#oh these tags always make me question every aspect of my life

[didhewinkback]

love of my life

a something old one shot about wembley week.

word count: 4k somehow ?, there's smut

---

2014

He collapses into the backseat of the car, clenching his eyes shut as another cough wracks through his body, trying in vain to take deep breaths through his stuffy nose, feeling so frustrated he could scream if not for the hoarseness in his throat. He had dreamt of this night since he was a little kid, never thinking it would ever actually happen and then when it finally did he didn’t even get to enjoy it properly, didn’t get a chance to celebrate that his years of hard work, resilience and sacrifice had actually paid off. 

Instead he had to spend every minute on that stage trying to stay upright, his fever addled brain working overtime to remember lyrics, stand at the right spot, gasp for breath between a congested nose and a never ending rotation of cough drops. 

Once the tears start they don’t stop, feeling so pathetic and angry and heartbroken, all he can do is curl in on himself and wish his mum were with him. Why couldn’t he have been this ill in Madrid? Or Kansas City? Or Perth? Why did it have to be fucking Wembley? 

His phone buzzes in his hand, disrupting his never ending train of miserable thoughts. It’s you, checking in. He was supposed to go out with you and Johnny after the show, supposed to celebrate the biggest night of his career. He can’t believe you guys came out to see him on stage like that, a wave of embarrassment rolling through him as he imagines what you must think. 

He starts rapid fire texting you back, apologizing for the show, apologizing for leaving early and missing the afterparty, just apologizing. He’s not even sure what he’s saying at this point, just knows that he is sorry and embarrassed and wants to be home alone in his bed. You’re trying to keep up with his texts, trying your best to assure him that he has nothing to be sorry about, that it was still a good show, that you’re sorry for him, that’s not his fault he’s been overworked and was too sick to perform, asking if there’s anything you can do. Offering company if he needs someone to talk to because he’s right, it’s fucked that this was the show he had to be ill for, that he didn’t deserve to have it happen this way. 

And he knows he should talk it out, knows there’s few things that make him feel better than having you as a sounding board but right now he feels so shit and just wants to stop thinking about it. He apologizes again and turns his phone off, leaning his burning head against the cool window. He knows he’s wallowing, he knows he’s so lucky to be doing even a fraction of what he has done it’s just …

It was headlining Wembley fucking Stadium. When will he ever get the chance to do something like that again?

2023

The screams of the crowd start to fade into the background as he sprints backstage, handing his mic pack over to Steve from sound and leaning in to mutter a request to Paddy before ducking into his dressing room, leaning against the door once it’s closed. Trying to catch his breath from the sprint, from this night, from this week. He shakes off the rain and closes his eyes, doing his damndest to commit every feeling flashing through him to memory, trying to relive each moment on stage that took his breath away, to think about in the years to come. Knowing he’ll never be this young on tour again, never this limber, never be with this exact group of people at this exact time ever again. 

It was the best night of his entire life. 

It hasn’t felt like that before. The love radiating towards him was palpable, he could feel it in the air, and he did everything to send it right back out. It was almost too much for one person to hold, he had no choice but to try to put it directly towards the people who helped get him here, shouting out his friends and family in the audience more than he ever has because he owes them everything and he wanted to share this feeling with them.

It was overwhelming, it was exhilarating and it was fun. It’s never been that fun. Gratitude flows through him as tears prick his eyes, his breath catching in his throat. How lucky he is to get to do this for a job, how lucky that this many people want to see his show, how lucky that he’s got this band and this crew working alongside him. How lucky, how lucky, how lucky. 

He stands there for several minutes, taking deep breaths, reliving the best parts of the show, how it felt to sing Gemma’s song to her, to get to thank the friends that took him in when he was young and alone in a big city for the first time, to get to thank the friends that loved him from the start, before he grew into the man who would perform in front of 90,000 people four nights in a row. He’s practically choking on the emotion now, feeling more alive than he’s ever felt, the happiest he’s ever been, just grateful for this moment and this life when a series of knocks snaps him out of his haze. 

“I’ve been summoned,” he hears you say on the other side of the door and if he could grin any wider, his face would split in half. 

He swings open the door and there you are. The rain did nothing to dampen how beautiful you look tonight, wearing one of his favorite sundresses of yours, your eyes as red-rimmed with tears as he imagines his are. You take him in for a moment, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as your breath catches and you shake your head in disbelief, seemingly as shocked and stunned by the night as he is. 

“That was…” you start to say but drift off, emotion clogging the words in your throat as you just stare at him.

“I know.” 

“Just like…what the fuck?” you say and it shocks a laugh out of him, his head tilting back and shoulders shaking. He watches the smile grow on your face and that’s when you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding tight. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close, lifting you slightly off the ground as he pulls you into the room and kicks the door shut behind you. 

“‘M sweaty,” he warns and it just makes you tighten your arms around him more. 

“Don’t care,” you say softly. “I’m so, so proud of you.” 

And suddenly, he’s at a loss for words again. Not able to think about anything but how you feel in his arms, your steady heartbeat tethering him to the moment, the praise you’re murmuring in his ears making him feel warm all the way down to his toes. He’s overwhelmed at the thought of how much this week has felt like coming home, finally. Like the biggest, warmest welcome back to a place he has had to leave more often than he would ever like to. He felt it monumentally, magnanimously on stage and now he feels it here, on a much smaller scale, in the way your nails feel scratching against his scalp, the fabric of your damp dress against the bare skin of his chest, the sound of your voice in his ear. 

“It’s never felt like that before. Watching you.” you say, pulling your head back to look at him, warm eyes full of affection and it almost makes him preen.  He just had 90,000 pairs of eyes on him but being the center of your attention is what makes his heart skip a beat. 

“Was unreal, wasn’t it?” he says, skin warming under your gaze, knowing the words are wholly inadequate to sum up how this night has felt but selfishly wanting you to keep talking about it, not ready for the show to become a distant memory quite yet. 

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you that happy up there. That free. Just like completely in your element.” you say, a smile growing on your face as you huff a sheepish laugh at yourself. “Think I started crying the second you walked out there and didn’t really stop. You’ve turned me into the weepy girlfriend and for that I will never forgive you.”  

He laughs, lowering you to the ground in favor of bringing his hands up to cup your face, thumbs rubbing over the tear tracks there as you slide your hands down his back to wrap around his waist.

“Liked the show, then?” he asks, and by the roll of your eyes, he knows you know what he’s doing and he knows you’ll indulge him all the same.

“I loved it,” you say sincerely, the love in your eyes making him feel weak in the knees. “I love you.”

He closes the distance between you without a second thought, doing his best to express himself through every drag of his lips against yours. This has never felt like this before either, to get to be with someone who loves and supports him the way you do. Who knows him so well, who has seen the good, bad and the ugly and instead of taking off and running, just loves him harder, louder, fiercer. Adrenaline spikes through his veins as he deepens the kiss, his tongue curling against yours in a way that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

He walks you backward until you're pressed against the door and he’s pressed against you, not an inch of space between you. He pulls away from your mouth to kiss along your jaw and down your neck, paying special attention to the spots he’s become familiar with, the ones that make you sigh into his ear, a sound that replays in his mind over and over whenever he’s missing you late at night. 

He feels himself getting hard against your thigh, no longer thinking of anything but how you taste, how you smell, how you feel. He loves you, more than he’s ever loved another person, more than he ever thought himself capable of. The temporarily dormant energy from the stage comes flooding back and he knows he’s got a room full of people waiting upstairs to celebrate with him but right now, he just needs you close. He needs you now. 

“Did you want to keep talking about the show?” you ask, your breath catching in your throat and it makes his heart skip a beat, your familiarity with his favorite post show routine making him melt as he shakes his head, not willing to pause his ministrations against your skin. 

It’s one of the things he loves doing most when you’re on tour with him, spending time after the really good shows to dissect his favorite bits and hear all of yours, hear how much you loved it, loved him. He knows if he said that’s what he wants to do right now you’d happily pull away and indulge him with detailed answers about how the show felt from your point of view, your favorite note changes, the jokes that made you laugh the most but it’s not what he wants right now. All he wants is you. 

“If we had more time, I’d get on my knees for you.” he mumbles against your neck, tongue darting out to suck at your skin. 

“Funny, I was just going to say the same thing.” you say back, making him groan, his hands falling to your hips, pulling you close. “But the party started already -”

“Yeah but I am the boss,” he says, feeling high off this night, off you. “So the party really doesn’t start until I say so.”

“I hate how much you loved saying that,” you say with a laugh, your hands sliding over his chest. You dig your nails in when he bites down on your neck and he feels like he’s on fire.

“Think y’ liked it a little bit,” he says, pulling away from your neck to kiss you deeply, hand sliding down to squeeze your ass.

“Can feel myself drying up as we speak.” you say and he sputters out a laugh, giving you a cheeky spank when he feels you laughing against him. 

“That sounds like a bloody lie,” he mumbles against your mouth, his hand sliding from your ass to your thigh, hastily pulling up your dress, dragging his fingers across your skin once he has access to it. He pulls back slightly to look at your face, your swollen lips and blown out eyes. You’re the hottest thing he’s ever seen. He slides his fingers over your core, smirking when you gasp, feeling how wet you are through your underwear. “Feels like one too.”

“Told you.” you say, and you’ve got that look in your eyes that’s his kryptonite, looking at him like you’re going to eat him alive and it stokes the fire already burning in his belly. He doesn’t even have to hear the next words come out of your mouth, he knows he’s already done for. “I really liked the show.” 

He crashes his mouth to yours, pulling kiss after kiss from your plush lips, his hips rolling against yours when you moan into his mouth. He snaps the waistband on your underwear, doing his best to help you pull it off without straying too far from your lips, pulling you back into him once you kick it off your ankles. 

“Off. Take this off.” you mumble against his mouth, already pushing the straps of his dungarees down.

“Hang on, there’s a zipper -” He squeezes your thigh before reaching around the back of his dungarees, hastily unzipping to help you ease the trousers down his hips, pausing when you do, your hands stilling on his skin. He looks up at your face to find you staring at his cock, an unreadable expression on your face. 

“Are you - are you not wearing pants?” you ask breathlessly, a surprised laugh breaking through your words. 

“You did say I was freer than ever on that stage -” 

“Oh my god, I am not having sex with you anymore -”

“Heeey.” he says, unable to stop the smile growing on his face at the sound of your laugh. He smacks a kiss to your cheek as he pulls his dungarees all the way down, leaving them pooling at his ankles. It looks ridiculous but he’s too turned on to care, stomach flipping when you slide your hands on his skin, fingers dancing over his obliques, nails digging into his pecs. 

“Can’t believe you were freeballing at Wembley.” you say as he snorts, grabbing your thigh to hitch it over his hip, leaning in to capture your lips with his. 

You pull the hem of your dress up with one hand as you slide the other to the back of his neck, gripping hard when he swipes his fingers through your folds, lightly circling your clit. He’d do just about anything to make you moan into his mouth like that, fingers playing with you a little longer than necessary until you bite down on his lip in impatience. 

“Ready?” he mumbles against your mouth.

“Been ready since half past eight.” you shoot back as he huffs a laugh. “Need you.”

“Y’ have me, baby. Y’ have me.” he mutters nonsensically, quickly pulling his fingers away and using them to guide his cock against your core, both of you moaning at the sensation before he guides himself into you, choking on air when he thrusts all the way in. 

White hot heat sears through him and he has to clench his eyes shut, your warmth and wetness almost too much to bear. He could stay here forever he thinks, feeling you clench around him, moaning lowly in his ear. This is it for him. Until - 

“H. Move.” 

He opens his eyes, the look on your face taking his breath away as he starts to thrust into you, lips falling to any part of your skin he can reach. 

“Watching me on stage got y’ this wet?” he grunts out. “All this for me?”

“Always.” you breathe out, pulling him in closer. “You looked so good up there. You did so good. Made me so proud -”

“Baby -” he leans in to kiss you deeply, tongue messily swiping over yours as he grabs your thigh, adjusting the angle in a way that makes you both moan. 

He rests his forehead against yours, watching the way every thrust, drag and swivel of his hips hurdles you closer and closer to the edge, your eyes fluttering closed when he hits it just right. Everything else fades away and all that matters is the feeling of your tight, hot cunt, and those quiet sounds you can’t stop making. You slide your hand down his arm until it settles on his tattoo of your initial, pressing your thumb into the skin and he almost bursts on the spot. 

“That’s right, baby. ‘S all for you.” he moans out, biting down on your jaw when you clench around him. “‘M all yours. ‘M all yours. ‘M all yours.”

He slides his hands around your waist, sliding down to your ass as he grips and lifts you up, bringing your other thigh up to settle around his hips. You gasp against his mouth as he holds you up,  pressing you further into the door. 

“This okay?” he pants out.

“Yeah - please. H - I’m -” you lean in to kiss him as he starts to move again, the new angle making him glide across your clit in a way that has you biting down on his lips. 

“Baby, I’m -”

“Me too. Doing so good.” you say as he digs his fingers into your skin, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic, sparks shooting down his spine as he flies towards the edge. 

“Need you to come first. Can y’do that for me?” he grunts out, gritting his teeth to swivel his hips in the way he knows will get you there, watching the way your mouth drops open, blown out eyes never wavering from his. 

You lean in to nip at his bottom lip, one hand sliding up to rest at the base of his throat, the other sliding down to rub circles on your clit as he tightens his hold on you, arm muscles bulging as he gives it to you as best he can.  He picks up his pace and you lightly squeeze down on his throat as he moans, fire licking up his spine at the sensation. Everything’s warm, hot, wet.  All he can feel, smell, taste and touch is you. He doesn’t know how it can get any better than this, and then you squeeze down a little harder, leaning in to bite at his earlobe before whispering: 

“You’re the boss.” 

Jesus fuck.

That’s it. He can’t hold on any longer, a moan punching out of him as he comes hard, seeing stars as he grunts against your skin, feeling you follow suit quickly after, the way you clench around him as you come has him biting down on the skin of your neck, nails digging into your thigh. 

That was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him, is still happening to him, he feels like he’s coming forever as his body shakes with aftershocks, tongue darting out to suck at the skin of your neck as you both try to catch your breath, chests heaving. 

After a few moments, he pulls back to look at you, eyes roaming over the blissed out look on your face as he leans in to kiss you softly, lips dragging against yours once, twice, three times before he feels you laugh, leaning back to look at you. 

“What?” he asks, begs more like, desperate to know what’s going on in your brain, always. It’s something he never had this much exclusive access to before and now that he has, he’s addicted. He plants a line of kiss across your face as you giggle, arms tightening around your waist. 

“You’re so easy,” you say, looking at him with mirth in your eyes. “All I had to do is say one little word and you just -”

“Heey,” he says, laughing when you do. “‘S not what happened.” 

The dubious look on your face makes him pause, he can feel warmth blooming on his cheeks as he shrugs. 

“‘M mean, it definitely helped.” he says, watching the way your tongue slides out to lick your lips, helpless to do anything but kiss you again before pulling back to mumble against your mouth: “I was done for the second you said watching me up there made y’ wet.”

“Liked that, did you?”

“Liked all of it.” he says, eyes never wavering from yours, still feeling the ghost of your hand on his neck right before he came. He kisses along your neck, nuzzling his head there and breathing deep. “Still inside you. Could go again. Just keep calling me the boss, I’ll be ready in no time.”

You laugh and shove his shoulder as he giggles, smacking a kiss to your cheek as he slowly pulls out, lowering you back to the ground on your own two feet. 

“I’m not going to be the reason you miss the chance to run around an empty stadium with all your mates. It’s your favorite bit.” 

There’s just something to that, something he’s never experienced before. You say it so nonchalantly, as you bend down to pick up your underwear off the floor, muttering about needing to find something to clean yourself off with and he just stands there, naked in the middle of his dressing room, his dungarees still at his ankles and all he wants to do is throw away all those plans he made and get down on one knee right here. 

He won’t do that, the ring isn’t ready yet and he’s already planned and replanned everything ten times over, he thinks with a shake of his head, kicking the dungarees all the way off and heading over to his bag, pulling on a pair of briefs and joggers as his mind whirls. 

It’s just - there is something to being known the way you know him, really know him, not in the way everyone out there thinks they do but it’s like - you understand him. You see him for who he is beyond the sold out stadiums and awards and screaming fans. You see who he is in the littlest of moments, the small habits he hadn’t really known he had but you’ve picked up on because you pay attention to him, because you love him. To be this known and this loved is something he’s never experienced before, a safety net he’s never had before. 

Everything in his life has been in a constant state of change, living a nomadic lifestyle since he was just a teenager but this week, these shows, these crowds, this city, have given him a sense of belonging he hadn’t known he was craving, hadn’t known he was missing. The fear that this could all go away in an instant, which he once thought was a permanent state of existence, of living, of being has become a small voice in the background.  

He’s not afraid of losing everything because he has you, he trusts you, he loves you and he knows you’re not going anywhere. And you - you are everything. 

He’s so lost in his own head he barely registers the sounds of the sink in the adjoining bathroom, barely hears you gripe “All the foundation in the world couldn’t cover these love bites so cheers for that”, barely feels your eyes on him as you make your way back into the dressing room. 

“Hey,” you say softly, stepping into his eyeline as you stand in front of him, hands coming up to his face, thumb wiping away the tears that had fallen unbeknownst to him. “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” he says, blinking back the tears as he smiles at you, taking a deep breath. “Just overwhelmed.”

“It’s been a big night. Big week.” you say and he nods, wrapping his arms around your waist as your hand finds its place in his hair, fingers running through the strands in his favorite pattern. “You deserve all of it. Every bit.” 

“Couldn’t have done this without you, you know.” 

“H -”

“‘M serious, just let me -”  he says, shaking his head, wanting to get the words right, knowing he won’t be able to express more than a fraction of what he means, what you mean. “Y’ make me feel like I can do anything because you love me. ‘Nd I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to explain to you properly how that makes me feel but I - I just really love you. I’ve never been loved the way you love me. ‘Nd I’ve never, ever loved anyone the way I love you.”

He watches as tears fill your eyes, the way you’re looking at him in awe, in love, it’s a look he wishes he could bottle up forever. You lean up to kiss him and he pulls you in closer, getting lost in the feeling of your lips against his, your hand in his hair, how he can feel your heartbeat racing. 

“I love you so much,” you say when you pull back slightly, “You’ll never -”

“I feel it, love. Promise I feel it. Promise I know.” he murmurs, pulling you in and kissing you again, just needing you as close as possible. 

“We have to get out of here and you have to put on a shirt,” you mumble in between kisses, “or we will never leave.” 

“Won’t see me complaining.”

“Everyone’s waiting to celebrate you,” you say, pulling back but he follows you, kissing along your jawline. “And we can continue our own celebration later, yeah? I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got time.” 

He pulls back at that, eyes grazing over your features before leaning in to kiss you again, humming into it, thinking he’s never heard anything sweeter in his life. 

You’re not going anywhere and you’ve got time. 

It’s so simple but it feels so right, he thinks as he releases his hold on your waist and quickly slips into his jacket, looking up at you to find your hand extended, waiting for his. He slips his hand into yours, interlocking your fingers and squeezing once. 

A rush of emotions washes over him. He feels everything, all at once from this night, this week, this year, this tour. And here you are, here you’ve been, holding onto his hand. Not going anywhere. He wants to tell you everything this means to him, wants to marry you yesterday, start a family, wants to do it all with you. But he’s got an empty stadium with his favorite people waiting for him, waiting to celebrate the greatest night of his career, of his life. And you’ll be next to him the whole time. 

It’s like you’ve said, you’ve got time.

---

taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

#something old #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #oh these tags always make me question every aspect of my life #let me know what you think pls !!! #wembley made me lose my mind so i wrote a lot about it

[heartofspells]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you for the tags, @brandileigh2003 @tracingpatternswrites & @mycupofrum!

Username: heartofspells

1. How many works do you have on A03?

96, all of them HP except for one lonesome Supernatural fic

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

1,685,584

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Harry Potter, though I've dabbled in a few others, only one fic of which is still available for Supernatural

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

At the Healing Edge of Broken

Prick the Craving, Watch it Seep

Multiplying Parents

How to Succeed in Business

The Tying of Canines

5. Do you respond to comments?

I used to. Hardly ever anymore, and unfortunately, I've got solid reasons for that. I will respond to them if someone asks a question that legitimately needs answering or similar. And while I maybe don't respond to them anymore, I do read every single one multiple times. I love comments, and I'm so grateful for everyone who takes time out of their lives to leave them for me <3

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ah...heh. That's really not an easy question to answer for me. I guess, coming from a personal stance, knowing everything I put into it and the build up that led to then ending, I'd have to say Wasteland. That's the one that's still lingering with me to this day.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

That's also hard to answer, because as much as I love flooding my fics with angst, I have a lot that end very happy or hopeful. Narrowing it down to longer fics with more character arc throughout, I'd probably say This Way We Fall because it leaves them on such a high note after all the struggle.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Unfortunately, yes, but that's part of it, I guess. I've become better at ignoring it.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do, but at the end of the day, it's mostly just typical smut when I look at it, though I do have a few kinkier ones scattered in there (ceiling smut, er...inter-species stuff). There's also the...not entirely nice stuff when it comes to smut as well simply because I like exploring all aspects of most everything.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Haven't so far. Doubt I ever will, but you never know.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of. I hope not.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have! I co-wrote Family on the Mend with @tracingpatternswrites and it was so much fun! I'd love to co-write more fics in the future!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

It's gonna have to be Wolfstar just because that's where my heart has rested for years, but there are others that run as close seconds.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh god. YOU. It's not posted anywhere, still only exists in my docs, but I'm convinced that fic will haunt the rest of my life.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I always struggle with questions like this, but that also means I've spent a lot of time thinking about it over the years. I think, mostly based on reactions I've had and what other people have said, that I'm quite good at capturing heavy and deep emotions, hopefully enough to not only grip a reader, but to plunge them into the heart of a scene and make them feel those emotions as well.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Details? There are times I think I'm terrible at this, and not just in fiction writing. It's in everything. Something might exist in my head, and I sometimes manage to forget that not everyone can see my exact thoughts and know what I'm thinking, so I leave important bits and pieces out of things and explanations that only end up confusing people - or worse, makes me seem not so great in general simply because I forgot the inclusion of a very important point when it mattered most.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I'm not against it, though it's not something I generally do because I don't know any other languages and that's a risky game to play. I'll only include it if I've spoken to someone who speaks that language fluently and has agreed to translate for me. But having other languages in a fic is a wonderful thing, especially if you're trying to include other cultures, though speaking as someone who has to rely on things like Google Translate that aren't always accurate, included translations are always appreciated.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

This changes constantly for me. I'm not sure how it couldn't. I love most of the fics I've written, and it's like choosing a favorite child sometimes. However, I think right now I'd have to say it's a toss up between CRuSH (i'm just so proud of this one) and Multiplying Parents (also very proud, and this one was so much fun and makes me grin every time i think about it).

Open tag! Because I'm very late to this and I've got the feeling most everyone has done this by now.

#20 questions #tag game

[beartitled]

Hello there!! I was looking through some of the discord shenanigans posts and I was just wondering if you’re accepting new members?

Hi! Well first of all, glad you enjoyed the comics! It means a lot to know that you enjoyed those silly shenanigans ❤️

Sadly I’ve already left the server recently, so can’t really help much 🤷

For ppl curious my rambling, as always, will be under read more👇

As for you question:

the server’s called “TSP creators club”

yes, I believe they still accept new members, you can contact @/kelpiekidd or @/heckinrissa I think (not tagging them, to not disturb them)

They’re mods there, should help with it 🤷

This might sound weird to some ppl bc I was heavily associated with TSPcc

To be frank I wouldn’t be where I am right now, if not TSPcc: I would’ve never stuck with The Stanley Parable for as long as I did, never could’ve met so many wonderful creative people (many of whom are my friends right now)

+the server kick-started my recognition as a creator

For that I’m thankful and still look back at this part of my life with a warm smile

But nothing can last forever

(god I’m saying it like something horrible happened, which is not the case)

Basically

The reasons are mostly the same as why I left the TNP fic*: I’m not active on the server + most of my friends left from there

(*TNP - The Narrative Parable fanfic – a collaborative project involving many other creators and narrators)

So um yea, this might not be enough of a reason

But I will not do a whole comic on “The history of TSP fandom” right 📓🖋️

(oh wait I might actually 😭💥 you will maybe get this joke far in the future)

___________________

I also want to address

Discord Shenanigans aged, quite a lot

I do not regret making those comics, I still like them to this day

But

That content is not something I want to be known for, to me, it’s part of the past

I look back at them as archived memories

They are like an old photo album of sorts 📒

____________________

This does not mean I’m leaving TSP fandom

Want to be clear on that one

I still enjoy the game and the community it built around itself

Yes I still enjoy the fandom, despite meaningless drama in the community that ruins the fun for everyone

(It’s my first fandom I was a part of, I’m biased ok 😈)

‼️ I do not justify any messed up people who are or were in the fandom ‼️

What I’m trying to say that drama/creepy people are just part of any fandom experience honestly

I totally understand people who just don’t want to be a part of the fandom, it’s reasonable and valid. I’ve heard some really messed up stuff, I don’t know the full extent of every situation and don’t want to discuss it. I don’t believe I have the right, nor the information to even mention it. Creeps are not a fandom’s problem, creeps are just a problem.

And if people don’t want to address those situations: do not harass them with questions. If people want to address their experience or thoughts, they will. If they don’t want to start drama/don’t feel comfortable/just simply don’t want to - you should respect their decision. No person is obligated to report anything to the crowd.

On the side note (since I can’t shut up) - Barry

I kinda 👀

I kinda wanna explore him as a character and tell the story I made for him 👀✨

I will make a separate post about him later down the road

But as for now: yes the potential story revolves around tsp + Narratorverse aspects, yes I may abandon that idea bc of how complicated it is, yes I’m talking and overthinking too much - we will get there when we get there 🤚

So I’m still here, I still care about tsp creators: they do amazing stuff and they are wonderful people

As always sorry for that scroll of text 👉👉 thanks for your time, see you in the next random huge text post 👋

#bear answers #bear text rambling #yay new tag to organise long posts #tsp fandom #tspud fandom #discord shenanigans #discord server #narratorverse

[orchideous-nox]

🕯️,🥤,🧃,🍄,🍬,❄️,🏜️,🍅,🐝 and 🎨 for the writers truth or dare ask game < 3

it's 12:20am lets see if I can get through these by 1am lets goooo oh my god this is so many okay

🕯️- on a scale from 1 to 10, how much do you enjoy editing? why is that?

Like a 3, maybe a 4. The only part of editing I enjoy is that its the last step in the writing process and then I get to upload the fic, I just find it boring and lowkey stressful and 1 typo always makes it's way into the fic no matter what I do

🥤 - recommend an author or fanfic you love

okay I can't just keep saying Alex (but also yes I can, go check out heartnipnops on ao3) and I recently read "I adored you Madly, Extravagantly, Absurdly" by MiriamMT which I devoured like way too quickly so I'll go with that!

🧃 - share some personal lore you never posted about before

*gasp* KATIE LORE?! Okay eerrrmmm trying to think about what I have or haven't posted. I have a degree in Film Studies, I wrote my dissertation on representations of masculinity in Hollywood films of the 1990s with a focus on Robin Williams in Jumanji, Mrs Doubtfire and Good Will Hunting! That was a lot of fun to write and I can occasionally get pretentious about films from time to time. I am always down to talk films with people though

🍄 - share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

okay love this, I don't usually keep track of my hc's and don't want to revert back to my usual bottom barty and evan collects teeth bullshit.

It seems to have made it into my fics' canon that Barty’s phone screen is always smashed or cracked but I think Evan’s is pristine like he has a fucking bumper phone case incase he drops it, with a screen protector and if it gets the slightest scratch he gets frustrated and buys a new screen protector.

🍬 - post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

Again, I don't want to just say bottom Barty again but that is a hill I'll die on. I think a fair amount of my opinions are relatively popular, or at least aren't unpopular.

Okay so I came back to this and I have nothing. Scouse Barty. Not an opinion, I'm here for it though.

❄️ - what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best

i shouldn't say too much about this but my lovely friend who sent me this ask, Alex, has a future fic on his masterlist that we have discussed extensively of like a stalkery and murdery Rosekiller fic that I'm very obsessed with and he knows this and I'm very excited for it because its all I could want in a Rosekiller fic. This also makes it sound like I only have 1 friend because I just talk about Alex.......oh well

🏜️ - what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

Oh my god Alex just ask me to suck your dick next time 😒 but seriously I love when people pick out quotes that they like or certain aspects of the fic such as loving the ship dynamic or my writing style.

🍅 - give yourself some constructive criticism on your own writing

I withdraw the dick sucking joke, me and my inflated ego hate you.

I think there are times I need to learn to be more concise. I don't have to give a whole life story in a smut fic and some brevity might do me some good if I can learn how to say more in less words.

🐝 - tag your biggest supporter(s) and say one nice thing about them

Oh my god seriously 🙄

Okay so my biggest support is @futurequibblerjournalist aka Alex who I have been continuously hyping up and roasting in the answers to the questions he asked me. He knows he's my biggest supporter and, like a wanker, wants me to inflate his ego.

I could say that Alex has correct opinions (because we share a lot of them) or that he's a great writer but I've already said that like twice in this post. But above all Alex is just one of the best people I know, over the last 5 months we've talked like every day extensively and on good days or bad days he has been a light for me like a sparkly fucking bitch I hate him and myself so much I'm going to throw up now brb

🎨 - link your favourite piece of fanart and explain why you like it

I'm resisting temptation to make this about Alex and his stupid fucking Cowboy Rosekiller art based on my Cowboy Rosekiller fic 🖕

Actually no, we're making this an Alex-fest because fuck you.

i love it. I love everything about it.

But I'm also going to include one that isn't from my fic

This art by @julesart04 revolutionised my love for Barty and inspired a movement for Barty’s whorish waist on my page

Okay it's 1:10am and I'm pretty sure Alex is about to declare me as a stalker and block me ✌️

#ask game #katie lore

[thatdesklamp]

WAIT OMG-

been reading intrinsic warmth for a WHILE and your writing is top tier!! i always wondered to myself every time i’d read a chapter why the writing just STICKS, yk? i’m a MAJOR book girlie, i read 24/7.

AND THEN IMAGINE MY SURPRISE WHEN I READ ONE OF YOUR TAGS THAT YOU PUT UP ON ONE OF YOUR POSTS WHERE YOU WERE ANSWERING A QUESTION FROM ANOTHER LOVELY READER AND I SEE THAT YOU TOOK AN ENGLISH A LEVEL?

first of all (not 100% sure on this) but i’m pretty sure only british ppl take gcses, a levels, etc. YOU’RE BRITISH?

i feel like i’ve met my other half rn over something so tiny but yeah. IT LITERALLY EXPLAINS WHY YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD:

i could point out the NUMBER of times i’ve seen juxtaposition, symbolism, foreshadowing in your fic to someone if they’d asked me to point it out for them. at first i thought you might’ve done it unknowingly, and then i decided that nope, bc foreshadowing is such a BIG writing technique that it simply couldn’t have been by accident.

it’s one thing to know about a writing technique and another to actually be able to SUCCESSFULLY incorporate it into your writing. if it isn’t clear enough, i’m saying that you did it AMAZINGLY. you’ve got a natural talent and i’m envioussss (in a supporting way ofc 😭).

you should really look into making your own book, and i think you EXCEL at the supernatural aspect of plot in stories. your writing is so unique and different yet so warm, it reminds me of autumn (my favourite season).

idk how to end such a long message, ultimately i don’t have a reason for typing this up and shit. ik you have tons of people probably saying the same thing and it might just get repetitive for you, but i wouldn’t feel comfortable not being part of said bunch-of-ppl-probably-saying-the-same-thing.

oh! and take your SWEET TIME updating. it’s your story, your fic, your writing. the ONLY thing we readers can give you as a payback and thanks is time, patience, and understanding <3333

RAHHH BRITTANIA 💪💪💪💪

Agh. Yes—I’m British (English to be precise, sweet sweet caroline etc), hence the use of ‘u’s in words like ‘colour’ and ‘humour’, and also why everyone’s parents are their ‘father’ or ‘mother’ and not mum/dad. ‘Mom’ feels too American but ‘mum’ feels too rah engerland, yk? I’ve mentioned previously that I’m looking forward to writing fics where the characters are actually from England and where I’m actually allowed to write them the way I talk, mostly. Good lord am I excited.

And yes lol I took English for an A-Level. Bloody smashed it too, if I get to brag, mwahaha. Didn’t take it any further (I’ve also previously said that I’m a # woman in stem uni student, which is true), but I still write a killer essay imo. Give me 10 minutes to do a refresher on ‘Othello’ (it’s been a while okay) and I can talk for donkeys about his tragic fall and how much of a wanker he is. Which he is! I’m a Desdemona defender for life.

You say ‘natural talent’. PLS. No!! God no. Not at all. I wish—that would’ve made it a lot easier, but whatever I can do rn is down to bloody years of toiling away on my shitty little laptop, I promise. I’ve got another anon ask that asked about some writing tips so I’ll do the bulk of them there but my number 1 will always and forever be to practise. Whatever skill I have now has been earned over the many years. You don’t even want to see some of the stuff that will never grace my ao3 page (atla had me in a chokehold through covid and I have never been the same).

But you are genuinely so complimentary: this is so so lovely of you. Thank you?? It’s really weird being someone who writes and also someone who enjoys analysing literature; you’re right, half of the ‘techniques’ are intentional (the number of times I’ve flicked through some chapters’ drafts and thought, ‘fucks sake none of this makes sense, I need to add some decent foreshadowing or none of this will make sense in two chapters’), but also so much of my writing is just thinking, ‘hmm, this doesn’t really feel right. No no, I don’t like the vibe of this. I want this to feel more GRAAHHH and less lalalala. Lemme change this up a bit’. Whether that leads to the whole, short sentences->speeds up the pace of the reader when reading the section->increased tension, mimics actual fight encounter, etc etc (all the stuff you blag on about in eng lit), then maybe that counts as intentional? And maybe not.

Making my own book? That’s lovely of you to say but I also really don’t have any ideas for anything non-fanfic’y! Lol. I love a good bit of canon compliance, that’s my issue. That being said—hey, another eng a level reference—I’ve made multiple references here to being the world’s #1 ‘Atonement’ hater. Unfortunately, it also lives damn rent free in my head and I’ve got the bare bones of a WW2-era, perhaps epistolary, longform fic buzzing around. (Fandom: Marauders. I’m a disgrace but here we go). I’ve written nothing for it and maybe I never will, but that’s one of the only things I can see as being more standalone from original canon. Anyway: it’s the fanfic life for me. Ali Hazelwood’s life is but a distant dream.

But anyway! Thank you again for your lovely words. The next IW chapter will take a very long time, I have to be frank, so thank you for the reassurance that that’s not absolutely disgraceful lmao T_T Thanks again!! <3

#intrinsic warmth #I hope I have not accidentally hidden my englishness #the biggest event of this month isn’t Halloween or 1989tv — it’s the switch from bst to gmt babyy

[markantonys]

you play the sims?! 3 or 4? do you use mods at all, and if so, which one? do you keep sim autonomy on or off? sorry for the barrage of questions, it's just exciting to meet someone else who's into them :D

oh my god yes!! sims is one of my biggest obsessions and i don't know that many other people who play (or at least who are as into it as i am) so i'm thrilled to talk about it!!

i will start by saying that my WOT sims shenanigans tag may interest you haha although i forget if you've read the books or not, so be warned of potential book spoilers in my commentary on the behavior of my WOT sims!

anyway, nowadays i exclusively play sims 4. i loved sims 3 back in middle/high school, but i didn't play it for ages after 4 came out, and when i went back to try 3 again a couple years ago, i just couldn't do it haha i know some people like to hate on 4 and yearn for the glory days of 3, but as someone whose favorite aspect is building stuff and creating sims, i prefer 4 because it's MILES better in those respects. i do have fond memories of many hours spent playing 3 though!

then for mods, i try not to go too crazy because i play on my laptop which only has so much storage space, but by now i've acquired QUITE a stash of custom content despite myself (mostly clothes & hair, not as much build/buy stuff). i don't use too many actual gameplay mods though, the only big ones i have are mc command center, lumpinou's open love life mod to allow poly relationships, and pandasama's realistic childbirth mod to add some more depth to pregnancy. romance & family gameplay is my favorite type of gameplay, so those are the areas i'm most likely to download mods for! i also have a few other small mods such as a dating app mod and choosing your own university roommates, just kinda some quality-of-life improvements but nothing majorly game-changing. i've also been getting into pose mods in the past year so that i can stage nice photos of my sims to hang up around their houses!

i keep sim autonomy on, i like giving them the free will to be able to take care of themselves without me needing to specifically command them to do every single thing haha and it keeps things interesting when they're able to take it upon themselves to do something unexpected! (not that i won't go "nope you're not doing that" and cancel the action if i disapprove of it too much djkfgj)

oh i am also curious to know whether you're an aging on or aging off type of simmer? historically i've always been 100% aging off, i've always done rotational gameplay rather than legacy gameplay and so i prefer to keep aging off and just repeatedly make new households within the same world and have my new sims become friends with my sims from the previous households i dropped after getting bored with them, and everybody lives forever and ever until i eventually feel like the world is too crowded and start a brand-new save file. however, just recently i've been playing with aging on in a separate save file because i'm trying a legacy challenge for the first time! it's the whimsy stories challenge and i'm on generation 3 now and am having SO much fun. i definitely can't see myself switching to legacy gameplay forever now, i do still prefer rotational, but it's nice to have one save file where i'm changing it up!

to conclude, i will put in a few screenshots of some of my favorite sims from the past year or so just because i love them so much and want to show them off as if they were my children djkfg please do not feel obligated to read all my rambling about my children! but if you have any favorite sims or storylines that you've done i would love to hear about them!! it's always so interesting to hear what kinds of storylines other people like to go for, it's either "wow you're just like me fr!" or "wow you're playing a totally different game than i am (affectionate and impressed)"

i will preface this by saying that 1) i don't play on super high graphics because i don't want to kill my laptop, so pardon the screenshot quality if any of them don't look great, and 2) half the male sims i've made this year have been redheaded boytoys and i 100% blame rand al'thor for that. moving on!

first, my 3 whimsy stories heirs so far! eva (gen 1, eco nut), iris (gen 2, professor & super parent), and kiara (gen 3, disaster hoe). if/when i finish the whole challenge i'll probably do a post about all the generations because i'll be so proud of myself for getting through it all haha but for now i'll add pics of each of their families as well! for eva and iris it's the final family pic i took before moving on to the next generation, but i'm still halfway through kiara's generation so this is a mid-series pic from her big fat poly wedding.

in whimsy stories i waited all the way until gen 3 to introduce a redheaded boytoy into the mix, can you believe it? i did not exercise such restraint in the rest of the households in this post.

next, literally just discount rand and mat, i have no excuse. discount mat is named jamie (personality-wise he's not mat-like though, he's a writer) and discount rand i straight up named josha djkfgj to be fair i actually based him off of josha's character in a gay dutch romcom rather than off of rand because i was like "you know what? gay punk jock with a buzzcut is not a genre of sim i've done before." anyway, josha struggled in his life for a while due to having no job and no friends and being a hotheaded loner who is very bad at making new friends, but eventually he became a husband and a dad and a college grad and i was so proud of him!!

rich single mom natasha acquired a boytoy (eoin), as she should, and had a friends-with-benefits-to-lovers arc with him. yes i did make these sims immediately after watching the randfear storyline in wot s2, why do you ask? also, random picture of a family power walk because i thought it was adorable haha

her daughter anya had a kickass girlsquad in college and ended up marrying one of them. oh my god they were roommates!

and finally, possibly my favorite sims of all time, joanna and alex! i don't know what it is about them, maybe just my inner 12-year-old being weak for the "popular jock boy falls for shy nerdy girl" trope jkjfg but i just loved them so much. alex grew from a partyboy into the best and most devoted husband and dad in the world, and joanna from an awkward nerd into a kickass lawyer and novelist. they are also bi4bi which is important information! granted, almost all my sims are bi4bi

#i hope you don't regret enabling me jkdjfg if i could hold people hostage to show them my entire sims screenshot folder i would! #fidelias #answered

[uglypastels]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by: @eddiemunsons80sbaby 💖💖

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

My main posting site is tumblr, on which I have 387 titles in my masterlists, (443 individual writing posts if seperating multi-chaptered stories).

Then i've reposted 40 of these titles on AO3 and 10 on Wattpad.*

*Counted since 2018

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

40 fics - 518,511 words total

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I've written for MCU (actors) and co, the Irregulars, Stranger Things and One Piece (live action).

4. What are your top 5 fics?

I'm going by individual posts, not accumulated interactions through series.

Following the Herd

"Wearing His T-Shirt" blurb

"Overcoming the Nerves" blurb

Heaven and Hell

The Special

5. Do you respond to comments?

I always try my best to reply as soon as possible wether its an ask, reblog or comment. (Excluding wattpad, as i see that more like people annotating their reading and generally don't want to bother them. But i do always read them and appreciate them, and if something stands out or if someone comments a lot i will respond)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ooh i once killed reader off dramatically lol ("Car Crash" blurb) but I think the general reader's concensus would be Caught Me Slippin' , which I didn't even intend to make that angsty, but people cried (allegedly). And honestly, while i apologise for the emotional damage, i do take it as the highest compliment to be able to evoke such feelings.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my stories are quite happy and i'm not sure how to rate "happiness".

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I am actually surprised how scarce the hate is, and usually in the form of anons, because I always expect people to hate me. But thats on insecurities. Honestly, writing on here has always been amazing.

9. Do you write smut?

Yes. I hate it tho 😫 like, love smut in theory and concept but it's a bitch to write.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I love a lengthy and extended au, often inspired by other works (Not Wholly Evil is basically Stranger Things x Pirates of the Caribbean) but i think the only clear "crossover" i (remember to) have written would be Murder on the Dancefloor ??? which would be a tom holland x Strictly Come Dancing crossover lmao. I do often think about tv show crossovers in concept tho, but doubt i'll write any.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yup. Shit sucks.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, but it was done without my permission and uncredited (which is still stealing!!) so that sucks.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I've dabbled in co-writing, haha, several times avtually, but for one reason or another, none of the projects were ever published. Would love to one day actually fully co-write something with someone on here.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

Ngl, i'm not sure I have one. Probably why all of my stories are 'x reader'.

15. What's a WIP that you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

At this point I think this about every single one of my WIPs and that's writer's block for ya.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Hmm...i'd like to think the expression of emotion, showing how characters feel. And maybe world building- or thats at least my favorite thing in AUs. Maybe also details (either motives, references or foreshadowing)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm horrible at pacing. Always feel like i go too slow with the plot and then suddenly too fast and its all a mess, especially when it comes to series. Also just general knowledge on things; i feel like i don't know enough things to write about when it comez to daily and regular life, or even how to normally interact with people so that makes things hard when trying to be realistic. I also feel like i don't know enough words??? So things get really repetitive.

Oh, and this is also an aspect of writing- i'm horrible at getting feedback in the form of proofreading. It makes me physically sick having someone go through my work like that, and I barely do it myself. Which may result in some horrible typos/mistakes. And i do apologise profusely for that. Believe me, if you caught a mistake in my fic, i still think about it to this day.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in different languages?

Its always better if the writer is familiar with the language. Things you're comfortable with writing translate over better to the reader. It's like in movies/tv, its always better when you have an actor speaking a language they actually know. And if you don't know it, 1) ask yourself why are you writing it then and then 2) better research the hell out of it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

My first fic, that has since been deleted for a long time, was on wattpad and it was for a youtuber lmao. (peak 2013/15 era, thats all i'm gonna say)

20. Favorite fic(s) you've written?

From my most recent, in no particular order:

Following the Herd (eddie munson)

The Special (Sanji)

Not Wholly Evil (Eddie Munson)

Biggest Fan (Buggy)

Headlights (Eddie Munson)

This was so much fun to do at 4/5 am haha. Thank you for the tag again. Here are some peeps i'll be tagging (no pressure) 💜

@mydearzero @spiderrrling @eddies-house @elvendria @josephfakingquinn

#long post #tag game #tagged #ask game #questions #writers on tumblr

[spencer-reids-adventures]

✨ 2022 Writing Year In Review ✨

Thanks to @feeisamarshmallow​ for tagging me!

1. Number of stories posted to AO3: 12

2. Word count posted for the year: 299,454

3. Fandoms I wrote for: Criminal Minds

4. Pairings: Luke Alvez/Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, lots of friendship stuff between the team

5. Story with the most:

Kudos: A Collection of Blurbs Featuring Autistic Spencer Reid with 844

Bookmarks: Also A Collection of Blurbs Featuring Autistic Spencer Reid with 242

Comments: bau super seven loving-reid-a-thon with 159 comment threads

6. Work I’m most proud of (and why):

to seek and to find the narrow way. it's so personal and i was so nervous to post it because of the religious themes but i'm really pleased with how it turned out and i've gotten some amazing feedback <3

7. Work I’m least proud of (and why):

secret storm. i'm not not proud of it! but i wrote it for a challenge and i think i rushed it a little and could've done a lot more with it if i'd given it the time it deserved.

8. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

there's one person who's been reading you don't have to be sorry for doing it on your own and leaving long, detailed comments on every single chapter. i love this person so much. every comment from them makes me cry, they quote my work and talk about what they liked and what they're looking forward to. it's a writer's dream.

9. A time when writing was really, really hard:

writing the little scenes that i have to get through to get to what i really want to be writing. it's so hard to slog through sometimes, but it's always worth it once i make it to the good part and it gets easy again.

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: 

an upcoming chapter of you don't have to be sorry for doing it on your own has a nightmare aftermath scene that i wasn't planning at all but i'm really into it now that i'm writing it and i'm excited to see how it affects the story as a whole. it literally came out of nowhere but i love it so, so much. also, that fic as a whole has surprised me - it started as a really long oneshot and now i'm at about 75k and only halfway done.

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

“Oh. Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Morgan asks. 

“Keeping you here. Falling asleep on you. Trauma dumping on you.”

“You didn’t trauma dump on me. I asked questions and you answered. And I don’t mind that you fell asleep on me. You clearly needed the rest.”

Spencer buries his face in his hands. “I don’t usually talk about these things.” 

“I know, kid.”

“I don’t like talking about these things.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want this to change our friendship,” Spencer sighs. “I don’t want things to be weird from now on. I don’t want you to treat me differently.”

“It won’t change anything,” Morgan promises. “I won’t treat you differently.”

“I don’t want you to be worried about me all the time now.”

“Reid. I was already worried about you all the time.”

from you've got a friend

12. How did you grow as a writer this year: 

i wrote a lot this year! i did a lot of sprints, and that made me really productive, and i forced myself to write even when i didn't want to. and i think that was good for me. i also have been making a conscious effort to write what i want to write and not what other people necessarily want to read, and not getting hung up on hits or kudos or comments. if i start worrying too much about what people are going to think about what i'm writing, i stop and regroup and go back to writing what i want, even if that means deleting a whole bunch of stuff.

13. How do you hope to grow next year:

i want to better balance my writing time with the rest of my life. i'm not always good at determining how much writing is enough and how much is too much, and i neglect other aspects of my life in favor of writing which isn't always healthy. i do want to continue to write for me, though. and i've started a trend of writing a chapter ahead in chapter fics so i don't get overwhelmed, and i want to keep that up because it's working really well. i also want to put more effort into brainstorming for the discord fic because i love that one and i feel like i've neglected it a little lately.

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc): 

chris (@domestikhighway58) and maze (@tobias-hankel) have been so supportive and encouraging and spent so much time sprinting with me and chatting with me and reading my little snippets and keeping me motivated to keep writing. they also both write amazing fics that inspire me to write, period. i am endlessly grateful to both of them.

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

i mean, i write fanfiction to process my emotions and issues, so yes, a lot of my real life shows up in my writing. spencer's coping mechanisms are my coping mechanisms. his stims are my stims. his autistic traits are my autistic traits. i have dozens of unfinished fics in my google drive that i've used to process issues in my marriage. also, spencer's therapist in one fic is an exact copy of my favorite former therapist, all the way down to her first name.

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

write what you want to write and don't worry about what anyone else is going to think. if there's something you're dying to read and no one's written yet - write it! if you have an idea that won't leave you alone - write it! don't worry about if it's good or if other people are going to like it. you are the most important audience. just do the thing!

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

i'm really enjoying writing you don't have to be sorry for doing it on your own and now that i have an idea of where it's going to end up, i can't wait to get there. we're only about halfway through, so there's still a lot yet to come, and i can't wait to find out what that is, haha. Besides that, i guess we'll just see what happens. i've spontaneously written a couple of oneshots in the past few weeks and i'd like to do more of those in the future instead of always getting stuck in my long fics.

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read.

@eldrai @masterwords @tobias-hankel @domestikhighway58

#2022 writing year in review #ask games

[immobiliter]

@shadowcovcn sent a meme: 14, 15, 18

14. Who is an author that inspires you?

oh rip you're asking the jaded english graduate this question lmao. so I'm not sure if I could pinpoint an author who particularly inspires me nowadays — there are obviously authors that I love reading, but I haven't really read fiction widely since graduating and most of the fiction I have drawn inspiration from over the past decade or so is by classic authors. plus storytelling as a medium isn't just restricted to books and I could give you countless examples of other forms of storytelling that inspire me on a daily basis. but speaking strictly about the printed word, big shout out to Jacqueline Wilson books for being a staple of my childhood (i doubt anyone outside of the UK will know of her lmao), and Andrea Levy is also suuuuch a favourite writer of mine. and then a mandatory shout out to Oscar Wilde who inspired the majority of my tagging system on this blog, and is also one of my all-time favourite writers.

15. What do you look for in a rp partner?

someone who's chill lmaooo. that's honestly the biggest thing for me and I think I'm lucky because I feel like I'm a pretty good judge of character? I have a sceptical disposition and I'm strong-minded, so I tend to be rather picky of who I reach out to and befriend on this site and for the most part I haven't really steered wrong. if you're gonna be my rp partner you just have to be OK with the fact that I might not reply to your thread for two years, and that if you pressure me I will either make it three years or I'll drop the thread altogether. also, that I might not talk to you everyday — I don't even talk to some of my rl best friends everyday, I much prefer low-pressure friendships where we can check in every few weeks or months and pick up like no time has passed at all. I just don't have the time or inclination for the crap that comes along with this hellsite anymore, so I stick to people I already know and people who pass my strict vibe test lmao.

passion is also always something I look for too, on a more positive note. I enjoy seeing people passionate about their muses on my dash, it's infectious and there have been so many occasions where I have voluntarily sought out the source material and watched a show/read a book/played a video game solely because a friend of mine or someone on my dash has been talking so passionately about them/it. like it doesn't even matter if I don't write in the same fandom as you, if you get me passionate about a character or universe through the dash powers of osmosis, I'll make an AU especially for you lmao.

18. Are there any AU’s you’d like to explore but haven’t had the chance to yet?

oof this is such a good question and such a tricky one to answer on a multi where I have muses that encompass multiple genres and also where I'm really not shy about writing crossovers lmao. is it a cop-out to just say that I love group verses? not even just verses that involve several people, but creating a group verse with one other person where we just throw different muses from our multis into it like a melting pot? writing two characters against each other is fun of course, but there's something even more fun about throwing ten muses into the same verse and figuring out everyone's connection to each other. or starting with two muses and then building it up slowly until you have a google doc with a dozen muses and a flow chart explaining how they all connect lmao. it just enriches your writing environment and gives you so much more stimuli to play with when you reply to a meme or write a thread. instead of coming up with npcs on the fly, you can bring another muse in to help figure out a plot point or help flesh out an aspect of a relationship or dynamic without it being superficial because you're not just creating a surface-level character to be referenced in one or two replies, but another living, breathing muse with their own life and perspective. I just like everything feeling connected, where every thread has a ripple effect on all of the other future ones you write. also, as someone who likes to push themselves when it comes to writing, it's a wonderful challenge to write three muses within the same thread, I love it.

#shadowcovcn #* / be yourself. everyone else is taken ( ooc. )

[dogboycolumbo]

i always feel weird interacting with fetish stuff, although i feel mine tend to sorta straddle the border between 'fetish' and stuff that a good chunk of people would find morally questionable. I kinda want to get in the heads of people who share it and find out why they like it compared to me but I feel like anyone who actively consumes/makes that kinda stuff is just built different than me? not like in a bad way but in a different brain chemistry way that might not mix I forgot where I was going with it but the difference between how people who make fetish content think of their fetish compared to those who just have it is interesting

no fr like i feel like. the more ive gotten into my fetish the more extreme it has gotten? the type of person ppl would call a porn addict victim</3 but it’s like. when i started i was like oh i only like this a little. but bc everyone who makes fetish content was more extreme i ended up into it more extreme than when i started i suppose?

i discovered my fetish btw thru ao3. 2017… used to look at every single new persona 5 fic in the tag regardless of what was in it and i was captivated. did the material shape me or did i just find something finally that fit? is an odd thing to consider. bc that fic is still to me. gold standard

ALSO i love fetish horror stories so i get the morally questionable aspect of it. horror IS exhilarating! david cronenberg you get me.. even tho he always casts conventionally attractive women in his films . #misogyny

some of the best most . evocative writing ive ever read in my life has been deviantart erotica and im not joking. even tho sex is banned there . the shit they come up with. and not everyone fucking listens to the sex ban anyway since it’s just writing

#asks #lot of thoughts on this

[dummerjan]

Getting to Know Your BL Mutuals - Tag

rules: answer the questions and @ some people. include the tag ‘g2ky BL mutuals 2022’ on your post so we can find everyone’s answer.

tagged by @baby-droll thank you :) <3

(I am including everything I've watched in 2022, not just what was released this year.) What have been BLs that took you by surprise this year? Definitely KinnPorsche. I've never had so much fun watching something and I am so glad I got to experience it while it aired even if I only started watching after the 5th episode had aired. Since May my life has been entirely consumed by KinnPorsche and my life has been the better for it. Bad Buddy surprised me as well, it is so unlike other BL series I have seen and Ohm and Nanon are amazing actors. I watched it within the span of 24 hours and the last scene and line were so lighthearted and funny I didn't even feel sad. Never have I laughed so much even though something was over. The Eclipse took me by surprise with how openly political and critical of society it was. Last but not least I have to mention My Tooth Your Love, it might win an award for silliest title but the story itself is anything but silly. Both of the protagonists read as autistic to me - my favourite kind of character: unintentionally autistic. I couldn't adore them more. It is a true comfort watch and I continue to be surprised by the healthy communication and boundary setting displayed. More people should give it a try despite the silly title and odd premise. It is so much more and not at all a typical BL, though still typically Taiwanese. What have been BLs that you felt a bit disappointed with this year? The Eclipse to an extent. It kept getting better with every new episode until the last, I think, three episodes. How the curse related plot got wrapped up was very unsatisfying and clumsy, though they still did great with the relationship aspect. Similar goes for Minato Shouji Coin Laundry, it just was too long and I didn't care about any of the side couples and it got repetitive. I was also disappointed and wholly underwhelmed by the Korean BL series I've watched (Blueming, To My Star, Wish You). I've seen so much praise for the first two but they just weren't for me and I had a hard time caring for any of the characters. The acting felt very stiff and I found it difficult to make sense of the emotions they were supposed to feel when judging by their faces they seemed dead inside to me. What has been your favorite BL this year? KinnPorsche, no surprise there. Favorite BL couples (not just of 2022) This is hard and why they are my favourite is due to very different reasons. A lot of the time I care less about couples themselves and more about the story they help to tell. But some are also proper OTPs of mine for which the relationship is the main draw. - Pat/Pran - Akk/Ayan - Kinn/Porsche - Vegas/Pete - Kim/Chay - Teh/Oh-aew - Tutor/Fighter - Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian If you had to suggest a BL for someone what would it be? Regardless if someone is familiar with BL or not, my top pick would be I Told Sunset About You. Though I think it is barely BL compared to other series. Same goes for Gaya Sa Pelikula. What's your non-BL favorite this year? I have watched mainly BL and everything before KinnPorsche is hazy. I am having a hard time remembering other shows or movies I've seen this year and nothing I would call a favourite of mine, I think. Derry Girls S3 was disappointing, Skam Italia S5 was such a treat and I really liked it but it hasn't stayed with me that long after watching it.

@blventingspace @thiansong @supernovasimplicity @fanfictionroxs @mvickym @varis-world (But there are also several others where I am not sure how much BL they watch aside from KinnPorsche - tagging always makes me anxious.)

#g2ky BL mutuals 2022 #meins #i love tag games and it's a great excuse to just ramble which i am excellent at #this didn't even get *as long* as I had feared #the recommendation question wasn't in the post i was tagged in but i saw it in others so i felt free to include it #any chance to mention gaya sa pelikula and itsay #playing tag

[holified]

1. When are you usually online?  My working schedule has been so awfully overwhelming that the only free time I have is on the weekends, but sometimes I’m so exhausted I cannot even write anything, although I’m often lurking here on Saturday and Sundays nights.

2. What verses are you involved in outside of this page? I have a blog for Sakura Haruno, so every once in a while you can catch me there, but it usually depends on whether my friends there are online or not. As for my verses here, I most use my “alive” verse, and I have recently been able to use my Yu Yu Hakusho verse thanks to some amazing new friends! I also have a special verse in which Kikyo and Kagome are sisters with my beloved Rarity, and a Sesskik verse that I absolutely love.

3. What is your biggest RP pet peeve? I’m a pretty laid back person, so it’s hard to anger me (or so I believe). But I suppose I could say my biggest pet peeves are when people try to pressure me into writing/doing something or when people start drama over small things. I have seen so many people arguing over stuff that’s just... so stupid! Dunno, I’m just too tired to deal with people right now.

4. Are you drawn to specific types of muses? Hmmm, maybe I am? I think it has changed over time, but I LOVE an angsty/misunderstood character. Powerful, complex women that are often mistreated by their writers bring out my fire to write. I need to like and find the character interesting to write it. Oh! And I don’t write male characters, dunno, I just don’t feel comfortable, I’ve had blogs for male characters before but they were always short-lived.

5. Are there recurring themes in your writing that people might not notice? I don’t know, maybe? I LOVE shipping threads, like, omg I’m a hopeless romantic and all the romantic love I don’t have in real life I seek in my writing. But I also love an adventure and I LOVE angst so... I’m not sure which theme could be considered “common” in my writing.

6. What are your favorite RP trends? Hmmm... I think the return of big icons, some time ago it was SUPER cool to have tini tiny icons that were overly saturated and were just a blur of colors that was impossible to decipher. I never understood this trend tbh, to me icons provide a visual reference to your character’s expression, the scene or to focus on a particular aspect of your character’s face/body language, so those impossible-to-understand icons were absurd! Anyway, but enough complaining about old trends! I think the new aesthetic trends are pretty great!

7. What is your process for starting a new story with someone? Good question, I usually just IM them or we start writing and go with the flow. I like this organic kind of writing, where ideas pop up and you move along with them. Planning is great, and having a general idea of where the thread will go is amazing, but discovering HOW it will get there is so... rewarding! 

8. How do you feel about duplicates? I’m incredibly insecure, so I avoid duplicates not to compare myself and end up abandoning the blog for thinking I’m not good enough :|

9. How long have you been involved in roleplaying? Oh my, here is where you discover I’m a dinosaur on Tumblr. I’ve been writing on tumblr for around 10 years, and I’ve never written outside of this website, I think I wouldn’t be able to roleplay outside of tumblr at this point.

10. Is there a muse or verse you wish you could write in, but haven’t? Oh, quite a few! But alas, I have no time to write the muses and verses I do have, imagine writing new ones! But one day I want to make a couple more blogs for one or two muses I’d like to give a try!

tagged: @thuganomxcs​   — thanks so much! ♥♥

tagging: literally anyone who sees this!

#┈ ┊ To learn through suffering; to thrive in chaos || ( musings ). #┈ ┊ Out of shrine || ( ooc ). #I love these! Thanks so much! #I feel like a famous person being interviewed hahahah

[mostbrilliantidiot]

I posted 13,722 times in 2022

697 posts created (5%)

13,025 posts reblogged (95%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@vwildmage

@this-broken-band-girl

@elytrians

@genevievedarcygranger

I tagged 2,647 of my posts in 2022

#ramblings - 708 posts

#evan - 118 posts

#oc inspo - 76 posts

#oc rambles - 55 posts

#oc inspo: evan - 55 posts

#tales from the office - 50 posts

#mike - 37 posts

#russ - 35 posts

#blackwood - 31 posts

#mood - 29 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#also to picture this properly you need to know that both of these characters are built along the lines of 'could probably tear a door apart

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

i am FINALLY cleaning at last. a victory.

4 notes - Posted February 18, 2022

#4

okay. im happy i actually went to the gym! i am!

that said:

4 notes - Posted October 25, 2022

#3

2, 6, and 25 for the meta writer asks 👀🥰

okay since I want to get back to fic instead of original stuff for a bit, I'm going to answer mostly using planned fic ideas :D

2. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

currently an as of yet plot-less criminal minds fic. The only actual for sure details I have are: dark humor, fun dialogue, and supernatural/magical aspects thrown in because I cannot help myself 

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

at the moment? Hotch. he's a petty bitch and that can be fun. also that temper.

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

I love love love writing dialogue that can be reread three or so times and yield different shades of meaning every time.

my fav sequence is "Oh that is funny", "Oh god I feel like an ass for laughing now", "...oh that sonofabitch!" each time you read it

can't do it with every line, but when the opportunity presents itself?

 I indulge 

5 notes - Posted January 19, 2022

#2

it's one in the morning

I should be asleep

instead I am making soup

6 notes - Posted March 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Some FYIs

I'm older than 25. I'm tired. I'm always tired

I do Not Care about what pronouns you use for me. Not a whit.

I go by Alex on here but answer to just about anything.

side blog is Deus-angst-machina

I've been here on one blog or another since at least 2010. I've seen all the bullshit. Nothing is new.

If you think you know me from another blog that's now gone: you might! (such as totalityofthegrump or dontroastmeitsonlymonday) (there are other, older, URLs too)

I block often and filter tags frequently. Learned long ago it's just happier this way.

on that note: Blank Blogs. Y'all look like bots, you get blocked like bots. Them's the breaks. Don't Look Like A Bot.

all other details are to be learned during my sporadic over sharing in the tags

see me rambling about my OCs and have questions? go ahead and pester me in the ask box. I'm always up for rambling even more about my OCs

edit: oh yeah and fuck terfs, etc etc etc

some navigation tags below the cut

Ramblings: just whatever is on my mind

tales from the office: excerpts from the exciting life of an auditor

oc rambles: general oc chatter

Ongoing list of OCs and Tags for OCs

12 notes - Posted February 9, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[no-droids]

Mercy, Sabotage, and Dead Space

(gif credit to @redwyyne-archive)

Part One of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.7K

Summary:

1. No sex.

2. No touching yourself.

3. No orgasms.

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

***

This.

This shit, right here.

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

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

But then you met… fucking Dameron.

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

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

But this?

This shit?  Right here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yep, there it is.  “Second of all—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You… aren’t expecting that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alright, no, wait—backtrack—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A false sense of…

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

… What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except, oddly, he doesn’t say much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.  Shitshitshit, did that actually work?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then everything goes dark.

No, literally.  The stars disappear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Stay tuned for part two coming soon!!

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

[shinidamachu]

I need some Inuyasha as a great father (more like DILF, amirite?) headcanons, can you help me out?

I'm here to serve!

• It isn’t until they’re happily married for at least one or two years that the possibility of children are brought up.

• At first, they took that time to relearn each other, enjoy their company and make the honeymoon phase last a little long. They did spend three years apart, after all. There’s so much time to make up for, so many catching up to do before they’d even think to throw a kid into the mix. Plus, being a modern woman, Kagome would know how to avoid pregnancy the best her new circumstances allowed and how important that time alone is for a newly-married couple.

• They never actually had the child talk because Kagome just assumed that’s where their relationship would naturally lead to, given her motherly tendencies and Inuyasha’s history of ultimately giving her everything she wants. For his part, Inuyasha knew she wanted to be a mother someday and he'd be lying if he said he never indulged the fantasy of fathering her children. However, he has serious trouble wrapping his mind around the idea that, in reality, Kagome would still be up for it if he were to be the father. He could never dare to ask of her more than she has already given him. Be that as it may, it was not a big deal because it was not a dealbreaker. Nothing was.

• But with time, Kagome would have noticed how good Inuyasha is with Hisui and the Mirsan twins. How his relationship with Shippo had developed from a sibling banter to a makeshift paternal relationship. How people like Shiori and Bunza would look up to him like he was some kind of movie hero. How every kid in the village seemed to adore him despite his grumpy demeanor.

• And Inuyasha would have noticed the way Kagome would look at him whenever he so much as interacted with a child, the way her smell would spike significantly.

• She, of course, was the one to make the first move, jumping him one night, after they had spend the whole day stuck with babysitting the Mirsan children and popping the question.

• Inuyasha was relutant. There was a part of him that was adamant on making her happy and even believed having babies would make him happy too. On the other hand, he was terrified. Terrified of how her body would react to childbirth, of if her spiritual powers would accept his demonic energy. But mostly, about what would happen once the baby was born. The last thing he wanted was for Kagome to go through everything his mother had to go through. Or for another kid to face the same prejudice he did. Besides, he grew up with no father figure whose steps he could follow. He didn’t know how to be a father.

• Kagome assures him that they won’t have a baby until they’re both ready and on the same page, that they have time and that Inuyasha will be a great father.

• Inuyasha believes her.

• Then it is him felling some type of way whenever he sees Kagome around kids. And something deep inside desperately wishes to find out what would their children look like, what would it be like to hold and take care of someone born from their love.

• Finally, he caves.

• Inuyasha wants a big family, considering how lonely his childhood was. Kagome finds it pivotal for their first-born to have a sibling, since she had Sota and their relationship was one of the most important things in her life. That’s why they’d have two children minimum, preferably a boy and a girl. However, giving how dangerous and uncomfortable childbirth can be, especially without the perks the modern era provides, I don’t think they’d have more than three.

• Naturally, Inuyasha relies on Miroku for advice and the latter is more helpful than not. Except for the times Inuyasha asks or says something that makes it way too easy for Miroku to mess with him. Like the time he told Inuyasha that if he doesn’t get Kagome whatever food she craves while pregnant, the baby will be born looking exactly like that food. And Inuyasha believed him.

• And if you thought Inuyasha was protective of Kagome before... oh boy! He’d be almost overbearing, but Kagome would see it as endearing. Most of the time. Sometimes, though, a woman has got to have her privacy. He also becomes more attentive, more gentle, sweeter.

• After their first child is born, Inuyasha gets a makeover of sorts. He’s always borrowing the Fire Rat to Kagome and the baby anyway, so he figured it’d be more practical to just pass the clothes on to them already and get something new for himself.

• It’s white.

• Inuyasha becomes taller, stronger. And often lets Kagome experiment with his hair with braids, top nots... and ponytails.

• Old Myoga is the first one to notice the resemblance. And it’s true. He’s the spitting image of Toga. Former enemies and allies often mistaken him for Toga and Kagome thinks the look on their (and Inuyasha’s) face is hilarious.

• Sesshoumaru does not care for it (I stole this one from @heavenin--hell).

• Inuyasha hates his human nights even more because now his vulnerability also means he might not be able to protect his family as he usually would (Together Changed by @goshinote and @lostinfantasyworlds inspired this one). Plus, the black hair and lack of dog ears confuses the baby, who cries and fusses for a good while until realizing it is, in fact, Inuyasha holding them (this one I saw in an adorable fanart I can’t find).

• But since he needs way less sleeping than humans and he spends the New Moons up anyway, Inuyasha gets a lot of quality time with their infant at night, which allows Kagome to actually get a good night sleep unless the baby is hungry.

• The Beads of Subjugation get dooled and chewed on. A lot.

• A little contest takes place between Kagome and Inuyasha about what the first word of their first child would be, with Kagome going for “dada” and Inuyasha going for “mama.”

• Kagome wins.

• Inuyasha’s fighting style changes. He still says some snarky remarks, but now it’s more to push his opponent‘s buttons down so they would get sloppy than anything else. After all, he has a child to think about and provide for now. He doesn’t have the luxury of gambling with his life anymore. He has a home to come back to and therefore won’t be taking any chances (credit to @born-for-eachother for this one).

• And so he becomes more lethal on the battle field. Pragmatic. Objective. Calculating. Decisive. Cold blooded. Much like... Sesshomaru.

• He had never been more offended on his life than the day Sango pointed this out to him.

• When the kids grow up a bit, Inuyasha and Kagome start to tell them bedtime stories, with the PG version of the story about how the met and defeated Naraku being their favorite.

• Kagome tries to be a reliable and calm narrator while Inuyasha exaggerates the events and the voices, almost always breaking objects of their house in the process.

• After hearing one too many times about the Beads of Subjugation, their child tries to “sit” Inuyasha. Of course it doesn’t work, but he still makes a big deal out of throwing himself on the ground every time they say the word just to hear them laugh.

• The first actual toy Inuyasha buys them is a ball, just like the one he had as a kid, at the same time accomplishing a childhood wish through them and ensuring that they would always have someone to play with.

• Kagome is more protective of their physical state while Inuyasha is more protective of their emotional one (see Fist Fight by @omgitscharlie)

• Inuyasha goes to Totosai and asks him to make a weapon out of one of his fangs to each of their children once they get old enough for it. Not necessarily a sword, just something of their choice and that better fits their personality.

• He would be a just father, doing his best to show no favoritism, treat his children equally and make sure no one felt overlooked or unloved.

• But truth be told, if one of their babies turn out to be a daughter, he would definitelly let her get away with almost anything, no matter how much of a gremlin she is. Daddy’s little girl would have him wrapped around her tiny fingers.

• Life never treated Inuyasha kindly. From a very young age, it was kill or be killed. It wouldn't be too far off for him to think the exact same thing could happen with his kids, therefore he tries to prepare them, to tough them up so they can take it.

• And I believe this sentiment would be significantly amplified with a son, because it would involve the whole “suck it up”, “men don’t cry” and “man of the house” aspect of it. The “it is your duty to protect your mother and sister when I’m gone” too, especially because he couldn’t protect Izayoi himself.

• It’s “tough love”, but it’s love nonetheless. And in the right dose, which I believe Inuyasha manages to nail, it can be very important for one’s development and growth.

• But it’s hard to imagine him being as tough with a daughter. Probably because he sees so much of Kagome on her that the mere idea of seeing her cry simply breaks him.

• Kagome would actually have to step in when it comes to disciplining and saying “no”, because he simply wouldn’t have it in him to do so.

There’s actually a really nice post by @keichanz I reblogged a while ago discussing precisely that, but I can’t find it to save my life (should I start to properly tag my reblogs? No, it’s a lot of work and I’m right not to).

Anyway, that’s all I got for now.

Peace out.

#This ask was actually sitting on my inbox for... #Woof #A while now #And I wish I could say it was a big move on my part to wait and reply exactly on Father's Day #Because I'm just so cool methodic and strategic #But it was sheer dumb luck #LMAO #This was fun by the way #Send me YOURS daddyasha headcanons #Thank you for the patience and for the great ask anon #Inuyasha

[buckybarnesdiaries]

“Love's my religion but he was my faith, something so sacred, so hard to replace. Fallin' for him was like fallin' from grace”.

PART ONE. INDEX.

bucky barnes x reader ⎢ masterlist.

word count: ±1.4k.

warnings/tags: none.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

Four years had passed since you left New York to study in London. Your parents went to visit you every two months, but it wasn't the same. You missed your home, the rest of your family, your friends. England was pretty different from the USA in many aspects, so you couldn't wait to leave that city as soon as you were done with your final exams. Your father was supposed to visit you in the next few days, but you wanted to surprise him too by coming back home earlier.

You didn't tell anyone about your flight, taking a taxi outside the airport. Along the way, you were fascinated looking through the window. Your city hadn't changed too much, maybe a couple of shops and cafeterias, but that was everything. You couldn't help but sigh when you left the jungle of skyscrapers to Cold Spring, where you grew. A beautiful and small village with its own charm. Checking the time on your phone and finding some unread messages from your mother, you bite your lips with a soft grin on your lips imagining her face when she watched you there.

But before, you had to make a stop in your own house to leave your suitcase, have a shower and change your clothes. Yes, you would have preferred to have a quiet evening at your home, with your family, but James ‘Bucky’ Barnes was giving a party.

Oh, that man. Your first love. You knew him ever since, being the son of your father's best friend and, now, his associate. He had more than twelve years than you, but love didn't understand about age. And you were conscious that he felt something for you. Maybe attraction, maybe desire. Whatever was enough for you to keep alive the flame inside your heart. You weren't going to lie, you wanted, needed to see him after four years. Four long years without knowing anything about him more than what your father used to tell you about businesses and the presents Bucky used to send you on your birthday and Christmas with a short letter.

You didn't lose time in your task, getting ready to join the party in less than twenty minutes. Looking at your reflection in the mirror of your private bathroom, you couldn't help but feel butterflies fluttering within your belly, fantasizing about what he would do when he had you in front of his eyes. You were almost sweating, remembering how good it felt whenever he touched your hand slightly, or how his fingers gripped gently around your thigh sitting together —under the table. Bucky never crossed the limit since he wasn't an associate yet, but now he was the boss the story was pretty different.

The parking attendant took the keys of your car after opening the door for you and stepping out. You said thanks before taking a deep breath with a hand on your belly, trying to calm the nerves as you raised your eyes to the luxurious and ostentatious manor occupying completely your field of vision. The guests outside enjoying different kinds of conversations turned at you astonished but pleasantly surprised. You weren't the innocent girl that left that village four years ago anymore. You were a woman. A lawyer ready to take your throne. To take your place in the company. And you were stunning and radiant on your silk white dress with the back open and exposed.

Not wasting more time on being contemplated, you walked in swinging your hips sensually, calling everyone's attention. Your gaze traveled the place all around till they got bewitched by a pair of oceanic blue eyes among the crowd. Bucky was there between other men, listening to a conversation he wasn't interested in, with a glass of whisky close to his mouth. He took a sip, licking the flavor impregnated on his lips. For a reason you didn't understand, he didn't look surprised, nor curious to know how it was possible you were there. The smile that appeared on your face suddenly went down with disappointment, turning at the amazed tone of voice your father used to call you before embracing you into his arms.

The next hour, your parents introduced you to anyone who didn't meet you personally four years ago, making you feel out of place. Yes, you missed your home and your family, but Bucky's indifference broke your heart in a thousand pieces, glancing at him flirting with any women rattling his saber. Adoring him as if he was some kind of god. It was suffocating you to the point of watering your eyes. As soon as you could escape from the situation of your father showing you like a trophy, you went upstairs to the old library George Barnes owned, and where you used to spend a lot of time in your adolescence. It was a quiet room, soundproofed and packed with huge windows to the nearest forest. A view you liked to stare at in silence during autumn.

Walking inside and closing the door, you toured the hundreds of books thoroughly placed and conservated through the years, landing your fingers in an original version of Alice in Wonderland. You always felt like that, surrounded by people only moved and controlled by money. Money that gave you freedom for four long years in England, but the same that now was your sentence for life.

You couldn't help but shut your eyes when a fingertip traced your bare backbone, causing you goosebumps all over your skin. His strong scent flooded your lungs racing your pulse, as his closeness made jump your heart bout to fly off from your chest. You could recognize that touch between a million. The tenderness with he caressed you, the delicacy he had to admire your beautiful and warm skin.

“White makes you look like an angel”. Bucky whispered hoarsely into your ear, noticing him placing himself behind you.

You swallowed hard, keeping your lips parted while both hands found their way to your arms, pawing them down slowly till being laced with yours. Then, a fond kiss was placed on the back of your head. A sigh escaped his throat when he was able to sink his nose in your hair. The fruity, but subtle, smell dizzied him.

“Red…” He mumbled urging you to turn around and face him, stroking gently your bottom lip with his thumb when he had the opportunity. “Red makes you look like a dangerous weapon”.

“I've been both all my life, not needing clothes or makeup to demonstrate it”. You replied raising your chin in a proud gesture that caused him to chuckle.

“How many boys have kissed them?” Bucky wanted to know, shortening the distance between the two of you until he was practically melting with your body, wrapping his left arm around your lower back. His voice was so sensual that it made your legs feel weak.

But you didn't answer his question. No one. You didn't kiss anyone while you were in London. Barely neglecting your studies, only desiring to pass your exams and come back home to finish the last year of college in New York. You could swear that a lustful shine crossed fleetingly his pale blue eyes, trying to maintain his gaze while his thumb wandered down your throat, moving slowly between the gap of your neckline and enjoying how good it was to touch you again, continuing to your abdomen. Bucky urged you to rest your back against the library, bringing his lips closer to your ear at the moment his hands meet almost in your ass.

Shameless, he settled himself between your legs, leaving a kiss on the sweet spot behind your ear before tracing it with the tip of his nose. “So… you kept your promise”.

Your fingers got tangled strongly in the laps of his jacket when you remembered that precise instant before leaving your house four years ago.

September came with warm evenings and different kinds of orange, brown, and red decorating the trees all around Cold Spring. You were sitting on the grass of the back garden of your house, alone, drinking a glass of vodka. You knew how hard it was going to leave the place that gave you life, happiness, love. Bucky joined you without expecting it and gave you a bracelet made of white gold exactly like the one his father gave him for his eighteenth birthday, with the coordinates of his home —what took you some months to notice was that yours had his coordinates too—. And he asked you if you would wait for him all that time till you were back to his arms.

And there you were, with his lips tracing a path of sweet, loving kisses through your jawline. But they never touched yours, leaving you wanting more, needing him.

“Welcome home, doll”.

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