#poe has been a part of this fight his entire life

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

Yavin-4 Boy - Poe Dameron

A/N: I've been bopping to London Boy lately (always?) and have been itching to write, AND just recently rewatched the entire SW saga, so behold, this creation. Hopefully you'll see me more regularly, but we all know how that goes.

TS Prompt #3: London Boy

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader Word Count: 1.9k Synopsis: Poe begins to wonder if life on Yavin-4 is enough for you.

When the alarm goes off before the sun has even risen, you let out a groan of annoyance. Not that the alarm should surprise you. Since moving in with Poe after the defeat of the First Order, this had become routine for the two of you.

Where you are all grumbles and large stretches, Poe is up at the first chime of the alarm. He leans over to wrap a strong arm around you, and like always, you try to coax him to stay in bed for a while longer. Only occasionally do your temptations work.

This morning is not one of those mornings.

After kissing you at least twelve times, Poe reluctantly pulls from your embrace and heads toward the kitchen. He shuts the door behind him, knowing full well that you will fall back asleep.

Because that, too, has become habit for the two of you.

When Poe rises early, the first thing he does is start up a pot of your favorite tea from Naboo. By the time the scent drifts to your bedroom, the intoxicating smell is enough to coax you out of the sheets.

There is a mug steaming on the counter when you step into the kitchen. You take a healthy sip, feeling the warmth travel to your stomach. You hum happily and hear Poe laugh.

"I don't know how you make this so much better than me," you say as he passes behind you, smacking your ass.

"I've had lots of practice. You might be better at it if you ever made it," he teases with a grin.

"Hey, I make it in the afternoons, sometimes. You've just got the morning tea shift."

"A position I happily accept," he says as he kisses your forehead.

"When do you have to head out?" you ask quietly.

"Half an hour."

"Will you be back in time for drinks at Finn's?"

"I'll be sure to. Wouldn't want to miss the Frantxis beer."

"Well of course," you say with a laugh, wrapping an arm around his waist, "Who would ever want to miss Frantxis beer?"

"A fool."

"Precisely my thought." Your humor dims for a moment. "Be careful?" you say quietly.

"Always," he says, his dark eyes locked with yours. With a hand on his cheek, you pull him in for a kiss that lasts much too long. For this, too, has become part of your every day life.

You fell in love with a man with a strong work ethic, something he learned from his parents, from his years spent working on their farm. Even though the fight with the First Order has officially ended, Poe's loyalty to the Resistance hasn't.

When there was a former First Order base that needed to be destroyed, or a former convoy that needed breaking apart, Poe was the first to volunteer.

And he knows the strain it puts on you. He knows the anxiety that comes over you when he leaves. But it's a integral part of him, one that he cannot fight, even if he tried.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

The mission this time around is a simple one. Chances of running into any severe danger are low.

Poe arrives to Coruscant to speak to the Senate. They have been asking for a member of the former Resistance, and now the Reformed Republic, to address the Senate.

Peace was tentative, it always was. With his speech to the Senate, they hoped to work it into their propaganda, to let former First Order controlled planets know that it was safe to go back to the freedom they had known before.

Poe enjoyed the change of pace, but when he finds himself done for the day in the early afternoon, he faces a choice. He can return home to you early, albeit empty-handed. Or he can return home a tad later, and bring you an elaborate gift.

Poe was under no impression that life on Yavin-4 was easy. When he wasn't taking off with the Republic, he was helping his Dad on their farm. And on the days he was off-planet, you were there helping.

You had grown up in a life of luxury: fancy dresses, decadent food, elaborate parties every night. None of which, Yavin-4 was in excessive possession of.

After the reformation, after your marriage, Poe had asked where you wanted to live.

"With you," you had said plainly. Poe began to laugh and explain himself, but you cut him off. "I know what you meant, and my answer remains the same. Wherever you are."

So you had settled onto Yavin-4, and left behind the life you knew before.

Poe has one of the million cruisers of Coruscant fly him to a nearby shop. When he steps inside, he doesn't even know where to start. The surrounding walls are stuffed with elaborate outfits, arranged by color, all different kinds of fabric ready to swallow the shop whole. On the tables filling up the sales floor, are shoes, bags, and jewels on top of jewels.

He isn't sure where to start.

His attention first clings to the dresses coating the walls. It's been so long since he's seen you in something ridiculously fancy. He touches a soft purple dress that looks and feels like it's made of water, but when he thinks about you wearing it, in the damp forest that is Yavin-4, he laughs.

There is a reason you don't wear all the gorgeous gowns that fill an entire closet of your home. Your wardrobe these days consist of the same utilitarian type of stuff the rest of the planet wears.

Poe wanders over towards the shoes, but again, can't imagine you wearing them instead of your battered work boots.

The tables full of jewels beckon to him next, and they are overwhelming to say the least. The only piece of jewelry that Poe consistently sees you wear is the wedding ring he gave to you a year back.

A necklace catches his eye just when he's about to give up. It's a small pendant on a gold chain. The pendant itself is a black circle, and at it's heart is your home planet of Naboo. Poe knows before he's even touched it that this is the perfect gift for you. He knows that Yavin-4 is completely different from your home, but if you have a piece of it with you--

"Anything I can help with?" the sales representative asks, interrupting his train of thought.

You are pulling on a black sweater when you hear the X-Wing land in the yard. You glance at the clock in surprise. You weren't expecting him for at least another hour. You finish fussing with your hair and walk into the living room just as BB-8 and Poe enter.

"Hey," you say, hugging Poe. His embrace of you is tight. "Did something happen?"

"What? No, I just missed you," he says, before kissing you.

"How'd it go today?"

"Politics is never really my thing," he says. A non-answer.

"Do you want a drink?" you asked, already walking towards the kitchen. There is something different about his demeanor, and you fear there is something he isn't telling you.

When you hand the glass to him, he sighs before taking a drink. He must feel you studying him closely, because he looks up at you with a laugh.

"What?" he asks.

"You tell me."

"I just missed you," he says, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"I missed you, too," you say, and kiss him again. When you break apart, it's his turn to study you closely. You wait a moment, hoping he'll tell you what's gone wrong, when he says the last thing you ever expected him to.

"You're happy, aren't you?"

"What?" you ask in disbelief.

"You're happy?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

"You don't miss all the fuss of life in Naboo, or crave the hustle of Coruscant?"

"What happened today?" you ask.

"I was just reminded of what you've given up, to live here with me."

"I haven't given anything up--" you begin, but Poe cuts you off as he paces towards the living room.

"Come on, this place is nothing like Naboo. The dense trees, the farms, we're miles away from any civilization," he says, running a hand through his hair.

"You said you only needed to be with me, but after seeing all that you're missing, all the nice things that you can't have here, I . . ."

"Poe," you say, walking towards him. He is shaking slightly as you put your hands on his arms. "I love Yavin-4."

"I know--"

"Let me finish, please. I love Yavin-4. I love that we get up at the crack of dawn every morning. I love how quiet it is here. I love going to your Dad's and drinking his insanely strong moonshine.

"I love farming with the both of you. I love that we have to travel so far to get our food, and that it tastes better than anything we could ever get in a city like Coruscant.

"I love that it's almost always just the two of us. I love this cabin, how we can have sex as loud as we want, because there's no one to hear for miles." He lets out a breath of laugh at that.

"I love that I had to learn all 53 rules of Primagge, and that when we play, I usually end up throwing the cards. I love that when I go into town, I usually end up hearing stories about you.

"I love that our friends come to visit, and that we have room for them. I love that you are teaching me to fly, and that BB-8 sits at the dinner table with us most nights.

"But mostly, I love you. And you are who you are because of Yavin-4. You are Yavin-4 through and through, and I wouldn't change a single thing. Believe me, if I wanted to put on one of those gowns, I would, and I would show this forest style like it has never seen. But I don't need those things anymore. I'm just happy here with you."

Poe takes a moment before he replies. Well, before he takes you in his arms and kisses you dramatically. You are both laughing as he tips you a little, but when he rights you, there are tears in his eyes.

"I love you so much, and am so incredibly lucky."

"You are," you say simply. He walks over towards the leather jacket he threw on the couch.

"So," he says, "Given all that you just said, this might seem like a stupid gift, but I saw this when I was on Coruscant, and I couldn't help myself."

He brings over a jewelry box and when you open it, you find a pendant, with Naboo emblazoned on it. It takes your breath away for a moment, and you see Poe smile.

"I figured you should have it, so even if we stay on Yavin-4 forever--"

"Don't threaten me with a good time," you interrupt, making him laugh.

"So even if we stay here forever, you'll still have a piece of home with you."

"Now who's the lucky one," you say quietly. "I love it."

"Here," he says, taking the necklace. You turn and he clasps the necklace close around your neck. He spins you back around and examines it. "Beautiful."

"It is."

"Not who I meant."

He pulls you into his arms, kissing you deeply. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him close. Even the taste of him is home. You wouldn't change a single thing about the life the two of you live, the life you fought so hard for.

"You are my home, Poe."

"And you're mine."

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron imagine #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #poe dameron fanfiction #TS prompts

[rawliverandgoronspice]

hi! firstly, sorry in advance for the long ask. your blog is very thought provoking! secondly, i wanna say i really appreciate all your writing on totk - i’ve kinda deliberately avoided looking at any critiques of the game because, quite frankly, i had a fun time in the moment while playing it and i didn’t want to sully that experience, but your posts have all been quality and have given me a lot to think about with respect to the narrative, its aims, and whether or not “pure, uncomplicated, escapist fiction” is actually a good thing

i digress though - the subject i wanted to ask about, which comes up both in your general “all the consequences were undone and therefore nothing mattered” stance, and more directly in your post about dondons/humanity/morality (specifically the part about “should we trust the bargainer statues that nothing matters? or should we actually care about light vs dark?”) is kind of the age old sentiment that the journey is more important than the destination, and how you think about this in the context of zelda as a narrative, as a defining game in the adventure genre, and now as a landmark in the open world style

in the case of the bargainer statue, i was thrown by you framing “trusting the statues about morality” vs “being moved by the struggle of light against dark” as an either/or - a grimly nihilistic view. in the game (and, i think, in real life), the message is that the ultimate futility of everything does not invalidate the reality of people living their lives in the present, and a positive nihilism challenges us to try and help people and do good in spite of that meaninglessness. this is why the bargainer statues feel so bizarre and un-zelda-like (or at the very least, un-hyrulian. not a bad thing!) - the universe of zelda has always at its core been about how helping other people is a noble endeavor and is its own reward (with gratitude in skyward sword actually manifesting this physically), and the bargainers’ ambivalence flies in the face of this. it’s obvious to us as the player that towns being destroyed and lives being torn apart is objectively bad, even if everyone ends up as a poe in the depths either way, and the bargainers reading as sinister and alien actually reinforces this more than it calls it into question. the quality of the time spent in life matters, even if the ending looks the same

as a game, i think zelda has always been at least as much about the stories and connections you experience on your quest to deal with the big bad as it is about that actual climactic fight. it’s always leaned into the adventure half of “action/adventure,” and in some ways i do think this is what “gameplay before story” originally meant. as you’ve noted, some of the brightest points of totk are the sidequests and characters for whom you can make a small but noticeable difference, and through which you’re driven to interrogate the world and maybe yourself too. and it’s because of these connections that reverting things at the end doesn’t make everything futile and pointless. link is our connection to hyrule, and if the adventure impacted us positively, then we can infer that it impacted link (and to a lesser extent, zelda) positively as well, and that’s worthwhile even if the external circumstances change

a last quick point is that i think the increasingly open world nature of the series also reinforces this - sure you can run naked straight to castle and beat ganondorf without engaging with the game in any way, and you’ll save the day the same as someone who put in 300 hours on the way there, but your takeaway will be completely different, because that journey is the entire point

anyways thanks again for your thoughtful posts and for reading this far if you did!

Heyy thank you so much for perusing my blog and leaving such a thoughtful ask, it's greatly appreciated! <3

That's interesting you took the Dondon post in that way, as it wasn't what I meant at all haha. But I do recognize it was worded in kind of a cryptic way, and left it up to interpretation perhaps a tad too much (see: the limits of subtext), so I can try and make myself a little more clear (and I also think you bring up really good points that completely deserve to be mentioned and that I personally do not mention nearly enough)

What I meant by the "either/or" isn't what we, as an audience should take away as what's important or meaningful, and completely discard the other part as useless. It's not what we experience ingame, and this contradiction is inherently interesting and sparks some degree of conflict (good! storytelling need those and totk is conflict anemic honestly)

What bothered me is that we are prompted, in the game, to see things in an extremely black and white way in spite of an argumentation that maybe, we shouldn't. It's not bad in itself, I even think it's great that we get to question the moral fabric of the world! It's one of the very rare (in my opinion) compelling things about the narrative weaved out for us. But the endgoal of the game still remains the same: find Zelda, and swear yourself/all of your friends to Rauru's ancestral kingdom by using his powers and his guiding hand. Link's role in restoring Hyrule is never even hinted as being a potential question mark, or something we should ponder upon (Twilight Princess did directly question Hyrule in more ways than one, WW is also there, etc). But moreso than in other games in my opinion: we are doing the bidding of a king's territorial war that happened a very long time ago, and the current state of Hyrule doesn't seem to indicate the need for pushing a unified kingdom back onto everybody, or at least it wouldn't be a problem if not for Ganondorf's presence (which in of itself is still arguable as an argument for royal unity, since people would have been willing to band together for the sake of their own communities regardless of whether or not there was a unifying realm --remove the Sage's vow, and I don't believe Link's friends would have let him handle his fight on his own even without having to swear their alliegeance to what is basically a dead kingdom by this point).

My problem isn't the statues; it's that this Light/Darkness framing is only ever questioned when close to them/the Monster Brothers, and the rest of the world is extremely rigid in what is the correct path --but without the added tragic weight that other Zelda games generally have about this aspect (the Sages in OoT being torn from their previous aspect/your own lost childhood, Skyward Sword's Hylia and the way she enacts her plan through people who never had a choice --and that's identified as something bittersweet, not to mention the infamous curse of Demise...)

I do adore what you mention, this sort of "positive nihilism" as a staple of the series. It's never as apparent as in Majora's Mask in my opinion, where getting people comfort and rest is ultimately without consequence as you constantly reset their minds, but it still feels meaningful to have helped. I think BotW did that really well too --where you help people rebuidling life and meaning in the middle of the desolation, making the post-apocalypse hopeful, a place for potential growth and change and resilience and experimentation. In TotK, however, I don't think your efforts are as centered around making sure these people get a future as they were in BotW (except maybe, as you mentioned, in a couple of sidequests --Lurelin's village being one of them, for example). Maybe it's because Ganondorf's threat is not as clear as the Calamity's was, maybe it's because what guides your adventure is to find Zelda first and foremost rather than defeating whatever threatens the peace (treated narratively as a hindrance more than the core problem, even if it is ultimately the core problem --again, the narration/quest design is pretty messy here and it doesn't help matters), or maybe it's because the endgoal is not for people to make their own way into the world, but mostly for the wayward folk of Hyrule to be ushered back onto the glorious trail of Hylian/Zonai's legacy --but to me, the game has a weird agenda regarding Link/the player's role into this world that is generally tangential to his role as a hero and a balancing force in other legends. Here, he starts the game as a knight. His duty is to Zelda, but it ends up overlapping to what Zelda represents in a far more abstract way than usual.

What I think works in TotK in terms of "positive nihilism" is actually Ultrahand, and this gimmick of "world as playground", which I believe is a very clever and engaging way to imagine an open world. There are a ton of little gameplay moments that are yours to shape and inject meaning into; manipulation for the sake of it, the joy of play, and experimentation being rewarded and never punished. To me, this feels the most like inhabiting the world, making it your own, and doing things because they matters to you --and this being enough. But narratively speaking, this is just not really the story being told to us: we are told, us and basically every other NPC, to conform to a plan laid out for us that doesn't ever need to be investigated or questioned --even though now, at crossroad of what the future could look like, would be the perfect moment to do so.

I think what I ultimately tried to point out in that Dondon post is how jarring this hint that, perhaps nothing you do In The Name of Light actually means anything, and this having zero impact on the rigidity of the pupose you are supposed to accomplish In The Name of Light --and the game never seemingly acknowledging that paradox, which made for a (I think, unplanned) pretty oppressive playing experience on my end.

#asks #totk #totk critical #tloz #majora's mask #botw #rauru #thanks for the ask!! #not sure if I actually managed to clarify what I meant haha #I Tried #I do believe Zelda is about the journey yes! #but here the journey is super weird and where it ushers us still feels very off to me #the very fixed destination of an open world presenting itself as uncontroversial when it is so questionable to me (and subtly questioned!) #is mostly where my disconnect comes from morally speaking

[ke-119]

FALLOUT - Chapter 14

Chapters Posted: 14 of 18

Rating: T+

Warnings: Canon-typical violence & fighting/blood/gore/graphic descriptions of injury/angst/hurt/comfort/Multiple POVs

Characters/Pairings: Poe Dameron/Finn, Karé Kun, Iolo Arana, BB-8, OCs.

Summary: Still reeling in the aftermath of Crait, Poe Dameron and Finn are sent to a secret Resistance base tucked away on Lothal to serve as acting generals. Their numbers dwindled to barely a handful, and with General Organa’s order grounding all surviving Resistance personnel to heal and regroup, morale is at an all time low. Poe grapples with his inability to sit still; the First Order looms, an ever-encroaching threat to what remains of the Outer Rim’s free space; intimate feelings grow impossible to ignore and a shocking return promises devastating consequences not only for those stationed on Lothal, but for the Resistance and galaxy at large. 

A/N: An AU adventure, a side-quest of sorts, to account for some of the time between TLJ and ROS. Stormpilot centric. Canon up until the end of TLJ (but does not take into account Resistance Reborn or the Finn/Rose arc).

Thank you to anyone who has read, liked, and/or reblogged! I am so grateful for you and your time.

Masterlist

CHAPTER 14

“Have we met?”

Ira Nyx sat, hands folded before him on the table, his face impenetrable.“No. But I have heard your name and seen you many times. Now I know who you are.” 

Still hovering by his side, Finn’s eyes searched Poe’s. He hadn’t stopped staring since Poe had woken. 

“How do you feel?” Finn interrupted his exchange with Ira. A welcome break—it was too much for his sluggish mind to follow. A hollowness permeated his entire body, his head too light for his shoulders.

“Not really sure yet.” 

“Oh. Yeah, okay.” Finn sat back on his heels. “Take your time.”

Poe took in the bruises forming around Finn’s cheekbones, the cuts on his lip and chin. “Are you okay?”

“You’re asking me if—“ Finn’s face crumpled and he dragged his hands down over it. When he looked up, his eyes were wet, voice a fierce whisper. He grabbed Poe’s hand. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

Poe’s heart skipped into his throat. “What?”

“Die. Almost die—whatever. Just… don’t do it again, okay?”

The edges of Poe’s smile trembled, his throat tight. “Okay.” 

Finn blew out a breath then turned back to Ira. “Enough with the cryptic back and forth. Out with it.”

“He survived Order 66.” Karé’s voice startled them. Poe had forgotten she, Iolo and BB-8 were standing by the door. 

Ira Nyx wasn’t the most subtle being—he had an innate reverence to him, a larger than life presence, only in small part due to his towering stature. That he had once been a Jedi… All the pieces clicked neatly into place. But as far as Poe knew, no one had survived Order 66. That was kind of the whole deal. Any Jedi from that era… They were all long dead. “How is that possible?”

“I hid.”

A frown creased Finn’s brow. “For how long?”

“Since the day I watched them all die.”

“That’s what, almost 40 years?” Poe said. “Did you know what was happening during that time?”

“Yes.”

“Yes? That’s it?”

It was quiet for a long time. Ira Nyx looked ancient when he spoke next, his giant shoulders sagged. “Indeed.” He stared at his hands. “I made a choice. Anyone around me would have been at risk.”

“But what about all the people you could have helped?” Poe carefully pulled himself to a seated position. “On Garel alone. Not to mention the rest of the Outer Rim.” 

“I knew what was happening and did nothing. That makes you angry.”

Poe willed the heated hammering of his heart to slow. “Look, I don’t know you, and I don’t really care that you did nothing. But you need to know how many suffered and died while you hid.”

“I know.”

Finn shifted. “Yeah?”

“I saw them. Not each one but many. Just as I saw you before I met you. Always in fragments. Scattered images. With you it was fire. Blood. Many beings dying. A great… wave razing everything in its path.”

“You saw the base explode,” Poe said.

Ira frowned, a far off look in his eyes. “Are there more?”

“Many more,” Finn answered for him. “Why?”

“I saw it four times. Each distinctly different than the last.”

The fire in the hearth snapped and popped into the quiet room. Realization settled heavily between them. Three other bases had probably been destroyed. There went that list, unraveling into oblivion. More names. More friends; gone. 

Karé broke the silence. “You can see the future?” 

“I cannot see the future.” Ira gave a good natured chuckle. “I see… echoes. Of what could be. What has not yet come to be. When I saw all of you, none of it made sense until we were face to face.”

“Did you see anything else?” Finn asked.

“Bits and pieces.” Ira pinched the bridge of his nose. “I cannot put it all together.”

Poe realized Finn still hadn’t let go of his hand as he heard him say, “Maybe we can help with that.”

* * *

With orders to stay in bed, Poe was left alone in the house while Ira led the others to where he concealed a landspeeder. Poe protested. He couldn’t help himself—he wanted to see what ancient model Ira had been hiding for the last forty years, and was eager to get his body moving, but with a fit of impressive squawking, BB-8 had won the argument in the end. 

The second the tattered cloth fell back over the door, Poe crept up off Ira’s makeshift mattress to stretch by the warmth of the hearth, watching the flames lap hungrily over fresh tree scraps.

A whisper of pain crawled up his side when he moved, and he’d never felt such deep muscle soreness in his life, but he was alive. He could stand, he could walk. As the minutes went on, his body awoke more, his brain with it too. The only traces of a near-fatal injury were the blood-crusted tatters of his shirt that hung open around his midsection. It was like looking down at someone else’s body, the gore dried dark brown in places, but no injury peeking through the ruined fabric. Only a shiny scar was left, skin knitted together in a jagged line, but miraculously healed and closed. Poe ran his fingers along his face and found similarly scarred over cuts and scrapes where shattered transparisteel had peppered his face. The same ghost-echoes of pain flitted across the healed skin at his touch.

He couldn’t remember anything after the bitter cold in the G-9’s cabin and Finn’s warm chest against his back… But he could feel echoes. A distant warmth, spreading through his core, replacing the cold. A stranger knitting him back together with their bare hands. Someone he had never met.

The full-body hollowness had evaporated and  been replaced with a tightness in his lungs. His confession to Finn. It was out in the open. Bits and pieces of the conversation floated back to him, but not much else. Had Finn reacted? Did he feel the same way? Like trying to catch a wisp of smoke between his fingers, the memory took half shape, but dissipated before he could grasp it. 

“It’s hard to believe—you standing here. Like nothing even happened.”

Poe turned to see Finn leaning against the doorway. He crossed the room. The tips of their boots touched. Poe wrapped his arms around Finn, burying his face in the crook of his shoulder. He squeezed tight, breathing him in; that familiar, comforting smell—sweat, leather, earth. Finn’s arms slid around Poe’s back and waist, pulling him in. Given the chance, Poe might never let go.

* * *

By the time Ira, Karé, Iolo and BB-8 filed back into the hut, the fog in Poe’s brain had mercifully dissipated. But only to make room for the onslaught of issues at hand. 

Kothal was under attack—yes, the galaxy was at war and that was an unfortunate byproduct—but the Resistance presence on Kothal had brought the fight to them. Kemi’s haunted eyes floated into his mind. It could have been lifetimes ago that they found her in the ruined market square, but the sharp memory of the betrayal in her eyes kept it fresh. They had to get back. They had to warn the other bases. Leia. 

Then there was the chip from the virus-ridden BB unit back on base. Whatever information they could glean from it. Poe paced the dirt floor of Ira’s tiny home. He was alive. In fact, he felt more alive than he had since arriving on Kothal and considering he had been essentially dead just a few hours prior… A reinvigorated fire burned in him.

BB-8 bleeped disapprovingly. 

“What? No, I—“ Poe looked down at the floor. He really had almost carved a figure eight into the dust. “Okay, fine. I’ll stop. Can you display the information on the chip and still protect yourself from the virus?”

BB8 hummed a resounding no, blinking expectantly at Poe. 

“Okay, gimme a second to think. Our G-9’s astromech was completely fried…”

Karé perked up suddenly. “Our nav computer still works. Everything else is shot, but we can at least try that.”

“That just might work.”

And so, in Ira’s landspeeder—Poe had been right, it was a creaky relic of a SoroSuub X-34—they returned to Karé and Iolo’s wrecked pod. It was in better shape than Poe and Finn’s G-9, but still completely unflyable. 

Ira stood outside the craft as the fighters crowded in, jostling wounds and pressed against each other in the tiny space made for two. BB-8 beeped in annoyance, shoving his way through their legs. He popped out his durasteel storage vault and Poe took the First Order branded chip from it, inserting it into an awaiting port.

The nav computer’s screen fizzed into static and went black. Just their kriffing luck. Then, white letters built themselves into words and sentences against the dark background. Some made sense, some just looked like a jumble of letters and numbers to Poe. 

But one thing stood out starkly to all of them, and Karé cursed at the name and title: Tallon Voxel, First Order Engineer. 

“I thought he was dead,” Iolo murmured into the stunned silence. “He went missing on that aid mission to Ryloth.”

Finn and Poe exchanged a glance. Everyone else on that mission had been killed.

“You’re as good as dead if they have you,” Poe said. “They’re not big on the whole catch and release thing. They must have had a use for him to keep him alive.” Although, there was no guarantee he was still alive at this point. The chip had served its purpose. Tallon Voxel might have already, too.

“Engineer.” They all turned to look at Iolo, who shifted uncomfortably. “He created the working model for our base network security protocols.”

“Single-handedly? He can’t possibly have all that information,” Karé said. 

Iolo nodded. “He designed the systems. They need him to override it.”

“So… it’s only a matter of time before the other bases…” Karé let the end of her sentence drop off. 

They were running out of time—against a ticking clock they could not see. It was foolish to hope that coordinates to every remaining Resistance base in the galaxy hadn’t been tortured out of Tallon. There was only so much you could withstand… if you were trained. Engineers weren’t. 

“Lothal was one of the planets listed as a diversionary location for General Organa,” Finn said. 

Iolo paled. “That means Cassidode IV, Primtara… and Mako Ta… could be gone too.”

“We have to warn the others.”

“And get back to Kothal,” Poe said. “Who knows how long the tunnels will hold.”

Finn rubbed his temples. “Our ship’s comms were destroyed in the crash.” 

Karé flicked the pod’s hyperwave communicator on. Predictably, nothing happened; the shredded antenna was the first thing Poe noticed as he had climbed into the wrecked craft. 

“I know where you can get a ship.” Ira Nyx startled them all. They turned to him standing in the gaping hole where the pod’s engine once sat. “Garel City. You can broadcast your message from there. The streets are crawling with First Order troopers, but their main area of concern is the spaceport.”

“And where exactly is this ship?” Finn asked, eyes narrowed. Poe already knew the answer. 

“The spaceport.”

“Of course it is.”

“A friend owes me a favor. Jem Cade. Hangar 71-C.”

“And you’ll be staying here?” Poe also knew the answer.

Ira Nyx’s mouth thinned to a grim line. “I will.”

#poe dameron #poe dameron fic #poe dameron fanfiction #stormpilot #stormpilot fic #finnpoe #finnpoe fic #finn x poe #poe dameron x finn #sw fanfic #fn 2187 #the last jedi #leia organa #kare kun #iolo arana #star wars #writing #fanfic #star wars fic #sw sequels #star wars sequel trilogy #light angst #hurt/comfort #au fic #poe dameron angst #poe dameron au #original character

[wyattwaslesslazy]

@bluravenite because you asked for this ♡♡♡

However I'm gonna have to make a part 2 with the other 4 ghouls, can only upload 10 pictures and shhhhhhh I'm not taking back any that I put down fight me on this I have no brain anymore I wrote so much text

References for all my ghouls

♡Rune♡

Here we have the lovely Rune. My baby boy here is a fire ghoul from era 2, he is the Ex lead guitarist and backup vocalist for Secundo's band of ghouls. He was incredibly overwhelmed and nervous about the life he was summoned for and after maybe a week in he convinced Poe to help him escape this life and hide amongst the siblings of sin. His makeup holds glamor magic and when he wears it he has a more human appearance. He's been living as a human since he escaped and lucky enough, nobody has found out about his little secret. Of course that is until one of the ghouls had caught on to the little act. In one way or another he was found out, but his papa, Secundo didn't truly have the heart to be angry with him,, after all, his ghoul had finally returned to him, even if it took a few years ♡♡ nowadays rune is more comfortable showing his Ghoul side to others, but still enjoys to be glamored here and there! Or at least wear his face paint ♡

♡Odin♡

My trans king, my idiot son number 2, my beloved,,, okay, so with Odin, he was summoned to replace Rune, after all, Ghost cannot play without a lead guitarist! And so, this new ghoul was summoned! Though.. they had gone by a different name and was actually a Ghoulette in the beginning! The ghoulette had started off with a much rougher personality. Bitter, viscous if provoked, and an all around asshole. She had her kind moments but overall just seemed... unhappy. Could it be the curse of the era 2 guitarist spot?? After all it had run off the last one... Nope! After a little talking to with Secundo and a small feelings fest where the ghoulette cried her heart out, secundo made plans to help her change into a more fitting body, alter it however they could. As the years went by, Odin had finally calmed, finding peace in his altered body and his newfound friendship with his pack, also weed. weed helped. He finally was able to enjoy the pack and truly have fun with being an era 2 ghoul for ghost.

♡Poe♡

Poe is the era 2 Water ghoul! He plays for secundo in the band :3 his personality is much more reserved and quiet. He's not shy by all means but he's similar to papa ii in the way that he's a bitter old ghoul. He prefers to keep away from the commotion of others, sticking to the library, his room, or the pond out on the ministry grounds. On quiet nights one might even catch him reading out in a common area for the ghouls. He loves to read poetry, his favorite author being Edgar Allen Poe. If you gain his trust and friendship he can be very sweet and also very teasing. Will absolutely be blunt with you. Overall a good ghoul. His scar will be touched upon under the ghoul Flint's paragraph

♡Veles♡

Veles, simply put, is a bastard. He's the drummer for ghost era 2 and is very much so a sadistic asshole. He definitely resembles a cat in predator mode. His favorite activities include stalking ghouls and siblings alike in order to spook them and get a scare out of them. Not too bad yeah? Wrong. When it comes to the siblings, veles is more likely to actually mentally torture them for weeks on end, stalking them, staying just out of sight and yet allowing glimpses of him from around the corners of the ministry.

He once stalked a sibling for almost an entire week straight, finally following them out to the grounds of the ministry near the pond. He slowly stalked towards them, growling and snarling as his tail lashes behind him. He looked akin to a hungry feral ghoul and slowly padded forward, backing them up near the water's of the pond. He suddenly lunges, startling them into screaming and falling back into the pond. And what did veles do? He laughed. His act was done, he got all the fear and paranoia he could from the sibling, and left. He lost interest in them. He is much like a preying cat who beats and bats their victim until they can no longer move and when they get bored? They leave it and ignore it. This is veles.

However, veles when he likes you? He still stalks, he still scares, he still messes with you. But it's much lighter, playful even. He likes to see you nervous but will pat your head and ruffle your hair afterwards. And when he loves someone? Expect exactly a lovey dovey cat who only wants attention and pets and just?? Did he say you could leave??? Get back here and love on him????

♡Kevin♡

He's my idiot son next question.

No but really, Kevin is a goofball. He likes to create chaos and run around and have fun, but at the same time he's also very caring and tries to give everyone a chance. He likes to cook and though sometimes it goes according to plan!! Other times he sets a pot of non boiling water on fire somehow. Bfjdbdh underneath all of his energy he has some anxiety and often picks at his hands and nails, even chewing on his claws. He's a sweetheart,,, but also an idiot ♡♡ and a klutz but we love him

♡Aidoneus♡

This is Aidoneus!! Their pronouns are He/They and they are a thick king ♡♡♡♡ their body is a galaxy black/blue with white star freckles littering their body and white cracks running across here and there. It's nothing bad, simply how this quintessential ghoul is! Space themed,,, same with their docked tail, its simply how he was created. He has a very bubbly personality that also dips into morbidity??? Like they have a very morbid sense of humour and are very curious! Definitely a ghoul I have yet to flesh out truly, but I do love them still.

Part 2 will come later because jfbdjf I still have to draw Apollo and Zeus and the full body for Clay XD

#veles ghoul #rune ghoul #odin ghoul #kevin ghoul #poe ghoul #Aidoneus ghoul #bfhdhdjd blease stop me i have so many ghouls it hurts my brain #era 2 ghouls

[xfindingtrouble]

what’s a devil to do - harley poe || @antithcsis for percy

okay so just to be clear, i have this song on his playlist referring to the years prior to percy joining vox machina. i know the information we have about what he’s doing is pretty limited. we know he’s seeking revenge, tracking down anna ripley to the best of his ability & tearing through aything & anyone who gets in his way. i think during this time orthax has a lot of influence over him because it is the first time he’s had to grapple with such extreme rage & it’s like the Perfect Opportunity for a demon to encourage evil to be inflicted into this world. 

though percy grapples with the morality of it all a lot & fights himself on it, he also views morality as relative to the situation. he doesn’t know that the demon orthax is influence him, enouraging & tending to the darkness percy had already began to grow. but what is most terrifying to him is that he kind of likes it. he kind of likes the power in the palm of his hand, the scent of gunpowder & gore. it’s the most power he’s had since his family was killed & it’s the power he’s going to use to avenge them. so of course he gets tunnel vision. he starts hand feeding the darkest parts of himself. 

vox machina quite literally saves percy from himself. he’s still stubborn & makes hasty decisions but they encourage the good that’s always been in him. even when they’re being a bunch of assholes, they make him want to be better. even if he won’t admit this.... but that’s a different conversation entirely. i’m gonna dig into a few specific lines

I was born from an angel, she raised me properly I knew what I wasn't to do, I knew what I wasn't to see But when you reach a certain age, your destiny it comes to life So don't you bite the hand that feeds you, or it may cut you with its knife

percy was raised to be a kind kid. it was' always a super loving environment but his parents raised him to be good as they could. he was given the opportunity to thrive & grow on his own terms. he began inventing because he wanted to make life better for those around him, to help advance the technology in whitestone to the best of his ability. he knew that as a de rolo it was his responsibility to be good to his people the best way you know how to. there was always the scratch that he could use his brain for something ore devastating, but it was never his intention to use his brain to put weapons into this world. to make it more violent.

but when he got older & the briarwoods betrayed his family???? his destiny became more clear. he knew if he ever escaped he would reject those expectations of kindness. the people who taught him to serve his fellow man were dead, rotting in shallow graves if they were even alotted that decency. where percy could have become an asset to the briarwoods if they hadn’t killed his family & tortured he & his sister, instead they forge the only two people that can take them down. percy has a line in the show that is like  ‘ i am what they made me ‘ while lamenting about the cruelty it takes to exact his vengance. they tortured the kindness right out of him via meathook & co 

It permeates all through my bones I let it live, I help it grow I said my cup it runeth over, well I'm gonna let it flow So I shot a man in Indy, just to watch him die

of course as orthax gains more influence over percy, his cruelty grows. what was once a nescessity is almost sport. not saying that he is hunting people for sport but there is such control in taking a man’s life that in the moment, on occasion, he almost likes it. of course this is a sentiment he beats himself up about because he wants to make better decisions. he wants to value life. but it’s hard when you have a ps5 in your brain telling you to kill all your friends. 

the cruelty is so deeply a part of him at one point that he thinks it will always be so. so he doesn’t always fight it? not until he understands that it’s not just him. he is not the only one making these decisions. when he understands that orthax is a demon it’s the first time he considers that he can be an ok person, which is the first step to embracing good. 

There was a time when I could see My hopes and dreams, they are no more I'm not a rich man, but blessed are the poor Oh man, forgive me, I turned away I won't come back, so I'll have to pay

ahhhh yes. here is that theme i love about losing the future someone thought they were going to have & being unable to visualize a future without those hopes. he spent his whole life thinking about who he would be, who he could help, where he would fit into his family & then it’s all gone one day. his new future only goes as far as bloodshed & he has no idea what happens next. he thinks he’s the last de rolo for a long time but he is unwilling to rule. cruelty wouldn’t suit his people well & he’d already proven himself to be so. of course this perception shifts when he finds out he has a sister [ cassandra ] who survived... but until cassandra, the only plans he had were to kill. regardless of the price. but cassandra being alive changes everything, it makes him want to not only survive but live as well. but tht doesn’t change the fact that he was stuck there for soooo long. 

also the allusion to him not being rich anymore. i am constantly thinking about how he went from having endless privledge, the finest things, so much opportunity to sleeping barefoot on the icy streets because he had nowhere else to go when he escaped from the briarwoods. but there is also useful anonymity in being poor, being someone people don’t look at. blessed are the poor bcs no one is going to notice the blood spatter up their arm when fleeing a murder scene u know ??? 

I wasn't made to be their robot And I ain't nobody's foolI am the goat that got away But I know there will come a day When I'll be punished for my mind 'Cause I led myself astray I am a work of art, I know I was created down below

ahhhhh yes. yes yes yes. though the briarwoods made him he is unwilling to be used by them. he is unwilling to be a pawn. he plans to be a catalyst, the catalyst that changes their life as they were that to him. in his rage he doesn’t consider the guilt. the rest of his life he faces the consequences of making his gun, of putting forth that kind of technology into the world. it changes warfare forever when more people start making them [ ana ripley literally has a line about spreading the idea just because she knows that it will make percy FURIOUS to know people are making guns & putting more of that evil into the world ] 

but it isn’t about that when he makes his first gun. it’s about revenge, it’s about mad genius, it’s about walking the path he’d set in front of him regardless of the consequence. but there will always be a tinge of pride he has in his invention, mixed in with the guilt & everything else. he made something that was not in the world beforehand. something that has helped fell vampires, dragons, motherfucking ana ripley. though he inflicted evil onto this world it can’t be undone. so why not reclaim it? why not use it to protect the world & those he loves that live in it. 

Oh man, forgive me, I turned away I won't come back, so I'll have to payI have to pay I have to pay

while we’re on the subject of the guilt when he passes this time where he embraces the darkest parts of him, he looks back & knows how wrong he was. rage is not all a person is & he comes to understand this with a lot of healing. it doesn’t undo the things he’s made, the things he’s done but it does give him a deeper understanding & appreciation of what doing good in the world can do. what a person is capable of, regardless of what they think of themselves. no man is truly righteous, just as no man is truly evil. there is cruelty in all of us it is just a matter of deciding what to do with it. 

#antithcsis #answered. #hc. percival de rolo #i love harley poe & i love percy #when u put them together i tear off my arm & eat it like a chicken leg

[pavvo20]

The Spark - Chapter 9: Not Who I Used To Be - Poe Dameron/OC

Pairing: Poe Dameron x OC

Summary: When her childhood best friend recruits her during an undercover mission for the Resistance, Captain Kara Embers embraces her family legacy and joins the fight against the First Order. As the secrets of her past come to light, Kara never expects to be training with her mom’s best friend, flying her father’s ship, and falling in love with the Yavin-4 boy who always said he’d be the galaxy’s best pilot.

A/N: Nice juicy long chapter for y'all with a TON of Kara background which will help us out as we continue.. we are going to revisit a few of the points in some later segments. But, we've got some self discovery, some deeper flashbacks, some quality implied smut... (one day, I'll write a chapter of that.. but not today!) and then we'll get back to the action.

Warnings: violence, language, sarcasm, moodiness, whump, fluff, kissing, ya know.. all that stuff. Implied smut (lots of teasing..) and well, ghosts.

Links: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4| Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Masterlist on my blog!

Word Count - 7.8K

Finn, Poe, and Chewy were on their third game of dejarik when she dismissed herself to the peace and quiet of the empty cockpit. 

The lived-in pilots chairs felt like home when she eased down into one, bringing back memories of Han and all the pretend missions she’d flown alongside Poe when they were kids. The ship had played such a huge part in her life…and despite every loss she’d ever experienced, it was the one thing that always felt like a constant. 

Kara closed her eyes as the stars blurred past the windows, feeling her muscles relax and mind slow down. It was rare that she had a moment alone,  not that she didn’t love her little Resistance family, but sometimes the time to just be in the silence was all she really wanted.

“Commander Embers…hope that doesn’t get back to your father.” The voice didn’t register to Kara at first, considering she hadn’t heard it since she was seven. “He’ll go to Leia himself to appeal.” 

Kara opened her eyes and saw the woman in the copilot’s seat, glowing like Han had been earlier. She was the same age she was in her memories, looking at her just like she did when she’d finally  come home after a long day at work. 

“Mom?” 

“Stargirl.” Athena replied, wishing that she could wipe the tears that were streaming down her daughter’s cheeks. 

“How?”

“My soul lives in the Force, Kara. Just as your connection to it awards you with extraordinary gifts, I was able to draw upon your link to become visible to you.” Her mother stated, “It’s taken years for it to be strong enough.”

Kara sat up in her seat, stumbling over where exactly to start. “I have so much to tell you.” 

“Leia has done a good job of keeping me in the loop.” Athena chuckled, giving Kara a smile she only ever dreamed of getting to see again. “You are quite the swordswoman apparently.” 

“It might have been all the years I spent pretending to be a Jedi.” Kara rolled her eyes. 

“Or sparring your father… who may have been taking lessons from me after you went to bed.” Athena smirked, seeing her daughter balk at the idea that her very technical father had done anything but fire a blaster or fly a star fighter. 

“No way-“ 

“How else do you think he was able to beat both you and Poe so many times?” She giggled, “the two of you would have eaten nothing but bantha cookies if he didn’t step up his game!” 

“Newsflash…we got them from Han instead.” 

“That scoundrel!“ Both women were laughing so hard Kara was sure that someone would eventually come to make sure she hadn’t lost her mind. Lucky for her, the boys must have been still entirely too enthralled with their game. “And I thought your father was the weak one.” 

“Poe can be incredibly convincing.” 

“Oh I remember,” her mother remarked, her gaze falling briefly to the chain around her neck. “That boy was trouble the day he was born.” 

Kara tried to hide her blush, “well, dad wasn’t exactly an angel either.” 

“Who told you that?” The older woman questioned, “Leia told you that, didn't she?” 

Athena looked at her daughter, holding her gaze like she used to when she was a child. All she wanted was to spend hours telling her daughter everything she vowed that she would when she was old enough, but there was one thing that was the most important. Well, two things. 

“Kara, much like the Skywalkers… you also have a legacy in the Force and it isn’t just me.” She started, “My family has been training and assisting Jedi for generations. My father, your grandfather, trained Leia’s brother and their father, Anakin Skywalker. His name was Obi-Wan Kenobi.” 

Kara’s eyebrows raised, recognizing the name from stories Leia had told her. Obi-Wan “Ben” Kenobi was also where Leia’s son had gotten his name. 

“Luke only agreed to mentor me after I agreed to never take on a padawan. He blames my father’s strict adherence to the Jedi Order but lenient enforcement of the code as the reason that Anakin turned to the dark side. He feels our legacy is cursed with a lean to temptation… and you may find that many people agree with him as they discover your gift.” 

The girl nodded, understanding her mother’s warning. “Mom, I’m not going to turn.” 

“Leia and I know that, but Luke is stubborn and senile.” She retorted. “And he’ll not only sense your bond with Dameron, he’ll assume it will be the ultimate downfall of the Resistance.” 

“Mom.” 

“Stargirl, look at me.” She snapped, her tone sounding more like a medical general than a mother. “He could turn everyone against you.” 

“It’s a risk we have to take, Mom. Luke will just have to find a way to believe in us, just like Leia has.” 

Athena saw something change in her daughter’s eyes as her fingers grazed the ring she wore around her neck. “You love him don’t you?” 

“What?” Kara looked at her mother, trying to hide any signs that she had allowed her mind to drift away from their previous conversation. 

“Don’t play games with me, Kara.” She said, knowing the girl had heard her original question. “It was the night he brought you home, wasn’t it?” 

“No one told me that Han Solo had a daughter…” 

Kara was used to the cheesy pick-up lines and the winks of many handsome outlaws or military officers looking for a decent distraction while stuck in the desert of Tatooine. Usually the lines started with something like a Hutt had a bounty on her head or she was hotter than both suns the planet shared an orbit with, and not a reference to a family member. 

She casually glanced in the direction of the words, catching his worn leather jacket, gray scarf, and open collared shirt as a welcome change of pace. She’d just ended a brief engagement with a New Republic Admiral… and the idea of getting into it with another high ranking officer just didn’t have the same appeal it did before. 

“Solo doesn’t have a daughter. Just a Wookiee, and a ship we’d all like another shot at.” She replied, watching the man smile as if he knew her words were a bit scripted. He was overwhelmingly familiar, with his bronzed skin, stocky stature, and dark curls, but then again she’d been undercover a half dozen times… he could have been anyone. 

“Only ship to make the Kessel run—“ he started,

“In 12 parsecs.” She finished, keeping him firmly in her peripheral vision. He certainly had good intel on her, even if it was a well known rumor among Resistance allies that she’d frequently hide out as a former apprentice of Solo. Kara sipped her drink, hoping that just maybe, he’d find her lack of interest in the subject to be enough to send him on his way. She could see her partner starting to notice him in the booth nearby, at least if this did go south, she had back up. 

She felt the man sit down next to her, his sandalwood cologne tickling her nose as it clashed with the faint smell of starfighter fuel and grease that stuck to his jacket. “So what’s a guy have to do to get you another Corellian whiskey…?” 

“I was about to switch to something lighter actually.” She retorted,

“So one shot on the rocks instead of the double..?” He countered, smirking as he slid the shorter rocks glass in front of her. Kara finally turned to look at him as he took a swig of his own drink. He was very clearly a former Republic pilot, as his jacket was standard issue, but the patches reflected a much different cause. 

It wasn’t until his eyes met hers, their warm welcoming gaze awakening thousands of memories that she’d repressed for the last several years. The dopey grin and curls matched perfectly to the boy she’d spent her childhood running around with, but it couldn’t have been him… could it? 

“Doesn’t have the same kick when it isn’t smuggled out of a stash Han kept under the floorboards of the Falcon does it?” He whispered in her ear, pulling back just in time to see her polite grin transform into one trying to hide her bewilderment. She onced him over one more time, carefully maintaining her cover before swiftly getting up, grabbing his upper arm and leading him out the back door of the cantina before anyone really could tell what was going on. 

Kara was not the same girl she was when he’d enlisted nor was she the little girl he’d protect from the bigger kids on base when they were growing up. Someone had taken a lot of time turning her into a confident and capable fighter over the last several years. There wasn’t a single shred of the shyness that she’d struggled with when they were younger. And she was stronger than he remembered. Poe staggered a few feet when she pushed him out in front of her but never hit the ground, watching her pace a minute before she stopped, ran a hand through her hair and looked at him again. 

“I need to know it’s actually you.” She said, tears brimming in her eyes as she tried her damnedest to sound authoritative. Poe pulled the scarf from his neck, revealing the necklace he’d worn every day since his mother died, and flipped her the tags he had tucked in his jacket. 

Her fingers ran across the embossed Aurebesh symbols of his name, ID numbers, and home planet. It was him. Poe Dameron. Yavin 4. 

She took the tags in her hand and closed the space between them, breaking into a sob as soon as she felt him pull her into one of the tightest hugs she’d had in a decade. Kara hadn’t gotten more than a Christmas holo from Poe since they went their separate ways when they were barely 17 years old. It had even been a few years since Han had told her about them going to get him on Kijimi, and she had to admit, he looked better now than he’d ever had.

Poe finally looked as tough as he always believed that he was, his biceps toned from wrestling aircraft and his five o’clock shadow making him appear a bit older than his late twenties. He carried himself like a leader, even if he wasn’t quite sure that he was yet, a confidence he honed in while running spice. 

“Maker, I’ve missed you.” He said, his senses overwhelmed by her warmth and the way she fit just right in his arms. Despite her rugged look, she still smelled like passionfruit and vanilla, just like she did the day she left. 

“You feel like home.” She replied, her happy tears subsiding a bit as she allowed herself to relax. “And I haven’t been home in a very long time.” 

“Well, it’s not the same place it was when you left.” Poe said, smiling as he stepped back to get a better look at her. Kara’s steely gaze from before was now as soft as he remembered it, her irises still as green as the treetops on Yavin. “Dad is still there. The rest of us have gone to fight with the Resistance.” 

“So, that’s where you ended up.” Kara smirked, having heard of the fighters through many of her intel reports with the New Republic military. In her brief interactions with Han, she knew that Leia was involved with them, as were many of their old friends. “You always were a rebel though.” 

“Takes one to know one.” Poe teased. “You should join us.” 

Kara’s eyes widened as she stepped back from her friend. “Poe, I’m a special operations officer with the New Republic. I can’t just leave.” 

“Says who? We could use your skills. Plus, we desperately need lightfighter pilots. You can’t tell me that they are still letting you fly?” She could see Poe trying to understand why she was so quick to say no. Especially after just telling him that he felt like home. There was something holding her back. He could feel her vulnerability, even after being apart all these years. It didn’t matter, he was sure that He still knew her better than anyone else.“You aren’t happy. I can tell.” 

“I’ve changed Poe.” 

“Not as much as you think.” He said, his hand running down her arm. “You are definitely a little tougher than I remember you being. Probably could beat me in a fight now if you didn’t pull your punches.” 

She snorted and rolled her eyes. 

“I saved my ex-fiance and several senators from a band of pirates a couple weeks ago. Me and the two security forces guys they brought in. It’s the only time that they’ve gotten everyone home from a compromised mission like that.” Kara replied, seeing the sting in his eyes when she said ex-fiance. 

“Wait, you were engaged?” Poe felt his heart burn in his chest. It may have been ten years since he saw her last but the feelings he had for her clearly hadn’t let go like he thought they did. 

“To an admiral.” She stated, her gaze falling to the ground. “He had a problem with my most recent promotion, so we called it off.” 

The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Sounds like a kriffing idiot.” 

Kara tried to keep herself from beaming, her heart swelling in her chest. She always had a feeling that Poe had deeper feelings for her, especially when they were teens. He always did a really good job of hiding it though, always insisting it was just the nature of their friendship and that she’d always be like a sister to him.

There was something different about the way he had just insulted her ex that told her that it wasn’t him trying to be the big brother figure he always was for her. Least she thought so. It very well could have been the whiskey or the heat of this godforsaken planet screwing with her, but she swore it was different. 

“Come back with me.” He insisted, not an ounce of doubt in his voice. “Tonight.” 

“What part of I can’t just leave the New Republic did you miss?” She snapped, “I’m on an undercover mission anyway.” 

“You’ve been gone for 20 minutes and your partner hasn’t once come looking for you.” Poe said, matter of factly. Kara looked at the back door of the cantina and back at the man, he was right. Her lieutenant should have at least radioed her by now. “And there’s something that tells me there’s a reason for that.” 

“They’ll prosecute you for kidnapping.” She countered, though half-heartedly. 

“Let ‘em.” Poe retorted, sounding a bit more cocky than he originally intended. “Leia will bail me out.” 

“Leia?” Kara questioned, as she hadn’t seen Han’s wife since before she’d left for the academy. “Leia Organa?” 

“General Leia Organa.” Poe corrected. 

Kara glanced at her datapad, seeing an unread message from her ex on the screen as Poe watched her toy with the idea of abandoning her mission. She slipped the pad back in her pocket as her radio finally chirped, her partner’s ears had clearly started ringing. 

She ignored him, eyes flicking back to her best friend. “I can’t –” 

“You can.” Poe urged, stepping even closer to her. He took her hands in his, his fingers grazing over the Aurebesh tattoo on her wrist and hovering for a second over where he knew her engagement ring once was. Poe wasn’t ready to say goodbye again, hell, it had been hard enough to do when he was a kid. She was uncharacteristically worried about this admiral and her mission. Almost as if she was trying to convince herself that this meeting had been part of some elaborate plan he’d schemed up. 

Lucky for him, his own mission had fallen apart before it really started as The Resistance mark on this planet likely blew him off anyway. it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d trekked all the way out here and came home with nothing to show for it. But coming home with Kara… he never dreamed he’d get the chance again and that would be worth whatever the consequences turned out to be.

He watched her take the commlink in her hand, “I’m ok Liutentient, I’ll meet you back at our ship in 30 minutes.” 

Poe’s eyes locked on hers. She was still stubborn. A bit of stickler for the rules too. No wonder she’d done so well for herself with the New Republic. He could see the conflict tugging at her heart, but disobeying orders was starting to feel like too high of a cost for her. He was going to have to try harder. 

“He’s your commanding officer isn’t he?” Poe asked, knowing he was likely going to strike a nerve. “Your ex-fiance?”

“Yes.” Her answer was curt. Almost like it burned on her tongue. 

“He denied your promotion, you broke up with him, and yet you are still out on his orders?”

“Yes.” Poe could see her annoyance starting to bubble up behind her stare. 

“And your lieutenant, that’s his best friend isn’t it?” 

Kara froze, tension returning to her frame. Poe knew if he turned back now, he’d be going home with just a black eye instead of his best friend. And she’d be headed back to two guys that were determined to make sure that she never saw another real special operations mission for as long as she served. They were part of the reason he’d left the New Republic himself all those years ago. The entire corps was too focused on politics to recognize the people that could ultimately help them win the war and save millions of innocent lives from the First Order. Kara was one of those people, just like so many others before her, who were slowly becoming victims of the establishment. 

“Any second now, that lieutenant is going to come around that corner and find you.” He said, walking her slowly back toward the wall of the cantina. “Neither of them trust you to even be on a simple reconnaissance mission on your own after you saved their lives? — Kara, that’s bullshit and you know it.” 

“It’s protocol.” She deflected. 

“No it’s not. And I am not going to stand around and let a bunch of pompous assholes try and manipulate you into thinking otherwise.” He had caged her against the wall with his arms, his face only inches from her own as they heard her partner’s boots crunching in the dirt as he approached. Poe was trying to make it look like she’d been ambushed rather than the two of them getting reacquainted, just to keep her cover maintained. “Our parents won medals for missions just like yours but you are accepting a decrease in trust and more supervision when you should be commanding a fleet.” 

He tsked, knowing that it would set her off. “Maybe you really have changed.” 

Poe didn’t even have a chance to blink before she hit him, her fist knocking him hard in the face and a follow-up knee forced him to double over as it connected with his gut. His head spun as he hit his knees. It didn’t matter how ready he thought he was for her strike, it wasn’t enough. Kara was strong before he’d pissed her off. Turns out she was borderline lethal if someone really riled her up. 

She scowled at him as he tried to get his bearings. Poe heard her saying something to her partner who had come running when he heard his pained grunt echo between buildings. The man eyed him up once before turning on his heel, chirping a command into his commlink, and left the young woman once more to deal with him. 

Kara dropped down, taking Poe’s head in her hands as he struggled to get it to stop throbbing, “You ever accuse me of settling again… I swear to Maker, Dameron.” 

“So, you’re coming with me?” He was persistent, she’d give him that. Insufferably persistent. 

Kara sighed, all her pent-up frustration leaving her body as her thumb brushed the bruise starting to form on his cheek. They were rebels. Always had been and always will be. It was in their blood. It didn’t matter how hard she’d tried to redefine her life, it was the part of her that had made her who she was. It was what saved her comrades’ lives that day… and would likely be what saved her own life down the road. 

“I’d be stupid not to, apparently.” She laughed drily.  

Poe smiled and captured her in another tight hug; resisting the decades-old desire within him to kiss her.  It wasn’t too difficult for him to see her struggling with her own pent up feelings. Plus, she’d just broken off from a pretty serious relationship, especially if she really was going to marry that admiral. He wanted to believe that this was her fresh start. The one she never thought she’d get. He also knew she’d try like hell to fight her own feelings for him when they got back. She’d spend weeks insisting it would ruin their friendship and avoid anything that felt too intimate. It wouldn’t hold her back for too long though, and he had faith that maybe, just maybe, after a few weeks back at home, she’d let herself love again. 

He was willing to wait. Just having her back in his orbit was enough for now. 

Poe pulled back, beaming at her as hope surged through his chest. “Good, cuz I can’t let you go again.” 

Kara had let herself fall for him right after the words left his lips. Regardless of how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise, it was in that moment, in that dusty Tatooine alleyway, that she knew the galaxy had brought her back to Poe for a reason. 

He was her beacon. He was home. 

She looked at her mother, vulnerability softening her features. “He’s my best friend.” 

Athena smiled as her daughter tried her hardest to hide the flash of pink that spotted her cheeks, still rolling Shara’s ring in between her fingers. The young woman knew that Poe had been saving the token for the right person, she just didn’t seem to completely believe that he had actually chosen her. 

“He’s a lot more than that, sweetheart.” The older woman cooed, seeing the truth start to work its way out of Kara’s defense system. “A force bond takes a lot more than bantha love, and you are the most sensitive of the two of you.” 

She knew her mother had a point. It also didn’t seem to matter how many times Kara had tried to give Poe the ring back, it ended up around her neck again. She’d even snuck out to the hanger one night and wrapped it around the control stick of his X-Wing while he was asleep. It took him a few extra days to get it back to her after that attempt, but as soon as he returned from his mission, he waited for her to pass out in front of her mission reports to softly slip it back over her head, returning it to its rightful place against her chest. 

“I’m just afraid that he’ll wake up one day and wish I was someone he could rescue.” The girl sighed, feeling the pain of her past burning in her chest. “I’ll never be that girl for him.” 

“Oh Stargirl,” Athena soothed, “If he really wanted a damsel, he would have never left the Republic military and would already be separated from a galactic senator. Besides, you aren’t invincible. He may not get to save you all the time, but a few times that he does I’m sure are more than enough for him.” 

The doctor brushed an iridescent hair behind her ear, tucking her arms loosely across her chest. Her daughter sighed, staring that the stars like they held a more convincing answer to her insecurities. 

“Shara always knew it would be you.” She confessed, feeling Kara’s heart skip a beat when she had mentioned the woman’s name. “Kes will tell you, she was certain from the day she cradled you in her arms that the galaxy had given us you to balance Poe’s incredible energy. She even swore that Poe would look at you in a special way, even when you were kids.” 

Kara let a giggle slip past her smile as she recalled the exact look that Poe’s mother was talking about. She saw it every time he locked eyes with her now but didn't see it for the first time until she had agreed to join the Resistance. It was a glimmer that resembled a distant star to most people, but to her, it was Poe unmasking for a second to allow her to see exactly who he was. Even in the most intense strategy briefings, she knew the second that his intense gaze connected with hers, that she’d see the fear he worked tirelessly to hide or the excitement he had to get back into the sky. 

“I think it was your father who said it best.” She continued, “Poe was raised by warrior women. From his early years with his mother and I to his teenage years with Leia, that boy was destined to bring home a rebel of his own. Obviously, your dad didn’t exactly know that it was going to be you at the time, but you get the point.” 

Kara’s eyes had welled up as her mother spoke, silently wishing that she could wrap her arms around her and feel the comforting glow that used to envelop her as a child. She was trying to not get greedy, as talking to her was more than she ever could have asked for, but it didn’t change that she still missed her, her father, Shara Bey, and Han Solo more than words could ever express. More now than ever.

The young woman settled for a question she asked herself everyday at least once, knowing that her mother would have an answer much better than any of the one’s she’d fabricated in her own head.  “If Dad was here right now, what do you think he’d say?” 

“He’d probably tell you that it’s about time.” Athena quipped, causing both women to snort. Jamie Embers never missed the opportunity for a solid one-liner. “After that, he’d tell you that he never liked Poe. Just to be a pain.” 

The room erupted in warm laughter as they both could hear the sound of the man’s voice in their heads. 

“Ultimately though, your father would pull you into his arms just like he used to and tell you that of all the men in the galaxy, he’s glad you managed to fall for one that will protect and support you as fiercely as he does.” 

“Maker.. I wish you could all be here.” Kara murmured as the cockpit fell silent again. Her mother’s ghost flickering a bit as the girl’s emotions ricocheted between happiness, grief, and love. 

They both felt him before hearing him, his warm rugged aura pulling them both back to the temperate warmth of Yavin 4 in a time before the war. A time where they really were all together. “Stargirl?” 

“Duty calls, sweetheart.” Kara’s mother stood, smiling as Poe’s footsteps in the durasteel hallway got closer. 

“But..” 

“It’s ok, Kara. We’ll see each other again, I promise.” She said, tears falling as she reached out to cup her daughter’s cheek. “Till then, can you do something for me?” 

Kara nodded, “Anything.” 

“Poe needs you. All of you.” She said, her voice flirting between an order and a plea. “Let him in again. For real this time.” 

As the cockpit door opened, Athena Embers disappeared from sight. 

“Hey.. you ok?” Poe stopped in the doorframe, seeing the longing look on Kara’s face as she surveyed the empty seat next to her. He sensed her struggling, wishing she had more time, fighting with a loneliness that so often closed her off and made her cold. He slowly stepped inside, closing the door behind him as he knelt in front of her. His calloused fingers grazed over her knee as those dreamy amber eyes waited for her to soften. 

Let him in again… for real this time. 

Kara brushed a loose curl from his forehead, seeing the concern and exhaustion rippling across his features. “Yea, I’m just tired.” 

“I figured as much.” He rose to briefly survey the navigation system, noting that they still had several hours before they’d get anywhere near the base. “I kinda thought you’d be in a bunk by now.” 

“It’s a little hard to take a nap when you two are harassing Chewy.” Her eyes were fully on him now, showing her fake annoyance and genuine amusement. “This is the quietest place on the ship.” 

“Still can’t beat him, that fuzzy bastard.” Poe laughed, running a warm, apologetic hand down her arm. “He definitely cheats.” 

“Of course he cheats, Poe.” Kara retorted, “He’s had 150 years of practice and spent most of his time with a smuggler.” 

Poe cocked a dark eyebrow, smirking as he sat down in the vacant pilot’s seat across from her. “So what? Doesn’t mean he can’t let a guy win every once in a while.” 

“You are impossible, Dameron.” She rolled her eyes, turning her gaze back to the stars whirring past them.“Who would have thought that the best pilot in the Resistance would be such a sore loser?” 

Poe swiftly shoved his leg out to stop her chair from spinning away from him, catching the mischievous grin tugging at her lips as he leaned into her space. “What did you just call me?” 

His tone would have had anyone else weak in the knees, either preparing to ask for forgiveness or praying he was planning to take them back to his bunk, but not Kara. She ran her splinted hand through her hair and allowed herself to dip a little closer to his face, hearing his breath catch in his throat as she stopped just out of his reach. “You heard me.” 

Poe wasn’t prepared for the effect her words would have on him. The pilot resisted the urge to bite his lip, knowing that it was a tell for his own arousal, though he could already feel his body beginning to betray him. Instead, he pressed his palm into the backrest of her chair, creeping millimeters closer to her as he searched her eyes for signs that she didn’t want to keep going. He couldn’t find any. 

In fact, she’d already let her guard down completely. Poe hadn’t seen that playful glimmer in her eyes since they were kids and it was just as deceptively innocent as it was back then. She appeared like she was unaffected by his advances when in reality, he knew she was wound tighter than cooling coils in his X-Wing. Her uninjured hand crept under the hem of his shirt as he held her stare, causing him to bite down on his tongue to quell the purr that threatened to escape him. This was turning into a battle of wills, one he wasn’t quite sure he could win. 

“Answer the question, Commander.” He pressed, doing his best to keep his tone as firm as it had been before as her fingertips seemingly lit his skin on fire. “That’s an order.”

“I said…” Kara hummed, her breath warm on his face as her emerald stare enchanted him again. “You’re a sore loser, Commander.” 

Poe felt her broken hand brush lightly against his waistline as he closed his eyes. The last thing he’d expected was for her to steal control of this situation. He had originally planned to pop open one of the stashed bottles of Correllian whiskey and tell stories until they fell asleep under the stars. Just like they did before they’d both left to join the war. 

Meanwhile, Kara had lost count of how many times she’d hoped her best friend would kiss her in that cockpit. It had been their safe place since they were babies. From napping in Han’s arms to telling secrets over whiskey shots when they were definitely not old enough to drink, she actually thought it would be where Poe admitted his feelings for her or begged her to enlist with him rather than go to the academy. When neither of those things happened, it became the only place she’d let herself be broken-hearted. 

It made it the perfect place for her mother to finally appear to her, given that it held so many emotional memories under lock and key. It also now made it the ideal place for her to finally rewrite a few of those stories. 

Kara felt Poe’s brow furrow as she leaned her forehead against his, sensing him at war with his self-control. He didn’t want to take advantage of the fact that she was letting him see a side of her he hadn’t seen in years, but at the same time he wanted it more than air to breathe. Kara fought her urge to reassure him with the soft tone she often used to tell him that she wanted him. Instead, she finally allowed herself to lean into her newfound power, catching a glimpse of Poe’s jaw clenched in an gritty attempt to resist her unusually flirty advances. 

“What’s wrong, Commander Dameron?” His eyes snapped back open when she emphasized his title. Her whispered words were hot against his lips. “Afraid to admit that I’m right?” 

The man couldn’t take it anymore. His kiss crashed into hers, drinking her up like he’d just spent weeks trudging across a desert planet in search of water. When her hands found their way to his shoulders, he wasted no time scooping her up out of her seat and into his lap without breaking apart. Her weight effortlessly settled across his hips as he felt her lips travel to his jawline, nipping and licking at his known sweet spots. Poe didn’t bother to stifle a breathy “kriffing hell”  that broke through the silence as she ground against him, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. To hell with what he had planned. 

Kara smiled against his skin when she’d heard him curse. Usually, he was the one breaking through her defenses and Maker, it was liberating to have it be the other way around. She nested the fingers of her good hand in his hair, tugging his head back to allow her better access to his neck, as she sensually kissed down toward the collar of his dark shirt. His hips involuntarily bucked against hers as he groaned, running his hands up her thighs to wrestle with the edge of her tunic. Kara briefly let her eyes flick to the door, seeing the shadow of what she thought was a person standing on the other side. She blinked, kissing just under Poe’s ear before noticing it again. He only got out half a moan before she muffled it with her hand. 

“You are going to have to be quiet or we are going to get caught.” Kara half-shushed, half-giggled, finding his wide-eyed glare amusing amidst the stunned, overstimulated silence. It took her a few seconds, as she watched the shadow disappear from the light under the door, to pull her hand from his mouth, tucking it back in his curls as she felt his own hands wander back to her waist. “Unless you think you can hide your…excitement… in a walk back to the bunks.” 

Poe paused, his lips swollen and eyes dark with lust as he caught her glancing down toward the simmering pool of heat that settled between them. His mind raced with the possible outcomes, as getting caught by Chewy or Finn in their current situation would be embarrassing if not borderline humiliating considering they all had to share the cockpit. At least if they moved to a bunk, there was another suite on the other side of the ship the others could crash in. The catch was walking to the bunks meant passing through the main hold, where Finn and Chewy were likely still locked in another game of dejarik, which meant he’d have to find a way to hide his already painfully hard erection. 

He glanced back up at Kara, who was still as close as she could be to him without having her lips on his skin. Lucky for her, she could at least lie about their situation and someone would believe her. She had an alibi down to her half pulled out braid, which frustrated Poe in more ways than one. 

“I’m going to have to try. We can’t stay here.” He panted, trying like hell to calm himself down enough to be inconspicuous. It didn’t help that Poe could feel every shift of Kara’s weight against his pelvis as she watched him deal with the abrupt stop in the action. “Not with you doing whatever the kriff it is you are doing…” 

His last few words came out as a gruff growl, leading the girl against him to smirk. Poe had watched countless others fall under the spell of that look he’d seen earlier, but always figured he’d be immune. It had become abundantly clear in a matter of minutes that he wasn’t. To his credit, the tactic had evolved quite a bit since the last time she’d tried it on him. 

“So, what’s your plan, Commander?” Kara drew out his title again on purpose, knowing he’d do the same to her if the roles were reversed. 

“You first.” Poe groaned, shifting her slightly up his thighs in another attempt to pull himself together. He needed her to back off or they’d never get across the hold without any questions from their friends. Especially his nosy little droid.  “Not that I’m complaining, but what’s gotten into you?” 

“I realized I was still keeping you at arms length and you don’t deserve that.” She said, leaning up off his chest to get a better look at his face. “I have been doing it since I first got back. Even after you said you loved me. All because I was worried you’d think I was too independent or something.”

“Your independence is one of the sexiest things about you, you realize that right?” He replied, pulling the edge of her tunic back down over her belt as he felt the pressure below his own starting to subside. 

“I may need you to share that with a few of the female cadets when we get back.” Her hands fiddled with the collar of his shirt, hiding the red marks she’d started to leave on his skin. “Most of them are counting on you getting sick of being my sidekick and going back to your old ways.” 

Kara mocked as Poe shook his head with a chuckle. “I mean you could just give them a play by play of the saber battle… and highlight the part where I shot Ren with a bad arm and saved you from a night in an interrogation pod?” 

“And let them all go to sleep fantasizing that you were saving them instead of me? Hard pass.” 

Poe smirked, “Sounds like someone is a little jealous.”

“Why would I be jealous of their fantasy when it was my reality?” Kara snorted, easing herself back down against his chest again. “I think I’ll just stick to telling them that you’re a terrible loser.” 

Poe rolled his eyes this time, mistakenly letting her steal a kiss that got dangerously close to riling him up again. His hands wrapped around her wrists in an instant, careful to not agitate her injuries but strong enough to stop her advance; “…you are gonna end up in binders if you don’t stop.” He growled, sounding more aroused and agitated.

“Is that a threat or a promise, Dameron?” He watched her carefully, knowing that she had already picked up on the tone of his voice. She tried to twist out of his grip but he held fast. “Sounds like a threat.” 

“Have you thought of how you’d explain that to Chewy and Finn?” Poe raised an eyebrow as she leaned away from him again, allowing her arms to go slack in his grip. A few tense seconds passed between them as he could see her analyzing him, anticipating his hold on her to continue to loosen as she created the illusion that she was going to back off. Two could play in that game.  “Or should we just slap a set on and find out in real time?” 

“You wouldn’t dare.” She yanked against his grip again. No dice. 

“Try me.” 

Kara could tell that deep down Poe was bluffing. She knew that he’d never embarrass or humiliate her like that for real, even if he did sound like he was dead serious. There were obvious signs that he really did want her to test him though; she could see that behind the commanding look in his eyes. He was curious. Poe wanted to have a little fun, push the boundaries a bit, maybe break a few of their old rules; as long as she was ready. 

She scooched back and stood up, swiveling her wrists to free her hands with a standard self-defense move as Poe rose to his feet. He resisted the temptation to grab her waist as she eased ever so slightly out of his space, brushing the end of her braid back behind her shoulder and straightening her belt. Her hand hovered over the door panel when her eyes found his again. 

“I’m going out there first. If you don’t hear from me, meet me in the bunks in 5 minutes.” She ordered, her voice low and firm like it was against Ren. She didn’t even wait for him to reply before she was already halfway down the hall. 

Finn and Chewy weren’t in the hold when she got there, clearly having retired to the bunks on the far side of the ship given it was late and they were already exhausted. Kara didn’t waste any time turning herself around. If they were going to do this at all, the time was now. 

Poe’s head shot up when he heard the door reopen, “That was fast?” 

She didn’t reply as the door whooshed closed, its panel chirping as it locked. Poe felt Kara’s hands turn his head to hers as she straddled him again, pulling him into a kiss that managed to rival the one she’d left him with. The one that almost pushed him over the edge again, so much so he couldn’t get out of his head. The one that had him threatening to cuff her hands behind her back if she touched him again. A satisfied groan left his chest as his hands released the Falcon’s yoke, bumping the autopilot switch as he yanked her further into his lap again. Damn girl was going to kill him. Every pilot fantasized about moments like this, and while it wasn’t his X-wing, he was pretty sure the Falcon was a worthy alternative.

“W..what happened to—“ he started, feeling her find the soft, sensitive skin under his ear again with her lips. His coherent words got stuck in his throat as his nervous system short circuited under her touch. Kriff.. 

“They’re asleep.” She purred, “in the bunks by the cargo hold.” Poe let his hands run down her back as she trailed kisses along his jaw, getting lost in the way she carefully started to take him apart. “So, the coast is clear, flyboy…” 

“You sure?” He teased affectionately, helping her out of her tunic and tossing it into the empty seat next to them. “I don’t want you to think just because you think you’ve been holding back that we have to do this.” 

“Oh I’m sure.” Her words sounded more confident than ever. “Plus, it’s time I replace the memories of you failing to take a hint however many years ago.”

Poe cocked an eyebrow at her as she pulled away from his neck, “Wait, what hint?” 

Kara smiled, feeling Poe’s entire body stiffen for a second like he’d made some terrible mistake. She massaged the back of his neck with her fingers, melting the man’s anxiety away almost as quickly as it arrived. “Lets just say I wasn’t asking you to talk me out of enlisting, Poe.” 

Her hips rolled as she kissed him again, feeling his lips curl into a soft smile as the memories flickered in his mind. One of Leia’s many senate friends had submitted an anonymous application to the Academy for Kara after spending a summer or two with them all on Yavin. The woman had been impressed by the girl’s intelligence and ingenuity as she observed her around the base, stating that skills like that were instrumental to a strong Republic. Kara’s father had passed only a few weeks before she had gotten the acceptance letter. 

He had rolled himself out from under an X-Wing he was helping Han repair for a shipper when she had messaged him to meet her in the Falcon. Poe would never forget the exasperated look on her face as she tried to tell him that she was better served as an enlisted pilot, just like her old man had been.. It was days before she was supposed to leave and she had just returned with Leia from the gala they’d thrown for the incoming class, still wearing the forest green gown that Han had brought back for her from Naboo as she knocked back several shots of Outer Rim liquor from their stash. 

Poe had always been curious if she had noticed him trying to not gawk at her as she tried to rationalize her decision with stories from the party. Almost all of the cadets in her year were children of senators or diplomats. She was one of four incoming cadets that had any ties to the former Rebellion, and one of two that didn’t come from generational wealth. He couldn’t blame her for feeling like an outsider, but he also couldn’t let her throw away the opportunity to possibly lead the New Republic. Even if he did really want to tell her that she was right and selfishly have her follow him to basic training. 

The pilot looked at the girl in his lap as his mind circled back to the present. It didn’t completely surprise him that her hint had gone over his head all those years ago. Especially since he spent so much time trying to convince himself that his love for her was more like a sister than a future wife. Her emerald green eyes locked on him. Darkened with desire, they looked just like that dress from his memories and needless to say, he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

"Well, I'm not as clueless as I used to be." He hummed, letting his nose brush hers as he tangled his fingers in her hair. His hooded eyes caught her genuine smile as he closed the space between them again. "I still talk too much... but the only thing I'm talking you out of tonight is the rest of your clothes, I can promise you that."

#poe dameron x oc #poe dameron #fanfiction #poe dameron fanfiction #star wars oc #star wars #fanfic #wattpad #poe dameron fan #poe dameron fic

[squirrelno2]

Me at myself in the mirror at 3:50 in the afternoon one day: the thing about the sequel trilogy of star wars is that Finn was in the perfect position to be a foil to Kylo Ren and a hopeful spin on the character of Anakin Skywalker and the fact that nobody even noticed these parallels is a testament to the power of racism and the fact that bigotry actually makes you a worse writer

No but. Anakin’s out here with his introduction in the prequels as a slave, and it’s poorly done but implied that the pain and fear of that part of his life impacts how he interacts with… basically everything ever, and ultimately makes him susceptible to palpatine’s grooming; your mileage may vary on the ratio of canon to fanon in this interpretation but I think we can all agree being a slave from birth is gonna fuck a kid up and there’s a reason why George lucas chose this particular backstory for him.

So you’ve got Kylo Ren, eschewing a family that cares for him (please don’t talk to me about whatever the fuck was going on in those last jedi flashbacks first of all that’s bad writing babe and second, we’re talking solely about the expectations and possibilities established in force awakens because there’s not enough narrative or character consistency in the sequel trilogy to take. Anything as a whole there) in order to chase after this version of his grandfather that isn’t even the version he died as. Like! Whether you think Anakin/Vader achieved redemption or simply did one good thing at the end of his life, we all know that act of sacrifice on Luke’s behalf is. The definition of Star Wars. Vader choosing to do good in his last moments was what the original trilogy built towards and what the prequel trilogy always knew, and it’s this fucked up spectre over everything Kylo Ren says or does in Force Awakens because he’s out here pleading with the ghost of a man who is not real, he’s chasing Vader instead of Anakin Skywalker and ignoring the choices his own grandpa made in the name of… honouring him somehow???

And then there’s Finn. Finn who’s been raised since who knows when but definitely childhood given he has no name to remember to be a weapon for the First Order. Somehow I doubt they pay their stormtroopers, somehow I expect their education is more indoctrination than anything, somehow I doubt Finn was ever instilled with a sense that he as a person mattered – Finn’s a slave when we meet him. Unequivocally. And this man who’s known nothing else his entire life turns around and says “actually I think I will do good things or at least stop doing bad ones” and runs the fuck away, freeing himself. (and also Poe. Something something the act of saving others in turn saves you, this is my eternal soapbox but that’s not my point right now)

Finn is afraid, and very nearly runs away from the fight like “I’m safe so it doesn’t matter what happens to others” – when satisfied that Rey is safe (and under the impression that Poe is dead) he feels no strong compulsion to protect an ambiguous “rest of the galaxy” which honestly is exactly the vibes Anakin Skywalker has for pretty much all his life. Anakin would be a hero because the people he cared about wanted him to be. He fought for Padme and Obi-Wan and frigging Palpatine (and Ahsoka, I say, skipping outside the movies for a hot second because I love her) first and foremost, and the Jedi and the Republic because those were the causes his loved ones cared about. Finn has the opportunity to get away, to protect himself for the first time in his life, and he doesn’t have to worry about the few people he cares about so he very nearly goes for it.

Then the thing is, Finn, unlike Anakin, doesn’t let that fear rule him? He turns around and goes back for Rey, follows Poe, stays with the Resistance. He gets to be terrified but he also says that terror isn’t his only motivating factor, and that his self-interest matters less to him than the galaxy – a choice Anakin struggled to make until literally the end of his life.

In conclusion, if the sequel trilogy had stuck to its guns and been about the tragedy of history as a cycle and the way we cling to idealised pasts and torture ourselves over might-have-beens (and also how that inaction and obsession with history allows the rise of fascism bc we spend so much time patting ourselves on the back for defeating ‘the bad guy’ we ignore what gave the bad guy power) – if it had been a well written story Finn should have been a hopeful twist to the story of Darth Vader, a man who faced the same struggles as Anakin but made better, kinder choices, which would bring it nicely full circle considering George Lucas was like. Very into star wars as being about Vader

But nope we had to have whatever that poorly written racist tug-of-war was instead. I don’t know about you but I need better fandoms

#star wars #star wars sequel trilogy #finn #anakin skywalker #i'd tag this with kyle ron but i don't know how annoying the stans still are #it's been a hot second since i wandered into this corner of the sw fandom

[frunbuns]

Mothers Without Sons and Sons Without Mothers and Everything in Between

Leia has two sons. One who’s hers and left anyway, and one who’s not hers, but stayed nonetheless.

Read on Ao3

Leia has one son. Her only child. He is tall and strong and she loves him more than anything in the whole galaxy. She loves him more than life itself. More than she thought was even possible. He is named after hope personified, and the Force dances around him like he was made for it, which is partially true. The Force is strong in their family. It is terrifying and exhilarating all at once. He is as much her child as he is a child of the Force.

He could never be just hers, and she knew that all too well.

She sent him off to learn with a heavy heart and a promise that they would see each other often. Hollow promises in the end. She sees him less and less after that, until she never sees him again. It happens so gradually she almost doesn’t notice how much less of him she sees until it’s too late.

Leia’s son - her only child - has turned his back to her and the rest of the galaxy. No amount of love can save him. It takes her a long time to come to terms with it. It is not easy to give up hope. (Part of her never does. She must be a terrible person for thinking that after so much.)

Her family falls apart fairly quickly after that. One by one, until it’s just her left to carry the grief alone. So much hope and happiness gone in the blink of an eye.

He leaves without ever looking back, and if he had, it wouldn’t have mattered. It wouldn’t have changed anything that came to be after.

Leia had always had a complicated family history, but she had hoped it all would be better. She had allowed herself to be happy. It had always been too good to be true. She’d come to realize that fairly quickly.

Maybe if she’d been a better mother…

Leia has one son. She hasn’t seen him since he was a teenager. She had tried to get in contact with him. Any way she knew. Anything. She’d tried everything. All to no avail. It was only until a few years later that she realized how lost of a cause he had become.

Leia has one son, but he isn’t really her son anymore.

-

Leia has known Poe Dameron his entire life. He was, quite literally, born into the Rebellion. Raised around the alliance’s fiercest and bravest fighters, and on stories of the Empire’s defeat. Born just in time to miss the worst of it, but just in time to grow up in a (fairly) safe galaxy.

In a way he is a child of the Rebellion, but he is also his parents’ child and nothing more at the same time. He never needed to be anything else, but he is anyway.

Poe was not named after hope personified, but he is hope nonetheless. Hope for a free and safe galaxy. Hope for peace and freedom. Hope for the fighting to end. Hope for Shara Bey and Kes Dameron. He is their hope and that’s enough.

Sadly, the galaxy does not stay safe and free for long.

Rebellions are built on hope. That’s what they’ve always said. They’re built on hope, a little bit of wishful thinking, and yearning for a better galaxy. But most importantly, they’re built on good people like Poe Dameron. Poe Dameron who wears his heart on his sleeve and is willing to give it all for the right cause. Poe Dameron who is willing to carry the burden so others don’t. Poe Dameron who won’t let the bad guys win, even if his life depends on it.

Poe is a spectacular pilot, just like his mother. One of the best, she thinks. He is good-hearted and stubborn to a fault. He is kind and selfless and everything his parents were. He’s the best of both of them. He’s the best of all of them. A spitting image of his late mother.

Leia sees so much of his parents in Poe it almost takes her breath away sometimes. Not just their looks, but their strong moral compass, their compassion, their need to do good. No one is surprised when he joins the Resistance. The little boy from Yavin 4 has grown up before her eyes. Headstrong and willing to fight for the cause. She cannot, and will not stop him. She can’t afford to.

He messes up and he makes up for it, over, and over, and over again. He leaves, but he always comes back. He learns (sometimes in ways Leia wishes he didn’t need to) and he grows. And Leia loves him more because of it.

She loves him like a son, even if she shouldn’t. Poe doesn’t need her to. His real mother had loved him enough for a thousand lifetimes before she became one with the Force, but Leia does anyway.

He reminds her of her brother who she didn’t see for years. He is passionate and dedicated to doing the right thing and he’s even more attached to his droid than she ever remembers Luke being. He reminds her of her husband who she scarcely heard from before it was too late. He is an excellent pilot with a confident exterior and a soft heart and sharp wit.

Poe is many people all at once and also just himself.

Leia has never once worried about Poe’s commitment to the Resistance, but rather what his commitment is going to do to him. She sees him give, and give, and give without the expectation of being given anything in return.

If the galaxy had more Poe Damerons laying around there’d be no Empire or First Order, she’s sure of it. Unfortunately there is only one, and Leia is privileged enough to know him.

Poe is a son without a mother, just like she is a mother without a son. He is not hers, but he might as well be at times.

-

When Poe all but barges into her office she is not surprised. He has a tendency to do that. Coming in without asking, no care for what she might be doing. It has earned him some rather embarrassing encounters and some awkward apologies to both her and whoever she is meeting with throughout his time in the Resistance. Still, she likes to imagine her office is somewhere Poe feels at least somewhat safe.

The First Order takes, and it takes, and it takes. From her, from the Resistance, from Poe. She might as well give something to Poe when the galaxy seems so intent on taking. It’s the least she could do.

She’s lost count of all the reports he’s given, all the hands she’s held, all the hugs she’s given, all the tears shed, all the warm cups of caf drank. Hell, even the hands he’s held and the hugs he’s given in this room. She just knows there’s been many more than she’d have liked it to be.

In an ideal world Leia wouldn’t need to provide that comfort. In an ideal world Leia wouldn’t have to send Poe out on dangerous missions. In an ideal world Poe wouldn’t have to give every piece of himself to the fight just to keep it going.

Leia does not dwell, but sometimes she does.

She never would have sent him to Jakku if she had known what would happen. If she knew what he would do. What he would take from Poe. Still, she knows that’s not true. It’s wishful thinking. She only sent Poe because she had to. He was the best for the job. They all knew that. It wouldn’t have changed anything. They still needed the map and Poe knew that as well as she did.

She has learned a long time ago that certain things just need to get done. Consequences or not.

It had shattered her heart to see him return to broken and defeated. Shipless and droidless. A little less than he had been before. It had destroyed her to hear what her son had done to him. The fact that he was even capable of something like that. The fact that he was willing to do that to Poe. The Poe that he had grown up with, played with, laughed with.

(Deep down she’d known what he was capable of, but it’s different to actually see it for yourself. Makes the deniability harder.)

Sometimes when she looks at Poe she can still imagine him and Ben being small and young again. Tracking mud through the house and playing together for hours on end. She can almost hear their laughter from the other side of the house. All the toys littered about. Model ships and wooden lightsabers.

The house she doesn’t live in anymore. The house she hasn’t lived in in a long time.

This time when Poe comes into her office he’s sporting a wide, toothy grin. He holds his hands behind his back and there’s an almost mischievous glint in his eyes as he comes to stand in front of her. His Force presence is warm and bright and a little bit playful.

“What brings you to my office this time, Dameron?”

He bounces on his feet, childish excitement radiating off him. His droid is nowhere to be seen which is unusual, but not entirely uncommon. She decides to play along with him. Not just because it seems to get farther and farther between each of his smiles the longer this war rages on, but it’s definitely part of it.

“Do I need a reason to spend time with my favorite general?”

Leia rolls her eyes fondly and then gives him a look that tells him to get on with it. Poe walks over to her desk and pulls out his hands from behind his back. In his left hand is a shabby looking bouquet of what appears to be hand picked flowers. She’s seen some of them around base, though they’d looked a bit more lively than these. She supposes it’s the thought that counts.

His right hand holds a small, plain box. It is inconspicuous, but that just makes the contents of the box all the more curious.

“Happy mother’s day, general.”

He places the box on her desk, hands her the flowers. A few leaves fall out of the bouquet as she takes it from his hand, a few of the flowers sag and flop. Leia looks down at the flowers, looks at the little box, at Poe’s beaming face.

Something warm and pleasant and a little bit painful blooms in Leia’s chest. It threatens to bubble over, lodges itself in her throat, stings in her eyes. He must see the look on her face, but he does not mention it, for her sake or not, she doesn’t know. His smile does get gentler though as he sits down in the chair across from her.

He opens the little box, revealing two slices of cake. He presents it like it’s revolutionary, theatrics in full swing. He passes one to Leia. She carefully places the flowers on the desk to take the cake slice. She watches Poe take a large bite out of his slice, cupping his spare hand under to catch any chocolaty crumbs. He struggles to chew with his proud smile plastered on his face.

“Poe,” she says. “Where’d you even get this?”

She knows the Resistance doesn’t have the resources to spare just to make some cake for fun. They know better than to spend their resources on something so frivolous right now. They’re already spread too thin. And Poe wouldn’t ask them to make it just for him, which means he acquired it elsewhere.

He flashes her one of his signature grins that makes her think of Han. “I have my ways,” he tells her. “And I thought maybe you could use some cheering up.”

She takes a bite of her cake slice. It tastes sweet and a little salty and just right. It’s nothing compared to the food she grew up with on Alderaan, but it’s better than a lot of the food she’s had these past few months.

“Cheering up?” she asks, brows raised.

Poe shrugs. “And me, I guess. I figured we could both use some cheering up today.”

Leia thinks of Shara Bey, brave and young, and dead. Leia thinks about a young Poe, eight years old and so, so scared. Leia thinks about a young, eight year old Poe, clinging to her father’s hand. Leia thinks about a young, eight year old, clinging to his father’s hand, Poe who has to learn to live in a galaxy without his mother. She feels a pang of sympathy for him.

Then she thinks of her son, and all the pain and suffering he has caused the galaxy. All the grief he has caused everyone. The guilt, a heavy weight on her shoulders. The thing keeping her in the fight because she feels like she needs to. That she owes at least that.

She supposes he’s right. On mother’s day too. He didn’t come here just for her sake. A mother without a son and a son without a mother. It is almost poetic.

“Maybe you’re right,” she says.

He smiles at her again, earnest and true.

“I used to pick flowers for my mom when I was…” He pauses. “Before she… Yeah.”

She puts her hand on his, squeezes reassuringly. “She would be so proud of you, Poe. The man you’ve become... You truly are your mother’s son, through and through.”

Poe watches her in stunned silence, eyes wide and a little glossy, mouth slightly open in awe. Leia has never seen Poe look so touched before. She hears him swallow, can see his throat working. He smiles.

He keeps looking at her like she’s hung all the stars in the sky, like she is the reason the sun shines every morning. She can’t handle it at the best of times. She doesn’t deserve to have him look at her like that. With so much trust and love as if her son hasn’t caused destruction all over the galaxy. As if her son hadn’t hurt him. As if she deserves to have anyone look at her like that, let alone him. Kind and selfless Poe who risks it all because it’s the right thing to do, who falls down and keeps getting back up every time.

They finish the cake. Poe talks about the Resistance, Black Squadron, his new friends, their adventures, what he and BB-8 have been up to, how his father is. Anything Poe can think of to fill the time. Leia chimes in with stories from her own childhood. Of Alderaan, her parents, her friends. People who no longer exist, a place that ceased to be many years ago. A childhood that feels so, so long ago now.

(“I think he’s full of shit. BB-8 is as good as they come, best droid in the whole galaxy.”)

Leia shares stories about the Rebellion. Stories from before Poe was born. Before he was even a thought anyone had. When there was so much hope, even after so much had been lost. Stories about his mother, brave and bold, just like him. One of the Rebellion’s best pilots. Full of life and so, so much love.

She likes sharing stories with Poe. Stories of people who fought for the greater good, sharing their stories so they’re not forgotten. Never forgotten. Poe listens with such intensity that she’s sure he couldn’t forget even if he tried.

She likes to think she’s passing on Shara’s memory with Poe. Let him get to know his mother, even though she’s gone - and has been for most of his life now. She wants him to know his mother. Wants him to know what an incredible woman she was, a good mother. A good friend. He deserves it.

They must sit there for hours. Cake slices long gone, lukewarm cups of caf forgotten on the desk. They’ll be cold before either of them remembers them.

Poe laughs at something, true and delighted, and Leia feels all warm and fuzzy. It does not heal the Ben-shaped hole in her heart, the deep heartache that’s made its home in her soul, but it does make her feel a little better. She doesn’t think anything will ever be able to take it away, but Poe is damn good at easing the sorrow she carries so heavily.

It’s the best mother’s day she’s had in years.

“You know, you’re a good mom, Leia,” he tells her. “I know you don’t believe it, but you are.”

“Poe…” she starts.

“No, I’m serious,” he says, “Whatever he’s done, it isn’t your fault. He did that all on his own.”

Oh, how Leia wishes she could believe that as easily as Poe does. There is nothing she wants more in the world than to sit down and do exactly this with her own son. She yearns to have him back with her, to hug and to hold him, to be happy again.

She likes to think he would have turned out a lot like Poe if everything hadn’t gone wrong. She imagines him and Poe, still thick as thieves. She imagines him being a good Jedi, like she always thought he would be - like he should have been. She does not let herself dwell on the past a lot, but sometimes she does.

Poe will never replace Ben, he will never fill that gaping hole in her heart. And Leia will never be Shara Bey, she will never be able to take her place. Leia isn’t stupid. She knows that. But it does not change the fact that he is here right now, with her. He does not fill that gaping hole in her heart, but he has found his own spot and set up a home there. He is not leaving. Not ever. Not if he has a say over it.

Poe is not hers, but he might as well be at times.

Leia feels her eyes welling up with emotion, vision blurring with unshed tears. Her heart aches, yet she does not find it unpleasant at all.

Poe gives her a startled kind of look, eyes wide and concerned. She belatedly realizes that he’s probably never seen her cry. “Leia—” He shoots out of his seat and speedily makes his way around her desk. He kneels down on the floor, in front of the chair, takes her hands in his own. Dark, doe eyes look up at her and Leia can’t stop smiling.

“Now you’ve really done it, Dameron.” She lets out a wet chuckle.

He looks at her with a bit of a bemused smile, worry evaporating just like that. “Done what?”

Leia scoffs, rolls her eyes, and pulls him into her arms. Poe does not protest as she tucks his head against her shoulder, nor does he when she buries her fingers in his curls. He just wraps his arms around her middle, buries his nose in the crook of her neck. He fits like he was always meant to be there, tucked under her chin. Like he belongs there, wrapped in her arms.

“You’re insufferable,” she tells him.

Poe chuckles. The tip of his nose is cold against her skin. His hair tickles her cheek.

“I do my best.”

He holds her a little tighter

What would she do without him, she thinks idly. She would have given up a long time ago if it wasn’t for him, continuing to fuel the flame in her that is hope, standing behind her for every move. It really is people like him who give hope to the galaxy, even during the darkest points.

Her favorite flyboy, her right hand, her protege, her idiot boy who drives her insane at times, but sticks around and never even thinks about leaving her. It’s worth it. The fighting, the pain, the struggle. It’s worth every last bit of it. Just for moments like these.

Poe is a son without a mother and Leia is a mother without a son. The puzzle pieces fit together, although a little jagged. They slot together easily and without either of them really noticing.

Leia has two sons. One’s hers and the other is as much hers as he’ll ever be.

Leia has two sons. One left, but the other one stayed.

#star wars #star wars sequel trilogy #leia organa #Princess Leia #poe dameron #star wars leia #star wars poe #sw leia #sw poe #star wars poe dameron #star wars fics #sw fanfic #oh god what do i tag this #fics #my fics #mine

[readnburied]

My Favorite Book Characters

This is a post I’ve been meaning to write for a really long time but I just didn’t know when to do it. As I continue to update this blog, I’m also learning about so many different types of post and articles one can write when it comes to books. And it made me want to bring a variety to my blog—to change things up a little rather than putting out the same kind of posts every month. 

The characters in the books can really make or break the entire narrative and I wanted to share some of the characters which had a strong impact on me. This list is not an exhaustive one by any means and maybe in the future I’ll do a second or a third edition of this post. But for now, these are some of my favorite book characters. 

Charlotte Davidson 

First Grave on the Right by Darynda Jones

Charley Davidson is my ideal self. I strive to be like her but I’m not sure if I’ll ever quite manage to be like her in real life. She’s smart, funny, strong and independent. And best of all, she’s a detective which is my dream career by day and a grim reaper by night. So not only is she sassy but she’s kind and empathetic as well. 

Gavin Mecozzi

Fearscape by Nenia Campbell 

 Gavin is my all-time favorite anti-hero. He is freakishly intelligent and clever; a true Mastermind in the making and his obsession with Val literally makes me love him all the more. He’s a psychopath and therefore is supposed to be unlikeable but it just makes me love him more. 

Tess 

Written in Red by Anne Bishop

She is probably my favorite side character. Tess is a Harvester which we get to know much later in the series but I love how her hair changes color and texture based on her emotions. Not only that, but people fear Tess and when she unleashes her power towards the end of the series, I can understand exactly why people are afraid. But other than that, she’s incredibly loyal and hardworking and fights to protect her loved ones. 

Mia Corvere

Nevernight by Jay 

This character is badass, plain and simple. And the reason she’s on this list is because of her ability to craft poisons, which is something that intrigues me immensely. I wish I could be as strong and crafty as Mia is. And her skills with a knife are impeccable, which is another thing I love about her. 

Inej Ghafa 

Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo 

She’s a Wrath. A Wrath! If somebody can make me a wrath, please let me know because I want to be as fierce and intense as Inej. Her skills as an acrobat are awe-inspiring and I wish I could do half the stuff she does. I would feel so much more accomplished and confident. 

Erik 

Phantom Heart by Kelly Creagh 

Erik is love. That’s all I can say about him. His tormented and loving personality has my heart. Not to mention the many Masks which are a part of his personality just adds to his allure. He is incredibly unique and I love the way he understands music. The way he’s so protective about the ones he love just makes me love him more. 

Varen Nethers 

Nevermore by Kelly Creagh 

This boy. This beautiful, tormented, lonely boy stole my heart the first time I read about him. I love his artistic skills and the connection he has with Edgar Allen Poe. Varen has a lot of demons he has to fight and throughout the series I just wish I could be the main character so I can help him face his demons. 

Holland

A Darker Shade of Magic by V. E. Schwab 

I think Holland is my favorite villain. There’s so much depth to his character. He’s ambitious yet he suffers. He is evil but there’s so much pain inside him that I couldn’t help but empathize with him. And he definitely deserved better. I think out of all the characters in the series, Holland was the one who deserved better. He really did. 

So these are some of my favorite book characters. There are plenty more but I could only mention a limited number and I would be writing about my other favorite characters in the future. Let me know if you’ve read about these characters and what you thought of them. 

#read n buried #booklr #books and reading #reading #books #book #books & libraries #currently reading #book blog #book community #Authors #bookstagram #bookstaexplore #bookstan #bookclub #booklover #readersofig

[rafael-silva]

#a million times: this

#oisaacedit #oscar isaac #usermima #usercaptainflint #userniamh #userkeanu #userjessie #usertreena #userashlyn #usersmichelle #usershereen #userelysia #userfleur #usercarolina #*gif #poe's parents fought with leia and han and luke #and its so vital to poe's character and his connection to the resistance #poe has been a part of this fight his entire life

[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

[certifiedskywalker]

Reunion - Poe Dameron

Anonymous said: could you do some poe x solo!reader where she tells him about kylo being her brother

Poe left with BB8 on a mission to collect intelligence regarding the whereabouts of Luke Skywalker, your uncle. A day after his scheduled return when you get word that he was captured by the First Order. You’re struck with fear and worry, fretting over how your family could be lost. It is then you get word that Poe Dameron somehow made it back and is healing from his wounds.

“Where is he?!”

“Who?”

“Dameron, Poe Dameron!”

“He’s been logged, but we’re only letting ranking officials in to see-” You flashed your credentials at the nurse, whose eyes widened at the sight. “Oh! Lieutenant Solo!”

“Which room?”

“Here, follow me,” the nurse said, quickly moving out from behind the desk. 

Her calmness and steady steps infuriated you. Your heart beat wildly in your chest and your pace was nearing a swift jog. Panic still held you in a tight choke hold; just as tight as it had been when your mother told you of Poe’s return. The moment after she told you, you made a mad dash to the medbay, pushing past anyone that stood in your way.

“He’s in poor condition,” the nurse said, breaking you from your thoughts. “He’s been drifting in and out of consciousness. But he is stable.”

“How can he be stable but unconsciousness?” 

As you asked, you quickened your pace. A new wave of desperation fell over you. You needed to see Poe. You needed to see and learn what had happened; though you were scared to find out. And scared too see how poor his condition truly was. 

“Well, it’s difficult to explain, really. He had a high burst of adrenaline, which got him here but then it crashed and -here’s his room- but, as I said, it crashed when-”

You ignored the nurse’s attempt to explain the medical reasoning for Poe’s condition. Though, when you saw him, part of you wanted to know what made him look so small. For as long as you had known Poe, loved Poe, he had been larger than life. He had been strong, with a smile and presence and took a chunk out of any room. It took strength to hold on as he was, but he looked as if the galaxy had chewed up him and spat him out. 

“Poe…”

You walked over to his bedside, your footfalls falling into a beat that nearly matched the steady beeping of the vitals monitor. His tanned skin was pale and bruised in places. Cuts on his cheeks and one across the bridge of his nose made your stomach twist. He had been tortured, beaten, but the rise and fall of his chest was a reminder that he was alive. Perhaps that meant that your worst fears were fruitless, left unfounded.

You reached a shaking hand out to grab Poe’s. The flesh of his hand was still warm despite the coldness of the medbay. The limpness of his fingers was startling as you intertwined yours with his. You didn’t dare squeeze for fear of somehow waking him from his much needed rest. You did not move a muscle; not even when another nurse brought in a chair for you to sit in. Still as a pilotless fighter, you stayed standing by Poe’s bedside.

Time passed around you and the silent Poe. You weren’t sure as to how much time had passed until the door to his room hissed open.

“Y/N.”

You turned and met your mother’s gaze. Leia’s brown eyes were sad, glued to the scene before her. She saw your joined hands and lingered in the doorway, knowing that you wanted to be the first to be with Poe when he woke. Though, in the moment, you wanted answers.

“Did he do this?”

“It’s impossible to tell.”

“There’s no Force signature or something?” You were grasping for the right words, “there has to be some way to tell, to know that...”

“If you had finished your trying with your uncle, you would know that the Force doesn’t quite work like that. It’s not like a ship leak you can trace unless it’s left on purpose.” You squeezed your eyes shut out at Leia’s words. You shut them to control your anger; and to block the tears that threatened to spill out and over.

“If I had finished my training I would be dead,” you replied, “or worse: I’d be like Ben.”

When you opened your eyes, you met Leia’s gaze. Her mouth was slightly open in shock. You hadn’t said your brother’s name in so long. Even now, with his name said and hanging in the air of the room, it felt like a ghost. A tear slipped down your cheek at the thought.

“Tell me when he wakes,” Leia said softly, “after you’ve talked.”

“Gener-Mom,” you began to say, taking a step forward. But Leia was already gone. You bit your bottom lip to keep it from quivering as you listened to her walk down the medbay hall. Eventually, her footfalls grew quiet and you couldn’t feel her presence nearby.

Coldness left in her wake reminded you of the chill you felt the day you lost your brother. It was as if the entire galaxy had been filled with the cold snow of Hoth, only it was invisible. Every step and breath was harder, heavier. You were younger then, but you knew what the cold meant. It was darkness, the very thing you family had fought and was fighting. Ben had succumbed to it and left you, your family, lost in the snow.

“Crying over me?”

You gasped Poe’s name and turned your attention away from the now empty doorway. Despite the evident pain he was in, Poe was smiling at you. His grin coaxed you into moving to be as close to him as the medical cot and equipment in the room would allow. You smiled and, when you did, you felt the wetness that had gathered on your cheeks. Quickly, you wiped them away. You hadn’t even known you were crying.

“H-hey you,” you stammered. At the shakiness of your voice, Poe’s smile fell. He shifted in his cot, pressed his back against the small, metal headrest. 

“I’m okay,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze. “C’mere.” 

When Poe lifted his free hand and pulled his blankets up to make room for you, you felt your entire heart lurch with relief. Carefully, you clambered into the cot with Poe and wrapped your arms around him. You maneuvered around the tubes and wires connected to his flesh, fearful that knocking them would alert the medical staff of his lucid state. Selfishly, you wanted Poe to yourself, even if it was only for a little while. 

“You know I couldn’t not see you again,” Poe said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I promised you that I would be back.”

“I know,” you whimpered. All of your strength and stoicness was gone now, held loosely, but warm, in Poe’s arms. 

“What’s wrong then? Tell me,” Poe’s voice had lost it’s signature, confident edge. Exchanged it for a tone of deep concern. He was worried about you.

You craned your neck so you could look up at him from where you head rested against his shoulder. His brown eyes were darker under the synthetic lights of the room. With a slightly trembling hand, you reached up and trailed your fingers along his jaw. His already half-lidded eyes closed at the contact. In a way that was more longing than sensual, you brushed your lip along Poe’s full bottom lip. The sigh he released at the touch kissed the skin of your hand.

“You’re still really good at distracting me,” Poe murmured. A bit of lightness had returned to his voice which relieved the ache in your chest.

“I couldn’t distract myself from worrying about you.” 

Poe opened his eyes and, when you thumb brushed against the corner of his mouth, he pressed the softest of kisses to it. A smile crept it’s way onto your lips and you felt your stomach twist. Despite wanting to savor the moment, bask in the fact that your love was back by your side and alive, you also wanted an answer. No, you needed an answer.

“Poe….who did this to you?”

His gaze fell from yours to his lap. A shuddering, haggard breath shook in Poe’s chest. The dash of contentment that washed over him disappeared in an instant. You shifted in his arms so that you could look into his eyes. When Poe finally met your gaze again, you could see the fear that was nestled there. 

“Kylo Ren.”

Coldness returned to wrap its arms around you, a chilling reminder of the darkness that threatened to engulf your family. It had nearly destroyed Poe. Your eyes grew suddenly misty as you looked into his eyes. At the sight, he reached to hold your hold in his hand.

“Hey, I’m alright,” you pressed your face into the meat of his palm and closed your eyes. Poe, somewhat startled by your tears, continued to comfort you. “He’s more interrogation droid than man. He got to me, but it’s nothing we can’t fight. Once we find BB8, we’ll be ahead of him, alright? We’ll be okay.”

“No,” you whispered as you opened your eyes. “We’ll never be done with him.”

“Baby,” Poe said softly, “what do you mean?”

You looked into his eyes, savored the feeling of his concern, his love for you. After you told him the cold truth, he might not look at you the same. “He’s my brother.”

Poe’s eyes widened but he did not recoil as you originally thought he would. His hand remained pressed against your cheek, with his thumb rubbing soothingly against the skin. When the silence stretched on, you pulled away from his touch. You readied yourself to leave in a rush; a trait that your mother said you got from your father.

“Kylo Ren is-

“Ben Solo,” you finished for him. You snuck a glance at Poe only to find he was still looking at you. Despite the shock in his expression, there were still hints of affection in his gaze. 

Poe let out a heavy sigh and laid back in his cot. “And I thought meeting your father would be intense.”

Poe’s quip was enough to cut the heavy tension that had rested in the air around you. At his words, a sharp, bitter laugh fell from your lips. You had to place a hand on your chest to keep from tumbling into a fit. When you managed to collect yourself, you looked back at Poe. There was a slight smile on his lips as he stared back at you.

“Too soon?”

“How can you...how can you smile and make jokes right now?” A small flame of anger burned in your stomach. How could he be so light at a time like this? 

Then the fire fizzled out under a wash of pure admiration. You loved Poe for that very reason. For, whenever it felt like the world, the galaxy, was crashing down around you, he could lift it up again. He could lift you up, save you from the drowning depths of your mind. Poe could do it so naturally, so effortlessly, and you were lost in him.

“Because your laugh heals all wounds,” Poe teased as he leaned towards you. He took your face in his hand and held your gaze. “Because I love you, no matter what, and I know you get trapped in here,” he tapped the tip of his index finger against your forehead, “and I want you here, with me, Lieutenant Solo. Can you stay with me?”

Without hesitation you replied, “always.”

Poe smiled at your answer and leaned in. For the first time in cycles, Poe’s lips have found yours. Warmth spread to every nerve ending in your body and the coldness melted away.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron imagines #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fanfiction #poe x reader #poe imagine #poe imagines #poe fanfic #poe fanfiction #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars imagines #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #poe dameron x solo!reader #solo!reader #ben solo #leia organa #tfa

[multifandomhoodies]

Finnpoe Rec List!

There’s some really fantastic Finnpoe fics out there and I’ve been setting aside fics from my bookmarks for this for a while! These are just some of my faves, so enjoy!! 

Canon/Canon Adjacent (not AUs outside general Star Wars universe) 

“how to become the spark” by sassy_ninja (G - 49.7k

Poe Dameron, commander of the Resistance fleet, best pilot in the galaxy, hotshot trigger-happy flyboy, he's all of these things plus a little bit more. This is the story Poe Dameron, shy farmboy, doting son, idiot gay, soldier who tries his best not to be broken by the war roaring around him and most of all just a human in a galaxy which doesn't care about things like love, friendship and fear. This is how he breaks and how he begins to heal again and how he starts to learn what it means to be alive. Or Poe Dameron's life from his childhood to the end of the war.

“bathed in blue light” by delgay (M - 17.4k)

When Finn turns to his right, Poe stands beside him, looking up at Finn and giving him what might be a smirk if he weren’t too busy smiling. It’s that same smile that’s made home on his face ever since Finn said, “I’d like to see Yavin IV. If I’d be welcome.” Poe had blinked fast, but the smile came slow. “Buddy,” he’d replied, “I’m offended that you even had to ask.”

A year after the Battle of Exegol, Finn and Poe visit Yavin IV. While there, Finn struggles with the Force and his complicated relationship with Poe.

“we slept with our backs against the weather” by bogpersons (T - 8.4k)

Poe’s breaths come in stops and starts, and wheezes on the inhale and exhale. He sounds like a dying man. Finn lifts Poe’s hand to his lips, presses it there, squeezes his eye shut. Something harsh and painful swells in his chest, finds a place under his heart and pushes and pushes and pushes until Finn can barely breathe with it. You are a Human Person. Finn and Poe crash on a jungle planet. Finn struggles with himself.

“We Stan A Healthy Family Dynamic (The Kes Verse)” by AphroditesTummyRolls SERIES (Not rated, 161.7k)

Get in losers, we're giving the Star Wars Sequel cast the story they deserved-- Particularly Poe and Finn.

[Set after the events of TFA, rewrites of TLJ and neat little bits in-between. Poe deals with the aftermath Kylo Ren’s interrogation, dealing with regret and trauma, with the help of his friends and dad through a rewrite of TLJ.]

“your love will be safe with me” by incalyscent (T - 8.6k)

when finn stripped away the violence from himself, what did he have left? it was love; love; love.

“i’m yours (and suddenly you’re mine) by spacepilotprince (E - 4.3k)

Finn snorts against Poe's stomach, and it forces a ticklish laugh out of him. “Laying it on a little thick tonight, aren't you?” Finn asks as he looks up at Poe, and finds that grin he heard in his voice.

“Not the only thing that's thick,” Poe says with a smirk, glancing down between them towards Finn's cock.

“Oh, shut up,” Finn laughs, surging up to kiss him, muffling Poe's laughter. Poe runs his hands over Finn's shoulders and tips his head aside, sending Finn's mouth down his jaw and neck.

“Contact” by earthmylikeness (M - 9.9k)

Because what could Finn do but live through it? Live in the remains of his own shipwrecked mind, his badly-crossed wires. Imagine Poe’s perpetually bitten mouth on him - his wide, calloused hands on his bare chest, pulling him down and down whenever he so much as closes his eyes. 

Finn has a delayed reaction to surviving the crash.

“Best Laid Efforts” by cosmicocean (T - 3.7k) @cosmicoceanfic

In which Jessika and Temmin do their best, aren't even subtle about it, and Poe and Finn are still morons.

“Ad Pacem” by SteveTrevorsStarship (T - 1.5k) 

Finn knows war and rebellion so far. He doesn’t know peace. (Yet.)

“First Comes the Night” by coffeeinallcaps (E - 20.1k)

He doesn’t get nightmares. He doesn’t dream about the mask, the cries of the villagers, waking up in the desert with a blinding headache and his mouth filled with blood and the man who’d saved him gone, most likely dead. Instead, he just can’t sleep.

“have you heard” by peradi (Not rated, 42.1k)

"I heard FN-2187 was a Stormtrooper." 

Finn sparks a revolution.

“Doubt” by Cadoan (T - 1.4k) 

After the battle of Crait, something has changed in Poe. Poe can't sleep, and Finn goes to find him.

“Neither Here Nor There” by d8rkmessengr (T - 7.8k)

Sometimes, it felt like he wasn't really here. Sometimes, it felt like it wasn't really over. And the one person who tethered him left to finally tell Rey something. Post The Rise of Skywalker.

“How to Be a Finn” by Ayashiki (G - 111k)

In a hindsight, all of it - the stolen childhood, the crash on Jakku, Han Solo's death, even the lightsaber to the back - was easier than living in this world of invisible social clues and inside jokes, the whirlwind of this ragtag family that defied any logic, the caring, the compassion, the love. And all the while people tell him: Finn, you are so brave! Finn, you are so strong! Finn, you are so kind! Finn, thank you for saving my life! And FN-2187 looks to the stars and desperately tries to find this "Finn" everyone seems to know in himself.

“On the Other Side” by StarMaple (T - 27.2k)

Finn discovers the differences first hand between the First Order and the Resistance and establishes a space for himself on D'Qar.

“we are all stardust” by synergenic (Losseflame) (Not rated, 15.3k)

Finn wakes up. He wakes up slow, the rising tide of consciousness making him aware, firstly, of how stale his mouth tastes. Then it's the general stiffness of his body, the foreign feeling of a pillow beneath his head, the softness of the clothes he's wearing. Finn doesn't think he's ever worn clothes so soft.

“No Sleep till Brooklyn” by TheCarrot (T first chapter, second chapter E, - 10.4k)

Poe is exhausted. And not just because he hasn’t slept for more than three hours at a time in Force knows how long. Moreover it’s the 39 flights he’s run in the last 22 days and the fact Pava had gotten deathlike sick eight days ago and then they had fallen behind on a few supply runs and an emergency evacuations of some of their pathfinders and then there had been a last minute scramble to one of their allies in the mid rim with far too many TIEs to be comfortable and then- well, Poe just wants to fall over onto the floor and stay there.

AUs

“Time of the Underdog” by beeeawolf, SERIES. (G & T, 56k)

Modern times AU, Poe is a former Navy pilot who was discharged after a crash and being a POW. Finn is a university student who manages to catch Poe’s run away dog, BB-8, who’s literally everything to him.

“We Didn’t Start the Fire” by MayGlenn and cognomen (E - 10.7k)

There’s a calm that claims them all when they’re working and it’s going the way it’s supposed to; the low-level hum of concentration and focus and adrenaline that keeps them on edge without panic. The crew deploys from Idaho, a home base that they see perhaps 3 weeks out of the entire 26 week fire season, interspersed with time in camps and housing all over the country. This week, it’s California—sunny, liberal, beach lined, and on fire.

Finn's a Hotshot firefighter; Poe's the team Helitack operator. They're headed to California to fight a fire in San Jacinto; dangerous country.

“It’s Not Goodbye” by mssrj_335 (T - 25.9k)

Finn is an ex-soldier on a solo motorcycle trip across America. Poe is the mechanic in a small desert town. Poe wants to keep his secrets and Finn is running from something--or toward it--and the part for his bike is going to take at least a week to come in. What starts as a quick stop and awkward flirt devolves into a conspiratorial intrigue of a very personal nature. Lights in the desert, headaches and vague memories all point Finn to something that has Poe tied in knots. He just has no idea how far that something will take him.

“A Possibility (A Promise)” by sapphistication (T - 5.9k)

Poe, Prince of Yavin, is briefly reunited with the Resistance Fighters lead by General Leia Organa. After three years apart, he quickly finds that his affections for Finn are of a different nature than he remembers. Despite the war they find themselves in, they share a few moments of peace by the fire, filled with soft words and meaningful smiles. Time works against them, but Poe seeks a possibility and makes a promise.

#finnpoe #stormpilot #star wars #finnpoe fic #finnpoe fic rec #stormpilot fic #stormpilot fic rec #stormpilot fic recs #finnpoe fic recs #finn #poe dameron #poefinn #fic rec #fic recs #fic rec list #if you enjoyed any of these please considering rbing this post so others can see! #star wars fic #star wars fic rec #rey #leia organa

[squirrelno2]

this is the year in review thing but I reject the gif so. Here we are with whatever this is

I posted 107 times in 2022

19 posts created (18%)

88 posts reblogged (82%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@blackandblue13

@blueskiesandstarrynights

@kote-wan

@keldabekush

@imaginariumgeographica

I tagged 104 of my posts in 2022

Only 3% of my posts had no tags

#star wars - 39 posts

#clone wars - 18 posts

#julie and the phantoms - 17 posts

#gifset - 10 posts

#somebodys very good fanart - 9 posts

#andor - 8 posts

#fanfic - 6 posts

#julie molina - 5 posts

#fanfic related - 4 posts

#art - 4 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#no but actually he looks so downtrodden and small and the looks they're wearing in the first one like they're wary of us the audience. ouch

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Me at myself in the mirror at 3:50 in the afternoon one day: the thing about the sequel trilogy of star wars is that Finn was in the perfect position to be a foil to Kylo Ren and a hopeful spin on the character of Anakin Skywalker and the fact that nobody even noticed these parallels is a testament to the power of racism and the fact that bigotry actually makes you a worse writer

No but. Anakin’s out here with his introduction in the prequels as a slave, and it’s poorly done but implied that the pain and fear of that part of his life impacts how he interacts with… basically everything ever, and ultimately makes him susceptible to palpatine’s grooming; your mileage may vary on the ratio of canon to fanon in this interpretation but I think we can all agree being a slave from birth is gonna fuck a kid up and there’s a reason why George lucas chose this particular backstory for him.

So you’ve got Kylo Ren, eschewing a family that cares for him (please don’t talk to me about whatever the fuck was going on in those last jedi flashbacks first of all that’s bad writing babe and second, we’re talking solely about the expectations and possibilities established in force awakens because there’s not enough narrative or character consistency in the sequel trilogy to take. Anything as a whole there) in order to chase after this version of his grandfather that isn’t even the version he died as. Like! Whether you think Anakin/Vader achieved redemption or simply did one good thing at the end of his life, we all know that act of sacrifice on Luke’s behalf is. The definition of Star Wars. Vader choosing to do good in his last moments was what the original trilogy built towards and what the prequel trilogy always knew, and it’s this fucked up spectre over everything Kylo Ren says or does in Force Awakens because he’s out here pleading with the ghost of a man who is not real, he’s chasing Vader instead of Anakin Skywalker and ignoring the choices his own grandpa made in the name of… honouring him somehow???

And then there’s Finn. Finn who’s been raised since who knows when but definitely childhood given he has no name to remember to be a weapon for the First Order. Somehow I doubt they pay their stormtroopers, somehow I expect their education is more indoctrination than anything, somehow I doubt Finn was ever instilled with a sense that he as a person mattered – Finn’s a slave when we meet him. Unequivocally. And this man who’s known nothing else his entire life turns around and says “actually I think I will do good things or at least stop doing bad ones” and runs the fuck away, freeing himself. (and also Poe. Something something the act of saving others in turn saves you, this is my eternal soapbox but that’s not my point right now)

Finn is afraid, and very nearly runs away from the fight like “I’m safe so it doesn’t matter what happens to others” – when satisfied that Rey is safe (and under the impression that Poe is dead) he feels no strong compulsion to protect an ambiguous “rest of the galaxy” which honestly is exactly the vibes Anakin Skywalker has for pretty much all his life. Anakin would be a hero because the people he cared about wanted him to be. He fought for Padme and Obi-Wan and frigging Palpatine (and Ahsoka, I say, skipping outside the movies for a hot second because I love her) first and foremost, and the Jedi and the Republic because those were the causes his loved ones cared about. Finn has the opportunity to get away, to protect himself for the first time in his life, and he doesn’t have to worry about the few people he cares about so he very nearly goes for it.

Then the thing is, Finn, unlike Anakin, doesn’t let that fear rule him? He turns around and goes back for Rey, follows Poe, stays with the Resistance. He gets to be terrified but he also says that terror isn’t his only motivating factor, and that his self-interest matters less to him than the galaxy – a choice Anakin struggled to make until literally the end of his life.

In conclusion, if the sequel trilogy had stuck to its guns and been about the tragedy of history as a cycle and the way we cling to idealised pasts and torture ourselves over might-have-beens (and also how that inaction and obsession with history allows the rise of fascism bc we spend so much time patting ourselves on the back for defeating ‘the bad guy’ we ignore what gave the bad guy power) – if it had been a well written story Finn should have been a hopeful twist to the story of Darth Vader, a man who faced the same struggles as Anakin but made better, kinder choices, which would bring it nicely full circle considering George Lucas was like. Very into star wars as being about Vader

But nope we had to have whatever that poorly written racist tug-of-war was instead. I don’t know about you but I need better fandoms

6 notes - Posted August 19, 2022

#4

WAIT I stim by singing to myself and the boys canonically improvise with each other - they improvise to stim

That's it that's the post I'm just furthering my everybody-in-jatp-is-neurodivergent agenda

7 notes - Posted December 1, 2022

#3

The way two different people I followed years and years ago for completely different things have posted in the last three days about missing julie and the phantoms... Fucking hell Netflix do you see what you've done. This show was for everyone and you've ruined it. Can you imagine if these people had posted about jatp before now. I might have actually verbally interacted with people I've quietly awkwardly admired for years.

8 notes - Posted November 29, 2022

#2

Midway through Andor and I don't have very solid thoughts, at least not ones that haven't been said already by ppl much better at saying them, but something about seeing the ppl on Aldhani have this religious experience while all this shit goes on behind them. The way the whole chaos of the interspliced scenes quiets for a moment as the sky lights up - and then it's right back to the heist because they don't care because they can't afford to care and it's not their belief anyway

The empire sees the Eye as this thing to gawk at and Cassian and co are looking at the Eye as part asset part obstacle, just something to navigate through, and it would be easy to stay with their perspectives, but instead we get these moments of wonder and community, the culture that these people are trying to protect independently of all this galactic scale stuff - and then of course we also know that the empire is doing their level best to take that away too

I'm not phrasing any of this well but man that aspect of it really got to me and I'm not even sure why, fully

8 notes - Posted December 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I wrote a Big Bang fic!!! the amazing @willexmagic was my partner and made some lovely moodboards which I will be reblogging in a hot second, and I had a lot of fun (and maybe some tears) working on this monstrosity of a Superman AU

If you’ve ever wanted Flynn and Carrie to be Clark Kent and Lois Lane (or even if you haven’t and just want superhero content?) then here is the fic! Featuring my usual favourite things of friend angst, sad Flynn hours, and ensemble cast shenanigans, as well as me wandering wildly through some of my favourite coomic book tropes.

15 notes - Posted July 31, 2022

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#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #The way this is all from like. The past week and change