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naomihatake · 8 months

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In search of freedom (Ch. 1)

1. They're bad news

Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2

⠀⠀⠀⠀She's been searching for freedom her entire life and everytime she thought it was laying right in front of her eyes, she was mistaken. She was running around the East Blue, seeking herself and her dreams, meeting people she never forgot. No matter how much she traveled, she could only catch a glimpse of peace before realizing everything would crumble at her feet.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Maybe it was destiny that brought her on that ship with three strangers — foolishly, that's what she tried to believe when the moon shined beautifully and hope settled in her chest, squeezed by the same ribcage where feelings were blooming.

Pairing: female!reader x OPLA Zoro Roronoa. This chapter follows the events of the first episode.

Warnings for this chapter: physical violence (fights), mentions of deaths, fluff, some cursing, mentions of tarot and palm readings

Word count: 3,6k

Theme song: “Loreley” by Blackmore's Night (click on the link)

A/N: This is the first part of a fanfiction I was thinking of since first watching One Piece Live Action. I started the anime too and I'm around episode 64 already. I'm using the OPLA course of action for now and I have no idea for an ending, but enough scenarios to write and share. I don't know how far this will go, but I'll have fun writing it and considering how much I like Zoro (born anime and LA), I'm using both of them as inspiration. Sorry for the lack of interaction between reader and Zoro, but I promise things will change.

The reader will be referred to as "Witch" especially in the next chapter, because I have no intentions of using "Y/N". There will be more information revealed about her past and abilities in the next chapter.

I'm open for comments and opinions <3

"Excuse me," she smiled sweetly while swaying away from someone who was standing right in front of her and a table she had to serve for. "Here," she carefully let the plates down.

She received a large smile coming from the young man with dark curls and a straw hat hanging around his neck. His pink haired companion seemed very shy, barely glancing at her before looking back at his plate, thanking in a small voice.

The tavern buzzed with a peaceful energy in the late hours of morning, the big windows letting the warm rays of sun in, lighting up the place. There were men sitting at a few tables, no sign of any other woman except for her and the very owner of that place, who just finished cooking something — were those cookies? It smelled divine.

Her dress fluttered around her knees as she moved away from their table to take other orders, a strand of her hair falling against her cheek after running around for so long. When she finally stopped in her tracks by the bar, intense eyes searched for anyone else who might've needed something. Lucky for her, she could finally breathe for a few seconds, resting her hips against the bar.

However, her eyes fell on the tall figure who just chugged down his throat a shot of alcohol. His green hair made her frown to herself, looking away before she could get caught ogling some stranger. After a few seconds, she looked at him again, this time at the three swords resting against his hip.

Three swords? What can someone do with three swords?

Everyone probably had the same question whenever they saw him for the first time. However, he felt somehow familiar, as if she's heard of someone like that before. A pirate? No, wait, a pirate hunter? The owner told her of so many things and so many people it was impossible to remember each one of them, but she was pretty sure she mentioned some pirate hunter only a few days ago.

Her thought process was interrupted when a man with blonde hair and suit walked by in front of her. Considering the men dressed in white uniforms who entered with him, they must be marines and he was probably their superior — he was walking like he owned the entire port.

She held back from rolling her eyes in annoyance. Her thoughts ran back to what her friend said about pirates last time, the way they argued back and forth about how pirates aren't good. However, she had her own reasons for claiming that not all pirates were ruthless monsters, without elaborating.

She flinched lightly when she heard the thud of a metal plate falling on the floor, snapping her head towards a little girl who was stuttering apologies to the blonde man. Her eyebrows were pulled together at his angry and loud voice mocking the child who had tears in her eyes, fear seeping through her very bones at the exaggerated reaction.

Apparently, they knocked into each other. Oh, there were two cookies on the floor. One of them got crushed under the man's foot.

She smoothly made her way by the side of the little girl, smiling at her as she crouched down to her level.

"Is everything alright, little one? Did you apologize?" the woman's hand squeezed the girl's shoulder warmly.

Rika's only response was a nod.

"Good job. It's alright, I'll help you clean up. Why don't you bring me a broom, hm?" she coaxed the girl with a gentle voice.

Once the girl walked away, she stood up straight again, arching her eyebrow questionably at the arrogant man by her side.

"Is there anything else I could help you with?"

"What, are you working here? If the answer's positive, then you better teach those stupid kids some manners," he huffed.

"You should teach yourself how to behave," she commented right back, her sharp gaze sizing him up and down.

"Take that back. Next time I won't be so nice," the blonde marine grinned.

Oh, and what an ugly grin it was on that fucker's face.

"You dropped my food," a low voice from behind interrupted.

The young woman turned her head towards the voice, confusion written on her face as she made a few steps back, out of his way. It was the green haired man she noticed earlier, now sitting on one of his knees on the cold floor.

Rika came back with a broom almost twice her size, the object quickly taken from her hold by the woman who smiled at her again. While they exchanged glances, the pirate hunter let himself down on one of his knees, taking some of the crushed cookie into his palm.

A sly smile tugged at the woman's lips. A pirate hunter or not, he had more dignity than a marine even in that kneeling position. She was more satisfied to see the little one smiling.

"Your turn," the green-haired man lowered his voice, a dark glare thrown at the astonished marine.

The pirate hunter raised back up and placed the metal plate on the bat, his intimidating height against the arrogant blonde monkey in front of him telling enough.

"Apologize to the girl," he demanded in a relaxed tone.

"Me? It was her fault for bumping into me. The lady should apologize for disrespecting me."

Apologize, my ass, she thought to herself, one step away from bursting out laughing. What did he take her for?

"Do you want a fight or what?" he drew his sword out, a knowing grin curled on his face. "I don't need three swords to fight."

The woman looked down at the little girl who was still by her side, ruffling her hair.

"Why don't you go to your mother, hm? And stay there until I call you back."

Her stern voice didn't give space for arguing; Rika complied, going to the kitchen.

She heard some muttering and next thing she knew, both of the men in front of her had drawn their swords out. Apparently, the green-haired one decided to advance closer to the marine, in an attempt to keep the fight away from the lady.

Hmph. Swordsmen and their unusual gentlemanly behavior.

Squeezing the broom in between her fingers, she moved away, furrowing her eyebrows in a scowl.

"No fights in here, you jerks!" she scoffed.

Expertly, while the other marines attacked one man — how unethical of them — and swords clashed against each other after sharp whistling noises, the woman swept away the cookies on the floor. She faked doing her own duties, like the good employee that she was, throwing careful glances at the fight happening right next to her. If she wasn't careful enough, she could get sliced in two.

"I advise you to get out of the way," she heard the swordsman's voice growling right after he threw a chair into three men, making them fall to the floor.

"You'll destroy the entire place if I do."

Right after saying those words, without anyone noticing in that damned agitation, with a quick movement of the broom, she made one of the marines trip.

Just like the idiots that they were.

"Oh my god, you should be more careful!" she placed a hand over her lips, fake surprise and fear coloring her features.

Who would believe such an innocent being was capable of such malicious actions?

With a strong creak followed by a thud, one marine was thrown into a table that turned the both of them upside down, groans filled with pain vibrating through the tavern.

She was right about them destroying the place.

However, the commotion didn't cause too much distress to the woman still moving the broom around, acting as if she had business with that newly found weapon. It might not be lethal, but she couldn't be spotted while she was intentionally making the marines' jobs harder. In the month she's been working there, she saw more than just one fight and used everything that she saw fit to stop it — be it a broom or a kitchen knife.

Now that she analyzed the fight better, it seemed like the pirate hunter barely even had to draw his sword out of its scabbard, at some point knocking someone's head into the bar. He used his raw strength and the objects surrounding him, thankfully without destroying any of them. The can he threw into another man's stomach seemed so effortless.

That must've hurt, though.

The blonde marine was quickly pulled by the back of his collar, back colliding with the bar, and an angry swordsman towering over him. She didn't hear anything nor paid attention anymore, eyes focused on the tavern that was ruined only half way through.

She sighed after watching both of the men walking out of there, biting her lower lip to hold back a fit of laughter at the marine who stumbled while being dragged by the bounty hunter.

"Why do men always fight in this tavern?" she talked to herself, raising one of the chairs and putting it back in place. "One day of peace is all I want in this port, only one day, and I can't get even that."

She sighed again, only for that long exhale to get stuck in her throat once her eyes fell on the table that was almost sitting in the opposite way rather than how it should be. Once she approached it, stepping by the marine who was trying to get up.

She would never help someone who had less dignity than a dog following some orders from a brainless monkey. Heck, even those animals were smarter.

Instead, she tried to move the table back in its place. Her fingers were so close to gripping at one side of the table before someone appeared at the opposite side. The young man with a straw hat and a square smile she served only a few minutes ago raised the table by himself, carefully arranging it until he was satisfied with its position.

"Thank you so much for the help," she smiled at him. "Be careful where you step, I think a glass also broke."

There were some shreds on the floor somewhere close to the table the young man sat at earlier.

"Thank you for your concern," he smiled just like the first time.

Gosh, has she ever seen such a beautiful soul? His eyes sparkled and the happiness suited him like it did to a little child who has no clue of the harsh world. However, he didn't seem phased or scared by what happened earlier — his hands weren't shaking at all and there was no fear lingering in his stare.

She turned to take the broom and came closer to his companion, who was sitting under the table. She bent her torso to give him a hand, helping him get back to his feet.

"Careful with the glass, check your hands," she warned again.

"I saw what you did there."

She turned towards the straw hat guy, blinking owlishly at him.

"I don't really get what you mean."

She started sweeping the shred of broken glass, not paying attention to the curious and insistent gaze she was receiving.

"You surely do. I'm Monkey D. Luffy and I'm gonna be King of the Pirates!"

Her eyes widened at the second part of his speech, snapping her head back at him. Without even realizing, her fingers were squeezing the broom quite harshly, fingertips going white.

"That's—" she started in a small voice, blinking like an idiot and staring at him.

She's heard that before. She's heard the same dream before and it brought so much suffering.

"That's dangerous," she finally got the courage to continue, still hesitant.

"You're brave for interfering with their fight."

Luffy looked into her eyes as if he could guess the thoughts running through her head, as if he could read her very soul, drinking in her features and reaction.

"You must've seen wrong," she let out a light chuckle, getting a grip on herself. "I'm just clumsy sometimes."

She was thankful she stopped herself from cussing out the Marines, because in less than a second after she finished her sentence, a few other men dressed in white uniforms appeared to help their comrades back to the base. She casted a skeptical eye at each one of them, like silent warnings.

They were pathetic, some of them still stumbling while trying to get up, their swords thrown around carelessly. After they all disappeared from her sight, her shoulders obviously relaxed again.

"I have to admit I hated each second of staying so much with these idiots around," she huffed quietly. "That spoiled child who takes advantage of his father's status was getting on my nerves."

"That's why you helped that swordsman, right?"

Luffy continued with his supposition, not letting go of what he thought he saw — it was the truth, but it would be dangerous to admit.

"I didn't help anyone, really. That was unintentional."

"Don't press it too much, Luffy," his companion's voice trembled.

"Koby, I know what I saw," Luffy pulled his lips into a straight line.

She resumed what she was doing, sweeping at the pieces of glass, seeing almost each one of them in the light seeping through the window.

"If you want to become King of the Pirates, I suppose you also want to get the One Piece, right?"

She was foolish. She was stupid for asking, for getting herself in such business that somehow always ended with too many deaths, with broken dreams. However, something was nagging in her gut. Deep down, it felt so right to ask.

"Yes! I need the Grand Line map for that and I intend on getting from the Marine Base here."

"You're insane, kid," her shoulders shook with her light laughter.

It was a sour sound.

She stopped, leaning her weight into the broom, looking down at the glass in front of her. She shouldn't help them. She should stay in her place if she wanted those young men to survive. What they were trying to do was basically suicide, they just didn't know. Koby seemed to be more fearful, hesitant and so, so shy. Luffy didn't say "us"; he said "I" — the pink-haired guy was not really part of the plan.

Against better judgment, she raised her head at him, promises sparkling in her eyes just like the shreds of glass.

"You can't just ask for that map and I hope you know that. What you want to get yourself into isn't just dangerous, it's like jumping into a suicide mission," her voice strained, pouring all of her hope in her next words: "However, I can help you get inside. Be careful, you have to make sure no one catches you."

"So I was right about you!" Luffy beamed.

"Right about what?"

"That you're brave."

Her lips opened, but no sound came from between them. It was pointless to deny it when he seemed so stubborn about what he saw and believed.

"I think this is a lot to say about someone who's helping you steal secret maps," the side of her mouth curled upwards.

Koby was left astonished. Stealing from the Marines was suicide.

"Listen here, kid," she lowered her voice, stepping closer to whisper. She set her gaze on Luffy's. "You have to get out of there alive, no matter what. Lie if you have to, but I have a feeling you're very bad at that, so be careful. That isn't a place to fool around in. You could get yourself killed in a blink. The Marines are very sneaky."

"There are good Marines and bad Marines," he shrugged. "Maybe I'll meet someone who's willing to help."

"I like your enthusiasm, but that unit base doesn't fit," she shook her head. "Both Captain Morgan and his son aren't the good kind of people."

She squeezed the broom in between her fingers again, an ugly feeling clawing at her throat. She didn't want a kid to die for following his dreams, but freedom was something she always craved.

"I'll tell you a way to get inside the base from underneath. You have to keep your lips sealed — I don't worry about myself, but about the owner and her daughter. I don't want word spreading around."

"You can count on me!" he placed his hand on his heart, as if he sealed the promise there. "Who are you? I want to know who's helping me."

Damned be his sincerity.

"I'll give you my name after you get out of there alive."

She smiled, eyes sparkling with delicious mischief.

"That is a promise. I'll be around the Marine Base and I'll tell you my name after I see you get out of there alive."

That seemed to stir something in Luffy's soul, inhaling with pride. A man of his word, indeed, just like she thought.

"Deal.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

Her name left the lips of a scolding mother, even if it wasn't her mom.

"I saw you." The second time she heard tthat same phrase in one day.

Annie patted the tip of her shoe against the floor repeatedly.

"I was just lucky enough not to get myself in trouble," she shrugged.

However, her eyes fell on the floor, guilty about getting caught like a deer in the light.

"You could've gotten yourself in big trouble!" the owner of the tavern raised her voice.

Rika pouted up at her mother, trying to sweeten her reaction.

"She just wanted to help, just like—"

"Rika," this time, the scolded one firmly spoke her name. "Don't take me as an idol. It's true that something could have happened."

The little girl shouldn't worry about such a bloody world just yet and she wanted to help it for as long as possible. Being stubborn was a death sentence, even if she would always get herself into trouble if it meant to stick to her principles.

She'd rather die on her feet than live on her knees.

"Just because this time everything was fine, it doesn't mean next time will be the same," Annie exhaled loudly, frowning.

"There won't be a next time," the young woman sank her chin in her chest. "I should leave these days. Soon enough, word will spread out about my tarot and palm readings. I don't want to cause you any more trouble."

"You little witch," the usual scolding was replaced with a warm nickname.

She raised her head again, struggling to smile. Leaving after she got attached always hurt.

"That man was Roronoa Zoro, wasn't it?" Annie asked, her body suddenly tensing.

"Most probably," she shrugged. "Three swords, three earrings. He put on quite a show, to be honest," the words were followed by a chuckle.

"I see the way your eyes are sparkling. Don't even think about getting into some conversation with such a troublesome person."

"What could do some adventure to a poor soul like me?" she teased.

"It could bring you six feet under."

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

"I'm no witch, you idiots!" she struggled against the harsh grip the two men had on her arms.

She hissed when one of them sank his fingertips in her upper arms, glaring at him.

Shithead marines.

She continued writhing and struggling, stomping her feet into the ground in an awful attempt to stop them. She intended on keeping her promise after she helped the straw hat sneak into their base. She waited for as long as it was necessary after she gathered her things in a bag that hung around her shoulders. She was supposed to leave that place after she made sure the kid was alright and alive.

"God dammit!" she shouted. "How many times do I have to explain I'm not doing anything wrong?!"

"You're lying to people and receiving money, filthy witch. You're a thief," one of the men commented as they continued walking her away from the port.

"I didn't steal shit!" she snapped.

"Watch out!" she heard a familiar voice.

Instantly, she bent her torso down. The man on her right was punched in the face with so much force he released her grip on her and stumbled into the marine on her left, both of them now on the ground.

She didn't even get enough time to process what was happening, something curling around her waist carefully, but so fast. A yelp left her lips when she realized she was being lifted off the ground, turning her head towards the source.

It was the straw hat's arm. He ate a devil fruit, didn't he?

He was on a boat that was sailing a few meters away in the sea and she was being pulled towards him. She also recognized the pirate hunter from earlier and a woman with orange hair, both of them far too relaxed for what was happening.

That guy was made of rubber!

She recognized Koby who just got to his feet after she got past him, her feet finally touching something solid again. She blinked confused at the straw hat.

"You can't bring everyone that you like on this ship," the swordsman let out a hopeless sigh.

She busted out laughing like a maniac, the colorful and rich sound filling the air. Her shoulders shook and she had to place her hand over her stomach, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. Obviously, her reaction was met with an especially questionable look coming from the swordsman, who most probably thought he got on a ship with another insane human.

"You're insane, kid," she wiped the tears in her eyes with her fingers, still smiling widely.

She hasn't felt such relief in years.

"I guess I gotta fulfill a promise, right?"

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

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give-grian-rights · 4 months

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Hermitcraft - Basic History of Teams!

Alright. Buckle in.

Only a few days from now, and Hermitcraft 10 will begin! If you're new, I hope this helps!

Hermitcraft has existed for over ELEVEN YEARS now! While very few have been here for every single season, with the exception of our lovely Tumblr Resident, and official Tumblr Sexy Man Joe Hills, and our derp Xisumavoid.

You are under NO obligation to watch every season. There are probably few, if any, active users in this community who have. It's just not possible to watch it all. You don't need to watch the previous seasons to enjoy our community space! While there are a lot of back-references, for MOST people, it doesn't extend to lore and actions any older than season 6.

Most of the Hermits are associated with specific other members, despite ALL OF THEM taking turns collaborating, interacting, and sometimes building whole new dynamics and factions in the process. Some of the team-ups that you'll see referred to in fandom-spaces and the occasional one-off mention from our creators, include:

(Season 5) NHO, New Hermit Order - Docm77, Ethoslab, Bdoubleo100, and VintageBeef. Living in a jungle while having "fights" with others. Attempts to tax those who enter their jungle, had traps around it, and criticized the then-popular AFK Fishing Farms. Bdoubleo100, or Bdubs, especially enjoyed stealing from these. (Season 5-6) Convex, or ConCorp - GoodTimesWithScar and Cubfan135. One group I am the least familiar with unfortunately. They built a brand around the Vexes, with their business having pretty extreme low-morals that includes pollution and war profiteering.

(Season 6) ArciTects - Very close to be naming "BuildStone", it was proposed by and founded by Grian to Mumbo, later giving an invite to Iskall85. The purpose of this alliance was for builders to help redstoners, and redstoner to help builders. It accumulated in the ATTEMPT of founding the "greatest shop in the history of Hermitcraft", Sahara. It was, hilariously, a very large failure. Grian miraculously managed to entirely ruin the system with a single baked potato. No, I don't know how.

(Season 6) G-Team & Team STAR (Superior Tactical Alliance for Retaliation) - The Hermitcraft Civil War, consisted of a long list of minor conflicts in which various members of Hermitcraft blamed other people for pranks they committed, eventually spiraling into the confusion that was The Civil War! G-Team: Grian, TangoTek, Iskall85, Joe Hills, ZombieCleo, StressMonster101, and iJevin. Team STAR: Docm77, WelsKnight, FalseSymmetry, ImpulseSV Xisuma, RenDog

Mumbo Jumbo acted as a mole in Team Star, for the G-Team. He created this commercial for Team STAR. Team STAR made a very iconic diss track, which was soon remixed. It is a...Very iconic piece of Hermitcraft fandom. The result was Joe Hill's Response, in his short video also remixed by the same creator. Albeit missing the additions of the totally real voices of the other G-Team members

(Season 6) Area 77 & The Hippies - (I didn't finish Hippies POV and i didn't watch anything of Doc or Scar's POV of this unfortunately) Area 77 was founded by (unsurprisingly) Docm77, and GoodTimesWithScar, where they were doing experiments and studying abonomalies. SOmehow, this lead into Grian, once again, turning against them and forming The Hippies with the help of Ren, with Impulse soon joining. The conflict primarily consisted of them griefing Area 77 with flowers.

(Season 7) Boomers Demolition - Early game business formed by TangoTek, Bdoubleo100, and ImpulseSV which consistedo f almost exclusively non-duped TnT demolition, and was very fun!!

(Season 7) The Mycellium Resistance/HEP (Hermitcraft Environmental Protection) Hermicraft 7 saw Grian introduce the Hermitcraft Mayoral Election, created with the idea of putting Mumbo in as a puppet-government. If I had a nickel for every time Grian tried to start a puppet government (at this point) I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird it happened twice. Grian and Mumbo lost. In it's place was GoodTimesWIthScar. As Mayor, they had further control over the shopping district. Scar's promise was to replace the shopping district's Mycellium with grass. Despite very happily admitting that grass looked better, Grian, in a moment of nostalgia, decided to replace some Mycellium. Scar proceeded by putting caution tape around the area. This spiraled into The Turf War

Mycellium Resistance: Grian (Mother Spore), ImpulseSV, RenDog, XBCrafted, iJevin, Ethoslab, StressMonster101, Docm77, and Mumbo Jumbo HEP/Mayor Scar: Scar, Bdoubleo100, Keralis, Xisumavoid, TangoTek, Cubfan135, FalseSymmetry, Mumbo Jumbo, who joined due to them having the better vault. Etho had intended on being a double-agent, selling information to Scar. His information, however, was useless on purpose and decided to pledge full loyalty to The Resistance.

(Season 8) Boatem Hole - Grian, Mumbo Jumbo, GoodTimesWithScar, ImpulseSV and PearlescentMoon more or less stumbled and tripped into forming a group after innocently stacking boats and crafting tables and crystals on a pole, dubbed Boatem Poll. They then proceeded to create a hole down to bedrock, and eventually into the void, called the Boatem Hole. It was a large plains biome which was turned into varying mountain terraforming and the like from all of them and was connected in some small ways.

(Season 8) The Big Eyed Crew - Bdoubleo100, Keralis, and TangoTek. Tango did not, in fact, have big eyes and instead wore sunglasses to compensate. They had a town and shopping area and was occasionally dragged into pranks by the Boatem Crew.

(Season 8) Octogon/Goatem - Docm77 and RenDog! Main rivals with Boatem (thus the Goatem - pole of goats) had a mega business, game-breaking creations, and jaw-dropping spidery teal-and-deepslate creations. Weird Science!

(Season 9) Soup Crew - ImpulseSV, PearlescentMoon, GeminiTay. Made the CRAZIEST combo-base where all their different themes blended into a cohesive build

(Season 9) Buttercups - Grian, MumboJumbo, and GoodTimesWithScar. What's up, Buttercup? They formed after an incient where Scar and Grian blew up a massive, complex tunnel bomber in Doc's base. They could not understand how to repair it, and left a few diamond blocks before conflict started. They dragged Mumbo in, and had a robot fight with...

(Season 9) The Perimeter - Docm77 and RenDog. Doc's base, known as The Perimeter, teamed with Ren to attack the Buttercups using walking redstone creations to do a robot fight. Due to an issue with one of the server's plugins, they all re-logged, breaking one of the bots and ending with Buttercup's bot to do more harm to itself than the Perimeter's, but ultimately the destruction did prevent Doc and Ren from getting any further. Ren and Doc then launched flying TnT dupers, which looked like butterflies, towards all of the Buttercups' bases and camp. They stopped them both, with one butterfly destroying The Perimeter's own bot even further.

I am so sure that I'm missing some, but I am losing my mind with all this trying to remember them all!! I hope this could give people an idea of who they might enjoy watching!

#hermitcraft #hc #hermitblr #hermitcraft 5 #hermitcraft 6 #hermitcraft 7 #hermitcraft 8 #hermitcraft 9 #hermitcraft 10 #mika-posts

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sinisterexaggerator · 5 months

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Got it Bad

Poe Dameron x Fem! Reader

Summary: You are a medic aboard the Anodyne, a Resistance frigate frequented by one Poe Dameron. He often comes to see you when he is injured; you assume this time to be no different, as he is reckless in the line of duty and could do with your healing touch. But you have underestimated him; he has to show you something. Will you entertain his request?

Warnings: Explicit / NSFW 18+ for: Heavy petting, cunnilingus, PiV sex, kissing, blood and injury, premature ejaculation, dirty talk, medical scenarios, and mention of death in wartime. Contains: fluff, a liiittle bit of angst, smut, humor, and “love” confessions.

Notes: This is my first time writing for Poe Dameron! Dedicated to @allsystemsblue, because she was the one who told me to! Poe is all over the place in this, but always about consent!

Word Count: 8.1K

Divider and banner by me.

“How many times has it been, then?”

Doe brown eyes blinked once, twice, spidery lashes that may as well have been made of gossamer, or silk, gracing tawny skin with a kiss. Poe Dameron stared blankly at you as you dressed his wound, this being one of the numerous occasions that you were tasked to do so.

You were one of the many medics aboard this particular Resistance vessel that patrolled the Outer Rim. Stationed not too far from D’Qar and the principal base of General Organa herself, this reckless, daredevil pilot had a tendency to bless you with his presence after what you would call less than routine missions.

Not desiring to arrive to his superior a bloodied mess more than necessary, Poe frequently docked his T-70 star fighter in your frigate’s docking bay for safekeeping, allowing his droid companion free rein of the halls. Moments earlier, BB-8 had been offered a recharging station, Dameron left in your expert care as his ball droid rolled off and out of sight, following closely behind a member of the maintenance crew. The conversation between the two had been amusing to witness.

“Don’t worry, buddy! I’ll be right here waiting for you. Maybe. Possibly.”

BB had issued a series of complaints and reprimands in Droidspeak, causing the pilot to wince as if being scolded by his mother, or the general herself.

“All right, fine! I’ll come and find you then. No sweat.”

Satisfied, the orange and white orb had swirled on its axis, wheeling fluidly across a duralloy floor, leaving its master alone to suffer the consequences of his actions. Though Dameron did not seem to care, remaining somewhat unbothered by the gash across his forehead from where a piece of shrapnel had sent Black One into a spin. Before he could regain control, Poe’s head had crashed into the yolk of his X-wing, leaving a two-inch rent in his flesh.

No, he had not been wearing his helmet.

Despite his foolhardy nature, you thought it curious. With such a varied assortment of medical personnel living and working on the Anodyne - a modified Nebulon-C escort employed by the Resistance for the express purpose of being a mobile hospital - it was a wonder of yours why Poe always chose to search you out.

Not considering yourself to be anything in the way of special, at least the skills you possessed were adequate to put him on the mend. But, somehow, this visit seemed different, even if sticky crimson coated his handsome features.

You had come to notice that Poe was spending less time talking and more time staring, a thing you were not accustomed to as his gaze was unrelenting, the commander scrutinizing every facet of your appearance. He had seemed to limit himself to the surface area of your face, wandering, probing, exploring the curve of your nose, the outline of your lips, and finally the warmth in your eyes.

“Y-you didn’t answer me,” you commented, applying bacta to the injured man with a dabble of your fingers, your voice having lost its normal confidence as Dameron uttered a single, muted question.

“Huh?” he asked, as if only now realizing he was indeed a person, and that he could be perceived by others. He sat up marginally in his chair, those unyielding, heavy-lidded eyes almost vacantly looking through you, or so you thought.

You were beginning to wonder if this had anything to do with the fact that he might be mildly concussed. You were also becoming self-conscious, trying to keep the conversation on track despite Poe being so close to you with his blood staining your hands. “How many times has it been that you have come to see me these last few months? Don’t you know how to stay out of trouble?”

“No,” he answered without thought, leaning forward once more in the chair serving him for his examination. That sole syllable had been expressed in a dilatory fashion, soft and airy, only inches from your mouth.

You let out a breathy exhalation, surprised by this turn of events, yet nothing had happened. The cocky pilot dared to bite down on a rather pouty bottom lip; he watched you intently, gauging your reaction as he dallied there, finally adding more in the way of a response. “That’s why I’m here. Again.”

“Yes, right, obviously,” you managed, trying to restore some semblance of equanimity over yourself after having been caught off guard.

“Obviously,” he echoed, the word a whisper in the all too quiet room. However, this would not last as more wounded boarded the ship at intervals, soon the medical bay filled with a bustle of activity.

Unwanted activity.

Poe glanced around, assessing the situation. You had just finished bandaging him up when his hand reached out for yours, gently clasping your wrist.

“Doc, I’ve gotta show you something. I’ve got it-- bad.”

“It?” you inquired incredulously, your own glance taking an appraisal of the room. His voice had lowered again, as if this topic of conversation was not meant to be overheard. His expression appeared serious, deep-set brows knitting together in a visual show of his concern. You mimicked him, a rather human way to show empathy in this case, though not entirely sure what for.

“It,” he confirmed, gently pulling you forward toward himself, as if you weren’t already close enough. Your breathing picked up as you posed a follow-up question, a simple one, and straight to the point.

“What?”

He did that thing again, the staring, as if you were a sheet of transparisteel and he was looking beyond it to the other side. You scanned his face, those ruggedly attractive bits of him that you had tended to time and time again.

“Um—” he paused, as if not knowing what to say, like his words had failed him, which was not out of the realm of possibility as you could confirm this uncommon pilot flew by the seat of his pants. You canted your head, expecting some sort of answer, your gaze trailing to Dameron’s fingers latched gingerly around your forearm.

You took note of their thickness, their length, his nails surprisingly trim and immaculate for being a fighter pilot, though you doubted he spent that much time on solid earth when he craved the sky; realspace; to soar among the stars. Catching yourself quickly, it had not gone unnoticed, Poe matching your tilt of the head with one of his own as he peered up at you with those unwavering, expressive eyes.

“Rash … Inya Prime … Think it might be serious,” he informed you, causing you to retract and sit up straight. You tugged yourself loose from his grasp and frowned, turning to wipe your hands off the best you could on an otherwise clean towel, wishing he would have told you this before you had gone and touched him.

“Well, let’s see it then,” you offered, swiveling back around to face him. The pilot pursed his lips before biting down again, his foot beginning to tap against the floor; the motion was almost sultry, like this whole charade was planned.

For some reason, you doubted that assumption.

“It’s … I can’t show you here,” he confessed, lowering his head as he turned it to the left and right, giving the medical bay another sweep with his eyes; it was as if he was suddenly your conspirator, Poe carrying and guarding an important secret.

“Where then?” You compelled an eyebrow to stay level, it wanting to raise of its own volition. It was your turn to stare, Poe taking up each of your hands again, regardless of the fact you had just tried to halfheartedly clean them. He placed them gently atop his knees; he held you there, and you dare not move. Then, the man bore directly into you with his hardened gaze, nudging his head toward the exit door.

“Exam room, down the hall. It’s, um – it’s private.”

You gave him a reproving look. “Why were you on Inya Prime in the first place?” you asked, your fingers twitching beneath his. You were caught between wanting to relax and to allow this to happen, or to jerk yourself away for fear of someone getting the wrong idea.

“Reconnaissance,” he replied without missing a beat. You supposed that seemed logical enough, though Inya Prime was a small, boring, terrestrial planet of little to no interest to most.

That explained the civilian clothing, whereas most of the time Poe arrived to you in his bright orange flight suit, standing out like a ray of sunshine among the dark, depressing backdrop of space.

“And how did you get this rash?” you inquired curiously, wondering why it was he could not show you here instead, or just how bad it might be.

“You don’t wanna know,” he stated with a sense of finality, eyes searching yours, as if he was trying to penetrate your thoughts with a Jedi mind trick. You held his gaze a moment longer than expected before quickly standing to your feet; you felt the need to break physical contact, Dameron’s hands warm, rough, and—

“Fine, let’s hurry. There are others who need tending to.” It was the truth, yet you could feel your heartbeat betraying you by thumping loudly in your chest; you were sure that Poe could hear it.

“Right, let’s,” he said, standing. He walked a pace ahead of you then turned back around. He lingered, making sure you were going to follow him before he started out the door.

The man seemed nervous, slicking back a ringlet of dark hair that refused to stay in place. He ambulated somewhat awkwardly around the corner, then waited for you to unlock the examination room with a clearing of his throat. It then occurred to him he was standing in your way; he opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it, moving to one side as you gave him an inquisitive side-eye, using your badge to unlock the facilities.

He nodded, just a small movement of his head, eyes darting forward as if thinking hard on something before he entered the small space. It was fitted with a table for patients to lie on - equipped with a step stool and stirrups - a cabinet filled with various medical supplies, a curtain for dressing and undressing, a scale for taking a patient’s weight, and blood pressure detection equipment, among other things. It had all those items necessary and then some, though depending on your diagnosis, you imagined you might need to prescribe him an antifungal ointment of some kind.

“All right, we’re here,” you offered with a gesture. “Now, show me this rash.”

Poe gave a jittery laugh, answering you with a nervy “heh” as he ran his forefinger along the clean sheets of the table laid out before him as if he was checking it for dust.

“Yeah, about that,” he finally spoke up, walking full circle around the bed-like object before he arrived behind you.

“You see, doc—” he began; you craned your neck, looking over your shoulder at him, wanting to know why you now felt trapped, barred to the only way out as he had sandwiched himself between you and the door. “It’s right here,” he said, placing his open palm against his chest and giving it a tap.

This time you were the one to clear your throat, tossing back your hair as you straightened up to appear more professional, or perhaps dignified, forcing yourself to not think about how you were about to come into contact with, or at least see, Poe Dameron’s bare breast.

All things considered, he was an attractive man. You had thought that the moment you laid eyes on him; the time he had come to you battered and beaten with a black eye and a sprained ankle – he had taken a tumble down the side of a rather steep hill on some backwater, jungle-planet and only made it back to his X-wing thanks to members of Black Squadron. His foot was so badly swollen by the time he reached you, it was a miracle he could walk - or hobble – at all.

A thought occurred to you. “I should wash my hands before we begin,” you declared, moving toward the small sink stationed with a cleaning solution that was meant for disinfection as much as it was for washing away dirt and grim.

Poe looked taken aback momentarily, words caught in his throat as he gave another nod, this one more exaggerated. “Yeah, right, OK,” he shot back, as if for some reason this had been a surprise to him.

You began your task, one hand over the other as you lathered yourself, peeking back at him. “Why don’t you take off your shirt?” you suggested, not able to help the way saying that made you feel, like this was anything more than a clinical procedure.

You could hear the rustle of fabric as Poe began to undo the buttons on his dress shirt, getting the feeling that he was watching you, studying you, bent slightly over the basin in which you were cleansing yourself of his blood. It swirled around the drainage, leading to a reserve tank that purified and recycled what little water was aboard this frigate; you knew that every drop was precious.

Finishing quickly, you refaced him, Dameron’s broad, naked chest staring you straight in the face, though he had not bothered to remove his button up all the way; its two panels were parted and pushed off to opposing sides.

Firm pectorals were spattered with a thin sheen of dark curls, matching the scruff of a beard that had just recently begun to form on his perfectly sculpted cheeks, running its course down to a chiseled jawline. Beneath wisps of black was smooth, golden skin - as if kissed by a main sequence star that orbited some planetary paradise - the happiest of trails leading down and beyond the waistline of his trousers.

You watched, entranced, the rise and fall of his stomach with every breath he took, in and out, slow, and almost deliberately so. You swallowed to remedy the dry sensation in your mouth with what saliva you had available, wondering if your face appeared as red as you felt it must be.

“Right, OK. Rash,” you announced out loud, purposely making an effort to look up and back into his eyes.

Again, he put his hand up, over his heart. “Here,” he repeated, “Right here. You see—”

Poe stepped forward, and you stepped back, each move he made a calculated risk, but one worth taking. “— my … heart,” he said, voice lowering an octave, then promptly continuing, “it… burns, itches, when I can’t … see you,” he emphasized. “And. You. You’re the cure, you’re the—”

He walked another pace forward, looming above you as you found yourself pressing back against the wall of the exam room. “—the only one who can make it better,” he breathily muttered, so close now you could smell the scent of the shampoo he used; it was reminiscent of citrus, but not overpowering.

“W-what—?” You felt you couldn’t believe your ears, your neck lifting back and up as you analyzed his intense facial expression. “Poe, I—”

“Shhh,” he sibilated with a press of his index to your lips. Then, he changed the subject, however momentary. “I lied to you, by the way. There is no rash, I—”

“—Yes, I’ve figured that out,” you interrupted, though your words came out weak, quavering.

“Sometimes, I pretend to be sick or hurt just to come see you. That headache last week?” He gave a short, sharp laugh. “More like … heartache,” he finished, encapsulating your chin between two fingers as his lips met yours.

Your body froze; you were immobile, unable to breathe, unable to speak, and unable to comprehend exactly what was going on. Granted, you may have imagined this moment once or twice – every guy, or girl aboard this vessel you assumed had done so at one point or another. There was more than one reason Dameron was referred to so aptly as “Flyboy,” though you tried not to let that tarnish the present moment.

The only thing you could articulate was a soft moan of acceptance, melting despite yourself against the durasteel partition behind you. Ruddy fingers traveled upward, this time tangling themselves in your hair, palm cupping the back of your head as he gently drew you into a deeper kiss.

“Poe,” you gasped against him, your own hand rising to lightly push against his rock-hard pecs; it was a mistake on your part, this simple act of touching his unclothed chest the catalyst from which your loins stirred. “What—”

“—It,” he murmured, bringing the conversation back around from when he had coaxed you to this place. “—the thing I’ve got it bad for. It’s you,” he conceded, Dameron’s tongue slithering past full lips to gently prod at yours that stood partially agape, ready to accept another kiss.

You easily allowed him entry, that warm, wet muscle dancing in a figure eight, the pattern slow and rhythmic as he lapped at your suddenly hungry mouth. But you would not let lust overtake you, you were a woman of scruples, principles, and a practitioner of medicine; there was a time and place for this sort of thing and now was not it.

“Dameron,” you began again, this time managing to put just enough space between you so that you might think straight, Poe’s eyes immediately overtaking yours with a primal, excitable energy that penetrated you to the depths of your soul. He was so eager, you thought, so attentive, the man hanging, waiting, willing, to hear anything you might have to say.

“I believe you’re concussed, I think it’s best that—”

“I’m fine. Better than fine. Everything’s perfect,” he interjected, pressing his mouth against yours once more.

“—Why?” you blurted out, the question having clawed its way out of your chest. It was common knowledge that the man before you got around, not able to imagine that this meant anything more than an attempt at a quick hook-up.

“Because. I can’t. Stop. Thinking. About you. You.” He spoke your name, a tickle in your ear that sent a tingle of excitement prickling down your spine, leaving goose pimples that were undeniable to the naked eye.

“I can’t explain it. Maybe it doesn’t make any sense; you, me…” he trailed off, the butt of his thumb running over the curvilinear shape of your ear. “I watch you. Sometimes. Not to… sound creepy,” he added quickly, giving a somewhat apologetic look. “… You’re incredible. Calm in the face of danger, in the face of uncertainty. And. You’re not afraid,” he emphasized.

“Besides—” Poe bent down low, brushing his lips across yours, featherlight, causing a feeble mewl to escape before you had the time or the wherewithal to rein it in. “— what if we die. What if this is the only chance I ever get to tell you?”

He was right. What was the use of pondering the future, what could or could not be, based on the assumption that you were going to live another day, or two, or three. With the First Order threatening to undo all the hard work of the New Republic, your lot was on the run, your fierce and beloved leader the only thing keeping this small resistance group together, albeit haphazardly organized.

You feared for the general every waking moment, taking your orders come what may, keeping your head down, the only thing breaking the monotony of your day besides the constant fear of attack or death being this charming, handsome man who now held your attention, and had done so on more than one occasion.

“Kiss me again, then,” you begged, any objection you may have dared to make fleeing irrevocably to leave you open and vulnerable to the onslaught of his affection sans your better judgement.

“Mn, yeah?” he coyly asked, the fingers of his hand, dormant for your short discussion, reactivating to knead the base of your skull as he gently pulled you forward, Dameron once more inserting his crafty tongue into your waiting mouth.

His movements were thoughtful, tongue writhing and contracting in a measured orchestration that seemed rehearsed, yet special to this instant. Each loop was intricate, never so much as to be distracting, Poe’s delicious kiss spurring you to action.

You lifted your hand, allowing your fingers to clutch tufts of his hair. You moaned against him, his arms instinctively tightening around you before he pulled away, gasping for breath.

“Can I touch you?” he bashfully asked, hands smoothing over your back to descend in a downward sweep across your waist and hips. “Please, baby, please say yes. Please, please,” he whined, ardent pecks of his velvet lips only a bonus; you had not planned to turn him away regardless.

“Yes,” you sighed out lasciviously, thinking this entire situation was too good to be true. But why not embrace it for what it was? You deserved admiration, affection, love.

“Thank you,” he expressed with gratitude, as if you had given him his greatest wish, Poe adjusting himself accordingly as he gifted you with another lush, sensual kiss; it was tender and languid, feeling the movement of Dameron’s hand shift from the edge of your hip to the drawstring of your pants.

You were adorned in scrubs, a stark reminder of your station and position, yet you could not help that you were human with needs and urges to be fulfilled. Hell, you hadn’t even known you wanted this until it was happening, though life was anything but predictable - it was sporadic. And if Poe was anything, it was that.

You admired that about him. He had an almost childlike whimsy, taking all things in stride, even his injuries when he acquired them. He cared about others so often and so much he frequently forgot about this own ails. It was a good quality to have in a leader, and although he was often rebuked by his superiors, Dameron was an honorable commander and an even better pilot.

“Keep going,” you implored as you felt your desire building upon itself, pooling in the seat of your belly. Desperately, you wanted him to touch you, Poe inclining his head to one side as he broke apart from your pleading lips.

He made heady eye contact, the way he looked at you both dizzying and intoxicating, the man licking his teeth as he quipped a hushed “Yeah?” alongside the act of his fingers trailing to just below the hem of your waistband. They slipped down, down, two braver than the others as Poe’s index and middle finger disappeared beneath the front of your pants and past the soft, cotton layer of your panties.

Dameron groaned a sound, as if performing a task that was somewhat arduous, yet it was meant to evince appreciation for the soft bed of fluff that greeted him, all prim and trim. His breathing picked up, his probing appendages creeping further inside your undergarments; he whimpered against your throat, feeling welcomed by the warm slick that saturated his thick digits as he parted those soft, pillowy lips that lived between your hips, aligning the underside of his forefinger against the protuberance of your clit.

“Mn, you want this just as much as I do,” he teased, his words husky and sensuous, yet not at all meant to be disrespectful. He was the playful sort; you were glad it translated into other areas of his life, namely intimate moments like these, as it eased the tension you were feeling; the thought you were doing something you should not be doing; something wrong.

“Mhm,” you muttered, the interjection a dulcet susurration upon your partway puckered lips. It quickly devolved into an immodest moan as his thumb joined in, aiding in spreading your folds to allow him ease of access to your shrouded pearl.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you, his tone coated in sugar sweetness as Poe continued to cheer you on, “you’re so soft, and warm, and— ohhh,” he cut himself short, feeling embarrassed for not only the sizeable boner he was jabbing into your leg, but the fact that if he did not control himself he might very well cum in his pants.

“I—mmn. Admiral Ackbar naked. Admiral Ackbar naked," he intoned at low volume; you proceeded to laugh, though Poe did not, a look of stern determination on his face. Still, that did not stop him from pleasuring you as he gingerly thumbed that little nub betwixt your thighs, concentric circles close-knit and diligently applied as you trembled enticingly in his arms.

“Is this OK?” he rumbled in your ear, his voice a throaty purr that made you pitch ever so slightly forward with the goal of kissing him again.

“Y-yes,” you managed, your body mildly spasming as you sought after his tongue, Dameron ever so subtly picking up speed in the way he massaged your swollen clit. It thrummed beneath his finger; he tested uncharted territory, gradually inserting his index inside you to the top of his second knuckle. You were already so wet there was barely any friction to speak of, Poe once more moaning aloud to impart his satisfaction to whoever was there to listen – you.

“Oh, you feel- you feel, so, so good,” he rattled off, priming that digit to curl just inside and against the anterior wall of your sex; you gasped, though you had known what was coming, you just didn’t know how amazing the sensation would feel until he was already pushing you toward an orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” you entreated anxiously, the pliant underside of his thumb continuing its mission as it stimulated your glandular bundle of nerves; they twitched faintly, pulsating under his proficient hands.

“OK, yes. Yes. Tell me. Tell me what you want, baby,” he affirmed. You were quick to answer.

“Another kiss,” you adjured, Poe indulging you before the words could die on your lips. The passion he brought to your embrace, the delicate way in which he held you, the rhythmic pattern of his tongue inside your mouth – it drove you to a quick release, Dameron sucking the heavy breaths from your lungs as he attempted to engulf you, so zealous was his appetite for your quiet, though rapturous praise.

You briefly closed your eyes to regain your composure, breathing ragged, then gazed upon his face as you struggled to recover. He pulled away to stare at you, the feeling of his forefinger sliding out of your soaked cunt something not to be ignored.

You gasped again, a tiny sound. Poe admired you with a twinkle in his eye. Then, he gravitated forward, bending so close to your ear. “I can do better.”

“What?” you questioned, confused, trying to curtail your panting breaths. The twinkle in his eye was infectious, spreading to his mouth, Poe’s pretty lips outstretching into a broad, mischievous grin.

“Wait,” he stated.

You observed as he bent forward into a crouch, sneaking along the wall toward the automated entry. Staying to its right, he was careful not to trigger its motion sensor, using the nearby keypad to lock it from the inside. This time, you did quirk a brow, Poe lowering the lights manually to off, but not before making sure the shades were closed to the rectangular window that gave you a mundane view into the hall. However, you may as well be seven feet tall in order to see out of it, and there were species that tall aboard this ship.

Overall, you felt stupid for not having done this before, yet everything had occurred so quickly. What if you had been caught by a co-worker, or your boss? You had no idea how to explain being fingered by Poe Dameron in a room that could otherwise be utilized to someone else’s benefit.

Then, the man came forward, standing to his full stature as he joined you where he had left you, haggard and still somewhat discombobulated from what just happened – that’s when he picked you up, bending at the knees to wrap both arms around your waist as he carried you aloft, your entire body remaining upright and vertical.

“Poe! What are you—”

“Shh, shh,” he endeavored to keep you silent, walking around the corner of the examination table to place you gently upon it in a somewhat forced, seated position. He immediately got to work, as he had started with your footwear, taking it upon himself to remove one shoe at a time.

“Are you a screamer, or are you a whiner?” he asked with another cheesy smile etched across his face, “because I don’t mind either, but the screaming may draw attention, and I assume that’s something you don’t want.”

“I-I don’t—”

“-know?” He shook his head as if in disbelief, though somehow not surprised. “Ooh, we’ve gotta set you straight, doc!”

You meant to argue, but with your shoes gone, Poe began to roll down your socks; it was one of the most intimate things you had experienced, watching with rapt attention as he pushed the fabric down bit by bit, replacing it with moist kisses along the top of your foot and up toward your now bare ankle.

“You don’t mind, right?” he asked offhand, Poe repeating the process on the other side; this time he enveloped your big toe, intaking it into his mouth as he teasingly sucked, mimicking a poi fish who wanted to dine on what it perhaps thought was a worm.

You involuntarily squirmed, pushing against the tops of his shoulders. “That tickles!” you declared, Poe gazing up into your eyes as a “pop” resounded upon release.

Then, with that same unapologetically severe, impassioned stare, Dameron rose to half-stand on his knees as his hands found your hips, fingers digging into the loose band at your waist. He pulled, softly but with enthusiasm, hypnotizing, chestnut-colored eyes once more drilling a hole straight down into your core as he tugged one pant leg off, then the other, followed by a move that would rid you of your underwear.

Partially naked, and on top of your own examination table no less, you instead tried to forget what repercussions might follow suit of your actions and leaned down to kiss the man again. He rose higher, forcing you to straighten your neck and back, Poe’s broad hands encasing the breadth of your face within them to hold you so, so carefully as he returned your gesture as naturally as if he was drinking water.

Come to find this was a tactic, the man releasing you after stealing your breath away a second or third time, hands sliding to lightly shove you back by the shoulders as he lay you down. At once he disappeared from your line of sight, leaving you faced with a view of the ceiling directly above your head; you idly wondered if you were both getting too far ahead of yourselves.

“Poe, I don’t think we should be—” You exhaled noisily, words caught as you choked on a breath, your overactive imagination unable to be controlled as you envisioned the intense kiss you had experienced earlier being reenacted between your legs. The man had pinned you by your hips, kissing once, twice, - feverishly - the inguinal groove that connected your abdominal wall to your thigh, not wasting a moment’s time in making your briefly held fantasy come true.

“Hm? Mmmn,” Dameron hummed, his response muffled by your flesh. Your body stiffened before relaxing as he licked your already soaked slit with the flat of his tongue; it effortlessly slipped between the folds of your labia, Poe toying with your clit, running circles until the whole thing delved inside your opening.

The man pulled you forward by your thighs, closer to the edge of the table; you could feel the paper bedsheet sliding beneath you as he lapped at your cunt like it was a second mouth. He moaned into you, his breath hot on your skin, the scruff of his chin chaffing your legs, but you did not once complain.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he whispered, the tip of that furled muscle retracting to glide upward along your delightfully slick vulva before it once more found the nub that was begging to be touched; it was already so sensitive.

Your chest heaved as a ripple of pleasure quaked through you, Poe beginning to suck the hard bit that was the recurrent object of his focus. At that moment, you felt blessed, belting out a sound that was a cross between elation and ecstasy, the final product being nothing more than a subdued pule from downy lips.

“Oh, fuck,” you crooned, your thighs progressively closing around either side of Poe’s head as you instinctively tried to brace yourself against your coming climax.

“That’s what I thought—ooh, hey,” the pilot protested, not liking one bit the sudden fettering of his movements. He dislodged himself, then pushed down with both his hands, parting your legs again to make sure he had unrestricted access to your cunt.

Then, he had an idea. “That’s not happening again,” he informed you with an impish smirk, Dameron lifting you up by the underside of your ass as he dragged you even closer, this time making use of the equipment made available to him, though this wasn’t exactly a gynecological exam. The scoundrel picked up both your feet, one after the other, making sure each one was secured in turn, having positioned you spread eagle with your shamelessly wet pussy put on full display.

“Ohh, this is beautiful. Perfect. You’re perfect.” The man had stopped to stare at the exquisite view before him, a hungry look overtaking his winsome visage; you had barely lifted your neck, perhaps meaning to address him, before you were forced to expel a mousy squeak following a show of near desperation on his part.

Poe had darted forward. Now hands-free and having situated you in stirrups, Dameron plunged his tongue back inside of you while clasping his fingers behind his back as he liked to imagine himself in binders. He tongue fucked you as your chest expanded and contracted with each euphoric breath, deep and slow, before he redirected all his energy back to your eager bud.

Then, his head joined in, bobbing back and forth as he enthusiastically ate you out like a man starved, consuming his first meal in weeks, months.

Wet sounds invaded your ears, Poe miming a hound lapping water; it only caused your clit to pulse, your right arm lowering for impatient fingers to latch onto his raven locks; you were careful not to disturb the dressings on his forehead even so, not wanting to let your hard work go to waste.

You held him steady; you pulled him closer, thighs trembling, though your legs still remained forced apart with knees jutting out to either side. It was the dirtiest, nastiest you had ever felt, yet at the same time Poe had made you feel alive. Alive, and not just waiting around to die.

You moaned lewdly as you gently bucked your hips, your body convulsing in rapture as his focus was laser sharp, the full expanse of his thick, skillful tongue caressing you softly from the cusp of your vagina to the vertex of your throbbing clit – over, and over, and over again.

The pattern he applied was slow and methodical, Poe’s cock beyond hard as he gently humped thin air. The man himself was groaning, speaking breathlessly against the soft flesh of your mound, even as he continued to dine.

“Baby, you taste so, so sweet. So, so, good. Mm, be a good girl, yeah? Nice and easy for me. Nice and easy…” The pilot’s words trailed off, that gentle lapping turning toward a precise, calculated stroke with just the tip, this being the very thing that drove to you the point of no return; you came again, one hand still buried in Poe’s hair as the other clasped at your breast.

“Mmmn, oh shit, oh fuck, Poe,” you cursed again, your entire being writhing in unbridled bliss as you rode out one of the most intense orgasms in recent history, this only encouraging the pilot to keep at it until you physically had to push his head away, albeit with caution.

Poe looked up at you with those emotive, gorgeous brown eyes, lips glossy with your excess; you panted heavily, looking down on what could only be described as a shit-eating grin. You took a few more moments to recuperate, then made a demand of him that even surprised yourself. “Fuck me, right now, please.”

That cocky smile faded, Dameron staring fixedly at your face. He searched each part of it, as if measuring the seriousness of your words, then sat up fully on his legs before standing completely to gaze down at you, chin glistening and damp, not noticing the red welts spattering the inside of your thighs from where his stubble had left its mark.

“Since you said please, and so, so nicely might I add,” he joked, undoing the holster at his waist with lightning speed as he let his Glie-44 blaster pistol fall to the floor at his feet. You sat up on your elbows, enjoying the show, Poe unzipping and unbuckling his pants and belt with such wild, feral vigor, it was as if they were presently on fire.

“Mn, sweetheart, would you hate me if I said I’ve been dreaming of this?” Poe questioned, though you were unable to get a read on if he was being sincere or just full of hot air. You did not answer him, instead reveling in the desperate way the pilot kicked his boots off, witnessing his undressing between your parted legs.

They felt like jelly, still held up by the stirrups. You smiled salaciously, feeling oddly playful as you began to sway your knees back and forth to emulate the fluttering of butterfly wings; you amused yourself by fondling your overstimulated clit for his pleasure and your own, waiting ever so patiently for him to finish.

It only slowed him down; you almost laughed again, this man proving to be predictable as far as men go, spellbound by the fact you were touching yourself, and in front of him, no less.

Poe let out a laborious, rasping breath, as if his throat might be closing in on itself, pearly whites once more finding rose-colored lips as he chewed timidly on a plump bottom rung. At that same moment his pants fell down to his knees, leaving Dameron in his tight white underwear, his package so hard and compact it looked ready to burst free of its cotton prison.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he professed mostly to himself, yet loud enough for you to hear him. He stumbled forward, releasing himself of the pants that still clung to him with every step, wide, warm hands placing themselves upon your knees, one for one.

“Mn, baby, for me?” he asked in a diffident tone, Poe’s cheeks burning hot as he was drawn in by the sexy spectacle before him. After a moment or two of getting lost in his own thoughts, he scrambled for his aching prick; it felt like it was going to erupt any moment now. Already it had leaked droplets of precum, the tip wet and sticky as it sprang loose.

The pilot began to pump himself as he was glued to the rhythmic stroking of your fingers; you teased him by inserting one within yourself, Poe moaning almost instantly as he came up to you all the way by the edge of the bed, gently batting your hand away. He aligned his dick against your slit, eyes laser focused, then he abruptly stopped what he was doing to lift his head and stare at you.

“You sure? What if-” he hesitated, wanting reassurance.

“I’m protected,” you whispered, at once your feet lifting so that you could wind your legs around Poe’s waist like a serpent coiling about its prey. You squeezed lightly, drawing him in, Poe helping on his end by gently nudging the head of his cock against the lubricious entrance to your vagina.

Dameron shook this time, his body tremulous against you as he sank deeper and deeper into your warm center, guiding it slowly, his girth spreading you open as you gasped, arms overtaking him in addition to your legs; you wanted his chest pressed against yours, beckoning the man to lower himself to the proper height so that you might kiss him, fingers once more gathering in his shaggy mane.

“You f-feel, ohhhh… Like, like. Like clouds,” Dameron stammered, commenting on your plush, tepid walls as he finally bottomed out. He was slow to retract his hips, then slow to press them forward again, “It’s like breaking atmo; that euphoric feeling you get when—”

Poe cut himself off, lips compressing against one another to form a concentrated line. He closed his eyes, his pace deathly drawn-out, tortuously so, each stroke of him inside you sending pinpricks of pleasure throughout your nerve-endings, both from without and within.

It was endearing. Not knowing of all the nuances comprising this pilot’s personality, this one surprised you. Poe had always seemed so high-strung, so exuberant; it was a change of pace to see him take his time on something - you.

With a tilt of your neck, your mouth found his, your tongue slithering between his teeth to taste yourself on him. You sighed fervently, pulling him closer by the meat of your thighs, in turn interring him deeper within yourself.

“I won’t break,” you informed him softly, having pulled away to encourage Dameron to rise above his stupor and fuck you like he meant it. Poe gave a slow, deliberate nod of his head in return, as if trying to find his center and a place of calm before he would be able to continue.

“Right,” he finally said, intaking a sharp inhalation of oxygen as he rocked forward, pitching his hips so that they were flush against yours. He dipped back again, repeating these motions in a syncopated rhythm, and you finding it impossible to keep your mouth from hanging open as he hit his stride.

“Just like that,” you cooed silkily, your breath warm and wispy against his ear. This alone sent Poe to a higher plane, somewhere you were sure you could not reach him, causing Dameron to make a helpless, needy sound.

You felt a warm gush; a spurt of something that was unexpected this early in the game. Poe’s face contorted pleasantly into a look of ecstasy. You watched, fascinated, the pilot coming inside you after only a few pumps. Hell, you didn’t even mind; he had given you yours twice over. You felt a kind of privilege bestowed upon you; the knowledge that your pussy must be made of solid gold. That, or he really did like you.

“Oh fuck, ohh no, shit, I-I’m sorry,” Poe stuttered, his tone indicative of embarrassment. You tried to lighten the mood with a joke, dotting tiny kisses along the corner of his mouth in an attempt to quell his mounting anxiety.

“What was that about setting me straight?” you teased, Poe forced to laugh despite himself as he tried to catch his breath. He shook his head, brawny biceps propping him up just above you, jet-black strands dangling down to brush against your nose as he sighed a dejected sigh.

“You’re just so pretty, and I was excited, you know? I- It’s- It’s been a while,” he clumsily explained, “haven’t had the time to actually masturbate, being in the middle of a war and all—”

You cut him off with a kiss, a forceful press of your lips to his. It was your way of shutting him up, aiming to put a stopper in all of his excuses; it did not matter to you.

“Poe, it’s fine,” you affirmed, cradling the antsy man’s refined jaw in the crook of your palm, “these things happen. I’m not upset. You already got me off twice; that’s more than most men for the entirety of a relationship.”

You had exaggerated that last part for a bit of dramatic flair, this particular white lie having no purpose other than to bolster Poe’s self-esteem and to make him feel better. He smiled at you, a genuine, honest-to-God smile, as if coming to terms with the fact he had no need to worry, and that he might just get a second chance one day, contrary to what he had at first believed.

“So, uh—” he started, lifting gently up and off of you; his cock incrementally eased its way out of you, the remnants of his seed thick and sticky as it flowed freely out and onto the exam table.

He scrunched an eye, as if still ashamed, Poe sucking on his bottom lip to alleviate the mental anguish he was suffering before he sheepishly asked you a question, “Now that we’ve gotten to third base, would you care to visit first?”

You propped yourself up on your forearms, quirking a brow as you rose to sit. He assumed correctly, thinking that you did not take his meaning, Poe following up to explain more succinctly. “Dinner, maybe? Or—”

Sirens began to blare, a red alert sounding all throughout the Anodyne. A voice rang out over the internal comm; Dameron and you were quickly put on edge.

“Attention, all personnel: report to stations. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill.”

Your face fell, as did Poe’s. He gazed at you a moment, ignoring the awful clamor in the background as people began to race throughout the halls just beyond the door. It was as if time stood still, and you were unable to break away from Dameron’s dark gaze. The man, who was so amiable and easygoing, now looked browbeaten and worn, knowing that any minute now he would have to find BB-8 and return to his X-wing when he had wanted nothing more than to relax in your company. Wishful thinking, he mused.

You were the first to move, rushing to get up. You found a towel and cleaned yourself up, collecting your clothes from off the floor; somehow, your tunic had remained intact, though you would hold out for a future time when Poe might touch those parts of you, too. It was hard not to want to imagine him with his soft lips puckered about your nipple as his stocky fingers massaged and revered your breasts.

“Attention: all pilots, return to hangar. Repeat: all capable pilots return to your ships.”

“It was just as well, huh?” he asked solemnly, referring to the abrupt end of your impromptu rendezvous.

“Go,” you commanded, Poe’s stare lingering, amber eyes piercing you with a look that was ironically impenetrable; resolute, yet somehow somber, wistful.

He broke away, finally, and with difficulty, scrambling to adjust his briefs before throwing back on his pants and buttoning his shirt. He hitched his holster around his hips, the boots made to go on last. You observed as he hopped around on one foot, once more finding him to be endearing as you turned to rush toward the refresher, steadfast in your desire to use the sonic, if only for a moment; you needed to rinse off before returning to the med bay, as was your duty.

Poe called out to you by name; you whirled to face him. The man’s fluffy eyebrows were stitched together as he could only stare at you again. Then, he seemed to finally come-to, stepping the few paces forward that separated you.

“I’ll comm you later?” he asked more than stated, the backs of his knuckles running the length of your cheek. You could only nod, leaning up to kiss him one last time.

“Come back in one piece, OK? I don’t want to have to stitch you up again; be careful,” you urged him. He smiled that charming, boyish smile that made your heart race, as radiant as ever; his mood could change so suddenly.

“No promises,” he replied, meaning it in jest, yet you knew there was some truth to it.

You parted ways with the best damn pilot in the galaxy, hope being the only thing left to you both now. Hope that he would never have to step foot back aboard this frigate, but that if he did, it would be for some better reason, and not because he had failed to heed your warning.

---

Reblogs / comments appreciated!

Masterlist

Ao3

#Poe Dameron #Poe Dameron x Reader #Poe x Reader #Poe Dameron x You #x reader #Star Wars #Star Wars Smut #sequel trilogy #Resistance #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #star wars fanfiction #angst #fluff #love confessions #female reader #fem reader

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themotherofhorses · 5 months

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NO! Because what if I said mean!superior!Simon Riley x new recruit!fem!reader ??

An equally dark and obsessed!Simon Riley, who became stupidly OBSESSED with one of the newest recruits currently housed on base. You're young and naive and (in his eyes) need an older man to corrupt the living shit out of the dumb little innocence clinging to every action of yours. So much smaller and softer than him — with the prettiest bright eyes and the sweetest, dimpled smile.

Such a stark difference in character between the two; perhaps that is the main reason why he wants you so badly.

Ghost knows everything about you — from your instagram account to your childhood street address and that adorable build-a-bear plushie that you somehow managed to slip into your duffle bag (right now, it sits quite snugly between your two pillows, but sooner than later, it’ll wind up in *his* bed).

As time passes, he only becomes meaner — a terrible combination of aggressive and antagonistic and frightening. A literal bully. But he cannot help it. It’s a shitty excuse, he knows it, but there is something so fuckin' delicious about catching an eyeful of your pretty face crumpling at every insult he spits out.

The way your head needs to tilt upwards to meet his heavy glare, causing your pink, plump lips to twist into a pout. If he was forced to define it, he’d claim it’s practically an aphrodisiac for him.

Ah, you won't ever survive in my world, he tells himself.

Anyone can see it. You ought to remain back in his home flat — safe and sound with his chubby-cheeked baby bouncing on your hips, waiting for your husband to return home from combat.

So imagine a dark, obsessive, and mean!superior!Ghost overhearing that you were almost murdered by enemy fire during a recent recon mission. A stray slug gazed your upper thigh, and a second came a little too close to your pretty, empty head.

And sure, Ghost is beyond pissed about it, but he's driven more upset over the fact that no one told him; instead, he had to learn through word-of-mouth by some rookies seated within the mess hall.

(Behind him, Soap and Gaz couldn't really understand why their lieutenant reacted so strongly. After all, he hates you …. right?)

What the hell? You almost died. DIED! Not only that, but you were almost stolen away from him. Did you not fuckin' understand that? Death came so fuckin' close to robbing his precious girl from him.

In the meantime — as he awaits your return to base — Ghost sits atop his bed, casually planning out what'll happen next.

There is an empty room in his flat — straight down the hall from the master bedroom, perfect space for the nursery. In fact, it has a nice, single-hung window that he can add drapes to (if you fancy looking outside while tending to the baby).

The bed is, of course, ready for you, and beneath the bathroom sink are those scented body washes you adore. Thank bloody fuck Bath & Bodyworks allows online shopping and shipping.

#vic writes 🧸#call of duty #cod mw #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley imagine #ghost imagine #simon riley x reader #simon riley x fem!reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley smut #ghost x female reader #lmao this is nasty im so sorry #but also feminine urge to write this nasty shit with detailed smut

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wutheringskies · 9 months

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everyone is like: if wei wuxian told everyone he gave his core to Jiang Cheng, all of this wouldn't have happened!

me: if he told jiang cheng, it would be WORSE.

consider these points:

Jiang Cheng was a newly appointed sect leader, hell-bent on revenge, finally surpassing others. He would emotionally break if he finds out it's all because of Wei Wuxian's core. He wouldn't want to lose it; but Wei Wuxian holding that over his head will make it terrible for him; rage, tantrums; in that war-time would have literally robbed him of his senses.

This is a war. If some people find out Wei Wuxian doesn't have a core, what's stopping the enemy from finding out? Even so, there would be people who wish to kill the ever-powerful son of a servant. The hundreds-hole curse could only succeed because Jin Zixun had low cultivation. Think of how many enemies (Wens, and the others) Wei Wuxian had. They don't dare curse him because 1) they believe he has superior cultivation and 2) if he comes for revenge with his stygian tiger seal and chenqing, it simply wouldn't be worth it. So, high risk and low reward. but in actuality, if someone did curse him, without a core to cleanse him, it would be fatal!

As the "son of a servant" and "wielder of immense power," his place in the cultivation world was already unstable. If they find out he doesn't even have a core, he cannot stay in the cultivation world! If he leaves, then there's no protection guaranteed for him from those who wish to claim his power anyway!

Literally, the only ones who would genuinely care would be Lan Wangji and Jiang Yanli. And what could they do? Lan Xichen would be sympathetic, but when has sympathy saved lives when there's no follow-up action? Nie Mingjue would commend his sacrifice, but will he save the Wens? Nope. Nobody would magically go like, "oh, let us help wei wuxian who doesn't have a core tragically."

Among the general public, would anyone look at it as anything other than a grand sacrifice for his superior? "Wei Wuxian is really loyal," and when he saves the Wens, it would go down the path of, "Can't believe he betrayed the Jiang Clan."

The only one who wished to know the why's and the how's and the reasoning behind it all was Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji, who would try his utter best; but Wei Wuxian himself was so powerful. Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan were powerful. Wen Qing and Wen Ning were also powerful. All the righteous people had tragic ends - if Lan Wangji was allowed to know, he would push harder at Wei Ying. But will Wei Ying accept it? Will he feel a certain disregard of respect? A lack of trust from Lan Wangji because they dont have the fundamentals down?How can it magically make things alright, when their issues go deeper than Wei Wuxian being on an "unorthodox path"? So, who's to say, even if Lan Wangji realized it all, somehow forced himself into Wei Wuxian's space when Wei Wuxian did not want it with some OOC syndrome, but even then what can he do? In the end, rather than just one, both would die. The odds are bad when it's 1 vs 3000, but is it much better if it's 2 vs 3000?

Wei Wuxian's arrogance protected the secret that would've signed him out of the war, out of the cultivation world. The fear people had for him protected him. Even after his death, they only noticed the annihilation of minor clans because "oh no yllz is here to take revenge!" If he acted weak and approachable and sad, just how few would hold true empathy compared to all the many that would see an opportunity to strike? Whoever wields power, speaks out, and is from an unproveleged background yet sitting among the gentry is already an outcast.

The only way he wouldn't have died were if he were someone who bowed to servitude, if he kept quiet, if he counted his losses and gains like Jin Guangyao. Will this harm me? Yes. So I cannot do it.

That's not Wei Wuxian.

"Let gains and losses remain uncommented upon." If the whole world wishes to kill innocents to satiate their own hatred then the whole world is wrong, and he won't stand up for it - whether or not, he has a romantic relationship with Lan Wangji early, or if he's actual siblings with the Jiangs (like actually adopted.)

Whether he wields a sword or his flute or nothing at all; whether he's loved or hated, he is bound to be resented by those who are hypocrites. The loss of his golden core won't shake them with empathy, but mockery not just towards him, but towards Jiang Wanyin as well.

"Congratulations, Jiang Cheng, for killing the man who killed your entire family (false, but you know) and was unrighteous!"

"But isn't the Jiang Clan only alive because of Wei Wuxian's core?"

"Jiang Wanyin is such a loser; he took his servant's core."

That would be a fucking literal nightmare. That is why, Wei Wuxian doesn't say a word or whine or cry. He probably thought he could wait until Jiang clan is in a better spot and tell only Jiang Cheng, but by then, he'd already been caught up in the Wen's situation.

#mo dao zu shi #mdzs #wei wuxian #canon jiang cheng #jiang cheng #golden core transfer #golden core reveal #mdzs meta #my meta #my essays

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marisatomay · 2 years

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maybe i would feel different about all of these “live action remakes” of classic animated disney movies if all of them post 2015 cinderella weren’t just shot for shot line for line rip offs of the superior animated films but with no heart and bad cgi that somehow cease to exist the second the credits roll

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pinktwingirl · 6 months

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I think the thing that frustrates me most about the ongoing genocide is how quick people in the Western world are to judge Palestinians for committing violence against the IDF after they’ve been bombed and murdered indiscriminately. Like these people have been through hell and back and you think you get to act like you’re somehow “morally superior” to them? You will never understand what it’s like to live under an occupation. You will never understand what it’s like to have to carry your children’s limbs in plastic bags because that’s all that remains of them. You will never understand what it’s like to have bombs rain down around you on a daily basis while the rest of the world cheers on your murderers. You will never understand what it’s like to have your entire childhood stolen from you because you were convicted in a military court at nine years old. These are people who have been pushed to their absolute breaking point, and yet racist assholes will insist that their actions just show that they’re all somehow “inherently violent”. Like how dare you point to someone at their most vulnerable and desperate point and say that’s just who they are? If you were in their shoes, you’d be doing the exact same thing. Check your goddamn privilege.

#palestine #israel #fuck the idf #free palestine #stand with palestine #anti zionisim #from the river to the sea palestine will be free

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the-badger-mole · 4 months

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The Netflix Live!action ATLA is airing in Feb, are you excited by it? I’m hoping with the exit of Bryke… maybe (and I know I might just be putting on clown make up, but…) they’ll change endgame to Zutara?

I'm not planning to watch the LA ATLA, honestly. For the sake of other Zutara fans who are excited for the show, I hope Zutara is endgame, and I hope it's well written. But honestly, it changes nothing for me. I'm going to ship Zutara whether some writer/director says it's okay or not. Because being a Zutara shipper legit makes me a pirate. I'm totally fine with that.

Frankly, I'm also a bit wary of the new wave of fans this is going to bring into the fandom. As much as I'd like not to feel that way, the last batch of new fans brought this weird brand of moralizing that has been really annoying to this day. If I have to open the tag to find some new posts by people who apparently didn't have to do literature or media analysis in school whining about what characters you "shouldn't hate on" because they've convinced themselves that treating fictional characters like real people makes them somehow morally superior, I may scream. I may crawl through my computer and into their homes so I can scream in their faces. They got me out here feeling like Dr. Cox.

#atla #zutara #pirate ship #la atla

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amourlyns · 3 months

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❛ HEY VENGEANCE. ❜ ➜ ⁽ masterlist ⁾

✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕: in which john price and simon riley discuss the past, present and future over a late night smoke.

✧ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: mentions of war, death, body horror, mental illness, child death.

✧ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: inspired by this post. enjoy some angsty, but soft john and si. added my own personal touches, so i like to think john went through something similar and that’s why he’s so greatly effected. + he has 2 kids, mac n rosie with his ex—wife clara. dedicated to @whittywhitty and @mawvax ‘s comic.

⟡ ⠀ | Words are never exchanged during these kinds of nights. Instead, smoke fills the space where words would lay.

There’s a bitter chill in the air that settles into John’s bones. Making a home in his marrow. Tonight, he’s accompanied by Ghost. Of course, Simon Riley would always be more than a phantom. John actively told him that— yet.

Yet it doesn’t click.

Because phantoms do not desire eulogies from their Captain, and phantoms do not seek absolution. They simply be. Somehow, Simon Riley does this all at once. Despite the façade, he’s still a man. A man who feels, a man of flesh and blood. There’s a twinge of guilt that spikes through John’s veins, he already knows that it’s too late to speak on such matters— too late for apologies on events he could not stop.

But he speaks anyways.

Some part of John really believes that Simon, not (Ghost) could read him like a book. Or at least try to. Before John can utter an apology, Simon’s gaze already settles on his superior. He’s expecting something, either words or actions. John realizes this, and speaks at once.

❛❛ I’M SORRY.. ❜❜

John shifts his weight, leaning into one leg. Simon glances towards John for a total of three grand seconds. He notices these three things. One, John Price’s brows furrow inwards when he’s contemplating something. Two, he gnaws on his beloved Clara Villa cigar when he’s stretched too far. Three, John Price loves too much.

It’s still profound to Riley, having someone apologize to him. Some nasty, ugly part of his mind tells him to be apathetic. To play dumb. John does not mean it, nor does Simon deserve such a thing. An apology, empathy, or some kind of grand understanding.

He cracks anyways.

❛❛ (…) WHAT FOR ? ❜❜

John is obviously at a loss, his cigar burns out. Ash settles on the tray, glinting in the moonlight. He lights another, gnaws, and smokes. Notes of leather and light maple stains John’s lungs. A bitter char wafts in the air. The stars seem to illuminate the hazy night.

They sit in silence for a few moments. John eventually starts up again, and Simon listens closely.

❛❛ I WASN’T THERE, SI. I WASN’T THERE WHEN YOU LOST (…) YOU. WHEN YOU DIED. WHEN YOU LOST EVERYTHING. ❜❜

Price’s words echo into the endless night, accompanied by cicadas and their hymns, the chirp of crickets follow moments after. Then, there’s silence. Is it really silence? There’s so many unspoken words that burn like an uproarious flame between the pair.

So many apologies John could say, so many stories he could say and tell. John wants to tell Simon that no one should ever experience such a thing, and how he’s a good kid. John wants to tell Simon that it’s not his fault.

And if John could, he’d explain how the soil of your own grave never leaves the ridges of your fingertips. And how you can never scrub the grime off, no matter how hard you try. How silence is the most jarring thing to a man, yet, the most peaceful. How being a living, walking, deadman changes you.

To be a living, breathing body. Rotting away like a real corpse. John thinks, and he wonders. What kind of man has the stomach to rip a jaw, and dig his way out?

Simon has his own thoughts. He ponders on his next words, and what to say to get his Captain out of this whump. It’s uncharacteristic, to see a man of John’s status and stature oh, so defeated. His shoulders are slumped, eyes are set on the view below. Obscured by the dark night, but undoubtedly somber and solemn.

Simon knows that Price’s life revolves around humans. He knows the Captain has seen terrors no man should lay his eyes upon. Simon has heard the stories and he’s seen John’s scars. Small glimpses into the window of his life. Simon knows John is lucky enough to have a family, two kids. Mac and Rosie. A loving, supportive woman in his life— his ex—wife Clara.

And yet, despite this. Simon could sense that John Price could never be a gentle man, because he never had a gentle man in his life. He only knows how to chew on marrow and sink his canines into everything and everyone.

Simon only knew this because they were two of a kind. They aren’t unfamiliar with the sight of blood spilling from orifices of a cadaver, decomposing and becoming one with the earth. Or, the gore of a body festering in puss. The corroding of flesh, and necrosis of the limbs due to an untreated infection on the field. Simon and Price have laid their eyes on parts that are meant to be hidden away by flesh and muscles.

These parts, the innermost parts, are always shocking when displayed in such raw, open spaces, like the battlefields and deserts, where bodies are picked apart by vultures and crows, but Price and Simon no longer flinches at twisted body parts and decaying flesh. They have seen far too much of it to be upset by it anymore.

But, Simon does not know how the rawness of all it washes over John, despite the disfigurement of each of these bodies (was) a living, breathing, person. Whether or not they were civilians, enemies or enemies.

John’s sense of mortality is never numbed, or dismissed. Instead, he weighs on it much, much, more. Death within his field of work is something he knows will happen. There’s no point of price diminishing these feelings.

John Price has children, he has a family. He’s ready for his own death, but are they?

Of course he’s no saint, he knows this and refuses to be called such. He has the blood of mothers, fathers, and children in his hands. He suffers each day for it. Flashing visions of gaunt faces and vacant eyes staring back at him each night. Spindly fingers that wrap around him in the night.

John is a man of war. A man who chooses the lesser evil.

The sensation of Simon’s arm on his shoulder brings him back to earth, a sense of reassurance. A silent apology.

❛❛ PRICE. YOU PUT TOO MUCH ON YOUR SHOULDERS. YOU WERE THERE WHEN I CAME BACK. YOU NEVER LEFT (…) WHEN EVERYONE THOUGHT OF ME AS A LOST CAUSE, TOO ANGRY, TOO INSANE. YOU GAVE ME A SECOND CHANCE IN THE ONE FOUR ONE. ❜❜

❛❛ YOU COULD EVEN SAY— IT WAS A (PRICE)LESS GIFT ❜❜

Simon faces John now. Stubbing out his cigarette, to grace John with a timid smile. John blinks once, then twice, then thrice. A smile, a smile from Simon Riley. John could cry, really. Granted, his eyes are already watering up from Simon’s speech. He fights the urge to laugh at that horrible pun. Maintaining a brave face for Simon.

❛❛ THAT (…) THAT WAS SO BAD. ❜❜

John chokes out, the feeling of Simon’s hand on his shoulder remains. He’s rooted now, feeling as bit lighter than before.

❛❛ AH, NOT MY BEST. ❜❜

Simon chortles, a retort dies on his tongue. For once, Simon feels lighter too. He’s ran out of smokes now. The only thing they could do was watch the sun rise back up in the horizon for tonight. And exchange a few stories, or accept the silence.

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marblejack · 8 months

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WHB chapter 3 spoilers below (and chapter 2)

Also CW for angelic fuckedupfest and a.k.a. top reasons why Belial is the bestest boy. So, we have already witnessed 'angelification' (circa 2-97) with Ppyong's cousin Ppung, and now we find out that it happened to Belial's legion.

From what I get is that he led 80 legions, 40 fell during the battle, and then after that the remaining 40 fell victim to the angelification seeds (?), which is enormous loss not only in terms of strictly human (devil?) resources, but for Belial personally. Especially considering survivor guilt settling down.

It's almost baffling how literally every other captain/duke/prince/etc in Gehenna got off easy. Ok, Leraye got his arm pierced with a spear (but that part is on you, buddy), and then Belial is living through Hell in Hell.

Satan hesitated for how long putting Ppung down, and Belial had to put down his 40 comrades on the spot. And it wasn't the painful death either. The way Belial can remember in perfect detail every his action, before it all bluring in his mind- And it was stressed several times the sheer importance of comradery between demons, and the way they treat each other as equals, or the way demons aren't forced to join legion of certain captain or ruler, but simply choose to 'cause they vibe with the dude.

And if Belial thinks he betrayed himself -- I totally get it. I wonder if he would change his attitude comparing to his pre-engelification character and we get to find what he used to be through through Satan's or Sitri's or Ppyong's, or any other demon's stories, knowing full well that we'll never meet that devil again. Solomon spill the beans Probably not, but that would be hella cool.

Anyway. Literally how can this man walk and talk straight (ok, Jiyu is doing the most part, but you get my point). With these mental capabilities Belial might as well just change his class from marksman to tank. How can you not love him??? Minor rant, but I love his interactions with Jiyu, and I can fully ignore the fact that we had like... 3 lines of dialogue. Sure, Jiyu is suck-up to all his superiors including Belial, but he so genuinly cares about him, being also his second pair of eyes on the battlefield (which is kind of ironic honestly). And all of Hell knows how much Belial cares about Jiyu.

I wonder if Jiyu is overwhelmed by all the thoughts and regrets going through Belial's head, or maybe they can psychically and/or mentally distance each other somehow. They are besties, you legally cannot tell me otherwise. Do you think Belial just silently gossips with Jiyu about,,, stuff?

#im so normal about them trust me officer #wow what a ride #his line about this being his funeral hits so close to home #whb spoilers #what in hell is bad spoilers #what in “hell” is bad?#what in hell is bad #prettybusy what in “hell” is bad?#whb #whb belial

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bonitanightmxres · 7 months

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Haunted (Part III) || SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY

PAIRING: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

MINI SERIES SYNOPSIS: It was hard trying to move past Simon's death, but it’s even harder when the third anniversary is looming and the nightmares are back.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: After the revelation from your therapy session, you confront the man responsible for it all... only, it doesn't go according to plan.

WARNINGS: angst, some fluffy moments

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

a/n: in honor of early access day, here y'all go! [no spoilers]

–THEN–

It’d been only a couple weeks since they brought his body home. They were torturous weeks of living in an empty home, and you were ridden with denial. It really wasn’t true… was it? This was all some horribly messed up dream that you couldn’t wake up from. But you remembered the day that John Price knocked on your door. Confused when you answered it to find that Johnny and Kyle stood back behind John. They were all dressed in proper uniforms, like they took their time with their appearance. You’d never seen them look so prim, and it brought a small, teasing grin to your face.

“Where’s Simon and his little uniform?” You joked, knowing that he’d do anything to get out of looking so sharp and clean. Peering around the door, and the sides of the house, you look for him. Obviously, he would be hiding from you, but none of the men laughed—not even Johnny. Price barely looked you in the eyes. Every time he opened his mouth, it seemed like he couldn’t put a sentence together. Kyle seemed to avoid your gaze too, finding more interest in looking at his boots than at you. Your smile faded when you realized that you’d never seen any of them at such a loss for words. When it was obvious that Simon wasn’t hiding in the bushes, your stomach dropped…

“What’s wrong?”

John cleared his throat, “Simon Riley was killed in action…”

To this day, you don’t even remember the rest of what John told you. You had zoned out, your ears ringing, and your head spun so much that you almost fainted. Or maybe you did. You didn’t even really know. Despite your lack of memory, Johnny, Kyle, and Price remember it all. The way you collapsed to the ground, and Price catching you; the way the other two rushed to your aid. And the way they’d never heard such a blood-curdling wail. Johnny remembers it loud and clear; Kyle shivers just thinking about it. And Price wanted nothing more than to forget the permanent stain your tears left on his heart.

So, now, weeks since then, it was the first night you were going to have to accept the fact that you were alone for good. You’d just come home from his funeral services, finally putting him to rest. Everything seemed to go by in a blur–the drive there with Price, the whole hours-long service, handshakes and condolences from random soldiers and superiors who you’d never met… and the drive back. Today you hadn’t shed a single tear, you assumed because your body’s production couldn’t keep up with the pace you were letting them flow. Johnny and Kyle were already at your house when you and Price pulled into the driveway. They stood awkwardly around quiet as can be, as if noise would somehow bother you. It was funny, really; the way they rivaled statues.

“I-uh… I think I’m just gonna go lay down. Take a nap, maybe.” Your voice was hoarse and raspy, and your eyes nearly went blind from the brightness of the house when you took off your dark sunglasses. As you set them down on the counter, you give each of them a quick hug, thanking them for their support, and disappear into your bedroom. You hated it now, in all honesty. You hated the way Simon’s bedside table would always be neater than yours, the way his shoes still sat on the rack in the closet, or how his clothes would forever stay folded in the drawers next to yours. You wondered if leaving them untouched would preserve their smell. With the curtains closed, you kick off your shoes, and don’t even bother to change before you lay down. You lay on your side of the bed, out of habit, and bring your knees to your chest.

It would be okay, right? Tomorrow you’d wake up, and everything would be fine…

Though your eyes were shut from sleep, you could feel the tears burn and the sobs escape your throat. The sudden feeling of two strong hands grasping your arms and trying to shake you awake.

“Shhh, sweetheart,” the voice says softly. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“S-Simon?” You bolt up, sitting against the headboard of your bed, rubbing your eyes.

“N-no, it’s me… It’s John, sweetheart.” It hurts him to tell you, you can tell by the look in his eyes and how they’re full of sorrow. “You were havin’ a nightmare.”

You’re still dressed in your black dress and matching cardigan. From a quick glance to the mirror hanging on your wall, you can see the mascara painting a psychotic look underneath your eyes.

It kind of looked like Simon’s face paint…

“From the looks of it, I still haven’t woken up,” you trudge to the bathroom, washing away the ruined makeup before looking for comfortable clothes. John turns his head respectfully while you change. “It’s nearly four in the morning, John, what are you still doing here?”

“I planned on spending the night on the sofa.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you insist, “You’ve been spending a lot of time here, lately. I’ll be fine, trust me, and–and the girls–I–”

He offers a comforting smile accompanied by a small chuckle, “Sweetheart, you know I’d do anything for my girls, right?”

“Yeah…I-I know…”

How could anyone not know that? John was always a good dad, a great one at that. The look of pride he had whenever he talked about his daughters or the way he always looked at his wife like there was no woman more beautiful. His little family was picture-perfect, and nothing made you happier than seeing them all together.

“And you know that when my girls get scared in the middle of the night, I stay with them until they fall back asleep? Until they don’t need me anymore?”

“Yeah…”

“So that’s what I’m doing,” he kicked his shoes off and sat in your bed. With a pillow lying against his lap, he tapped it with his hand, gesturing for you to go and lay down. “I’m staying until you don’t need me anymore.”

Arguing with him would have been pointless, and to be honest, you didn’t want to. John Price might not have been your father, but he was the next best thing. As you lie down, he takes a hand and gently rakes it through your hair. How had he known to do that? Something so small and comforting. Laying there, you felt like a little girl again. His daughters were each aged 7, 5, and the youngest was nearing her first birthday; and you wondered if he comforted them in the same way.

He stayed every night for nearly three weeks.

Kyle and Johnny rotated shifts during the day, keeping you company while John went home and tended to his family. During the night though, John came back to ensure someone was with you especially while you slept. Guilt ate away at you for all the attention they gave you, putting their lives on pause just because you’d had a few nightmares. You’d apologized profusely–to John especially, since he was the one with a wife and kids; surely Mrs. Price was growing tired of taking care of the girls on her own. Still, John had reassured you by saying that he “made it up to her every day” and winked. It was really no wonder why they had three daughters, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they ended the year pregnant again.

–NOW–

Your phone buzzed in your pocket as the cold evening wind nipped at your cheeks and blew your hair into your face. As you walked toward the cafe around the corner, you open the message:

JOHN PRICE: I’m here. Hope you don’t mind I brought the little devil with me.

JOHN PRICE: [Attachment: 1 Image]

The youngest of the Price clan sat in his father’s lap, smiling widely with a cup of hot chocolate—the evidence all over his top lip. He looked like a cherubic angel, with his rosy cheeks from the cold. The little boy took after his mother in looks, but he had John’s eyes.

YOU: How cuuuuuuute!! I’m almost there :)

When you walk in, you’re greeted with the sweet aroma of pastries and savory breakfast items served at the tables around you. John smiled as you approached the table he saved, getting up to give you a hug and kiss on the forehead. Immediately, the boy reached his arms out to you, wanting to be sat in your lap instead of his own father’s. You took the little two year old without a second thought, having always loved to babysit and play with John’s kids whenever the couple needed.

“You should have told me you were walking here,” John says, sliding a cup of freshly brewed coffee toward you. “Could have given you a ride.”

“It would’ve been the shortest ride ever. I don’t live very far,” you argue. “Besides, the weather’s nice.”

John agrees, watching you happily stir the cloud of sugar and cream in your mug with his son mimicking your actions with an empty spoon in his hot chocolate. “I already ordered for us. I hope that’s alright, they should be coming out with them soon.”

“Thank God you did,” you laugh. “Everything smells good, I think I’d have trouble making a decision.”

John chuckles, and you spend the beginning of your cafe date catching up and filling each other in on the news. You thought it was cute, the way John’s life seemed to be filled with events and his childrens’ firsts— first falling of baby teeth, first straight-A report card, first concert—you wondered what that felt like. To be a parent hiding money under the pillow, buying a treat as a reward, or applauding the loudest and buying flowers. While you loved the Price family, and accompanied them to important events, you couldn’t help but feel like you were on the outside looking in… When it came to your life, there wasn’t much that he didn’t already know. Part of you didn’t think you’d ever find out what it would feel like to be the one with the busy family schedule.

Before you can get too lost in thought, a waiter comes by with your plates, and before you can take a bite of your own, John is scolding his son lightly for grabbing off your plate, “That’s not yours, lad. You have yours in front of you.”

“Let him be, John, it’s okay,” your eyes might as well have been shaped like hearts with the way you treated his son as he sat contentedly on your leg. You fed him small bites from your food and helped him slurp hot chocolate by bringing the mug to his little mouth. The smile he gave you once he licked the remaining whipped cream off his lips was enough to make you melt right there.

“I swear you spoil these kids more than they deserve.” He chuckles, shaking his head.

“That’s my job.”

“So,” John began, cutting up the food on his son’s plate into bite-sized pieces before digging into his own breakfast. “Not that I’m complaining, but we usually plan our little cafe get-togethers with more time in advance… so y’know, we can talk without interruptions. Something on your mind that can’t wait?”

“It was John Price.”

Dr. Fernández’s words replayed on loop in your head over the next few days, wondering how and why he thought it was a good idea to go to some therapist when you knew perfectly fine why and how your nightmares started. It wasn’t like they’d come out of nowhere. Plus, you’d always spared John the details. But Soap was the only one who really knew the gritty details, and only because he’d coerced them out of you.

“I saw Dr. Fernández the other day.”

“And how did it go?”

You shrug, “About as good as a therapy session can get, I guess. But she did have something interesting to say.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, raising a brow while taking a sip of coffee. “And what’s that?”

“She said that you’re the one who set up the meetings between us in the first place. That you’re the one told her about the nightmares starting again, which is impossible because I hadn’t told you about them yet. Now, MacTavish has a tendency to open his mouth and—”

John laughs abruptly, catching you off guard. Your blank stare makes him laugh even more, which only sends you further into confusion. “I don’t need Soap to report back to me with intel about you, sweetheart. I’m a father of four. A father of three girls. I know when you’re not being truthful.”

You can feel your cheeks turn red from embarrassment. If Johnny ever found out that you’d wrongly accused him of spilling your secrets, you’d never hear the end of it. Having someone as caring and thoughtful as John, who clearly was concerned enough to set you up with a therapist made you feel lucky. Of course Soap had been concerned and loving enough too, but that was besides the point.

As the three of you finish your meal, you use wipes that you carry in your purse to wipe the hands and mouth of the littlest Price who looked like he was ready for a nap. An elderly woman approached, smiling warmly, “Your son is just the most adorable thing I’ve laid eyes on,” she tells you.

Her poor observation makes your cheeks flush red, and you stutter, laughing nervously, “Oh! I–uh, no–I-I’m not–”

“He’s actually my son.” John intervenes, noticing the way you’re caught off guard. “Oh, I knew you were too young to be a grandfather!” She laughs, patting him on the shoulder, then turns to you, “ Do you have any children?”

Your cheeks turn redder by the second, “I–no.”

“That’s too bad,” she says. “You’d make a great mother, I can tell.”

With that, she walks out of the cafe, waving.

Waiting for John to pay the bill (since he swore he could never just let you do a nice thing for him), you wonder if the old lady was only one of many who thought that John’s children were your own. It wouldn’t have been far-fetched either; you could often be spotted out and about with them… maybe people had passed by and thought they’d simply be laying eyes on a mother with her kids. You didn’t want to admit how much that made you feel a kind of warmth inside that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Fatherhood on John had looked like a longer and grayer beard and defined little wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. Four kids would do that to you, you guessed. You wondered what motherhood would have done to you. Premature gray hair? Lots of wrinkles? No no, you definitely would have been a MILF. Simon would have been the one with premature gray hair and wrinkles, you knew that for a fact. With the way he stressed over things? Yeah, he’d need regular hair appointments to keep the gray in check. Then again, graying hair on a man… oof. Especially on Simon?? Maybe you would have been those hot parents whose teenage kids had friends that always wanted to come over because they had a crush on either of you. The thought made you giggle to yourself.

“Want me to take him?” John asks, as he stuffs his wallet into his pocket and reaches out for his son. He’s nervous about how the interaction with the lady settled with you. This could only go one of two ways… and your emotionless face is making him believe you’re gonna react that way.

But you smile and say, “It’s okay, I’ve got him.”

And John lets out a little sigh of relief. He hadn’t known the extent to which Simon had ever talked about kids with you, but it was something he wouldn’t shut up about when they talked about families.

“One day, when she’s ready…” Simon had said. But that didn’t stop him from running baby names by John whenever he thought of one.

John had just laughed, telling him that he needed to run it by you.

The lady from the cafe was right though, he thought. You’d make a terrific mother one day; and as he watched you carry his son in your arms like he was your own, he couldn’t help but start to feel a little guilty inside…

a/n: i have a feeling of where i want this story to go, but i’m conflicted😭😂

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icarusbetide · 1 month

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#save elizabeth schuyler hamilton from male biographers 2024

Just got pissed off so bad. I'm in the middle of reading Burr, Hamilton, and Jefferson: A Study in Character, which presents an intriguing argument that Burr deserves to be put back into the Founding Father Pantheon, so to speak. The author doesn't shy away from hitting hard against the idea that Jeff & Ham were morally superior to Burr, and I was on board! Ready to go!

But then. During the discussion of the women in each of their lives, the author decides the best way to further promote Burr's attitude towards women compared to Jefferson and Hamilton is to disparage Martha Jefferson & Elizabeth Hamilton?

On Martha Jefferson:

Martha Wayles Skelton had been a widow, and none of Jefferson's biographers, even the resourceful Fawn Brodie, has been able to tell us much about her—from the solitary letter remaining to us in her hand or the accounts of their contemporaries—beyond the general impression that she was handsome, musical, and frail.

On Elizabeth Hamilton:

Hamilton's Elizabeth was an heiress, the daughter of an upstate squire, Philip Schuyler, with Livingston and van Rensselaer connections. She was plain, straightforward, loyal, and neurasthenic, endured his flagrant and frequent infidelities, and lived to the brink of the Civil War.

I'm sorry, I don't know enough about Martha J. to protest to her characterization, but I think I can say something about Eliza. Plain? Neurasthenic? And once again, annoyed at the lack of citation or evidence for flagrant and frequent infidelities - but putting that aside, even if it were true, I don't like how her staying in her marriage is subtly implied to be some failure or at least less interesting than a woman who didn't "endure" them. There's a lack of consideration of both her own strength & the societal circumstances of that time that would have influenced her actions.

On Theodosia:

Her character emerges from their large and fervent correspondence. She was confident, well connected, well read, beautiful even after a burn scarred her face, witty, worldly, and full of expectations of him.

Okay. The author saw the point and it sailed over his head. "From their large and fervent correspondence" is key here. Like I said earlier, I don't know enough about Martha Jefferson, but I bet that "handsome, musical, frail" is probably not an all-encompassing picture of her. The similarity between her and Eliza? We don't have the letters that they wrote to their husbands. It's unfair to judge Theodosia (don't get me wrong! she was well read and intelligent, that's not what i'm denying) from her correspondence with Burr, but then not acknowledge that the lack of that perspective would impact how we view the other two women.

And to top it all off:

Unlike Jefferson's and Hamilton's, Burr's character was molded by the love of a woman of immense force and intelligence.

Neither Hamilton nor Jefferson married a woman who evidenced such force of character and independence of view.

Jesus Christ. There's plenty to criticize about Jefferson & Hamilton, and I really wanted to see a well-reasoned argument about Burr's character and whatnot but this lacks nuance and is unnecessarily dismissive. It pisses me off that a book that seems determined to break down the idolized version of Hamilton, somehow ends up using his wife to further their angle, just like biased Hamiltonian biographies. In both cases, Eliza is the plain, unintelligent, steadfast wife. For sympathetic authors like Chernow, that's somehow justification for the Reynolds affair. For Roger G. Kennedy, that's used in an argument against her husband. "Let's talk attitude towards women! Hamilton & Jefferson didn't have intellectual wives! Point for Burr!"

I don't know nearly enough about Martha Jefferson to say anything of merit, but really?

To give credit where credit is due, I think Kennedy is trying to make the point here that Theodosia Bartow Burr was a major influence on Burr, as "Burr's character blossomed in the radiance of his wife and mentor". He also goes on to talk about various genuine reasons why Burr's attitude towards women is noteworthy. But I still don't like the way he dismissed the other two women as what? Not smart enough to help their husbands' characters blossom? Maybe there's merit to this book outside of this one section, The Women, but right now I'm not in the mood. Am I being dramatic? Idk.

#aughh i'm pissed so maybe i'm being too dramatic #idk let's post it on the internet for everyone to see. smart decision.#alexander hamilton #thomas jefferson #aaron burr #martha jefferson #elizabeth schuyler #elizabeth hamilton #theodosia bartow burr #historical hamilton #amrev #elizabeth schuyler hamilton

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seriouslysnape · 2 years

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One Time Encounters

Remus Lupin x Fem! Student! Reader

Warnings: Sexual content. Smut. Mutual pining. Teacher/Student relationship. Age gap smut.

A/N: Reader is of age! Part 1 here

Word Count: 3.5k

“I...I don’t know what to do now.”

Remus’ heart was beating a million miles a minute. His body was pumped full of adrenaline as his feet guided him through the halls of the castle from memory. Never in his life had he been so anxious to get to his office. His office was the target destination, and Remus was reeling the entire way there.

This is happening. Fuck. This is happening.

Remus was taking every back corridor and detoured route that he could possibly take. He was diligently making sure to avoid the Portraits, Filch, and any students roaming around after dinner. That was something that he knew that he couldn’t explain. Rushing through the halls while holding the hand of a student with a very obvious hard-on was NOT something he could cover up. The chances of getting caught were hardly a concern for Remus right now. He had a window of opportunity in front of him that was wide open. He couldn’t not take this opportunity. He’d always wonder “what if” if he didn’t take it.

It had only been in Remus’ dreams that he had been able to live this moment. In his mind, that would only ever be a dream confined to the walls of his internal palace. He had always scolded and corrected himself every time that train of thinking snuck up on him. Just the night before he had reprimanded and beat himself to hell because he had an orgasm with floating, moving pictures of you in his imagination. His self-control and professionality had always won out over his lustful thinking. It was always the same reasoning for why he absolutely, positively could not do this.

She’s a student, Remus. Don’t fucking do this.

He hardly considered this to be impulsive. Remus would be lying if he hadn’t considered possible ways to make this work in the best way possible. Remus had calculated the risks. He had weighed the options and ran through all the pros and cons. Of course he wanted this. He wouldn’t have kept bringing it up to himself if he didn’t. The main issue boiled down to one thing: you.

Remus would never forgive himself if you got into trouble on his behalf. You had so much life ahead of you. Your life as a witch was merely just beginning. The world of magic was just being opened up to you, and you were just now having the chance to utilize your skills. Remus couldn’t live with himself if he knew that was taken away from you because the two of you were involved.

He wanted to protect you, and he was trying to be the voice of reason for both of you. Somehow, he just couldn’t let this go. The woman that he was hand-in-hand with wasn’t helping his case because you were just as antsy as he was.

“Professor, I’m not one to question the actions of my superiors,” You whispered harshly, barely able to keep up with his long strides as you rounded the corner to the hallway where his office was located. “But are you sure this is a good idea?”

Remus opened the door to his office with vigor, snatching you inside and practically slamming the door shut. He pressed you against the closed door, cornering you just as he had just a few moments ago.

“No.” He answered.

He kissed you then, desperately and with so much need that it nearly collapsed your knees. He felt a high then that was unlike anything that he’d ever experienced. His mouth on yours was beyond any of the ways he had imagined it. Just kissing you was making him grow harder by the second. His hand came to your face to draw you in closer as he used his frame to keep you pushed against the hard surface of his office door.

Remus had committed himself the moment that he confessed that he harbored feelings for you that were less than student/teacher friendly. That line had been crossed, and there was no turning back now. He knew that this was against every rule written in the book. There wasn’t a single excuse or reason in the world that he could come up with that would grant him a pass for this. He was screwed if anybody were to know about this.

This is fucked up, Remus. Obliviate her and forget it.

Remus gave that intrusive thought absolutely no consideration. Forget it? He nearly laughed out loud at that suggestion. He wasn’t going to abandon this moment and send you on your way magically brainwashed. Fuck the rules. This was something that he felt was worth the risk of breaking the rules and getting caught.

It’s wrong, Remus. You’re better than this.

Remus’ internal debate was cast aside momentarily when he was forced to step backwards due to you pushing yourself off of the door that he had you pinned against. The kiss hardly broke, and Remus would’ve never wished for a moment where it had. He stumbled back further into his office that barely had any real illumination to it. The lamp that Remus had lit earlier in the day was still burning strong, but it only offered enough light for Remus to see what was directly in front of him.

And oh did he love what he saw.

The back of Remus’ legs hit the edge of his desk, bringing both of you to a halt.

The desk. How perfect. How convenient.

Remus’ own subconscious had turned to sarcasm because there was no way of convincing him to back out now. If he was going to enjoy the journey, then so was his sense of morale.

“I never- I...I have to admit that I never really imagined this coming to life.” Remus babbled when the two of you stopped for air, but took the chance to begin getting the other undressed and out of your clothes.

Nerves had plagued you. Your fingertips trembled ever so when you worked to unbutton the buttons on his dress shirt. The reality of what was happening, and what was about to happen had come to your realization. Remus didn’t even understand what kind of dirty things that you had imagined about him. If he knew even half of the scenarios that you had played out in your mind to get an ear ringing orgasm, it would bring a blush to his face.

The difference was that you hadn’t felt an ounce of guilt for it. Remus was a respectable, kind, and intelligent professor. He was a good person outside of a good professor. Why should you feel guilty for being attracted to someone like him? You supposed the answer was a weak one but still the truth -- and also one that you shared with Remus for his own dilemma.

You never thought that this would actually happen.

“Me either,” Your voice nearly cracked. “It doesn’t feel real.”

His eyes visibly darkened when your uniform blouse fell to the floor with a whisper of a thud. He almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. When he had imagined it so many times, and now it was actually happening in real time -- his brain found difficulty in making logical sense out of it.

His hands were planted on your sides the moment that your bra hit the floor, pulling your breasts closer to him so he could put his mouth to work. His tongue swirled your nipple, sucking and kissing them shamelessly.

A strain of a moan shivered from your chest. Your mind was already on its way to being a foggy puddle, and it wouldn’t be long before you were completely clouded over.

Remus’ slacks were discarded and tossed somewhere in the room without much care or regard. The head of his cock teased and pressed at the space between your thighs underneath the skirt that Remus didn’t bother to remove.

In circumstances that were less rushed, Remus wouldn’t be this fast paced and desperate to get things moving. He liked to take his time and savor the moment, but this didn’t quite call for that.

There was a new rush of adrenaline, and at this point he was running off of pure hormonal energy. He swallowed hard at the feeling of his tip being just mere centimeters from where it wanted to be. He was so close. So unbelievably close. He literally just had to part your legs and pull you over his waist and fuck you the way that he had longed to. But there was a moment of bold clarity that stopped him in his tracks.

There was a slight shaking in your legs, and it wasn’t from the overeagerness of the activity that you were mere seconds from partaking in. The hint of anxiety written over your features was enough to make Remus stop cold. He hadn’t stopped to think about how this situation was just as high-stakes for you as it was for him. He wasn’t the only party here, and he wasn’t the only one who was going to be affected. He needed to be absolutely sure that you were just as willing to take this risk as he was.

“[Y/N],” Remus stopped completely, looking at you sternly. “If you don’t want this, tell me now. If you’re unsure of this or have any doubt, then we won’t do this. I have to hear you say yes.”

There was hardly a passing moment. It was the most confident, surefire acceptance he had ever heard in his life.

“Yes. I want this.” You nodded, your words clear as day.

That was all he needed to hear for the last crumb of doubt to dissolve away.

“Come here.” He rumbled, spinning around to where you were sitting on the corner of his desk.

His hands gripped the sides of your thighs, dragging you as far to the edge of the wooden structure as you could physically go to wrap your legs around his waist. His cock was twitching with anticipation, basically begging Remus to just do it.

“Next time I promise I’ll take my time.” Remus chuckled, a genuine smile appearing on his face as he looked down at your sprawled out frame over his desk.

“Will there be a next time?” You swallowed, a glimmer of desire sparkling over your pupils as Remus looked into them.

Fuck. What are you even saying? Remus scolded himself. Next time? Absolutely not, Remus. Just this once.

Remus said it to himself, but he didn’t believe it. If this happened now, then he was nearly positive that it would happen again.

“I hope so.” He shuddered, his voice husky and smooth.

There was a slight pause, a twin breath was taken -- and you entered the point of no return.

He lined himself up and slid in with the slowest speed that he could maintain. He shuddered out an exhale as he did so, keeping his head as level as he could.

There was a shared groan at the feeling. Remus’ mouth fell open as he rolled his hips forward to completely bottom out. It was taking every ounce of what was left of his self-control to start slow and tedious. This wasn’t a throwaway moment. He wasn’t using this time or using you just for sex. This was meant to be just as special for you as it was for him.

He felt the way that you stretched around him as he filled you. His hands tightened around your thighs as he stood motionless for a moment, allowing both you and him to soak up this feeling.

It felt so right. It was like you were a perfect fit for him. He had never experienced something that felt so flawless and so seamless. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that he had imagined it so many times or if it was just that good -- but whatever it was, it was intoxicating. His head was buried in the crook of your shoulder with his chest pressed against yours.

“Doing alright?” Remus asked, his voice muffled against the skin of your shoulder that he had left a kiss on.

“Yeah,” You whispered. “I...I need you to-”

“I know, I know. Me too.” Remus took another deep breath as he stood tall once more, and pulled his hips back to withdraw his cock.

There wasn’t a pause before he pushed back in, allowing no time for second thoughts. He felt like he was spinning, and if it weren’t for his grip on your hips, he was certain he would’ve fallen over. Remus didn’t hesitate any longer or waste any more time.

He found a rhythm, one that worked best for the both of you based on your most genuine noises of pleasure. It was a steady tempo, one that wasn’t too fast or too slow. He was consistent with his thrusts, and he didn’t leave any part inside of you untouched.

The desk wobbled with his movements, and your grip on the edge of the desktop was the only thing keeping you from shifting out of place. It didn’t take long for stars to begin dotting in your vision. You had never had someone this experienced take this kind of position over you. It was new, and it was different.

For now, any reservation that Remus had was gone. This was the rightest thing in the world to him right now. It was exceeding all of his dreams and expectations. How could he feel guilty about that?

Remus knew he’d be thinking about this for days. He knew that he’d be fantasizing about the next time and whatever he could dream up of doing to you. This was the beginning of something either really good or really bad...Remus wasn’t sure yet.

You rotated your hips to meet his thrusts, allowing him to hit the perfect spot. You could tell with each push back in that he had been waiting for this moment. You could feel the pent up tension in every rough entrance.

“You’re taking me well. Atta girl,” Remus rumbled a chuckle, a little surprised. “How you doing?” Remus asked again, ensuring your comfort and complete pleasure.

“So good. Please don’t stop.” You pleaded.

Every nerve in Remus’ body was on fire. He was exploding with pleasure and satisfaction. The way that your mouth was parted in response to his thrusts and your eyes meeting his every so often was an image that he had to see again. The feeling of dragging in and out of you was addictive, and for a moment, he knew he wouldn’t be able to allow this to be a one-time occasion.

The noises were quiet. Remus’ awareness of getting caught hadn’t gone anywhere. Even with a locked door and dark room, he had a sliver of fear that someone would walk in. He’d never be able to talk himself out of that one.

He needed to wrap this up. He feared that your friends would come looking for you or another professor would seek Remus for a work favor. In all honesty, it had been so long that Remus couldn’t last that long anyways. He couldn’t keep you here much longer, against his better wishes.

If he could’ve had it his way, he would’ve kept you there all night.

His thrusts into you never stopped, and he could feel his tip prodding against the furthest part into you that he could possibly go.

“I’m so...I’m going to...” You blubbered out.

Remus nodded with understanding, his head so full of fog that he couldn’t even form words. His grip on your thighs tightened, and he put all of his energy on making you finish.

With that, you involuntarily clenched around him and a pitchy cry sounded out as you crashed over your release. He was close behind, feeling himself spiral. With just three more thrusts, he pulled out and spilled his own release. He let out his own groan of relief as you opened your eyes, beginning to float down from your climax. Both of you were breathing heavily, minds racing, and hearts pounding.

There was a brief moment of bliss as the two of you fell from your highs. You know good and well that you had never had it that good before, and it was taking you a little longer to recover. His chest heaved as he breathed, both with adrenaline and with realization of what had just happened.

He hovered over you again after a moment, watching you intently. He was careful when lifting your limp body to meet his. He recognized that starstruck, blown away look in your eyes. He didn’t know what to say. It felt unbelievably inappropriate to tell you how good you were, but he didn’t really understand why.

Remus felt fulfilled, but also very, VERY nervous.

This had to stay a secret. This was the most top secret, confidential, never-to-be-spoken-about incident to ever exist. Remus was a goner if anybody ever knew about this. He’d be shunned and disrespected, and rightfully so. This was over the line. Way over the line.

He knew that he should’ve felt bad for having sex and sharing an intimate moment with a student that he was almost double the age of. He should’ve been ashamed of himself for breaking every rule and going against everything he ever stood for. He knew that he should’ve felt the absolute worst that he had ever felt.

But he didn’t. There wasn’t an ounce of remorse for what had just happened. As a matter of fact, he knew that this was almost a sorry attempt at what he could really do.

This was a teaser. This was merely a taste of what it could really be like. This only made Remus want it a million times more.That scared him to death, and it made him do something that he rarely ever did.

Remus began to panic.

He reached for his pants (only letting go of you when he was sure you could hold yourself up) that were around his ankles, snatching them up and fastening them. He grabbed your discarded blouse as well, and he began to help you get dressed. You were looking at him anxiously, because he was making you nervous. He felt you staring at him, but he kept his eyes focused on his hands trying to get you dressed.

“Professor, I-”

“Shh. Stop,” He waved a shaky, dismissive hand. “Don’t say anything.”

His fingers trembled as he worked on getting the buttons of your shirt buttoned. Somehow, it felt worse putting the shirt back on you than it did taking it off.

“Professor,” You ignored him. “I...I don’t know what to do now.”

“I don’t either.” Remus adjusted the collar of your shirt back to how it was before.

You took it upon yourself to adjust anything else that was out of place while Remus put his own shirt back on. There was an extended silence while the two of you worked separately to compose yourselves, but it was an awkward kind of quiet that you couldn’t stand to sit in.

“Listen. I can’t just show up to class tomorrow and pretend everything is normal,” You grew stern with him. “We’ve got to figure something out.”

“I know, I know. You’re right,” Remus’ hands swept his hair back stressfully. “I just didn’t think this far ahead.”

You landed on your feet from sitting on the desk, and you stood just a few feet away from him with an apprehensive look. This was part of the whole “do now, think later” mantra. The problem was that the “later” had arrived.

“The professor-student relationship is still between us. We can certainly remain professional.” Remus said, taking a breath to settle himself.

“Yeah, but is it going to be uncomfortable?” You bantered back.

Remus thought about that. He wasn’t sure how he was going to feel come Monday morning when you were sitting in your usual seat. Remus didn’t have an answer, which prompted you to go on.

“We’re mature. We can handle this the right way.” You reasoned.

“Absolutely,” Remus agreed. “I just...need time to figure out what the right way is.”

He felt stupid for being this unprepared. He should’ve been ready for this conversation. Now he felt like the world’s biggest douchebag -- rushing you out and not having an answer to any of your questions.

“I...guess I need to go then.” You swallowed, taking heavy steps towards the door of his office.

Remus felt like he needed to say something. Whether it was something to ease your mind or something to make you feel better about this. But no words came out. He only watched you make it across the room to leave him in the silence and darkness of his lonely office.

“If this needs to be a one-time thing, I...I understand, Professor.” You stopped when you made it to the door, but he caught the slightest bit of disappointment in your tone

Remus weighed his options. Morally, that was likely the best solution. A one-and-done event. No strings attached. The two of you would go on your merry and separate ways, and neither of you would have that craving and nagging “what if”. That seemed like the most logical route, and the best one to take.

But deep down, it wasn’t the one that either of you wanted.

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