#one day off hes trialing fire whips

[s0fter-sin]

circus/carnival au. ghost does extreme motorcycle stunts - globe of death, riding on his back wheel along tightropes that sort of thing - and soap is a fire swallower/dancer. soap is a roaming performer, he just finds empty spaces or bored people and starts twirling. he pretends not to notice that he always wanders towards a certain area at the same time every night to watch a certain masked daredevil defy gravity

#he thinks hes slick and ghost doesnt notice him in the crowd #completely forgetting that hes always carrying something that happens to be on fire #ghost couldnt miss him if he tried #one day off hes trialing fire whips #he loves the loud crack and the way the flame licks through the air #and maybe hes too impatient to practice with non flaming whips first #they keep whipping back at him and hes covered in soot and fine welts where the tip of the whip has cut through his shirt #and of all the times hes wanted ghost to talk to him this is NOT one of them #so when he finally gets a few good cracks in a row and breaks to celebrate he almost jumps out of his skin when he sees the masked rider #leaning against a trailer watching him #just mesmerised by the fire #coming out of my cage and ive been doing just fine.txt #cod ghost #cod soap #soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghoap #call of duty #cod mw2 #we’re a team. ghost team

[little-miss-vader]

Unbreakable Bonds

Pairing: Master!AnakinxPadawan!Reader

Summary: A master is supposed to care deeply for his Padawan… Right?

Word count: 3.8K

A/N: IMPORTANT: Anakin is 26 in this one. You’re 21. Okay? Okay. First. Sorry for disappearing! I’m fine and thank you so much for all the kind words in my inbox they meant the world to me. I just got uninspired for writing and burnt out from work. Second. I genuinely thought this was way longer than it is. Uhhhhh it’s a two parter. Maybe a three. No promises. Can y’all tell this is my fav trope? But i missed u guys 🫶🏼 lazy ending warning i didn’t wanna keep going i wanted to split it in two.

The sounds of the 501st yelling around you was not what you expected to wake up to. The men of the battalion had set up a camp for everybody on the remote planet you’d landed on in the Outer Rim the night before because the walk had been far too long to do in one stretch. You couldn’t even remember what the planet was called. You just knew your Master was assigned to a mission here and that meant you were assigned to it as well.

You shot out of your sleeping bag when you heard blaster shots above head. One flew through your tent, barely even a foot away from you. Your hand reached for your lightsaber on the ground and it flew into your grip as you ran through the flimsy tent door.

The bright suns of the desert planet blinded you for a moment and you adjusted your eyes before whipping your head toward all the commotion.

“They’re flanking left!” You heard Fives yell. You ran over to where you saw Anakin using a rock as cover.

“Master, why didn’t you wake me?” You yelled over the sounds of blaster fire and explosions with wide eyes. He smiled at you, a smile that didn’t aid your panic.

“Well good morning, Princess. Sleep well?” He always had time for jokes, even in an ambush. You groaned and ducked further down when you felt a blaster shot coming directly at you. “If you didn’t already notice. We’ve been ambushed, but I have a plan.” He finished and you stared at him with a blank expression.

“What would that be, Master?” You said wearily, you were preparing yourself to hear what could be considered by most to be an insane string of words in response to your question. To you though, it would be a normal Anakin thing to say. The 501st was doing a fantastic job at keeping them at bay for the short duration of your conversation but instead of responding, Anakin simply smiled before running right at the blaster shots, blocking them as if the ambush meant nothing to him.

The five year difference in your ages didn’t seem to matter. You tended to act and feel like the older one most days. It was a shame when your previous Master died, you cried in your room for days when the news arrived and you still flinched when you heard his name, it gave the council pretty much no choice but to put you under Anakin’s charge until you finished your training and completed your trials.

Regardless of who was more mature, you followed him blindly. The knowledge that you could trust him not to get you killed at the very minimum was reason enough to stay right on his heel. He was running toward a tank that was firing explosives at your camp. You tried to take deep breaths to calm yourself when he climbed up on top of it, dodging whatever came his way in the process. You followed him, doing the best you could with what you had been taught.

You stood with him on top of the tank and he used his lightsaber to cut the locked door open. It dropped to the floor of the small space inside the tank, crushing a battle droid in the process. Anakin jumped down to the bottom and you opted for climbing down the ladder, following him closely. He took the second battle droids head off with one swing of his lightsaber and took the piloting chair when the droid fell to the ground. You stood watch behind him, in case anybody came in behind the two of you.

With an aggressive turn to the handles that controlled the top half of the machine, Anakin turned the tanks artillery around causing your body to jostle around. You caught your footing and within moments, most of the battle droids around you became victim to the explosives flying out of the tank.

You heard something above head and your eyes caught sight of a droid holding a blaster toward you. You expected the thing to climb down before it blasted but when it shot at you from its vantage point you stumbled back with a stagger. Using a relatively easy Force ability, you pushed it off the tank and it landed on the ground. The tank moved as if it had gone over a bump and you safely assumed that you had done your job at getting rid of the droid.

“What was that?” He called over his shoulder and you looked down at your arm where your previously dry robe now had a small, blood-soaked patch.

“Nothing. I took care of it.” You replied with no hesitation. You heard the commotion eventually come to an end and Anakin let the 501st finish off the few remaining droids before getting up out of his seat.

“Thanks for trusting me, Y/N.” He said as he walked by you in the dimly lit space. You placed your lightsaber on your hip and followed him as he climbed up and out of the tank. You winced every time you pulled yourself up the ladder with your injured arm but you still got to the top fairly quickly. Anakin hopped down to the ground and held his hand out to help you. His eyes trailed to your stained robe as you reached your own hand to meet his.

Anakin pulled you down with both haste and caution. His eyebrows furrowed as he examined your wound as best as he could and you stared at him with an expression that screamed silent apologies.

“I’m sorry. I misread the situation and it shot me-“ You started and he didn’t let you finish.

“Next time I check in on you. Tell me the truth.” He spoke sternly as he guided you back to what was left of the camp. You closed your eyes for a moment, beating yourself up for not speaking up.

“I didn’t want to distract you.” You spoke softly and he scoffed.

“You know what’s worse than distracting me? Letting me turn around to see you bled out on the ground.” He stopped walking and his hand still held a firm grip on your uninjured bicep. Your eyes watched your shoes, feeling Anakin’s gaze bore into you.

“Never lie to me again. Mistakes happen, don’t let them fester.” Anakin’s voice was softer now. He let go of your arm and he continued walking before you could apologize again.

Your head hung low as you approached the men who fought valiantly for your Master; not because you were embarrassed, but because you couldn’t keep your head up. You felt your body begin to lose stability and you looked at your arm again, the patch had become almost the entire lower half of your arm and you were beginning to feel the pain. The adrenaline wouldn’t bring you much further and you knew it.

You opened your mouth to speak but you began to see small black dots in your vision. Your head spun slowly and your eyes fell shut. You had very little control over where you dropped, but you felt the impact right before you blacked out and you knew it was going to leave a bruise or two.

You woke up to see the interior of Anakin’s star fighter. You blinked slowly, wincing in pain. You looked down at your arm, it was dressed professionally and your sleeve had been cut off, likely to access the wound without undressing you.

“Keep still. You’re still healing.” A voice rang through the room and you turned your head to find the source. You winced when the movement caused your wound to burn. You heard Anakin sigh and stand up. He stood over you, eyebrows knitted in concern with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What part of ‘tell me if you’re not okay’ do you not understand?” He said sternly. You watched his eyes analyze your dressings from afar and you let out a sigh of your own, your voice sounded cracked and dry.

“I’m sorry-“ You started. Anakin held a hand up, signalling for you to stop speaking. His head angled itself away from you and he took a deep breath with his eyes shut. The way he always did when he had to calm down.

“I care about you.” He said after a moment of silence as he let his hand drop to his side, his voice sounded softer again. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you died under my charge. Do you understand?” He gazed at you, looking for a sign that you did in fact, understand. You nodded.

“Good.” He pulled his chair over by the small cot you were laying on and sat down. “How’s it feeling?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

You looked at the wound with a shrug. “Could have been worse.” You seethed causing him to deepen the lines in his face, resting his hand on your arm.

“Just… Rest. That’s all you can do until we get to Coruscant.” He looked at you for a moment before getting up, presumably to fly the ship. You leaned back against the pillow and shut your eyes, letting sleep take over you. All you heard before sleep took over your body were the four words he let slip earlier. They echoed in your head as you lulled away.

“I care about you.”

You didn’t dream. At least you thought you didn’t. It was a shock to you when in your slumber, your mind filled with images of your own master smiling, laughing, and holding you. Soft words were whispered behind the backs of the council. His hand reaching for yours to squeeze it because he knew you were nervous. Kisses placed on foreheads and lingering touches were halted when you heard the 501st clanging around beyond your minds eye. In the cockpit on Anakin’s ship. Your eyes snapped open and you immediately closed them again, pretending to stay asleep and trying to grasp what the hell your brain was doing.

By the time the ship arrived on Coruscant, you’d rested and the bacta-bag wrapped around your arm seemed to have worked wonders on you. You opened your eyes to Anakin shaking you softly and the sound of his voice made a small part of you fill with an unexpected warmth.

“I’ll deal with the Council by myself, let me get you to your apartment first.” He said when you finally sat up. He rested a gentle hand on the back of your waist and you felt tingles over your entire back from the contact. The feeling shocked you, causing you to clear your throat to suppress a gasp. Anakin guided you off the bed and helped you off the bridge and onto the landing pad of your balcony.

“Are they angry?” You asked with a look toward him. He smiled, the kind of smile he held on his face when he had a joke in mind.

“They’re not allowed to feel angry remember?” He muttered humorously and you cracked a half smile. “Don’t worry about them.” He finished as he sat you down on your couch.

“Master, I really am sorry.” You spoke as he mindlessly placed the throw blanket from the back of the couch over your legs. Anakin shook his head.

“Really, Y/N. I’m just glad you’re alive.” He said, settling down on the couch beside your legs. His forearms rested over his knees and he clasped his hands between them. You looked at him for longer than you thought appropriate. He looked tired and it took everything in you not to reach out and place your hand on his cheek.

He cared about you. He said it himself. Surely it was the same kind of care every Master had for their Padawan.

But it didn’t feel that way when he looked at you now.

You grappled with your thoughts, convincing yourself you were imagining things, that it was delusion. You almost didn’t hear him speak when he did.

“I almost lost you today.” Anakin said sternly. “I don’t have the time between all my meetings for a funeral, believe me.” He chuckled humourlessly.

“But you didn’t.” You shrugged and played with the frayed edge of the blanket over your legs. He shot you a look that made you smile and he followed with a chuckle. His hair pushed further into his face as he shook his down turned head.

A silence crept its way between the two of you and you watched his every move. You couldn’t explain the feeling that arose every time he smiled at you. It was like a switch had flipped and you desperately tried to figure out a way to flip it back while you watched him place his hands on his knees to push himself to his feet with a sigh. You gnawed at the skin inside your cheek as you watched him.

When he finally looked at you again, your mouth opened to say something, but it shut just as fast. You couldn’t trust your own words right now. Not with the way you were feeling. His lips thinned as he glanced at your arm again and he cleared his throat.

“Rest. I’m leaving you with C3-PO. He’ll help you get back on your feet so we can get back to our job.” He said, not bothering to look at you. You tried to ignore the pang of disappointment you felt at that. You gave him a nod as he retreated to his ship, leaving you with nothing more than a small nod in return.

You worked your jaw as he ascended and sped off. With a swift movement you pushed the blanket off your legs and stood. You felt fine, sure maybe a little bit weak from the blood loss but him calling in a babysitter for you felt unnecessary. You channeled your confusing emotions into annoyance at his childlike treatment of you. Because that seemed healthy.

As you paced your living room you swung your arm around gently to test how mobile you were. It seemed alright, nothing to pause missions or call reinforcements in for. You planned to give him a mouthful when he came back, you practiced your speech out loud as you walked around your apartment.

~•~•~•~

Anakin left yet another long winded meeting with a sigh, closing the door behind him as he left the council chambers. The meetings were a lot more tedious when he didn’t have Y/N with him. She tended to soften the blows, her charm and kindness carried them through plenty of scoldings and lectures from the council. He ran a hand through his hair as he stalked the busy hallways of the Temple.

All he could think of was how dumb he’d been. How blind he was to her struggle. If he’d just taken one second longer to check on her, she wouldn’t have that nasty bruise on the side of her face from the fall. Maybe if he’d kept a better eye on her she wouldn’t have gotten hit with the blaster at all.

Not only did he have to deal with the guilt of letting her get hurt, it was only a matter of time before he finally faced the reality of his feelings toward her. He knew it was coming, he couldn’t hold it back much longer. It already pained him immensely to hide it before she got hurt. Now, the very real fact was, he could misstep once and lose her forever. That dwelled on him and he wouldn’t let anymore time go on without telling her he cared for her in a way a Master shouldn’t care for their Padawan.

He sighed again, turning a corner and making for his speeder that was parked in the corner of the hangar. He’d give her a choice, of course. He’d tell her it was fine if she wanted to ask the council to place her with somebody else. He’d even go as far as push for her trials to be done quicker if it meant she could leave his charge if this all made her uncomfortable. He had every aspect planned but he needed to do it. If not now it would eat him alive forever, possibly until it was too late. He shook the thought from his head as he sped back to her house.

He arrived, later than he wanted, but with flowers and her favourite fruit. It showed he paid attention, at least in his mind. As if any of that would matter if she rejected him.

None of this was right, nor okay. He knew this all too well. He knew exactly what he was doing here and he’d weighed out all the pros and all the cons. Pros, he might have her. Cons, the Code. The damned Code.

He ruffled his hair nervously before taking one final deep breath and exiting his speeder. He caught sight of her pacing around and his eyebrows furrowed. 3PO intersected his path.

“Master Anakin, I fear Miss Y/N has lost it.” He said nervously. Anakin quirked a brow, smirking at the girl pacing her apartment and mouthing things.

“I’ll be the judge of that, thanks 3PO. Stay here.” He muttered as he pushed past the droids and left them on the balcony.

With a swift hand motion, Anakin opened her balcony door and placed her gifts on the table next to him. It wasn’t long before Y/N turned to face him during her paces.

~•~•~•~

“You. What have I done to lead you to believe that I would need not one, but two damned babysitters when I’m realistically only mildly hurt- What’s that?” You stopped in your tracks as you pointed to the flowers on the table. Your eyes landed back on Anakin where he leaned his shoulder against the door frame with his arms crossed.

He gave you a smile and you couldn’t seem to remember where you were in your speech. In fact, you couldn’t remember the speech at all.

“A gift. For you. I guess it’s more of an apology now though, isn’t it? Since you’re upset at me.” He shrugged, looking down at the bouquet and back at you.

“I’m not upset.” You shrugged, crossing your own arms as you took a few steps toward him. Your eyes fixated on him, you didn’t even care about the gift.

“Is that so? I could have sworn..” He trailed and you shook your head.

“Not upset. Glad you’re here.” You muttered and he chuckled as you approached him to snatch up the flowers and fruit to place them their respective places in a home.

“Right.” He nodded, that crooked smile never leaving his face. You didn’t even have to look at him to know what he looked like right now. You muttered something in agreement as you filled a vase with water and began cutting the stems. After a few moments of letting you arrange the flowers, Anakin rounded the counter to stand beside you and cleared his throat. Your breath caught as you looked up at him.

“You feel it too don’t you?” He asked quietly, leaning against the edge of your counter as your hands worked away at the flowers. His words gave you pause, and you placed the flowers neatly in the vase before sliding it to the middle of the counter.

“Feel what?” You questioned, barely looking away from your finishing touches on the arranged bouquet before you grabbed a cutting board for the fruit. His hand rested over yours where you held the board, causing you to look at him again. You studied his features and somehow you knew. You knew exactly what he was talking about, what he was eluding to. Your heart raced as you watched his eyes scan your face, looking at every inch of you to gauge your emotions.

“Don’t make me say it, Y/N. Just tell me if you want it as badly as I do..” His voice was barely above a whisper. Your eyes fell shut for a moment and you took a breath, trying to steady your thoughts. To see reason.

“Say it.” You replied without thinking.

Anakin sighed. “I care about you far more than what would be considered normal… Or.. Correct. In the eyes of the Jedi.” He said, his mouth formed a thin line as he gauged your response.

You stared at him, long and hard. You couldn’t help but feel like this was supposed to happen, that it was always going to happen, that nothing could have stopped it.

“I care about you too, Anakin. But-“

“Show me.” He breathed.

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Show you what?” You asked, already knowing the answer. It was always like this. You were always one step ahead of each other. Which made this conversation feel all the more tedious.

“Show me how much you care. No buts. Use your feelings.” He said, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your breath shuddered again as you placed your hands on the counter next to him and pushed yourself up toward him. Your eyes watched his flutter shut and you followed suit before placing your lips against his.

You melted into him when his hands circled your waist, bringing you directly in front of himself and a small sigh left your lips between kisses. It felt perfect. It felt right. Fated, even. His warm hands sent shivers through you and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer.

When you finally broke the kiss, he almost chased you before retreating and placing his forehead against yours. His heavy breaths matched your own and your eyes finally opened to see blue hues looking back at you.

“Well. Shit.” You whispered and he chuckled. “What now?” You asked.

“I don’t know.” He said quietly. “I know I’m screwed if you change your mind though.” He finished with a cocky smile.

#star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin imagine #anakin skywalker imagine #sw anakin #anakin fanfiction #anakin needs a hug #anakin star wars #star wars x y/n #anakin x jedi reader #anakin x female reader #anakin x fem reader #anakin x y/n #anakin x you #anakin x reader #star wars x you #star wars x reader #star wars au #star wars prequels #star wars #anakin au

[freckled-koi]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒂𝒓

summary: you've known gojo since your training days at jujutsu tech. you were inseparable - as thick as thieves. so, what happened?

pairing: satoru gojo x reader (feat. nanami x reader).

cw: angst, emotional manipulation / mental spiral, mature themes. 18+ / minors dni.

wc: 3k+.

a/n: second chapter is now up! this is starting to become more of a slowburn of a fanfic, and honestly? i can dig with that as long as you can. <3 please enjoy!

( ◡ ◡ ♪ ) ｡

highly suggest reading chapter 001. first! you can also read it here on ao3!

“When did you pick that up?”

You’re caught by surprise by the low purr of a voice filled with curiousness, snapping your head in the direction of it. You were in the middle of lighting the cigarette dangling from your lips, the fire from the lighter going out when you released the mechanism. You were just alone standing by yourself outside of school, not expecting to run into anyone in particular.

“Don’t tell me hanging around Shoko is rubbing off on you..” The man sighs, amusingly hopeless at his own words. Your eyes scan over his much sharper features all the way up to his jet black tresses tied back into a bun to keep the longer strands away from his face and down his back.

You always found it a shame he never cared for his hair down that much. It framed his face better.

All you do is let out a light laugh, shrugging your shoulders as you pluck the cigarette from between your tiers to speak. 

“Shoko and I bum off each other’s smokes whenever we hang out,” You try to become a voice of reason, but you realize it’s not going to do much when you see a flicker of disbelief on the man’s features.

“Don’t tell me you rag on Shoko for smoking, Suguru.”

“Even if I did, she would still do it–”

“Which is why, I’m going to continue doing it~ It helps.”

Suguru Geto doesn’t protest it, knowing he wouldn’t win the war on what was healthily correct for you. All he does is manage a smile, taking a small glance around their surroundings.

It was a bad habit you would dabble in for quite some time, but coming to Jujutsu Tech, you started doing it much more. You even found a small bond with Shoko one night after a stressful trial assignment when you were just a newbie sorcerer. She caught you whipping out a pack you rifled through your bag to find and asked to have one.

You sort of found comfort in doing it more than ever.

Maybe it was a bad way to manage coping with stress, but old habits will die hard.

You sigh after taking a moment to debate, eventually tucking the unlit cigarette back into its packaging and store it away into your bag. Smoking could wait until you were back at home.

Golden hour was upon them when you stand with Geto, glancing back at him as he’s found meeting your gaze. The hues over his skin made him stand like a god, it was almost sickening how pretty someone was without even trying. Although, there were signs of distress under his eyes that you were suspicious about. He looked.. Worn. As if sleep wasn’t something he was getting much of late.

“Are you waiting on Satoru?” 

“Not quite.. I just so happened to begin my route home and just caught sight of you.”

There’s a quirk in your brow to his words, an amused expression crossing Geto’s features when he looks at you with a quiet laugh leaving him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

You shrug.

“Usually you’d be the one walking home with him.”

All Geto does is shrug off the statement, a smile still gracing his lips.

“He’s got his own thing going on.”

“Like you do?” You ask with jest in your tone. It was only meant to be as a way to poke at Geto, but there’s a flicker of an emotion in his eyes that didn’t match the way his lips were still tugged into that signature smile of his. As if, to mask whatever emotion he was holding back.

“Yeah. I got my own thing going on.”

“Oi!” 

The both of you break eye contact to see the taller white haired boy jogging over from afar, shades shimmering and gold reflecting off of them. It’s then that you see Suguru beginning to turn away, fixing the bag on his shoulders. 

“That’s my cue to leave–”

“You’re not sticking around?” Your brows twitch together, staring after the other just as he slows in his steps by your words.

Geto is hesitant to reply, only giving you a small raise of his hand.

“Catch you later, Y/N.” He says his departing words with a care you knew was genuine, but it did nothing but cause a small dip in your stomach to it.

All you do is watch as Geto grows further and further away with you, the white haired boy now caught up completely to where you stand.

“Hey, ready to go?”

The question is almost muffled to you, hardly tearing you away from your gaze settled on Geto. You couldn’t help the idle pondering of what was just going on with him. It was highly unlikely that he wouldn’t stick around to chat with Gojo, because he was always around Gojo. So, what changed?

“Y/N?” It’s when Gojo says your name that you break away from your thoughts, turning your head to look up at him and he has that feigned innocent expression on his features you’ve only seen a small handful of times.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said~, are you ready to go?”

“Oh, right– Yeah.”

You’d push it back to your mind to think on later. Gojo had been begging you to come back to his place to hang out, to watch the latest cheesy rom-com that he had been blabbering about for the longest time and wouldn’t stop until you caved to accompany him.

It’s then that you two start to walk together side by side, drawing your lips inward in thought before your gaze returns back up to the other. You tried pushing it to the back of your mind, but your curiosity gets the best of you.

“Is he doing okay?”

“Who?”

“Satoru, you can’t be serious.” You sigh hopelessly. 

All he can muster is a sheepish laugh, his arm swinging around the space between your arm and shoulder to draw you close to his side. The affection wasn’t too unfamiliar, having a knack for breaking that personal bubble of yours just to be handsy. You were sure his love language was physical touch.

“Suguru’s fine~ I speak to him in passing when you’re not around, you know,”

“Hm..” You exhale a soft hum with the concern still written on your features.

“He really is fine. I try to check in on him, but we’re always off doing our own assignments these days anyway.”

It wasn’t reassuring in the slightest, the way Gojo spoke, but you decide that it was best to drop the topic at hand before he got riled up. Maybe you’d try and catch Geto at the right time and place for a chat the next time you crossed his path.

Your head tilts a bit to get a better look at Gojo when you walk and he meets your gaze, trying to look past his dark shades with a playful grimace.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you always have to cling onto me like this?” You joke, but you don’t pry yourself away from his side at all. Even with what happened moments ago, Gojo’s body was like an anchor for you to ease your nerves – no matter how many times he stepped on them for fun.

It only brings a sly grin stretching over his lips as he leans down some to rest his head on top of yours, rubbing his face into your hair like a cat.

“Aww, but you like it, don’t you, Y/N~? A handsome guy like myself being all over you~”

“Ugh–” You snicker just before you’re pressing your palm to his side to give the both of you some distance, playfully gagging to the way he speaks. “You’re literally disgusting.”

“Oh, come on~” Gojo whines, reaching to draw you back to his side and place his arm back where it laid.

“You know, I wouldn’t have pegged you to be the American movie watcher type.”

You comment just as you’re taking a sip from the mug of black tea you found in the kitchen after you changed into the loungewear you had packed for your stay, idly twirling the tea bag string with your finger as you watched him set-up the television from the sofa. 

Gojo stands proud and tall, the DVD he was flopping around in his hold now on his finger as he grins in your direction, even going as far as showing off, using his Infinite to make it hover.

“I’ve been dabbling here and there into American movies, so I can’t help but have a growing obsession over them~ Don’t have to understand the language to enjoy something great,” He laughs and that just makes your lips quirk up into a smile.

You find his childish excitement rather endearing. The moment he catches your smile, he pauses and allows the disk to fall flat into his palm and he’s turning to place it into the player.

“Plus, subtitles exist.”

The comment makes you snort softly, taking a careful sip from your tea just as you set the top of the mug onto your thigh. 

Gojo and you would do this often. You’d kick back at his place on a Friday night watching a numerous amount of films since you both were big time cinephiles. He had a guest room always made up for you, so you didn’t have to worry about the time getting away from you and beating the clock past curfew to get home. 

Most of the time it was horror movies, other times it was action and adventure. The films you indulged in with Gojo were a variety, but the romance comedy ones were new for you. Not that you’ve never seen one, you just didn’t find any interest in them until Gojo was practically on his hands and knees to have you sit in on one with him. 

After he places the disk into the player, passing through trailers you both didn’t care much for, the movie is now playing on the screen and he moves to join you on the sofa.

Usually, he would be a cushion over, but he’s placed himself close to you this time.

Odd.

You don’t think twice about it.

His arm settles onto the back rest of the sofa right behind you, leg propped up onto his knee away from you. Your legs were crisscrossed into a more comfortable position, allowing your attention to be directed towards the screen. 

The plot was easy to understand from the get-go. Two women hardly enjoying their places in life, their resided homes across the world, so they switch homes for a little vacation. The brother of one meets the girl staying in the one woman’s little English cottage, while the other meets a complete stranger that knows how to produce music in the other’s mansion.

The two of you share a laugh at some parts, Gojo making idle comments out loud to you and to mostly himself throughout the middle of the film.

It was a traditional, corny romance movie – something you weren’t incredibly surprised by. The build up of the lingering romance between the two couples were clearly enamoring, so you’re definitely surprised with yourself when you’re so focused on the film.

You feel a subtle brush in your tresses near your shoulder that causes a small shudder that crawls up your neck. Thank God you knew how to use your peripherals so you didn’t have to turn your head to look, catching Gojo still facing towards the screen with his features lit up by the television screen that shapes his side profile. The expression he wears is soft, and it’s an expression you haven’t familiarized yourself with since getting to know Gojo.

You knew more than the average acquaintance, but not in the similar manner as he was with Geto or Shoko.

The brush of fingertips graze along your shoulder through your crewneck, dragging up over the neckline, playing right at the hem where fabric ended and your flesh began.

What is he doing? 

Maybe it was just a mindless thing he caught himself doing. It doesn’t help that the goosebumps are beginning to form underneath your sweater, gripping the now lukewarm mug you were clinging onto during the movie.

You can hardly pay attention to the movie now, a little distracted but you remain strong and a little still, wondering what he was going to do next. 

However, Gojo doesn’t really go any farther past the neckline, even taking pauses in his movements. It’s when you catch the pause that your head subconsciously turns a centimeter, and his eyes immediately flit to lock with your gaze.

He smiles and it’s one of the warmest smiles he’s worn, making your throat grow tight. 

“.. Are you enjoying it?” Gojo says gently.

“Oh— Yeah, it’s pretty good so far..” 

“See? I’m never wrong about these things~”

You quietly laugh, grinning now by the comment just as a few strands of hair fall past your face that were tucked loosely behind your ear. His hand resting near your shoulder lifts to bring over to neatly, delicately tuck them back into place. The subtle graze of his fingertips at your skin burns and you’re not sure if it’s because of how intimate the touch is or the contrast of his cool fingers on your gradually reddening skin. But he’s never gone as far as to do that.

Sure, he’d cling to you and rub his face on your shoulder, your head, but it was all just playful.

This wasn’t playful.

The only thing that fills the quiet between you two is the dialogue and musical score emanating from the television. Gojo’s attention wasn’t going back to the movie, and strangely, neither was yours. As if you both were wanting to say something, but nothing was coming to fruition.

Gojo is the first to break the silence.

“What are you so pretty for~?” He purrs. 

It sounds so sickly sweet and makes a wave of warmth wash over you. 

It’s hard to formulate words when he’s hardly doing a damn thing, and why it was affecting you now was beyond you.

All you manage is a roll of your eyes, head turning to face back towards the television.

“Oh, now you’re complimenting me?” You say in amusement.

“Hey,” Gojo’s hand reaches over to take your chin with his thumb and forefinger to guide your face back. You’re completely doe-eyed when you're brought back to fix your gaze onto his piercing blue set, his own lids low. “I wasn’t done looking.”

“Y- You see me every day, Satoru.”

“Mnn~.. Not like this though.” You didn’t realize it, but when he took hold of your chin, he closed the proximity between both of your bodies, just where his thigh just barely pressed to your own, hardly giving the both of you that space.

The position he put you in was making your heart race.

“Satoru..” You repeat his name again softly, and he sighs to that.

“Hm?”

“What are you doing?”

Gojo’s lips quirk up into a gentle smile, the pad of his thumb brushing along the curve of your chin before it lifts to just barely touch the bottom of your lip.

“I want to try something with you.”

You feel that surge of warmth run through you again because you knew where this was going just based on the hold and the way his thumb runs delicately over your lower tier; How he looks at you – how close he was to you. It makes your stomach twist, your shoulders tense up. Hell, the idle thought of doing those sorts of things with Gojo was just a fleeting, intrusive thought all on its own, and you never really thought you or him would actually act on them. There were moments where those fleeting touches and catching each other’s gaze would make you feel some type of way. Maybe even the times where he was clinging onto you and pulling you in close too, but it was nothing you dwelled on for too long.

Gojo and you were just friends. Friends don’t do those sorts of things. 

You’re hanging onto his words now, the movie now long forgotten and only becomes background noise at this point in time. You can’t even seem to give a response to his words and it only makes him quietly snicker to it.

Gojo shifts, closing that proximity between the two of you and only leaving just mere centimeters of your frame to his, guiding you by your chin and your body willingly follows suit. 

“If it doesn’t work, I won’t do it again.” 

It’s the last thing he says just before he’s leaning in, your eyes fall shut because staring at him with that doe-eyed look you were getting accustomed to was crazy. The hands around the mug are tight, you almost could break the glass if you squeezed it any tighter. It’s then that Gojo completes his goal of making sure there was no room left between the two of you, his lips finding purchase on your own in a slow kiss. 

It’s so warm and delicate, mindlessly melting into just how much he’s drawing you in by it. You never thought this was how it would feel to kiss Gojo. Maybe it was entertained in your mind for much longer than you would admit – you felt it would be the type to rush, sticking his tongue down someone’s throat in the heat of the moment, but he was taking his time. The palm of his hand slides with ease to cradle the side of your face now, thumb dragging over the apple of your flushed cheek just as his lips part to take it a step further, almost as if he was deepening the kiss and your own couplets follow.

What am I doing?

There’s a sliver of realization that comes back to you and your eyes flutter back open, retracting from the kiss with a soft sound. Your eyes meet with Gojo’s piercingly blue orbs, almost a little surprised by how short the lip lock was between you two.

“I– I have to use the bathroom–” You quickly declare, and you only can remember the small flicker of confusion crossing Gojo’s expression just as you scramble to set the mug on the coffee table.

You feel you grasp at your hand, stopping you from moving any further from your place near the sofa. You snap your head towards Gojo’s hand holding yours before they reach his eyes again. There’s a clear look of surprise on your features to him grabbing you. Didn’t he say if it didn’t work out, he wouldn’t do it again?

“Wait, Y/N–”

“Just– Just give me a second.” You say firmly and Gojo takes that as a sure sign to back off, allowing you to push off his hand as he slumps back into the sofa and you make your way to the bathroom just around the corner.

Locking the door behind you, you finally sigh out as if you were holding your breath the entire time. Your hands come up to push at your tresses, doing a small pace in the minimal space of the bathroom. 

“What the fuck.. What the fuck.” Your hands come up to shield your face as you stop in front of the sink, having to just replay what just happened. Was he doing that just to fuck with you? Maybe entertain something and go beyond just kissing, to get you to do more? Did he mean to do any of that? Hell, you must’ve had his attention with how much time you both had spent around each other and him doing this was more than clear. 

It was all way too overwhelming and confusing for you to process, hands now bracing the edge of the sink after reaching to turn the faucet on. Your eyes linger on your reflection in the mirror, staring over the flush on your cheeks and how widely blown your eyes were, brows knitted together in frustration. 

Gojo put you in such a vulnerable state, it was almost becoming uncomfortable the more you thought about it. You bring your lips inward, fixing your posture as you bring a hand to your lips to touch. The kiss was.. Lovely, but.. You were wishing you were more mentally prepared before he decided to just ‘try something’ with you.

After a while longer, you come out of the bathroom. It was quiet for the most part, figuring he must have paused the movie after you left. 

You return to the room and you see Gojo is still seated, one arm over the back of the sofa while the other is propped up on the arm of it, hand balled up and resting his chin there. He switched positions, being at the very end of the couch.

It’s when he feels your presence, he turns his head back to you, facial features relaxed as he stares over your frame.

The both of you are so quiet, you don’t even know what to say to him before you’re walking back over. This time, you seat yourself at the opposite end of the sofa, and he watches you as you move.

You break the silence first.

“Can we.. finish the movie?”

You request with a hesitance in your tone, bringing your legs back up to crisscross back into their original position and all Gojo does is nod once and he’s hitting play on the remote.

Both of you sit in an awkward silence, hardly even responding to the movie’s plot and reveling in the moment you both shared not even minutes ago.

Both of the girl’s get the guys they weren’t hoping to find in the film.

The hands resting on one another in your lap tightens to that.

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #satoru x you #satoru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru #gojo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jujustu kaisen fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #anime #anime fic #anime fanfiction

[liraleinil]

So. I finished reading the Captive Prince trilogy in three days (just the novels, not the short stories) and I am feeling a lot of things, but mostly I'm feeling vaguely frustrated. It's hard to articulate how I feel. I enjoyed the books while I was reading them, even though some parts made me cringe. But that's not the problem.

The problem is the Lymond Chronicles by Dorothy Dunnett. I feel like at least some people who liked the Captive Prince books would love Dunnett but I've found that recommending the books rarely sticks. 

If you're expecting an epic gay romance, you won't find it in Lymond. But a lot of the other elements in the Captive Prince series are there, along with great writing, a complex cast of characters, and plots and ploys abound. I don't read much historical fiction, but Dunnett was so good, it sucked me completely in, despite knowing very little of the history and setting. (Not so different from reading fantasy, really.) 

Anyway! Spoiler warnings for all the Captive Prince novels and the Lymond Chronicles, though it's less explicit for the latter.

Let's get the obvious thing out of the way. My favourite book series is the Lymond Chronicles by Dorothy Dunnett, six historical fiction novels set in the 1500s, spanning from Scotland to Europe to Turkey to France, featuring a blond-haired, blue-eyed, minor Scottish nobleman known as Francis Crawford of Lymond. I'm sure other people have pointed out the similarity between the two series and the characters Laurent and Lymond and there has been analysis by people much more eloquent than me. 

I started reading Captive Prince one afternoon and finished it before midnight. I went on to read Prince's Gambit simply because Laurent was acting so Lymond-like that I had to find out what he was up to. I immediately suspected he knew who Damen was from the start because that's the sort of annoying leaps of logic Lymond makes, with his cornflower blue eyes glittering with malice — that's how similar they are.

I'm not one of those people who can't enjoy a book because something like it has already been done before. I'm always looking for books that could bring me back to that same kind of excitement I found when I first read the Lymond Chronicles. One of the reasons I picked up Captive Prince was because of the comparisons made to Lymond.

It's just that I feel a bit cheated that, despite all the similarities, I don't think it would be easy to get people to read the Lymond Chronicles after getting into Captive Prince. It's too dense, too full of historical references, too many quotes in too many languages. Too clever. 

Who knows whether the parallels in the two series were intentional or not. At the start of the first book, The Game of Kings, Lymond gets drunk before he goes off to rob his mother, Sybilla, and set her castle on fire. Here's part of his conversation with her. You can see why everyone around him wants to stab him. He's more loquacious than Laurent, at any rate.

Yes, he even has an older brother. Lymond goes and antagonises Richard almost immediately after this. I think that was the point where I started wondering, This is the man we're supposed to get behind? Quite the antihero, Francis Crawford of Lymond. 

There are other things. They don't play the same part or advance the narrative the same way in both stories, but the fact that they are there just … I'm not even sure what to say. Imitation is the best form of flattery? There are disguises with hilarious consequences, trials where every single piece of evidence is disputed, exhilarating chases over the rooftops of Paris, whips and whipping posts, royal hunts that don't end well, ridiculous acrobatics on horses, babies of indeterminate parentage, your favourite characters ending up dead, Will Scott's mix of hero worship and wanting to strangle Lymond at the same time, and Jerott (I don't even know where we should toss Jerott). 

Sometimes it's just a line, and I end up raising an eyebrow at it because it sounds so Dunnett. I'm not disparaging Pacat here; as I said earlier, I'm frustrated, because I feel more people should enjoy the Lymond Chronicles and Dunnett's writing, but they're not going to, because Dunnett was too clever and made the books too dense and witty and difficult.

If you do start The Game of Kings, though, I ask you to try to get at least to page 100 or so before giving up. That was where I decided that yes, this was definitely worth the effort. 

I don't suppose I'm making much sense, but apparently I feel so strongly about this that I need to make a Tumblr post in an otherwise empty account. Go me.

PS: I liked Megan Whalen Turner's Queen's Thief series as well, though the first book is, uh, somewhat disappointing? I don't know if I had too high expectations or what. I loved the later books, though. For some reason, I still haven't read the last book in the series. I suppose I should remedy that.

#captive prince #c.s. pacat #the lymond chronicles #lymond #lymond chronicles #dorothy dunnett #books #books and reading #book recommendations

[zdux]

Dead by Daylight

Wesker X Reader

Part One

He/They Pronouns used for Reader

I did an interest check on this a little while ago and you guys seemed excited! I know some people asked me to tag them in this so I’ll have those listed at the bottom. I hope you guys enjoy, this has been really fun for me and I’m writing more, so if you like it lemme know! Fic starts under the cut!

“Damn, you’re beat to shit.” Dwight commented as he bandaged y/n’s arm.

“Yeah, you’re telling me.” He laughed, trying to conceal the wince that slipped out as Dwight tied the wrap off.

Cuts and bruises covered his skin, primarily on his legs, but the biggest issue was his sprained wrist. Trying to fix a generator like this felt like a death sentence. The odds of getting out of a trial were getting smaller and smaller, but there was nothing y/n could do. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t be put in a trial for a few days, giving him some time to recover.

“Well, that’s the best I can do for now. I’m basically out of medical supplies right now.” Dwight said, sitting back and wiping his hands together. He had covered most of the wounds, though some of the smaller ones were still exposed. It was better than nothing.

“Thanks, Dwight, I owe you one.” y/n said, standing up carefully.

“Where are you going?” Dwight asked.

“I just need a walk. Besides, we’ve been sitting by the fire for a while now and I’m getting too warm. I’ll be careful.” He said, smiling at Dwight before heading off towards the forest.

The forest was quiet; though the sounds of small animals could be heard. y/n’s footsteps crunched against the leaves and twigs on the ground, announcing his presence to any of the creatures nearby as he made his way farther in. He only walked for a few minutes, the campfire becoming a small light in the distance.

y/n sighed, leaning against a tree. His body ached, he could feel each tear and rip in his skin as he tried to relax. He winced, holding his right wrist to try and alleviate the pain, but it didn’t help very much. He tried to focus on his breathing, giving his mind something other than the injuries to think about.

“one…two…three…four…one…two…three…four…” He counted in his head, closing his eyes and slowing his breath down. “Okay… this is alright, just don’t fall asleep out here…”

“What are you doing out here?”

A voice came from behind y/n. His eyes snapped open, whipping his body around. He stumbled, losing his balance and falling backwards.

“Woa-!”

Before he hit the ground, something grabbed his forearm, pulling him back up and forward. When he gathered his senses again, he realized he was pressed against someone’s chest, one of their arms wrapped around him. He paused for a moment, trying to figure out who it was.

“I wasn’t intending to scare you.”

A man’s voice, he noticed, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on who it was. It couldn’t be Dwight, and it was too deep to be Leon. It might have been David, but y/n knew David was in a trial at the moment.

“It’s… okay. Thanks for catching me.” y/n replied, still trying to puzzle out who it could be. He was still pressing him to his chest. His shirt was black, which didn’t help in the slightest, considering y/n’s own shirt was a black jersey with red and white detailing. Could this be a new survivor? He really hoped not, the less people that got forced in here, the better.

“Did I hurt your arm?” The stranger asked.

“Oh, no, you didn’t. You grabbed just above it, so you didn’t-“

“I meant if I caused it.”

“What?”

y/n finally pushed the stranger away; only to be met with shock and fear when he saw who the stranger was. He stumbled back, being careful not to fall as he put space between them.

In front of him stood one of the killers; “The Mastermind.” Leon had mentioned him before, apparently his name was Wesker. He was dressed head to toe in black, with his long coat making him appear taller than he was. Even his sunglasses were pitch black, making it nearly impossible to see his eyes. Something about that made him more terrifying; he seemed almost inhuman.

“W-what are you doing here? We aren’t in a trial, you aren’t s-supposed to hurt us-s…” y/n’s voice was cracking. As much as he tried to sound calm, he was terrified. He had gone against Wesker in trials before, and he was no joke. His speed was insanity, and his methods were cruel. Most of their trials together ended in someone saving y/n at the last minute due to a mistake on Wesker’s part. Every time felt more lucky than the last, just barely escaping him.

“I’m not here to hurt you. If I was, I would’ve done so already,” Wesker said, putting his palms up and out to show his intentions. “Besides, if I was here to hurt you, why would I stop you from falling and ask about your injuries?” He sounded annoyed, but he didn’t move forward.

y/n scowled.

“You’re literally one of the ‘killers.’ Why wouldn’t I think you’re here to hurt me? Besides, I’ve seen you in the trials, I wouldn’t put it past you to trick someone by feigning affection.” He snapped back. Some of his fear had subsided, and it was replaced by aggression. He had never been given the opportunity to bitch out one of the killers like this, but it felt good. It was like a small touch of revenge.

Wesker sighed, pinching his brow with one hand and crossing the other.

“Fine, have it your way. But you didn’t answer my question; was I the one who injured your wrist?” He asked again impatiently.

“Hell if I know!” y/n scoffed, “Do you know how many of these we are made to do? Do you have ANY idea?? Because I lost count! You could be, I don’t know, I don’t even know how someone can be responsible for a sprain but you can take the blame if you want!”

“It’s not broken? Hmm.” Wesker said, his hand moving from his brow to his chin. y/n scoffed again, disgusted.

“What, were you trying to break it? You son of a bitch, is this a joke to you?” He said, infuriated.

“What? No, that’s- I wasn’t- I…” Wesker started, but cut himself off. He paused for a minute, sighing before he continued.

“I apologize, that wasn’t my intention. I assumed it was broken, but it being sprained explains why you weren’t as shocked when I grabbed it earlier. I thought your body was still in shock, but it being a sprain makes sense. May I take a look at it?”

y/n paused for a minute. He wasn’t expecting Wesker to need to regain composure, let alone an apology. Though still cautious, he had calmed down some.

“Sure, but don’t try anything funny.” y/n decided, stepping closer to Wesker and reaching his hand out. His threat was empty, but it made him feel better saying it.

“Thank you.” Wesker said, stepping forward and gently grabbing y/n’s wrist. He carefully began to undo the bandage until he had exposed the wrist. It was bruised, the skin turned a sickly shade of greenish yellow. y/n winced as Wesker carefully put a finger on top of the bruise.

“Whoever bandaged this clearly didn’t know what they were doing, if you had left this on it probably would’ve made it worse.” He said, removing his finger from the bruise and beginning to rewrap the injury.

“Well, it’s not exactly like my insurance covers getting brutally sacrificed to an eldritch deity.” y/n joked, trying to smile a little so that Wesker wouldn’t notice him being in pain. To his surprise, Wesker chuckled. y/n watched him carefully as he worked, noticing just how careful he was being. His wrist hurt, but it wasn’t being made worse as he bandaged it.

“Where did you learn to do this?” y/n asked, trying to keep the conversation from turning into an awkward silence.

“I was a police officer, once. They put you through basic medical training, and when I became a captain that just meant more medical training.” Wesker answered.

“You were a cop?” y/n asked, surprised. He hadn’t expected an answer, let alone something like this.

“A long time ago, yes. Obviously not anymore.” Wesker gestured at himself as he said this, and y/n laughed a little. It was almost a pleasant exchange.

“There, your wrist is done.” Wesker lifted y/n’s wrist up, putting it between them.

“Thank you, I-“ y/n started, but stopped. Wesker had moved his own hand down and was now holding y/n’s, as if he was royalty asking for his hand to be kissed. Wesker hadn’t looked up either, he was still focusing on his hand. y/n was tempted to pull away, but he waited to see what Wesker was doing.

“I… is something wrong?” y/n asked nervously.

“No, nothing’s wrong.” Wesker responded. He seemed calm, almost detached from the situation.

“May I have my hand back?” y/n asked, leaning down a little to try and get Wesker to look at him. Wesker didn’t respond, but made a small humming sound. He just kept staring at their hands for a moment.

“Wesker what are you doi-!” y/n began, but was cut off as Wesker interlocked their fingers and pulled their hands forward to his lips. He didn’t do anything else from there, but he simply held them there.

y/n watched in shock, unable to really think about what was happening. He felt his face begin to blush, as much as he was trying to stop it. Wesker wasn’t being affectionate, let alone romantic, there was no way. He didn’t know what he was doing, but it couldn’t be something like that. y/n didn’t know the extent of Wesker’s abilities, maybe this was some weird trick he was using. Didn’t Wesker control some kind of virus? He could be infecting the wound or something, he could be doing god knows what.

“Your hand is soft.” Wesker broke the silence. y/n could feel his lips move against his hand as he spoke, trying not to react to the best of his ability.

“I,, thank you…” y/n stuttered out, looking away.

“Am I making you nervous?”

“…uh,, somewhat… I don’t really know what you’re doing…” y/n said, keeping his eyes on the ground.

“I’m holding your hand, isn’t it obvious?” Wesker explained.

y/n’s brow twitched, confused.

“Well, yes but I don’t know why or to what end. It’s just weird, you suddenly show up, bandage my wound, and then hold my hand to your face, it just seems like you’re being-“

“Romantic? Affectionate? Kind?” Wesker offered up. y/n turned back to face him. He had moved their hands just off his face, and his sunglasses were slid down his nose. y/n was a little surprised when he finally saw his eyes; they were a deep red color with slits for pupils. He was staring up at y/n, an almost pleading look on his face.

y/n shook himself out of Wesker’s grip, stepping back and sitting down on the floor.

“I have… no idea! What you want from me… You aren’t making any sense. You’ve literally tried to kill me before, and yet here you are, staring at me and… flirting with me? I don’t even know!” y/n put his head in his hands and tried to calm down. He truly didn’t know what to do, this situation seemed so strange.

He heard the ruffling of clothes before he felt Wesker lean in towards him, presumably on the ground with him now.

“Do you take me as the type of person to make mistakes?” Wesker whispered, his voice revealing that his face was merely inches from y/n’s.

“I… I don’t think so?” y/n mumbled through his hands.

“Well, if you don’t take me as a person to make mistakes, and yet you’ve managed to escape me in all our trials, why do you think that is?”

y/n’s hand fell from his face, eyes locking with Wesker’s immediately. He had taken off his sunglasses and was crouching just above him. It finally began to come together; the escapes, the bandaging, the weird affection, all of it. Wesker hadn’t been hurting him on purpose this entire time. y/n’s mind raced with memories of their trials, realizing the amount of times where his survival was not luck, but allowed by Wesker. Purposefully missing when he swung with his knife, walking noticeably far away when he had the chance to put y/n on the hook and giving him time to be helped by a team mate. Not only had he been sparing him, he had been going out of his way to make his affection look like mistakes.

“Why? This doesn’t make any sense. Are you just being cruel again? Did you just pick me, and decide to toy with my life? Why would…” y/n tried to justify it all to himself, but he began crying. This was all so much. It was hard enough surviving in the realms, let alone worrying about being nothing but a toy to a killer. He had heard about it happening before, but never expected it to happen to him.

As sobbed wracked his body, his vision clouded with tears. He could barely see, but he felt Wesker lean in and wrap his arms around him. Despite the strange situation, y/n leaned in as well. He clutched Wesker’s coat, burying his face in his shoulder.

Wesker began to move, adjusting the two of them so that his back was up against the tree he had scared y/n from. He shifted y/n’s weight, moving him so that he was laying on top of him instead of underneath. y/n allowed him to, still clutching his coat as he sobbed. Once adjusted, Wesker gently placed his chin on top of y/n’s head.

———————

@mama-miya

@aesthetictokinghost

#please enjoy #pardon if its formatted weird i copy pasted it from google docs #i can try and fix it #part 1 #i have more if yall like this #albert wesker #wesker #albert wesker x reader #wesker x reader #dead by daylight #dead by daylight wesker #the mastermind #dead by daylight x reader #dbd x reader #zdux #zdux writes #resident evil wesker #resident evil 5 ?? #albert wesker do be sexy #dbd wesker #dbd the mastermind #x reader #masc coded

[bookishfeylin]

Stupidest thing abt how Rhys is angry cuz Tamlin used his last chance to be Feyre instead of helping her escape? As Wordsnotsaid a while ago I believe, that situation most likely would've never happened had Rhys never made Feyre into his whore. Rhys PUT her in that position one way or another. Was it irresponsible of Tamlin? Yes, but ur continuous SA and debasement of her is the main blame. Why couldn't he just help her do chores? Why SJM??

Yes. I personally don't think Feyre's debasement is to blame for that scene--one of the few things that I DO NOT blame Rhysand for--but I think it's fully overblown in the first place. Let's revisit it:

My heart beat faster than it ever had during my trials, and I made myself look as bored as possible before I pushed off the wall and casually strolled after him. I took a different route, but headed toward the small door half hidden by a tapestry near which he lingered. I had only moments before Rhysand would begin looking for me, but a moment alone with Tamlin would be enough. I could scarcely breathe as I moved nearer and nearer to the door, past Amarantha’s dais, past a group of giggling faeries … Tamlin disappeared through the door as quick as lightning, and I slowed my steps to a meandering pace. These days no one really paid attention to me until I became Rhys’s drugged plaything. All too quickly, the door was before me, and it swung open noiselessly to let me in. Darkness encompassed me. I saw only a flash of green and gold before the warmth of Tamlin’s body slammed into me and our lips met. I couldn’t kiss him deeply enough, couldn’t hold him tightly enough, couldn’t touch enough of him. Words weren’t necessary. I tore at his shirt, needing to feel the skin beneath one last time, and I had to stifle the moan that rose up in me as he grasped my breast. I didn’t want him to be gentle—because what I felt for him wasn’t at all like that. What I felt was wild and hard and burning, and so he was with me. He tore his lips from mine and bit my neck—bit it as he had on Fire Night. I had to grind my teeth to keep myself from moaning and giving us away. This might be the last time I touched him, the last time we could be together. I wouldn’t waste it. My fingers grappled with his belt buckle, and his mouth found mine again. Our tongues danced—not a waltz or a minuet, but a war dance, a death dance of bone drums and screaming fiddles. I wanted him—here. I hooked a leg around his middle, needing to be closer, and he ground his hips harder against me, crushing me into the icy wall. I pried the belt buckle loose, whipping the leather free, and Tamlin growled his desire in my ear—a low, probing sort of sound that made me see red and white and lightning. We both knew what tomorrow would bring. I tossed away his belt and started fumbling for his pants. Someone coughed. (ACOTAR Chapter 42)

That someone is Rhysand, who then shoos Tamlin away, talks to Feyre for about a page, and then sexually assaults her AGAIN to "hide her paint smudges" from Amarantha who comes outside (why couldn't he just fix them with magic? He did that earlier-- Oh wait. Because Sarah thinks SA is sexual tension. My bad).

My question is this: Is this really enough time for Tamlin to orchestrate a grand escape? Let's be generous and say he and Feyre made out for 10 minutes. And let's be generous again and say Rhysand and Feyre talking for a page also took 10 minutes. So is a total of 20 minutes AT MOST really enough time for Tamlin, who has no power, cannot brainwash the guards and turn into shadow to walk through walls unlike SOMEONE, completely escape UTM with Feyre???

Like, aside from the attempt at sex here being very mutual, and not just Tamlin ripping off Feyre's clothes, I don't truly think there was enough time for a grand escape in the first place. That's why this scene feels way too overblown in fandom to me.

#ask #anon #acotar #acotar quotes #acotar analysis #acotar retcons #not really

[tricksterfiction]

Prompt #21 Grave

"Listen up you small, ignorant larvae." A stern acolyte began, eyes piercing even under a hood. The dunesfolk held up a finger waggling it.

A young Sen Urabe, not yet seen her seventeenth name day stood in a line with four other young initiate thaumaturges. They were outside of Camp Drybone. A pile of shovels and plain pine boxes sat next to Sopu Nupu, standing beside him was the steely midlander in a leather jerkin, arms folded, sword in it's scabbard. Sen had been doubly ignored by her, all clumsy attempts at flirting were buffeted.

They were all dressed in their darkest robes, hoods up. Equipped with their handcrafted staves made of bone and jewels, among the most abundant materials in Thanalan. Their lessons were in full swing guided by the guild masters as per tradition, however a conjurer's arrival and acceptance into their ranks was not only strange but begged another layer of peer review.

What good would it be to waste their time teaching a snooty, high brow Gridanian their secrets only for her to turn tail at the first trials of death? It wouldn't matter how close her mentor was to one of the guild masters, favours only got one so far!

Unfortunately they couldn't very well single her out, they pulled in the other initiates.

One of the initiates bravely spoke up, a seeker tail sweeping behind him, he cut him off. "Acolyte Sopu Nupu, uh ser-"

"Silence!" Sopu's voice cracked like a whip. The initiate wilted like a frost bitten flower.

"Tonight we do not test your aetheric aptitude, we know you can all take. Taking is easy." Sopu paced in front of them, "We test your will! We are sires to death, psychopomps, honourable ferrymen..." He looked from one Initiate to the next having their full attention save for the raen who was busy making eyes at Sopu's escort, the lalafell stopped. His eye twitched, waiting for her to feel his eyes on her. When she finally looked down, she was startled to find Sopu's attention squarely on her. He jumped up to snatch at her collar, dragging her to the pile of shovels.

"Hey! Take it easy-"

He continued as if he hadn't missed a beat, "The short time we are blessed in this cycle we must first understand what it means to be partial to death ourselves. And so, tonight my dear larvae your first step into true transformation will be by spending tonight six fulms underground in a grave of your own making."

The others gasped. Sen rolled her eyes.

---

The raen dug her grave, tossing the dirt over her shoulder. The others were a little slower, hesitant, one was quietly crying into the dusty piles at their feet.

Sopu was a hardass but reliable, the guild masters leaned on the older more experienced acolytes to guide the initiates in between tasks. Help the budding thaumaturges understand the culture of the guild, their beliefs, history outside of lessons. They were fairly friendly despite the truly macabre and complex subject matter they delved into.

Frankly, at first she had trouble understanding why she was there in the first place. Who cares if she learned to start a fire or throw some ice? She saw death all the time in the Twelveswood, new growth sprouted from felled trees, fungi networked alongside strong old roots. Understanding the cycle of life was basic. But slowly, over the few weeks she had been there, she started to take an active interest in the history, the mechanics of pulling the star's aetheric energy into oneself, listening to the passages from the Yawning Abyss. She was fascinated, to understand in depth what the other side of the coin was truly like.

Sen worked an equal amount of time appeasing the Elementals with prayer and tending to botanical projects where she could. The cleansing rituals were endless and would be for the foreseeable summer.

Sopu watched Sen carefully for any cheating earth moving. She felt his irritation coming off in waves at her apparent lack of fear. There were other things far worse to fear than a quiet night underground.

What he didn't realize was this wasn't Sen's first initiation ritual.

"You should inspire the other initiates, Acolyte Nupu." Sen began her back turned to him, having dug a couple fulms and finally looking up to the dunesfolk. "I am sure they need the reassurance of your presence more than I."

"How are you so eager to sleep in the dirt tonight? Does your faith truly steel your heart so?" He sneered, "Will you still cling so dearly to your precious Elementals whence the first bell passes?"

She shrugged, "Sure."

He squinted suspiciously at her.

"I sincerely doubt your false bravado, Initiate Urabe. I see straight through your act, and you do not know the true power of your own fear and mind until the moment you are left entirely at it's mercy." Sopu pointed accusingly at her, "Tonight will prove what a waste of time it has been to teach you anything."

Sarcastically she held her hand over her heart, pouting out her lower lip, "Tell me how you really feel. May I speak plainly?"

"No." He huffed then waved his escort over, "Miss Kemp watch her closely, I am going to inspect the other's work thus far."

Sen brightened with a big smile at Rosie Kemp's statuesque gaze, she grunted at the raen, "Well, back to work."

Giving Kemp a lazy two finger salute at her brow, "Yes ma'am."

---

Tucked into her pine box, firmly buried underground. A small hollow metal cylinder, the coffin straw as she affectionately named it before told to shut up. It was inserted for an intake of fresh air especially after one of the initiates nearly passed out. It was far more kind than what the conjurers would have considered for accommodation.

She had snuck a length of string to fidget with while she was left alone with her thoughts. She started by going over her lessons from the day, veering to wistful imagining of one Rosie Kemp and her unrequited crush, but inevitably as the bells passed she stumbled into thinking of her real initiation.

She had been locked in a notoriously haunted mausoleum overnight. Unlike how Sopu and Rosie were standing watch over their graves for the night, the older conjurers left her completely alone, unaware of just how much the Elementals had been riled up prior. They were forced to contend with angry spirits preying on vulnerable budding minds - so she had been told.

Kids had a real capacity for cruelty.

The memories were hazy, her stomach churned with discomfort, she tugged at her collar, palms slick with clamminess. Her heartbeat spiked with flutters approaching panic.

She pivoted hard, doubling efforts into prayer instead. There was nothing to be afraid of. It was quiet, naught a whisper to be heard. She wasn't in the Twelveswood. Her faith would see her through.

It had to.

---

The night had passed far faster when Sen finally fell asleep, and the only one to be found peacefully asleep once she was unearthed.

Hair matted at the back of her head, blinking blearily at the dawn light. Rosie had helped Sen stand, looking her up and down approvingly.

"Impressed, Miss Kemp?" She nearly yawned.

"Yes, actually." She laughed mostly at herself, surprised to find that was the truth.

Sopu was quietly impressed too but he choose not to show it, kicking at the ashes of their campfire. The other initiates welcomed her with cheer, there was a budding camaraderie in their shared night of terror. Some shared their prayers to the Twelve, others held on reassured with the true darkness for the first time, it was ultimately evocative. They were inspired.

Sen grinned big, the box of memories still nailed shut like the coffin lid was.

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite #prompt 21 #Grave #ffxiv

[cassianus]

The Holy Martyr Platon, brother of the holy Martyr Antiochus the Physician (July 16), was born at the city of Ancyra in Galatia. While still a youth he left home and went through the cities, preaching the Word of God to pagans, amazing his audience with the persuasiveness and beauty of his speech, and his profound knowledge of Greek learning.

Because of his preaching he was arrested and brought for trial to the temple of Zeus before the governor Agrippinus. At first, the judge attempted to persuade the saint to turn away from Christ by flattery. He assured the youth that he might be on a par of intellect with the greatest of the philosophers Plato, if only he worshipped also the pagan gods. To this St Platon answered, that the wisdom of the philosopher, although great, was but ephemeral and limited, whereas the true, eternal and unbounded wisdom comprised the Gospel teachings. Then the judge promised to give him his beautiful niece for his wife if he would deny Christ. He also threatened him with torture and death if he refused. St Platon replied that he chose a temporal death for the sake of eternal life. The patience of the governor was exhausted, and he gave orders to mercilessly beat the martyr, and then send him off to prison.

When they led St Platon off to prison, he turned to the people gathered about the temple, and he called on them not to forsake the Christian Faith. Seven days later they again led the Martyr Platon for trial before Agrippinus in the temple of Zeus, where they had the implements of torture already prepared: boiling cauldrons, red-hot iron and sharp hooks. The judge offered the martyr a choice: either to offer sacrifice to the pagan gods, or to feel the effects of these implements of torture on his body. Again the saint steadfastly refused to worship idols, and after his tortures they threw him in prison for eighteen more days without bread or water. But seeing that this did not shake the martyr, they offered him his life and freedom if he would only say, “Great is the god Apollo.” The martyr refused to deny Chirst or to sacrifice to the idols. Therefore, Agrippinus ordered the holy Martyr Platon to be beheaded.

The Holy Martyr Roman was deacon at a church in Palestinian Caesarea. During one of the persecutions against Christians he moved to Antioch, where he encouraged Christians in the faith by his example and fervent preaching.

When the Antiochian governor Asklepiades was considering the destruction of the Christian temple, St Roman called on the believers to stand up for their sanctuary. He persuaded them that if they managed to protect the church, then there would be rejoicing on earth in the Church Militant, and if they should perish in defense of the church, there would still be rejoicing in the heavenly Church Triumphant. Seeing such a firm resolve among the people, the governor did not dare to carry out his plans.

Some time afterwards, there was a pagan celebration in the city and many people came to Antioch from the surrounding area. St Roman began denouncing the idol-worship and called on all to follow Christ. They arrested him and subjected him to torture. During his torments the martyr saw a boy, a Christian named Barulas in the crowd. He directed the governor’s attention to him saying, “This young man is wiser than you, though you are older than he, because he knows the True God. You, however, worship lifeless idols.”

The governor Asklepiades gave orders to bring the boy to him. To all the questions of the governor, Barulas firmly and without fear confessed his faith in Christ, the True God. Asklepiades in a rage gave orders to whip Barulas, and then behead him. Before his death the holy child asked his mother, who was present at the execution, to give him something to drink. The mother called out to him to endure bravely to the end. She herself carried her son to the place of execution, and later buried him.

St Roman was sentenced to burned alive, but a heavy rain extinguished the fire. The saint began glorifying Christ and insulting the pagan gods. The governor commanded that his tongue be cut out, but even deprived of his tongue, St Roman loudly continued to glorify the Lord. Then the torturers placed a noose around his neck and choked him to death.

[webheadedhero]

@pointmoskowitz​ made my spider-sense tingle: 🤼‍♂️ hawk vc: this isn't happening peter

send me “ 🤼‍♂️ “  for my muse’s reaction to yours physically tugging them away from a fight.

  everything had happened so fast that peter barely had time to think. he’d always had a temper, the only problem before was that he wasn’t keen on acting on it much. all it took was one comment from, kyler about the hit that hawk took during the trial. his first thrown back, ready to land a hit before he felt someone grab it. so caught up in his anger that he whipped his hand around, lifting whoever it was off their feet as if they were no heavier than a pillow. “ what are you--” he snarled, the fire in his eyes meeting the source and cooling a little. “ what?!” he asked when his hand was still being held back, “ you’re actually gonna help this walking kicking bag?”

he kept his feet planted, even though he knew that, hawk was right. which only made it sting more. then the voice from the back of his head came into play, he’d been able to shake off a dozen insults from, kyler a day. it was the fact that peter wasn’t there to help, hawk. how many more loved ones had to get hurt or worse before he learned not to abandon people? keeping his eyes focused on, hawk’s. letting them try and calm the anger in him. a few deep breaths later and he was able to get his bearings again. nodding as he gave in, letting him getting pulled away. the venom in his voice was as potent as the spider bite that changed him, “ he has no idea how lucky he is that you were here.”

#pointmoskowitz #v; spiders have fangs too (cobra kai) #oop

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for April 26 of 2024 with Proverbs 26 and Psalm 26, accompanied by Psalm 39 for the 39th day of Astronomical Spring and Psalm 117 for day 117 of the year (with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 1st revolution this year)

[Proverbs 26]

Like snow in the summer and rain in the time of harvest,

so honor is never fitting for a fool.

Like a bird that flits and flutters or a swallow in mid-flight,

so a curse that lacks cause will never come to light.

A whip is for the horse, a bridle is for the donkey,

and a rod is for the fool’s back.

Never answer a fool on his own foolish terms,

or you will become like him;

Rather, answer a fool on his own foolish terms,

or he will become wise in his own eyes.

Like someone who cuts off his feet or drinks to his ruin,

so is the one who uses a fool to pass on his message.

As lame legs are useless, dangling on the crippled,

so is a proverb in the mouth of a fool.

Like one who ties a stone in his slingshot,

so is one who honors a fool.

Like a thorn in the hand of a drunkard,

so is a proverb in the mouth of a fool.

Like an archer who shoots at random and injures everyone,

so is a person who hires a fool or someone off the street.

Like a dog who goes back to his own vomit,

so is a fool who always returns to his foolishness.

Have you seen a person who is wise in his own sight?

Know that there is more hope for a fool than for him.

A lazy person says, “There’s a lion in the road!

A lion in the streets!

Another good reason to stay in today.”

As a door swings on its hinges and goes nowhere,

so a slacker turns over in his bed.

Some people are so lazy that they reach for food on the plate

but lack the will to bring it up to their mouths.

The slacker sees himself as wiser by far

than seven men who can converse intelligently.

Like a man who seizes a wild dog by the ears,

so is anyone who walks by and meddles in someone else’s argument.

Like a madman who hurls flaming spears and shoots deadly arrows,

So is anyone who deceives a neighbor

and then says, “But I was only joking with you.”

When there is no wood, the fire goes out;

when there is no one to spread gossip, arguing stops.

Like charcoal to smoldering embers and dry wood to a fire,

so a hot-tempered man kindles strife.

Whispered gossip is like a delicious first course:

it is devoured with pleasure and then penetrates deep within you.

Like a shiny glaze coating a rough clay pot,

so are burning lips that conceal an evil heart.

One who hates may camouflage it beneath pleasant words,

but deep inside him, treachery still rages;

Don’t believe him when he speaks kindly

because his heart is completely ruled by evil.

And though he covers his hatred with cleverness,

his wicked ways will be publicly exposed.

The one who digs a trap for another will fall into it,

and the one who starts rolling a stone will have it roll back over him.

Liars take no pity on those they crush with their lies,

and flattery spoils everyone it touches.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 26 (The Voice)

[Psalm 26]

A song of David.

Declare my innocence, O Eternal One!

I have walked blamelessly down this path.

I placed my trust in the Eternal and have yet to stumble.

Put me on trial and examine me, O Eternal One!

Search me through and through—from my deepest longings to every thought that crosses my mind.

Your unfailing love is always before me;

I have journeyed down Your path of truth.

My life is not wasted among liars;

my days are not spent among cheaters.

I despise every crowd intent on evil;

I do not commune with the wicked.

I wash my hands in the fountain of innocence

so that I might join the gathering that surrounds Your altar, O Eternal One.

From my soul, I will join the songs of thanksgiving;

I will sing and proclaim Your wonder and mystery.

Your house, home to Your glory, O Eternal One, radiates its light.

I am fixed on this place and long to be nowhere else.

When Your wrath pursues those who oppose You,

those swift to sin and thirsty for blood,

spare my soul and grant me life.

These men hold deceit in their left hands,

and in their right hands, bribery and lies.

But God, I have walked blamelessly down this path,

and this is my plea for redemption.

This is my cry for Your mercy.

Here I stand secure and confident

before all the people; I will praise the Eternal.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 26 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

A great theme throughout the psalms is the experience of coming before God. This Davidic psalm affirms the integrity of the worshiper before the Lord even while pleading for God’s mercy.

[Psalm 39]

For the worship leader, Jeduthun. A song of David.

I promised, “I’ll be careful on life’s journey

not to sin with my words;

I’ll seal my lips

when wicked people are around.”

I kept my mouth shut;

I had nothing to say—not even anything good—

which came to grieve me more and more.

I felt my heart become hot inside me

as I thought on these things; a fire ignited and burned.

Then I said,

“Eternal One, let me understand my end

and how brief my earthly existence is;

help me realize my life is fleeting.

You have determined the length of my days,

and my life is nothing compared to You.

Even the longest life is only a breath.”

[pause]

In truth, each of us journeys through life like a shadow.

We busy ourselves accomplishing nothing, piling up assets we can never keep;

We can’t even know who will end up with those things.

In light of all this, Lord, what am I really waiting for?

You are my hope.

Keep me from all the wrong I would do;

don’t let the foolish laugh at me.

I am quiet; I keep my mouth closed

because this has come from You.

Take Your curse from me;

I can’t endure Your punishment.

You discipline us for our sins.

Like a moth, You consume everything we treasure;

it’s evident we are merely a breath.

[pause]

Hear me, O Eternal One;

listen to my pleading,

and don’t ignore my tears

Because I am estranged from You—

a wanderer like my fathers before me.

Look away from me so I might have a chance to recover my joy and smile again

before I lay this life down and am no more.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 39 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

As an individual lament, Psalm 39 grieves over the brevity of life. The superscription recalls David’s appointment of Jeduthun as one of the tabernacle’s leading musicians (1 Chronicles 16:41–42).

[Psalm 117]

Praise the Eternal, all nations.

Raise your voices, all people.

For His unfailing love is great, and it is intended for us,

and His faithfulness to His promises knows no end.

Praise the Eternal!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 117 (The Voice)

[s0fter-sin]

soapghost circus au

ghost’s an extreme motorcycle stunt performer - globe of death, riding on his back wheel along tightropes, that sort of thing

soap’s a fire breather/dancer. he’s a roaming performer; he just finds empty spaces or bored people and starts twirling

he pretends not to notice the way he always wanders towards a certain tent every night to watch a certain masked daredevil defy gravity. he thinks he's slick and that ghost won't notice him in the crowd, completely forgetting that he's carrying something that happens to be on fire

ghost couldn't miss him if he tried

one day off, soap's trialing fire whips; he loves the loud crack and the way the flame licks through the air and maybe he's a little too impatient to practice with non flaming whips first, even though he's never used one before

he's covered in soot and fine welts where the tip of the whip keeps flicking back up at him, cutting through his shirt and stinging his skin but he doesn't let that stop him. it starts to stick to him, damp with sweat and blood and he's quick to strip it off; throwing it to the side to keep practicing

when soap finally gets a few good cracks in a row and breaks to celebrate, he almost jumps out of his skin when he sees the masked rider leaning against a trailer watching him

of all the times he's wanted ghost to talk to him, this is not one of them

he wanted to impress him, dance for him with his flaming batons and be mesmerised by his fluidity and skill

not catch him filthy and struggling with something as basic as a whip

he's ready for ghost to ream him out for not having control over the whip - he's known throughout the circuit for expecting utter perfection in his routines - but when ghost finally does speak, it's only to ask if he's done for the day

soap falters for a moment. he wanted to get some consistency with the whip before he stopped, but he's starting to feel the hours of practice; muscles aching and skin blistered with minor burns

he says he is and ghost pushes off the trailer, nodding his head to make soap follow. he brings him back to his trailer and tells him to clean up then takes out his personal med kit to treat the grazes on soap's skin

soap's shocked; for all that he loves to watch ghost perform, they've never really talked before

part of why he joined the circus was so he wouldn't be a burden on anyone, the oldest in a family with too many mouths to feed and not even time to nurture, and here he is taking up ghost's valuable practice time be he wasn't good enough to handle his own discipline. he tries to brush him off, downplaying the burns and tries to leave before half them can be treated but ghost just glares and orders him to sit back down

ghost does expect perfection from himself but it isn’t out of any malice or ego; it's bc he knows if he isn't perfect, he could very easily die. he’s picked a dangerous profession and he gives it the respect it deserves. there isn't any shame in being a novice or failing at something; he thinks there's a lot of beauty in having the courage to get back up again and again

so every day he watches soap practice and bullies him into his trailer to put him back together bc he knows he won't do it by himself

and every night soap wanders over to ghost's section of the fair grounds, in awe of his skill and wishing he could be worthy of the care he gives him

#have i posted this before? yes but it has an actual idea behind it now #anyway back on my ‘soap pushes himself too hard to meet expectations only he is holding him to’ bullshit #price is obviously the ring master and id say gaz is probably trapeze #ghost used to work for robas circus who kept pushing him to do more and more dangerous stunts with less and less safety measures in place #and for a long time he thought thats how it was supposed to be #he was supposed to court death every night. supposed to limp back to his trailer and take care of his own injuries #and its only when price comes to one of his shows to scope out roba as competition and confronts him afterwards abt the conditions #that he realises something might be wrong #so seeing his past staring back at him in the form of soap hurts something deep within him and he has to make it right #he doesnt want soap to have to live with the same deep pains that he does #injuries that couldve been avoided if hed just gone easier on himself #coming out of my cage and ive been doing just fine.txt #we’re a team. ghost team #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghoap #john soap mactavish #soap cod #simon ghost riley #ghost cod

[hotwings0203]

Deadbeat husband Touya is in between jobs since he got fired he just stayed at home all day watching videos while you go out and work your ass off and he expects you to clean the house and cook for him when he has his friends over they get to watch how good of a whore you really are

Tw:implied gangbang, noncon, abuse of beer bottles

When you open the door, you don’t expect to find Natsuo, Hawks, and Tomura leering in the entrance. Touya completely ignores your pointed grimace and shoved you away from the door to greet his boys and whoop obnoxiously.

In barely 15 minutes time, you’re assigned to kitchen duty for the dishes and cooking, your usual place even when there aren’t unsavory guests here.

“And get me a beer while you’re at it.” You cringe as Touya slaps your ass while you walk away. You can hear Hawks and Tomura guffaw behind him and make crude comments about the sway of your behind, but you know better than to say anything. The last time you voiced your complaints about ou were strapped to the bed for 7 hours with vibrators wound tightly around your clit and nipples.

But your silence on the way to the kitchen is not appreciated, and you hear your husband’s sign of annoyance before the ruffle of the couch sends shivers down your spine.

You try to quicken your pace but to no avail, because in the next second your hair is yanked back at a painful angle and he’s hissing into your ear so close that his spittle and hot breath washes over the shell of your ear.

“Did you just ignore me? What the fuck did I say about not answering me when I talk to you?”

All his friends are turning around and watching with great interest. Even Natsuo has halfway turned even though he stays silent unlike the other two who murmur with appreciate at Touya’s grip.

“Sorry honey,” you grit out instead of whipping around and slapping him. You know you can, but Touya doesn’t take kindly to your rebellion. He doesn’t take kindly to any kind of your refusal, actually, and it’s taken months for you to get that through your thick head through trial and punishment.

“Yeah, that’s fuckin’ right. I’ll forgive you, just ‘cause you’ve got nothin’ else goin’ on in your little head apart from cock and getting off. Isn’t that right honey?” He shakes your head like a rag doll and ensures that his voice is loud enough to continue the show for his friends.

Eventually he gets bored of staring you down and ripping strands from your head, so he lets you go with a smug hmph and tosses you towards the kitchen.

“You see that? That’s how you deal with a dumb slut. ‘Swear she’s got nothing in there. I think I’ve seen her stare at the wall for hours until I told her to get her lazy ass up and go make herself useful.”

You want to tell him that the only reason you stayed perched so serenely on your shared bed is because you had to talk yourself out of lighting the house on fire with him in it.

It wasn’t even the fact that he didn’t have a job anymore, it was the fact that he didn’t even try to apply. He just complained loudly about having the same food for three days straight, none of which he cooked, mind you.

You seethe as your fingers grip the beer bottle and you jerkily move back to the living room, where the boys now invest their energy into playing COD and yelling at each other to cover one another.

They haven’t even been here a full half hour but you can already smell the musty socks and cigarette ash wafting from the carpet. Various clothes are strewn across your expensive coffee table and your own belongings are cast aside as if they were the real trash.

None of them notice you coming in but when you cautiously set down the bottles as silently as you can Touya’s head turns towards you.

He’s not playing this round, merely watching the rest of the boys slaughter each other, so his attention is solely on you. There’s a weird little grin that lights up on his handsomely devious face when your wary eyes meet his.

When he reaches his hand out towards you, you’re already shaking your head and backing away, dread coursing through your blood. Whatever he’s up to with that expression can’t mean anything good for you.

“Hey, hey, c’mere babe. Why you backin’ away from me?”

And at this, the game is paused and four sets of eyes are on you and your wildly shaking hands.

“Uh, nothing, just forgot something in the oven! I gotta go check on it-“

But you don’t back away in time-he lunges towards you and tackles you on the couch behind you.

Touya sniffs the air dramatically. “Hmm, that’s funny. Can’t smell anything cooking. You lying to me now? Man, I knew these guys were a bad influence.”

He cuffs his brother on the back of his head and grabs your other wrist, pinning it down next to your head and shuffling forward to straddle you. His crotch grinds against your mound and catches your clit, making you gasp and jerk underneath him.

All around you the air is filled with vicious laughter and lewd remarks about your position, about your teary eyes and bucking hips. The worst comes from your husband himself, who looks down at you with strangely twinkling eyes that hold an inappropriate amount of affection for you.

Or maybe it’s just lust.

His head gets lower and lower to yours as his friends cheer him on to violate his terrified wife, and his leer gets wider and white teeth and white hair blend into one big halo.

“Touya-“ you grit out and try to get his hold to relinquish, but he merely twists them at an always angle until you howl and cease your struggles.

“What are you doing? Let go!”

“Nah, I wanna play with you. You’ve been avoiding me and my friends and that’s rude. Whaddaya say guys, should I teach my baby some lessons on hospitality?” He’s mere inches away from your scrunched face as Tomura, Hawks and Natsuo agree with him excitedly.

“Fuck her up!”

“Man you gotta prove all that bullshit you’ve been spewin’, how she calls you Daddy and shit-“

“Is her pussy loose? If it’s not then that means you’ve got a small dick Dabi, not that I’d be surprised.”

“Only one way to find out chicken brain,” he seethes and starts pushing you down to the ground.

“Dont!” But it’s futile. His hands slither down to your pants and start shoving them down along with your panties.

“Natsu, be useful for once and hold her hands still. Don’t look at me like that, just fucking do it pussy.”

You wildly turn your head to his younger brother and plead with him silently to not give into his brother’s lecherous wishes.

But he does exactly the opposite, and your wrists are held steadfast next to your head while his own uncomfortable focus is begrudgingly moves to your now-bare cunt.

Hawks whistles and absentmindedly wipes Shigaraki’s chin from drool. “Goddamn, you really weren’t lying. That shit looks good enough to eat.”

He slaps your slightly wet pussy and you cry out in frustration.

Touya snickers and lifts you up so that you’re on all fours and squishes your cheeks together in a mocking coo.

“You’re doing so well honey, it’s almost like you were made for this. Tomura, hold her cheeks open.”

Tomura all but dives headfirst towards your ass and pries your asscheeks apart so wide your hole opens and closes.

The rest of the boys have a field day with that and roll around laughing up their lungs.

Tears of humiliation prick at the corner of your eyes and your throat burns. You know he’s just putting on a show to impress everyone, you know he’s going to come back at the end of the day and pout and whine until you accept his halfhearted apology and gaslighting, but you just can’t seem to forgive him when he blows the top of a beer bottle clean and starts circling it around your clit.

“Holy fuck, she’s liking this!” Hawks crows with glee and watches with rapt attention as Shigarakis nails embed in your flesh and tear your ass apart even further. Touya aligns the open mouth of the bottle to enclose around your clit and presses up so that the bud swells against the pressure.

You mewl and throw your head back while your legs shake at the sensation. The men quiet down in awe of your reaction, as if you were some sort of perverse toy for them to experiment with.

All you hear is the thudding of your heart for a beat or two before Touya swallows and says in a low voice, “Keigo, get the other bottle.”

You absolutely thrash and scream as loud as you can for them to fucking let go! But you should’ve known after a reaction like that, they’d just want more.

With your husbands guidance, the blond directs another beer bottle towards the gash in between your legs. Your ass hurts from how unnecessarily tight Tomura’s stretch is, but all your complaints go out the window, all your efforts to dismantle their hold on your body is met with slaps to your face, ass, cunt, and tits.

Natsuo starts to hesitantly lift your shirt up despite your yelling, and Touya laughs and claps him on the back.

“There we go! Finally, you’re having some fun right?”

In response, your tits are sprung free from the confines of your bra and mauled painfully.

While your nipples are prodded, poked and pinched, Keigo starts pushing the mouth of the bottle inside you.

You start to sob earnestly now, pathetically seeming out Touya’s touch to soothe you. You were scared, bluntly put, of these men, of these objects being forced inside you, of the cruelty they showed you, and by god if the scariest figure here was your husband, then you had no choice but to seek mercy from him.

“Touya,” you blubber and seek him out beside you, “Touya please, it hurts, I’m s-sorry, don’t put it inside me, please.”

For a moment his brows furrowed and you could swear a look of concern passes his face…but then the neck of the bottle is finally pushed through your gummy barriers at the same time the other bottle is ground out against your clit.

And you moan. Oh, you moan so loudly Touya wonders if you’ve ever made a sound like that when he’s fucked you.

He sees red. He’s proud of you for satisfying him and taking it like a big girl, but fuck, did you have to show off that much?

In response to all the whoops and groans coming from the now-hardened group of guys, he grasps your chin and gives you a dangerously soft look.

“Dunno why you’re complaining, you’re moaning like you’ve never taken anything up that slutty pussy before. In fact, if you like it so much, why don’t we all fill you up so that you get something out of this too?”

His tongue darts out and trails from your jaw to your lips and slobbers disgustingly all over the lower half of your face. It’s less of a loss and more of a primal instinct to claim you with such levels of testosterone infesting his house.

His house that you bought with your hard earned money.

“Keigo, push it further. Apparently she’s not satisfied with 4 inches.” He clicks his tongue and Keigo gladly obliges.

Your body convulses as you leak out fluids from the sensations bestowed upon your unwilling body. A cold liquid floods your cramped canal and with a horrifying jolt you realize the bottle isn’t empty. Beer tickles your walls and causes bile to rise up in your throat. It sloshes out every time Keigo withdraws his hand, and as soon as he does Tomura experimentally wriggles a finger inside your asshole.

“Yeah? You like that slut? I know you fuckin’ do, s’why you came walking in here like you were begging to get fucked. I’m sure you’re glad you’re finally putting that ass to use now, huh?”

Natsuo manhandles you onto your back and pulls his cock out. He presses your tits together and starts inserting his length in between your cleavage.

Your sight is blocked by his balls dangling above your face so you can only assume the one who seizes your wrists in turn is Touya. The bottle is being pulled in and out of you at a rather rapid pace and your asshole has some warm fluids being dropped on it.

All around you are penises erect and rubbing up against your body, and all around you are grotesque grunts and panting filling your ears.

It’s hard to differentiate which one your husband is, because he assaults you and belittles you equally as much as the rest of the men you with your body.

The only differentiating factor is a soft finger caressing your wrists, a testament that the man sworn to love and protect you is still above you, watching and protecting all that you cry out for.

#dabi #dabi smut #tw: noncon #tw:gangbang #mha smut #bnha smut #toxic dabi #scummy dabi #Touya #touya todoroki #toxic Touya #yandere dabi x reader #yandere dabi #dabi x reader #dabi imagine #mha dabi #bnha dabi #bnha touya #mha touya

[the-hot-zone]

Too Old To Play With Toys: The Sad Truth Behind Sokka's Boomerang

This is Sokka’s boomerang: 

[ID: a screenshot of Sokka’s boomerang from Avatar: The Last Airbender. It has just been thrown, and it whips through the air in a rapid, whirling motion. End ID.]

And as we all know, it always comes back. This characteristic makes Sokka’s boomerang a returning boomerang, rather than a hunting boomerang. This is an important distinction to make, and it’s where the heart of this headcanon lays. Let me explain. 

Accuracy: What’s the Difference Between Hunting and Throwing Boomerangs?

There are three types of boomerangs: the hunting boomerang, the returning boomerang, and the cross boomerang. We’re only going to be discussing hunting and throwing boomerangs, but feel free to learn about cross boomerangs and their construction--they’re really cool. As a general note: the following sources and information pertain to Aboriginal Australian cultures. Boomerangs were used elsewhere, but mainly as throwing sticks, not returning boomerangs.

So, hunting boomerangs, also known as throwing sticks or kylies, have this basic shape:

[ID: a black silhouette of a hunting boomerang. It is shaped like a skinny tear drop, with a slight curve along its form, and it widens asymmetrically at its ends. End ID.]

[ID: an overhead shot of three hunting boomerangs. They are carved from glossy, light-brown wood. End ID.]

Artist: Aboriginal Elder, Joe Skeen Snr. Buy here.

The hunting boomerang is straighter, larger, longer, and deadlier than the returning boomerang. “With it,” states the Britannica, “animals were maimed and killed, while in warfare it caused serious injuries and death.” This is due to its shape, which allows it to travel in a relatively straight line. With its capability for distance and force, the hunting boomerang is a very powerful tool. 

According to Boomerang: Behind an Australian Icon by Philip Jones, a hunting boomerang can travel around 100 meters. If the boomerang is heavy enough, and the throw forceful enough, large prey, like kangaroos, can be killed. If you want to see a hunting boomerang in action, watch sections of this Youtube video. The range and accuracy of this tool are amazing. 

The returning boomerang, which was used in eastern and western parts of Australia, is very different:

[ID: a black silhouette of a returning boomerang. It has two arms that widen towards the middle and connect, forming an angled shape, like a triangle with two sides. End ID.]

[ID: a painted returning boomerang. The base is formed from a smooth, light-colored wood. Designs are painted at the end of its wings, in the middle of its wings, and towards its center. At the center is a stylized turtle. End ID.]

Artist: unknown, but sold by Aboriginal-owned business Murra Wolka. Website here. 

As you can see, the returning boomerang is shorter, smaller, and angled sharply. The shape of it allows it to trace an elliptical path, thus returning to the thrower. But this property is not without its drawbacks:

“A hunting boomerang needs to fly well and nearly straight to strike prey some 200 metres away. The trouble is that the best-flying boomerangs tend to return, rarely departing beyond fifty metres from the thrower. With the returning form ‘there is no certainty of hitting the mark. It may come back too quickly and may hit your own friends standing near you.’ While recognising that the best-flying boomerangs do return, Aborigines defined a technological problem. They needed to strike a compromise between flying ability and hunting requirements...” (Australian Museum).

Now, the returning boomerang could still be used to hunt, but not to kill or maim prey. Its application was craftier:

“When hunting ducks, for example, nets were set up at either ends of a creek or river. A boomerang was then thrown out over the ducks which gave them a scare so that they took off up the river and flew directly into the nets. From there they were collected. At other times during the hunting of birds the returning boomerang was thrown horizontally along the ground into a flock, and, as they took off the boomerang would follow them into the air. This may or may not kill the bird and a harder way to hunt” (murruppi.com).

Still, this wasn’t the main application of the returning boomerang. In actuality, it was used as a toy:

“The returning boomerang was not primarily designed for hunting as it is too light and wouldn't guarantee a kill. Rather, it was designed as a toy for young aboriginal boys. The toy would allow a youngster to practice throwing skills but still make it fun” (murrippi.com). 

So, Sokka’s boomerang? A plaything.

Let’s Bring It Back to ATLA: What Does This Mean?

With the above information, Sokka’s use of his boomerang in canon becomes almost tragic. His boomerang was probably given to him by Hakoda when he was very young. He used it to learn how to throw; one day, when he was older, he would have carved his own throwing stick, and used it to hunt alongside his dad and the other adults of his tribe. 

Instead, Sokka’s boomerang is another aspect of his childhood that was twisted by the war. His boomerang is--should have been--nothing more than a toy. He shouldn’t have had to use it to fend off Zuko, attack Azula, and defeat Combustion Man. Regardless, it did become a tool he used to help defeat the Fire Nation, and that’s pretty fitting when it comes to ATLA’s ideas of childhood and war: Sokka spent years acting as his tribe’s protector; Katara spent longer acting as a mother. Thus, his use of his boomerang throughout the show displays how Sokka was forced into a war-torn world at an incredibly, unfairly young age. As a result, he was forced to adapt in ways that took from him. 

And we’ve all seen Sokka’s boomerang in action. Here’s a video of his greatest hits--literally. His accuracy is insane, and he catches his boomerang every time. He’s more than ready to have a hunting boomerang, yet we see him use his returning boomerang throughout the show, and long after he earns his ice dodging mark. Tbh? I think that Sokka didn’t want to carve a hunting boomerang without his dad guiding his hands. 

So, you might be wondering, what happens post-war? 

Eventually, I think Sokka retires his returning boomerang and carves his own hunting boomerang, but the shape of it is particular: 

“Some scientists argue that a throwing-stick, commonly used by indigenous hunters around the world, is the precursor of the boomerang... Through trial-and-error the boomerang was refined to a point where the most desirable size, proportions and curvature were established. This refinement brought one serious problem: any improvement in flying resulted in a tendency to return. There is little doubt that indigenous hunters brought this experiment to its ultimate conclusion, by producing the perfect returning boomerang” (Australian Museum).

In short, making a good hunting boomerang is hard. Lots of trial and error, and still, hunting boomerangs come in a wide array of shapes. Thus, I headcanon that Sokka carves his hunting boomerang differently, as compared to the other members of his tribe--it’s more curved. This would show that although he's grown up and is in a post-war world, he's changed in some ways that can't be completely undone. 

In other words, Sokka eventually moves on, but the way he throws and uses his boomerang is going to be a little different.

Conclusion

TL;DR: Sokka’s boomerang is a plaything, and this has sad implications. But also? He never should have had one in the first place. Firstly, boomerangs were traditionally made from green hardwood, which I don’t believe can be found in the South Pole. I on god can’t find any authentic sources for bone or metal boomerangs. To be more accurate and still keep with the trend of throwing weapons, I would’ve given Sokka a nuqaq and darts or a bola.

Also, as far as I can tell, Sokka’s boomerang is the only aspect of Aboriginal Australian culture Bryke used in ATLA (I can’t get a confirmation on Hakoda’s name). This is cherry-picking to the max, and it perpetuates the harmful ideas of pan-indigeneity wrt one large, singular culture. 

So, if you enjoyed this, please consider supporting aboriginal artists and charities. You can buy aboriginal art from murrippi.com and Murra Wolka. This article here provides a list of charities as well as active GoFundMe’s for families affected by police brutality against Aboriginal Australians. Thank you.

Sources

“Hunting Boomerang - Extreme Range - The Aboriginal Karli” by Throwsticks Channel

“Boomerang Information“ by Murruppi, Djirrbal/Ngadjonji Tribe 

“Boomerang” by the Encyclopaedia Britannica's editors for the Encyclopaedia Britannica

“It Comes Back ... What a Nuisance!“ by Stan Florek for Australian Museum 

Boomerang: Behind an Australian Icon by Philip Jones from Wikipedia 

Murra Wolka 

Gonna tag @atlaculture​​​ because I think this is of your interest. <3

#atla #avatar the last airbender #sokka #atla meta #atla headcanons #atla hc #YES this is angsty shhhhhhh #am I doing meta right?

[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

[helliontherapscallion]

Phantasmagoria (Adrenaline Junkie Part 16)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of injuries, death, depersonalization, grief

REMINDER: you are real. the topics discussed in this is fiction and not reality. you are loved and valid, hydrate and eat 3 meals a day <3

Word count: 2,645

You were in and out of it for the next few days. Whenever your eyes would crack open and you would even slightly move your arm, you would be in immense pain before you would pass out again. You could sometimes hear the voices of your family talking to you, but never Arthur. Good, he definitely shouldn’t see you like this. 

Whenever you heard Philza, he would be talking to you about all the journeys he’s been on in his hundreds of years of living. Oh yeah, you found out that he was an immortal being that can’t die. Your brain was too tired and clouded to contemplate it. 

Whenever you heard Technoblade, his monotone and deep voice always eased your worries. It gave you something to focus on; if anything, his voice was the one that cut through the fog the most. He would always recite Greek myths to you, often telling you that you reminded him of a few characters. 

Whenever you heard Wilbur, all you heard was him asking you questions such as ‘how was your day’ or ‘what do you think of someone-so’. He would talk to you as if you were conscious, often having one sided conversations with you. Sometimes he would bring his guitar and compose new songs, asking you if he should keep a lyric or if he should throw it away. 

Whenever you heard Tommy, it broke your weak heart. It was like your little brother was a completely different person; his usually loud and upbeat tone was reduced to a quiet and broken one. He was the one that wouldn’t talk much, instead he would sit with you and eventually after a day or two (you think) of silence he would play his jukebox. But whenever he did talk (which was rare) he would tell you how scared he was seeing you like that on the table. 

As time passed, you could feel yourself slipping deeper and deeper into your subconscious. It was like you were fading away, but you couldn’t fight against it. You wouldn’t fight against it; you could feel your pain fading and it was a great relief. You only wished you could hear your family’s voices before you completely left them, they were fading as well. Eventually, everything slipped into nothingness and you felt… euphoric. 

When you opened your eyes, everything was black. You were sure that you had your eyes open, so why was everything so dark? Was this the afterlife? You expected it to be more… heavenly. However, you weren’t complaining; your entire body felt light and you felt waves of peace waft over you. This was nice. You didn’t have much time to relax while you were living. 

After a while of staring into nothingness and just peacefully floating in one place, you became restless. Sure this was nice, but your hands itched to tinker with something. You’ve never done well with sitting in one place for too long, that’s always been your weakness. You tried to push your body off from anything so you could at least float around, but that proved useless when there was nothing to push off from. When you tried flapping your wings- well, wing- you only succeeded in spinning in circles. At least you thought you were spinning in circles, the inky abyss was unchanging and it was starting to mess with your perception. Your senses felt like they were deprived, but the worst thing about it was the overwhelming silence. 

So, you talked to yourself to fill the ringing silence. You were merely voicing your thoughts, repeating your lessons you’ve taught Arthur over the last few weeks. After a while, you were running out of things to talk to yourself about. So, you sighed and crossed your arms. They were very pale, you were actually dead this time, huh? You could only wait to see your brothers and Arthur when it was their time, hoping that they wouldn’t come to you too soon. It pained you to remember that you would probably never see Philza again, but who knows; the universe has a strange way of working. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, (y/n).” You screamed at the soft voice that cut through the overwhelming silence and whipped your head around. There stood a woman that looked to be in her early thirties with long black hair and tanned skin. You could not see the upper half of her face as it was covered by a crow mask, however her eyes glowed a bright white. She was smiling at you with melancholy and bittersweet happiness. The two giant white feathered wings sprouted from her back were glowing slightly. The powerful and intense aura that loomed around her was the complete antithesis of the gentle smile she was giving you. 

“Calm down,” she flew over to you and wove her hand in the air. You immediately felt a wave of calm ease over you. “That’s better. You’ve been through so much, my little fledgling.” Her little fledgling? That was something you’ve recently started to call Arthur. 

“Who are you?”

“Oh where are my manners? I’m Kristin, the Goddess of Death. I wish I didn’t have to do this, but I’m here for your life.” You hummed, “that makes sense.” She tilted her head slightly and somehow the eyeholes of the mask morphed into an eyebrow raise. Was that her actual face? “You’re not scared of death?” 

“No, I’ve already died twice- no, three times already. But this is- it’s different. Is that because I’ve lost my last life?”

“You’ll find out in due time. Ender, you’re everything Phil described you as and then some.”

You perked up slightly, “you know my Dad?” Her airy chuckle brought you even more at ease, “of course I do, he’s my husband.”

You gaped at her, “so does that- does that make you my mom?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it, I wouldn’t want to push you into something you didn’t want.”

“I’ve always wanted a mom. D-don’t get me wrong, Dad’s done more than enough for me he’s an amazing parent-”

“I understand and I’d love to be the mother of someone so smart. You’re destined to do great things one day, my little fledgling.” You tilted your head slightly, “greater than being an inventor?”

She nodded, her black locks swaying with the movement, “greater than being an inventor. Our time together is coming to a close.” She flew over gracefully and pulled you into a hug. You reciprocated it. Her hug felt warm and welcoming. It was hard to believe that she was the Goddess of Death, you always thought Kristin would be ruthless and cruel. 

“You will face many trials and tribulations and you must persevere through them. This is indeed your reality, but you share it. Do not be afraid to ask for help. The world can be a lonely place, but remember that you are never truly alone.” 

She pulled away from you and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, the beak of her mask poking you. Suddenly, the weightlessness feeling disappeared and you felt a tugging sensation from deep within your chest. Your body was sent flying through the abyss, the gripping sensation you felt in your inner chest felt very intimate somehow. After a bit of screaming, you were still flying through the void. You had no idea how long you were flying for, but eventually you just crossed your arms and went limp in the mysterious embrace. Aaaanny time now. 

Eventually you saw a pinprick of light far off into the distance and it was rapidly approaching you. You sighed out a drawn out “finally.” And watched as it came at you at mach speed. After you crashed into it, everything went white. 

You jolted up with wide eyes and looked around panting. You saw the walls of your childhood room? So you didn’t die? Then what the hell were you doing in the void? You were so sure that you died permanently. That you lost your last life. When you glanced out the window, everything was dark. When you sat up, you felt the familiar tugging sensation of the scar tissue around the base of your wing, except it was less intense and you had less mobility in your right shoulder. You glanced at the hearts on your wrist expecting to see three empty outlines. Instead, two ruby red hearts stared at you.

Impossible. Impossible. You were in your last life so even if you didn’t die, you should still only be in your last life. Your second life was taken from you in an explosion. It should not show up on your wrist. Furrowing your eyebrows, you ignored the sound of the door opening and footsteps rushing towards you. You ignored hands appearing in your vision and hovering unsure above your hand. 

You only looked up when the hand grabbed your wrist and blocked the two perplexing ruby red hearts. You saw Philza with a look of immense relief on his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“I don’t know.” You looked back at your covered wrist and took it out of Philza’s grasp, staring at the two red hearts again in confusion. “I-I should only have one life. Where’s Arthur? Ender, he’s probably so scared. Did you leave my prosthetic in the cave?” Your rapid fire questioning was stopped by a hand on your shoulder. 

“Slow down, you only just respawned.” You threw your hands up in frustration (well, you tried with your right arm, it only moved to about two thirds of your full range of movement before you felt a slight pain and a stretching sensation), “how the hell do I respawn when I was on my last life?” 

“You aren’t-”

“Yes I am! Fuck man, how do you forget that?! First time: Warden. Second time: explosion! I know I just died for the last time, so how am I still here?!” You glared up at him. It astonished you that he just forgot about the first two times you died. Who forgets their own kids’ deaths? It takes a real monster to forget things like that. 

“(Y/n), you’ve only died once and that was because the infection you got was too severe,” he put a gentle hand on your shoulder and pulled you into a hug. You pushed him away and seethed, “How do you not remember! Ender, did the last two and a half years just escape you? You’re fucking immortal, almost three years is nothing to you!” 

“Two and a half- (y/n). Two and a half years ago you were fourteen and you were barely just learning how to do tricks midair.”

“No, I’m twenty years old! How the fuck do you forget your own kid’s age?” 

“You turned seventeen six months ago, (y/n).” 

You ran a frustrated hand through your hair and laughed sardonically, “I’m not dealing with your bullshit right now. Where’s Arthur?” You stood up with shaky legs and swatted his hands away. “I don’t know an Arthur. Please lay back down, you’re-”

“First you forget my deaths, next my age, and now Arthur?! What the actual fuck is wrong with you? Where is he?” You gritted the last sentence out through clenched teeth.

“Who-”

“Curly red hair, freckles, always smiling, about yay high,” you flailed your hand from side to side rapidly at your mid torso, “your grandson. That ring a bell?”

“No because I don’t have a grandson. Sit down, I think I know what’s happening.”

“No. Not until I see Arthur.” You brushed his shoulder as you walked by him and out of the room. You could hear him following behind you, but you ignored him. After you ripped Arthur’s door open, you paused in the doorway. 

The entire room was decorated with Wilbur’s belongings. Instead of random bags of redstone dust and small contraptions that Arthur was too proud of to throw away, piles of sheet music and the occasional book was strewn about. Instead of the poster of you Arthur had hung up on the wall (you had laughed at it at first, he still geeked out over you even though you were his parent), a picture of the family was there. Despite it being a sweet picture (it was one of the very few ones of the family where everybody was smiling at the artist and not moving around), it shook you to your core. “A-Arthur?” You whispered in a broken voice. What was going on, where was he? 

You faintly felt someone put a hand on your shoulder. You however stood frozen clutching the door handle in your hand until you walked over to the nightstand. It was completely barren except for the glasses case sitting near the lamp. This isn’t right, this isn’t right at all. Arthur’s things should be there, not Wilbur’s. 

“No, no, no, no this isn’t right.” You broke off into mumbling while staring at Arthur’s (or Wilbur’s?) nightstand desperately trying to find the feather hidden somewhere. Once again, you felt a hand on your upper arm. “Everything’s right, (y/n).” You said nothing as you stared at the glasses case on the nightstand. “C’mon, let’s go sit down.” You barely registered him leading you gently back to your room and handing you a glass of water. “(Y/n)?” 

“Why is his stuff just- just gone? Everything was there before I left.”

Philza was silent for a moment, his feathers ruffling and brushing against your arm. “...Sometimes when a person’s been through something traumatic and they’re about to die, they sort of… make up their own reality without knowing that they’re doing it. It’s the brain’s way of coping. 

“This reality could last anywhere from a few days to years for them with the events seeming real, but in actuality only a few minutes have passed and nothing that the person thinks happened actually happened. It’s just the person’s subconscious mind playing out scenarios that they think would happen or wished had happened.”

You felt like you were previously walking on a stable sheet of ice before you were plunged into the icy abyss of unknowing. You felt several emotions coursing through your veins ranging from anxiety and frustration to grief and disbelief. The cup of water in your hands became incredibly blurry before you were pulled into his chest. He wrapped his arms and wings around you tightly and held your face securely against his shoulder. He started rocking you back and forth as you felt the tears silently leave your eyes and your breathing shudder. You felt yourself start to sob when a barrage of thoughts came and the reality of the situation hit you.

None of your inventions actually existed.

L’manberg doesn’t exist. 

Your name was unknown.

The last two and a half years were pointless.

Arthur doesn’t exist. 

Your precious Artie, the little boy that idolized you, begged for you to teach him everything you knew, followed you around like a little duckling, held your feather against his chest as he slept, enthusiastically asked you if you could take him flying, your little fledgling, your pride and joy, your son, didn’t fucking exist. You were never going to see his smile again. You were never going to laugh with him as you took him into the clouds. You were never going to cook breakfast with him again. He was never going to give you magnets again. He was never going to ask you to teach him something or ask you to help him with his own inventions. He was gone and there was nothing you could do to get him back. 

“I- I prom-mised him that I’d never leave him.” You sobbed into his shoulder, clutching onto his shirt. “I fucking promised him and I’m never gonna see him again.”

(A/N): ok so a little explanation, chapters 4-mid 15 didn’t actually happen. It was in the reader’s mind as after they passed out in chapter 3. There was foreshadowing (esp in chapter 4, I consider chapter 4 to be the chapter where the brain is getting used to the illusion it set up (hence the title “what is real”)). It explains why the reader couldn’t remember their own death. The line “You were probably still in the cave bleeding out as your delirious mind turned stone into the comforting walls of your home. You were probably imagining hearing your dad’s voice in a last chance to comfort yourself as you neared your impending doom” was pretty self explanatory. In the last chapter, the souls saying “wake up, we need to get you out of here” and “don’t leave me” were Philza’s voice cutting through (”The voices ranged from... familiar to unfamiliar”)

General taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@crybabyjabby  @izzybobizzy13  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @bunnyz-pxstel  @averytiredfanfictionwriter  @dcml04  @sparkling-gayyyy  @bbigbbrainn  @thaticecreambish  @kiinokochii  @satansphatass  @bxkubitch  @bxmentchildxx  @roxy3457  @montygator17  @feverish-dove  @the-fictionwriters-hairdo  @jichuuchaeng  @404rynnotfound  @luluwinchester  @laura--444  @the-cult-classic-bitch  @youngstarfishdinosaur  @nottheotheruser  @ohworm-writes  @localwolfanon  @realitycanbeajerk  @v10dw4lk3r

GN and male reader taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@twitchchatvroom

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@acecarddraws @ravennightingaleandavatempus  @dirtydiavolo  @yeiras-world  @immadatmostthings  @hee-hee-haw  @jackalopedoodles  @m1lkmandan  @vanhakirja  @im-a-depressed-gay  @coolleviauchihadreamerlove  @questioning-sanity  @camisascam  @bongwaterflavoredgatorade  @kakamiissad  @jayistrash4  @lifestylesleep  @speedymaximoff  @sun-shark-tooth  @appetiteofapeoplepleaser  @lestrangenymph  @kinismanditory  @dragons-lurk-here  @rinzyx05  @the-wandering-pan-ace  @angelic-scent  @shinipii  @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander  @izzydimensional  @used-avocado  @wing-non  @lovely-echoo  @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual  @mysteryartisticwriter  @momo-has-a-gun  @misfortunatem00n  @w-0-r-n-n  @v-kouya  @kusuinko  @cheybaee  @dulcedippers  @jaciahbabes  @prlan  @hummingbird-lightningstrike  @pog-sad-muffin  @prickypearpropaganda  @thegeekisheere  @self-righteous-dumbass  @solar-idiot

#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot x reader #tommyinnit x reader #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #sbi family au #tw: swearing #tw: death #tw: injuries #tw: depersonalization #tw: grief

[yostresswritinggirl]

It is time. This took a while but I figured I should give you guys the closure you've wanted, even tho uh it's not really a closure lmaooo. Here's the first part for the new readers!

Xiao's Personal "Chef" Travel Edition

Xiao with a Reader who is not only his Personal Chef but assistant, adventuring together

General/Preparation

A visionless chef with an adeptus by their side, going in a routeless journey together to savor the world that had once been pulled away from their grasps.

It must be the cause of the recent ressurection and defeat of the Lord of Vortex, immobilizing him once more for thousands of years. And in the window time, there would be less worries for the Qixing and Liyue Adepti to worry about. Think of it as a day-off for the Adepti, and a vacation for you.

While you carry with you no traces of elemental blessings and an enthusiasm for swordplay, the blessed Sigil of Permission given to you by your adeptus (whom claimed it was created by Rex Lapis himself before his untimely death) grants you a special connection with Xiao.

Sadly a vacation from Liyue does not mean a break from the constant voices of demons within Xiao's mind. And you've prepared him the medicine necessary to soothe his mind even if temporary, three bottles to be exact, all of which can last him several months.

He looks at you with confusion and silent question, of which you waved away because you had prepared this batch in your room in the Inn to make sure he doesn't run out of stock.

He doesn't tell you this but lately the voices had been not intrusive while he gets distracted by your presence. Like a soothing balm, to numb the effects of the pain. It's still there but not as annoying.

Your adventure or journey usually lingers around Liyue for the first parts of it, looking around the nation to enjoy the sceneries without thinking about errands or protecting the villages from impending doom.

Xiao already uh announced his indefinite leave to the other adepti beforehand, but well, when you wanted to visit their domains, which you countered was PERFECTLY safe (almighty Sigil of Permission has lots of perks) it was a very awkward time for him upon meeting them again. It was inevitable because of the energy the sensed from Xiao and your Sigil.

"Hello again, Guardian Yaksha, were you not on leave?" "Y-Yeah... we're just... passing through"

Field trip with the Adepti!!!! Moon Carver and Mountain Shaper brought you around their domains as if to test you, like Ganyu's trials, while also flexing their achievements and who has the best domain. Humans are rare, but you are a mortal who carries the last blessed Sigil and you're tamed in the ways of the adepti because of your exposure to Xiao.

Cloud Retainer not only teaches you the glory of gliding, but she also has cute and embarrassing stories of Xiao from way back! Xiao is in the background trying not to scream or rage at the ensemble in front of him-

"He really likes collecting Qingxin flowers, always bringing one whenever he comes back from his exterminations. He even offers one to Morax everytime." "Yes, yes, such flowers grow common before, right?" "Wha- (Y/N), what do you think you're writing down in that book?!"

"The devoted that carries the last essence of Morax's powers. We've heard much about you from your adeptus, it is relieving to finally put a face to your name. Tell us, child, what is it that you seek in our domain?"

They pretty much just outted that Xiao talks about you to the others, and he- he's just so done. He's either going to hide, leave the area or pull you out of the conversation before someone *coughCloudRetainercough* starts embarrassing him in front of you.

Once you've gotten the supplies you wanted to collect from Liyue's wild lands, like flowers or ores, your little party will start going further away from the familiar nation.

Comfort on the Streets

Being the chef in the party, a lot of the time, resource collection stops you short from travelling despite the many prepped ingredients you had carried with you. There's a lot of things laying around and you just couldn't let such opportunities go. Your adoptive mother Verr had taught you to indulge in your curiousities, as a mother, as a traveler, and as a cook.

Xiao takes the brute force, the frontline of being the tank and general fighter of your band. He indulges himself with unhinged strength so long as he was sure that you were perfectly safe from his own barrage of offense. You think in the back of your mind that he's enjoying the exterminations but in his mind he indulges himself with your cheers and praises after fending off some pesky slimes that strayed too close to your temporary camp.

Xiao does not need rest and barely breaks a sweat but you're quite fragile of a human being, you still need rest and consumables, things that you had the luxury of despite working in the Inn. Here you were alone to carry your own weight and care for yourself. You look up from the boiling pot that was settled over the bright campfire to see Xiao's figure coming into view, a freshly killed boar in hand as some kind of offering for your sacred stomach.

You guess now the caring isn't one-sided.

When taking things into careful detail that requires precision and undivided attention, it seems the voices of the demons and revelled gods in the depths of his mind disappears, more so under the presence of you.

So it was the perfect opportunity now that no other errands hold you back, to teach Xiao how to make the infamous Almond Tofu.

When you teach him survival he takes into consideration everything despite the bored/blank face he dons.

Oh but he still prefers your way of cooking, he can never get the same soft texture of the jelly that you easily make.

Xiao doesn't really need to eat but he's glad to be your taste-tester for the new dishes you cook from the random, probably edible, ingredients you find here and then.

The stew continued to boil with bubbles popping despite the fire under it extinguished for a while now. It was an unnamed soup you concocted from the various seafood you've gotten from the ocean paired with the meat the adeptus hunted.

It was delicious. Despite being a palette he was not used to, it was something he can stomach. And despite the different meat mixed in, the flavours didn't clash like he thought it would but instead blended the tastes quite well. Xiao hums as he sips the soup politely, tilting the bowl as he gulps down.

"It is manageable, despite your first try, I can see this being sold in one of the restaurants in Liyue Harbour-" he turns to you as he proceeds to hold out his bowl for seconds when he stopped in his tracks, eyes slightly widening a crack at the sight of tears free falling off your chin.

The spoon on your hand was slack, eyes distant yet dilated as you silently cried. When you felt the glove of his hand cup your cheek, tilting your head to make you face him, your expression cracked to that of grief melded with forced laughter. "It's... it's just like what mum used to make." You sob, and his hand wavered from its touch.

Travelling reopened old wounds. For you and for him.

Xiao doesn't NEED sleep nor does he WANT it, despite the many times you had caught him dozing off in the middle of the day during your work at the Inn. Such occasions usually meant that there was an event that needed his aid the night prior.

Your guardian yaksha usually stays up to keep watch and when you wake up, you would find him spaced out or in the brink of passing out, desperately holding himself together

But there are other times when he feels more restless and not content with just standing guard to make sure you are protected—

Those moments are when you are held in his arms, him resting against a tree and you resting against his lean chest, travel blanket laid over the both of you. When the terrain allows it, the sleeping bag would be under your bottom and legs for extra comfort.

When you can't rest, he whips out his flute to play you a soft tune hoping to lull you to sleep. If he sinks into the comfort of the mood, he'll continue playing much softer to prevent waking you up so early

But the guardian yaksha can buckle at the temptation of comfort, a humanistic desire fuelled by the assurance that in his arms you are absolutely safe-

And you two lay under the stars in peaceful slumber. Good night~

Combat-side of Travelling

Kicking the bottom shaft of the jade spear, Xiao swiftly catches it with his other hand, a small smile aimed for himself at the expert action before he raises his eyes back at you where you lay splayed on the floor. Drenched in your own sweat and desperately breathing. A long, wooden stick discarded by your side.

You pried your eyes open when the rays of the sun suddenly stopped invading through your thin eyelids, the shadow of the Yaksha looming over your form with a rare triumphant smirk. "Yeah, yeah, I know what you're gonna say-"

"I told you so."

"Oh hush you!"

His soft laugh was melodic and it made you break a smile despite the exhaustion.

We've already established beforehand that Xiao is your main dps here and you're just support/utility. But you've expressed your desire to AT LEAST pick up some weight, asking the man to help you hone your weapon proficiency, even if you knew he'd decli-

He accepts. Oh. But it's not about swords sadly, it's for polearms. Since it's the weapon he uses, it's the only thing he can teach you.

Will be CONSIDERABLY gentle in training you compared to his massacres, and will be ever so patient so long as progress is made. Surprisingly, Xiao is actually a really good teacher, and you'd find his points to be precise and on the spot.

He'll be there on the side as you try to fight off a hydro slime for the first time, with the aid of your cheap spear you both from the nearest town over. If you get cornered, he'll be there to instantly swoop in. Fortunately you managed, and he gave an approving nod.

Despite his acceptance to teach he's not gonna let you fight actual threats because he doesn't wish to risk your safety. And you're still gonna be a hundred feet away as he does his job

If he ever managed to hurt you himself, it's... it's not gonna be good, not good at all for the both of you... luckily that hasn't happened! Uh, yet lol

Just admire him from afar, he looks pretty anyways, although the black particles that seem to surround him before the end of the fight

But he'll always come back to you, with a slight limp you always notice despite his attempts to hide, and you'll be there to heal him up

Like a knight to his princess? Or healer, more so

And the process rinses and repeats at your generally peaceful trip

"Oh, oh, I see it! Uuup there!"

His honey amber eyes follow where your fingers point, high and up against the cliff until he sees the glimpse of the swaying violetgrass. No orders needed to tell him what the objective is, but as you place your hand on his elbow when he was about to leap, you had different plans.

"Woohoo!" Please be careful, he shouts in his head as you rode the tides of his Anemo currents, gliding over to where the violetgrass awaits for your plucking hands. When the glider retracts as you grip the cliff face, you broke the stem of the flora. A eureka in your voice as you held it up like a treasure before pushing yourself off the cliffside.

The wind on your back was not harsh, carefully constructed and maneuvered as you seemingly float down into the arms of the awaiting Yaksha, as per routine of your retrieval, "Thank you!"

"Is it in good condition?" It didn't bother you that he has yet to put you down, nodding with a grin as you gently waved the perfectly grown violetgrass in your hand. Satisfied, he turns around to go back to your route when

golden, brown and white silhouettes entered your peripherals among the turn.

"Eh?"

"Ah?"

"Traveler, Paimon and Zhongli?"

"Well, it is the most intriguing that we meet again this far out and in such a circumstance, Xiao and (Y/N)."

Party gained 2 ½ members!

I noticed upon writing that after you started travelling with Xiao, the formality in your tone of speaking started to dissipate. Easing into the comforts of your relationship with him, Xiao is relieved.

@kookieyachi @moaa @dandelion-dreams @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @witchsungie

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact xiao #exile.goblet #exile.flower #sojourner specials #reeeee part twoooo #oh gawd this may not be good as i wanted it to be aww