brash personality matched your cat too closely, knowing you were the only one he'd show affection to despite the constant hissing and glares he sent to your friends.

a gentle grasp of his hand snaps you out of your thoughts, bringing back memories of the way he'll lay his paw on you, even during the first time where you met him in the animal shelter.

sukuna stays peaceful throughout his sleep, pink hair slowly becoming messier the more he cuddled into your person. he was content now, at least, as you read over the essay to correct any mistakes.

it lulls him in and out of consciousness, stuck between wanting to hear your tender voice and relishing being embraced in his sleep.

either way, he was positive he wanted to spend the rest of his cat (or human) life with you.

#sorry guys i rlly do love cats LMAOO #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk smut #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna imagines #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen ryomen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna fluff

[sunrisefairy]

Cameras and crushes

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Warning: Alcohol, small mention of death, pure fluffiness 

Summary: Y/N is used to being a background character someone you glaze over but never really notice. But more recently she longed for someone to see her, well she longed for a certain redhead to see her. 

A/N: Wrote this for @theweasleysredhair​​ writing challenge based off the prompt “You remembered?” very proud of this fic so i hope you love it as much as i do. All feedback is welcomed :))))

italics represent a flashback 

Taglist: send me a message if you would like to be added @hufflepuff5972​ @inglourious-imagines​ @klausdatprettyboi​ @georgeweasleyswhre​​

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Y/N is very content with being a background character, she’s quite used to it actually. Growing up with 3 older and much louder brothers she was pretty happy with sticking to the sidelines, letting them be noisy and crazy while she kept to herself. Y/N grew up with mostly boys around her, her mother passed away when she was young. Y/N would always beg her brothers and her dad for stories of her mother, wanting to feel closer to her. Y/N’s dad would fondly retell memories of his beautiful wife, reminiscing on how witty and charismatic she was. He’d mention all the small, quirky things she would do which made him fall hard and fast for her. Y/N longed for that kind of love, she longed for someone to take notice of her in the way her dad did for her mum. Ever since Y/N was a little girl she yearned to be heard and seen but that proved difficult when you’re as shy and quiet as her.

Judging by most of the people in Y/N’s life she seemed to attract the boisterous types, guessing her quiet nature balanced them out. She loved her friends with her entire heart, even if their personalities were the opposite of hers, Y/N wouldn’t change their qualities if she could.

One of her friends, although still lively and vibrant as the others, also had a calm and tranquil side to him. George Weasley. Y/N had only known George for a few years having met at Lee Jordan’s 18th birthday 3 years ago. Somehow that night she had ended up climbing a tree with the tall redhead whom she had only met 30 minutes prior.

“How the hell did you get up to that branch?” Y/N mumbled, trying to figure out how to reach the higher branch where George Weasley was currently sitting, his long legs swinging back and forth as he chuckled at the girl below him.

“I used that branch sticking out there and then swung my leg up to get here.” George points to the branch to the girls left. 

Y/N grunts as she attempts what George said but huffs and pouts her lip feeling defeated, “you forget that I have little legs, unlike you Mr. giraffe.”

George rolls his eyes and stretches his hand out, “try again, I’ll help pull you up.”

Somehow, George manages to pull Y/N up and they sit comfortably next to one another up high in the tree. “There you go little bunny, don’t go falling off now.”

Y/N rolls her eyes at the nickname wishing she had brought her cider up with her feeling very self-conscious and unsure of what to do her shaking hands.

The pair fall into a comfortable silence, watching the party goers below them gathered around a very intoxicated birthday boy chanting as he chugs another beer, “we love to drink with Lee cause Lee is our mate and when we drink with Lee he gets it down in 8…7…”

Their voices drown out as George gently nudges Y/N’s shoulder pulling her attention back to him, “soo, Y/N I hear you’re not much of the talker?”

Y/N blushes hard grateful for the lack of light outside. “No I guess not. Not many are interested in what I have to say.”

George smiles, his eyes not leaving the girl beside him, “well I am. Tell me something.”

Y/N chews on her bottom lip nervously and looks back at the drunk crowd, “like what?”

George shrugs, he didn’t really mind what the conversation was about, he just wanted to hear the pretty girl speak. “I dunno, anything. Tell me about something that makes you happy.”

Y/N racks her brain for something to talk about, her palms getting sweaty from the long silence. Finally, she settles on something that always fills her with joy, her mother.

“Um okay so,” she starts staring at the leaves swaying in the tree, pushing down the anxiety. “Before my mother died she always had this film camera with her, my dad used to joke around saying that she loved this camera more than him,” Y/N chuckles quietly before continuing “She would take photos of the most random things, we have this big box back home filled with all the photos she ever took with that camera.” Y/N pauses, fumbling with her fingers. “I wish we still had the camera. You see after my mum passed, dad had to look after us 4 kids and with only one income coming in, it was pretty tough. For my 12th birthday I reeeaaally wanted a new bike, I’d complained for years that I couldn’t have my brothers old one because it was a gross boy’s bike. So, my dad sold my mums camera to get me a pink one. Kind of wish he didn’t because I would have loved to still have mum’s camera with us.”

Y/N finished and chewed her lip realising speaking about her dead mother probably wasn’t a great conversation piece, but any story of her mother always made her feel warm inside.

George hadn’t taken his eyes off her throughout the whole story, his heart fluttering when her eyes had lit up as she spoke about her mother.

“I’m sorry, probably not what you wanted to hear, it was the first thing that popped into my head.” Y/N mumbled.

George simply shook his head and replied, “you don’t ever have to apologise to me for saying what’s on your mind Y/N. I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

For the first time in a while, Y/N felt seen.

Y/N’s phone dings and she pulls it from her pocket to read the message.

-Hey bunny :) so 4 tonight, we’re aiming to get to urs at like 7. does that work for u?

It was from George. Even if she didn’t have his number saved, she’d be able to tell it was from the redhead simply from his choice of nickname. Y/N hated when he called her bunny but George insisted on using the nickname ever since Lee’s 18th mainly because he thought it was cute not that he would tell her that.

Y/N’s heart thumped harder in her chest purely from the fact that George had texted her. Her crush on George had amplified over the years of knowing the boy, feeling both thankful and uneasy at the fact that he had so effortlessly slotted into their tight friendship group mainly because he was always around making Y/N a stuttering mess.

Y/N’s fingers fumble as she types out a response, it was her birthday today and all her friends we’re persistent in throwing her a party. They had agreed to a small gathering at Y/N’s place, Y/N didn’t want them to make such a fuss over it.

-Hey Georgie, 7 is perfect! Cant wait.

-See u then bunny, hope ur ready to get ur drink on ;)

-IDK, after the other weekend I dont think im ready to face alcohol again

-nope! no excuses from u, u only turn 21 once

Y/N chuckles at George’s message and goes back to tidying her house, ready for tonight.

~~~~

As soon as it hits 7pm her friends are barging through her front door lugging drinks.

Each of them greet Y/N giving her a hug and wishing her happy birthday.

“We’ll do presents later, first let’s get some drinks into us!” Angelina cheers as she starts to mix some deadly concoction. Alicia connects her phone to the speaker, the living room filling with music.

Y/N jumps as a voice pipes up from behind her, “happy birthday little bunny.”

She turns facing George as he places a brightly coloured wrapped box on the counter with the other presents. He opens his arms, engulfing her into a giant hug. Y/N wraps her arms around his waist, giving him a tight squeeze, “thanks” she mumbles into his chest before pulling away looking up at his warm eyes. They stare at each other for a second before the moment is broken when Fred places something on Y/N’s head.

“A birthday tiara for the birthday girl” Fred states loudly, Y/N glances at the mirror hanging from the wall on her left sees a plastic silver and pink tiara perched upon her head.

“Oh god,” Y/N mumbles adjusting it slightly.

Lee shouts over the music, drawing everyone’s attention over to him. “Okay everyone, the ever lovely Angie has made us each a questionable looking but delicious drink to start the night. So get your butts over here and let’s get this party started!”

A few hours and many, many drinks later, everyone is huddled in the living room, sitting on the couches watching Y/N open her presents. So far, she had gotten some perfume from Angelina, chocolates and a gorgeous photo frame from Alicia and Fred and Lee had gifted Y/N with a bottle of wine and voucher from the little boutique at the corner of her street. Y/N’s cheeks were hurting from smiling so much and her heart swelled at the sweet gifts her friends had gotten her.

“Okay, only one left,” Alicia says, clapping her hands excitedly.

“Probably the best one,” Fred whispers to Lee.

“Of course it’s going to be the best one you idiot,” Angelina says as a matter of fact, overhearing the two boys.

George, who is sitting to Y/N’s right, hands over the brightly colour box, trying to hide his excitement and nerves. “Here you go Y/N, happy birthday.”

The box feels heavy in Y/N’s grasp as she places it in her lap tearing off the wrapping paper. Y/N glances around, noticing everyone’s eager eyes on her. She sees Angelina nudge Alicia’s side smiling at each other knowingly. Y/N furrow her brows, slightly confused then draws her attention back to the box. She ripped off the paper carefully and uncover a brown box, no hints as to what is inside.

“Oh my god, hurry up and open it the suspense is killing me!” Fred says impatiently, George whacks him across the head telling him to shut up.

Y/N take off the lid and immediately her mouth gapes open finally seeing what’s inside. She shakily lifts the film camera out of the box and hold it so gently as if it’s made of diamonds and gold.

Small tears prick in Y/N’s eyes, shocked and surprised at George’s gift, it looks exactly like the one her mother had.

She manages to squeak out a small, “you remembered?” referring to the first conversation they had 3 years prior.

George has a small smile etched onto his lips. “Of course I did, I remember everything you tell me. I take a lot of pride in knowing everything about you actually.” He says, puffing his chest out proudly.

“Yeah like what?” Y/N cradles the camera in her arms.

“Well,” George starts. “I know that you hate the smell tequila because it reminds you of your 18th when you spent most of the night by the toilet. I know that you can’t sleep if the room is dead quiet. I know that you love buying plants but can never seem to keep them alive. I know you never wear matching socks because you think it’s a fun way to spice up an outfit.” He finishes smugly.

Alicia and Angelina let out a small aww in the background reminding Y/N of the 4 other sets of eyes watching her and George right now.

“Well there’s one thing you don’t know about me.”

“Yeah? What’s that then?” George counters.

Y/N doesn’t know where she musters up the courage from to speak the next words, maybe from the alcohol buzzing through her body or finally being sick of keeping this to herself for the past 3 years. Whatever it may be, she’s rather proud of herself, ignoring the way her stomach churns.

“That I have a huge crush on you.”

She expected George to laugh in her face before rejecting her gently. What Y/N definitely didn’t expect was him to cradle her face in his large hands, pressing a sweet but passionate kiss to her pink lips. She squeaks in surprise before melting into the kiss, gripping onto his shirt tightly, scared he would slip away.

Much to Y/N’s dismay George pulls away from the kiss tucking a strand of her hair back behind her ear, “no I knew that too.”

“Wha-how?” Y/N stutters.

The attention is pulled to Alicia as she begins to speak, “it wasn’t much of a secret babe. Everybody knew you were crushing on George. Can’t believe it took either one of you so long to do something about it.”

“Little Georgie here spent months trying to find that camera for you as a way to confess his undying love for you.” Fred reaches over and ruffles his twin’s hair who shoves him off.

“Yep, we were all so bloody excited for you to open his presents so you two can stop pining over each other.” Lee adds downing the rest of his drink then standing up. “Right, now the two love birds have finally confessed their feelings. Who’s up for a round of beer pong? Reigning champion here has yet to be defeated.”

“You’re on Jordan, that ego of yours has gotten large enough.” Fred challenges, everyone moving over to the table to set up for beer pong. Leaving Y/N and George alone on the couch.

George wraps his lanky arm around Y/N’s shoulder pulling her into his side, “I hope you’re enjoying your birthday bunny.”

Y/N grins widely, playing with her new camera before lifting it up and aiming it at George. “best birthday ever Georgie, thank you.” She squeezes the button down, snapping a picture of George who is staring at her like she’s the only person in the world.

Y/N is very content with being a background character, she’s quite used to it actually. But for once she doesn’t mind being the centre of someone’s undivided attention.

#George weasley #George weasley one shot #george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fluff #george weasley fan fic #Fred and george #george weasley imagine #twrh9kwritingchallenge

[nepenthendline]

Holding hands and kissing for the first time in public - Tendou and Aone

And on today’s episode of how many commas can chloe put in one sentence...

I’m doing ok thank you, I hope you’re taking care of yourself! 

Request for @dont-mind-me-imjustpassingby​ : Hi hon! I hope you're doing okay 💜Im feeling a bit soft for PDA so how about reader holding their hand and kissing them in public for the first time with Tendou and our underrated boi Aone? Or choose one if you dont wanna do more than 1 💜

Tendou:

Even as friends, Tendou was always affectionate, in public or private; always hugging you, ruffling your hair or even picking you up and spinning you around if he was in a particularly good mood

So, it wasn’t long into your relationship when you experienced your first kisses and hand-holding

Although Tendou had no problem with PDA, if fact he reveled in it, but he knew you might not feel the same way. He didn’t want to push you into being affectionate with him too quickly, and let you take the reins on when you both decided to take your affection publicly

It was hard for him though, he often felt his hand drifting close to yours when you were out together, or how he would grab your hand when dragging you over to look at particular treats he spotted in shop windows

The two of you were out on a date, walking back from the cute cafe you had spent the last few hours, chatting and indulging yourselves

As you walked close to each other, you hand brushed against his every now and then, feeling the warmth and softness of his skin, and each touch left you craving more

While Tendou was distracted as he spoke, you, slowly, moved your fingers closer to his, linking them loosely around his as if to test his reaction

As you did, you felt him shudder and take a sharp breathe, breaking his speech

But, almost as quick as it happened, he shuffled his hand further into your grasp, his hand fully overtaking yours; the warmth almost burned your skin as he squeezed tightly

The comfort of his touch gave you some courage to look towards him and see his reaction, to which you saw his beaming smile and a slight pink in his cheeks that reflected the sunlight as he continued to speak

You admired him for a while, feeling the surge of adoration that ran through you

You stopped in your tracks, tugging him to a halt from your linked hands and called his name

Just as he looked towards you, you lifted your lips to his, pressing a gentle, light kiss there

For a second after you pulled away he was stunned into silence, before letting out a chuckle and dipping his head down to kiss you again, this time with a little more force

Pulling away, he rested his forehead on yours, grinning and wrapping his arms around you tightly

“You’re so cute. I hope you know that now you’ve started this, i’m never letting your hand leave mine”

Aone:

Aone had never been much of an affectionate type - not that he didn’t want to, he just had no reason for it with his friends

But since being with you, his mind often wandered to what it would be like to cuddle you close to his body, hold your smaller hands in his and feel the softness of your cheeks against his lips

He was way too nervous and unsure to do anything about it though, it was still so surreal to him that you even wanted to be around him, let alone be his partner and share those little moments

It was always so obvious when he was craving affection though; his cheeks would be pinched with red and his brow furrowed as he gazed at you, sometimes even leaning down so you could stroke his cheek or run your hand through his hair

It was a while before the two of you shared your first kiss, one that left him dazed for minutes, unable to speak or think about anything other than how much he wanted to do it again, and again

In public though, he tended to keep his distance from you

He knew he was a scary-looking guy to some, and he didn’t want to push you into anything either, so he thought it was best to leave some space between the two of you

Both of you were sitting on the train, on your way to the nearest town to spend the day together, which was already sending him into a whirlwind of emotion as he felt your warmth next to him

The train wasn’t too busy, only a few people littering the carriage with the sound of the tracks overpowering any conversation

Aone felt a tap on his knee that he knew came from you

Looking over, he saw the nervous smile you gave and how your eyes flickered down to the hand that had previously tapped him, noticing how it was now laying flat on his thigh, palm-side-up as if waiting for something

You let out a quiet giggle as you almost heard the cogs in his brain whirring to comprehend the situation, and, with your other hand, picked up his and placed it in yours that lay waiting, slotting your fingers between his

You watched as his eyes widened, and how his fingers flexed and relaxed, shifting around while trying to get used to the feeling

His cheeks were already burning with pink as he stared at your joined hands

As you continued to chuckle at his cuteness, you leaned forward and, swiftly, kissed him, feeling as his hand tensed and squeezed yours

His whole face was reddened now, and his jaw hung open ever so slightly, blinking in surprise

Your smile seemed to ease him though, as after a few moments, he lifted your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss on the back of your hands and brushing your skin with him thumb

From then, there was a smile that didn’t leave his face once for the entire day, as well as the tinge of pink that remained too

#i love aone #someone give me an aone #would be ever speak to each other? no #would we look cute though? yes #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyū!! #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #Haikyuu x reader #tendou satori #tendou x reader #tendou satori x reader #aone takanobu x reader #aone x reader #aone takanobu

[hoe-doroki]

Can I request some tender loving from soft dom deku and female reader?

Very swnsual

Just you've been together forever and waking up from an afternoon nap together

You're feeling particularly loving. Like you have so much love to give that your hearts just gonna burst if you dont show it to him.

I'm just in a soft Feku mood, let him run his fingers through my hair and tell me im his sweetheart, im his girl.

Thank you!

Hi, dear! You wanted a loving Deku to top you, well you came to the right place. Not quite dom/sub, but I think I squeezed in some of the things you wanted. Hope you like it! ;)

minors do not interact

warnings: 18+, mild breeding, mild praise kink; everything’s mild, lol

genre: smut, fluff

wc: 2.1k

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

The sunlight was bright in your eyes before they were even open. You scrunched your face to fight off that red glare behind your lids and turned away into a mess of soft curls.

That you could wake up looking at.

When you opened your eyes, your husband’s face was aglow with the high midday light. His jaw was slack, mouth partially open—he was still well asleep. Izuku was always so tired from work that he could sleep through anything, cheeky sunlight included. Of course, this was only when he was feeling safe, which usually meant with you. With you he could sleep undisturbed, at peace.

The butterflies in your stomach quivered as you rolled to one side to fully face out of the sun and towards him. The back of his hair was still dark, damp from the shower he’d taken before you’d convinced him to crawl back into bed. Even the number one hero should sleep in on a Saturday off from work.

Of course, he hadn’t. So after he’d returned from an early run to the gym, you’d managed to pull him back in for the rest that you knew he needed. His eyelids had still been just a pinch too heavy, his smile a tad too slow—though no less genuine.

You pressed your nose against the freckles on his cheek, warmed by the sun. You couldn’t remember the last time the two of you had awoken in such glorious sunlight. All the skyscrapers in the city made true beams of sun rare in your apartment. But today, it seemed, you’d gotten lucky.

“Honey?”

Your eyes had fluttered closed again against Izuku’s soft cheek, so you opened them to see the light twitches of Izuku’s cracking open.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” you asked, your mouth millimeters away from his jawline, tantalizingly close.

“Mm, that’s okay.” Izuku rolled over so that he was facing you, a smile spreading across his face. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you returned, your teeth just barely showing in a grin as Izuku found your hand beneath the blanket and intertwined your fingers with his. He brought your hand up to his mouth and kissed right below where your wedding band was, the scratches on the white gold glinting in the bright sun.

Izuku’s eyes were a wide meadow of grassy green in that moment as the sun glinted off of them. His pupils were shrunk to pinpricks, totally focused on you and a little cross-eyed as you lay nose to nose. “That was a good nap.”

“Mm, yeah.”

Your feet were rubbing together lightly, knees knocking as you both slowly surfaced from the haze that sleeping in the middle of the day always painted over you. It only felt natural that, as you did, the crown of your head tilted a little further into the pillow and your chin angled a little closer to your husband. Your noses shifted from rubbing affectionately to slotting together as you exchanged soft kisses. After a moment, Izuku pulled apart, lips curling up, brows raised under his curls that were flat from the pillow.

“Very energizing nap too, right?”

A smirk pulled at half your face. “Something like that.”

You met back again with a little more gusto, Izuku’s hand pulling from yours in order to cup your chin while you brought your hand to his shirtless back, pressing him closer to you. You raised your left leg up underneath the blanket and hooked it over Izuku’s thigh, and you could quickly feel his need growing beneath the boxers he’d thrown on out of the shower.

Izuku’s tongue just tasted like Izuku—familiar from whenever he had time for morning kisses before duty called. But the rest of him was nothing but clean: fruity shampoo from the shower, the slight musk of his aftershave and deodorant, the very light pine from his bodywash. It all was soft but not trying too hard.

“God, I wish I had more days off,” Izuku groaned as he naturally started pushing you onto your back, the hand that had been on your jaw now down to the fleshy part of your shoulder as his torso fell over yours.

“You don’t,” you said, almost giggling at what a lie that had been. “You just wish that you had more time.”

His eyes were soft as he pulled back to look at you. You could see in flecks of dark jade the hints of regret that Izuku always held. There was never enough time to be a hero. Never enough time to be a husband. Even if he spurned one and took on the other exclusively, it would never be enough. So he made do with what he had and, over the years, had put every effort into making time for both, doing everything with that inimitable Deku ardor.

“I do,” he said. “God, I do.”

You were completely on your back now as he pressed between your legs, which came up to hook around his hips. He leaned into you heavily, against your mouth, against your core. His intent had grown quickly, as it always did, and yours was rising to meet him.

The tee you’d thrown on had ridden far higher than your panties and Izuku had one hand creeping under it, cupping one of your breasts as he ground against you. A few moans escaped you as he kissed you passionately, just as he had when your relationship had been new. But now the passion was matched with experience; he knew your every spot, every desire almost better than you did. Soon he was rising off of you, the hem of the shirt clenched in his hand. You arched up for him to pull it off of you and then relaxed back down.

You expected Izuku to follow you immediately, but instead one hand passed over your hair and he smiled.

“You’re beautiful,” he stated. “Just, like…really, really amazing.”

You preened at the praise and it compelled you to hook both hands around Izuku’s neck and pull him back down to you. You met no resistance as his mouth fell back against yours, his hands pressed on either side of your hips as he began rutting against you through your undergarments.

“God, Izu,” you breathed as, even through his boxers, the head of his cock managed to meet your clit. Your panties were clinging to the slick that had already formed, and his thick shaft was keeping them stuck while you just wanted them off, sooner rather than later.

“I know, honey,” Izuku groaned, grasping the elastic of your panties in both hands. “God, I always need you so much.”

“Me too,” you said, bringing your legs together so that Izuku could pull your panties down and throw them to the ground.

His boxers were next, not getting the delicate treatment that your underwear had gotten. He tore them off, betraying his eagerness as he immediately went to the bedside drawer for your half-empty bottle of lube, squirting some generously in his hand. He fisted it over his cock before taking his slick hand and pressing it against your pussy, rubbing four fingers up and down over the breadth of your sex. You gasped, arching against the bed at the direct contact, suddenly so much warmer than you had been a moment ago, from your cunt to your breasts now bathed in sun.

“Are you ready for me, sweetheart?” Izuku mumbled against your mouth as his body came close and his hand, the one puckered with scars, rubbed against the roundness of your hip.

“Please—need you,” you said, practically quivering for him as his wet dick slid over top of your needy hole.

“Okay, gonna take you so high,” Izuku said as he grabbed his cock and readied it against your entrance and you felt the hot stretch of him pressing into you.

“Yes,” you whispered as he sunk in, the perfect shape and contours of his cock brushing all the familiar spots inside of you until he bottomed out. Then he took your hand in his again, forehead pressed against yours and began long, deep thrusts.

“God, I love you, honey,” Izuku said as the pace slowly increased, his pelvis slapping into yours with a wet clap at every full thrust. “You feel so good for me. So hot and tight.”

You just whined in response as you lifted your hips to his. Maintaining his pounding, Izuku reached for one of your pillows and, without prompting, you raised up enough for him to slide it under you so he could hit all your secret places with every thrust.

All you could do was grip him tightly as he had his way with you. Your fingers clenched around his, your legs around his waist, and—most of all—your throbbing cunny around his hard cock.

God, he was right. You didn’t get to have him like this enough. He was so good—so strong and kind—and you loved him so much that it was never enough.

“Close, sweetheart?”

“Yes!” you cried as one hand crept down to your clit and started rubbing a slick pattern on it. “Fuck, fill me up, Izuku.”

Izuku grunted as your walls squeezed around him a little tighter. “Not yet, sweetheart. You don’t get my cum until you finish.”

Everything got hazier as you closed your eyes to the sunlight, overcome by the sensations on your clit and in your cunt—even more so when Izuku bent his head and began suckling on your neck. All you could focus on were those three points, each becoming stronger and stronger in your brain until you suddenly gasped, legs shaking around your husband as he pulled your orgasm out of you, stoking it as he kept thrusting into you.

“There it is, honey,” Izuku said, and you could feel him smiling against his neck. “Now do you want my cum?”

You could do little more than whine for it as you came down from your orgasm, desiring to make Izuku feel as good as you did, for you to give him a shred of the pleasure that he did you. So you squeezed him tighter around the waist and drew him into you, wanting nothing more than his cum deep inside of you the moment he finished.

“Please, Zuku,” you breathed. “I love you.”

His brows screwed together, tight with concentration as his pace sped up to full speed—the tell tale sign that he was reaching his end.

“Uh—Oh god,” Izuku grunted as he began to spurt inside of you, painting your insides with liquid heat. “Fuck, I’m cumming. Gonna fill you so good.”

He was already making good on his word. Some of his essence squeezed out as his thrusts continued, making a mess of you both. You just held him as he slowed down, his heavy breaths pushing his stomach into yours until finally stuttering to a stop. Just before he fell boneless, he wrapped both arms around you and flipped you onto his stomach where he could hold you close.

“You’re so good for me, sweetheart,” Izuku said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder and running his hands up and down your bare back.

“Mm,” you hummed, eyes closing against Izuku’s chest as you felt him slip out of you and your combined fluids begin to dribble out. “Making a mess.”

“That’s okay,” Izuku said, one hand moving up to the base of your hairline and playing with the tiniest strands that lived there. “I’ll get you cleaned up in a minute. I’m just not done holding you yet.”

You weren’t done yet either, so you made sure to hold him everywhere you could. You straightened your legs a bit, tangling them with Izuku’s and kept your arms loosely wrapped around his neck. His body was so warm, so strong. He held you like this often enough that you knew that you weren’t too heavy on top of him—he’d proven you wrong too many times when you’d tried to argue with him.

His chest had broadened with age and was just perfect to lie against, whether with just a head and a hand or with your whole body like now. And he’d only gotten stronger in his years as the number one hero. In a few minutes’ time, he’d lift up the both of you and carry you to the bath, despite having taken a shower himself just before your nap. His gnarled hands would pass softly over your skin, cleaning you up and loving you well.

But, for now, you lay as the day’s sun traveled over your interlaced bodies. You lay until it passed your toes, until it left the room. Even without it, you were still warm.

#deku x reader #deku smut #not/sfw #ask ana #izuku midoriya x reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #deku imagines #deku imagine #deku fanfic #mha x reader #mha smut

[free-pancakes]

Levi and Hanji both falling love in a dance class..

listen ok 

u dont even KNOW, how LONG i’ve thought about writing a dance AU. but i’ve stopped myself every time lol.

THIS right here is one of my favorite choreos i’ve learned!

and can you IMAGINE--the first trio in the video: Hange is the girl in the center, and Levi is the guy in black pants on the right.

so there’s context for ya, here goes nothin:

-----

Levi sat on the floor, and leaned his back against one of the mirrored walls. He arrived early for auditions--he wanted to be able to sit, relax, and stretch properly before they started, and he also wanted to people-watch. He wanted to know what he’d be up against. There were only 5 spots open on this dance team, The Scouts, and it was easily the one he wanted to be a part of. The reputation, the talented dancers he’d been following for a long time--perfect place for him to grow as a dancer. And he wanted this audition to go as smoothly as possible. 

He quietly watched people coming in, and saw a few familiar faces from previous classes. He watched 3 people sit together on the other side of the room--Erwin, Mike, and Nanaba, were their names, he was pretty sure. Another group walked in, who he recognized to be a younger group that had been at the last few workshops, Mikasa, Eren, Sasha, and Connie. Nothing to worry about there, though, they were all still pretty young and had a lot to learn. The large space quickly filled up, and he edged further to the side of the room to have space to stretch. Soon, the room was hot, filled with all of them learning the choreo for the audition, sweat beading on their skin, the music blasting, shaking the room in the best way.

He observed the people around him as he learned quickly, hoping to be paired up with a good audition group. All he knew was that he wouldn’t want to be paired with the group of people to his left. This tall mess of a person, with brown hair tied up in a messy ponytail and wire-rimmed glasses, loud and fumbling through the choreo, was a sight he could only scoff at. The group kept bumping and tripping over each other, and the source seemed to be her--Hange was her name, he overheard. But her clumsiness appeared to radiate all around her, making everyone around her look like they were just as much of a mess as she was. He repeatedly prayed to the dance gods that he would not be grouped up with her.

As the Scout members called for a break, he walked out of the room to refill his water bottle. They’d soon be grouped up with their audition group at random, and he’d have his shot to land a spot on his dream team. He was more than ready.

“Hey!”

Hange ran to catch up to him, staring down at him with wide, sparkly brown eyes. He glared back at her. What annoyed him even more was that upon closer look, he realized that they were wearing the same exact outfit--black joggers, a dark green Scout longsleeve shirt, and white sneakers. He grit his teeth, irritated.

“What?” he muttered with a scowl that would scare anyone else away. But she seemed completely immune, and it threw him off.

“Aw that’s no way to greet someone you just met! And someone who decided not to steal the wallet you dropped---Levi!”

Levi snatched his wallet back from her. 

“I actually moved in down the street from you!”

“Did your nosy ass look at my name and address on my license?”

“Yeah!” she said with a huge grin. “Well, sorry, I do have a tendency to be a bit nosy... but it’s all in good fun! Oh, and I noticed that you’re such a great dancer! You’re gonna have to teach me some of those moves, a lot of what you seem to be good at is what I definitely lack the skill for!”

She was quite observant, he thought. But come on, she seemed to be pretty bad at... almost everything. Well, not horrible, but definitely not enough to make it on such a prestigious team. 

“Why do you assume we’d run into each other after this audition?”

“Oh, I just have a feeling, Levi!” She winked at him, and he could only respond with a small cringe. “Hope we get put in the same group!” she yelled as she walked back into the dance room. Levi was left dumbfounded, frozen where he stood--he forgot why he even left the room. Well, he sure hoped they weren’t gonna be paired up.

But of course, luck did not seem to be on his side. He returned to the room with the groups of 3 posted up on the wall, and in the first slot had him, Hange, and Erwin. 

He might as well kiss his spot goodbye--the only saving grace was Erwin. Maybe he still had a shot. Levi facepalmed as Hange ran over to him and Erwin, grabbing them both and pulling them into a hug. “Oh we’re first! Let’s do this!”

The rest of the dancers sat around the edges of the room, all eyes on them as the 3 positioned up in the center, Hange in the middle, Erwin and Levi at her sides. Levi took a deep breath and tried to focus and get in the zone. The music began to blast through the speakers.

He looked up at the mirror in front of them, and almost forgot what he was doing. Hange had this look in her eyes, determined and frighteningly fierce, yet, still kind? “Weird,” he thought. The cue song lyrics sounded, and they started. And once again, Levi was dumbstruck. Hange... Hange was nailing every move.

What?

Cheers of encouragement sounded loudly around the room, and he saw the senior Scout members even smile and nod, whispering to each other as they watched. All 3 of them synced up with every hard hit, impeccable control in each move, and yet they still made it their own. He was into it, and...

...he was into her.

“Shit, why am I smiling?” Levi thought as his arm brushed up against Hange’s. For a small moment, they made eye contact, and he felt his damn heart flutter. He forgot this was even an audition--he was just having so much fun dancing next to 2 really talented people, but especially with the four-eyed weirdo. The end of the song approached, where there was space for a lot more freestyle. He watched Erwin get into it too--and began dancing much closer to Hange as they fed off each other’s energy.

He felt his stomach drop a bit--was he jealous? Levi was so confused at what was going on inside him, but he found himself gripping Hange’s shoulder lightly, spun her into his arms and held her carefully at the hips and they continued to dance together. She stared at him intensely, and he couldn’t help but lock eyes with her, feeling the heat of a nervous blush reach his cheeks. 

The song ended and a roar of applause and yells sounded around them.

Hange once again grabbed Levi and Erwin and threw her arms around their shoulders happily. 

“Can’t wait to see you both at our first Scout rehearsal next week,” Levi said.

Erwin and Hange looked at Levi wide-eyed.

“What do you mean? We won’t know until tomorrow if we made it onto the team!” Hange exclaimed, confused.

“Oh, well I just have a feeling, Hange,” Levi said as he looked into her eyes.

“Right,” she said with a big smile. “Look forward to seeing you both next week, then!”

#levihan #ask #anon #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #levi x hange #aot #snk #dance au

[kellyvela]

Has GRRM ever said in any interview or on his blog that he hates Sansa's complete storyline after 4th season? I dont really follow all of his fan/media interactions but from what I can recall he has spoken abt how LF in books wont give sansa to ramsay or how noone had issue when Jeyne was given the Ramsay storyline in books etc. Asking this question to you bcs you rightly point out how ppl misunderstood his interviews/posts ( sansans/targ stans etc) & I cant recall him ever saying he 'hates' sansa's story in the later seasons of the show ( not s5 in particular but even s6 to s8).

Capclave 2013:

A change that has repercussions for season 4 is Marillion’s tongue removal from the first season. Martin said that the change was made (from an anonymous singer being the victim of a de-tonguing) because they wanted Joffrey to maim someone the audience would recognize. He believes this is an issue because of the part the singer plays in Sansa’s storyline, how he affects her interactions with others in the book, and he doesn’t believe another character will be fulfilling that role on Game of Thrones.

—GRRM talks season 4 & beyond - Winter is Coming - October 13, 2013

2014 Fan Reports about Capclave 2013 (*):

In a convention panel this year, George said on the record that he had no idea what they were doing with Sansa or where they’re taking her storyline, which now makes sense perhaps. He was not pleased when he was talking about it, so who knows what’s going to happen with her! Knowing GRRM, that could mean they’re going off the canon reservation, and/or that they’re going to be making a lot of shit up

I have notes I’ll be responding to (thanks!) but enough people commented about Sansa that I thought I’d share that tidbit, since it happened back in September iirc (was the same panel where he criticized the exclusion of Tyrell brothers)

—starkalypse - June 3, 2014

GRRM’s comments at capclave about Sansa (which I was in the third row for, for those asking about legitimacy) were among others during the panel that had a general theme of dissatisfaction with show changes. He was not in good spirits for that con and didn’t really have anything positive to say regarding the show. So take it with a grain of salt; there are deviations away from the books in the episodes he gets writers credit for, so maybe they’re doing something stupid or they really don’t have a gameplan!

—starkalypse - June 4, 2014

(*) These reports were posted in June 2014, during the airing of Game of Thrones Season 4, about Capclave 2013 that happened in October 2013.

Just after the rape episode:

How many children did Scarlett O’Hara have? Three, in the novel. One, in the movie. None, in real life: she was a fictional character, she never existed. The show is the show, the books are the books; two different tellings of the same story.

There have been differences between the novels and the television show since the first episode of season one. And for just as long, I have been talking about the butterfly effect. Small changes lead to larger changes lead to huge changes. HBO is more than forty hours into the impossible and demanding task of adapting my lengthy (extremely) and complex (exceedingly) novels, with their layers of plots and subplots, their twists and contradictions and unreliable narrators, viewpoint shifts and ambiguities, and a cast of characters in the hundreds.

There has seldom been any TV series as faithful to its source material, by and large (if you doubt that, talk to the Harry Dresden fans, or readers of the Sookie Stackhouse novels, or the fans of the original WALKING DEAD comic books)… but the longer the show goes on, the bigger the butterflies become. And now we have reached the point where the beat of butterfly wings is stirring up storms, like the one presently engulfing my email.

Prose and television have different strengths, different weaknesses, different requirements.

David and Dan and Bryan and HBO are trying to make the best television series that they can.

And over here I am trying to write the best novels that I can.

And yes, more and more, they differ. Two roads diverging in the dark of the woods, I suppose… but all of us are still intending that at the end we will arrive at the same place.

In the meantime, we hope that the readers and viewers both enjoy the journey. Or journeys, as the case may be. Sometimes butterflies grow into dragons.

—The Show, the Books - Not A Blog - May 18, 2015

Report about the last Game of Thrones Script that GRRM wrote:

No Wedding for Sansa and Ramsay: Without question, one of the most controversial changes the show made in trying to streamline the books was by slotting Sansa into the role of Ramsay’s wife and rape victim in Season 5. In the books, Ramsay marries and assaults Sansa’s best childhood friend, Jeyne Poole—who is being forced to impersonate Arya—instead. (You can actually see Jeyne briefly sitting next to Sansa in the show’s pilot.)

At the time Martin wrote this script, though, substituting Sansa for Jeyne was not yet the plan. Martin has Roose Bolton tell his bastard son: “We have a much better match in mind for you. A match to help House Bolton hold the north. Arya Stark.” It should be noted, however, that in Martin’s script, Sansa isn’t free from menace either. At his own wedding-day breakfast, Joffrey still threatens to rape the older Stark sister—once he’s “gotten Margaery with child.”)

—Game of Thrones: The Secrets of George R.R. Martin’s Final Script - Vanity Fair - December 7, 2018

A month before the Game of Throne S8 Finale:

Sansa’s story, in particular, has really deviated from the books. Ramsay Bolton — that marriage obviously was with a different character. When they start deviating like that, did you initially have any emotional reaction, even though you worked in Hollywood for many years yourself?

GRRM: Well, yeah — of course you have an emotional reaction. I mean, would I prefer they do it exactly the way I did it? Sure. But I’ve been on the other side of it, too. I’ve adapted work by other people, and I didn’t do it exactly the way they did it, so ….

Some of the deviation, of course, is because I’ve been so slow with these books. I really should’ve finished this thing four years ago — and if I had, maybe it would be telling a different story here. It’s two variations of the same story, or a similar story, and you get that whenever anything is adapted. The analogy I’ve often used is, to ask how many children did Scarlett O’Hara have? Do you know the answer to that?

I know it’s different in the book and the movie …

GRRM: Three children in the book, one by each husband. She had one child in the movie. And in real life, of course, Scarlett O’Hara had no children, because she never existed. Margaret Mitchell made her up. The book is there. You can pick it up and read Mitchell’s version of it, or you can see the movie and see David Selznick’s version of it. I think they’re both true to the spirit of the work, and hopefully that’s also true of Game of Thrones on one hand, and A Song of Ice and Fire on the other hand.

—George R.R. Martin on the Stark Sisters and Ending ‘Game of Thrones’ - RollingStone - April 22, 2019

James Hibberd’s Book:

GEORGE R. R. MARTIN: Jeyne Poole was included in the pilot—she’s shown giggling next to Sansa—but she’s never seen or referred to again. I actually wrote Jeyne into “The Pointy End,” my first script, when Arya killed the stableboy. I had some stuff with Jeyne running to Sansa being all hysterical and dialogue in the council chamber with Littlefinger saying, “Give her to me, I’ll make sure she doesn’t cause any trouble.” That was dropped.

DAVID BENIOFF: Sansa is a character we care about almost more than any other. We really wanted Sansa to play a major part in that season. If we were going to stay absolutely faithful to the book, it was going to be very hard to do that. There was a subplot we loved from the books, but it was a character not involved in the show.

GEORGE R. R. MARTIN: I was trying to set up Jeyne for her future role as the false Arya. The real Arya has escaped and is presumed dead. But this girl has been in Littlefinger’s control for years, and he’s been training her. She knows Winterfell, has the proper northern accent, and can pose as Arya. Who the hell knows what a little girl you met two years ago looks like? When you’re a lord visiting Winterfell, are you going to pay attention to the little kids running around? So she can pull off the impersonation. Not having Jeyne, they used Sansa for that. Is that better or worse? You can make your decision there. Oddly, I never got pushback for that in the book because nobody cared about Jeyne Poole that much. They care about Sansa.

—Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon: Game of Thrones and the Official Untold Story of the Epic Series by James Hibberd - October 6, 2020

GEORGE R. R. MARTIN: My Littlefinger would have never turned Sansa over to Ramsay. Never. He’s obsessed with her. Half the time he thinks she’s the daughter he never had—that he wishes he had, if he’d married Catelyn. And half the time he thinks she is Catelyn, and he wants her for himself. He’s not going to give her to somebody who would do bad things to her. That’s going to be very different in the books.

—Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon: Game of Thrones and the Official Untold Story of the Epic Series by James Hibberd - October 6, 2020

I hope it helps you.

Thanks for your message.

#sansa stark #grrm

[ren-therose]

It Was Always You

Dr. John Watson X F!Reader (3.9k words)

Summary: You walk into 221B, knowing full well that Sherlock, a colleague of yours, isn’t there; however, his flatmate John is. In his own jealousy and anger at Sherlock, a misunderstanding occurs, and you attempt to resolve it. 

Warnings: angst, fluff, jealousy, smut 18+, thigh riding, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), this mans sexy hands ( dont @ me)

~~~~~~~~~~~

Mrs. Hudson was kind enough to let me into 221 Baker Street, knowing that no one else would ever answer the door except her. When she opened it, she was taken aback to see me standing there, still in my work clothes with an envelope in hand. 

“Oh hello dear! I thought you were Sherlock. That man always seems to lose the keys to the flat. I have had to make so many copies for him. Just the other day, I caught him trying to slip his hand through the mail slot and, oh! Anyway, that’s probably not why you are here- you must be here to see Sherlock! If you’re looking for him, he isn’t here love, but you might be able to find him-”

I cut her off, grabbing her hands and pulling her in to give her a tight hug, landing a peck on her cheek as I pulled away. I loved the boys landlady, but Mrs. Hudson had a way of going on incredibly long and irrelevant tangents. She made the best biscuits in all of London though. 

“No Mrs. Hudson, I’m not here to see Sherlock....I...I-I’m actually here to see John,” I said sheepishly, looking down at the envelope in my hands. I shook my head, trying not to get caught up in my own stress, and stretched the envelope out to her. “Mrs. Hudson, before I go up, I have a present for you. Two tickets to the opera, and a handsome man waiting for you there. I know he is the one that has been bringing you those gorgeous roses,” I said, looking behind her to see the vase on the entry table. Her eyes widened as she shifts slightly, stealing a glance at the flowers, as if she was checking to see if they were still there. She turned, taking the envelope and pulled out the tickets to the Royal Opera House, only to immediately shove them back in. She tried to push the envelope into my hands again, but I declined, making a surrendering gesture and backing away. We quarreled for a few moments, pivoting around the tiny entry until I finally made it up a few of the steps, asserting my dominance to show the unwillingness I held. 

“Ms. Y/N, you are quite the meddler,” she said with a shake of her head, opening the envelope once more. “...what time does the show start....my goodness! I have to change now!” Mrs. Hudson exclaims. Lucky for her, my plan was already in motion.

“You have 15 minutes until the private car will come to pick you up, ma’am, but you always look lovely,” I reply with a wink. 

“Wear red!” I call back to her, as I climb the stairs to the second floor, hearing her coo as she made her way back into her flat. 

The door of 221B was unlatched, and I didn’t think John would mind the intrusion. He too would probably just assume it was Sherlock waltzing in. I opened the door to see the doctor, sitting in his usual spot, typing away on a new blog post. He had today's morning paper next to him, as though he needed to cite another source about his own adventure with the famous Mr. Holmes. He didn’t look up, but instead called out, “I thought you weren’t coming back tonight. Something to do with some new case? Or was it perhaps Mycroft? I can’t keep track of you anymore, though I’m sure you care little for my location and/or well-being if it doesn’t affect a case”. He was clearly in a mood, but it was my fault Sherlock was out. He may be a genius, but he didn’t seem to realize that Molly and I had played him. He would be busy playing with cadavers all evening. 

I took off my coat and hung it on the rack by the door, as well as my scarf. My work clothes were not usually something I would wear around their flat, but I had come straight from the university where I teach and research human behavior, attitude and persuasion. The button up blouse and navy blue skirt were a staple to my wardrobe of simplistic outfits. The only bits character I would add to my looks were my shoes. Today, I had settled on well-loved, leather loafers with a good sized heel that matched my tweed coat. I kicked off the shoes and walked behind him into the kitchen, looking for something to defrost the chill I had caught from walking across town. Or maybe it was the nerves. 

“You better not be placing any more human remains in our fridge Sherlock. I’m tired of the disembodied heads, an-and, and, singular eyeballs! It’s like they are staring into my soul...” his words trailed off. “Y/N?” he asked with a hint of fear, as well as amusement. He knew it was me, but it was hard to tell from the outfit and position I was in. I could very well be a murderer, client, or complete stranger, rummaging through his fridge. But it was me. I was bent over in the fridge, looking for cream, and I hadn’t noticed him stand and turn back towards the kitchen. As my arse stuck out from the behind the door of the fridge, I called back to him. “Do you want a drink? I feel like a tea,” I exclaimed, standing up right to look at him with bottle of creamer in hand. I could see him relax as he looked me over, checking to make sure I wasn’t in any distress. My hair was in a French-twist of sorts, but by this time of day, it usually fell around my face and would lose its form, becoming a messy blob. I brushed the hair out of my face, giving him a smile as I set the creamer down on the meth-lab of a kitchen island. I often acted manic around them, trying to control my own obsessions and addictions, but they both looked out for me. John enjoyed caring for people, especially Sherlock and I. 

He shook his head, complete with his mental examination of me. “I didn’t know you were coming over. You know that Sherlock isn’t-”

I pounded my fist on the counter, not hard enough to be angry, but enough to show my irritation. “Why does everyone think I have come to see Sherlock? Even Mrs. Hudson had assumed!” I exclaimed, walking across the kitchen. Huffily, I grabbed the kettle and began to fill it with tap water, leaning over the sink as I lifted my heels, back and forth, shifting my weight. 

“Well,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck, looking off to the side. “The two of you work closely together, I just assumed that you would want to pick his brain about some new theory you’re trying to publish,” he murmured.

“Jesus John, you make it sound so salacious,” I laugh, reaching up to get the mugs. “What do you think we are doing at my office, or when we are gone?”  I had to go on my tip toes, especially since I had taken off my heels. As I reached, I didn’t notice that John had been looking over my stocking covered legs, taking in the tone of my calves as I struggled to grasp a mug. 

“Here, let me help you Y/N,” John said, rushing over to help grab the cups. I had already grabbed them, but his hands wrapped around mine, supporting the mugs and me. He was so close, my chest mere inches from his, the drinkware between us. He looked down between us, then back at me, a look in his eyes that gave my stomach butterflies. 

Before I could get ahead of myself, I stepped back to put the mugs on the island next to us. “John, Sherlock is merely a colleague with an annoyingly witty brain that can help me with my publication. I can’t stand the bastard most of the time,” I say, pouring an ungodly amount of sugar into my cup. 

“Well, that makes two of us. I just thought you fancied him, especially since you come over and help take care of the place quite a bit.”

It was true. Anytime I came over to ask them about the latest case and the actions of the killer, I found myself tidying up, doing dishes, and even making meals. But it wasn’t for Sherlock. 

“No John, that’s not why I help out,” I say tentatively. My body was facing the many bottles and beakers on the counter in the center of the kitchen, while he stood next to me, leaning his side against the counter, still looking down at me. Taking a deep breath, I turn to face him. “John, it’s because I-”

Before I could finish, we hear the familiar owl-like call from Mrs. Hudson to vocalize her entrance. “Hoo Hoo! Y/N, thank you again for these tickets. However will I repay you?” the woman asks as she wraps her arms around me for a hug. 

“Oh Mrs. Hudson, consider it an early gift!” I say, squeezing her back.

“There is no holiday coming up,” John says inquisitively.

“Sometimes, there isn’t a reason, John,” I say with a little edge to my voice. “Give my best to your handsome admirer!”

“I will love, I will. See you later tonight!” she chirped as she walked out. 

“Or not,” I mumble with a small snicker. 

“Heard that!” She calls out behind her. For an older woman, her hearing can be remarkable. I laugh, and John emits a slight chuckle as well. We look to each other once more, smiling with content, though I can see John’s brain trying to solve the question of why I gave her the tickets. But before he could interrogate me, the kettle begins to whistle. 

“Tea’s ready. Earl Grey or Black Tea?” I ask, quickly moving past him to the tin. 

“I know you know what I like,” he says, arms crossed as he watches me pick out the bags. 

“I just thought I’d give you an option,” I say, bringing the bags back and dropping them in the mugs. “But I know not to ask about the sugar,” I say with a wink, a sense of my more relaxed self peeking through. I turn to grab the kettle, but John has already done so. I am standing in front of the mugs, when he comes up behind me, pouring the water from around. He is close to me, but not touching. His other hand is just barely ghosting over mine, hanging by my side. 

“I’m so sorry, I could move,” I manage to say, stepping off to the side. 

“No, no, you’re no bother,” he softly says. I can smell the aftershave on his skin, a smell I had often found so comforting. This new proximity, however, allowed me to better isolate the smell of pine, a hint of mint, and a spice I couldn’t name. 

I stirred our drinks, pulling the teabags out now that they had steeped. Adding a dash of cream to mine, I hold it the cup up, signaling a toast. 

“To knowing one another.”

“To knowing one another,” he responds. 

We clink our cups, taking a sip, not breaking eye contact. I lower my mug, breaking the stare, as I look down at the light brown color of the tea. John clears his throat, moving slightly closer as he looks down at the contents of his own drink.

“Umm..should we, maybe, er, sit?” I say, sounding as though I hadn’t just barged in there several minutes before like I owned the place.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” he replies. 

I was the first to move, coming around to his chair and sitting in the warm seat. 

“Yeah, no, get up that’s my spot,” he says, shaking his head as he comes to stand in front of me. 

“Sherlock isn’t here, why can’t you sit in his seat?” I ask, pulling my legs up into the cushion, tucking them under my bum. 

“I can, but I was in the middle of writing something,” he says, hesitantly sitting down in his friends leather chair. 

“I’ll proof it before you continue,” I say, picking up his laptop to put in my lap. He sighs across from me, clearly annoyed. I toss the paper at him. “Here, do the word puzzle or something. Sherlock can’t bother us “ordinary” people about it if we solve it without him around,” I say, scrolling to the beginning of his post. 

He picks up the pencil next to the chair, searching the pages for the crossword. As I begin reading, I can’t help but look up to steal glances at the doctor across from me, a man who is constantly overshadowed by the genius he solves crimes with. Sherlock had once told me that while he solves crimes, Watson saves lives. I wonder if he will need to save that for a speech one day, but for now, it reminds me of what an incredible man John is. He has saved my life on many occasions, probably not even knowing, though if he did, probably never taking the credit. 

“John, this might be your best entry yet,” I exclaim. Though I felt he was too humble in his writing, he did a wonderful job of painting a picture for the reader and giving us a map inside the detectives thought process. 

“No no, it was all Sherlock. He is always the one who solves it,” he says without looking up. 

I set the laptop down beside me, pulling my legs down to be crossed over one another at the ankles.

“John, you don’t think very highly of yourself and...well.... it breaks my heart. Truly. Sherlock can’t do these things without you,” I say, looking at the newspaper that hides his face. 

“Well, it isn’t without your help around here that I don’t kill him. You’re my saving grace, Y/N,” he says softly. My breathing hitches in my throat. Now was as good a time as any. He still hasn’t moved the paper, as if afraid to see me reaction. Quietly, I slip from the chair to my knees. I move towards him and my place a hand on the top of his leg. He lowers the paper, looking into my bright eyes. As he sets the paper down beside him, John sits up a bit more, leaning in to me. I straighten up, bringing my face closer to his. My hand goes to his cheek, rubbing it softly with my thumb. 

“John, it’s always been you,” I whisper. 

I slide my hand to the nape of his neck, drawing him. He leans down with parted lips, grabbing my face with both of his hands and kisses me. 

Years of knowing the two men, and all I could think of was this moment, the one I never knew if I could have. Our lips fit like puzzle pieces, one on top of the other, allowing for us to feel the buzz of our connection as it lingered on. My other hand had gone to his sweater and was now gripping it, the only thing left grounding me to the earth. As we pulled away, our eyes met, as they had so many times, and the look that we saw finally had a name: desire. 

I pulled him back in again, this time with more passion and the need to truly feel that he was mine. His hands had moved from my face down to my waist, and pulled me up onto his lap. My skirt rode up so that I could straddle him, and I prayed it wouldn’t rip (but if it did, i wouldn’t feel too bad).The feeling of his grip around my torso brought back the butterflies, as we gave sharp, open mouthed kisses, our bodies closer than they had ever been. His mouth started to trail from my mine, down to my jaw, under to my neck, causes little hiccup-like gasps to escape me. My hands were on his neck and in his hair, scratching softly to encourage this. As he came down to my collarbone, he stopped abruptly and pulled back to look at me. 

“Is something wrong?” I asked, worry clouding my face. I start to get off of him when his arms pull me back, holding me in his lap. 

“No no, it’s just...we are in Sherlock's chair,” he says awkwardly. 

“Do you think I care whose chair it is John? Besides it’s a bit better for sitting on you and I don’t think I want to get off you anytime soon,” I say smuggly, dragging my hands down to his chest. 

“Oh you like sitting in my lap,” he responds, looking quite proud of himself. In response, I rolled my hips against him, feeling him grow underneath me. I bite my lip as I lean to whisper “feels like you do too”. I lick the shell of his ear, exhaling softly. 

A low groan comes from his throat and he places his hands on my waist, giving them a pull that causes my body to roll against him once more. I shiver, dropping my head back as I do so. I don’t think either of us have done something like this since we were quite young, but the friction of it, matched with our tension we had stored for years felt so good. 

As he continued to roll my hips against his, I leaned back down to kiss him, this time, allowing for him to search my mouth. My hands went to his sweater as I peeled it off of him. I then started unbuttoning his shirt, dragging my nails as I did so. This caused him to buck up into me and I let out a yelp, grinding down against him. 

“Here,” he said, lifting me from his lap to his knee. “I want you to ride it for me, could you love?”

How could I say no? Immediately, I rocked against him, feeling myself grow wetter. My skirt was still up around my waist, but as he undid my blouse, He could see that I had a matching set of lingerie underneath. He smirked with a low growl, wrapping his arm around me again, letting my blouse hang freely as he pulled my chest to his mouth. He left love bites on the tops of my chest, suckling and licking as he pulled my bra away from my nipples. They were already perked up from the way I was still grinding onto his knee, but the moment his mouth latched onto my right nipple, I couldn’t help but pull at his hair. He moaned against my breast, causing a vibration that ripped through my body. 

“John, I’m so close, please help me,” I gasp, rocking myself in a rhythm I could barely keep. He removes his mouth from my chest, and I drop my forehead to his, as he moves his hands to take control of my waist once more. He tenses his thigh underneath me, creating a new pressure against my clit. I cry out, wrapping my arms tighter around his neck. 

“Right there John, please don’t stop,” I choke, trying to breathe a little deeper for fear I might hyperventilate. 

He plants a kiss on my lips, pulling my lip away from between his teeth. My legs begin to shake as my orgasm takes my body, releasing my fluids onto his thigh as he continues to roll my hips through it. I can barely sit up, as he lays me down to rest against his chest, drawing on my back with his finger. 

“That was so good, Y/N, you did so good for me,” he whispers. I smile, kissing his neck. His eyes flutter closed as I continue to kiss and suck at his neck. As I swing my leg off of him so that I am once again between his legs, I slowly start kissing down to his chest, licking up, and then continuing to kiss back down. 

“Jesus, love, you’re gonna be the death of me he says, a hand on his forehead as he looks down to see me biting at his pelvic bone, while my hands creep up his thighs to his belt. I can feel his hard on against my boner, and I feel bad for neglecting it during my ride, but I know how to make it up to him. Once I undid his pants, I started shimming them down him. Pulling his swollen cock out from his trousers, I can already see the beads of precum seeping from his slit. I involuntarily lick my lips, before I give his cock a slow stroke. 

John groans above me, his head rolled back and to the side, looking at me with a smile. I smile back, maintaining eye contact as I lean down to plant a kiss on the tip of his dick. His mouth parts lightly as his breathing becomes more shallow, waiting to see what I will do next. I kiss my way down his shaft, all the way to his balls, holding them in one hand while I continued to slowly pump his member in my other. I sucked at them for a moment, releasing them with a pop, causing him to buck up into my hand. I open my mouth and let my tongue drag all the way up the underside of his cock, until I reach the top. I wrap my lips around him, slowly pushing my head down as far as I could take him. His hand goes for my hair, which at this point had fallen out of my usual work-do, so that he could see my face. 

“Oh...you know what you’re doing. Keep going love,” he groans out, desperate for more. 

I begin to bob my head up and down, taking the rest of shaft in my hand. I use my tongue as well to swipe of his dick as I messily blow the doctor above me. It was no surprise to learn that he had jerked off to this very thought many times, but to actually have it happen was a dream come true for him. As I continue to work his cock, the wetness of my vagina continues to throb at the thought that he could be inside me. I can feel him getting closer as his moans become more strained and grip on my hair tightens. 

“Oh, oh, Y/N, you’re gonna have to stop love, I wanna be inside you when I finish,” he says, looking down on me, signaling our next move. I look up at him as I go down as far as I can, gagging on his dick while little tears prick at the corner of my eyes. He pulls me off of him by my hair, leaning down to kiss me sloppily. I had never seen the army doctor so disheveled before, but I loved this different side of him. I stood up to straddle him once more, and as I sat, he took his fingers and ran them through my slit. I hissed at the action, not wanting his fingers when I was ready for his cock. But he took the cum and slickness from my first orgasm and rubbed it onto his cock, preparing me for it. As I sat up, he held his tip to my entrance, looking into my eyes for the green light. I slid down onto him, my mouth gaping open with a sharp inhale as he filled me. 

“Jesus Christ...” was all he could say, as I sat with him inside me, both of us half dressed in his living room. 

I rolled my hips as I had when I first sat on him, shivering at the girth of his member. I found a rhythm to pace myself with, causing us to pant and groan in unison. As I bounced on him, he brushed my hair behind my ears, cupping my face while I braced myself with my hands on his chest. 

He slid down a little shifting the angle of him inside me, causing him to hit my g-spot. 

“Jesus, John, that’s it, right there,” I cry, rolling my hips against him. His hands move to wrap around my waist once more, as he takes control, pounding up into me. I shouted, leaning forward with one hand on the back of the chair, the other supporting his neck. Although my mouth was on his, all I could do was moan into him as he relentless hit spot that needed him most. 

“Touch yourself,” he demanded. It was a voice he used when he needed to be taken seriously and I wasn’t about to go against him. I snaked my hand between us and made tight circles are my clit, rolling against him and my hand.

“John, please, I can’t, I’m gonna cu-”

He cut me off by sitting up a bit more and replacing my hand with his. I shouted as I gripped his shoulders, riding his cock as the tension broke. I began to pulse around him as I cried out his name over and over. My orgasm ripped through me, and before I could stop myself, I was squirting on top of Dr. John Watson. 

He groaned out, “Y/n, Y/n, oh my god, good girl,” as he bucked up into me, coating my walls with his cum. 

We rode out our high, forehead to forehead, trying to catch our breaths as our eyes remained close. After a few moments passed, we opened our eyes, looking to see if what we had done was a mistake. But there was no trace of regret in either of our faces. 

“I’m yours, Dr. Watson,” I say, taking his face in my hand. He leans into me, then turning to kiss the inside of my hand. “I was always yours”. 

Still inside me, we look around. Nothing had changed, except for maybe our relationship status. 

“Do you think he will know?” I ask. 

“There is not a doubt in my mind,” John replies. 

“But do you think he will know we did it in his chair?” I laugh. 

“Not if we clean it well enough,” he says, leaning in to rub his nose against mine. 

We get up and begin cleaning, though it was hard to bend over, as my knees buckled nearly every time. By the time we had cleaned the room and ourselves up, it was nearly one in the morning. I moved my clothes into Johns room so that Sherlock wouldn’t notice if I slipped out the next morning. All the dishes had been dried and put away so that there was no trace of a guest. 

As John and I lay in bed together, waiting for Sherlock to come home, John leans over and asks cautiously, “is this why you gave Mrs. Hudson those opera tickets?”

I freeze for a moment, knowing that I had been caught. 

“I just needed her to not interrupt when I told you how I felt. I didn’t know it would lead to...well, this,” I giggle. 

He laughs, pulling me towards him to kiss my forehead. “God, I love you.”

He freezes against my forehead, realizing it was the first time we had ever even said the word love to one another, even as friends. 

I pull him down by the chin, to kiss him softly on the lips. “I love you too”.

---

A few hours after we had fallen asleep, we were awoken to the bedroom door being swung open and slammed against the wall. 

“On my chair, John?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~

If you can’t tell, Martin Freeman rules my life and I have a deep and passionate love for him. I hope you enjoyed and look out for more of this because I am on a ROLL! xoxo

#dr. watson #dr. watson x reader #dr. watson smut #dr. watson fluff #smut #angst #jealousy #sherlock bbc #thigh riding

[neproxrezi]

Are you participating in the proposed dbd boycott to get them to do a game health update?

yeah, i wasn't sure at first caus "dont play the video game for a brief period" isn't going to work but "this company has put all its eggs in one basket and they are frankly quite neglectful of said basket, everyone stop buying anything ingame for 3 months" has me interested

more than 'fix the bugs' or anything else like that what i want to see out of the game is them being less god damn stingy with cosmetics (you should not have to pay $10 for ONE FUCKING COSMETIC) and addressing the grind. holy shit the grind in this game is so rough and it could be fixed fairly simply (i'm in favour of removing perk tiers, to cut a long post short)

hold on im gonna complain about dbd under a cut caus itll get long, i love this game so much but oh boy it has issues

it's been said a million times already but dbd's grind made more sense when there were like 4 or 5 characters per side, there are now over 20 and each new one introduces 3 perks to each side

I want to write about the grind in this game for a moment. There are 95 survivor perks in DBD. Every perk has three tiers. Some of them are great, and many are kind of pointless. Realistically, I'd bet you're only going to see about 15 of those perks in action in most of your games. However, if you unlock a perk to be taught to other survivors (which I tend to do even if I don't particularly want it, out of a mix of completionism and a 'may as well get it out of the way' kind of thing), you can't get rid of it. It's in your bloodwebs forever. 95 perks. 285 perk tiers. Let's talk about how long that takes to claim.

You buy a new character in the next chapter. You have every teachable perk unlocked. The new chapter really excited you, and you want to claim every perk on the new character (who I am going to name... Doug), so you saved a lot of bloodpoints in advance. In fact, you played for days and days and saved the cap, which is a million bloodpoints. You buy Doug, after much excited testing him out in the PTB. You spend all million points on Doug. Doug is now about level 35 to 40, out of 50. Hm. Well, time to keep playing. The bloodwebs kind of gave you a bunch of crap stuff on Doug, and you don't feel like running Power Struggle, Ace in the Hole, Babysitter and Breakdown, so you can't play Doug yet. You go play someone else.

Solo queuing as survivor is a mixed bag, and your games range from getting 10,000 bloodpoints (pretty rough game where everyone got wiped) to 27,000 (a great match, maybe with a bloodpoint offering). You save enough to get Doug to level 50. In the later levels, you start being able to get two perks a level instead of one. Let's say from level 1 to 50, you collect a total of 65 perks, because I don't remember exactly when it starts offering 2 per level. Okay, there are 220 perk levels left. Because of the game's propensity for giving you the same perk over and over to get you lots of perks at level 2 out of 3, of those 65 perk tiers you've probably got something like 20 to 25 actual perks. You're missing like, 70. Best case scenario, the ones you picked up include a lot of what you want. Most likely, you've got like half a good build and some gimmicky crap to slot in alongside it. Worst case scenario, which has happened to me plenty of times, you have like maybe one good perk and a pile of gimmicky crap. So. How long is it going to take you to get what you want?

There are 220 perk levels to go. After level 50, the webs are all the same size. It costs about 50,000 points to level up, and you get two perk levels per bloodweb. That's going to be 110 webs to get everything for Doug. Which is 5.5 million bloodpoints. Oh no. How many points were you earning per game again?

If you play with friends, you're probably going to do better. I find this to be true even if me and my friends are playing without voice comms or anything, because I just sort of know these people a bit better. I know my friend who mains Lisa Garland is a hook-diving bastard, so I don't need to go rescue anyone. Ace, god bless him, makes batshit altruistic plays, so I certainly don't need to go protect my teammates when he's out there doing things like this. I think I'm just going to sit on generators in the distance, think about our final gen spread, and try get us out of here. I'd say if I'm playing well, and accounting for offerings and WGLF stacks, with friends I average 30,000 a match and by myself I average 20,000. Playing killer I average more like 60,000, but playing killer is a bit stressful sometimes and I'm very indecisive about actually queuing up for it, so I probably actually get bp faster as survivor. I'm going to call the average per match across everything 25,000, because for every good game there are plenty where you underperform, or things just go drastically wrong. To earn 5.5 million points like that, you're going to have to play 220 matches. A game, including queue times and whatnot, can take ten to twenty minutes. That's... that's going to take a while. And that's ONE CHARACTER.

Now, on the survivor side you only really need to do this once. They're all just reskins of the same gameplay loop. On the killer side, you need to re-earn those perks for every new character you want to try out, because they're all different. Miiiiillions and millions of points. Hundreds of games. I have no problem with the game having a grind, but at this point it's absolute insanity.

In my opinion, removing perk tiers would cut the grind down to a reasonable level. There'd still be a grind, which I'm completely comfortable with existing, but it wouldn't be excruciatingly long, and you wouldn't have to spend as long dealing with bad perks.

HOWEVER, on top of that is the fact that they just. Holy shit the game updates slowly. I don't want to blame them for that in a way of like "these developers are incompetent and lazy", I really do love DBD to bits and I'm sure they do work very hard on it. That said, its update cycle is really slow. Reeaally slow. I wish they either had a bigger team, made balance updates faster (a handful of perk adjustments once every six weeks is... very very slow) or something to just try make the changes faster. Even when things do change it always feels so anxious and tentative, I wish they'd experiment more often. The time they disabled bloodlust to see what happened was really cool!

Yeah in short I just hope the grind gets addressed more than anything else, caus that's the part I actually think there's a relatively straightforward solution to. Also, I never got to play the older events where you could do shit like earn cosmetics, but they sounded way fucking cooler than the new ones. The halloween one last year was absolute shit, it's weird that their special events would get worse over time rather than better.

Buuut I agree with Scott Jund that the Resident Evil chapter was bad news for DBD's long term health because the one thing that would really give BHVR a kick up the ass is competition, and every time they land an amazing licensed chapter they become harder to compete with. They have an absolute monopoly on asymmetrical horror, and I honestly think the game would be in a better state right now if they had some competition >:[

#dibi #dbd #long post #i love dbd to bits i really do #but UGH it has issues

[transhoverfish]

Just curious..

What do you like and don't like about each of the Subnautica games? (If there's anything to hate about these games, they're amazing)

tbh i dont have many complaints about either game, although i have felt that playing both quickly after the other does,,, make the differences super noticeable. things in sub1 i never had a problem w or didnt bother me much have become more bothersome now that ive played bz

like the battery meter on tools and the option to choose where each go in the slot? having to mess w all my tools to get them the EXACT order i wanted (for maximum efficiency of course) was always sort of annoying to me but nbd. now i can barely STAND how the tool menu works/looks in sub1 bc the bz version is.... so much better

I ALSO have a few gripes w bz that have slowly started to bother me more and more as i play. and by a few i mean one thing specifically. the CRASHING. obvs both games have a bit of a crashing and framerate and pop-in issue, but bz is just,,,, so much worse when it comes to crashes.

ive had sub1 on pc and ps4 for like, 3 years now?? and ive dealt w maybe around 5-10 crashes total in those three years, very sporadically? since ive bought bz less than a month ago ive dealt w at least 30 crashes. if i play for an hour it crashes at LEAST 1 time, usually 2 or 3 on average. i quit playing due to crashing more often than i quit after a save and exit. and although ive played sub1 considerably less on the switch, its still not crashed a single time, which makes me think it might be a bz problem and not a switch problem, but idk. i save often enough that i never lose more than 10 minutes at worse, but still,,,,,the crashing is constant. if the loading times were as bad as sub1's (which thankfully they are not), i would probably only play every once in a while bc i just cannot get more than 30 minutes in w/o a crash.

speaking of loading screens holy SHIT sub1 takes like 3 minutes at best to load in a NEW save. i could literally get up and make myself lunch and be back before it loads up on a save with more than 1 small tube of a habitat built in. bz has sped that up a lot which makes the loading screen feel even worse (once again, fixing a problem and then going back to that problem in sub1 just accidentally makes the game a bit more frustrating)

other than those few technical problems, most of which could very well be due to my own old ps4, laptop that doesn't quite meet the spec requirements, and attempt to play subnautica on a SWITCH of all things; the only genuine complaints i have about both is the ending in sub1 being 'make the rocket' after the lost river/lava zone segments is the worst part of the game and i almost never fully finish playthroughs bc that much resource collecting and grinding at the v end is hell! aaand the ice spires can compete with the dunes for "large open area full of death and bullshit that nobody ever wants to go to" bc i spent an hour and a half in the arctic spires the first time i went there in survival! and despite exploring it extensively in creative and having a base right outside in survival i STILL get lost constantly. for the record im usually good at navigating back to somewhere in these games w/o signals, esp if ive been there multiple times. i just get lost in the arctic spires constantly. the ice worms dont help!!!

I JUST REALIZED IVE TYPE. A LOT OF COMPLAINTS. SORRY ABOUT THAT AKRBKABRJRBS ILL GET TO THE THINGS I LIKE NOW I PROMISE

the soundtrack in both games is AMAZING and i geniuenly just listen to them both for fun and get the songs stuck in my head sometimes. theres one from bz in my head right now it plays in the lilypad islands and i cannot remember what its called rn.

the sound design is both games is also really good?? i sit on the bz start menu and listen to the pengwengs, and sub1 in particular is like my favorite sound design in anything ever. i go in creative and just chill next to the creatures SO OFTEN. crabsquids, warpers, and sea dragons specifically sound so nice i could fall asleep to crabsquid noises they're so nice??

the ways the pdas are used for story telling is super nice, and ive always loved the little insights into the characters lives it gives u!! figuring out what happened to sam in bz and listening to all the final pda's in sub1 is always one of if not the favorite part of the games, i listen to every single pda every single time i play, i always feel just as sad for ozzy and keen and fred and the mercury crew and AAAAAA im very attached to these characters <33

also marguerit maida. need i say more.

SO if i talked about everything i liked in these two games i would b here for 3 hours so know that there is much much MUCH more i adore about them and my complaints about the arctic spires and crashing and loading times very much pale in comparison to all the good from the two!! bz is still very recently released so i believe the crashing issues will be dealt w in the future!!

i have many strong feelings for both games AND ive heard that apparently they've already confirmed a 3rd in the making? 👀 didn't look that up admittedly but if it IS true ill 100% b backing it up bc i ADORE this universe and its silly little fish and the silly little people i wanna hug. im full of love and subnautica takes up at least 67% of that love its my whole entire world i cannot imagine shutting up about them and ryley and robin anytime soon <3333

#my brain yanked my disdane for the spires out and threw it into the world huh #i had to explore in creative bc i read trivalve eggs could b found there and i was NOT doing that in survival #LABDKABKRBAKF #ice worms + cold + snow stalkers + not being able to see at ALL during night or storms?? #the spires are SO PRETTY and i love snowstalkers and ice worms so much but hooooo boy. no thanks!!!! #even w the whole cold suit u freeze so fast!! but u cant GO fast bc the worms!! aaaaaaaa!!!!!! #i dont usually have too much trouble there but the last time i went i got stuck and got attacked like. 4 times by 2 worms?? #somehow me and my bike survived #but MAN that was not fun. whats the point of the hoverbike if it cant outspeed the worms and u get pushed off it when they attack?? #might as well just walk and run everywhere u get me?? #other than the arctic spires and the crash timer that starts to tick down after 20 minutes bz is a fantastic game #LABRKABRKBS #fr tho i like them both a lot and bz is a lot of fun!!! the trivalves made me cry in joy when i first hatched them KABDKABRK #and the seatruck is my fav vehicle. friendship ended w cyclops now seatruck is my new best friend #below zero #subnautica spoilers #below zero spoilers #ask