#i still dont know if i should even consider this like. explicit-explicit. but i know tumblr is ridiculous w/ shadowbans

[citylighten]

🔞 18+ ONLY. 🔞

BEGINNING // PREVIOUS // NEXT

#dear diary #sims spice #simblr #ts4 story #ts4 storytelling #black simmer #sims story #the way she looks like eve thoughhhh #i still dont know if i should even consider this like. explicit-explicit. but i know tumblr is ridiculous w/ shadowbans #and at one point they were EXTRA inclined to ban black and brown bodies for just...being an image so yeah

[slexenskee]

hi! if you dont mind me asking, what was satoru's relationship with suguru? bcuz, any of the jjk characters are barely mentioned in the book, ive always wondered satoru's relationship with all of them, like is it more canon based or more fanon, like was sugusato ever a thing? or, is hawks the first real relationship gojo's ever had? were nanami and gojo closer? idk, i just have always wondered lol. sorry for any inconveniences.

So I'm going with canon for most relationships bc they're just too hard to guess. JJK spoilers below!

Suguru:

So I tried to stick with canon for Suguru although I do play up the ambiguity in their canon relationship. For example we have that scene in JJK0 where Satoru says something to Suguru but we don't know what it is, but fans sort of assume it's some kind of explicit acknowledgment of their feelings for each other. In my verse idk I imagine he says something like 'you were always the best part of me' or something that's still vague and hints at romantic feelings but could still be intimate and just platonic.

I characterize their relationship as deeply intimate but not ever explicitly romantic. They definitely had romantic tension but it remained unspoken between them as teenagers, and then after the SPV arc Suguru went off the rails and kinda pulled away from Satoru and ultimately they never had the chance to start any kind of romantic relationship.

So they were never in love but they absolutely could have been/should have been, fate just got in the way.

Nanami:

Were they close??? It really doesn't seem like it outside of the OP/ED credits of S2. And in the recent manga chapters I feel like Satoru didn't mourn him much at all (or he could just be so shocked by all the deaths he hasn't managed to acknowledge them) In fact I kind of assumed canon Nanami lowkey hated Satoru, and only begrudgingly considered him a sorcerer worthy of respect after many years of knowing him?

Shouko:

BOY do I have some thoughts on this. In canon they give off the 'old acquaintances that have grown close by virtue of the fact they're the only two left but still aren't actually that close'. Like they obviously have a rapport/history in S1, but we don't see Shouko being particularly friendly to him in canon. She's friendlier than Utahime and Mei Mei for sure, but she doesn't seem like a confidant or a close friend. We don't get much of her in the SPV arc - could go either way that she was closer to him as kids or they were just classmates who spent a lot of time together and became close because they just lived in each other's pockets but otherwise wouldn't have been friends. The OP/ED for S2 would imply they were all good friends, but I don't consider that canon. That's just Mappa twisting the knife 😭

Tbh I hope they were never really close, bc otherwise I'd really dislike her. Suguru just snapped and became a serial killer and turned traitor, and Satoru was sent to assassinate him, and you as someone who was close to both of them just what... roll with it? There's that scene in ch 78 where she sees Suguru in Shinjuku and she's just like "oh hey Suguru, bff I've spent the past 3 years of my life hanging out with, what's up? Yeah I'll have a light. Oh so you really did mass-murder that whole village AND murder your parents? Cool. Yeah I don't feel like dying today so I'm gonna call Gojo to deal with you, peace out" and she just doesn't seem to give much of a fuck about Suguru or Satoru. In a way I think would be impossible if she genuinely cared about them. Or idk, maybe everyone in JJK was fucked up.

Megumi:

This is another canon relationship that makes me go ??? It's not specified whether Gojo actually takes Megumi in or just has legal guardianship of him and leaves him to his own devices. It seems more the latter, bc in all the Tsumiki flashbacks, Gojo is never there or even ever really mentioned.

And as of current manga he doesn't seem particularly torn up about Megumi's situation, and seems (although he could be bluffing) totally accepting of the fact he might have to kill Megumi to stop Sukuna. If you raised a kid with love and care for years - the way I see him doing with Eri - I cannot fathom how you'd compartmentalize like that.

idk these are just my personal headcanons for this fic. I've seen fanon versions of all these relationships that are really fleshed out and impressive and go either way sooo 🤷‍♀️

#fic may death never stop you #ask

[dextixer]

The Animatic of the unreleased V9 ending doubles down on ZERO consequences

So... Two months ago (Jeez, how the time goes) i created a thread on the ending of V9. In it i very much stated that the ending of V9 continues the trend of being not really about hope, but being about wish fulfillment, considering that any negative consequence or logical problem that would arise post V8, just seems to be gone.

Well, quite recently, during this years RTX, we were shown the unreleased V9 ending/epilogue animatic that was never produced for many reasons that are unkown to us, but most likely relate to budget etc.

And what we saw of it, was the continuation to double down on some decisions, while showing that the cast itself is being confused about what they are creating in the first place.

The double down

Remember discussing how Amity looks like an airship and wondering if an airship is in front of it? Well, wonder no more. We have an explicit confirmation that Amity was converted into a warship. Let it sink it. Vacuo, an anarchic state with depleted resources and basically no organized government or anything of the sort, retrofited Amity into a warship, while Atlas, a superpower had problems with making it into a Satelite.

Script from Eddy Rivas, one of the writers

There is nothing more "fuck you" to the logic of the world that is set up than this. This is "The emperor had a desolate planet build hundreds of star destroyers" level of nonsense. How does Vacuo do this in any way shape or form? Who cares? HOPE! ITS ALL HOPE! And somehow hope has manifested in the ability of Vacuo to retrofit airships the size of the Amity Colliseum...

Then we get told that "Its bad, in facts its probably never been worse" only to get a Disneyesque shot of everyone getting along, sharing food, Qrow catching someone falling down etc. But Qrow said its bad right!? So its bad right!? Well, remembering V4 and how we were told that actually Menagerie is a bad place to live, only to see an island paradise for 2 volumes, this sadly seems like yet ANOTHER example of "Lets say that things are bad" and then show the completely opposite. Because remember, after V8 ended, many people, especially critics called out that sending the Refugees to Vacuo is a shit decision, and yet here we are, and everything is SHOWN as perfect, despite that it should not be.

Come to Jesus

The Animatic before the end then shows a literal SHRINE to Ruby. I still recall people telling me that im wrong about V9. How Ruby was just told "She is good enough" not thats shes perfect, etc. That "everyone makes mistakes". And here we are. Despite the shitty decisions in V6-V8, Ruby now has a literal shrine. Because if any of us had any doubts about who the designated hero of the show is and how perfect she is, this should serve as a reminder.

Ruby is perfect. The narrative says shes perfect. So she is perfect. Now worship her. Ugh...

I have always called out the fact that Ruby seems to be able to do literally anything, and the narrative will bend itself over to make her right. But for it to be rubbed into my face like this? With a literal shrine? Man... What am i even supposed to say?

Im genuinely convinced that we could be shown RWBY stabbing a child and then for it to be revealed that the child was actually Grimm in disguise.

The Confusion

I think my favourite part of all of this was the fact that we were shown, once again, that RT has absolutely no idea what any of them are doing. Not as solo people, but as a team. As a team, these people are supposed to communicate with each other, and yet time and time again we hear about miscommunication issues or other such nonsense. One would imagine that they would have, i dont know, a project lead to organize/lead everyone, but thats probably asking too much from the "indie" company that is RT.

Anyways, the animatic contains a scene of Winter using her maiden powers to etch out "Dont come back" on some kind of memorial. At first, theories were awash, to who was this said? Until a rumour came out that it was a memorial to Ironwood.

Now, this was just a rumour, but not an unexpected one. We already know that the writers of RWBY seem to believe that the characters they create are real and are very much not shy in doing everything in their power to destroy/ruin them, with Adam being such a perfect example especially with the writers hating him so fucking much that the implied slave branding he got they instead said that he got as basically an "accident" in a fight due to him being an "asshole". Which is... Very "nice" writers...

So this? This would not be unexpected.

However then...

(Arryn Troche (Ex-Animator of RWBY))

We got clarification that the memorial was to team RWBY? Which quite frankly, confused things even further. I have no idea what the writers were thinking about this exactly? Nobody, and i mean NOBODY would see "Dont come back" message and think it as a "positive" one, it would be taken as a message of negativity. The messaging here is horrible.

For people more interested in a break-down of this specific choice, i would reccomend "Itsclydebitches" Tumblr account and their post on this subject.

My opinion

The animatic is just shite. Like, im gonna be honest with you all. It doubles down on the same illogical BS, pretending to be hope while its actually just wish fulfillment. With all of the problems that V6-V8 would have caused just gone... Going so far as to ignore their own lore of Vacuo.

And the whole Winter memorial thing just further shows that there is little thought put into writing any of these things, logical thought i mean.

#rwby #rwde #rwby volume 9 #rwby volume 9 epilogue #rwby vacuo

[philyaoi]

I need to know why and how you were anti-phannie from 2014-2016

alright here we go i get to talk about THIS shit now.

i was generally anti-rpf at that point, and honestly? i think it was for fair enough reasons as some people were a bit too eager about showing (general) youtubers stories they wrote about them sucking and fucking their friends. i think i was also pretty high and mighty about being a somewhat oldhead phannie tbh, like ugh do these gaming-channel-only people even know about dan being super edgy and offensive 🙄 and lowkey it was a lot of subtly misogynistic "i'm not like other girls" type shit like i was sooo much better than yall cuz i hadn't watched that video (yet.)

i was generally not into these sorts of fandoms to begin with. i wasnt on the superwhopotterlock side, i was on the homestuck/dangan ronpa/anime of the month side of tumblr, if that gives you an idea of what i was like lol. around 2014-15 i was very much in a community that is kinda similar to what you might see on twitter now, where if you had any interests in media that portrayed anything problematic, that means you are in full support of that problematic thing. if dan howell said something racist in 2010, it doesn't matter that he wasn't being racist in 2015 he's still racist and liking him makes you a racist etc. and of course, rpf is included in problematic topics. if you ship real people, even if said people say they don't mind it, you are a sick pervert and you should be in the loony bin for being so depraved. and if you write or read any fiction that has immoral acts, it means you support those acts in real life too and you are trying to normalize abuse and SA (yknow as if whitecishetpatriarchy hasnt normalized that enough) and you're a danger to children and you deserve to rot in prison (yknow as if a queer person writing stories about queer people hasnt heard that one before)

now here's the real kicker. in 2015-2017 i ran a game grumps fan blog where i did talk about shipping the grumps. "wait how were you anti-rpf if-" well have you ever heard of this thing called Lying? or perhaps even, Cognitive Dissonance? i HAD to run a separate blog for this interest, because if my friends knew i consumed slashfic about arin and danny they would stop being friends with me and think im this evil horrible monster etc. genuinely that was where my brain was at, and is a little bit the reason i decided to this day, to make my phannie accounts completely separate from my main accounts.

nowadays, none of my non-phannie friends actually give a fuck and i do occasionally talk about dnp being silly gay white boys w them! at this point i dont post about em on main just out of respect like "hey im sure you dont actually want to hear about british yaoi constantly regardless of our level of friendship so i'll keep it over here okay?"

also, yeah i grew out of thinking consuming media with deplorable acts makes me deplorable. my favorite tv show is hannibal. i know its shocking, but i dont actually support serial killer cannibals. i will say, i dont fuck with "pro/anti" language with regards to what is considered "problematic" or having that be an identity marker. i think that people are free to write fiction as they please so long as its all properly tagged for people who dont enjoy that kind of content to avoid. but i also think there can be and often are problems in the way these stories are written, and yeah if all the romance stories you read growing up involve some sort of force or danger, that CAN normalize this sort of action as inherent to romance stories/real life romance. but i think thats an issue with like, society at large, and it's not on an individual fic writer to be educating teens who read their dead dove fic despite the explicit rating and tags.

TL;DR: BASICALLY. I WAS A DUMBASS KNOW-IT-ALL BUT DW I GOT BETTER.

#myrambles #sorry for party yapping

[bittersweetblasphemy]

what made you decide to have a go at making zines, and how did you find the process? fun? frustrating? new hobby unlocked?

it's been a lot of fun and is super satisfying to hold a finished booklet in my hand. new hobby unlocked for sure.

in fact i'm going to ramble about it under the cut.

i'd been looking into on and off for over a year, and, frankly, i've been going slowly mad at having normal levels of focus and productivity dangled in front of me, only to be snatched away AND put on bed rest without even jacking off as an outlet.

i did a bunch of painting, but i've run out of canvases and focus. and while i really wanna sculpt, 1) i just haven't gotten my brain to switch to that track, 2) i've only just recently been able to tolerate standing at my usual work counter again, 3) having a small child who wants to mirror everything i do is fun when i'm physically able to handle it, but i am not physically able to handle it. i can do a craft myself OR i can set them up with supervised craft time. not both.

that leaves my writing, but i haven't been able to focus enough to write. so what to do with all my old stuff? may as well take that last leap into making zines! it's also an excuse for me to break out my drawing tablet to make cover art (i'm not good but they're small and it adds to the charm i think).

overall it's been shockingly easy. the hardest part was making a format template, but once i had that figured out i was set. i conveniently already had a laser printer, and considering i can't go anywhere (like a place with a public printer) i wouldn't have been able to do this otherwise.

the most expensive thing i had to buy for this was a nice paper cutter, which was $24. it honestly wasn't necessary. i could have just folded the paper or cut them with scissors, but imo it really goes a long way in making them look nice. i also have a long reach stapler that's made for making booklets and magazines coming in that will be really nice for putting them together neatly and consistently.

i still dont know what i'm going to do with them tbh. i have some friends that are gonna get free copies of their favs, and at least the poetry one i'm going to have out if i'm able to do the craft fairs this year (fuck me i hope i'm better by then), but i need to see what kind of stuff they allow. even if they allow sexually explicit material, i'll probably still leave stories like Red Hot at home.

i could do an online shop for the rest, but i'm not sure where. i already have a kofi account for commissions, and they have a shop feature, but at the same time they say in their TOS they don't allow any form of sexually explicit material. and last i heard about etsy they were being shitty about charging for advertising you didn't opt into. so i'd need to do more research into that.

say what you want about whether or not i should be able to make a profit off of little homemade porn booklets, but i'd at least need enough money to buy the toner for my printer by the time i ran out, which is hella expensive. i think back when i got this thing it was like $70 a pop. it lasts a lot longer than ink but it's more expensive up front.

#madax answers #rambling about zines

[goldmanguyperson]

(idk how to tag this so im just going to put a break in. i talk about sexual trauma but in a way that is not at all detailed; i am simply speaking of why people, especially kids, might not talk about it. Cept for the last part which i have put a special and very large warning for)

i think it’s weird that many people expect minors to be completely pure and have no sexual thoughts or desires. not to say that they should publicly express them!! that is dangerous and also i do not want to know about it (and neither should any other random adult).

but i do think that acting like they can never be sexual makes it a lot harder for minors to accept that feeling such ways is completely okay. Especially since the age range the term “minor” is about, includes the ages when theyre experiencing such things for the first time, and trying to figure them out. They deserve to feel safe to talk about it with people they trust, and should not be shamed for doing so. Even when it turns out poorly for them because the person they trusted turns out to be not trustworthy, that still does NOT mean that it was their fault and they should go back to being “pure”. it means it was the trusted person’s fault. (Please note i am not saying it is okay for adults to engage in explicit talk with minors. i mean it should be safe for them to ask questions about what is okay and to search for reassurance. and it definitely should be okay for minors to speak amongst others around their age, so long as everyone is safe and comfortable, just like anybody else).

demonizing these feelings among minors also can make it harder to discuss things that have happened to them or things theyve seen that they may be uncomfortable about, if they are sexual in nature. It is vitally important to be able to speak about scary and uncomfortable things that may have happened to you, and making that as a cultural baseline harder to do is fucking nasty.

There is definitely a lot of questions and concerns to be had about teens communicating about such things online. I do not deny that. But I do also think it worth considering that many people do not feel comfortable speaking about many things with others in person, or they may have a tough and unaccepting in person life that makes it difficult to speak to others in general, and they do not deserve to feel lonely in any aspect. This is not to say that talking online is fully safe, and no harm can come from it. It isn’t, and it can. And yes, it can totally be easier for minors to be exploited online, in large part because you cannot tell who is on the other side of the screen. But life offline is also not perfectly safe. It offers a few more tools to know who to avoid, but can also be more dangerous to being physically safe, and liars and exploitative people always have the potential to lie and exploit, no matter where they are.

(suicide attempt CW, no detail and not mine, in this next paragraph. Also sexual harassment, when i was a child, that was done to me! awesome /sarcasm. and obviously, you dont need to read this next part.)

I speak from experience. we all were young once. my most traumatizing online experience was not a sexual one, but it was still extremely distressing, and it did involve a different but similar taboo. Someone almost killed themselves when I was trying to help them over DM. If my mom were any less supportive or understanding of those with mental health issues, I likely would not have talked to her about what had happened. I only got support in what happened because i grew up around those who attempt to destigmatize mental health. I cannot imagine how i would deal with an experience like being sexually taken advantage of or otherwise traumatized or significantly discomforted in a sexual way online. i dont think i would have told a soul, for many reasons, the significant one being that it was so often implied to me that to be sexual is wrong. it took me years of help from my friends to stop being so scared of myself in this aspect.

I actually literally did get sexually harassed once, in person, by an at the time fellow teen. i was slapped in an inappropriate place and taunted about it. I told nobody until years later; in part because of the idea that to be sexual is to be bad. I only even realized that this fit the definition of sexual harassment much later. If I had not been steeped in the idea that nobody my age could have possibly done such a thing, if i had not been steeped in the idea that minors can never feel sexual or want power in a sexual manner, if i had felt able to speak, maybe some action could have been taken. maybe i would at least have not had to fucking deal with that kid at camp again. Or maybe i wouldve just been pulled out of that camp because of course, it’s always the victim’s fault, isn’t it? But anyways. yknow the only people i ended up telling? one girl who thought the guy was into her, to try and keep her safe; and my online friends i have had for probably like half a decade now (a lot to all of us cuz we are all young and around the same age) because they were the only people i really trusted about stuff like this.

in ending. Fucked up shit! stigma is bad, people, it fucking sucks! I will not let you perpetuate it. especially not in the name of progressivism, not in the name of keeping kids safe, not in the name of anybody. you help nothing and and up ruining lives

#cw s/h #health #sex ed! its very important! #i feel like a lot of these ideas come in part from people not fucking getting sex ed #or at least not good sex ed #shut up! the eagle’s talking!

[tea-and-panthers]

just a quick post. i was reading a few article on how to identify bot accounts and discover that i may be miss identified as a bot/spam account since i’m new and dont know much about this wild west of a platform.

so I am here to help assist other newcomers with a summary of my research, keeping in mind I’ve only been here for a day so if someone more experienced is giving out advice theirs is probably better.

1. bot/spam accounts generally have a default icon and background. (fixed this up first thing i did after making the account was add an icon and i just uploaded a background)

Recommend course of action: add an Icon and background as soon as possible. and maybe play around with you theme a bit.

2.username looks inappropriate or spam like. (this isn’t a problem for me since i didn’t do this because why would I)

Recommend course of action: just don’t, if you may have made this mistake, best to change it.

3. a blog is sending messages that are asking if you want content that is potentially nsfw, example ‘do you want pictures of n***d women on your phone’

Recommend course of action: report and block. i speak from experience, i got one of these messages and didn’t even finish reading it before blocking and reporting. also don’t send this type of message to people wether or not they think you are a bot that would make anyone uncomfortable and explicit content is against community guidelines.

4. apparently like strings on accounts and large amounts of reblogging are suspicious.

so say you go to someone account and read like there art or something and you like everything there. apparently 10 or more likes on one account within a short time period is considered a like string.

this is one I found myself guilty of, so what happened was I found the account of someone who made a series of tutorials on how to draw kobolds that I had found in pinterest so I followed the and i wanted like all the tutorials (there where 10) but i decided that liking just the tutorials seemed suspicious so i liked some art in between (it’s good art.) i now see that liking just the tutorials would have not been as suspicious. to that person, sorry for the spam likes, I have learned my lesson.

Reblogging, so something like 40 or more rebloggs in a day with little context, than nothing for a few days looks suspicious.

Recommend course of action:

like strings; of you come across an account you really like just like 3 or 4 posts and follow. you will get another chance to like more.

Reblogging; i don’t see this one being much of a problem if you just casually use tumblr. I myself have spent some time (but not all my time) on tumblr and Liked around 250 posts over 24 hours but have only reblogged 12 (which is probably still a lot) but i have also added something with the reblog such as a comment along with the normal tags people usually only put (i feel bad reblogging without contributing something). the only way i think you would reach a number like 40+ is if you are on all day with nothing else to do and are reblogging every third post you see (not that i’m judging, apparently reblogging helps more that likes.) or you are reblogging reblogs in response to them on a post that went viral. if you are adding to those i don’t really think that would be suspicious. And try not to reblog too many posts from one blog in a short amount of time that seems very spammy

REPOSTING IS NOT THE SAME AS REBLOGGING

reblogging, if you like the reblog it likes the original post. this is helping in most cases from what i’ve read. (just try not to over do it.)

reposting is copying the image or text (some cases both) and uploading it on your own, often done without permission form or crediting the original author. this is not helpful, if you have permission form the original author and you credit them, that should be ok.

yet again, i am also new and may be mistaken about some of the stuff here. this is based on personal experience and research i’ve done.

hope this helps others new users to this wild west. I intend on posting my art soon i just need to get it all together first, that i can upload a few pieces at a time.

If you are an experienced user who has any corrections of stuff to add I’m sure new users like myself would love the help.

#new user guide #new user #welcome to tumblr #how not tho be mistaken for a bot #tumblr tips #annoying bots #spam bots #stupid bots #for new users #for new people

[richardsphere]

Rant On Humanisation VS Redemption. (And why Gilgamesh Sucks)

So there are like, a thousand ways in which people can be media illiterate. But to me the worst will always be peoples inability to tell the difference between a humanisation arc and a redemption arc. I do not exagerate when i say it may verry well be the "original sin" of media illiteracy.

I get it, you're shown the villains life from their point of view, maybe even see them struggle a little and your evolutionary packbonding and social-empathy instincts make you empathise and sympathise with the bastard until you forget they were the bad guy. But there's a fucking difference between these two types of characterarcs and people should really be better at telling them apart.

a redemption arc is about showing that sometimes people can be better and truly change. Meanwhile humanisation arcs are there because a villain cant serve as a warning not to become them unless we can see ourselves in them in the first place. And the literal Ur-example would be Gilgamesh. A story everyone assures me is "the first heroic epic", but which is nothing of the sort. Its the first villain protagonist in our literary cannon. And that is not me interpreting it. That is the explicit text of this fractured stone-tablet. You know how I know its the explicit text? For two reasons: 1: The text literally begins "there once was a tyrant so heinous, rapist and cruel gods and mortals alike agreed to put a hit on him" (I think we can all agree that in a story, when gods and mortals agree unanimously, we can consider it an axiomatic truth of the story that shits dire) But you know, thats the start of the story right? Gilgamesh (alledgedly) "grows" over the course of the story into a better person right? Oh wait no he doesnt the story has to go out of its way in the end to bring in a wise-old-sage figure (Ziusudra) to explicitly exposit to Gilgamesh (and through him the audience) that he's still the same irredeemable, cruel and selfish abomination of a tyrant he's always been. Because even back then writers and poets knew they couldnt trust their audience to grasp the distinction between these two narrative arcs without explicitly telling the audience which one their story was.

The epic of Gilgamesh is clearly meant to be this message of hope for future generations, that whatever despotic tyrant plagues you is as mortal as Gilgamesh himself turned out. That "even this will come to pass". But because people cant stop "draco in leather pants"-ing every villain in the literary cannon the core message of the story just never lands with people, claiming it to be a redemption story when it is explicitly not about that at all. I dont care wether you think GilgameshXEnkidu is the ship of all time, how about you realise the basic premise of the story first.

#literary analasis #The epic of gilgamesh #gilgamesh #gilgamesh bashing #Media literacy #rant #media analysis #tempted to tag it with a certain bee-themed superheroine from MLB #crossing my fingers that the Gilgamesh fandom is as dead as he is

[fairykery]

If not canon, then why flashy?

Eyesex and a smile?

The guy that hates physical contact is smiling as kohaku hugged him? Not only that but he also looked into her eyes tenderly? LIKE? The other girl going "it wasn't that type of hug" was just referring to the fact that they aren't gf and bf because technically THEY AREN'T and the one girl still assumed that they were. So when they got touch- feely and the girl covered her eyes thinking they were a couple(thanks to the kiss situation) the other girl calmed her down saying they weren't really a couple sharing a hug; but two people that care about each other hugging. While Senku did not return the hug because he is never/and has never been forward about that type of situation, Kohaku is the first he's smiles at, lets hug, and has had people wonder the state of their relationship when being hugged by. She is also the only girl he is close with, that has been hinted at having feelings for him.

The KISS

Sorry, No I get it. It was too soon for this to be a romantic moment. I get it. It was for the sake of comic relief. But if you pay attention. The context of the scene didn't necessarily have to be written romantically, NOT EVEN for the sake of the plot. Cause them kissing had nothing to do with the situation; BUT the mangaka STILL specifically chose to go THAT route with the scene. He, HIMSELF, chose to use a romantic excuse(even if a comical one) as a plot device to move the story forward. And on top of that made them kiss(even if they were both uncomfortable by it still at this point in the manga). With that, making Kohaku the girl he's closest to who he has had the most physical contact with and even shared a kiss with(even if it was just a chin kiss and they both were practically uncomfortable for being forced to do.). No but seriously, the mangaka using SenHaku as a plot device to move the story forward WHEN it is NOT needed should provide some insight of what he thinks of the pairing. Which is that: "it is fun to write about" and "he likes to write about it".

NO TIME?

I like how he reponds with something that implies. "Maybe i'll blush later....not rn we gotta find a way out of here". Can we also take a moment to realize the mangaka/writter interrupted this moment before Senku could respond to the: "and the way i see it that is so very-" from kohaku? Subtle behavior on his part. Is there something on Senku's mind he doesn't want fans to know for the sake of avoiding ship wars? I wouldn't be surprised if this was what was stopping him from making the ship more explicit. Cause shippers get kind of crazy with the wars and MOST mangakas KNOW this and dont want that to affect the sales.

BRIDE STYLE?

He specifically chose one of the most romantic tropes to draw them In? Sorry no. This has nothing to do with their dynamic; but he still drew them like this? In THIS pose? Mangaka definitely shipped them.

Nah; but like never have i ever seen him so touchy feeling with anyone?

idk idk they remain sus. Especially with all of his guy friends hoping him to experince romantic love.

SenHaku also kinda parallel His adoptive dad and his lover(maybe not in the sense of dynamic; but in color aesthetic and how they are portrayed in the covers)

[also look at them being bride style like the senhaku cover lol]

I don't know why people say this ship is impossible because Senku says he isn't interested in romance. Like he also hinted at the fact that he has sex drive, just not a crazy active one where he would attack a female for, especially one stronger than him.

And if you ACTUALLY pay attention every time that topic of romance comes up is not that he COMPLETELY dismisses it. It is more because he does not prioritize it or care to look for it, especially considering that he is so goal-driven. At the same time, it is already revealed that not everything he says(especially when it comes to relationships/bonds)does he mean. He only, like i said, likes to remain goal-oriented and doesn't want anything to distract him.

He also acted pretty detached towards his own father and rejected his overly affections of love. So much so, that Byakuya tried to adapt to his own love language of science. But at the end of the day,it is not that Senku is 100% against those concepts(of romanticized bonds) it is just that he finds them to be waste of time. But despite that, he is still human. He still feels despite how much he doesn't allow himself to do so:

And Riri herself pointed how Senku only acts tough and detached when it comes to relationships/bonds(when talking about his care for the village) but a part of him does care. This is because she is the only one whose seen him cry at his father grave, despite how detached he acted about his father dying at the beginning. But again, he remembered that he had a goal, and wiped his tears; because for him "there's no time for that". It's all about prioritizing his goals, especially when about science.

And there's ALOT of emphasis on THAT.

Even so, so many characters in shounen have ended up marrying/having feelings despite saying/or there being no indicator that they are interested in romance. It is a common trope of it. So even if it were because Senku is not into romance it wouldn't sink the ship. I mean look at Sasuke(another goal-oritented character) said that romance had no place in his revolution; but at the end of the day married sakura and even gave her a ring to ward off insects

[note: is important to note that sasuke was not rejecting sakura here. More like trying to convince kakashi that romance had no place in his revolution. Because he was goal oriented, like Senku(that and the fact that he was still struggling with his darkness). In fact Sakura said that she wanted things to go back to the way they used to be and he assumed that was romance, without anyone saying anything of that sort. And Sakura had already left it clear that she wanted team 7 back; but then sasuke mentioned romance lol]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Something else worth mentioning is the fact that Senku hates clingy overly-romantic girls or the girls that fall in love too fast with him, as we've seen him cringe or act annoyed with those type of acts. But still, he was able to manage to say something about a type, despite his dismissive behavior. Even tho it was just to brush the conversation off, the fact that he answered his type of girl with "someone that could bring him materials" and then calls Kohaku a lioness, and him as a scientist knows that usually a lioness is one to provide their mates with food from hunting. I don't know. It seemed like a sweet nickname to give her. Especially when in his time period, that type of nickname is considered flirtatious. What is more, is that he initially brought Taiju back because of his usefulness in strength(and the fact he knew he could trust him) & Senku himself noticed the exact same quality in Kohaku.

So someone that could fit his description of his type would definitely be kohaku and seeing that she is the girl who he is the closest, and HAS brought him materials before so i dont see why not. I mean he was already pretty impressed with her first meeting her. Even after having worked with her, he was still impressed by her strength, and doesn't stop talking about it:

There's also people who always dismiss Kohaku's feelings. I mean i think it's already pretty clear

His physical aspect she seems pleased with

And well he already fits the EXACT description of her EXACT type. So it is 100% safe to say that she has feelings for him. It may not be explicitly stated but it was just the right amount of sublte. Similar to Mikasa Ackerman/Touka Kirishima, whose feelings were never explicitly stated; but were always quite obvious. That was the type of subtlety the mangaka was aiming at. And i think there's a reason for that.

Because Senku hates fast paced relationships/love at first sight/mushy girls. Building Kohaku's feelings in a slowburn manner makes Kohaku stand out from all the other girls that have feelings for him/have flirted with him/felt attracted to him. Because, as i said, he doesn't like that kind of stuff. And since he is still sciency I don't think he would ever fall for a romantic type of girl; but rather a useful one that can serve as his partner. The way I see them happening would be by Kohaku being accepting of his anti-romantic nature, and Senku seeing her as worthy Mate that he could reproduce with so that the sciene can live on and keep developing. While he did teach Chrome alot, Chrome also says he wants Senku to live. I think he also meant it in a metaphorical way. Chrome, next to his other male friends kept pushing for or looking for an indicator of him feeling attraction for a girl/or at least want him to understand romantic love so that he doesn't keep downplaying the feelings that they have towards their crushes. Even Gen seemed pretty excited at the thought of him kissing a girl lol. So it's safe to say that the mangaka writing this was him rooting for the same thing for Senku; but not in the way that we exepect.

Again, if he ever did develop a relationsip with kohaku to another level. I dont think he would confess/or admit his physical attraction to her, if he did feel any. I think he would find himself content that he has found a useful girl, that can bring him materials, and doesn't ask much of him(in a romantic light). This would push Senku to allow Kohaku as his partner. I don't think Kohaku would mind it either as long as she knows Senku is willing to reciprocate in terms of just the right amount of romantic gestures/or sexual entanglement(when senku finds the time for her)

Because as he has stated he does not NOT have a sex drive(just not active) nor is he COMPLETELY against chivalry (which is rooted in romance).

So i think if he did develop feelings for Kohaku he will not do much to figure out the why and would instead only try to rationalize it by saying Kohaku is the perfect partner. He would agree to a wedding for the sake of his friends and act like he was peer pressured to doing it, and would probably ONLY compliment Kohaku's looks by saying something like "You know, according to the symmetrical proportions of your face, you'd be considered to be living up to the beauty standards of my time" and Kohaku would be fine with that thanks to the reassurance of her sister about how "he is not the type of guy to be completely against the tradition of bonds/feelings. He just doesn't prioritize them". So kohaku would be fine with that. Especially because she herself has been swayed by his way of living.

As long as she knows that Senku considers her his mate, partner, and important person, I think she'd be okay with that. Especially since Senku is logical enough to understand that he needs to put effort into the relationship with his mate. So he'd do soft gestures for her that will keep her happy in order to maintain their relationship, even if she doesn't ask for it. And that will be enough because by the end of the day that's what most relationships are, Senku just doesn't feel the need to romanticize them, unless it's for the sake of following through with a logical situation. And well him maintaining his relationship with Kohaku would be logical as it would avoid conflict and prevent him from seeking a mate elsewhere. We all know Senku doesn't like to bother with those things. He just goes with the flow of whatever is convenient.

I also think that even though he doesn't like physical contact he'd probably do soft things like touch her hand in reassurance,(he's held her hand), smile at her(as he has done so before), look tenderly at her with pride(has looked and felt proud of her) and lean on her when he is tired(they have leaned on each other metaphorically). Those would be indicators.of him caring for her, but he won't ever stop to think about them, even if his heart rate actually does start to raise he will only rationalize it with talks about "dopamine/serotonin" and Kohaku being his chosen partner; but overall, he'd be most ecstatic about having a partner by his side, and the fact that he cares for such partner. Kohaku won't ask for more and will come to understand that she has what any other girl has(when it comes to romantic relationships), and she SIMPLY has a partner that tends to rationalize everything and dislikes romance; but is willing to do it for the sake of logic.

#senhaku #my post #personal #senku x kohaku #kohaku x senku #senkoha #sasusaku #tagging ssasusaku for the filtering #dr. stone #dr stone

[xiaq]

Hi, I have a question re:sex and Christianity. Small background: I still go to church, and I still live with my parents even though I'm not much younger than you, because housing is very very expensive where I live (pretty common here, I would say about 2/3 of my friends live with their parents and we are decently privileged kids)

Anyway. How does one get over purity culture? To be clear, I've never been told in church not to have sex, I've never gotten the gendered lessons that you got. But I am terrified of having sex. My first real, multi-year relationship just ended and while there was hand stuff etc, there was never any p in v sex (lol I feel 12). But I still had insane anxiety about being pregnant despite being on bc. And I think its because I know my parents would be so disappointed if I had sex. And if I was pregnant I could imagine all the gossip. And honestly I think im from a pretty open church, b/c one of our previous ministers kids recently got married at 8 months pregnant and lots of church people were at the wedding and supportive and her parents were there and everything.

I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???

(Asking because it seems like you've been pretty open about purity culture/removing yourself from it)

CW for sex talk (again)

How does one get over purity culture?

Oh man. That really is the million-dollar question, huh? Obviously, I can only answer re my personal experiences, and this is something you should talk to a therapist about, but I can tell you how I’ve tackled it with my therapist at least.

Purity culture is, at its core, an ideology that is perpetuated by shame. If you’re indoctrinated into purity culture when you’re a kid, the concepts become baked into the way you construct your identity, your perception of self, and your perception of your sexuality. It’s practically intrinsic, by the time you’re an adult, to feel shame any time you’re reminded you have a body, much less a sexuality.

According to the chapels I sat through every week as a kid, a girl's body could be 3 things: an intentional stumbling block for men, an accidental stumbling block for men, or unnoticeable. Women were to strive for the third option so as to keep their (and their male friends/authority figures) purity intact. After all, if a boy, or even your male teacher, had impure thoughts about you, it was your fault for tempting them (which, holy shit. I still can’t believe that was a thing I bought into for so long. If my 45 yr old grown-ass teacher had impure thoughts because he could see my 12 yr old collarbone, that sure as hell wasn’t my fault. But I digress.) The Only time a woman’s body can be something else, is when she gives it to her husband, at which point she must suddenly flip the switch in her brain that she is now allowed to be a Sexual Being and she must perform Sexual Duties despite living in outright fear of her own body and sexuality for years (decades?) up until this point. Jesus take the wheel.

Purity culture isn’t a thing you can just decide to walk away from if you’ve grown up in it. Because its ideology is insidious and internalized. So first you need to submit to the fact that you’re going to be fucked up about sex. It sounds like you’re there. Second, you need to interrogate what you believe. If you’re leaving religion behind entirely, you’ll approach removing yourself from purity culture differently than if you still identify as a Christian. It sounds like you might be the latter, which meant, for me, separating what’s actually biblical and what’s shitty, contrived, doctrine that I was told is biblical but is actually more political than spiritual. This helps you address the shame issue.

You need to throw away I Kissed Dating Goodbye and Lady in Waiting and all those ridiculous books you read and reread in the hopes of somehow obtaining impossible marriage perfection and look into actual scripture interpreted within its historical context. I could write a book on this, but the TL;DR is that the text of the Bible was written, translated, curated, and changed multiple times over thousands of years by human beings with human biases and, often, personal and/or political agendas. It contradicts itself! Reading it as it is—a flawed historical document—rather than some sort of God-breathed perfect document—is incredibly freeing. When you do, you’ll probably realize that purity culture is bullshit on a spiritual level. Which is a good start, if that matters to you. Because any time you start to feel shame or guilt you can ask yourself: does God actually care if I wear a bikini or touch a dick I’m not married to? Probably not. Wear the bikini. Touch the dick.

The most important therapy session for me was when my therapist asked what I would do if I got to heaven and God was actually the God I’d been raised to fear. What would I do if he condemned me for being bisexual and having premarital sex and becoming educated, for arguing with men, and failing to isolate while menstruating, and wearing mixed fabrics? If Montero had come out at the point, I probably would have said I’d pole dance down to hell. Instead, I said I would spit on heaven’s gates. If a god that cruel and that pointlessly demeaning really exists—a god who would create in me condemned desire—I won't worship him. The good news is, I’m 99% sure he doesn’t exist. At the very least, he isn’t supported by scripture.

Okay. The final thing you need to do is figure out what you actually want, sexually speaking. This bit is probably the hardest. I’m still in the early stages of this myself. You say: “I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???” Bro, I wish I had an easy answer for you. For me, whenever I’m feeling anxious about Sex Things, I tell myself: 1. My God does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 2. My partner does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 3. I do not equate my worth to my sexual habits. It seems silly, but reminding myself of those three things is massively helpful. If, after I’ve sorted through those, I’m still anxious or uncomfortable, I stop doing the thing. I evaluate. Am I overwhelmed and I need to try again some other time? Do I just not like the thing? Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Sometimes you change your mind. Sometimes you just don’t know. That’s why having a partner who you trust and who’s willing to patiently explore your interests (and respect your disinterests) is so important. Half the battle, for me, was having a partner who told me they’d be ok with no sex at all. Because that took the pressure off me. If the bare minimum they need is nothing, then anything more than that is a bonus! Hooray! This is maybe TMI, but let me tell you. I thought I was asexual* right up until I was able to have moderately non-anxious sex. Never in my life did I think I would initiate a sexual situation but… I do now. It’s a fun thing to do with a person I love and, holy shit. I am furious that I nearly missed out on it.

Finally, re birth control: I don’t know how you can approach that fear in a way that works for you. If you don’t want to ever have penetrative sex, that’s fine! If that’s a point of anxiety you can’t get rid of, then don't push yourself to do it. If you find out you like other sex things, do the other sex things! If you don't like doing any sex things, don't do any sex things! Also, have you considered sleeping with people who can’t get you pregnant? Always an option if it’s an option you want to consider. ;)

Okay. I hope this was even a little bit helpful. Sorry if it’s a little convoluted, I typed it up in bursts during my work breaks.

*This is not at all to say that asexuality can be “fixed." Rather, it’s to say that things like purity culture can drastically confuse your sexuality in general. If you’re asexual, then this process is still important to discover what you like/dislike. Then you can be explicit about those necesities and find a partner who’s a good fit (if you want a partner at all, that is).

#purity culture #sex talk #christianity #sex and relationships #sex and religion #mylife #answered asks #aspec #cw sex

[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

[jangofctts]

As You Are (Bucky Barnes x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: smut, explicit language, mentions of alcohol, mentions of violence and injuries, light choking, brief thigh riding/grinding, vaginal fingering with them metal fingies, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (dont be a dick, wrap that stick), fucking on sam’s couch

a/n: ok hi this fic is very self indulgent bUT YKNOW WHAT WHO CARES EKJHEJHKEJH this is my first fic for marvel and AH I hope I did Bucky justice. ENJOY YALL

This had been a terrible idea. 

Right from the minute you tailed after he and Sam to the Baron’s extensive vintage car storage. Bucky had explicitly withheld any and all information regarding this little excursion to protect you but of course you’d shown up—none too jazzed about the little stunt Bucky pulled regarding the Baron. Fair. 

You were right—Bucky should have called but that overwhelming guilt of dragging you into another one of his problems stopped him from pressing that little call button. He never wanted to be the reason you ended up back on the run again. Though judging by the way things were going, it was more than likely you’d be in prison by the end of the week. 

Luck had your back in that sort of regard—too bad it could never rescue you from your own stubbornness and grief regarding that damn shield. 

You’d taken a devastatingly hard hit from Walker—a fractured orbital, a split lip and a dislocated shoulder. All preventable—if only Bucky kept better track of you before you showed up in that warehouse alone. Left to fight the shadow of what was once a symbol of hope for some—another man playing dress-up in something that will never belong to him. 

It was just their luck Bucky and Sam arrived in time—preventing you from becoming another red stain of violence splattered over that shield. 

James Buchanan Barnes is not afraid of much—but fuck. Seeing you crumpled over the concrete floor, all bloodied and struggling to raise a hand to protect your face… It was the same feeling as injecting his veins with a pure shot of adrenaline and anger shrouded in fear. He promised Steve he’d look after you… 

And as Sam carried you out of that warehouse you had the gall to tenderly tell them that you were just fine—as if your mouth weren’t full of blood and a face blooming with patchy bruises. The jealousy that sparked through Bucky’s chest when you clung to Sam’s chest did nothing to help that dark festering pit inside his ribcage he’s attempting to suture back together.

Bucky clenches his jaw. At least you’re asleep now. Curled up against the window, holding your injured arm in a way that limited the turbulence from jostling it. It’s the first time Bucky would describe you as fragile. He know’s you’re anything but that—stubborn mostly—yet most of all brave. It’s what Steve admired most about you—what Bucky loves most about you too. That vibrant spark flowing through your blood and how you’re not afraid to shout along to your favorite songs despite the odd looks you get. Bucky envies how self-assured you are, how you’ll never lose yourself because you know just where you’re headed. He wishes he still had that sort of drive instead of all this uncertainty and guilt clouding each muscle and fibre in his body.      

Bucky doesn’t realize the jet has landed until Sam stands and and places a large hand over your shoulder. Your face scrunches as you whine and curl further into your seat. “C’mon, kiddo.” You grumble something inaudible. “You want me to carry you?”

The delicate plates of vibranium clink together as Bucky’s hand tightens into a fist, jealousy flaring hot and bright. He quickly stands, too fast to be considering anything less than awkward. Sam’s brow quirks. “I can do it.”   

“It’s cool, man,” Sam says as he scoops one arm under your legs and the other around your back. “I got her.”

Bucky bristles. Whatever. 

It’s not like you and him have anything together. A one sided plague of affection that you’ll never know about—he wants to tell you. Fuck, the words burn through his tongue and collect like ashes between his teeth and yet they are never voiced from self sabotage. There’s no possible way to voice how you’ve haunted his thoughts and his dream since the moment his eyes met yours. How he’s memorized the lines of your smile and the sweet sound of your laugh, the sweep of your lashes and the rhythm of your steps. Bucky would know you deaf, blind, numb, in this world or any other twisted reality. 

He had said that he wasn’t afraid of much, but that’s not entirely true. Eternity, oblivion, crowded rooms, being alone too long. And you. You terrify him. You have the power to pluck at the very strings of his soul and unravel him completely until he’s no more—and you don’t even know it. Bucky Barnes is less afraid of dying than he is of loosing you but that fear never once provides him the courage to tell you. You may not be a scribbled name in his book, but he still hopes that one day he’ll earn the chance to strike his cowardice and put to rest the wretched ache in his heart that he feels for you. 

He wishes he told you in Wakanda, after the Blip, Riga, and right this instant. He watches Sam carry you out of the jet—what’s a little more time?

                          -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The sun is beginning to melt into the horizon, turning the expanse of water into molten gold and shimmering blues. The hazy humidity from the late afternoon heat collects at the back of Bucky’s neck and the light breeze does nothing to cool. Bucky sighs and swipes at the bead of sweat creeping down his forehead with the back of his hand—he glances up. 

A ghost of a smile creeps across his lips. You’re exactly where he and Sam left you three hours ago. Surprising to be quite honest—you never did like to stay in one place for longer than ten minutes. You’re a pain in his ass, simply said.  

But now—now you’re haphazardly splayed out on the lawn chair you were forced into, a juice box loosely held in your good hand while the other still remains in the sling. He can’t tell if you’re asleep—Steve’s sunglasses do an excellent job of hiding your eyes. Yet as Bucky wanders closer, your head rolls to your right in greeting. 

“It’s rude to stare, y’know,” you grumble, lifting the juice box to your mouth. Your lips purse around the plastic straw. “And before you ask—yes, I have a very important job I’m currently overseeing.”

Bucky quirks a brow. “What—hogging the lawn chair?”

“No—“ You huff. You gesture with your juice box at the large cooler your sandaled feet are propped up on. “I’m the booze master. God of the ale, destroyer of sobriety—“

“Alright, Booze Master,” Bucky interrupts with a snort. “Why don’t you bestow upon me a beer, your majesty.”

You tap your index finger over your chin as a lazy smile fixes itself over your lips. “Granted.”

You slide your legs off the cooler and with a pained grunt you shift forward. Bucky shoots his arm out and steadies you back against the chair by your shoulder before you get any further. Your face pulls into a grimace.

“I got it, kid. Relax.”

Bucky pops open the cooler and fishes out a beer and pops the cap off between his left index finger and thumb. You watch with a frown, “I could’ve done that for you.” 

Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes and takes a seat on the cooler. The bitter fizz floods his tastebuds as he takes a sip of his drink, a tangible silence blanketing the space between you. He gets it—people like he and you can never settle for complacency. As if the rest isn’t deserved despite the bloody knuckles and the shattered glass that slices through skin—the bruises and the broken bones. None of it is enough—not worthwhile to preserve yourself when other’s so desperately need your help. 

Or maybe it’s penance. 

Bucky sure as shit finds himself swallowed by the black maw of guilt each and every day. Battling the never ending shadow of doubt that clings to his soul like glitter to a an old carpet. Bucky believes it’s safe to say that you’re the same—every good deed you do added to the imaginary scale weighing against the bad despite it feeling hollow and insurmountable. Paying in blood to equate the amount you’ve spilled. A hopeless battle you both insist on fighting. 

Bucky sighs through his nose, bends at the waist and collects both your ankles in his left hand. You let him lift them both and settle your legs over his knees. You shiver, an eruption of goosebumps rushing up your skin at the cold metallic shock of Bucky’s vibranium thumb scrapinh over your bare flesh.

Bucky’s lips tilt down ever so slightly. “Did I hurt you?”

“Never,” you rush to say before he has the chance to flee. “S’just cold.” 

His hum reverberates low in his chest as those cerulean blue eyes fall to his hands. You clench your jaw until your teeth ache as his left thumb continues to stroke over the delicate skin covering the joint of your ankle. This is…new…

You’d been close with Steve and Sam, and by proxy Bucky—in some weird adjunct way. Compared to Sam’s teasing bumps of the shoulder and that infectious laugh far more addicting than the golden liquor of the sun, Bucky is frigid. Still attempting to shake off the whole Winter Soldier thing that’s molded onto his bones like stubborn permafrost. Touch had always been tricky with him—even a friendly pat over the back or a simple tap to the harm had him tensing under the touch—muscle and steel bunching to prepare for a harsh blow that would never arrive. Never from you.         

Bucky rarely sought out your physical comfort—you were always the one to initiate those friendly touches even if he was the type to just sit and ignore you like a grouchy old cat barely clinging onto that ninth life. The first time he breached that fragile barrier was in Wakanda—something in Bucky cracked and split into a cavernous ravine of nebulosity. Stitches shred apart then stapled back together as he grabbed your arm and wrestled you into a bone-crushing hug. You didn’t need to ask to realize he cried the entire time, gripping your shirt like a lifeline while he shuddered and sobbed into the crook of your neck. To him everything from the rain to silk sheets felt like shrapnel and the stars tasted like old blood and the past of things long gone—yet you were familiar. 

A comfort for the much needed healing of the scattered pieces of a man. You don’t mind helping him pick up the tidbits and reattach them with veins of silver. It’s the least you can do. 

The second time occurred after the loss of Steve. Some part of you had been wrenched out with his departure and he never bothered to return it. It doesn’t matter anymore—the hollow ache had been soothed with the Winter Soldier clutching you to his chest until you drifted off into a fitful sleep. A tether to a new reality you both partake in. 

Which brings you to now. There’s no cathartic reasoning behind his touch…it’s simple…a risky leap of faith into unknown territory. Bucky’s eyes lift to meet yours—curiosity swimming in those icy irises. You don’t mind—in fact you quite like the calloused warmth of his hand and the opposing chilly metal one tentatively exploring your exposed skin. 

“You have a scar here,” Bucky murmurs, skimming the thumb made up of flesh and sinew over the mottled skin occupying the crease of where the top of your foot meets your ankle. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I fell on barbed wire.”

“Clumsy,” he chides, quirking a dark brow. 

Your shoulders bounce with a huff. “I was like—twelve when it happened, James.”

His mouth quirks in a half smile, quite liking the validation of his name in the way your mouth speaks it. He wonders if you know the weight of granting you that leeway of calling him that. Shit—he doesn’t care what you call him, everything sounds lovely when you say it. 

There’s another silence—holding your breath until something splits and shatters into a million pieces. You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t want anything more than just friendship with Bucky but fear of rejection is a tricky thing. You take the easy way out and offer him the chance of something more on a silver platter. 

“Bucky?”

His fingers whisper up your shin as he inclines his head.              

“I’m tired. Drive me back to Sam’s?”

“Sure thing, doll.” 

                            -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Bucky holds the door open for you as you stumble in, escaping the hazy southern heat. He disappears into the kitchen as you make a beeline straight for the couch, sighing loudly once the plush cushions meet your back. You lazily lift your head once you hear his familiar footfalls nearing. 

With him he brings two Otterpops, one blue raspberry and the other cherry. Once he hands it to you he takes a seat on your left, close enough that his thigh and shoulder bumps against yours. “Don’t tell Sarah’s kids that these were the last ones.”

You roll your eyes and promptly stick the Otterpop into you mouth. “‘M ain’t no snitch.”

His low chuckle reverberates through his chest. The silence that follows isn’t an awkward one as you enjoy the cold treat—it’s filled with the humming cicada bugs outside and the breeze through the wind chimes. Comfortable with the normalcy—just a couple of regular old people enjoying life for a suspended amount of seconds.  

Once you finish the Otter Pop, you crumple the plastic up and rest it on the coffee table. He does the same—hints of the blue syrup sticking to the cracks of his plush lips. You force yourself to avert your eyes. You cheeks heat with a flush as you rush to occupy your mind with anything but wild fantasies of Bucky’s mouth. You lean forward again, pointedly ignoring the way Bucky’s eyes track your movements as you shuck off your sling, the prickle of unused muscles and bruised ligaments rushing through the limb. You wince as you slowly roll your shoulder. 

The muscles in Bucky’s jaw clenches. You sigh—he’s still blaming himself for your injuries. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not everyone has freaky healing powers, Buck,” you snort. You rush to appease him when he frowns. “It’s getting better though. Still can’t sleep on it—but eh.” 

“I’m sorry.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. No matter how many times you tell him he’ll never believe you. That’s something only he can fix. Doesn’t stop you from telling him anyway. “Stop blaming yourself for my idiocy. I made my choice and paid the price for it.”

Bucky’s eyes drop to his hands. “Can’t help it, sweetheart. Steve told me to look after you.”

Your heart constricts within your chest like a fist. You inhale and reach out to rest your hand over his wrist. “Funny—he told me the same thing about you.”

It surprises him—his dark brows furrow as his mouth parts, but nothing comes forth. Grappling with the right words that fit with what he feels. He’s still learning how to give his soul a name that fits. Learning how to take the dark, twisted bramble of his heart and make it into something that doesn’t ache each time it beats. He’s still learning how to look himself in the eyes, point to himself and say that there’s nothing frightening in there. Not anymore. No more. 

You suck in a breath and muster up the embers of courage. Here goes nothing— 

You cup Bucky’s cheek, the scrape of stubble welcome against your warm palm as you gently turn his face to look at you. His eyes drift to yours when the mumbled syllables of his name tumble from your lips. His eyes are framed with dark circles of wildflower bruises, his small smile a moonbeam stark against battered skin. You’ve dreamt so many times of swallowing it whole and pressing him close enough that your heartstrings become entangled with no hope of separation. But that’s something for him to decide. 

You drop your hand cradling Bucky’s jaw, but before your hand completely falls Bucky surges forward. His large hands rush to cup your face, swallowing your noise of surprise as his plush lips fall onto yours. The syrupy flavor of a Blue Raspberry Otter Pop he stole from Sarah’s freezer lingers on Bucky’s mouth, mixed in with the smell of old leather and cracked cardamom. Bucky nips at your bottom lip, tugging once and then rolling it between the blunt enamel of his teeth. Despite all the bad jokes regarding his age and senior citizen status—fuck he’s a damn good kisser. Compared to him you feel clumsy, sloppy, but no matter how hard you search for his distaste he doesn't seem to care in the slightest—if anything he’s pulling you closer. 

Bucky’s kisses may taste like the middle of June and a first love, but desperation lines every action like a wound with jagged edges. It’s a slow process learning to be free, but one day he’ll transform into starlight—and instead of a kiss like fire, it’ll be like touching your lips to a constellation’s aureate mouth.   

When Bucky pulls away, sucking in air and resting his forehead on yours, you catch a whiff of his hair. Freshly washed and smelling a bit like Sam’s shampoo. Your lips quirk. You’ll make sure to keep that a secret from Sam.

You pull back just enough to meet his eye, resting your palm over his vibranium hand that still cups your cheek. “Am I the first person you’ve kissed since the stone ages?”

His lips pull into a cheeky smile. “Maybe.”

You laugh and roll your eyes, skating your palm down the front of his shirt, the heat of his skin near searing through the fabric. “I guess we have a lot of catching up to do, huh?”

Bucky’s lips smother your small moan as he drags you into another kiss. You can feel his smile as he murmurs his agreement between desperate kisses and the enticing warmth of his tongue skimming along yours. The next time you part for air, Bucky drops his strong hands from your face to instead wrap them around the curve of your hips. He tugs you over his right thigh with ease and breathes a gentle sigh of your name, beginning to pepper kisses over you cheek and down the slope of your jaw.

Bucky reaches your ear and carefully nibbles the cartilage, his voice a warm scrape in your ear. “I want you.”

It’s such a simple phrase…and yet…it tears through you and pools like a heavy weight right to your center. “Then take me.”

Quick as a strike of a match, you’re tipped backwards, cradled right between the arm of the couch and the back of it. Heat rushes through each limb and gathers in your cheeks as Bucky’s vibranium fingers skate up your chest and curl around the column of your throat—that hardened soldier he’s tried to bury bleeding through the cracks of his resolve. You don’t care. You gasp into his mouth as he squeezes ever so slightly while he pushes a firm thigh between your legs. Shit—this is how you’re gonna die—grinding on Bucky’s muscled leg while he’s got a hand around your throat. 

What a way to go.    

With his other hand he grips the meat of your thigh and pulls you higher, grinding the rough material of his jeans covering his crotch into yours. You whine and arch into him. You need more. 

You both stay here for a good while up until it feels like you’re ready to burst at the seems if you don’t have him now. Bucky is no better—cheeks flushed as he fumbles with the zipper to relieve the noticeable bulge straining against it. Impatient and needy, you shoo away his hands and do it yourself, easily sliding your warm hand down his navel and over his boxers to palm at his cock. Bucky’s hand twitches around your neck, a sweet groan filling the air when you softly squeeze him through the elastic.

“Fuck, you’re gonna…” Bucky trails off and buries his nose into the crook of your neck. “Gonna make me cum in my pants if you don’t—don’t stop.”

While the thought is tempting, you want this to last just a little bit longer. Rush after the glorious high of just being near him, his kisses, everything about him. Bucky grunts at the loss of your hand and mouths a wet trail of sloppy kisses up your neck and returns to your lips. When you part he sweeps a stray strand of hair and tucks it behind your ear. He smiles softly.

“Can I try something?” He breaths. Before he can even tell you what his idea is, you’re happily nodding along. “Wanna taste you. Been thinking about it ever since Wakanda.”

Oof. His words shoot straight your center. “Bucky—why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

His mouth quirks. “You make me nervous.”

Rolling your eyes you plant a kiss on his forehead and grant him his simple desire. Bucky sits and slides to the floor, close enough that he’s still able to hover over you. You lift your hips as Bucky tugs your shorts and underwear down and off your legs. Besides the general anxieties of being half naked in front of an incredibly attractive man and performing something so sinful on a friend’s couch—there’s a strange stroke of pride that alights through each of your vertebrae. A powerful man willingly dropping to his knees to please you. 

Bucky shoots you a smile and slides his hands around your ribcage, bends forward slightly and captures you mouth in a deep kiss. He parts and nips down your jaw and over your throat, sliding his tongue over the marks he leaves with his teeth as if to soothe the slight sting. You whine and arch into him as he slides lower, leaving an obvious trail of bruises and teeth marks in his wake until he reaches the collar of your shirt. Bucky moves his palms under the fabric to grab at your breasts, the flats of his fingertips rolling over your nipples that peak through your bra. You suck in a shaky breath when Bucky catches the pebbled bud between his forefinger and thumb, the hard vibranium of his fingers scraping over it. A low hum rumbles through his chest as he leans forward to playfully nip at your collarbone.

“I wanna see you naked.” Bucky admits as he slips his hands out of your shirt. You shiver as those chilly metal fingers gently come to rest on the outside of your bare thighs. 

“Not here, Buck,” you sigh. “T-they—fuck—they can come back any minute.”

Bucky quirks a brow, eyes dropping between your legs, then back up with a smirk. His plush lips part, yet before he can disprove your silly point—that your bare ass is already out and taking off the shirt would barely make a difference—you interject. 

“Shut up.”

His shoulders bounce with a chuckle. “You have such a way with words, y’know that?”

You make a noise low in your throat and reach out to sharply tug his ear. He easily bats your hand aside, hooks his hands under your ass and hauls until you’re all but hanging over the edge of the cushions. You squirm, unable close your legs or to relieve some of that burning tension collecting in your core as Bucky lowers himself and wedges his shoulder between your thighs. He slides his hand over your calfs and wrestles them over his broad shoulders—earning a perfect view of your pussy. You’re already wet—worked up and running on borrowed time. You roll your head back onto the back of the couch and clench your jaw. You don’t want to rush him but Christ—you really don’t want Sam or Sarah to find you like this.   

It feels like ages before Bucky’s lips touch your belly and then your navel with his warm tongue. With a grunt he shoves your shirt up to your breasts and circles your bellybutton with the tip of his tongue—his enhanced strength easily pinning you down as you jerk and giggle.

Bucky picks up his head and grins. “Try and hold still, doll.”

No sharp retort comes to mind. Fuck—he’s already got you so expertly wrapped around his finger. 

Bucky hums, satisfied with your weak nod and continues on.  

Bucky’s bare fingers trace minuscule patterns into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, coaxing out a shiver that rushes through your body. They tickle towards the apex of your thighs and settle close enough to reach your aching center. He pauses for a moment and while you know he’s there, you curse when you feel his thumbs softly part the lips of your soaking cunt. They gently work up and down, smearing your wetness around but never enough to give you any friction as your body adjusts to the feel of flash and vibranium. You bite back a groan as your hips unconsciously twitch. 

Unsatisfied with simply touching you, Bucky shifts his weight to better reach your core. “Fuck—you’re so pretty.”   

There's a moment just before Bucky swoops down, face hovering close enough that you can feel his sticky, warm breath fan across you inner thighs. Anticipation grips your heart with an iron hold, and then— Bucky licks a broad stripe from the base of your cunt all the way up to your swollen clit. His mouth is molten, tongue like liquid velvet as you shudder and grab at his hair. Bucky grunts against you as you drag him closer by the short strands—greedy for any and all touch he gifts you. Bucky’s mouth slips around your clit, sucking and tracing circles over the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut as a quiet moan wrenches free from your vocal cords.  

He trails lower, sucks on your labia, and makes his way down to your soaking entrance. The wet heat of his tongue circles your cunt, skips over it completely to catch the wetness before it leaks over the couch. Bucky opens his mouth wide and groans in appreciation, devouring your pussy like he’s been denied this his entire life. Desperation lingers on his tongue and all you are is the honey sweet taste of salvation. 

“Shit—Bucky,” you cry, throwing your hips forward in search of more friction.

It's perfect. So fucking delicious. 

You tense as the vibranium tips of his fingers, two of them, press at your entrance, teasing the clenching ring of soft muscle before sinking in. The chilly digits slip in with ease—all the way up to the second knuckle and when he draws them back, they're slick with your wetness. With a self-satisfied grin, Bucky thrusts them back in, then out—setting a steady pace that makes everything ache with desire. It leaves you just hovering over the sharp edge of ecstasy, the catch of his knuckles and imperceptible metal plating dragging along your walls pure torture. Fuck—he’s going to be the death of you—

Bucky’s mouth dips down a second time and sucks on your clit and with a few more curls and thrusts of his fingers inside of your clenching walls, your body seizes up tight. You're flying off that edge, faster than a fucking freight train. You cum onto his tongue and fingers with a strangled cry of his name, sparks of blurry white lining the edges of your vision as your back arches. Bucky continues to lick you through your orgasm, even as you buck and squirm in his iron hold. Supernovas implode behind your eyelids as heat, hotter than wildfire and jet fuel spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're shaking, lucid enough to hear Bucky murmur his praise—feeling the vibration of his groan, as he licks up the flood of your wetness over his tongue. 

Your brain swims in hazy bliss as you float back to reality. He's still curling his fingers into your pussy and it damn near hurts. You're too sensitive. Nerves rubbed raw and still throbbing—but you're too fucked out and still riding the waves of your orgasm to push him away. Bucky is all too happy to remain between your legs—takes this opportunity to tilt his fingers into your cunt faster, suckle and lave his hot tongue over your clit that burns from overstimulation—somehow you're back at the very edge again.

It's sharper than a vibranium razor against bare flesh. Your thighs shake around him as he twists his fingers inside you and bumps agains that tiny, little patch of nerves. You cry out as an orgasm floods through you veins, rupturing each cell in your being with molten pleasure. Your core pulses around Bucky’s fingers, fucking you through it until those burning waves of release eventually cease to a fading throb. You whine and push at his forehead because he's still going. You panic a bit—fucking hell, he’s gonna make you cry—but he pulls away, his mouth and chin wet with your slick. 

“Feel good?” Bucky purrs, resting his cheek on your thigh. 

If judging by the way you thighs still quiver and your chest heaves—then yeah—it felt good. 

Cheeky bastard.  

“Get up here—“

You grapple with his shirt, fisting the thin fabric, but he’s heavy and your entire body feels like jello. Your grip strength is all but laughable at the moment as Bucky clambers back onto the couch and grabs both of your legs, slotting his narrow hips between them. One leg is stuck against the back of the couch while the other hangs off the edge, foot skimming the hardwood floor to accommodate Bucky. Not the most comfortable but fuck it—who cares.    

Bucky grunts when you lift your hands and hook your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, tugging them halfway down his legs with a sharp yank. Already a dark patch of wetness stains the fabric of his boxers, the impressive bulge straining against the elastic and begging to be released. Your eyes meet his icy blue ones as you slowly pull his boxers over his cock. It bounces up towards his navel, thick and beautiful just like the rest of him. 

Impatient, Bucky’s fingers curl around your wrist and presses your open palm against his cock. He’s thick and heavy in your hand—perfect. The bead of precum that pools at his flushed tip smears against the inside of your palm as you experimentally roll your wrist, fascinated with the feel of his foreskin rolling over the steel heard flesh with each stroke.You give his a cock a rougher squeeze, a bolt of liquid heat settling in the pit of your stomach as a stifled moan reaches your ears. 

A sharp hiss of hair passes through his clenched teeth as you lightly tug on his cock. From the base up you pull, fixed upon the throbbing flesh, flushed and pulsing and all for you. His cock bobs when you let go—he huffs out a disappointed noise. “I need you, Buck—please.” 

Your previous two orgasms did seemingly nothing to soothe the growing ache for him. It prickles up your spine and singes through every nerve and bone—you whine and arch your hips, trying to touch your slick cunt to his cock. Bucky growls your name and pins your hips to the couch with ease. 

With his left hand, Bucky firmly grips your jaw, his stare folding into something serious. “You sure?”

Your tongue runs over your bottom lip. You grin. “Do your worst.”

Bucky curses and readjusts your calf slung over his hip and grips the base of his cock. You shudder as he runs the blunt head through your folds, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the flesh of his forearm as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and arch. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s certainly not small in any way shape or form. You’ll feel him for days afterwards as your cunt swallows inch after inch. 

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw clenched tight as sweat beads at his hairline. Shit—he’s gorgeous—struggling not to loose control the moment he’s buried inside of you. You allow yourself to adjust for a moment but your own impatience rakes down your spine with claws of scorching arousal. You rock your hips in curiosity and squeeze around him. 

“Fuck—“ A ragged moans severs his words as your gentle rocking tilts into abrasive jolts. At this angle it’s difficult to fuck yourself onto his cock, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. His left hand shoots to your throat, the chilly metal a stark contrast to your flushed skin. You dip your head back, exposing more of your supple skin—all his for the taking. 

You dig the heel of your foot into the small of his back and grab at his shoulders—tempting him into fucking you already. You’ve waited long enough. Bucky snarls your name, hooks one hand under your ass and pulls his cock nearly all the way, out only to slam back in with devastating force. There’s no time to adjust or gather your obliterated thoughts before Bucky sets a pace, desperate and feral. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what seems like a millennia—and maybe it has been. Bucky shifts, widening his knees as much as he can to sink lower onto your body—his soft hair tickles your cheek as his choppy exhales burn hot over your skin. 

Bucky turns his head to steal a kiss, open mouthed and catastrophic. No words are exchanged as he fucks into you with brutal strength aided by that damn super-soldier serum—there’s no need for them, not now anyway. You complete each other without the spoken utterances—still both a work in progress. Though most things are you suppose—constantly remaking yourselves, but instead of smashing the haphazard pieces back together alone—you have one another. You bury your hand in his hair and cry his name.  

You choke out another groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter and damn—you really hope nothing gets on this stupid couch. You don’t want to explain that Sam. 

Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, blazing through each and every vein with the brilliance of a wildfire escaping the edges of the forest. This is gonna ruin you. Bucky’s hand reaches between your bodies and rubs tight, controlled circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a calamitous surge of warmth that sweeps your very soul off its feet. Your nails dig into Bucky's back as you shake and fumble for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor. 

You have no time to recover because he’s still going. Thrusting into your pussy with violent slaps that echo through the room and will more than likely leave bruises against your ass. Through the pressure of his hand over your windpipe—threatening to cut your air off completely—you garble out his name. Bucky drops his head to his chin, the weight of his gaze landing between your legs, watching the way his entire length disappears inside of you. When he raises his head he molds his mouth to yours. The soft, wet kisses rapidly morph into pricks of his teeth, his gravelly moans so pleasing to hear. 

You arch and tilt your head back as he presses you harder into the couch. The vibranium hand latched onto your jaw, works it open and slides a thumb past your plush lips. You lave your tongue over the digit—the metallic tang flooding your tastebuds. “Good girl—m’close. A little longer.”

Bucky’s panting breaths mingle with yours as his pace turns vicious. Chasing his high that he so desperately needs. Overstimulation bites at your nerves, but with a gentle tug to the soft strands of hair on the back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, Bucky bursts. His moan jumps up an octave, eyes slamming shut as he buries his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder as he cums. He’s shuddering in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides. You whine and tilt your hips up to prevent it from spilling onto the couch. 

Finally he slows to a stop, ragged breathing filling the air as the heat and weight of his body becomes a welcome comfort. Eventually that warmth grows stifling. He lazily pulls away, observing gaze drinking in each inch of bare skin exposed—the marks and the light sheen of sweat. You hiss as he curiously drags his thumb over the bite mark lingering just above your collarbone.

He parts his plush lips but before he can apologize, you interject. “Don’t—I like the reminder.”

Bucky shakes his head and drops down to tempt your lips into a lazy dance. “You’re a weirdo.”

You smile and cup his cheek. “I’m not the one with a staring problem. You know that you can’t kill people by glaring, right?”

Bucky kisses your cheek, your jaw, and then the dip of your throat. “You don’t ever shut up, do you?” 

You shudder as his softening cock twitches inside of you, another coal of desire flaring in the pit of your stomach. You flash him a coquettish grin. “Maybe if you give my mouth something to do, you’ll finally get some peace and quiet.” 

Something dark and dangerous flickers within those eyes. You shiver as one hand returns to your throat while the other draws teasing patterns over the outside of your thigh. He draws in close, nips at the shell of your ear and chuckles darkly. “You’re on.”

#weLL here we are in a marvel hole kwejrkwejhr #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x fem!reader #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #tfatws #the avengers x reader #my writing

[moved2usagiiboo]

Love spell

MINORS DNI (I know I can not stop you but if I find out, you will be blocked.) This is my first time writing a fan fiction on Tumblr, let's see how this goes !

Warnings: Degrading, face fucking, explicit description, oral male receiving, sexual acts using toys. (Let me know if I missed any)

As a young girl, you believed in finding your prince charming, he'd swoop in on his mighty steed and steal your heart. You'd be enamored by his wits and courage, and he your beauty and intelligence. "The one".

At the age of 17, a high school student obsessed with the idea of traditional love. You found him. Your one and only, but he was far from prince charming, he didn't ride a mighty steed nor own a castle, but he was yours and you love him. Your highschool sweetheart, you both have cried together, laughed together, experienced many emotions together. You, in many ways, were each other's firsts.

First break down, first date, first hand holding, first kiss, first lover, and after a year of dating, you were each others' first time.

You could still remember the night, you have both been planning this for months. On your one year anniversary, you would get a room for the night at a local love hotel, there would be soft music playing, dimmed lights, candles burning, and that's where and how he take your virginity and you his. Perfect.

It didn't go that way to say the least, being very inexperienced. The first time he tried to penetrate you, you pushed him off and hide under the blanket saying, "that's not going to fit", during foreplay you accidentally hit his head with your own, not to mention almost setting the room on fire with the lit candles. But after many laughs and giggles, you successfully lost your virginity to him and you couldn't be happier.

It was far from movie perfect but for both you and him it was everything and more.

Present day you are almost two years into your relationship and you both couldn't be happier. Draken treated you with the utmost respect and care, he always takes care of you, there's barely any arguments between the two of you. Everything is perfect. Kind of.

That's how you found yourself in the streets of Shibuya's red light district, near the brothel where your lover grew up in, so you think. You looked down at your phone.

"Shit!" You hit the side of your phone as it read "connection lost, rerouting", this had been the third time it has done this, you zoned out while trying to fix your phone so you can actually make it to your destination before it gets too late. You didn't hear the woman calling your name.

"Y/N!" You felt a hand gripping your shoulder, spinning you around to face them.

"Oh! Akai!" You exclaimed happily as you locked eyes with the person in front of you, a younger woman in a red silk dress, short blonde hair with long lashes.

"What are you doing out here? It's late. Shouldn't you be home by now?" She asked in a concerned tone looking you up and down. You wore an all black hoodie with baby yellow accents, along with black joggers.

"Oh, well, I'm was looking for you." You said bashfully with a slight giggle in your tone.

"Oh?" Akai questioned.

"Well, not you specifically but the hotel! You see, I got lost trying to find it and my stupid phone keeps rerouting me!" You complained, while pushing your phone in her face to show her your problem. She simply laughs, she locks arms with yours.

"Dont worry, big sister Akai will take you there, then you can explain why you're looking for us in the first place." Akai said with a wink.

A few minutes passed and you've arrived at the brothel, she brought you a drink and sat you down in her room with a couple of other girls, you all on the floor together, after short introductions and small talk Akai 'cut to the chase' as she likes to say. Chugging her bottle of beer, she looked at you with her slightly flushed face, along with the rest of the girls there.

"Spill the beans, whats going on? Trouble in paradise?" Akai smirked crawling her way towards you. You lifted your knees to your chest wondering if you should even be here, was this a stupid idea? You must've sat with your thoughts for a while, Akai looked at you with a bit of sadness in her eyes.

You could feel your face heating up with embarrassment, your heart was beating out of your chest. You figured this would be the best place to go to learn how to do it but what if they would make fun of you? What if they tell Draken? You really didn't think this through as well as you should have.

"Hey, whatever is going on.. You can tell us, we see you like our little sister ya' know?" She says with a smile, wrapping her arm around your shoulder to comfort you. Shes always been like this, ever since she walked in on you and Draken kissing, she's been the biggest help and supporter of your relationship. You couldn't ask for a better friend.

With a deep breath you decide tell them your issues, you were here anyways.

"Okay, so, I want to learn how to give oral." You said looking down at the ground fiddling your fingers, quite embarrassed about what you just said.

"Draken has, well, done it to me a couple of times and I wanted to return the favor. The thing is, everytime I try he rejects me. Telling me, 'i don't have to do things like that'. He's so considerate sometimes it pisses me off." You ranges to the girls as they listened with opening ears.

"I mean, what type of guy rejects a blow job? It's not like he has erectile dysfunction or his dick is small. I just don't get it." You were practically fuming at the memory of him pushing him off of you as you tried to suck him off.

"Maybe he's just shy?" One of the girl's offered her opinion.

"Oh no, this man is not shy! At all" You explained remembering some of the down right filthiest things he's muttered in your ears during your time together. "He's anything but that."

"Maybe he's scared you'll bite it." Akai said causing herself and others to snicker at her comment. You could only sigh.

"Would I be that bad my first time?" You muttered to yourself.

"Everybody is, it's a practice thing." Akai explained, she got up to grab herself another bottle of beer. "What you need, is practice." She smirked handing you the bottle.

"Yeah, but how? He won't let me." You said tilting your head at her statement, taking the bottle out her hand.

"Alright girlies, get out." Akai said while looking at the other women in the room with the two of you.

"Ehhh? Whyy? We wanna help too!" One of the girl exclaimed, getting multiple replies of other girls who agree.

"We don't wanna make Y/n feel any more embarrassed than she already does." Also sighed at the childish responses of her coworkers.

You were hiding your face in your phone at this point, it was honestly one of your worst ideas, but if it helped you with Draken it was worth it.

Small "awh man", "I wanted to hear more", and other complaints came out their mouths as they left the room one by one. You waves goodbye to the girls muttering a small thank you to them for listening.

"Alright!" Akai exclaimed while squatting down to reach under her bed, pulling out a box full of,

"Toys! The best practice you can get in such a small amount of time." She smirked pushing the box towards you. You could feel the blood rush to your face as you stared at the box filled with sex toys, you're far from innocent but there's still things you've never used or seen before, toys being one of them. Akai dug in the box full of excitement.

"I'll be your first!" She smirked, she pulled out multiple many toys just throwing them out the box without a care as to where they'll land. Finally, she pulled out an unopened box, "private fun" read the lable, it was all black with dark purple letters on it, it was a sleek box, very fancy to say the least.

"I haven't used this one yet, considering I never feel the need to. This'll be my first gift to you." She said tossing the box to you while looking for something else in her closet.

"Just what exactly is this?" You asked picking up the box to further examine it.

"A dildo! Duh." She said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world,

"Oh! And this!" She threw a small bottle towards you, "Love spell" a small pink bottle that could be mistaken for a 5-hour energy drink.

"Draken won't be back home for a while, which means, we have around" She looked at the clock hanging on her wall, "an hour and thirty minutes. Which is just enough time!"

"Wait wait wait!" You looked at her with complete confusion, "I have no idea what's going on! Why do I need all of this?" You looked at your hand and the items that are now in your possession, "Love spell", a dildo, and beer.

"Welllllll," Akai said drawing out the word, "You need practice, not like you can fuck a rando before Draken gets back, you also need liquid courage and a secret weapon!" She explained. "Now we don't have much time, chug both the beer and our secret weapon." She winked at you.

You're really starting to reject your decision, but there's no backing out now. You opened the bottle of whatever was in the pink container and chugged it down, quickly opening the beer to help with the bitter taste of the first liquid. It could show on your face the level of disgust you had for drinking this, you could never understand how Draken drank beer all the time, and whatever the hell this 'love spell' is taste disgusting. It was bitter and tangy, it even overpowered the beer.

Akai worked on opening the package to the dildo, while you were dealing with the taste of the liquids you just drank. She looked at you with menacing eyes and a devious smile that sent shivers down your spine.

She stood up and squatted in front of you holding that item in her hand as if it was nothing. Your eyes widened at the sight of it, it was big, yet flimsy. It was a pretty light blue color for such a naughty item.

"Take it." She handed you the dildo, "grip it with both hands." And so you did it. Following her every command.

"N-Now what?" You questioned feeling slight tipsy from the bottle of beer you just chugged, your face flushed from either holding a dildo or the beer, you couldn't tell, but it made this whole situation a lot worse for your lower region.

"Open." Akai tapped the bottom of your chin telling you to open your mouth, and so you did with the most innocent look in your eyes.

"Slowly bring it to your mouth, you want to tease him, lick the tip." You stuck your tongue out making small swirls onto the tip of the fake cock, "Alright, now slowly take it in, don't force anything." You opened your mouth wider to take in the inches of the cock, bringing it to the back of your throat causing you to choke and gag as it hit it. You quickly pulled the fake dick out and began to cough.

"I told you slowly. Let's try again." She squished your face with a hand pulling it up, the other held onto the dildo. "Open." She said again and you did. She guided the dildo into your mouth, slowly moving it in and out, barley reaching the back of your throat. "Breathe through your nose, don't panic." She said as she began to pick up the pace. Rapidly moving the dildo in and out. "Use your tongue at the bottom of it, stick it out." She commanded. Spit began to drip from the side of your mouth onto the floor, you felt as if you were losing yourself. Tears welled in your eyes as you swallowed down the dildo. It wasnt even real, it wasn't even Draken's but for some reason it made your head pound and your pussy twitch with excitement. If this feels as good as it does, you couldn't help but wonder how Draken's would feel, how it would feel against the back of your throat.

Akai picked up on the pace making the dildo hit the back of your throat causing you to convulse onto the dildo, you close an eye and winces as it attacked your throat.

"Try it yourself." She said letting go, letting you have full control. You started slow, pushing the dildo in and out your mouth as she did, trying to follow her lead. You tried to take more of it, you shoved the dildo deep into your throat, forcing all the inches into your mouth, you could feel it bulge through your throat as held it in place forcing you to choke on it. You felt your warm tears drip down your face, you weren't letting up. You wanted to feel it down your throat, the warm, the tightness, you wanted to feel Draken. You finally pulled it out, watching as the inches slipped out of your mouth.

"Guess what bottle really did wonders!" Akai giggled. "Deepthroating huh? You're basically a pro." You looked at her with a stained face, drool down the side of your mouth, and glassy eyes. You finally felt the embarrassment hit you, you covered your face dropping the dildo onto the ground making incoherent noises.

"I think you're ready." She smirked patting your head watching you in distress.

"I am?" You questioned, it was that easy?

"Yep! Actually, take this." She tossed you one last thing before telling you to go wait in his room. As you walked to his room you felt your head ring, the only thing you could hear was the needy throbbing of your inner walls. You couldn't wait for Draken to get back, just what did Akai give you? You had no time to be embarrassed about what you just did in the other room, you just wanted him. All of him.

You found yourself in his barley lit room, sitting on his bed. It was him, his scent, you could feel him around you even if he wasn't physically present. Your inner walls clenched at the thought of your boyfriend. You changed out of your clothes and into what Akai gave you, it was a sleek princess pink teddy with a deep V neck to perfectly show off your breasts. There were straps in the back that cupped your ass making it look juicier than before. There was a deep slit in the middle of the dress, a small move and not only would your stomach be revealed but your pussy would be as well. You made your way over to his bed to wait, you sat down and got engulfed in his smell. It was painful to just wait, the way your panties got wetter by the second, you decided to lay down but it only got worse. Minutes passed by but it felt like hours, you wanted to call him and tell him to hurry but you already showed up unannounced. You didn't want to pester him anymore, so you waited. You don't know when but you found your walls squeezing your fingers tightly as you moved them in and out. Moans and a wet sound filled the room as you toyed with yourself. Your face was in his pillow breathing him in as your other hand was toying with your breasts, pinching, squeezing, and pulling your nipples. It felt good but not good enough, it couldn't bring you to that high that Draken could. You found yourself calling him out, chanting his him like a mantra underneath your moans. You didn't even notice when he came in the room.

"Y/N?" Draken called out as he closed the door. The look on his face was priceless, his gaping mouth and widened eyes as he looked at the sight of you being so desperate for him calling out his name with fingers inside your cunt.

"D-Draken, m'sorry, couldnt wait. Need you." You whined. Pushing your fingers deeper making your back arch. At this point, he was stunned. The shy girl who never seeked anything sexual, the same girl who blushes when they held hands even after being together all the time. That girl was fingering herself on his bed begging for his cock. It was an instant turn on.

"S'all your fault!" You cried out with tears in your eyes, you got up and looked him in the eyes. "All cause you won't let me touch you..." You pouted.

"Ha? What are you talking about?" Draken questioned you. You weren't paying attention to him, you crawled from the bed stepping on the cold floor with your bare feet. You got on your hands and knees in front of Draken, looking at him with the utmost admiration, but behind those eyes was a look of neediness.

"W-What are you doing?" He watched as you played with his belt buckle, you locked eyes with him once more,

"Can't I?" You asked, kissing the bulge through his pants, "Want you, wanna feel you in my throat." You pulled his pants down revealing his boxers, you rubbed your hand feeling the hardness through the fabric, placing small kisses on it while you you waited for a go, a sign, anything.

"Shit Y/n, who knew you could be so slutty hm?" Draken smirked, "Go ahead." You beamed a smile at him as you pulled his boxers down revealing his harden cock. This is the first time you've seen it up close, it's pretty. It almost looks angry with how flushed it is on the top.

You began to kiss his freed cock, starting from the shaft up, remembering what Akai taught you. Tease him. Littering his cock with kisses, you reached the tip, you began to leave small kitten licks, swirling your tongue on around the tip, prodding the tip of your tongue into the small hole on his cock.

"Shit," Draken muttered under his breath, his voice sounds as if it's gotten deeper. You look up at him to see his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes completely focused on you. "Stop with the teasing." He demanded.

"Don't wanna." You continued to look at him, staring into his gorgeous orbs, "s'punishment for not letting me do this early" You smirked against his dick, bringing one of your hands up to slowly move your hand up and down his shaft. You watched as his breath started to break, his tough exterior was crumbling and it was all because of you, but it wasn't enough, you want to keep going. You have a show to put on.

You open your mouth sucking on just the tip of his cock, bobbing your head slowly with swirling his tip in your mouth.

"Y/N, fuck." He places his hand behind your head as his breath began to get more rapid and broken apart. "Come on, take some more." He was practically begging at this point. So slowly but surely, you widened your mouth, stuck your tongue out, and pushed your head further down to his cock. As much as you could take, the remainder you began to jerk with your hand. Bobbing your head on the inches you could take up and down with jerking him off. Listening to his soft grunts and groans. He was big, you knew this but it's different with it's in your throat, you can see it, your mouth felt full and you didn't even completely take it in. You kept going on this pace, proud of yourself for breaking Draken's tough exterior.

"Going to damn slow." He gripped the back of your head forcing his cock down your throat, you gag at this sudden action. He uses your mouth like a rag doll, forcing his cock in and out your mouth and a hellish pace without stopping, bobbing your head up and down. It hurts, taking all of him.

"Wanna be a dirty slut, gonna treat you like one." He said while gripping your hair harder as he pulled you off his cock, "spit on it." He said, and you did, you spat on the shaft of his cock and opened your mouth again for him to assault your throat.

"So eager to take this dick hm? Couldn't even wait for me to get home, had to play with yourself while I was gone? Who knew my pretty girl was such a dirty slut." He chuckled, under his breath as he continues to use you however he pleased. You placed your hands on either side of his thigh to try and control the pace but it was futile, he was much stronger than you, all you could do was hold yourself up and try not to vomit. Drool dripped down the side of your mouth as he thrusted his cock down your throat.

"Taking all this dick, good girl." He praised you as he held your head against his pelvis forcing his dick down your throat, he looked smug as he saw the outline of his cock through the flesh of your throat, you slapped his thigh to try and get him to let go of you, needing air. The feeling of you shaking on his cock trying to push away to get air was a sight to behold for him, he wanted to bury his cock in your throat forever, never taking it out. He watched as tears dripped down your face, your hair was mess, face stained with tears, drool dripping out the corners of your mouth. You gagging on his cock, digging your nails into his thigh.

Draken finally let go, you gasps for air you so desperately needed.

"Open up." He says pushing your head back, "Stick that slutty tongue of yours out. Gonna cum in your mouth."

You put your hands on your knees, sitting up higher to put the tip of his cock in your mouth as he jerked it. His eyes glared at you, you listened to his grunts like a melody. You never seen him like this, during sex he was very calm and collected, gentle. Never used harsh words, this was different though. For some reason, being used like his cocksleeve had you dripping.

"Gonna cum, Y/n, take it all, don't spill a single drop." His warm cum spurted onto your tongue, he wiped his tip clean on your tongue "that's it, good girl, now swallow it." You closed your mouth and with a single gulp you downed his cum without a second thought.

"Tastes weird..." Wiping the drool from your mouth with the back of your hand. Draken lifts you up by your arm and tosses you on the bed.

"Had to go and get me riled up..." He said while taking his shirt off, "gonna fill you up real nice." He pushed his lips against yours hungrily devouring your mouth, tasting a mixture of both liquor and his own cum, his mouth explored your own in a heated make out session, his hand traveled down past your panties and onto your bare cunt, a finger pushed pass your slit making it's way in. You moaned into the kiss, giving Draken more access to your mouth, swirling his tongue with your own.

You pulled away from the kiss to let out a soft moan as his finger toys with you, he puts another one in causing you to arch your back. His other hand rubs soft circles on your clit, he claims your mouth with another hungry kiss as if this will be the last time he felt your lips against his own.

"So needy, barely did anything to you." You moaned against his lips as he brought you to a high.

"D-Draken!" You moaned out.

"Fuck, trying to amputate my fingers? Loosen up. " He grumbles, his lips go down to your neck, sucking and biting against your fleshing leaving bruises everywhere his mouth touches. You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him in closer, as you begin to grind your hips against his fingers as they work their way in and out of you and the others against your clit.

"Gonna cum on my fingers?" He questions in your ear while biting your ear lobe.

"Gonna cum on em!" You reply, moving your hips faster, you begin to convulse as he brings you to your well deserved orgasm.

"You're gonna do that all on my cock." He muttered against your neck as he works his way down to your tits. He puts his fingers in your mouth muffling your moans as he begins to suck on your now perky nipples. He pushes his fingers in and out your mouth forcing you to taste your own juices, the same fingers that were just in you, that brought you to your orgasm.

After assaulting your mouth with his fingers he reaches over to the side his of bed to grab a condom.

"Put it on for me." Still high on your orgasm you slowly reach your hand up to take the condom out of his own, that's when he pushes your head own to his cock. He rips the packaging placing just the tip of his cock into the condom.

"Use that pretty mouth of yours." He smirks as he watches you take all of his dick into your mouth, pushing the condom down in the process. "Make sure to get it all the way on, wouldn't want any cum to spill out hm?" He says as he caresses your head.

"Such a good girl." He praises you as you bring your head up, "Gonna make you feel real good okay?" He kisses your forehead as he leans you down into the mattress. He slaps your pussy a couple of times with his cock, prodding the tip at the entrance, pushing his tip every so softly in and out, barley giving you anything to work with.

"Stop with the teasing Draken." You whined, locking your legs around his waist, trying to push his cock further into you. He clicks his tongue at your actions, pulling himself completely out before lifting one of your legs and putting it on his shoulder.

"I don't remember you being in control here." He guffed out. He rammed his cock into you without warning causing you to gasp, your eyes wide and mouth agape. "That's more like it." He smirks at your appearance.

He begins to thrust in and out of your tight pussy, watching you unravel on his cock. One hand holding your leg on his shoulder and the other turning your head to face him.

"This what you wanted right?" He honeyed out, this voice being quite sweet unlike his thrusts, the way his cock pulled out of you only to slam right back in. Sounds of skin against skin filled the room, along with your sweet mouths chanting his name like once before.

He pried your mouth open with his fingers bringing his face closer only to spit in your mouth, "Good little whore" he mutters against your ear. His thrusts never stopped, not once, he keeps going until he brings you to an orgasm.

He could feel your body going limp, but he wasn't done yet. He flipped lifted your body, he was now on his knees and you on his lap, your hands tangled in his hair while being wrapped around his neck, his mouth devouring your nipple, he slams his cock into you while being in this new position. His hands on either side of your waist slamming your body onto his own matching the rythm of his thrusts. He bites down on your nipple, you pull his hair as payback, you finally meet eyes. His hair all disheveled and out of his normal braid, his eyes slanted, full of hunger, he looked like a animal eyeing his prey, and you looked extremely delicious right now. He captures your lips in a heated kiss as his grip tightens on your waist, you grind against his cock as you moan into the kiss. You suck on his tongue and he does yours, you bite his lower lip slightly tugging on it.

"God Y/n, who knew you were so cock hungry. Wouldn't have been going so easy on you of I knew you could take it." He chuckles as he lays your body back down onto the mattress and begins pounding your body against his locking his lips with yours again.

"You're sucking me in like crazy." His voice is rough and out of breath. Your walls only tightening around him while hearing his voice, his hand goes back down to your clit rubbing it aggressively.

"Fuck, I'm close, fuck fuck fuck." He announces, muttering an array of curse words as he feels himself getting closer to his climax. "Cum with me, cum on my cock one last time." He picks up the pace with his thrust and the attack on your poor nub, you were nothing more than a moaning drooling mess at this point subject to Draken's aggressiveness, your body shakes and your back arches for the last time as you release your juices onto Draken's cock coming to your final high, he thrusts one last time before he releases in the condom.

He pulls out taking off the condom and throwing it in the nearby bin, he watches as you slowly drift to sleep but not before saying, "I love you."

"Mhm, I love you too, my little vixen." He kisses your forehead before he lays next to you and drifts to sleep.

Sorry if this wasn't the best, it was my first time writing for Draken. He's kind of a difficult character, I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless!

#smut #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #draken #draken x reader #draken x y/n

[captain-aralias]

i’m pretty sure i’m not going to write anything else in 2021, so here’s my end of year round up! (i do this every year - link to 2020 here, if you’re interested!). 

please take the questions and answer them yourself, if you’d like - and tag me in your post! i’d love to read.

my fics from 2021

Goodbye, Norma Jean - Explicit, 14k

Silk & Velvet - Explicit, 8k

No Holding Back - Explicit, 6k

Classroom Politics - Teen, 40k

Honey, I’m Home - Explicit, 10k

Here Be Monsters - Explicit, 8k

Teacher's Pet - Explicit, 3.5k

Four Funereal Weddings and an American Stag Do - Teen, 21k

The Worst Chosen Ones (The ‘Let It Snow’ Remix) - Explicit, 7k

High up in the leafy branches (The K-I-S-S-I-N-G remix) - Teen, 2.5k

Nothing to see here (The ‘I want to be your terrible girlfriend’ remix) - Explicit, 3.5k

Cannibalism Isn’t Sexy - Mature, 1.5k

12 fics, 125k in total. 

of those, almost all were Explicit (or Mature), although by word count it was just 50% Explicit! still. it’s clearly been one of those kinds of years! 

more questions and answers below the cut 👇

Best/worst title?

somehow i feel like four weddings is simultaneously the best title and the worst at the same time. maybe i’d have liked it more if i’d gone with just ‘four funereal weddings’ - but i think it needs the &! one problem is that i can’t spell funereal, but mainly i changed my idea about the POV in the stag do, so it bugs me that the title is still from baz’s POV... and i think the title is too long.... and maybe it has the wrong tone for the fic, sounding too much like crack. but also, it’s the right title! that’s why it’s not just the worst, but also the best. 

otherwise, maybe ‘honey, i’m home’ is the best - i wrote this fic basically because i thought of this title. although i admit that it would have worked better if i’d introduced this spell... in classroom politics, rather than in a completely different fic (keep calm) 2 years ago.

Best/worst summary?

there are lots of nice short ones, which i tend to like. i dont know whether they’re effective, but my fav of this genre is: Simon Snow looks stunning in a school uniform. (Teacher’s Pet) i like taking a canon quote, but twisting it. 

two that have my classic ‘blah blah blah BUT something else’ turn - Classroom Politics does this. and is like, strap in: there’s a bunch of plot headed straight for you. and i love ‘even if it means going back to school’, as it’s so classic 90s teen movie. i feel like maybe i should have mentioned baz, but it would have thrown off the rhythm of that familiar line. maybe i could have done... ‘even if it means seeing his old roommate again. even if it means going back to school’... but it’s less elegant.

in terms of worst: i dont like either of my remix madness summaries really, and the femslash summary is basically a copy of a line that’s in the other one. (i tried to change the fic or the summary, but couldn’t.) the fics are ok though! 

for ‘cannibalism isn’t sexy’ i literally used the prompt text and added my own final sentence. i thought about re-writing it a bit more, and it kind of bugs me that it doesn’t sound like me (at least to me) but i couldn’t think of a way that would better express it - and people are clicking into the fic, it’s one of my most popular fics of the year already! so clearly they liked it! i should consider getting this anon to write all my summaries. 

not sure whether the summary for ‘four weddings’ is bad, but i thought more people would read it than did! maybe people just don’t want to read a break-up fic framed like a romcom. their loss, i think - that fic is great.

Best/worst first line?

almost every fic this year does the thing i do by accident, which is introduce the main conflict/idea immediately. so, they’re all basically fine. i think the best one is: The room has been missing Simon. (Honey, I’m Home)

which is about the room, and about baz projecting his own feelings onto the room. then, because he’s funny (i think this is funny) and self-depreciating, he immediately tells you that he’s projecting in the next line. 

worst maybe...the other classroom politics sequel? I’m sorting through old lesson plans at my desk when I hear it – a knock on my classroom door, followed by a squeak as the door opens. (Teacher’s Pet)

it’s fine, though! just a bit baggy. 

Best/worst last line?

best is Classroom Politics, of course - “Come on,” he tells me. “Let’s go back to our room.”

it does what so few of my endings do (in my opinion) and gives you exactly what you were waiting for - i’ve led up to this moment since chapter 3, and here we are. boom. 

four weddings tries the same trick, but i have to mangle the conversation to get to ‘I do’.

worst... 

I probably shouldn’t do it. / But I do – I do – and Simon pulls me down with him into the bed. (No Holding Back)

this is one of many of my endings that just desperately wants to be a pan backwards in a movie, rather than a piece of prose. bah. i should really try studying endings. 

the ending of ‘Honey, I’m Home’ is also poor, IMO. i almost made it work - i like the evoking of the smell of the room, but the rhythm is all wrong. i wanted it to feel like drifting off to sleep.... maybe. but, er, i dont like it. 

also, i think i’ve already said this, but i really struggled with the end of this fic. i was very tired, and kept trying to end it much earlier because it felt like it was wrapping up, like i’d hit some important point, but.... i’d planned on this three act structure and really it did need it. anyway. i did what i could. this fic and i will always have an uneasy relationship (probably inevitable given how much i like classroom politics)

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted?

probably more!! in word count it’s not dissimilar to last year, but i thought things might tail off. i mean, i guess i also knew AWTWB was coming and maybe i thought that would make me write more ...

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year?

well - i basically only wrote the same pairing, over and over. but i didn’t necessarily know i’d be sliding some agatha/penelope backstory into the first fic that featured both of these characters after AWTWB. (four weddings)

other than that - maybe normal AU? which sounds incredibly un-shocking, but i did a whole bunch of new stuff this year. some of which i knew i wanted to do (fem!snowbaz and get-together-later) and some of which i was happy not doing (break-up/make-up - although i loved it - and normal!AU)

What’s your favourite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest.

classroom politics! and it ought to be, at 40k and with two sequels. i spent two months writing this almost non-stop in all my spare time, including several weeks of annual leave, and it was surprisingly easy to do. my brain really wanted to write this fic.

Okay, NOW your most popular story.

arguably this is still classroom politics (again, good!) but goodbye norma jean is giving it a run for its money. interestingly, this is also a fic i really enjoyed writing and wrote super quickly. i wonder if they feel more joyful than the others. i really like norma jean. the only sad thing is that baz is not into pain, RIP this headcanon.

Story most underappreciated by the universe?

always a difficult question to answer without looking like a jerk. every year i also say, if you’ve been in fandom for a while, i think you feel like there are fewer readers... nothing will ever be as popular as something i wrote in 2018, and it’s similar across other people’s fics too. 

this year, probably the answer is either the Normal AU (High Up in the Leafy Branches) or the corset fic (Silk & Velvet). i think both were hampered by being posted in extremely high content-production periods - i.e. a lot of people were posting on these days. i would advise new fic writers to avoid posting on valentines day and during COC unless you’re doing COC (or you don’t mind that engagement is lower). the corset thing barely has a plot - it’s not a get together - and perhaps troubles baz’s masculinity too much (although i tried not to!) for the casual reader. 

remix has a higher bar to entry than other fics. you have to have read the original. and maybe people aren’t coming to me for their teen-rated normal AUs... which is totally fair looking at my output. watford era, magickal induced porn probably including vampire bites has been my brand for a long time - and is amongst the best performing of my works. people want more of the same. worth remembering! (even as i plan various things i’ve never done before for next year...) 

still - i like both of these fics! worth checking out if you’ve never read them ;) 

Story that could have been better?

i already talked about ‘Honey, I’m Home’, but i do feel like this one suffered from production circumstances. also, because i really wanted to do something different with it: baz and simon were together, they’d resolved most of their issues BEFORE they slept together, both of them had experience with other people...... 

i can absolutely see what i was trying to do, but the end result feels less polished to me than ... something like norma jean where there’s a note at the top that basically says ‘this is what you’d get if you shook 4 of my previous fics together’

Sexiest story?

goodbye norma jean? annabellux gave me a list of kinks to include - strangely enough there was a quite considerable overlap with the kind of thing i also like.

Saddest story?

when i get to this question every year, i think -man, i REALLY do not do angst. the best i can do is ........ the first chapter of Four Weddings (you know, the one that’s supposed to be a romcom) is pretty sad! they break up, and simon can’t fix it......... until he does, later.

or maybe - Here Be Monsters, which is about how simon and baz hate themselves! but then they don’t.

Most fun?

everything is pretty good fun. classroom politics - i was coming up with these plot ideas and just thinking: ahahahaha, i am going to put this in, and it will be hilarious. goodbye norma jean is fun - if you like that sort of thing. 

the one i just wrote - cannibalism isn’t sexy - is also quite fun. it’s quick, it’s mostly baz being very baz. it has some good kissing in it.

Story with single sweetest moment?

hmmmm...

maybe this from........... this year’s winner, classroom politics \o/

“You should have tried to see me anyway,” I tell him. “I wanted you to.”

“… I’m sorry,” Baz says – and the way he says it makes me wish I could see his face. He sounds sorry, not just embarrassed. He sounds so gentle. Like sleep and alcohol and time have worn away all his edges. “I would have called you if I’d known it was important.”

i always find this question hard, because it implies i remember what i wrote in quite a lot of detail, and also remember which bits i think really worked and really worked in this way. but this is good. or anything from ‘eighth year spells’ :D or the ending.

Hardest story to write?

‘restoration ecology’ (that i haven’t posted or finished yet) is kicking my arse. one of the things i’m not doing right now is working on it 😂 but the first chapter is done, and will go up early january. hopefully will do something tomorrow, too. it’s lucky i am very into this idea.

otherwise, nothing was too difficult - the ending of ‘Honey, I’m Home’, obviously, see above - but i think time pressure more than anything. and the middle/ending of ‘Here Be Monsters’, but i think i wrote about 1k then stopped it to write classroom politics so of course i was a bit burned out and forgot what i was doing when i came back to the Monster fest.

Easiest/most fun story to write?

cannibalism isn’t sexy - i wrote it in a day, the day after i got the prompt. i just knew how it should go :D it helped that my remixes (particularly looking closely at snowybank’s library sex fic) taught me about starting in the middle, and i pushed a lot of the action into the past so we just had the confrontation. that made it work well. 

goodbye norma jean was also easy, as was classroom politics really.

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

er... i dont know. i think i needed to write four weddings after AWTWB to help me learn to write this new version of the characters we’d been introduced to. ironically, ‘here be monsters’ - the last fic i wrote before AWTWB - leant into wayward son in a way that few of my other fics had, so i had to really shake that off.

Most overdue story?

i wanted to write restoration ecology this time last year. i wrote classroom politics instead - but we’ll get there. everything else was on time or early :) 

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

i talked about the things i did differently this year - but i dont think any of them felt like a big risk. i was really worried that real life would stop me writing my remix, but it didn’t, i was just sad.

i guess it was a risk to offer to write a story for an unknown winner to celebrate AWTWB, but then liz gave me literally the best prompt ever (that became Four Weddings - which i dont say is the best fic ever, but when i got liz’s prompt i was like: this could not be more what i want to write right now!!). so any possible risk now seems massively paid off.

This year’s theme and the story that demonstrates it most:

hmm... well, porn, obviously. which i think demonstrates - that i still find this the easiest to write and most likeable.

but i also wrote three things that were about getting together after school - and two sequels to one of them. so, i think there’s a big theme of growing up and being nostalgic for an earlier time that wasn’t even good, as you learn to appreciate the present. 

What are your fic writing goals for next year this year?

finish restoration ecology. 

some sort of smut for dem. 

???

might be time to write my vampire simon fic, not sure. the moment might have passed, and i might push it back and push it back until once again it doesn’t happen. 

i was thinking i’d quite like to write a thing where they get together at watford and it’s not because magic made them do it... and it’s not 50k+ words long, either. there have to be other ways. 

maybe some more experiments, like - i like the idea of them becoming friends after watford not boyfriends. a. few people started writing this and it’s interesting and fun - i dont have an idea for it. 

i do have an idea for the agatha-baz bodyswap. i guess i might write that. nothing the people like more than dubcon het sex, am i right?? (i mean, maybe some people). i’m trying to not think about this story until marta posts hers, and until i’ve written restoration ecology - see above. but yeah, i feel like there’s some quite significant impetus behind this one in my brain... (magic made them do it at watford, eh? it’s my favourite.)

may not run remix again - will see how it goes. i’m not actually signed up to ANY fests right now. everything seemed a bit open-ended. might do anon fest if it’s back and if i read the prompts and fall in love again...

otherwise, we will see. bring on 2022!

#carry on #snowbaz #my content #restoration ecology