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bradshawswife · 2 years

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Play it Again | B.B

based on Play it Again by Luke Bryan (just heard it on the radio and instantly thought of Bradley lol)

w/c: 2,507.

description: You and your friend visit her boyfriend, whos stationed in San Diego. While at a party, a tall sandy brunette haired Aviator takes a special interest in you.

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x fem!reader

warnings: some suggestive themes, allusions to sex towards in the middle & towards the end. MINORS DNI 🔞 please. Bradley is adorable as ever.

a/n: one of my favorite songs ever and I just NOW realized this would work wonderfully with Bradley.

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You and your bestfriend were from out of town visiting her boyfriend of a few years, on a whim. Her boyfriend was a naval aviator who was stationed here in Miramar, San Diego, more known as "Fighter town USA". You practically knew everything about him because your friend wouldn't shut up. And here you were, on the back of her boyfriends truck, all alone. Despite the fact that there were dozens of people surrounding you, the feeling of loneliness, due to knowing no one besides your friend and her beau, was overwhelming.

Peering up from your drink, which you resorted to staring at rather than look at everyone having fun, you notice a tall, sandy brown haired man with the stupidest mustache you've ever seen, stare at you. After about 2 minutes of noticing him stare you down, you looked behind you, wondering if his friend or girlfriend was behind you. Nope, no one. He was still looking at you.

Bradley got invited to his friend, Jakes, party one night. They rarely got together after work, but Jake emphasized that Bradley must meet his girlfriend. Hesitantly, he obliged. After meeting her, she mentioned that she brought a friend and before Bradley knew it, 1 drink quickly turned into more.

♬ She was sittin' all alone over on the tailgate

♬ Tan legs swingin' by a Georgia plate

♬ I was lookin' for her boyfriend

♬ Thinkin', "No way she ain't got one"

He found his way through the crowd, stopping a few feet away from Jakes truck. He noticed one of the most beautiful girls ever, sitting on the back of his tailgate, drinking from her solo cup. Her legs were swinging back and forth. She proceeded to focus on her drink, not engaging with anyone. How could a pretty girl be all alone like this, he thought. Quickly figuring out this was Jake's girlfriends friend, he proceeded to eye her up wondering if he should go sit with her. She looked pretty lonely. He assumed you knew no one else here, which was accurate. After a few minutes she turned around, probably looking for someone. She looked confused as to why he was staring at her.

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♬ Soon as I sat down I was fallin' in love

♬ Tryin' to pour a little sugar in her Dixie cup

After Bradley worked up the courage to walk up to one of the prettiest ladies he's ever laid his eyes on, he quickly made haste and sat down next to her on the tailgate.

You were beyond confused as to why this hunk of a man sat down next to you rather than all the other prettier girls, but you decided to not question it much, and just let this once and a lifetime experience happen to you. Having guys come up to you like this or pay even a little bit of attention to you was rare to say the least. You only had 1 serious relationship, which you felt was embarrassing seeing as it's been years since you've been in bed with anyone.

"Hey pretty girl, what's your name?" he asks, as your cheeks go bright red at the compliment. How was this happening to you? He's even more beautiful up close. Continuing to stare at your cup, which is nearly empty despite savoring it for this long so you wouldn't have to get up.

"Y/N," you say shyly, "What's yours?"

"Rooster" he says, grinning.

"Rooster? Did your mother not like you or something?" you ask, giggling. Bradley swears his heart just skipped a beat. You have the most contagious little giggle ever.

"Oh no, Rooster is my call sign" he says, looking nervous after your face made an expression to the word 'call sign'. "My names Bradley."

"Call sign? So you're in the Navy too," you ask, sighing because you knew all about dating military dudes. You see your friends relationship and what deployments do to her. Spending numerous days with her, after Jake left for a deployment. She was depressed and wouldn't get off the couch for days. You were always there putting her back together.

"Yes, I'm a Naval Aviator, is that a problem pretty girl? he mutters, nervously playing with his hands. Shit did he really just manage to blow his shot? Good going.

"Well, I don't mingle with Naval Aviators, I see what that does to my friend every time her guy leaves." you confess, chugging back whatever's left in your cup.

"Well darlin', this doesn't have to be a permanent thing. You're friends with Hangman's girlfriend aren't you?" he asks, already knowing the answer but didn't want to seem like he was stalking you.

"Yes. I'm assuming you're friends with Jake then?" you chuckle. Jake got on your nerves quite frequently. He was always one of those show boat kind of guys, who you absolutely couldn't stand. But, he was your bestfriends 'soulmate' as she said, so you tolerate him.

"Oh yea, we go way back." he admits, smiling. He has a pretty smile. You could be fine with a one night stand with this man, if that's what he meant. You never did these things, so this was all new territory for you.

♬ Talkin' over the speakers in the back of that truck

There's music blaring from Jake's truck, he turned the music to his favorite station before he left with your friend. It's loud enough to hear the music clearly, but not too loud that you can't hear Bradley. You loved his voice, it was like music to your ears.

♬ She jumped up and cut me off

As soon as you heard the beginning beats to "Great Balls of Fire" by Jerry Lee Lewis, you quickly slid off the tailgate. Oh my god, this was your absolute favorite song. You probably look insane leaping off the truck that quickly, but who cares.

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♬ She was like, "Oh, my God, this is my song

♬ I've been listenin' to the radio all night long

♬ Sittin' 'round, waitin' for it to come on and here it is"

Bradley looked at you as you slid off the tailgate, your sundress slightly getting caught on the end of the truck. He quickly looked away as you turned around to look at him. He hopes you didn't catch him glance at you. His cheeks turned red almost instantly.

"Oh my goodness I love this song. I've been waiting for it to play." you state, dancing with the beat. You start singing along with it, realizing Bradley is also singing it. Little did you know, this was also his favorite song.

♬ She was like, "Come here boy, I wanna dance"

♬ 'Fore I said a word she was takin' my hand

♬ Spinnin' me around 'til it faded out

You decided to go out of your comfort zone, and grab Bradleys huge hand, making him stand up with you. "Let's dance Rooster." you say, smiling as you spun around with him. You both quickly fell into rhythm.

Bradley can't believe this seemingly shy girl just pulled him up to dance. How he's here dancing with the prettiest lady ever, to his favorite song, is beyond him. He's starting to worry that his "this doesn't have to be permanent" stance won't last long, if she keeps twirling with him like this.

♬ And she gave me a kiss

You can't tell if its the alcohol or your attraction to Bradley, or both, but you quickly pull his shirt in to kiss him. His lips were just as soft as you imagined.

"Wow, that was unexpected," he begins to say, "but I'm glad you did that before I was going too" he laughs as you rest your head against his chest. The height difference is pretty cute, you're about eye level with his chest.

♬ And she said, "Play it again, play it again, play it again"

"I hope that song plays again." you grin looking up at him. You're both swaying even though the song is upbeat.

He has his arms wrapped around your waist, staring down at your smile. You have the most beautiful smile he's seen. He becomes painfully aware of how 'whipped' he is.

"Me too, precious." he says, laying his head against your shoulder as you continue to dance. You too become painfully aware of how quickly you're catching feelings for him, wondering if you should just forget it all and risk it for this tall, handsome man.

♬ And I said, "Play it again, play it again, play it again"

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♬ I'd a gave that DJ my last dime

♬ If he would have played it just one more time

After you realized how long you two had been swaying, you pried yourself off of him. He looked sad at the sudden loss of comfort. You felt so safe in those few minutes, safer than you felt in years. Bradley wished the song would play again, just so you'd try and dance with him. It was getting kind of late, you haven't seen your friend in god knows how long, losing track of time with Bradley. Realizing you had no ride home if she left in her car with Jake, you contemplated asking Bradley to bring you home.

"Bradley, would you want to come back to my place?" you ask, hoping he said yes.

"Of course pretty girl" he says, placing a kiss to your lips, sending butterflies to your stomach. You loved when he called you that. It turned you into a giddy school girl. You turned Jake's car off and grabbed the keys, reserving them in your pocket for him to retrieve tomorrow morning.

You both made haste to Bradley's Bronco. You loved his truck, it was very unique. Seemed to fit his personality somehow.

Showing him the directions to your Airbnb, his hand rested on your thigh, just below where your sundress lands. Butterflies are going crazy in your stomach, and you can tell Bradley knows what he's doing to you.

"Stop teasing me, Roo" he grinned at the nickname from his call sign, also grinning because he's making you squirm over the littlest touch.

"Oh darlin, just you wait." he chuckles, moving his hand just a bit further. You were close to your place, hoping he'll step on the gas a bit.

♬ But a little while later we were sittin' in the drive in my truck

After he pulls into your driveway, your lips are attached once again. Breaking away from this steamy situation, Bradley turns up the radio. Hoping maybe your guys song will come back on and you can end the night even better.

♬ Before I walked her to the door

♬ I was scannin' like a fool AM, FM, XM, too

♬ But I stopped real quick when I heard that groove

♬ Man, you should have seen her light up

Scanning through the radio, hoping your song will come back on, Bradley starts to get defeated. You slouch back in the seat, not wanting this night to end. Once he got to the last station, preparing to turn his car off, by all odds you both heard the beginning of the song again. Your faces light up in happiness, the night doesn't have to end just yet.

♬ She was like, "Oh, my God, this is my song

♬ We've been listenin' to the radio all night long

♬ I can't believe that it came back on, but here it is"

"Oh my god it's our song again. What are the odds?" you beam, opening your door and meeting him in front of the beaming headlights.

♬ She was like, "Come here boy, I wanna dance"

"Dance with me again, Rooster." you grin, jumping at the beat of your song.

She had the biggest grin on her face, radiating pure sunshine. The headlights amplified her beauty even more. Bradley couldn't believe just how gorgeous she was, and here he was, standing with her in the driveway, a scene straight out of a fairytale.

♬ 'Fore I said a word she was takin' my hand

♬ Spinnin' in the headlights she gave me a goodnight kiss

Before he could say anything, you grabbed his hand and started spinning around with him in his headlights. It was a very romantic scene to anyone watching from their house.

Once the song was done, you kissed him again. This time, a goodnight kiss. He didn't want to let you go, nor did you. You gave him your phone to put his number in, once you finally parted your lips. After he returned your phone, you gave him a toothy smile. You were quickly falling more in love with a guy you swore you wouldn't.

♬ And I said, "Play it again, play it again, play it again"

♬ And she said, "Play it again, play it again, play it again"

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♬ The next Friday night

♬ We were sittin' out under the stars

♬ You should have seen her smile

♬ When I broke out my guitar

The following Friday, you two had plans to go out for dinner and sit by the beach. You weren't planning on staying in San Diego this long, but for Bradley? Anything.

You two quickly became close over the last week ish, texting and calling almost always when he was too busy to head over to you and your friends Airbnb. If you weren't convinced you were in love with each other, after tonight there would be no questions.

After dinner, which was lovely, you two laid on the back of his Bronco, staring up at the stars. You feel Bradley shift in his spot, reaching behind him. What you didn't know, was he was pulling out his guitar.

a/n: hi besties, I'm not sure if Great Balls of Fire can be played on the guitar, so just pretend that it can please lol

"Hey baby, I have a surprise for you." he states. As you sit up, you notice he's sitting on the edge of the tailgate with a guitar. As if this man can't get any more dreamy, he knows the guitar.

He starts playing Great Balls of Fire on his instrument. Which has absolutely captured your heart, even more than he already did prior to this stunt. You both sing along as he strums his guitar.

Once he's done, you feel the need to confess something you've been mustering up in your brain.

"Rooster," you grin, grabbing his hand to hold, "I think i'm falling for you, you big stud" you say, eyes watering.

"Oh darlin, so am i." he laughs.

"Take me to bed, or lose me forever." you exclaim, laughing as he tugs you off the tailgate.

"Show me the way home honey." he smiles, pressing a kiss onto your lips.

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TAGLIST:

@katiemcrae <3

@thesewordsareallihavetogive <3

comment on this post to be added!

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thestalwartheart · 1 year

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care

Rating: Mature/Explicit Words: 1,376 Relationship: James Bond/Q Tags: Hurt/comfort, PTSD, sex, allusions to cbt (and that scene in Casino Royale). Summary:

In bed, things don't go exactly to plan. Inspired by the following anon prompt I got from this list forever ago: one person turning the other off. [Read on AO3.]

Like most men, it’s right on the edge of an orgasm that Q lets slip his stupidest thoughts.

It’s even worse after he’s been denied, as he has been now. He and Bond have been in bed for an age. A long, languid, wonderful age full of teasing and laughing and kisses like treacle, as inescapable as the sticky tree sap Q had worked with in the lab last week.

And now Q is cresting, burning. Falling. He feels like he’s being entirely undone until—

Bond’s fingers circle like a vice around the base of Q’s cock, putting a vicious and immediate stop to the wave overcoming him. Q makes a sound that, in the light of day to come, he will never ever admit to making.

“I’ll have your balls for that,” Q gasps, incensed. “I should have brought a whip. I’ve got one, you know.”

(Never mind that he’d got it as a gag gift when he was promoted to Quartermaster — from Tanner, of all people — and that, even if Q had any real intention of using it, the thing probably holds no sting at all. Bond needn’t know that.)

Q expects a joke in turn. At the very least, a pithy comment. A sounds delightful, or a you’re welcome to try your hardest, darling, but Bond says nothing. It takes a moment for Q’s brain to return to full awareness, and when it does, something doesn’t quite feel right.

Q is no agent, but he hopes he’s considerate enough in bed that he knows when his partner is having a bad time. Bond is doing a very good impression of someone who wants to keep calm and carry on, but there’s a tightness in his that Q is only used to seeing after very bad missions and in meetings with Mallory that aren’t going his way. Never has he looked like this in bed. At least, not in the dozen or so times he’s occupied the same one as Q.

“Ah. Was that terribly unfunny?” asks Q. “I suppose cock and ball torture is a bit of a niche subject for comedic relief. The crown jewels are probably in enough danger out in the field.”

“Yes,” replies Bond carefully. His hand lets go of Q.

There’s a look Bond usually gets when they talk about things to try in bed. It’s a cheeky, heated spark that usually sets Q’s brain (as well as one other, far less cerebral organ) into overdrive. After all, Bond has an extensive back catalogue of lovers and, at nearly forty, Q’s no blushing maiden either. So the look happens fairly often, and it usually leads to an hour or so of furious passion where they try to outdo their own imaginations or memories as much as each other.

That look is nowhere to be found now, which must mean—

Oh. Oh, God.

Q wonders if it was a mission, and if so, which one it was, and whether it was in bed or during some less overtly sexual horror show outside of it. Stupidly, he also wonders whether it was a woman or a man. Would that have mattered to Bond at the time? He imagines it probably didn’t — getting one’s cock and balls smashed to smithereens probably shuts down most higher brain functioning related to things like gender. The thought of it happening at all turns Q’s stomach. Even before they’d started sleeping together, he’d never been very good at witnessing Bond in agony.

Before he can move off Bond’s lap and ask any more questions, Q finds himself being flipped until he’s under a wall of muscle. Bond wastes no time in kissing a path down Q’s neck. It’s usually one of Q’s very favourite things, particularly now that Bond seems to have memorised every sensitive spot, but now, it’s a lost cause. The delicious burn of earlier has faded to ash.

“James—”

“Relax.”

The affected smoothness of that voice is nothing but a front. Q only knows it is because Bond never talks to him that way, not anymore.

“No. No, you’re upset.”

“I’m not.”

Q swears as Bond licks around his nipple. It feels much too pleasurable for the moment. “You are. I’ve upset you.”

“I don’t get upset.”

“Oh, bullshit. You have a tell, you know.”

Bond huffs incredulously into Q’s chest. “You’re hardly one to be talking about tells.”

“You don’t have to be good at hiding them to recognise one. And yours is—”

“Shut up, Q.”

Bond’s tongue snakes over his other nipple. At any other time, this would feel luscious. Now, it only provokes an unpleasant shiver.

“Stop. Just stop. I’m not…” Q can feel his cock lolling against his leg. He’s not even half-hard anymore. “I’d really rather talk about this.”

Bond looks up at him with a bit of cold steel in his eye. “I wouldn’t.”

“I understand that, but…”

He trails off as Bond sits up, his thighs framing Q’s skinny hips, and gives him an awful look — a kind of sardonic smile that speaks volumes about how much he thinks Q understands. Q’s mouth goes dry at the sight of it.

“No, you don’t.”

“All right, then. I don’t.”

Bond’s fingers dig in around his wrist, where they’ve been playing pleasantly since Bond flipped him over. It’s no longer very pleasant.

“You’re hurting me,” says Q, even though Bond isn’t, really. Not physically.

The pressure on his wrist abates. Bond looks towards the door, and Q thinks about all the times they’ve mapped exit points from missions gone wrong. He makes a sound low in his throat.

“Wait,” he says, shifting over so there is space to the right of him. “Here, just…I won’t make you talk about it, but I don't—”

I don't want you to leave.

“You don’t want to fuck me anymore.”

Q sighs. “There’s no need to pout. I’m sure my resistance will last all of fifteen minutes.”

Bond tries a smile and a quip about what danger MI6 will be in if Q is ever pressed for information, but his humour is short-lived. As he lies down beside Q, his muscles are tight. Q kneads at them gently, feeling the handful of bicep sitting in his palm; the mole on the meaty part of Bond’s shoulder blade, which, paired with the thin scar from a knife, forms the dot to a gruesome exclamation mark; the tight band of muscle stretching over the radius bone while Bond’s fist clenches in between his chest and Q’s.

One by one, Q loosens his fingers from that fist and twines them with his own.

He longs to say something helpful, but he isn’t sure anything he says would help at the minute, and Bond is a man who seems to prefer the language of touch. So he keeps his mouth shut and his fingers moving in slow motion and breathes a little sigh of relief when, eventually, Bond tilts his head forward and grunts into his shoulder.

“I don’t enjoy pain, Q. Not anywhere, but especially not there.”

“That’s fortunate, then. I don’t enjoy seeing you in pain.” With a touch to Bond’s bottom lip, Q whispers, “I apologise for the terrible joke. And it was just a joke. Unlike some people, I try to be gentle with the equipment in my care.”

“And I’m in your care, am I?”

Ah. Right. Q worries his lip between his teeth. They’ve never ventured this far into the realm of feelings and emotions. But there’s a smile tugging at the corners of Bond’s mouth, one that wouldn’t be there if he were completely allergic to the idea of Q caring for him.

“Perhaps since we sat down in front of that Turner painting,” says Q, feeling as if he’s standing on the edge of a rooftop. “Are you, erm—is that—?”

Q’s answer is a long, insistent kiss that Q feels down to his toes. A few very pleasurable hours later, it’s also a “thank you” whispered in the dark that Q isn’t sure he was meant to hear at all.

He presses a kiss to Bond’s shoulder and makes a mental note to throw out the whip hidden at the back of the bedroom cupboard.

#00q #00q fic #my fic #james bond

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ladylynse · 1 year

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Trick or Treat!

After not hearing from her in months, Danny had come to find his cousin.

Her trail went cold in Gotham.

Danny hadn’t been here long before realizing she might have just kept her head down and quietly moved on. Amity Park had it bad with all the ghost attacks, but it wasn’t like this. The attacks might be more frequent back home, but the average threat level of these ones seemed to be higher. Sure, Danny’s judgement might be skewed because the Box Ghost had attacked five times in the three days before he’d left to come on this trip, but still.

Danny didn’t want to write this place off until he knew something for certain, so he let the local superheroes take care of things and hung back in the shadows, trying to keep his head down.

The shadows were not as empty as he was used to.

Maybe, if he’d been better actually hiding in them, or if he’d just stayed invisible for as long as possible when things got dicey, he wouldn’t have attracted attention.

His best efforts otherwise were dismal, apparently.

Clearly, showing up to the scene of as many attacks as possible on the off chance that he’d run into Dani—or some lead about her—had been the stupidest thing he could possibly do, something Jazz and Sam would no doubt have pointed out to him repeatedly if he’d mentioned it.

But he hadn’t, mostly because he knew they wouldn’t be happy about it. Sam, Tuck, and Jazz knew what he was really up to, even if they didn’t know the full story about Dani, so they were keeping up the pretense with his parents of being invited on a business trip by Vlad.

Keeping secrets kept getting him into trouble in the long run, but it worked well enough in the short run. It wasn’t like he was going to tell anyone here what he was really doing or how he always managed to avoid getting shot.

He had not expected that people on both sides would find reason to distrust him when he hadn’t even done anything, though.

Sure, his showing up to the scene of the crime, even when those scenes were far apart, might be more pattern than coincidence and give them cause to question if anyone worked out the math, but no one back home had ever blinked twice at that. And, okay, maybe that one hero had been noticeably freaked out the first time he’d met Danny, but Danny had assumed that he’d just been having a rough day. The bank robbers had nearly shot them both.

(Well, they had shot Danny; Danny had just been intangible at the time. Maybe that had been more noticeable than he’d thought?)

And it was hardly his fault he’d frozen everything green on sight the minute he’d noticed a plant moving in an unnatural way. He’d thought it was Undergrowth. He’d been quick about it, too—hadn’t even bothered transforming since he could handle ice easily enough in human form now, thanks to his ongoing training with Frostbite—and he hadn’t thought there were any witnesses around.

Something he’d been wrong about, apparently.

Story of his life.

“This isn’t what it looks like, I swear,” Danny insisted. “This is all a big misunderstanding. I’m just a tourist.”

Really, he should have known they wouldn’t believe him.

Ask box trick-or-treating - receive a snippet if you drop by - Happy Halloween, everyone!

Halloween snippets | see more fics

#dpxdc #crossover #danny fenton #fanfiction #my writing #ladylynse #snippets #crossover snippet #dp snippet #halloween snippets #I'd had an actual plan for this crossover #and then didn't write it down #so you get this instead #enjoy!

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hereforyourdispleasure · 7 months

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Thus the Hamlet restudy begins, as does my love of it. So the question that I'm asking myself because nobody else has asked is- lamp why in the fuck have you made Darian a Hamlet AU, apart from the fact that you have a thing for overly known literature? Well:

-Danish (didn't base Darian's country off Hamlet, I swear it was coincidence)

-Hamlet is a play about paranoia and acting (literally every character puts on an act and raises Hamlet+ audience suspicion and paranoia)

-I will never be able to see Hamlet as having any other hair colour than black. That emo bitch

-the whole Hamlet acting crazy plot (how many times has Darian bullshitted his mental state to catch people out or for some big overly complicated plan? I dread to think)

-I just like Hamlet

-Hamlet's comparison of himself to people he views as being in the same circumstances as him but still doing better than him (like the soliloquy about the actor, and Fortinbras)(Darian does exactly this. And then does everything he can to follow the example of the people he looks up to, but that's a conversation for another day)

-Darian already has a dead "parent", so we're set

-Hamlet hasn't seen a day of joy since his parent died, neither has Darian (severe exaggeration. Sort of. We ignore the past 7 months. And the reality projects)

-Darian's random ass long posts about the stupidest shit. Soliloquies.

#alt darian talk #darian talk

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ffion451 · 2 years

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Chapter Ten: The Damage that was Done | Diving: JJK (m)

�� Judgements are made, some fairer than others ❯❯❯ ❛ “I think you are the falconer, and I think you have a bird that you need to free - it needs to fly somewhere you cannot follow” ❜

Chapter characters/pairings: Jungkook x reader, broinlaw!Namjoon, diveinstructor!Hobi, bluntfriend!Jin

Genre: non idol au, angst, smut (see warnings below) see series m.post for fic summary etc.

Chapter warnings: Relatively tame! The usual swearing (cursing), boatloads of angst, mentions of terminal illness, passing references to smut ⚠️🔞Please note that whilst not every chapter has mature content, that the whole fic has a mature focus and so minors should steer clear of the whole thing🔞⚠️

Beta credit: Big thanks and love to the excellent people who confirmed this chapter (and the next one!) mostly makes sense! Thank you @bangtanscotyeondan, @queentiti72 and @cherrysoulth

Word count: 4.2K

Note: This is quite a short chapter, but necessarily so. Ch11 will be posted tomorrow though - please read the note at the end! Also, if you want to read more about Hobi and his wife, their backstory has been written now, in case you’re interested: Worn by Salt & Sway.

<<< Chapter Nine | Chapter Eleven >>>

“That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say, Jungkook, and you’ve said some pretty daft things, kid,” the men around the table look at her with expressions ranging from confusion to irritation, unfazed, she opens a cupboard and takes out a glass, “What? You’re all thinking it and for some reason none of you are saying it. Sorry to interrupt the intervention or whatever this is, but if you gents are going to help him you need to be honest,” she concludes, filling her glass with water from the fridge before she leaves the room and heads back to her office without sparing them a second glance. The men turn their attention back to Hobi, all of their faces seeming to say ‘explain your wife’s behaviour, please.’

He hold his hands up in a gesture of surrender and peace, “Hey, she’s right and you all know it,” Hobi would defend his wife in any circumstance, luckily for him she’s right more often than not and, just like now, he most often agrees with her, “I think we’re all trying to protect your feelings, Kookie, because you’re obviously hurting and you’ve had a shock, but it is a foolish thing to say.”

Hobi searches the faces around the table, Jungkook’s father, Jin (back for the weekend) and strangely, Taegi, and finds all nod at him in agreement. Jungkook’s face however is one of confusion and slight betrayal.

“How is it foolish? It’s true!” he insists.

“May I speak?” asks Taegi cautiously. Taegi doesn’t really know why he came to Hobi’s, curiosity at Jin’s request, he supposes. Jin had called and asked him for help saying Jungkook needed advice about you and as far as Jin’s concerned Taegi has the inside track. Jin is far from stupid, he’s aware that the former ‘relationship’ between Jungkook and Hari has been exposed and that it’s obvious both Taegi and Jungkook want to move past it. Furthermore, as you’ve obviously formed a close friendship with Taegi, if Jungkook wants to be part of your life, the two men need to get along: Jin thinks he’s crafted the perfect, if slightly awkward, situation for that to begin.

“Go ahead,” grumbles Jungkook.

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Taegi offers in comfort, and Jungkook waits for the ‘but’, which follows sooner than he could have expected, “but you’re not getting the question right: it’s not ‘how can I compete against Song Jion -“

“Can we just call him her ex?” interrupts Jungkook, with a distinct whine.

“I don’t think we can,”says Taegi kindly but firmly, “because the real question is ‘how can you live alongside Jion?’ - I can’t imagine how difficult it will be to live with but she loves her husband and she’s not going to stop having those feelings. He’s never going to be an ‘ex’ and it’s not really a competition.”

“She’s more like his widow than his ex,” says Jin bluntly.

“Jin!” reprimands Hobi, “That’s a bit much…”

“He’s right though,” Taegi adds, “from what you’ve said it seems like Jion is a ghost to her now but she won’t ever let him go. What did Seolhee say, again? She’ll never divorce him? I think it’s safe to bet that she’ll never stop loving him either. You have to accept that.”

Jin, taking the role of the one who says the things people think but daren’t vocalise, asks the question that now hangs between them, “What is the situation with his diagnosis?” as blunt as Jin can be, even he falters in the end and can’t quite bring himself to ask how long will he live?

Jungkook has been busy making little mittens for his hands out of his overlong sleeves and now boxes in miniature to relieve the nervous tension in him, “Seolhee said he has a couple of years at most and that he’s declining fast.”

With the reality of that sinking in, they all sit in silence for a moment and not even boxing can release the awkward tension. Suddenly, the mood shifts; Jion is no longer simply a theoretical problem, a roadblock in Jungkook’s way, he’s now a person, a real flesh and blood man, dying before his time in the most agonising way for those who love him. The silence is broken by Jungkook’s father muttering a silent prayer.

In that contemplative silence they all consider the same thing for the first time since Jungkook gathered them, calling the meeting as soon as he got off the phone with Seolhee; in their own worlds they’re all placing themselves in Jion’s shoes and they’re all grateful for their lives in a way they’d never considered before.

Finally, Jin breaks the silence, “So, Jungkook, can you?”

Jungkook, eyes entirely round and vacantly staring into the middle distance, shakes his head and blinks slowly as he breaks from his reverie and turns his attention to Jin, “Can I what?”

Jin smiles gently, keeping his tone soft, “Can you live alongside Song Jion?”

————————————————————————

The sky has an ominous hue today, yet you breathe in relief. The metal plate that tops the lighthouse machinery is cool under your hand and you feel glad that everything beneath is whirring away efficiently and is fully functional now. A storm is coming, even if the sky wasn’t warning you, you can smell it: the air has thickened, it’s now heavy, leaden and almost sour. You nod blindly to yourself as if to say, ‘It’s ok, I’m prepared’, it’s a repetition of the exact same gesture your grandfather gave so many times.

You may believe you’re ready for the storm, but you’re much less optimistic about the day ahead: Namjoon is bringing Seolhee and you guys are going to have lunch together with Jungkook. It’s nothing the four of you haven’t done before, but now it feels different. It’s been a little over a week since the warehouse, and though you’ve seen each other since, it’s mostly been walking Bam and Bertie together and you’ve done nothing more than hold hands with a few chaste kisses, barely speaking of anything meaningful.

You don’t know if it’s you, Jungkook or both of you who’s pulling back. You know Seolhee has told Jungkook all about Jion, which you lacked the courage to, and that he listened in silence, saying little. He’s said nothing about it to you; you hope his silence is simply him processing and thinking through it for himself rather than avoidance, but you don’t actually know and you’re afraid to ask, still unready, or perhaps unwilling, to discuss Jion with him.

You’re just about brave enough though to acknowledge that it could just be you putting distance between the two of you; you know that after speaking to Seolhee you began to regret what happened between you and Jungkook and have done ever since. You know it was a mistake, that you used him to try to make yourself feel better and now all you feel is dirty and cruel. As for Jungkook, well, you don’t know what he feels because you can’t seem to bring yourself to ask him about it either.

“What a fucking mess,” you say aloud, as though everything will resolve itself and somehow give you the courage to do something about it.

“What’s a fucking mess?” is the reply behind you, and you shriek.

It’s not Jungkook this time though, it’s a smiling Seolhee, “Joon is making tea in the cottage,” she explains.

You nod, grateful to see her, and you step into her open arms with a grateful smile.

————————————————————————

Lunch passes more comfortably than you anticipated: Jungkook clearly is very fond of Seolhee and even more so of Namjoon and they both clearly like him so conversation flows freely and easily.

As you wind down, enjoying the homemade, delicious desserts that Seolhee brought with her, Jungkook is forced into telling you all about his painting further to a conversation about art. Right now you’re holding his phone in your hands as he sits close beside you, showing you different photos he’s taken of his work, zooming in on details and pointing things out to you.

Both Seolhee and Namjoon watch you, but their reactions couldn’t be more different: Seolhee’s focus is on you, the brightness in your eyes, the smile at your lips and how you’re alive with interest and her heart melts at the obvious affection you have for him; Namjoon also smiles to see you light up, but his attention is swiftly drawn to Jungkook who is watching you too, his remarkable eyes starry and absolute rapt. Namjoon knows that exact look and it makes his heart hurt, it’s both a sharp and aching pain and something twists uncomfortably in him.

You look up at that precise moment and your eyes meet. Instantly you know you need to speak to Namjoon, he’s the closest you’ll ever have to a brother and any pain he’s in is shared with you.

“Hey,” you say softly, “Do you two think you could stay tonight?”

Namjoon nods, “Sure,” and forces a warmer tone, “Let’s do it. We’ll need drinks though!”

Seolhee picks up on the shift in mood and also wants to give you and Jungkook some time together and so volunteers to go with him.

When they leave, Jungkook can’t help himself and he leans in to kiss you; it’s far more intimate than the pecks he’s given you in the last few days and when you break apart you’re a little breathless.

Releasing the back of your neck, Jungkook reclines in his chair. He looks at your flushed face, warm expression and he knows he needs to speak. Before he can think, or back down, the words tumble out, “I need to tell you something.”

You nod, bracing yourself, “Of course, go ahead,” you say warmly. You knew this moment was coming and you brace yourself for it; you knew that you would inevitably have to speak about Jion, it simply must be done, no matter how much you wish not to.

With a deep breath, Jungkook forces himself to keep eye contact with you, and is grateful for how composed you look, “The married woman I was involved with was Hari.”

He watches as your face changes, your composure is gone and in its place is shock, confusion and something he can’t quite identify, “Hari?” you question, “Taegi’s wife? That Hari?”

Now you’ve spoken, He can place that third emotion now, it’s clearly anger, and his blood suddenly runs cold. All the confidence he has leaves him, in a small voice he replies, “Yes, Taegi’s wife. But it’s over and he knows all about it. We’re good now, I think.”

“Oh yeah? You’re good are you?” sarcasm barely veils the fury behind your words and Jungkook visibly flinches. In your heart and your head, you knew it had been Hari, it all made perfect sense, yet, now that it’s been said, you can’t believe he really could do such a thing.

“How could you do that to Taegi? He’s your father’s friend. You know him. How could you betray him like that? He’s not a bad man! He tries to be a good husband… How could you do that?” you repeat, your blood boiling.

“I didn’t know him like you do,” he tries to explain, “He says nothing and just grumbles around - I believed her when she said he was a bad husband -”

“You wanted to believe her, so you could keep sneaking around behind his back,” you insist, before, unbidden, an image pops into your mind; in your mind’s eye you see a pile of covered wetsuits, comfortable, almost like a bed in the corner of the warehouse. Bile rises in your blood and your throat. Your eyes shift to the floor as thoughts race through your mind: he fucked you in the same place as her; both you and Hari are married; both tethered and ought to be unavailable; you’ve totally gotten him wrong, he’s not genuine, he just wants an easy fuck and has a kink for married women.

Jungkook watches powerlessly as the anger in your face is overwritten by disgust; he doesn’t know what’s going through your mind but he knows he needs you to listen to him. He says your name and your eyes snap up to his.

“That warehouse - that’s where you two fucked, I bet. You fucked me where you fucked her?”

He feels utterly powerless; it’s true and he doesn’t want to lie. He looks at you helplessly, hands splayed wide as if to plead with you, as if to say ‘what can I do?’

The room seems to turn colder, and the source of the chill is you. You fix him with a dead-eyed stare and your body seems too still, too controlled, “Get out of my fucking house,” you instruct and he knows there’s nothing he can say or do. Hanging his head, he turns from you and leaves.

As he drives back home, passing a puzzled Namjoon and Seolhee driving back the other way, his feelings shift and mutate. Initially, he felt devastated, terrified that this might be the end of you and him, but as the journey goes on and he’s nearly home, frustration starts to creep in. Who are you to judge him for things that happened before he even knew you? Who are you to judge him when Taegi is willing to move on from it?

The more Jungkook thinks about it the more he believes you’re hiding behind the anger; you’ve been pulling away from him ever since the two of you had sex and he had suspected you regretted that you’d taken the step, now he’s certain of it. As Jungkook heads into his house to tell his father, he judges you: you’re afraid, afraid of moving on and you’re taking the easy way out.

————————————————————————

“I think you’re worried that you moved too fast with Jungkook and now you’re hiding behind this excuse to keep your distance from him,” surmises Seolhee shrewdly.

You make no reply but simply frown at her.

“Don’t you pull faces at me,” scolds Seolhee, taking a sip of her beer, “He said it was over with her; he said it was wrong; he said Taegi knows and they’ve moved past it… I don’t see how you can justify bearing a grudge… and as for all this ‘he has a married woman kink’, I’ve seen how he looks at you and that’s utter bullshit. Joon?” she adds, looking to her friend for back up.

Namjoon takes his time before answering, “She’s right, I’ve seen the way he looks at you too. He really does care…” he says.

The mood shifts and you and Seolhee look at each other in concern. You feel the same sense of something being wrong as you did at lunch, and you speak gently to him, “Joonie, is everything ok?”

He laughs awkwardly to mask his sadness, “I want you to be happy, you know that, don’t you?” he says earnestly.

You nod encouragingly, “Of course, of course I do. What’s bothering you? Please tell us.”

Namjoon sighs and nods, explaining uncomfortably and with a lot of prompting from you and Seolhee that, though he likes Jungkook and trusts his intentions, he finds it hard to see him with you: the way he speaks of you, the way he looks at you, is so reminiscent of Jion that it rends his heart.

Namjoon tries to explain that somehow it makes Jion feel further away: it feels like it places Jion in the past, marking the time he had with you and his family as a chapter of all your lives that has been written, all the Is dotted, all the Ts crossed and the whole thing finished with a resolute, uncompromising full stop. He knew life would move on, he understands that it has to, but he wasn’t prepared for how it would feel.

Whilst he’s been talking, both you and Seolhee have moved nearer to him until you’re sat, three in row, on the sofa: Seolhee’s hand rubs his back comfortingly, you hold his hand in both of yours and the three of you share the little strength you have.

When everyone is finally in bed, including Bertie, you creep quietly from the house and ascend the stairs of the lighthouse. In the darkness, you watch the beam of light stretch across the sea, lighting the black waves and rough tides and yet you find no comfort.

You know Seolhee is right, you’re running from your feelings and it is selfish. You’d been so harsh in your judgement of Jungkook, but really, what right have you to judge him? Yes, you’ve suffered but in your suffering you’ve lost sight of everyone else’s feelings. When was the last time you really thought about how Namjoon was coping or how your actions with Jungkook would affect him? How long has it been since you considered how Seolhee was coping with the demands you place on her time when she has her own busy life and marriage? When did you last reach out to Mina first? You stare into the roiling, churning darkness below you and wonder if you’re even worthy of all the time and care they give you. You know you need to do better. You must be a better daughter to Mina, a better friend to Seolhee, a better sister to Namjoon and a better - your mind halts there. A better ‘what’ to Jungkook? you think. What are the two of you to each other? The blackness stretches out before you as you try to answer that question: no easy answers come but, as you descend the stairs and head to your beds you realise that you want to be something to him, you just can’t work out what that is yet.

————————————————————————

The next day, after a long walk on the beach where Namjoon and Seolhee reassure you a thousand times that they want you to be happy, you wave them off, sad to see them go, but grateful for the solitude.

Namjoon’s final earnest words before he left haunt your mind, he’d taken both your hands in his and spoken in a serious voice, “I’ll learn to live with you and Jungkook,” he’d promised, “The way he looks at you… If he loves you half as much as Jion did, that’s worth holding on to. Please give him a chance. My brother would want you to be happy. We all want you to be happy.”

You don’t want to think about those words right now and so you spend the rest of the day engaged in chores that keep you constantly active and busy, leaving you no time to think or pause; when the evening rolls around you’re truly exhausted. Stood at the sink, rolling your tired shoulders back, your attention is caught by headlights moving up the driveway: you’re not ready to see Jungkook and you hope fervently that it’s not him. It’s not that you’re still angry with him, it’s that you know you’re in the wrong and you’re too cowardly and too uncertain to do anything about it.

You continue to watch out of the window and half-frown and half-smile in confusion at the man making his way to the door, waving a bottle of makgeolli and wearing a devilish grin. Drying your hands on the towel beside the sink, you move to the door and swing it open.

“Jeon Jungwon,” you smile, with a little bow, “What brings you here?”

He laughs, a full-bellied chuckle full of warmth, “I am going away for a trip to the mountains tomorrow and I have alcohol to drink and stories to tell!” he grins, holding a full tote bag aloft.

You know he’s probably here to advocate for his son, but what can you do? You certainly can’t refuse him, so greeting him respectfully you invite him in, rustling up snacks and finding your little-used drinking bowls at the back of one of the kitchen cupboards, where Jungkook had placed them for you, you realise with a pang.

Jungwon speculates that you’re obviously not a regular makgeolli drinker before he starts to tell you about his trip to his family in the mountainous area of Daejeon. Initially, you know you’re being buttered up, but soon you forget, caught up in the magic of his storytelling.

After a while, and a few drinks, he reaches into his bag and withdraws an object, “Have you ever seen one of these?” he asks.

You shake your head as he passes it to you, “No, I never have,” you say, handling it carefully: it is a bullhorn tag inscribed with the name Jeon Junghoon, decorated with a red tassel, a large bell and a couple of beautiful, long feathers that look like they come from a hawk.

“It’s a sichimi,” he explains, “My great-grandfather’s. He made it as part of the process of being a falconer. Until my grandfather left the mountains for the seaside, all Jeon men were falconers.”

You smile, turning the object in your hands. It’s undoubtedly beautiful but its purpose saddens you, “So this would be attached to his bird?” you ask, “To mark it as his?”

“Yes and yet, also no,” he says cryptically and you look at him quizzically, “I can read your mind young lady, you think it’s cruel.”

You shake your head, trying to avoid giving offence, “I can’t judge,” you say honestly, “I know nothing of falconry, it just feels wrong to trap a bird.”

He smiles in understanding, “Let me explain the secret to you. My father explained how even though the birds are taken from the wild, it is not the falconer’s job to ‘break’ them, like the old horse trainers would. It takes a long time for a falconer to make a relationship with their goshawk and you must adapt according to the bird you have, whether it’s stubborn, nervous, gentle or aggressive, you see? ‘Read the bird’s mind, not break it’ he would say. The connection between a falconer and the goshawk is very strong, it has to be for the bird to return. There is love there, and trust too.”

You nod in understanding, “I see,” you say, taking another sip of your drink.

He drinks with you and continues as you refill his bowl, “But you are right; a bird is a wild thing. The most important part of the tradition is that the goshawk must be freed, it is not yours for life. It is a huge sadness to release one’s bird, but all falconers find comfort in the idea they are returning home.”

He smiles and nods at you, his eyes searching yours for understanding and you realise that this is more than a story of goshawks and falconers, “Are you telling me Jungkook can’t be tamed?” you ask, your voice has a tone of teasing but you’re serious and so is he.

Jungwon shakes his head softly, “No, Jungkook is neither the bird nor the falconer here,” he says, after a pause that weighs between you he speaks again, “May I speak freely?”

“Please,” you offer genuinely; you trust Jungwon to be fair, to deal evenly with you, and you want to know what he has to say.

“I think you are the falconer, and I think you have a bird that you need to free - it needs to fly somewhere you cannot follow.”

Your eyes fill with tears; you appreciate both the poetry of the metaphor and the meaning behind it, “I don’t want to be a falconer,” you admit, but you can’t help extend the point, “I don’t much want to be the bird either.”

Jungwon smiles again, “My Jungkook is no falconer,” he says readily, “Jungkook will give you everything: he’ll never lie to you, he’ll never seek to control you or manipulate you and I don’t think he’d ever want to let you go once he gives you his heart. You have to give something back though - love is an exchange.”

As he speaks you realise the truth, Jungkook hasn’t ever lied to you. Yes, he’s kept things back, but so have you. He hid a name, you hid a whole past and a husband: can you really criticise him?

Jungwon watches you struggle, “You said earlier that it would be unfair to judge falconers when you know nothing about them…” he let’s the words float on the air between you, not unlike a goshawk hovering above prey.

Those words fold their wings in close and dive into your mind. You look apologetically at Jungwon as you accept more truth than you want to, “Is he angry with me?” you ask sheepishly.

“He was frustrated, a little angry perhaps, but not with you,” he says, “I think the situation and lack of an obvious solution is what is upsetting him.”

The look he gives you is shrewd and you know he’s not done with you, “Jungwon, is there something you want to ask me?” you prompt.

He laughs at how obvious he is, “Two things, actually,” he chuckles, “Firstly, please give Jungkook a real chance. He’s half in love with you already and I can see that you care for him too.”

You pause, aware that you really do have feelings for Jungkook, despite yourself, “I do need to think about it, I need to understand my own mind, but I’ll behave better,” you say and he grudgingly nods, “What’s the other?”

His face is more solemn now, his tone soft, “Please don’t break my boy’s heart.”

A/N: A brief chapter and I know not a lot happens but the things that did were important for the narrative! The next chapter will have lots of action and will be published tomorrow! As ever, please let me know what you think!

Also, in case you wanted to know what a sichimi looks like or how I visualised things, a little moodboard of sorts is below.

<<< Chapter Nine | Chapter Eleven >>>

<<< back to series m.post

Taglist (always open, let me know if you want to be added): @moonleeai

#jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #BTS fanfic #bts smut #bangtanwhq #btswritersclub #jeon jeongguk

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rabidwerewolfie · 2 months

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Let's (Not) Talk About It

So.... I know all the "Internet Is For Porn" jokes. I know what kind of people I will likely find where. I have no right to complain.

But I'm going to anyway.

WHY are people so god damn stupid that they don't know what the word "platonic" means?!

Back before they got shut down because of the pedo scandals (I swear those fuckers ruin EVERYTHING) craigslist had a Strictly Platonic section to their personals. Which was full of idiots seeking sex.

There used to be a Platonic Chat Only site (way back before social media I believe, back when chat sites were a big thing) ad that was always full of "FWB?!" fucktards.

And now, in the few places I still bother to seek out connections with other people, because sometimes I just want to have a pleasant, semi-intelligent conversation about absolutely nothing of any importance, and I go anywhere be it Discord or some random forum, and specifically look for "platonic friends" (you have to specify these days because people don't know what "friends" are anymore, apparently you either fuck someone or you hate them) or "Clean chat only" spaces, I get flooded with the stupidest fucking questions.

"What's platonic mean to you?" It means you're a dipshit. Yes, YOU specifically, for asking that question.

"dus that meen friends whu fuk?" Sure. Go fuck yourself first and maybe I'll catch up later.

"I like the idea of a friend I can kiss and not go any further with." The only thing you'll be kissing on me is my ass. Now go away.

And then more variations of this shit. Plus the occasional dick pic but I mean, I odn't even get offended by those. It's like mosquitos buzzing in your ear. You just swat and move on with life.

I mean, I get that there are a lot of horny perverts out there. It's the internet. We're ALL broken here. But god damn, if I go to the store because I need milk, you're not going to show me a pair of old used shoes and convince me I want those instead. All your going to do is piss me off and I'm now going to go out of my way to piss YOU off before I block you. So what's the point?

Keep the fuck out of where you don't belong, dumb asses! And that includes my DMs!!

#Rabid rant #I've been claiming to be married since before I met my current partner #That doesn't stop anyone either

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bootlegfrank · 8 months

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I got that picky eater autism the way I don’t even know what food those things you mentioned are DDDDD: you like them so they must be good asf hehehe cooking for me would be fun bc there’s sm stuff I haven’t tried!! My favorite type of food is Italian probably and (this is so fucking stereotypical of me) I really love burgers and fries and steak😭😭😭😭😭 I’m going to ask the stupidest question okay do you guys have Olive Garden? I’m not asking because I think its peak Italian food rather I’m curious if you guys have it hehehe OMG THE HUMAN MEAT THING HAHWJWJDHD you being unhinged towards me I love it<333 I know you tell me to not hold back but you better not be either okay;) I’m actually really sensitive when it comes to taste like I can tell when things are off so I would know something is off, but I don’t think I would suspect it’s human meat but knowing you maybe I actually would. Your eagerness STOPPPPPP JUST LIKE HANNIBAL and just like Hannibal, you know a lot about human meat cooking AKAKSJDJDJDJ HOW DID YOU LEARN ALL OF THIS? I find it very interesting though, so thank you for sharing hehehe SEE that’s why we love Hannibal and Will they’re fucking insane together<33333333 they’re making me so much worse it’s bad LMFAO I’m so unhinged now kill me before it gets worse

DAMN RIGHT THEY SHOULDNT MESS WITH YOU<3333 PLAYFIGHT WITH ME!!!! I haven’t in so long JUST NO BREAKING MY GLASSES if someone broke my glasses when I play fought with them, I think I’d actually murder them props to you for not doing that ALSO SAME people underestimate my ability as well when it comes to play fighting >:)))))) OH YEAHHHH I kick hard as fuck too hehehe OOOOO you thought about me while reblogging that?????????? AaaaaahHhhHhhajajshdhdh that makes me so !!!!!!!!! I love that you thought about me while reblogging something:] my cute lil vampire<33333 ribs are cool!!! I saw this wild gif the other day of like…the organs expanding in there I was like 👁️ I’m so disconnected from the idea that these organs are in me like the other day I was like (PLS DONT ROAST ME THIS SOUNDS DUMB) “oh my God there’s literally a skeleton inside me right now. What the fuck” I swear I have this realization every couple of months, freak out and then forgot about it until I freak out over it again BAHAHAHAHA it’s such a weird thought to me. Awee nooooo it’s so hot there you must be excited though bc it’ll be colder soon!!! And then you can wear your more elaborate fits:] I think all of yours are cool baby even the more “basic” ones you probably look so good in your oversized band tees<3333

I’m glad you liked it so much;) Of course you do you’re perfect<33333 and all mine<333333333 Look at you being so good for me and knowing you belong to me. That’s better<33333 Damn I should’ve stopped holding back my possessiveness ages ago fuck haha if I knew you liked it like this I would’ve goddamn. You know tonight I was thinking about you again (let’s be real when am I not) and I was thinking about how I want you to ruin me until I can’t think straight. I had my shirt in my mouth and I realized later that I bit hard on it without even realizing hehe there was this big bite mark on the shirt WKQJWJSHDHDHDH like you could see the teeth n everything it was crazy I didn’t realize I was biting that hard oops >.>

Hehe I've got picky eater autism too, but that's why I love cooking so much, I get to decide exactly what is in my food! I'd love to introduce you to new foods! I can make you some delicious Italian gnocchi <3 I loove me a good home-made hamburger too, me and my housemate make the most delicious hamburgers, she gets to put her hands in the ground beef and mix everything together while I tip the ingredients in x) It's not a stupid question! Olive Garden isn't a thing here, but many American fast food chains don't exist here :( (We don't have Wendy's cuz there's one singular restaurant in the country that trademarked the name before Wendy's could xD That restaurant is also a front for a weed shop btw) Hehe I promise I won't hold back either cutie <3 I've always been morbidly curious about cannibalism, but I started researching it in earnest for my Serial Killer Cannibal Frank fic. I've got some graphics saved, but most of my 'knowledge' is just me extrapolating information I know about cooking other meats hehe. Human is very similar to pork in the way that it's prepared and how the fat renders down and such, so all you need is to compare human cuts of meat to where those cuts would exist on a pig and take the fat content and muscle denseness into account :] They're sooooo insane together and I fucking love it, not enough characters get to be insane like that <33

Yesss I wanna playfight with you, see how much strength you've got in that cute little body of yours <3 I won't break your glasses if you don't break mine xD I think about you a lot hehe, whenever I see something that reminds me of you <3 Ohhfuck that gif sounds so cool! Yeah it's kinda insane to think about what's going on inside of you. I got kind of a slap in the face the other day while I was talking to people who stopped taking biology somewhere in high school, cuz they didn't realise there's a different fluid between your cells than blood. They thought your body is just kind of a blood sack, and I don't think I could live with having that little knowledge of what's going on underneath my own skin haha. It's so so soooo hot :(( I'm sweaty and ill every day because of the heat :( Can't wait for it to be winter so I can think about you cuddling me to keep warm-- and another methods to keep warm ;) <3

All yours, baby <3 Just like you're all mine <3 I'd love to ruin you, want you to be delirious, can't think straight, can't even say proper words <33 You're so cute with that bitemark on your shirt <33 If I'd put my fingers in your mouth would you bite down on them like that too? Leave me a nice little mark to run my fingers over and look at? You'd be the cutest all ruined by me like that, with your pretty noises for me and pretty eyes looking up at me, do you think I could make you cry, cutie? I bet you'd look so pretty. I'd wipe away your tears after we're all done and taste them, I want every part of you <3

#i dont usually get the chance to answer you so early in the day <33 #asks

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olddirtybadfic · 1 year

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A Worse Pill to Swallow: Second Litter (part two of three of a old Blueshipping Pokémon fic)

The sequel sure is a thing.

Part one is here.

This fic contains:

-Pokémon/Human romantic relationship (warning because some people might be disturbed by it, even though Meowth can consent in this story)

-unexplained mpreg/male pregnancy (I think mpreg is fine, just explain it maybe)

-bizarre anti-abortion overtones (the views expressed in this fic by twelve me do not represent the views of adult me)

-general angst

-swear words

-shaky grasp of the realities of pregnancy

-possible out-of-character moments for Jessie, James, and Meowth and extreme out-of-character moments for Brock (I don't even know why I made him a super douche; I actually liked Brock)

-random "Jessiebelle does dark magic" plotline

-weepy!James (even moreso than he is in canon), dickish!Jessie, and generic boyfriend!Meowth

-no, seriously, Brock is just the worst in this fic

-odd ideas about romance

-ellipses abuse

-O-o-O-

*James wakes up on the couch.

James: What happened? Meowth: You fainted. James: You mean I fell asleep. Meowth: What are you talking about? James: It's not yesterday? Meowth: Did you hit your head when you fell, Jimmy? James: I dreamt you told me I was going to have more kittens. Meowth: That wasn't a dream. You fainted and I dragged you onto the couch. James: May I be excused? Meowth: Sure.

*James goes into the bathroom and starts vomiting. Meowth goes in with him. James finishes vomiting and just sits next to the toilet, crying.

James: (sobbing) I just can't stand it. Meowth: You can always take the pills…. James: (sharply) No! (folds arms)

*Meowth is a little surprised by James's tone of voice.

Meowth: Okay, I won't make you do it. James: You better not.

*James's voice is as cold as the snow falling outside Team Rocket's cabin. Meowth decides not to say anything else about the pills.

*A few weeks later, a snowstorm occurs. Team Twerp is wandering around the forest.

Misty: Hey, look, a cabin! Maybe we could ask to stay there.

*They go to the cabin and knock on the door. Jessie answers it.

Jessie: What are you twerps doing here? Misty: We're stranded and we need a place to stay. Jessie: Sorry, we can't. Ash: Why not? Jessie: Because….(gets a Pikachu-stealing idea) I changed my mind. You can stay.

*Ash and friends come inside. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, James is drinking milk. The kittens are asleep. He looks up and sees the twerps entering.

James: What are they doing here? Brock: You're looking a little fat, James. James: Shut up. Brock: Well, you are.

*James shoves Brock up against the wall.

James: You understand that I can sit my so-called "fat" self on your skinny little twerp butt, right? Jessie: Get off the twerp. You'll scare him.

*James backs away from Brock, letting him slide down the wall and onto the ground. Jessie takes James aside and whispers the plan to him.

Jessie: It may interfere with your kittens, but you can probably bear it.

*James looks shocked at the deviousness of Jessie's plan.

Brock: What is your problem? James: (folds arms) Why do I have to tell you? Brock: Just answer the damn question! James: (smirks) No. Brock: What is your freakin' problem?! James: You're my problem! You bug me! Brock: If you think you aren't fat, then why does it bother you? James: Because I'm pregnant, not fat!

*The room is silent. Then Team Twerp starts laughing.

Brock: That's the stupidest thing I ever heard! Who would even want to do it with you? James: Why, you little punk!

*James grabs Brock by his shirt and is about to double slap him.

Meowth: James, calm down! It's not good for your kittens if you're like this! James: (to Brock) How do you think you'd feel if you were going to birth a whole litter of kittens in a week and someone kept bugging you? Brock: Put me down! Put me down! Meowth: Put him down, James.

*James drops Brock. He then storms out of the room into the bathroom, where he slams the door.

Meowth: What did you do to him? Brock: I just asked him what his problem was. Meowth: Never ask James that question. Especially when he's having kittens.

*Meowth goes into the bathroom. James is sitting with his head on the toilet seat. His hair is messy.

Meowth: Are you sick again? James: No. But I think I'm going to be. Meowth: Is it the kittens again? James: Yes. They keep kicking. I tried eating only bland foods, but it's not working. It's been like this since the start. It's almost like the kittens are purposely trying to hurt me. Meowth: They wouldn't be. They don't know any better and why would they want to hurt you? You're giving them life. James: Maybe you're right.

*James shifts slightly, which earns him a kick from the kittens. He winces.

Meowth: James! Are you okay? James: I'll be fine. (feels another kick) Ow! It's just getting worse. (winces) Maybe they're….coming early. (clutches stomach)

*The kittens stop kicking James and go to sleep.

James: I think they're finally asleep. Meowth: Maybe you should go to sleep, too. James: Good idea.

*Later, James is awakened from sleep in the early morning by the kicking of the kittens. He drinks a glass of warm milk and goes back to bed. James's departure from the bed and return wakes Meowth.

Meowth: You okay? James: I feel like they're going to claw their way out of me. Meowth: It must be Jessiebelle. She did dark magic to them. What has she put inside you instead of normal kittens? James: (crying) They're hellcats! All ten or twenty of them! She's put demon kittens inside of me! They're all demon kittens! (sobs)

*James feels a lot of kicks from the kittens. He cries out in pain, cursing his pregnancy.

James: (strained) She's mad that I wouldn't make an heir with her, so she's punishing me, using my body to create demons. That bitch.

*Team Twerp has been listening from the other room.

Brock: So he's really got a jelly doughnut in the oven. I guess he really is well-bred.

*The door they're leaning on swings open. James and Meowth see that they're being spied on.

James: What are you doing spying on us? Brock: I should take some of your "demon kittens" and breed them. Then they'll grow into pretty good battlers. James: Stay away from my kittens when they're born.

*Team Twerp goes back to bed. James turns over.

Meowth: Are you all right? James: Where did I go wrong? I was happy at first, but I don't know what to feel now.

*The next morning at 7:00 AM, a falsetto scream is heard.

Brock: The James trap worked.

*James comes out of the bathroom. His face is flushed and there is a glue trap stuck in his hair.

James: There is a glue trap stuck in my hair. I suggest the person who did this come over here and remove it. (puts hands on hips) I'm not leaving until you do.

*Brock comes over to him and takes out a pair of scissors.

Brock: This will be easy.

*Brock holds the scissors to James's hair and is about to cut some of his hair. James grabs Brock's arm.

James: Drop the scissors.

*Brock drops the scissors.

Brock: How am I going to remove it without scissors?! James: (sugary sweet voice) Well, then, I guess you'll have to find another way, won't you? (folds arms, smiles sweetly) Misty: He does look pretty cute like that. Brock: Whose side are you on?!

*Brock is about to get a handful of James's hair and pull it out of the trap. James flips his hair out of Brock's reach.

James: (giggles innocently) Lay one hand on my hair and you'll no longer have a hand. Brock: So what am I supposed to do? James: I don't know. (giggles a little too sweetly) Brock: First he's a brute, now he's an innocent ditz. James: (steps into Brock's space) What did you say? Brock: I said….There's no dispute! Yeah, we totally need to get that glue trap out. James: (steps out of Brock's space) That's better. (smiles sweetly)

*Brock reads the back of the glue trap.

Brock: It says "comes off victim in warm water." Okay, come over to the sink, James. James: Like I said, I'm not moving until you remove the trap. Brock: God damn it. (under his breath) You can lead a whore to water but you can't make him put his head in the sink. (gets an idea) I know what to do.

*Brock gets a small pail and fills it with water.

Brock: Want a shower? 'Cause I should pour it all over your dirty ass. Cool down the kittens. James: (sugary voice) I wouldn't do that if I were you.

*Brock holds the bucket up to James's hair. James puts his hair in the bucket. The glue trap dissolves and falls off.

James: Now behave yourself. You wouldn't want me to get ugly, would you? Brock: (sotto voce) You're already ugly. James: (ominously) What was that? Brock: Um….nothing! James: (smiles sweetly) That's better.

*James walks back into the bathroom and closes the door.

Brock: How did he possibly hear that?

*Later, in the bedroom….

Meowth: Ash is so annoying. James: It's not Ash, it's Brock. He keeps messing with me. Meowth: All Ash talks about is being a Pokémon master. Give the subject a rest. James: If I hear the word "fat" come out of Brock's mouth one more time….(goes back to bed) Meowth: (surprised) You just got up and now you're getting back in bed? James: (sighs) I'm just tired. Cats sleep for thirteen hours and I guess I should sleep that long for the kittens. Meowth: Actually, kittens sleep for sixteen hours. James: The longer the better. (yawns) Meowth: Are you sure you're not sick? James: I'll be fine.

*In a few seconds, James is in a deep sleep, snoring. Meowth watches him for a while.

Meowth: (thinking) He's so cute when he's sleeping.

*James has a dream where Jessiebelle comes and tries to take his kittens. He wakes up screaming.

Meowth: What's wrong, Jimmy? James: (shakily) I dreamt Jessiebelle tried to kidnap me and make me give birth to the kittens in her dungeon.

*Brock bursts into the room.

Brock: Are the kittens ready to come out?! James: No, and even if they were, you wouldn't be getting any of them. Brock: Oh, come on. You don't mean that. James: I believe I do. Brock: I can heal your pain. James: How? Brock: Give me the kittens and I'll tell you how. James: No. First of all, you're not getting any. Second of all, they haven't been born. Brock: I can heal your pain and help you birth them at the same time. James: No. (backs toward bedroom)

*James runs out of the room. Brock chases him through every room in the cabin. Brock finally traps James behind the couch.

James: (looks up, sees Brock) AHHH! Brock: Won't you let me help you birth the kittens? James: First, you insult me, then you threaten me? No way. If you want kittens, get your own two Meowths, and let them screw each other.

*James gets up and starts pushing Brock backward.

James: I'm going to birth them, and I'm going to keep them. (shoves Brock against the wall) Got that? Brock: (scared) Yes.

*James backs away from the wall, letting Brock fall to the ground.

James: Good day.

*James walks into the bedroom, after shooting a kind of flirtatious smile at Team Twerp.

Misty: Cute smile. Brock: Whose side are you on? Ash: That's the second time today he did that.

*Later that day, they're having lunch. James cooks meatballs and puts chocolate on his portion.

Brock: Why are you pouring chocolate on your meatballs? James: Because I like it.

*James eats every meatball on his plate and every last drop of chocolate. he drinks four glasses of milk. Brock stares at him.

Brock: Are you feeling okay? James: What's it to you?

*James puts his plate in the sink. He begins washing a spoon.

Brock: This fell off of your Pokéball belt. (holds out Pokéball) I'll give it back if you give me a kitten. (waves Pokéball in James's face) James: (slowly, ominously) Give me Victreebel's Pokéball. NOW. (holds up spoon)

*Brock walks over to where James is sitting and gives him the Pokéball.

Brock: (mockingly) Here ya go, Sugar-tits.

*James grabs Brock by his shirt and pulls him close to him.

James: (narrows eyes, smiles sweetly) Don't call me Sugar-tits.

*Victreebel comes out and bites James on the ass.

James: Let go of my sweet ass! (puts Victreebel back in the Pokéball)

*James smiles sweetly at Brock before getting up and walking back into the bedroom.

*Later that day, there is a telephone commercial on the TV. James bursts into tears at it.

Brock: What is your problem? Why are you crying at a commercial? It's just a friggin' commercial! James: You're getting on my last nerve! I'll bear the kittens, but I won't bear your constant harassment! Brock: Why are you even having kittens? Humans don't do that. James: This one does. Brock: Well, you're a Pokébestial freak. James: That's it! I may be a lot of things, such as irritable, hormonal, and emotional, but I am not a freak! Brock: Take a chill pill. Or maybe an anti-pregnancy pill. James: Maybe I will!

*Everyone looks at James, who has just realized what he's said.

Brock: You monster. Do you realize what you just said? James: You're right. I'm a monster.

*James runs into the bedroom, crying.

Meowth: What did you do that for?! Couldn't you see he didn't realize what he said?! Brock: I broke him. (yelling) Hey, James! Do you still have your Moltres personality now, kitten-murderer? James: (from bedroom) Shut up! (screaming) Just shut up, okay? (kicks door closed)

*Loud cursing while crying can be heard from behind the door.

James: That bastard! He knows I plan to have the kittens! He just wants them to come out all fucked up! He just wants an excuse to ridicule me! I hate Brock! I hate Brock! (crying) I am such a fiend for hating! I can't believe I almost considered taking the pills!

*Outside the bedroom door, Meowth is listening in.

Meowth: I better go in and talk to him.

*Meowth goes in. James is kneeling next to the bed with his face buried in the covers.

Meowth: James, what's wrong? James: It just hurts. (sobs) Meowth: That's a good sign. It means they'll come out soon.

-O-o-O-

Moral of the story: Nobody is safe from the out-of-character plague.

#old fic #fanfic #pokefic #team rocket james #team rocket meowth #team rocket jessie #pokemon fanfiction #mpreg #james x meowth #blueshipping #scriptfic #interspecies love #cw pokephilia

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gothighunicorntolerance · 2 years

Text

In League With Dragons- chapter nineteen (the final chapter!)

and we will come back home

read on AO3!

They had settled in their steakout spot long before dawn, having taken turns napping and keeping watch. Logan had sent Janus and the others away for the day, leaving just the three of them in the woods near Ember’s Valley.

They watched from far away, hidden in the brush of the wilderness, watching as the people Nico had described carried out their duties, unceremoniously dumping the unlucky victim onto the grass, clapping the shackles onto them, and leaving in their small cart pulled by a pitch-black horse. Now that he could see who they were, his fists clenched in anger. He recognized their faces, though he couldn’t put a name to them. They wore the gray robes of a Dragonmancer’s apprentice, though how they had managed to get the position, Nico had no idea. From what he remembered of them, they were the two stupidest people Nico had ever had the displeasure of interacting with.

But it was not them who sent a shiver down Nico’s spine.

No, one who gave him that jolt of fear was the woman that supervised them. She hadn’t changed a single bit in the past year. She still wore a stern smirk, still had her hair pulled back in a bun so tight it seemed as if it was holding her skin back from sagging.

Her outward appearance screamed that of a kind grandmother, but he knew from experience that she was anything but.

“It won’t happen again,” Nico muttered under his breath, barely audible, even to Thomas. Thomas’s thumb moved in small circles across the back of Nico’s hand, easing the sensation of bile rising in his stomach in apprehension of what was to come.

It was only when the Dragonmancers were far out of sight did Thomas, Nico, and Logan creep from their hiding place towards the person that had been left out.

Nico motioned for Logan and Thomas to stand back a few steps so as to not send the person into a complete panic, so he crept forward alone.

“Hello?” He called to the person, standing just a few steps away. “I know you can hear me, so please listen. I know you’re scared, but it’ll be okay, I promise.”

He looked at the face of the victim and gasped as he recognized who lay limp before him.

“Remy!?”

He knelt next to him. “Remy, it’s me, Nico. And- and here, I’ll prove it's really me. Remember when we were younger and you dared me to climb up on the roof with you? And I was terrified, but I did it, and then you tried to climb up and broke your arm? I’ll explain everything when you can ask questions. But right now, I’m going to touch you.”

Nico gingerly removed the gag and picked at the chains with his fingers, but no use. He gestured for Logan to take a look, but put a finger up to his lips to tell him to be quiet.

Logan nodded and crouched low, a blue glove emanating from the keyholes a moment before the locks snapped open with a click. Logan backed away, his footfalls hardly making a sound.

“Now I’m going to sit you up, and I’ll talk to you until the tea begins to wear off. Which it will, I promise. I know I’m promising a lot of things to you, but I swear to the stars and back it’ll happen.”

Nico moved Remy so that he sat with his back against the stone, which was easier said than done. Trying to move someone who had no control of their muscles was like moving a bag full of water- every time your hands moved to balance it, it would fall in the other direction.

Eventually he got it,though, and sat with his legs crossed in front of Remy, talking about anything he could to make the blindness less lonely.

“I met some friends out here, in the past year. And I know what you’re thinking, that it’s a miracle I’m alive, and it is! Thanks to my friends! You can meet them soon, when you can stand.”

He conveniently left out the fact that the friends he was talking about were dragons, the very same creatures that were meant to eat him, but perhaps a slow introduction would fare better than the sudden shock that Nico had been given exactly one year ago, nearly to the hour. He looked behind him and gestured for Thomas and Logan to retreat back into the spaces between the trees.

Remy’ fingers began to twitch, his eyes began to flutter open, and Nico smiled.

“Hey! You’ll be able to move soon. That tea really hits hard, doesn’t it?”

“How… the…. fuck… are you here?” Remy slurred out.

“Ah,” Nico laughed. “There’s the Remy I know! It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time.”

“It’s… better if I show you. But first you have to promise not to freak out, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Now reveal your big secret!”

Nico bit his lip and turned around. “Thomas? Logan? You can come out now.”

Remy’s eyes widened as the two of them emerged from the woods, but to his credit, he did not scream.

“Oh,” was all Remy said. “That’s new. Care to explain?”

Nico began to do as requested, reciting the story of how exactly one year ago Thomas and Logan had found him, and Nico had travelled with them since. He left out as much of the danger as he could, and couldn’t bring himself to tell Remy that he and Thomas were now… more than friends. It felt like a secret he could bring himself to share, not because it was shameful, but because it felt nice to be the only person who knew.

Remy slowly nodded the entire time, gradually gaining control of his muscles again.

“So… let me get this straight. You’ve basically hitch-hiked your way across the continent with dragons and- Thomas, right? And you didn’t write to me?” Remy made an exaggerated pouting face.

“You’ve got it.”

He’s kinda cute, too,” Remy whispered with a smirk and leaned over to wave to Thomas, wiggling his fingers. “Heyyy!”

“He’s not-“

“Not what?” Remy asked, grinning. Nico could tell that Remy knew exactly ’what’ by the way he chuckled.

“Not…” Nico trailed off, heat rising to his cheeks, unable to go any further in his sentence. Usually, Nico would have been amused at Remy trying to flirt with anyone who so much looked in his direction, but this was different! It wasn’t some stranger or acquaintance that Remy was flirting with, no matter how jokingly he did it. It was Thomas!

Remy just laughed. “Okay, okay. Off limits, I get it.”

Thomas and Logan still stood a ways back and Remy eyed them with an expression that Nico couldn’t quite place.

It wasn’t quite fear; he had never known Remy to be afraid, only sarcastic or slightly lazy.

There was apprehension, certainly. Even after having known Logan for as long as he had, he could still appreciate just how terrifying Logan could be, even without trying.

Before Nico could look further, Remy attempted to stand, wobbling and holding onto the warm boulder for support, but stood nonetheless.

“Let’s go. I want to see their faces when they find out you’re not dead! You need a witty one-liner when they see you.”

“Like what?” Nico sighed, unable to hide his amusement.

“Like… I don’t know. That’s your job.”

“I don’t think I need it. I certainly can’t think of one. I was planning on letting Logan do all the talking.”

“I thought his name was Thomas?”

“No, no. Thomas is the person. Logan is the dragon.”

Remy fell silent, pursing his lips. “The dragon can talk?”

“Yes, most can. And Logan gives very good speeches, so he can handle it.”

“Alright. That’s an interesting one. Well-p! Let’s get going,” he popped the ‘p,’ and stumbled forwards.

Nico grabbed him before he could fall flat on his face, steadying him with one arm around his shoulders, the other holding his arm.

“Careful!” Nico chided.

“You know me, ‘careful’ is my middle name,” Remy smiled.

Remy clutched onto Nico as Logan moved through the woods, following the well-worn rutted tracks on the horse-drawn cart back towards the town of Ember’s Valley.

Thomas rode as he always did, nestled between the spines that trailed along Logan’s back, while Nico and Remy walked slowly behind, Remy stumbling along, still working on regaining full mobility.

Nico wondered, for a moment, whether or not someone would simply kill him and Remy for not being dead already.

Maybe they would.

Maybe they would be too terrified of Logan to even attempt to kill them.

He hoped it would be the latter.

Logan stopped suddenly, Nico almost slamming into his leg before stopping himself.

“Why-“ Nico began to ask, but answered his own question as Ember’s Valley came into view.

Woven nets hung across the streets, a perceived shield from the dangers of the wild. Even before, Nico had known that the twisted strands of flax would do nothing against the talons as long as his forearm.

Logan ducked his head under the nets, but they caught on his horns and tore to the ground.

“Whoops,” Logan said in a tone that did not make him sound sorry at all. Thomas reached up to untangle the remaining strands of rope.

The group moved forward in silence except for the faint music that trailed across the breeze, Logan nearly crawling to keep his head below the roofs and nets and talons clacking on the cobblestone, until Thomas spoke up.

“Where is everyone?” He asked.

“Celebrating,” Remy answered.

“Celebrating because it wasn’t them,” Nico added, unable to keep the tinge of bitterness out of his voice.

Just as he said it, a shift in the wind brought the smell of cooking meat and sugary desserts wafting across the town. He could hear Remy’s stomach growl next to him, and though he hated to admit it, it did smell appetizing.

How many cakes and cookies and sticks of honey had he eaten with Aria? How many times had he himself played the same music they heard now, celebrating that it hadn’t been him?

It hadn’t been him until it was, so how was he any better than people he directed his anger and bitterness at?

Before Nico could take another step, a shrill scream rang out, echoing down through the town. The one scream quickly turned into a panicked crowd as more and more caught sight of Logan. Even the music clattered to a halt.

Logan stood frozen for a single heartbeat before he opened his mouth and roared.

Nico clapped his hands over his ears as the sound hit him like a drum, resounding through his chest.

He could only imagine what it must have felt like for the people standing in front of Logan.

As the roars ceased, the crowd fell silent, mouths gaping and eyes open wide in terror.

Thomas leaned forward and whispered into Logan’s ear, and Logan rose to his full height, tearing through the hanging nets.

It was as if the crowd gasped as one as Logan stretched out and began to speak.

“What you have been doing is wrong,” Logan snarled, baring his teeth. “Death does nothing to bring good fortune! Condemning innocent lives does nothing to keep you safe. And what you do not know is that most of your so-called sacrifices have not been taken by the dragons you claim to worship. No, in fact, we do not prey on you. Nearly all of your victims have been attacked by anything but a dragon! Killed by dehydration and picked apart by scavengers is the way most go. So stop your celebrations, stop your rituals of death!”

Nico scanned the pale faces of the crowd as they began to nod, turning and muttering, until movement caught his eye.

There, dressed in perfectly white flowing robes, ran the Head Dragonmancer, the very same one who had pulled Nico’s name last year, pushing and shoving past the crowd until he stood at the very front, facing the people he had pushed through.

“It’s a lie! A trick! Look at them!” He shouted, pointing at Nico and Remy “Don’t listen to it! Everyone, take up your weapons! Drive the beast away! Kill those two as they were supposed to be!”

The crowd gasped again as Logan opened his mouth, and for the first time, Nico got a good look at the ice beginning to crystallize on his forked tongue, a miniature blizzard spiraling behind his teeth, until a cloud of white enveloped the Dragonmancer.

People craned their necks to see as the cloud dissipated to reveal the Dragonmancer standing encased in ice, a look of haughty pride written on his face, no fear to be found on him at all.

Did he think himself too important to be held to the same rules of mortality as the rest of them? Or did he truly believe that it was some kind of trick by Remy and Nico?

“Let me make myself clear,” Logan silenced the crowd. “Stop your sacrifices. Stop living in fear of us, who want nothing more than to be left to our own devices. We do not hunt humans.”

Another murmur from the crowd as Logan finished. He spotted several people moving out of the square, rushing back to their homes; others followed slowly in suit, until only a fraction of the population remained.

Evidently, Logan’s appearance had cut the celebration short. Oh well, how terrible it was, very sad that they had interrupted such a fun party.

Before he could whisper something snarky to Remy, something caught his attention from the crowd.

Someone was trying to push their way to the front, though not with the same anger that the Dragonmancer had used.

“Nico!”

He whipped his head around to see who had called his name, but before he could say anything, someone slammed into his chest.

As he stumbled back, he looked down, and instead of bringing his hands up to fight, he knelt down for a hug.

“Ari!”

HIs little sister clutched him tight, burying her face into him. “I missed you,” she whispered, obviously trying to hold back tears. But Nico knew her too well for her to fool him.

“I missed you, too,” he hugged her back just as tightly.

“Where did you go? I thought you were- weren’t going to come back…” her voice cracked and Nico reached up a hand to wipe the trickle of tears away.

“I didn’t think I was going to come back either,” he admitted. “But see him, on top of the dragon? That’s Thomas, and he’s the reason I’m here now.”

“Is he your friend?”

Nico paused. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s my friend. My best friend!”

“I thought I was your best friend,” Aria laughed.

“Okay, he’s my second best friend,” Nico amended.

“Well, as my best friend, do you want to go get cookies?”

“I would love to,” he smiled.

To her, it was as if he hadn’t been gone for an entire year.

To her, they were just picking up where they had left off, with the promise of eating sweets until they burst.

Aria took his hand and pulled him along. Nico motioned for Thomas to join them, and he jumped off Logan, jogging towards them.

“Come on, we’re getting cookies,” Nico explained with a smile, taking Thomas’s hand in his free one.

His little sister led him to the long table in the now-deserted town square.

“So what did you do while you were gone?” She asked, handing Nico a plate.

“I’ll tell you all about it,” he smiled.

#Sanders sides #thomas sanders #nico flores #ts nico #pintroverts #karrot kings #logan sanders

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johnsheppard-assshaker · 3 years

Text

Running an Etsy shop is great in the sense that I can make money doing something that I love, but it’s terrible in the sense that it’s its own special breed of customer service

#some people... will ask the stupidest questions I swear #and like I try not to make too many judgments about a person based on how rude they come off because like #I recognize not everyone is skilled in cordial conversations #like language barriers autism and cultural differences can all cause someone to come off a bit ruder than they intend #but god is it awful to be on the reciecing end of that #I wish I could just knit and not have to talk to people ever #also I live in constant fear of someone giving me a bad review

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eykismyfav · 2 years

Text

Quite Possibly the Stupidest Person I Have Ever Met

Requested: Yes! Anon

Request: Hey! Anything Kingsman with Conrad Oxford when you’re up for it x

Summery: Conrad is one of the most stubborn hard headed people you know which is why you know the boy would never listen to his father's reason.

Genre: Fluff a sprinkling of agnst then fluffy at the end

Warnings: There is cross dressing female to male if you don’t like that don’t read it. Swearing, Violence, Reader kills some people somewhat graphically happens very quickly towards the end.

Pairing: Conrad x Fem!Reader

Characters: Polly, Conrad, Shola, Orlando, Kitchener, Morton, Rasputin, King George, Archie Reid

Authors note: Conrad was an idiot but I won’t let him die. I’m sorry for the emotional rollercoaster of a one shot while simultaneously not sorry at all. DO NOT BIND YOUR CHEST WITH BANDAGES AND DON’T BIND IF YOU ARE DOING INTENSIVE PHYSICAL ACTIVITY PLEASE BIND SAFELY THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY YOUR ARE REAL.

Kingsman Requests are Open

Word Count: 2.9k+ (I really went overboard here I hope you like it.)

The King’s Man Masterlist

“That boy is nothing but trouble...” You mumble mostly to yourself as you and Polly observe Shola and Conrad sparring with daggers covered in powder.

“You're not wrong.” Polly responds, chuckling slightly, raising her gun to shoot the dagger out of Shola’s hand. “Conrad, you have a guest,” she nods her head towards you before continuing. “And an appointment so go get ready!”

“Of course!” He shouts back, nodding his head in your direction with a slight smirk. “Lady L/N, enjoying the view?” His playfulness is still there after not seeing you for nearly a year. You have finished your “Schooling”. You had actually been training with the same person who trained Polly in order to know how to fight and defend yourself already being a part of the Duke’s network, but Conrad wasn’t allowed to know such things.

“Bloody hell Conrad go put a shirt on already I do not have all day!” You comment rolling your eyes before entering the house.

“Oh Y/N! What are you doing here my dear?” You heard Orlando call from down the hall followed by his confident strides and the even tapping of his cane. You meet him halfway opening your arms for a hug which he gladly accepted with a smile. It had been to long since you had

“Just thought I would come by for an impromptu visit, but it seems I don’t have the best timing. What is this appointment Conrad has?” You ask the older man you had grown to see as a father figure with how often you found yourself at his home.

“His first suit fitting at Kingsman tailors.” He answers giving you a good once over. “You are more than welcome to join...I am sure Conrad would not be opposed to the idea.” The older man smirks as heat quickly rises to your cheeks.

“I might just have to take you up on that offer.” You smile slyly.

You wait patiently for Conrad in the common space outside of the fitting room when you see Kitchener enter with his right hand man Morton. Like Orlando you had known Kitchener for a very long time and have actually met the man through the Duke of Oxford.

“General Kitchener? What a pleasant surprise it has been a while.” You announce your presence raising to your feet.

“Miss L/N how have you been? What are you doing at a tailor shop?” He responds quirking one of his bushy eyebrows at you.

“I have been well just finishing up my schooling. I am actually waiting for our mutual friends the Oxford’s to finish up their fitting...” You pause gauging the General's reaction. ‘‘But you already knew they were here didn’t you?” You ask quietly with a sly smirk.

“You were always pretty quick to catch onto things. Is it that obvious?” He leans in and questions curiously.

“Orlando will figure it out, Conrad won’t know.” You inform him, smiling up at the older gentleman.

“Fitting room 3 is ready for you Sir.” The tailor announces getting a nod from the General and Morton.

“Have a good fitting Kitch.” You smile.

“Thank you my dear.” He smiles back.

After an hour of sitting and waiting Conrad and Orlando exit the fitting room. Hearing the door open you look up and your breath catches in your throat and heat rushes to your cheeks when you see Conrad. The bastard looked damn good in a suit and judging by the smirk on his face he knew it.

“So...what do you think?” Conrad’s question lingers for a minute as you stand up and walk over to him, taking the lapels of his new suit jacket, straightening it slightly.

“You look great Conrad.” You look into his eyes. “Like a true gentleman if you ask me.” You whisper quietly, getting lost for a moment.

“Thank you.” He whispers back.

Behind you another fitting room door opens looking over Conrad's shoulder you make eye contact with his father and roll your eyes causing him to smile after he sees who exited the fitting room.

“General Kitchener...” Orlando starts talking to his old friend but you zone them out focusing instead on Conrad’s reaction to the sudden appearance of the two new men. He had quickly turned you around to face the men and wrapped his arm snuggly around your waist pulling you into his side. This action did not go unnoticed by anyone in the room and you had to lower your head, shaking it slightly, hiding your smile at his rather protective action.

“Perhaps we should continue this conversation in private?” Orlando’s question peaks your interest.

“May I recommend the Pattern Room, it's upstairs second door on the left.” The Tailor spoke up.

“Perfect! Morton, would you mind entertaining these two?” Kitchener asks.

“Of course Sir.” Morton answers, giving a curt nod.

Morton, Conrad and yourself sit down in the common area. Conrad sits on the couch beside you while Morton takes a seat in one of the upholstered chairs.

There was something off with Morton. He seemed nice enough holding a pleasant conversation with Conrad he never addressed you. The way he presented himself made you uncomfortable; it felt ingenuine like he was just playing a part. The more you thought about it the more you realised tragedy seemed to follow the man Emily’s death, Orlando’s injury, and the fact Kitchener seemed to back rather stupid and rash military decisions when he was around. Also the fact he seemed to be actively trying to recruit Conrad to the military was not getting him any points from you. Perhaps you were reading too much into this. You look him up and down again and release a slight sigh you could not figure it out.

“Are you alright Y/N?” Conrad asks, concerned about your shift in mood wrapping his free arm around your shoulder.

“Hmm...Oh yes sorry I must have spaced out for a moment.” You rise to your feet. “If you’ll both please excuse me I need to freshen up. I'll only be a moment.” Both men nod as you make your way upstairs.

Once upstairs you approach the Pattern Room and knock lightly before entering.

“Miss L/N this is a private matter, what are you doing here?” Kitchener says his voice filled with authority and had you been anyone else it may have scared you. You however turn to Orlando and give him a look that could be read as ‘Is this bitch serious right now’ to which he rolls his eyes.

“She can be here.” Orlando says beckoning you further into the room.

“Hopefully this conversation will be more mentally stimulating than the one downstairs. Morton seems to have an issue with me.” You mumble joining Orlando’s side. “Also Kitch tell your right hand man to stop trying to recruit children, it is not a good look.” You bite out knowing that it wasn’t really his fault.

“I’ll speak about it with him Y/N.” He nods lightly acknowledging your request. “As we were saying, I need you to visit the Archduke and convince him to come back to London for his own safety.” Kitch clarifies what needed to happen, probably to fill you in more than to convince Orlando.

“If I may, I think you should go Orlando and take Conrad with you. It will do you both some good.” This gets you an approving nod from the general and a scowl from the Duke. “Oh don’t give me that look you know I am right. As much as I have loved this chat I should get back downstairs soon so as to not look suspicious.” You abruptly turn and exit the room.

“She is just like Emily.” Kitch says before you are out of earshot.

“I know she is. She keeps Conrad in line.” Orlando comments.

“She keeps you in line too my old friend.” This comment earns a chuckle from both men and a smile from you before you rejoin Conrad and Morton.

You sit in the hidden room in between Shola and Polly fiddling with a throwing knife waiting for Orlando to join you. The door opens and Orlando walks in accompanied by Conrad.

“About fucking time!” You exclaim smiling as you jump up and pull Conrad into a hug. “Welcome to the team.” You whisper into his ear pulling away you notice a slight tint of red overtake his face. “So what is the plan?” You ask turning to Orlando.

“Well it would seem we are going to Russia ourselves.” Orlando sighs.

“It seems we have a monk to kill.” Shola adds.

Well killing Rasputin was an absolute shit show. On the bright side he was dead, Orlando’s leg was miraculously healed and you were all alive so all and all it could be considered a win. Yay. Now you are adding the candles to Conrad’s birthday cake helping Polly.

“You should tell him Y/N.” Polly’s voice shatters the peaceful silence.

“Tell who what? Polly you are going to be more specific.” You ask innocently looking up at her slightly confused.

“Don’t play stupid with me. Tell Conrad you love him already. I honestly do not understand how he hasn’t figured it out on his own! He clearly loves you too, he's just an idiot who doesn’t know how to express his feelings.”

“Oh I know it’s pretty funny to watch.”

“The two of you are hopeless.” She shakes her head lightly giggling at your antics.

“Conrad please why do you so desperately want to join this bloody war!?” You shout at the man. No. The boy in front of you. For months he had been begging his father to join the fight and you had finally reached a breaking point.

“Because Y/N it is the noble thing to do! And there is nothing you nor my father can do to stop me now! I am an adult and I don't need anyone’s permission!” Conrad growls back.

“Noble...noble...there is nothing noble about this fight. You must be an idiot to believe that. Millions of men are dying Conrad, those families don’t even have bodies to bury. Those are millions of families that instead of getting their son, husbands, fathers back they get a letter! I want you Conrad NOT a piece of FUCKING PAPER! How is that so hard for you to wrap your thick fucking head around?” You feel tears springing up begging to fall but you don’t let them. “You are quite possibly the stupidest person I have ever met Conrad...the bravest stupidest person.” You pause for a moment pulling a small parcel from your pocket. “Do me a favor though since you are so determined to go...” You pause handing Conrad the parcel filled with sunflower seeds. “Keep these in your pocket that way if you die at least something beautiful will come from it.” You wipe away a few stray tears. “If you have a death wish I will not stand by and watch you get yourself killed. I love you too much to do that.” You don’t give him time to respond before walking out of the room.

“Y/N?” Shola asks.

“Send for me when he joins. Until then I need to get away from him. I am sorry.” You ask the man, tears trickling down your face.

“Of course my lady.”

“Thank you.” And with that you left the house.

When Shola shows up at your door telling you he joined the war there was a rush of a lot of emotions: anger, fear, sadness, bitterness, and motivation.

“Shola, I need to have a meeting with Orlando and Polly.”

“Of course I’ll drive you there.”

“Thank you Shola.”

“Y/N are you sure this is a good idea?” Polly asks taking your measurements in order to tailor you a uniform.

“Oh it’s probably a terrible idea but I know Conrad and he won’t take a desk job. And I will not let him die if I can do something about it.” You respond by wrapping your chest in order to bind your chest. “Orlando hates this plan but he has to acknowledge that I am doing it for the right reasons.”

“He knows that Y/N but he thinks of you as his daughter and the idea of losing both of you is a lot for him.”

“I will do my best to make sure he doesn’t lose either of us. I promise.”

That is how you ended up crawling through no man's land between the trenches next to Conrad - who for the record does not even know it is you - in the middle of the night hoping to find the information the spy was carrying. It was not going well when six German soldiers showed up in front of you. A few of the British soldiers went for their guns but you knew better grabbing your knife waiting for your opponent to attack first.

As soon as the german lunged for you you dodge grabbing their gas mask tilting their head back and slit their throat. You look behind you to see three of the British men dead and Conrad struggling to make his first kill. You felt bad but another German was coming at you so you could not help him. You pin the next guy stabbing him in the chest and standing up quickly. You take care of one more on your own before stabbing the man your commander was struggling in the back and throwing the knife into the head of the last man who had Conrad pinned down.

Now it was only Conrad, you, and your commanding officer. During the struggle your hat came off and your hair came loose. At that moment it was very obvious you were a woman. You walk over to Conrad and pull him up and retrieve your knife from the dead man's head before rejoining the officer. You stand there in silence for a moment waiting for the officer to say something and when he doesn’t electing instead to stare at you in complete and utter disbelief you decide to start walking towards where the spy's body would be.

“Wait Ma’am what are you doing here? How did no one notice.” The officer asks Conrad nods, looking equally confused.

“Now really doesn’t seem like the best time Sir. We should find the documents he was carrying then we can discuss the fact you not only took a woman on your mission but also The Duke of Oxford’s son who is supposed to be in London sharpening pencils.” You snarl back glaring at Conrad. “So I need you to listen to my next words very very carefully.” You say turning to the officer jabbing your finger in his chest. “We are going to retrieve this document NOW and as soon as we get back you take me and that man.” You point to Conrad. “Straight back to London or so help me god I will take my knife and stab it straight through your right hand...Do I make myself clear Sir?” You growl out very tired and very done with the entire situation.

“Understood Ma’am.” The officer gulps.

“Good.”

And that was exactly what happened: you found the document and the spy who was carried back to safety and a medic while you and Conrad were taken back to London.

As soon as you get there you are met by King George, Orlando, and the man you would come to know as Archie Reid.

“Both of you have committed several crimes and risked the lives of countless others with your actions.” The king begins what feels like will be a very long speech.

“Yes we did your majesty, however we also recovered the original transcript of the message the Kaiser sent to his embassy and likely saved more lives than we risked. And with all due respect I am exhausted, covered in blood that is not mine and extremely hungry so if this speech could wait that would be ideal.” You remark as calmly as possible, shoving the document into the King’s hand before grabbing Conrad by the arm and dragging him away.

“Let them go...they have a lot to talk about.” Orlando says watching the two of you walk away.

“Are you done playing hero now Conrad?” You ask once you are out of earshot of the others in a private room.

“Yes Y/N I’m sorry you and my father were right.” Conrad whimpers softly.

“Of fucking course we were! We were trying to protect you! You need to listen to the people who care about you.” You all but groan resting your forehead on his chest. “You are so dense sometimes.”

“I’m sorry...” He says before he breaks down into tears falling into your arms.

“It’s okay...shh...shh...it’s okay it’s all going to be okay I promise.” You mutter into his hair lovingly. The two of you stay like that for a while, him cryinging into your shoulder and you rubbing his back whispering sweet nothings into his hair. After about thirty minutes he calms down enough to speak.

“You didn’t give me time to say it back.” He mumbled so quietly you almost missed it.

“Say what back?” You question back pulling away holding his face between your hands.

“I love you too. I love you so much and I almost died without being able to tell you that. I love you, I love you, I love you!” He all but screams. You smile softly at him.

“Good thing I went after you huh? I love you too...” You mutter pulling him down and kissing him for the first time but certainly not the last.

Taglist - @nik2write @registerednursejackie @lostsmolpotato

#conrad oxford x reader #conrad oxford #the king's man #the king's man one shot #general kitchener #morton #polly #shola #orlando oxford #the duke of oxford #rasputin #king george #archie reid

406 notes · View notes

no-droids · 4 years

Text

Mercy, Sabotage, and Dead Space

(gif credit to @redwyyne-archive)

Part One of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.7K

Summary:

1. No sex.

2. No touching yourself.

3. No orgasms.

Warnings/Tags: DUBCON/NONCON elements, fuckboy Poe (OOC), Enemies to Lovers, degradation/humiliation, mentions of oral sex, SMUUUTTTTTTTT also I’m not sorry for what I did but you’re not allowed to read if you’re gonna get mad at me okay byeeee

***

This.

This shit, right here.

If the question was ever, “What’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever let Poe Dameron somehow talk you into doing?” then the answer is this stupid shit, right the fuck here. This is like. You remember that one game, Mercy? The one where you’d dig your nails in and twist arms and just needlessly inflict pain on each other as children until one of you cried uncle because someone somewhere once decided to turn torture into a matter of pride?

You always thought those games were fucking ridiculous. Who can hold their breath the longest, who can handle a lit deathstick against their flesh the longest, who can take the hardest punch—who cares? It’s child’s play. It’s self-inflicted agony for the sake of bragging rights and even as a youngling, you refused to fall for it.

But then you met… fucking Dameron.

You know those people that… they don’t just rub you the wrong way, but literally every single aspect about their personality is sandpaper against wet skin and your whole entire being feels chafed raw just by existing in their general vicinity for an extended period of time?

You’re… you’re not usually a competitive—much less aggressive person. You never have been. It’s just not part of your nature. If you ever excel at anything in life, it isn’t because of some secret, deep-seated desire to win or be better than anyone else. You just… do you. You do whatever you do, and if it’s good, it’s good. And if it’s bad, it’s good. Because at the end of the day at least it’s still you, and you’re okay with that.

But this?

This shit? Right here?

“This is fucking dumb,” you say, because you know it’s what you both must be thinking so you may as well just get it out in the open. “This is the dumbest fucking thing, Dameron. What are we doing? Why are we doing this?”

The grumpy, orange-jumpsuited figure sitting behind you just sighs heavily and slumps even further down in his bucket seat, as if it isn’t the first time you’ve tried asking this incredibly valid question (it totally is), bringing a palm down to thunk the top of the guidance controls between his legs in a quiet irritation you’re almost certain has everything to do with the very topic you’re trying to bring up.

“Because,” comes that infuriating drawl. You can only see his face from this angle by looking at his reflection in the transparisteel barrier directly in front of you, but even just imagining the way his mouth moves while he rounds out the words makes your jaw clench. “The coordinates we picked up were scrambled and this rendezvous could be going down at any one of thirty-six locat—?”

“No,” you interrupt him with a scowl, “not why I’ve been floating in dead space in this Maker-forsaken ship with you for eight fucking hours a day since… fuck, what’s today? Thursday? Friday? Nope, can’t be Friday, Friday’s our off-day. Thursday, then. …Thursday?” You shake your head. “Ugh, see? Time doesn’t exist when I’m not allowed to cum, life is like one never-ending nightmare.”

“Oh.” He takes a second to think about it in silence, the calloused tips of his fingers scratching the side of his face while he considers. It wouldn’t usually be as loud as it is right now. Maybe it’s the haunting quiet of space surrounding the ancient powered down hunk of metal you’re both stuck in, inadvertently isolating and amplifying the sound—or maybe it’s because your copilot’s jaw is currently covered in a thick, dark beard that you swear barely took his testosterone-overloaded ass a fucking week or two to grow, if that. Regardless, the dark bristles crunch loudly under his short fingernails and it takes you about a grand total of five whole uninterrupted seconds of the scraping sound to realize you’re grinding your teeth along with it. “Well,” he finally says, “that was your stupid idea.”

“Hmmmmmmmno,” you contest firmly, wiggling your elbow back to poke at his shin with your index finger once, twice, thrice, until he finally slaps your hand away in quiet irritation. To the misfortune of you both—and likely the other hundred or so pilots concurrently taking rotating shifts in these tandem x-wings in a glorified mass stakeout, the cockpit of this ship is just way too fucking small. Your arm is squeezed uncomfortably against machinery and electronics to get to him from this angle and a light slap isn’t going to stop you now that you’re here. “You—” (poke) “—have a superiority complex and decided to turn it into a competition, not—” (poke) “—me.”

“Oh, I have a superiority complex, okay,” he scowls and nods in vehement, fake agreement, finally giving up and letting you poke at will, but the appeal is lost as soon as you realize he’s over it and your arm eases back into your lap. You watch his reflection look out of the viewport and scan the empty void of space for the twentieth time in the past five minutes, clearly just as desperate to get back to base as you are. “So what is it you call saying—wait, no no, not even saying, loudly declaring—‘Of course I can go longer without sex than “wham bam thank you ma’am” Dameron, you brainless fucks, it’s a simple fact!’”

“Alright—I don’t sound like that, fuck you very much,” you return, in reference to his shrieking, high-pitched impression of you surrounded by your fellow pilots in the rec room when you’ve had a bit too much to drink. “Also, you don’t have to finger-quote literally every single syllable of my fucking sentence, Dameron. First and last word, that’s all it takes. And if it’s so superiority complex-ey of me to state simple facts, then what is it you call saying ‘betcha two weeks worth of pay you can’t, pretty baby’?”

“Uh, easy credits?” He immediately asks, side-eyeing your reflection through the transparisteel. “ Easy credits. Just begging for it. Two weeks of your slutty, sexy, easy fucking credits just begging to be taken and used— ”

“You need to get laid,” you cut in to tell him bluntly, scrunching your nose in what you hope looks like disgust. As per protocol, the power to the x-wing was cut at the beginning of your shift—what feels like a fucking eternity ago—as a preventative maneuver in case the target falls out of hyperspace unexpectedly. Avoiding the scanners of a fleet that may never actually show means it’s cold and dimly lit in here—just starlight in front of either you, but you’re hoping he can gauge the severity of your revulsion with your back to him. “You just turned my money into a sex object. It was vile. I feel violated on its behalf.”

“Sounds like you’re the one who needs to get laid,” he tosses carelessly back at you, and you roll your eyes with as much sass as you can physically muster, so tired of all the dodging. You know this hasn’t been easy for him either, he just has too much pride to admit it. “Besides, you’ve gotta be past the withdrawal stage by now. Is it really all that bad?”

“The fuck you mean, ‘Is it really all that bad’?” You snap at him, shuffling around grumpily in your seat, hating the way the bulky weapons controls sit right between your thighs and prevent you from closing them. Withdrawal stage, ha. “Of course it’s all that bad. It’s horrible. It’s the fucking worst. And more importantly, how are you not having any trouble with this? Oh, wait—that’s right,” you answer yourself before he has a chance to. “Because you cheated.”

“I did not cheat,” Dameron’s reflection immediately challenges with an accusatory finger pointed at you. “I did not. When the fuck did I cheat? I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half—all because you don’t believe in the honor system—just so you could tell me I fucking cheated?”

You scoff, feeling your annoyance spark even more. He’s always been able to get under your skin, but the neglect you’ve been forcing your body to endure is just throwing gasoline on an already roaring fire. “Okay, first of all? Rude. I am a fucking joy to have as a roomie, alright? I put up with your snoring, your 2:00 AM dinners, you blasting your radio while I’m trying to sleep, I barely complain about your body odor—”

“My snoring is adorable, I get snacky at night, only sad people with fucked up lives hate music, I smell amazing,” Dameron casually lists off on his fingers, the self-confidence so easy and unshakeable that you swear he’s almost preening at the compliments he just gave himself by the time he’s finished rebutting everything you can think to throw at him. And, while you’d never admit it, he does smell good. He smells… unbelievably fucking good. Always. Something dark and woodsy, you can never quite put your finger on. It pisses you off, so much that you’ve made a habit of pulling a face of disgust whenever the warm, rich scent noticeably reaches you, hoping it deflates his ego just a little bit. No such luck so far.

“Whatever. The point is I’m a good fucking neighbor, alright, I’m neighborly as fuck,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “And don’t make it sound like I’m putting a chastity lock on your balls every night, because you can fuck anyone you want. In fact, I strongly fucking encourage it—I just want to know about it when it happens.”

Dameron smirks and you groan, already knowing what’s coming. “You wanna hear it?”

Yep, there it is. “Second of all—”

“Feel the whole bunk rock with it?” He goes on, completely ignoring you. “Use the excuse that you’re trapped up top so you can just stay there the whole time and listen? You know you can do a lot more than just—”

“Second of all,” you project over him, “you’re seriously telling me you haven’t had any wet dreams then, hm? No snorgasms? Hmmm? No happy naps? No captain midnights? No mattress fracking? Hmmmmmm???”

His voice very quickly sounds… shocked. “How many fucking euphemisms—?”

“Wait wait, one more—” you quickly interrupt, too much momentum to stop now, “—sleepskeet.”

You watch in immense satisfaction as his expression seems to progress through all five stages of grief, before he exhales a long, unamused sigh and scratches his beard again. You want to pluck each strand of it out of his face one by one. “Anyways. Wet dreams are totally different and don’t count.”

“It’s not different!” You burst out, unable to help yourself, “it’s an orgasm, and rule number three is no orgas—”

“I know what the rules were, Gold-Ten,” he returns calmly, and it infuriates you, how he’s always able to make it seem like you’re the instigator who’s overreacting. And he knows exactly what he’s doing by calling you by your flight designation, and it pisses you off even more because calling him Black-Leader in any other situation besides active warfare just feels like an unnecessary reminder of his skills. Why he’s currently behind you manning the guidance controls and why you’re currently stuck in the front seat with the bulkier weapons systems. “The question is if you’re seriously that bad enough of a sport to automatically disqualify me because of something that happens to any human with a dick indiscriminately when we blueball ourselves.”

“But that’s the entire fucking point, Dameron!” You shrill, throwing your hands in the air in pure exasperation. “There it is! You need it more than I do, you just said it yourself! Not to mention I said I can go longer without sex than you can— sex , not orgasms, but as it turns out I win at both. Now can we please call this shit off so I can finally cum? This isn’t fun anymore.”

“Nope,” he says immediately, popping the P with a bit too much hard emphasis to be genuinely amused. He’s frustrated, too—his voice is too pleased, too fake to not be masking irritation underneath. “Sorry. But this was also your stupid idea, so.”

“You’re insufferable,” you grumble, anger flaring equal to his, just way more… verbal. And descriptive. “Wet dreams don’t count, fucking right. Tell that to the oceans of Kamino I got going on down there, huh? I move on this seat wrong and I’ll slide off it—”

A loud slam of a palm against the controls suddenly echoes throughout the small cockpit, causing you to jump slightly.

“Don’t,” Dameron snarls, “... say shit like that to me. Not right now. Not right now, fuck .”

You go quiet for a moment, not expecting that much of an outburst at something you considered to be a throwaway remark, but then… oh. Something occurs to you, something… sinister. Oh, well, now there’s an idea.

Everything inside you immediately surges up and burns at the thought—the mere whisper of a way out of all of this, quickly, without giving in and letting him hold your surrender over you for Maker knows how long. It’s so fucking simple, you don’t know why you didn’t think of it before. You don’t have to wait him out at all; instead, you just need to… entice him into giving in first.

Neither of you say anything for a while, and you don’t know what he’s thinking (nothing, probably—a dry tumbleweed bouncing across an empty desert landscape, you imagine) but you take the dip in conversation to consider a plan. You can’t go at it too outright, it’ll be too big of a turnaround and he’ll see it coming lightyears away. A halfhearted joke about your pussy tossed out without thinking is what catalyzed the most substantial reaction from him you’ve seen, so… maybe you can keep steering the conversation towards the idea.

“How many wet dreams have you had?” You suddenly ask, your heart beginning to pick up in your chest as soon as the words are out of your mouth.

“Excuse me?” Dameron grunts from behind you, and you catch his reflection raising a thick eyebrow at you.

You take a deep breath and disguise it by stretching your back out just a little bit, lifting your shoulder blades and arching the sore muscles there, before settling back down in your normal crappy posture once more. “Now many times did you cum in your sleep? Had to at least been once for you to claim they don’t count.”

“Why does it matter?” He asks, completely sidestepping the question for the second time. “It was involuntary.”

You shrug. “Just so I know how many freebies I can get tonight.”

“No,” Dameron instantly counters, his voice dead serious. “Not fucking allowed.”

“Why not?” You ask, and this time, there’s significantly less challenge than you’d typically deliver it with. Instead, your voice is soft, questioning. Not argumentative, but curious, and there’s just enough of your point left unsaid that it’ll seem like he conjured the rest of the image himself.

There’s silence while he considers his response to the perfectly executed bait. You assume you’re both picturing the same thing, because it’s what you’ve pictured almost every single night spent in this celibate hellscape. The cool darkness of your shared quarters, the standard-issue sheets that still feel crispy and rough on your skin no matter how many nights you’ve slept in them, with one of your hands pressed tight over your mouth and two of your fingers circle your clit.

“You only get to do it if I’m in the room,” he poses instead, and you swallow thickly, feeling your body tighten with an unintentional drop of pure heat through your tummy at the thought. Maker, it must be really bad if Poe fucking Dameron is getting to you like this. The bane of your existence shouldn’t make your insides twist in on themselves—at least, not in a good way.

“Not like I’d have much choice,” you eventually respond, keeping it purposefully ambiguous. “It’s your room, too. Unfortunately.”

Stars, it’s been so long since you’ve done this, since you’ve walked the fine line between flirtation and seduction, wanting to turn on the charm slowly—gradually ease it up like a hyperdrive lever under your fingertips so that you’re at maximum by the time he realizes you’re even there. You take a moment to glance at his reflection, watching Dameron look back at you curiously, a flash of interest in his eyes.

“By the way, how does that one girl feel about us doing this?” You ask out of nowhere, suddenly remembering the existence of his pretty little number. You’ve seen her under his arm around base at least a few times, which is more than you can say for the rest of them. “Red-Six. Tall brunette with the tattoos—I don’t bother learning names, they all come and go.”

“Nihla,” Dameron nods with a wistful sigh, tilting his head to rest against his shoulder. “Or, wait… Neah. No—it was… Nalal. Yeah, Nalal, I think that’s right…”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter. “One of the greatest mysteries of the universe is how many people get in line for you, I’ll never fucking understand it.”

“They just want me for my cock,” he tells you without missing a single beat, sounding like he’s not joking in the slightest. “It was starting to get obnoxious. Glad I finally have an excuse to turn them down.”

“Unbelievable,” you repeat, stunned by how truly, mind-blowingly full of himself he is. “You’re… fucking…”

You end up just staring at him and making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, at a complete loss for words, and Dameron eventually shrugs and continues on after you fail to form a coherent thought in the allotted time frame he provides.

“Now I can just tell them I’m in a long-running bet with Gold-Ten over who can sexually deprive themselves the longest and weirdly enough, they don’t seem all that interested anymore,” he remarks, tilting his chin up and rubbing at his beard again, and for some reason… the sound of it bothers you somewhat less now, the way he phrased that resonating deeper inside you than it should. Lower than it should. You blink a few times, almost shocked by your body’s unprecedented response to his admission—Poe Dameron uses you as an excuse to turn down sex with pretty girls? Happily?—and your mind goes blank for a second while he watches you through the transparisteel. “It’s alright,” he eventually goes on, tilting his head. “Sometimes a sabbatical is good. I do really miss pussy, though.”

“Well,” you finally tell him, oddly not having much else to offer at the moment. “I’m sorry? And… you’re welcome. I guess.”

Dameron shrugs once more and makes an apathetic sound without opening his mouth, and you drop your stare down to the machinery between your spread thighs after feeling like you were looking at each other for too long. The position started uncomfortable and seven hours later, it’s still fucking uncomfortable. At first the discomfort twinged at your hips and lower back, but now the sensation seems to be… centering itself a bit more, finding a spot right between your legs, especially when his words echo through your subconscious and make you naturally want to push your thighs together. I do really miss pussy, though.

You try to snap out of it a bit, try to stop hyperfixating on the way your underwear has felt sticky and wet for fucking hours now, but it’s so fucking difficult to chill yourself out when your body already went into this whole situation with a month and a half long stumbling block. He’s not really doing anything at all—he’s leant back in his chair and staring out the window into the black emptiness of space when you steal a look once more, but something about how his casual responses are affecting you makes it seem like he’s the one currently seducing you.

Maker, you have to focus. You have to control yourself. You’re starting to feel a little warm in your thick jumpsuit—a particular shade of orange that does not compliment your complexion but you normally rejoice in wearing regardless. It’s baggy and uniform and hides most of your curves and most importantly, it keeps you toasty on missions like this. Space is cold —especially this far out in the Cauper Void, and there’s no fucking reason this powered down hunk of floating metal should feel as muggy and stifling as it does in here.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you suddenly hear yourself say, spontaneously, no thought put into it whatsoever. One last try, one last attempt to avoid it, a last-ditch go at flight before he gives you no choice and you’re left with this one remaining option. “This isn’t a good idea. It’s… not healthy. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

This gets a small chuckle out of him. “I know you don’t, pretty baby.”

“Then let’s just call the whole thing off,” you propose once again, trying to lighten your tone, make it a… a friendly thing. It sounds so fake, even to your own ears—since when would you be desperate enough to let the dreaded petname slide?—but granted, you know what they say about time and measures and all that shit. “We can call it a tie, just go back to the way things were befo—”

He cuts you off and pins you with his gaze through the reflection. “You realize that you begging me to put an end to your suffering is—ridiculously hot, mostly—but also only an incentive to make me keep pushing until you finally give in?”

You groan and comb some of your hair off your forehead, not liking the way it’s getting just the slightest bit damp. “Fine, we won’t call it off, but can we at least just stop—” You immediately catch yourself, not wanting to unintentionally push this too far too quickly, but your hesitation is clear and compelling enough for him to prompt you.

“At least just stop what?” Dameron asks, and though you don’t think it’s intentional or even noticeable from his perspective, something about the way his voice sounds… husky. Low to the ground.

“Stop dragging it out,” you breathe, your heart pounding. Why is your heart pounding so fucking fast? This is a fucking sting op, a facade, so why are you getting so caught up in the lie you’ve spun for yourself? “Finish it. Sooner, rather than later. Quit being masochists about it, just fucking put it to—”

Maker, your eyes instinctively snap to his at your poor choice of wording, having almost said bed on complete accident. Genuinely, you didn’t mean to phrase it that way, but at the same time, the thought of it almost burns you alive. Fuck. Dameron, and you, in bed. It could be mean. It could be rough. A fight for dominance more than anything. He’s bigger than you and he could make it fucking hurt, especially after going without it for as long as you have, but something about how double-edged that type of relief would be isn’t really sinking in for you right now. Like a person slowly dying of thirst that’s fantasizing about drowning. Regardless, the idea of a night with him and the sudden assortment of vivid imagery it provides is enough to get you to shut up and take a deep breath, just wait with your mouth shut for whatever his response is.

Unfortunately, you don’t have to wait long at all.

“This is cute,” he suddenly tells you, and you jerk back and sputter a bunch of consonants stupidly like he smacked you.

“Fuck you?” Are the first recognizable words that can be heard. “I’m not—this isn’t fucking— cute?”

“It’s cute,” Dameron repeats, hiding a soft smile from you with a few of his fingers pressed to his lips. “You,” he says as he points at your reflection, twirling his finger around in circles, “trying to be all sneaky about it, go about your little performance. It’s like… watching a little kid just blatantly fuck up a magic trick but they’re naive enough to think it’s working. Keep going, I’m enthralled.”

You hold still for just a second as ice suddenly sinks through your tummy and clears away any trace of warmth you may have once felt from before. Of course. Stupid. Stupid, you shouldn’t have even tried something like that, you don’t know why you thought…

Horrifyingly, you go dead silent and the lack of an immediate response from you hangs awkwardly in the still air. You’re usually so quick with him, so fiery, letting the things he throws at you just glide right off you, but for some insane reason, you’re actually fucking… embarrassed? A little bit?

You should say something, but your whole body is just frustratingly blank, almost buzzing in mortification, and it gets worse and worse the longer you stay quiet. You don’t usually put yourself in a position to be compromised, and you certainly didn’t think the place he decided to jab this time had particularly thin skin.

You… you’d forgotten what it’s like to have someone laugh at you when you’re genuinely trying your best to flirt.

Well, it’s too late to say anything now, you think. Now it’s just uncomfortable in here—true discomfort, not the typical angry silences. You’re used to that, you’re used to huffing and crossing your arms and ticking your jaw through the breaks in conversation, refusing to say a word because you’re beyond pissed off. This is different. This quiet sits different in the air, this emotion hits different in your chest, somewhere vulnerable. A crack in your armor he found without even necessarily intending to, but at this point, the stupid way you can’t seem to hide the wound from him is just as much to blame.

“So, uh…” Dameron clears his throat as you shut your eyes tight against the awkwardness, but you can still feel a strange little shift in the air from behind you. There’s something about the enclosed space, the quiet darkness surrounding you both, you feel… too close to him. Sharing his air, feeling the energy when it’s cramped and you’re not able to just get up and storm away from him like normal. You don’t like it. You don’t like that you can immediately tell something has changed without being able to see him, that type of intimacy between you is pushing a boundary you can’t quite pinpoint but know exists.

You snap your eyes open and look over at Dameron’s reflection when he’s quiet for too long, and though you try to glare as fiercely as possible at him while you do it, the look on his face almost stops you dead. The pure intensity raging in his expression, the way he’s got his eyes narrowed, flicking back and forth between yours, carefully studying you, wondering if perhaps he may have gotten it all wrong. “I mean, y’know. Theoretically speaking, and all. If I broke, you’d let me fuck you?”

You… aren’t expecting that.

You don’t know why but your heart suddenly starts to race again, but it’s not the same as before. Before it was speeding up and at an angle, like a rocket trying to escape a body’s gravitational pull, to go somewhere, search for something. This time it just feels like it’s ricketing downhill, unsteady and out of control, about to break apart with every single pothole that rattles and slams through you. Shit. You didn’t expect the ultimatum would be presented to you so up front like that—you thought there’d be… some resistance, at least.

Fuck, you take way too fucking long thinking about it, and your face feels warmer and warmer the more you mentally pick apart his specific phrasing, wondering where you should even begin. You still haven’t said anything, but the damage is already done. What should've been a firm, instantaneous go fuck yourself is left suspended, unanswered, open for interpretation. You miss your window of opportunity to shut him down, you overshoot it by a longshot, and then you feel that spark of a what-if flare deep down once more.

No, fucking stop it. Stop it. Maker, your eyes do everything they can to not look at him while you concentrate and work to tap into your anger, stoking the flames of your fire to avoid feeling… temptation. How dare he? How fucking dare he do this to you, especially when there’s no chance to get out of here, to abort mission and cut your losses? You clench your jaw and isolate that fury, magnify it until it’s the only thing you can feel anymore.

“My turn now,” Dameron eventually breaks the silence to clarify, blinking at you, and by this point you’re so fucking pissed off that you don’t recognize that isn’t actually a question.

“No,” you immediately snap, strung far too thin to deal with this new, treacherous territory with him. Defaulting to normal is best, it’s easier. “No, it’s not your turn, and fuck no, you can’t fuck me, not even if it means I win this stupid bet. No to everything that has anything to fucking do with you, alright? Don’t talk to me. You’re lucky if I agree to sleep in the same fucking room as you tonight. And—and?—I think your beard looks dumb.”

Okay, so maybe the last part was just a little bit childish, but you’re in such a bad fucking mood and you want to insult something he’s clearly just trying out for right now, hasn’t yet solidified as part of his usual appearance and unshakeable confidence in it. It’s a downright lie—you think he might look more attractive with it than he ever has. Effortlessly rugged and masculine, framing his face and making his eyes all the more piercing.

You don’t think it works, but regardless, he heeds your sharp words and says nothing for a good few minutes at least. You had hoped the break in interaction would allow you the ability to reset a little bit, give yourself time to work through it, but it’s like the pressure in the air steadily increases regardless of how silent it is in here—or perhaps, because of it.

You can’t help it. You flick your eyes to the transparisteel in front of you once more and catch his reflection staring directly at you, unmoving. It jars you as much as it sparks your anger, and you glare down at your hands and give him a few seconds. A few seconds of grace, of mercy, before you try again.

Sure enough, he’s still got his dark eyes pinned to you when you go to check once more, like he’s actually fucking thinking about something right now, which is just… astounding, for obvious reasons. Mainly, the nerve of him. The fucking nerve of him to be able to look at you like that, like he’s just entitled to study your every feature, searching your eyes for things you’ve never looked deep enough to find within yourself, making incredibly loud assumptions with his mind that he has absolutely no right to be making.

“Shut up,” You snap at him defensively, feeling like you’re sweating buckets even in the freezing emptiness of dead space. You can’t figure out if it’s a cold sweat or if your body is legitimately just malfunctioning under his stare. “Shut up.”

You watch as his reflection suddenly drops his head back against the seat and rolls out the stiffness of his neck, blinking his eyes shut and raising his eyebrows like you’re completely overreacting, like he has absolutely no idea. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re not that dumb,” you challenge. “You’re… plotting. Evil plotting.”

A thick eyebrow drops so that only one is quirked up, and a grin pulls at his lips.

“You’re right,” Dameron admits casually after a moment with his eyes still closed, his voice pitched low in the cramped ship. “I was thinking about what it’s gonna take to get you to lose.”

You swallow against the dryness in your throat, starting to unintentionally bounce one of your legs up and down without even realizing it. Fuck, this ship is small, it’s too fucking small in here—you gaze wistfully out at the vast endlessness of space, wanting to grit your teeth at the irony of being surrounded by the one thing you so desperately wish you had.

“I just have to find a weakness,” he shifts forward in his seat and reveals to you, bewilderingly shameless in his honesty. Like all of a sudden you’re an accomplice to this endeavor instead of its target, as if he isn’t spoiling the secret by letting you in on it. “Something that you like, that gets you going. Something that riles you up, gets you all hot and bothered down there—”

“So you can exploit it,” you huff, slouching over a bit and trying not to sound like you’re pouting.

“—so I can exploit it,” he finishes happily, collapsing back into his seat like he’s glad you caught on so quick and he doesn’t have to explain further. “Now we can do the whole routine—the bickering, the tension, the undeniable sexual chemistry we have—or we can skip all that and you can just tell me flat out what it’s gonna take to rev that pretty little engine up, because I want it purring.”

And, it’s so fucking weird, because the specific verbiage that would normally make you cringe just hearing it spoken aloud doesn’t inspire the typical response, even though it feels like it should. It feels like you should be grossed out, it feels like a moment you should screw up your facial expression and act offended, but you’re… not. This is actually fucking working, it’s unbelievable. The undeniable fact infuriates you just as much as it stumps you.

“You do realize that everything you say is a game that two can play at, right?” You point out, not really sure where you’re going with this but feeling heated about it all the same. “What’s stopping me from exploiting something you like?”

“See now that’s a great idea,” Dameron announces, clapping his hands together happily and sending you jumping a few inches in your seat at the sudden sound, your hand automatically shooting up to rest on your thumping heart. “I can tell you what I like, and you can just listen.”

Alright, no, wait—backtrack—

“How about I tell you what I don’t like,” you snip breathlessly, tucking your hair behind your ear and feeling all the blood rush to your cheeks. Default to normal, default to normal. “Your fucking attitude. Your demeanor. The way you talk down to me. You don’t listen. You walk around like you’re such hot shit just because you’re a good pilot but none of that means anything when you don’t ever fucking listen. You’re terrible at it, doesn’t matter who’s talking—you don’t listen to me, you don’t listen to people who actually like you, you don’t listen to orders, you don’t listen to reason—”

“You think I’m a good pilot?” He suddenly asks, and you have to take a second. This cockpit isn’t designed for anything other than sitting, much less turning all the way around, but you’re sure you can find some way to throttle him from here. He chuckles as you let out the loudest sigh you’ve ever heard yourself make—which, is an incredible feat you think both of you should be congratulated for—before Dameron eventually carries on. “You could tell me that,” he admits with a shrug, a hidden smile on his face that he’s trying to bite back. “Or you could tell me the truth.”

You shouldn’t encourage him, but you just can’t fucking help it. There’s something inside you, something you can only compare to a morbid sort of curiosity. Maybe you’re just a glutton for punishment, even more so than agreeing to this bet has already confirmed. “And that would be—?”

“That you use anger as a defense mechanism because I touch a nerve you didn’t realize you had,” Dameron replies breezily. “Have since the moment we met. And that you maybe want me to touch something else, but you’re too stubborn and proud and committed to hating me to ever admit it. You can admit it, it’s okay, I can touch whatever you need me to tou—”

“How about the emergency eject button?” You hiss, finally feeling your frustration peak. “Pop the top on this bitch. Put me out of my fucking misery, right now. You’ve got such a big head that the blood flow will probably keep your tiny little brain warm enough as long as you strap yourself down beforehand, I’ll wait. And then you can go back to base, alone , and find another poor girl to emotionally torture since you probably don’t get enough of it from the ones you work your way through but can never remember the most basic things about.”

Remarkably, that actually shuts him up. You’re doubtful the jab really hurts him, but you’re not going to feel bad about it either way. He deserved that. You cross your arms over your chest and don’t even bother looking at him, huffing and flushed with the climax of your ferocity, now left feeling strangely exhausted in its wake. Eventually your breathing evens out and disappears into the silence, until nothing at all can be heard.

It’s like that for a moment—only a moment, before the loud tearing of velcro suddenly shreds through the quiet in the cockpit, completely rattling you. Automatically your eyes shoot over to his reflection, watching large hands pull the orange jumpsuit apart at his chest and then shrug it over broad shoulders. It’s not sexual. It can’t be sexual, because there’s just no fucking room to allow it—it takes him forever to pull the long sleeves down his arms, but the way he drags it out somehow just increases your anticipation for an event you should have absolutely no interest in spectating. He’s wearing a white sleeveless undershirt underneath and the jumpsuit bunches at his waist, making him look all the longer and more defined as he finally collapses back into his seat and reclines in it, the distant constellations bathing his lean torso in dim speckles of starlight.

Your gaze catches on every good part of him—it falls down the muscular lines of his neck and follows the thin gold chain wrapped around it, disappearing into the white of his scooping neckline. His toned body finds a place to rest and stretch out without looking awkward or uncomfortable, coarse hair darkening his jaw and dusting the strong lines of his forearms—but it’s his eyes that make your heart stutter. They’re endlessly deep and dark and knowing , and you can’t seem to look away from him, not even when he opens his mouth to address you.

“You’re always so fucking mean to me,” Dameron remarks, and for just a split second—just a split second, you feel a stab of regret. “I should eat you out tonight.”

Fuck, he hits the nail right on the head on his very first try, and just hearing the words come out of his mouth so effortlessly makes your pussy clench in on itself in need. Nothing about his inflection changed from one sentence to the next, nothing in his voice made it seem like he just flipped the fucking galaxy upside down with just a few words. To an onlooker who doesn’t speak Basic, they’d have absolutely no hint as to why your face is suddenly radiating heat at an industrial capacity, blazing hot enough to warm the whole cockpit. You feel like you’re literally burning up with it. You have to put a palm to your cheek to make sure it’s not actually on fucking fire. “What— what did you just say to me?”

“That’s what you need,” he drawls, unbothered by the sharpness of your tone. “What you’ve needed, ever since I can remember. Should’ve done it a long fucking time ago, now that I’m thinking about it. How long’s it been? Tell me the truth, I know it’s been awhile.”

You feel like you’re being roasted alive like one of those hairy little Kowakian monkey-lizards that you’re pretty sure have sentient designation but are the first to be skewered and cooked over the firepit regardless. Your heart is slamming against your sternum and you scramble to come up with an even slightly clever response after such an ambush.

“This is your plan?” You raise an eyebrow at him, feeling a bead of sweat drop down your temple and onto the corner of your lashes. Oh fuck, be cool, be cool. “You think this is gonna work? Ask me if I want a weak orgasm and rugburn on my thighs?”

“I can shave,” Dameron proposes quietly, lifting his chin and gently scrubbing the side of his cheek. The sound of the thick bristles against his fingers makes you swallow thickly and push back very vivid thoughts of how his face would feel between your legs. How soft and wet his mouth would feel at the center of that thick, coarse beard. “Tonight, I’ll shave it off. Make it nice and smooth for you.”

Something inside you surges up to assure him he absolutely should not shave, and you actually have to bite your tongue to keep it buried at the last second. Stars, that was a close one, what the fuck prompted that?

“I don’t give a shit what you do,” you quickly return, resisting the urge to wipe your brow. “Beard or no beard, makes no difference. Foreplay is overrated, I’m not big on wasting time.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” he immediately laments—so quick , and the worst part is that the sympathy in his voice actually sounds sincere. You’re having trouble looking him in the eyes right now, hearing the genuine pity come through in his tone. “Who… who did this to you?”

“You said you want to figure out what I like, what turns me on,” you return, tucking your hair behind your ear once more and trying not to sound self-conscious. Maker, how long until your shift is over? You need to get out of here, this shit is… way out of your league. “I’m not into it, so try again.”

“Really?” Dameron takes a moment to look at you, furrow his thick eyebrows at you in barely concealed curiosity, before his head tilts sideways and drops to his shoulder. “Normally I’d respect that, but I meant it when I said you need it.”

“We fucking hate each other, Dameron,” you hiss, a reminder to him as much as it is to yourself. Fuck, you really don’t like where this is going. “You don’t know anything about me, you don’t know what the I n—”

“I bet you think we’d fuck hard,” he murmurs, low enough that you have to take an unsteady breath and physically brace yourself for whatever is going to come from that dirty mouth next. “You think that maybe I’d throw you around a little, give it to you from behind, teach you a fucking lesson for always talking back to me. But that’s primitive shit, Gold-Ten, that’s not for you.”

Resist. Resist . You’re part of the fucking Resistance, for Maker’s sake, you’re taught to hold out until death in torture scenarios. Since when did this tin can suddenly become a new POW camp simulation you have to train for?

“I want to take you apart so slow that you can’t talk at all,” Dameron continues quietly, and you close your eyes, biting your bottom lip hard enough to sting. “We don’t even have to fuck—I mean, I want to, but mostly I just want to taste you. Go nice and slow. I want you on your back, so I can look in your eyes and see all that anger just… fade away. I want to watch you try to fight how fucking good I’ll make it. How hot it’s gonna be when you can’t glare at me anymore, when your pretty doll eyes go all soft and sweet and you finally realize that I’ve never hated you at all.”

Maker. This is a trick. It’s not a question, it shouldn’t be presented like one—this is a dirty rotten trick , and you’re not gonna fall for it. You can’t fucking fall for it. It’s a low blow, and you refuse to even acknowledge he said anything at all. He’s lying to get your guard down. He laughed at your flirting. He’s a shit person, he’s using you, this isn’t real.

Real or not, you still gulp loud enough for him to hear it.

“We could go back to our room after our shift is over,” he offers out of the blue, and you have no clue why, but when he pauses and lets it hang in the air for a second, you don’t interrupt him. You stay completely silent while he waits for you, waits for your typical snarky comeback. You have it in your head instantly, you know what you’d normally say. Your room. It’s not ‘our’ room, it’s fucking your room that you’re generous enough to let him bunk in, a privilege he’s this fucking close to losing—but you can’t find it in yourself to say it right now. Your anger is gradually losing the war to your arousal and you’re forced to watch every single small defeat inside you happen from the sidelines.

His reflection blinks at you through the transparisteel, his eyebrows raising just slightly at your prolonged silence, before he suddenly sits up a little and leans forward.

“And I could lock the door,” Dameron continues, lowering his voice, both in volume and register. “The lights in there are way too fucking bright but I don’t want to be in complete darkness, so maybe we can turn them off and open the port shade, let just enough light come through to see. I could turn on the radio, find something quiet, easy to listen to. Something you like, I’ll let you pick it out. And then… Wait, hang on, which bed?”

You clench your jaw and purposefully say nothing even as your pussy squeezes, glaring right through his reflection into the black void of space.

“Mmm. Your bed,” he eventually decides. “I want you comfortable. You shower at night. Your hair will be wet and you’ll be in those baggy pajamas that you think I can’t see your nipples through, the ones that I know you take off under your covers and then put on in the morning when you think I’m still asleep. That’s good, I want you relaxed, so that maybe… maybe you’d let me take your panties off at some point. And you could lay back and open your legs, and I could go down on you for a little while. However long you need.”

Fuck.

No, this isn’t fucking happening. Your lower muscles aren’t twisting in so hard that it actually fucking hurts, your pussy isn’t leaking through two layers of fabric under your jumpsuit, your body isn’t outright revolting against the sheer neglect you’ve put it through. Maker, it’s fucking painful. You have to clench your hands into fists and dig your fingernails into your palms before you can open your mouth.

“You want to know what I need?” You nearly wheeze, a drop of sweat sliding down the back of your neck this time. Your body feels like it’s three sizes too big for this cockpit and your skin feels like it’s three sizes too small for your body. “I need you to shut the fuck u—”

“What you need,” Dameron purrs, sliding up closer behind your seat and sighing soft against the worn material of your headrest, “is a warm mouth to cum in. Don’t be shy, pretty baby, you can tell me.”

You growl out his last name as threateningly as you possibly can before he purrs yours right back in your ear, and fuck, you’ve never heard it sound so sexual before. Last names allow pilots to maintain a respectful distance from each other. Flight designations are Resistance-wide, but last names are just… allies. Not friends, not companions, but a vast network of people brought together by a common enemy. It hurts to lose a first name. But the way yours sounds rolling off of Dameron’s tongue is just too sinful, too intimate when calling you that is meant to sever intimacy by design. He says it slow and makes it dirty, muddies it in the back of his throat as he slides up even closer to you, until his face is right next to yours as you stare at each other through the transparisteel.

“I’m really…” he pauses, before exhaling through his nose and swallowing thick enough to make his Adam’s apple drop and bounce up again, his tongue coming out to wet his plush lips as he blinks slowly at you with a heavy gaze, “… really good at it. Call me Poe and I’ll do it for you all night.”

Shit, your pussy is just a fucking mess right now. It feels like it’s melting sweet and syrupy all over your thighs, throbbing and pounding and clamping up and screaming at you to do something, at least press your hand down there to alleviate some of the aching tensi—

No— stars, no touching yourself is rule number two. You drop your hands to your thighs and squeeze them, trying to reign yourself back in.

“I think you’re—just projecting,” you try, but turns out responding in general is just an all-around bad idea. Nothing about it comes out right. The ‘just’ sounds like your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and your voice cracks on the word ‘projecting,’ but you don’t even have time to be self-conscious or embarrassed at how much you’re giving yourself away—all your energy has to go towards fighting the tightness between your open legs, how you’re so fucking turned on that you’re worried you’ll cum without even touching yourself. Oh Maker, can you imagine? How fucking proud of himself he’d be? You can’t let that happen, but fuck, holding back something so appealing is so much harder than it sounds.

Tap into that anger, tap into that anger—only, you can’t suddenly find it. Where’d it go? Fuck, doesn’t matter, conjure it. Quick, before it’s too late, get mad —don’t let him lure you into a… a false…

Dameron tilts his chin down towards the line of your shoulder and then slowly turns his head towards your neck, breathing you in gently.

A false sense of…

His soft exhale makes goosebumps break out all the way down your arms.

… What?

“Maybe you’re right,” Dameron acknowledges, talking just under your ear. You watch his eyelids dip and the dark beard brushes against your skin and you catch just a hint of that woodsy, spicy scent engulfing you. Like… teakwood, maybe? Stars, you don’t know, you think you’re starting to lose your mind. What the fuck does teakwood even smell like? “Maybe it’s just what I need. You should exploit it, chances are I’ll still cum first.”

That rockets another painful spasm down low. It hurts so fucking bad—fuck, maybe you could… rub yourself up against these weapons controls? Just a little bit? That joystick, right there, just ease yourself up against it just to nurse this wound a little bit…?

No, fucking— bad. That’s bad, you have to stop—

“This isn’t real, this isn’t—y-you just…” You flutter your eyelashes shut, digging your fingernails into your thighs like it’ll help break through the fog of his lulling voice, how fucking amazing he smells right now. “You just want to win th-the b—”

“ Fuck the bet,” he tells you quietly, his head dipped low enough now that his lips brush against your neck, and you shudder so hard at the sensation that your shoulder almost knocks into his chin with it. “You really think I’m doing all this for a fucking bet?”

Don’t trust him, don’t trust him, don’t—

Your deep breath is so stuttery and uneven that it’s technically just a series of shallow inhales all anxiously strung together, too desperate for oxygen to go about it legato. It’s painfully obvious to him by now, it has to be, but you very quickly miss the shaky breathing as soon as he takes away your ability to do it all together.

“Let me taste you,” he whispers, his voice almost breaking with how gentle it is, how it sounds like it flips in and out of his register when he speaks this low. “Right now, let’s make it real, let m—I know you have to be soaking fucking wet, baby, just let me try a little bit of it, please—I’m… holy shit, I’m so hard just thinking about it.”

“You c-can’t,” you stammer, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. At him, at the situation, at the painful throb of emptiness between your legs. “Fuck, it’s not allowed, it’s against the rules—”

“It won’t be,” he assures you, and you hiccup when you suddenly feel his hand brush against your side, strong fingers branching out to curve against your ribcage. “You don’t have to do anything, you can stay just like this. Just a few seconds and then I’ll stop, I promise.”

Oh, Maker, it’s on the very top of your tongue, so unbelievably close to telling him something—but you don’t know what it should be. You’re right at the tipping point, on a tightrope right between what you want and what you should want. And, knowing you’re this close to giving in, Dameron slowly eases his hand down your side and starts to trail it inwards, and just the lightest brush of his warm tongue against your neck shatters any composure you have left.

You whimper and instinctively try to close your legs, but you fucking can’t— your knees are forced wide apart by controls and your whole body freezes when his hand slides down and folds gently along the curve of your pussy through the thick fabric of your jumpsuit.

The feeling of being held like this by him is just too good , cradled so perfectly in his palm as he opens his mouth and flutters his tongue out to taste your skin again, giving you a little more of it this time and letting you feel the roughness of his beard with the way his lips move. Your breath catches, then he hooks his fingertips up just the slightest bit and pulls back, and you suddenly have to smack your whole hand over your face in a terrible attempt to stifle your loud gasp.

“Oh, Maker, I c-can’t,” you stammer against your fingers, not being able to trust him or your own body. You continue to protest even after he moves back up, resting his palm low on your abdomen, letting the heat bleed through the fabric and transfer directly to your floor muscles as he lifts his head up from your shoulder. “I can’t, we can’t, I…”

You can’t see him, but you know he’s looking at you. He’s staring right at you through the reflection, studying the way you’re hiding your face from him, how you’re still melting, still losing your composure just from the warm palm pressed tight your tummy.

His touch leaves you for a second. But then the deafening sound of velcro ripping at the crotch of your jumpsuit has you dragging your hand down your mouth and your eyelids dipping.

“Dameron,” you breathe into your fingers, just as his carefully slip into the small opening and begin to work at the button to your pants. “Dameron, this isn’t—you don’t want—”

“You don’t get to tell me what I don’t want,” he grunts at you, and you try not to bite yourself at the sound of him unzipping things and yanking fabric to the side. “What I really fucking want is the real thing, but I guess this’ll have to do for now.”

“I—” Your mind whirs desperately, trying to process when his fingers wedge under your panties and down. But he doesn’t give you a single fucking second. As soon as the tip of his middle finger reaches your slit, he’s dropping it and sliding it through your slick, hot, unbearably neglected cunt.

“Fuck,” he spits, and you feel like you might be about to break your own fucking jaw with how hard you’re clutching it, trying so desperately not to make a noise. The pad of his finger is rough and calloused as it drags against your clit in slow, tight circles, and you clamp your eyes shut and try to breathe normally, but it’s no use. Fuck , it’s been so long . You’ve been aching for it for a full fucking month and a half now and you know that even if he couldn’t feel it, he can hear how drenched you are right now. It’s making an obscene sound as he steadily masturbates you with one heavenly finger, giving your body what it’s desperately craved for so many weeks. “Fuck, baby’s pussy got fucking wet hearing me talk about how good I’d lick it, huh?”

That sends a bright flare launching through you and you gasp raggedly, both hands whipping out to snatch at his forearm where it disappears between your legs. “No, shit, wait, stopstopstopstop stop , I—”

His hand slips out immediately and yet you continue to tremble like his finger is still right there, like your clit is just imagining it so vividly that it’s successfully convincing itself of the illusion. The aching bit of flesh is burning, that good burn, the one that’s searing and bright that makes your muscles continue to chase the sensation long after the stimulation is gone. Fuck, he almost made you cum. He barely touched you for a few seconds and yet your fingers have to tighten into claws to slow your body down the fuck down, flexing against your thighs and trying your best to halt the impending climax.

By the time you’re able to wrangle yourself back from the edge and look at his reflection, his middle finger is already in his mouth and he’s blinking slowly at you, his pupils blown wide. You’re breathing hard at him, staring open-mouthed at the way his lips are closed below his second knuckle, how he takes forever dragging it back out again. You have to close your eyes. You have to clamp them shut and keep them that way, knowing you won’t be able to look at him through whatever he’s going to say next.

Except, oddly, he doesn’t say much.

“Shit,” he breathes, dropping his mouth to your neck once more. “Shhhit. I…”

Your eyes snap open in sudden, blind panic when he doesn’t continue, horrified at the possibility that he doesn’t like it. Dameron always has something to say, he doesn’t go speechless. “Oh—Maker, is it not—?”

“Mmmfuck, just—” he grits, panting hot air against your skin, “—fuck. Give me a second.”

You can only see the crown of his head with the way he’s angled, but you can see his shoulders a little further back. They start… moving slightly. Just the littlest bit, a smooth motion, like his whole body is slowly easing back and forth—

The nav controls are between his legs, you immediately realize. He’s grinding up against them with how close he is to you and your seat.

And suddenly, it’s like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. A ray of sunshine that breaks through the raging storm. Dameron might cum in his pants like this. Which means you’ll win, and arguably more importantly, you’ll finally be able to cum. You don’t even take a moment to consider the potential consequences—how you’re going to have to withstand the stimulation until he succumbs to it, how you’ll have to outlast—but you’re not thinking straight. You’re not really thinking at all.

“You can…” you suddenly hear yourself whisper, and your heart pounds in your throat when he instantly stops moving. “One… one more. If you want. You can put your finger inside this time, it’s where I’m the… w-wettest.”

“Fuck,” Dameron croaks into the crook of your neck, his voice scraping low and rough and sending a tremor through you. “Fuck, okay, yeah—”

His hand slides across your hip and down, but you catch him just in time.

“But don’t touch my clit.” You try to sound as firm as possible through the breathlessness, still trying to put your foot down even when you’re giving in, and Dameron’s teeth come out as he stifles a soft groan into your neck in response.

“Yes, baby,” he murmurs obediently as his hand sinks down once more, and so diligently, he avoids it altogether. His fingers slide under your panties and fall straight down to your entrance, down to where you know you’re the hottest, where your pussy is flexing and pushing wetness out with a steady, wicked throb. The pad of his middle finger presses gently against the tight muscles there, rubs just the slightest bit to feel that resistance, and then the length of it eases inside you so slowly that your knees rattle against bulky metal.

“Fucking Maker , ” he hisses as he slides it in, his body making a sudden jerk against the controls.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of something inside you after so long, after such a torturous buildup, and you grasp at his forearm again when it curls naturally up against searing pleasure. Oh, it’s so good, it’s so good, your hands shake while he very carefully moves it in and out, the raw sparks of heat threatening to incinerate you as your muscles cling to every ridge of his finger. He gets it sopping wet, bathes it so completely in your slick that you’re almost certain it’ll come out pruny and drenched.

“Shit, okay,” you pant, squeezing desperately around his finger, “o-okay, fuck, that’s enough.”

His hand pulls out… slower this time. He slips his finger out of you quick enough, but he drags the tip of it through your folds as he retreats, just barely grazing your clit and making you jolt in your seat. Shit, you don’t know if it felt intentional enough to fault him for it—mostly it just excites you, thrills you to have him edge you like this without really needing to put any effort at all into it.

Dameron lifts his head to sink his finger deep into his mouth once more, and you tremble as you watch him enjoy it, staring at the way his shoulders seem to relax as soon as your taste is on his tongue, how his face goes soft with it and he almost slumps.

Relief. Genuine, not embellished. He still doesn’t say anything after he slowly slides it out and blinks at you, no sugar sweet drawl telling you how amazing you taste, no candied words to make you give in and let him have another go. You’re both breathing hard at each other, staring, waiting to see who will break first.

Stars, you… fucking like this. You want him to keep going, but you can’t offer it again. It’s just too exposing, too revealing to let him you’re actually really fucking enjoying this, you can’t—

“Do you w—?” Your voice automatically comes out through the silence without your permission, sounding just absolutely fucking wrecked by this point, but his palm is already slithering back down as soon as you speak, and you make the softest little submissive noise in your throat at him taking immediate initiative like that. He’s not as careful about it this time—his hand finds its target with less frill, his finger slides in quicker, sinking deep into your heat with little hesitation, lighting you on fire from the inside out, and you bite the meat of your thumb to stay quiet.

“Fuck, this is so hot,” he suddenly breathes next to your ear while your legs spasm and you gasp brokenly. “This is so—fuck, pretty baby letting me do this to her, I can’t fucking believe—”

Dameron eases a second finger inside you this time, letting you feel that delicious stretch from this angle, unable to lift your legs or shuffle around to help and subsequently resigned to simply experience it the way he gives it to you. Your teeth have probably permanently indented your bottom lip from how hard you’re clamped down, a testament to how much you’re trying to hold back the loud moan you miraculously haven’t released yet. Somehow it makes it sexier, not letting him hear you, not having your own noises to drown out the spark of urgency in his voice beginning to peek through.

Shit, it’s too much. You can only let him touch you a few seconds at a time before you feel that familiar tug towards mind-numbing bliss, and the more he does it, the more appealing that feeling then becomes. It’s teasing you, floating right in front of you and calling into question what could possibly be so bad about just reaching out to meet it? You could. You could cum right now. What’s two weeks of pay? You could cum all night long if you want, that is a thing you can do—

Quickly snapping out of your hypnotic downfall, your trembling hands snatch at his forearm once more, and Dameron, the fucker, drags his fingers slowly over your clit on the way out— so not accidental, not even close to it this time, but the sensation makes your hips stutter upwards and chase it nonetheless.

“Fuck you,” you groan at his audacity, your chest arching as you drop your head back, “I said don’t touch my—” but two wet fingers slipping past your lips and onto your tongue muffle the rest of your sentence. Your heart does half a somersault before slamming down early, the taste of your pussy filling your mouth as you automatically start sucking on them.

“None of that,” Dameron tells you softly, massaging his fingers along your tongue before pressing a sweet kiss under your ear. “Be nice. I’m being nice.”

You should bite him. Instead, you just close your eyes and mphh weakly around his fingers, your body sagging as you give into it and let him explore your mouth with them, your lower muscles cramping up in painful desperation even when he’s not anywhere near that part of your body right now. Your tongue even comes up to lick between them, swirl around them so soft compared to how hard you’re puffing through your nose.

Dameron slowly inches his fingers out, letting the tips of them rest against your bottom lip for just a brief moment, before his hand is moving again. Not down, but back and around, so he can open his mouth and taste you another way this time.

Shit, you feel like you’re dying. You need air. Your hands clench into fists and you use the back of one to wipe the sweat from the bridge of your nose while he takes his time sampling you like this. If anything, he looks just as blissed out as before, continuing to rub his crotch up against the solid metal between his legs and teasing you with it as much as he’s teasing himself.

“Maker, let me do this for real tonight, okay,” Dameron pants after dropping his fingers from his mouth, sounding like he’s fighting for his breath while you can’t find yours at all. Your eyes flick down to watch the way his hand disappears behind the chair to grab the controls and push his cock up against them even harder, how he drops his forehead to your neck like he just can’t fucking handle it anymore. “Fuck, I’ll shave, I’ll do anything you want, just let me—”

“Cum,” you gasp out before you can stop yourself, and there’s a moment after it where his hips suddenly stutter against the controls, and you both freeze.

Shit. Shitshitshit, did that actually work?

No, you very quickly realize, his body isn’t spasming like it would if he finally emptied his load after a month and a half. He’s just… holding there, his head buried in your neck, completely still.

You didn’t mean it like that. Well… fuck, you did, but you didn’t realize you’d be that reckless about it, that upfront about reissuing the challenge.

Dameron pulls back to look at you from the side this time, but it’s too cramped—he keeps his head turned facing you even as his eyes flick up to the transparisteel to take in the finer details of your features, the thin sheen of sweat on your forehead, and the slightly alarmed way you’re blinking back at him, worried you just shot your blaster at him in the midst of a mutual ceasefire and you fucking missed.

You see the understanding in his eyes instantly fall into place, and it’s not fucking good. Ohhhhhh no, it’s not good. Your chest starts rising and falling rapidly, suddenly registering the position you just put yourself in. Fuck, you didn’t think—you saw your opening, so clearly, you didn’t have time to think about the consequences.

“D-Dameron…” you try your best to placate.

“Don’t touch your clit?” He asks quietly, the raspiness of his voice ripping a hole through you while his hand suddenly shoves its way back down your body once more.

“Dameron,” you whimper, your heart stuttering in panic as you grasp weakly at his arm reaching between your spread thighs, “Dameron, this is—this is against the r-rules—”

“You keep saying that,” he comments, his fingers easily finding the opening in your jumpsuit no matter how hard you flex your thighs against bulky mechanics to try and close them. “How clearly do you remember the rules? What were the rules again?

You open your mouth to respond but his hand sliding under your panties and down just obliterates any chance you were going to attempt. No words, nothing comes out but a shaky whine as his finger sinks into your soaking heat, going right for the kill.

“Come on, baby, the rules,” Dameron reminds you when you never give him an answer. “Tell me. No fucking, no jerking off, and…?”

You suddenly struggle forwards in a last-ditch attempt at preventing the inevitable, hoping you can scoot up enough in your seat to escape his reach from behind. But fuck, your thighs have been shoved wide open for nearly eight hours—none of the muscles are working the way they should be anymore. There’s just enough room in front of you to get there and you probably would’ve been able to do it at the beginning of the shift, even with his hand between your legs like this, but you’re sluggish and your thighs pull sharp and urgent with the movement. The frantic maneuver enough to veer his fingers off course just slightly, moving one of your lips to the side at an angle, and you keep pushing against the pain no matter how useless it is.

“—No cumming,” he finishes for you, and his other hand is slithering up under your arm and groping one of your breasts through the jumpsuit before shoving you back tight up against your seat once more, totally helpless against it. “Probably have another fifteen minutes or so before our shift ends. Better hold it in, pretty baby, because this one is all you.”

“This—this isn’t fair, this is—” The second the slippery pad of his finger presses hard against your clit, you’re biting your lip to cut off a breathless whimper that slips out. “This is… is sab— sabotage— ”

“Oh, I know,” he moans next to your ear, mocking your high plea of distress with a fake, overly sympathetic whine. “Feels so fucking good though, doesn’t it?”

Fuck, it does. The build feels like an orgasm in itself, just working your way to it. You’re already so unbelievably close after just a few seconds of direct stimulation, an obvious consequence of originally agreeing to such a hardcore edging workout. You’re pouring sweat, so swollen and tight between your legs as you do everything you can to revolt against your body’s needs.

“Oh fuck, stop touching my clit—” you gasp raggedly, heart thundering in panic while your lower muscles start to immediately seize up, “oh—fuckfuckfuck— Poe, take your finger off m—”

Instead of doing it, his hand just slows down until the tip of his finger comes to a halt, maybe less than an inch over top of it. You still can’t catch your breath though, not when you feel yourself throbbing against absolutely nothing, the calloused pad holding perfectly still over the bundle of nerves. The swollen bud still arcs and flares at a steady frequency, building and building, and you choke out a wordless garble, absolutely fucking furious that this is what’s gonna make you cum.

“Don’t make me cum,” you switch up your sentence but not the terrified plead in your voice, the way it’s pitching up and out of control in the dead quiet of space. He doesn’t even acknowledge it. “Don’t make me cum, don—”

“Say it again,” he prompts instead, and lightning arcs up your spine.

“Poe,” you wheeze, the words coming from you without thought, your fingernails digging into his forearm even as your hips jerk up into his touch, “fuck, don’t make me cum, Poe—please don’t make me c—”

“But it’ll be so good,” he counters lowly, and your clit throbs in desperation at the richness of his voice when he speaks like this, saying things from deep in his chest. “It’ll be so fucking good when it happens. Stars, you’ll feel so much better, won’t you? Cum right now and I’ll give you as many as I can until we have to go home.”

“N-No,” you whine, feeling his teeth scrape at the crook of your neck. “No, I can’t—”

“Cum for me,” Dameron raises his voice, sharpening it into a direct order. “Right now. Come on— fucking make yourself lose.”

“But I—I—” you sob, starting to feel your body curl inwards, nearly about to succumb to the burning, the tightening, right on its last breath, “I-I don’t want to cum—”

“And I don’t fucking care,“ he hisses while your hands start flexing unintentionally, grasping helplessly at his immovable forearm where it disappears between your legs, the dark hair sliding under your fingertips as you claw desperately at it. “You’ll fucking cum when I tell you to cum and you’ll like it, you disrespectful, cock-deprived, bratty little—”

And then everything goes dark.

No, literally. The stars disappear.

The cockpit is suddenly shrouded in pitch blackness, and you’re almost certain it’s because you pass out, except then Dameron is all but ripping his hand out of your jumpsuit and cursing repeatedly in alarm. You crumple in on yourself, eyes clamped shut and not hearing anything, right at the peak of your ecstasy and ready to soar into the light completely unassisted, your muscles doing all the work on their own—

“—shit, they’re way too close—” you hear his voice shout, “—we have to turn the engines on—Gold-Ten, baby, turn the fucking eng—”

You’re almost there, you’re almost there, you’re gonna cum, you’re gonna fucking—

Your first name, roared out in startling, blinding panic.

You don’t often hear it. Just during roll calls mostly, but only if you’re flying with a different squadron and need a new temporary flight designation for the day. First names hurt. You can’t remember a time you’ve ever willingly told anybody yours.

Your head jerks up to look at his reflection but something else beyond the transparisteel takes immediate precedence. Your brain takes about two seconds to catch up before thundering terror slams through you and halts your previously inevitable orgasm in its fucking tracks. A runaway train about to launch off its tracks suddenly slamming directly into a megaton force-field of cold, hard fight or flight instincts.

A staggering fleet of First Order ships silently plunging out of hyperspace on all sides—your powered-down x-wing stationed right in the middle of the drop location.

***

Stay tuned for part two coming soon!!

#poe x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #SMUTTTT #reader insert #star wars #fanfic #the formatting on this one is downright horrendous but im so mad that i cant even fix it right now so thatll have to come later im sorry

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