#and when you listen to your mind and body in tandem you realize they need different kinds of help. and you maybe even realize you're capabl

[ilikeyoshi]

not to get really deep and personal on tumblr dot com but i think today's therapy session may have been the first ever time i actually felt my mind and my body connect. like. it felt fucking cosmic? the revelation that they were always meant to work in tandem, and that they speak two different languages, thoughts and senses, and that i am their mediator, i am the one who makes sure they both get what they need.

i think this is why it's so common for mentally ill people to "know" their anxiety or depression aren't true to life, that what they're afraid of isn't really happening, and yet the pain persists. because the pain is your body. and your body does not understand words and logic like your brain does. your body needs to have its hand held or its back stroked. your body needs to cry. your body needs to feel and hear the physical sensation of you saying the reassurances out loud, because the words don't translate, but the sensations do. the movement of your mouth, the vibration of your voice.

and if we do not give our body this, then it doesn't matter how much we heal our minds. we have to heal the body too. we have to feel and acknowledge the pain and ask it, "what do you need?" maybe that's a bath. maybe that's lying down and squeezing a pillow really tight. maybe that's screaming at the top of your lungs. maybe that's walking around the block for an hour. whatever it is, it is the body's version of the anxiety and depression and illness. and like the mind's version, it needs to be helped, gently and consistently, until someday it knows that the fear and guilt isn't real.

[captain-mj]

This has been on my mind a lot since I read your monster AUs and I love your writing ❤️

König being surprised that one of the team members is immediately comfortable around him. Usually people react to him with fear or at least caution. He doesn’t suspect that it is because Horangi is something much darker than he could have ever imagined.

(Maybe he’s a Gumiho? Where better to get a supply of fresh hearts than in the special forces. Also plz to as sfw or nsfw as you like 🙈)

Never heard of this creature before so thank you so much!! It’s so fucking cool

~~~~

König followed behind Horangi, watching for any enemies. They were alone on this mission but so far there hadn’t been much action. 

It gave him time to think about Horangi. Most people were put off by König. His size, the hood or even just his general disposition. Horangi never did though. He always looked at him with the same cool calmness he gave everyone. It was so nice, being treated as everyone else from the beginning. 

König should’ve known there would be something wrong. This mission had been just a little too easy. The IED went off when Horangi tripped a wire and then it all went to hell. 

König flew through the air, almost weightless for a moment. He slammed onto his back and all the air left him. His body wouldn’t move and for a moment, he worried he may be paralyzed if it wasn’t for the pain that followed. Everything in him ached down to his toes. 

Men came from nowhere and König realized this would be the end. He looked around for Horangi, trying to see where he was. Or how many pieces he was. The explosion had been focused on him and König decided he didn’t want to know. 

König tried to move his limbs. Tried to twitch them. 

The men came closer, one of the guns moving to his head. 

“You here alone?”

König frowned. Wha- 

Something slammed into the men and then there was an intense sound. A bleeding, horrid screeching that broke the air. Gunshots from multiple guns blared but they were silenced one by one. 

König tried to move, but his body just wouldn’t listen. He started to struggle and panic flooded through him. 

“König.” Horangi spoke softly. His footsteps grew closer.

“Horangi! You are okay! We need.. need.” He trailed off, seeing how bloody Horangi was when he came into view.

Horangi didn’t have his mask on. Or his helmet.  König could see the scars on his face and the... fox ears. They trailed off into his dark hair and behind him,  König could faintly comprehend... something. It looked a bit like tails. Several of them, also thrashing in tandem. 

His mouth. There was so much blood. His teeth, sharp vicious things, all stained with it.

“Can you move?”

König stared, very afraid. He managed to shake his head, body freezing as adrenaline filled his veins. Normally, it helped. He wanted to fight. But his body decided now was the best time to change his fight or flight response to fucking freeze.

“Shame.” Horangi moved and... straddled him. 

“Did you eat those men?” König couldn’t breath, the weight on Horangi meshing with the pain to crush his lungs. 

“Just their hearts. Only part worth eating.”

“Are you going....”  König started to gasp and Horangi looked down at him, a smile playing at his lips. 

Those teeth. Needle sharp. Clearly made to tear through flesh. He opened it slowly, baring them, before leaning down, hovering right over where König’s heart would be buried under the skin.

“You’d taste amazing. I just know it. Might have some other organs worth eating.” He reached down and removed his sniper hood. “Don’t worry. No one else here.” 

König froze, not wanting Horangi to view his face. His hands ended in dark claws and they were trailing over his face, tracing the freckles. 

“Bitte...” 

“I wouldn’t hurt you, König.” Horangi said quietly. “Wouldn’t want to lose my friend.” He leaned down. “Do you trust me?”

König nodded slowly, staring into his eyes. They were so dark, pools of the night sky. 

Horangi kissed him softly, pushing what felt like a hard candy into his mouth.  König’s eyes widened and he froze, feeling hands on his face. Horangi’s tongue invaded his mouth, mapping it out. He swallowed on instinct and the candy slid down his throat.

Horangi grabbed his face hard and forced him to look at the sky. It felt like everything came crashing down. Things he shouldn’t know invading his brain in a way that bordered on painful. 

The pain in his body disappeared. He felt fine. 

Horangi had gotten off of him during his... whatever that was. 

“You won’t speak of this. I’ve had to clear an entire base because they found out before. I’m not afraid to do it again. Everyone you know, everyone you work with, dead and gone. Understood?”

“Yes.” König got up, flexing his fingers and his toes. Everything worked fine. “Thank you.” 

Horangi fixed himself, putting his mask back on. He didn’t speak again. 

König looked at the bodies with their cracked open ribcages. Part of him knew he should be disgusted or frightened. But Horangi said he wouldn’t hurt him and he trusted him. He padded after him. 

It was a while before it came up again. They ended up on another mission, just the two of them. König and Horangi had been attacked by a few men, but it wasn’t much of a problem. 

König had one of the two last men, Horangi locked in a knife fight with the other one, and it hit him that Horangi probably hadn’t eaten since that day. He hadn’t went on any solo missions and he doubted he could get away from the others. 

König didn’t slit the guys throat like he had been planning. Instead, he dove his knife down on his sternum and cut down the place where his ribs would end in the center of his chest. The knife wasn’t really meant to cut through bone, but it worked well enough. He shoved his hand into the place he cut, feeling the man struggle weakly, blood gushing. 

Once he wrapped his hand around his heart, he pulled it out, mind on auto pilot. 

Horangi walked over. König could hear his footsteps. “What are you doing?”

König held the prize out to him, the heart still twitching as if beating.

“Hungry?”

[lottiecrabie]

choose your own smut adventure. part four – matty healy

previous. start.

You flush, looking down, suddenly shy. Matty laughs a little at your reaction. He presses his fingertips into your thigh soothingly. “I wanna see you,” he says lightly. 

You huff. “I can do that alone.” 

Matty hums. He climbs his hand, entirely skipping where you need him most, to settle at your hips. Again, he rubs the bone reassuringly, though the consequence is more akin to fire dancing under your skin. “But I need to know how to get my best girl off.” 

It’s the nickname that does it.

Cheeks still heating up, you take a tentative hand down to your breast and cup it. Matty follows your movement religiously, his eyes tracking every small rub your thumb does on your nipple. His lips part in wonder; you gain a semblance of footing, grinning teasingly at him as you pinch it next. 

Fascinated, Matty raises a hand to your lonely breast. He follows the same pattern, twisting and rubbing and pinching when you do. His fingers are tougher than yours, the calluses delicious on your skin. You moan for him, rolling your eyes back. Matty pants, out of breath just from watching you. 

“Now what?” He says, shortwinded, a groan almost out. 

Your eyes find his as you travel down your stomach. Your fingers spread across your cunt, your middle one dipping between your folds and finding your clit easily. You press on it, jumping and biting your lip from the sudden strike of pleasure, then rub. 

Matty swallows thickly. “Fuck,” he groans. His eyes are dark and flickering; he vacillates between your fingers and your face, unsure of what mesmerizes him most. “You’re impatient,” he comments as you make quick swipes on your bud. It’s a fact, an observation on your performance. 

“I’m efficient,” you say haughtily. Matty snorts. “This is when I—” You blush, brain catching up with your tongue. “You know,” you say pointedly, leaving your clit to dip two fingers inside of you. 

A whole body shiver takes you. You whine, spreading your legs wider to accommodate for the stretch, refusing to wrinkle your face shut like you usually do. You wanna see him, see his dark eyes and his swollen lips and his sweaty hair falling over his forehead. You want to see the moan dying in the back of his throat, want to flick your eyes to his hand as he palms your tits again. 

You thrust in and out, using your free hand to find your lonely clit and circling it quickly. You really are efficient; pleasure is a fast, proper affair with you. You’re out of the sheets and cleaning your hands in under a few minutes, back to your computer and studying with a clear mind. 

You follow that dizzying pattern now. Pleasure waves through you familiarly. Your legs shake, your stomach tightens, your fingers work diligently. Your eyes blink, forcing them open to look at Matty, bliss swooping every time you do. “Do you get it now?” You say, out of breath. 

“I do,” Matty whispers. 

His free hand at your hip grazes down your thigh, grounding your poor shivering legs. He climbs it up again, finding the apex of them, your hard working hand. He lingers there, above you, for a moment. You make to move off, to leave him the stage now that you’re properly ready, all soaked for him. 

But Matty halts you. Instead, two of his fingers slip inside of you with your own. You gasp at the tight stretch, throbbing around the four digits. The palm of his hand is warm over the back of yours; bigger, overwhelming it. You roll your eyes into your skull. 

“Matty,” you moan, some vertiginous feeling taking over your head at the realization of what you are doing. 

“It was like this, right?” Matty asks, more cheeky than truly questioning, as he curls his fingers, forcing yours to move along. Hot pleasure shoots up your spine, waking it up with a shiver. You nod vaguely, faraway. It wasn’t like this; it’s never been like this.

Matty slides in and out of you. You follow in tandem, obediently listening to whatever pace his heart desires. It makes your head in sing, makes your mind waxy and blurry. It’s liquid heat coursing through your veins. You think you might lose your mind. 

“Hey, love,” Matty pinches your nipple, making you blink your eyes open. “Look at the show.” 

You follow his eyesight down to your working hands, thrusting inside of your sopping cunt. Your brain spins deliriously. It’s filthy, the filthiest thing you’ve ever done by far. A low whine slips past you, eyebrows wrinkling together from the spectacle. Ecstasy pumps through you, following the rhythm of your four fingers. 

“We’re perfect together,” Matty whispers. “Don’t you agree?” 

You bite your lip, keeping in another string of moans, but manage a fucked out smile anyway. “The best.” Matty agrees with a particularly skillful thrust, dipping far inside of you. You kick your legs, crying out. 

“There we go,” Matty coos. “See, good things come with time.” You shake your head, though you’re in no position to argue when your sanity is stretching thin, pleasure stringing it. 

Your arm grows tired and sore. You give up, letting Matty puppeteer your poor, slack hand, letting yourself be washed in the answering euphoria. You almost wish you could grip his shoulder, his arm, his hand; something to hold onto, to catch yourself. 

“Touch your clit,” Matty demands. You nod, starting those tight circles again. 

It’s the last nail in the coffin. With another perfect four-fingered thrust and a sloppy swipe over your bud, you fall apart on your joint hands, screaming out Matty’s name. Your mind unravels, euphoria cutting the string loose, letting your body jerk senselessly. You cry obscenities, all jumbled together. 

You come down slowly, breathing quickly. You’ve never known an orgasm like this, not even with your own sharp, efficient hand. You feel gooey on your bones.  

Your eyes tentatively open, finding Matty’s grinning face. “Hi,” he says. 

You laugh. “Hi.” 

Slowly, Matty pulls both hands out of you. You jump at the sudden lack, your cunt fluttering around nothing. Grabbing your wrist, he brings your soaked fingers to his lips, sucking them into his mouth. You moan at the sight.

His eyes find yours. He smiles around your digits, then brings his own hand to your face. His wet fingers tap on your lips. You tentatively let them part and he slips inside of you. You suck your juices off him, whining around him, and a shiver travels down his spine. 

Matty lets you go with a pop. Spit coats your fingers. “There you go. All cleaned up.” He grins lazily. His hand leaves your mouth and finds your waist, gripping it greedily, like he might die from not touching you. “So what do you have on that list of yours?”

[cannibalisticdespair]

Hey, how's it going? If you don't mind answering, how's the system constructed? Who's in there? If you do mind answering, what's your favourite colour?

It’s myself (Krys, she/her), Junko (Junko fictive, she/her), Zaedel (my twin since we formed at the same time for bad prolonged trauma reasons, he/him), Cherry (he/she and don’t consistently use one, bigender little who takes after the original host in some ways but is a more idealized version, mentally 8-10), and Val (she/her, oldest one here, grew up with the original host but Zaedel and I only became aware of her much later on because historically she existed for “we need to be a vicious feral beast to match the energy of the family screaming matches and whatnot” reasons, but has been rehabilitating you could say).

Headspace-wise, I just look how I look with maximum effort. Zaedel meanwhile has our dad’s olive skin tone (lifelong outdoor loving and working Sicilian man), stubble to a short beard, long black hair, and black molting angel wings. And usually a leather jacket. Junko’s mostly canon, just the clothing tends to be more early 2010s emo girl. Fishnet tops and a bra or shirt where the sleeves and neck are cut out and the back is sliced up, ripped skinny jeans, docs or converse, a black/red/danganronpa blood pink color scheme.

Cherry is an androgynous, pale, heavily freckled boygirl with long brown hair and brown eyes, usually a black tanktop, shorts, and flip flops. And Val looks like a cross between the HL2 rotting corpse with the real corpse face and Samara from The Ring if she was actually depicted as a waterlogged corpse that’s been sitting there for a week or two (we had unrestricted internet access starting in the 2000s, we have quite the frame of reference).

Zaedel and I formed in tandem with the death of the original host. Originally, he held all the trauma memories from before we formed and I had near-total amnesia. He also spent a few years trying to get me to kill ourselves because he couldn’t take control of the body over it. LSD changed us and our dynamic, and also caused a slowly rising amount of access to the memories for me.

Val we didn’t really realize was a headmate until more recently because of her purely utilitarian fronting and lack of communication, but once we started talking it became clear she was the first one to form. The original host was extremely timid and shy and nervous, which didn’t really work for the environment we grew up in. So Val was the fighter.

Cherry and Junko both broke off of me. Cherry started out as my littlespace, but more and more life stress and stuff eventually snapped him off entirely and made her his own thing.

Junko meanwhile is a mix of causal factors. One, writing hundreds of thousands of words of fic in the 2010s with my method. Which is “I just place these semi-independent thoughtforms of characters in a situation with a little bit of scripting and prose-journal what happens”. Two, strengthening that with constant listening to a playlist build around her for years. Three, more LSD, which led to our first direct conversation enabled by a poster of her (the Egirl Junko art by JunkoEXE). Four, yet more psychological trauma. What finally led to her permanently emerging was me accidentally getting triggered and restoring my earliest CSA trauma memories, which broke me pretty bad. Like… I thought it began way later than that. She took on pieces that broke off of me when that happened and it finished her.

Name-wise, I stole mine from an emo girl I knew in high school. Zaedel thought up his after a few years with a mix of “it needs to have the right mouthfeel and also needs to end in -el”. Cherry got hers from a friend of ours. Junko is Junko, that’s just her name. And Val is short for Valerie and is a nerdy joke about her being our “evil side”. It’s a feminine name play on “Valeyard”.

And also, my favorite color is purple. Junko’s is anything in the red/magenta/pink spectrum. Zaedel is black. Cherry really likes green and blue. Val is the sorts of purples you get from bruising and discoloration on a corpse.

[mrcspectr]

oh i would LOVE to hear your marc and jake thoughts, anything you have to say about them i am listening

FIRED from writing about the boys because this took FOREVER sodjfnfkdkd sorry sometimes the brain just. Doesn't. 😅

Ahem. So. (Also disclaimer; this is in terms of their MCU counterparts, comics characterization has some similarities to this in my mind but it's not quite the same.)

I love exploring Marc and Jake's relationship because really.. we don't know a whole lot just yet, so there's plenty of room to play around with, right? Five minutes of a scene of Jake along with six episodes with varying degrees of Marc involvement doesn't really leave a lot of room for canon characterization, but to me, there's really only one way that it works.

The way the show ended left Marc and Steven living as a sort of cohesive, brotherly relationship. Things are bumpy, but they're more aware and are beginning to learn to live in tandem with each other. But it didn't start out that way. We went from Steven not knowing of Marc at all, to confusion, to misunderstanding, frustration, resentment caused by Marc's lies and anger from Steven once he realized how many decisions Marc had been making without his input. A ton of work had to be done and processing needed to happen to an extent so that the two could understand each other. And in that dynamic, Marc held the most information.

So what happens when Marc falls into Steven's shoes?

Honestly, I think it would be incredibly funny.. eventually. The point we're at right now, we've got a pushpin right in the dead center of Steven's timeline in season one. Marc is confused. Marc is missing things. Marc is realizing that this time, he's not the one with the upperhand, he's not seeing all the pieces on the board. I don't think he'd react in quite the same way because he's not Steven; Steven had this intense fear of the unknown, was horrified at the existence of someone he didn't understand. He just wanted his little life with his own things and wanted to be content with that, somehow. Until a certain Mr. Marc Spector threw a nuke in the whole thing.

Marc I think would be more.. frustrated initially. Quick to anger. At first, I think he'd be entirely unwilling to acknowledge Jake at all, assuming that if he just ignores the problem, it will go away. Because Marc knows how their brain works, he would've known if there was someone else. And Jake would just laugh. He'd giggle and chortle and it would drive Marc insane. Like, buddy. You really thought you had this under control, all by yourself? Weren't gonna acknowledge all the missing time that couldn't possibly have been accounted for during Steven's waking hours? The bodies? The near impossible escapes that he had no recollection of? The hazy timelines that Steven seemed to sideeye him for just a little too long during his explanations?

Eventually that anger would still come, in the same way it had with Steven but from Marc's perspective. He doesn't always agree with Jake's violence, but Jake knows Marc had never been entirely above hurting people and isn't afraid to call him out on his hypocrisy. He's saved the lot of them more times than he can count and he won't apologize for it, but Marc Knows Best and is constantly picking a fight regarding Jake's methods, his attitude, his blatant refusal to follow Marc's plans. Again, Marc has always (lol) been the one in control, and giving up the reigns will be. Well. Near impossible.

I could talk about this all day, but the way their habits and personalities bounce off of each other has always been so fun to play with for me. The relationships between the three of them are a kaleidoscope of colors, reflections of each other but varying hues that shine in unique ways.

Plus they're so dumb. But I love 'em.

[8huas]

#the inauspicious burden of surreal nightmares.

down the drain is a sound so faint that if one strains go hear it, they can listen to it— muffled: drip, drop, drip, drop. water dripping quietly, secretively— a thin veil between reality and imagination.

what happens then, when they blur? when your mind fails to draw a line and you slip into the drain, your body taking shape of goop and then mutating into something else? what happens then?

(i dream quietly. i don't remember the dreams, often. but this one i remember too vividly.

down the rows of seats on the bullet train, streetlights filtering between windows and the night heavy on our shoulders, i see a familiar head. my heart pounds— anxiety. the dream comes rushing back to me.)

a tormented door that cannot unlock (a sliding door) where he presses his back to and breathes heavily, head pounding like there is a percussion of drums playing in tandem just under the muscle of his temple (a migraine). sweat beads, people want to come in and celebrate, but he sits there and the room around him swirls into multiple colors, then one muted color.

a blink. he realizes he needs to shower. he gets up (the world around him unswirls, everything is back to normal) and grabs his items. at the desk, a man— wordless, though his mouth is moving and he is charmed by the mouth, the silent flow of words that pull at him like a magnet. at the desk, a man— smiling and gesturing to the laptop. he drifts over like a ghoul on a leash, tethered to the very essence of this hotel room, and he notices a movie in a room with a couple of others. distantly, like an echo in a vast yet empty canyon, he hears himself say: make sure you stay there. make sure you add me.

wordless, beautiful man smiles and rolls his eyes (when he checks later, he has been added— they have been friends again). wordless, beautiful man takes a step forward first and nods, a hand on the shoulder, thin lips forming the words, "don't worry, hyung, i'm here now".

he finds it hard to believe— tortured by the remnants of a greyed and fuzzied past but he's nothing if not prisoner to his own hope, so he smiles and nods. a shower, then. he pads to the shower, refraining from the urge to turn around and triple check if that man is still there. trust him one more time, his mind whispers. he trusts him, so he showers.

but the shower melts off the colors off his body, his form turning into putty as it slips into the drain and there he is— free falling through the darkness with a startled, cut-off scream. a hand reaches out for a moment, before giving up— succumbing to whatever's happening. the wind screeches in his ears noisily, the descent never ending, and he closes his eyes. is this how alice felt? did all her regrets pile up in her thoughts as she fell? did she stab herself for following the rabbit, for leaving a life behind for something so frightening as this?

no, alice was a daring character. him? not so much.

he closes his eyes, then, the darkness pressing into even more darkness and then— then he's able to breathe, when before he had forgotten the function entirely.

a sharp inhale, pain twinging in the chest— a sign of life, and then a fast exhale. then, a quicker inhale and a panicked exhale. the breathing rhythm becomes panicky, his body tethered to the essence of this room once more and when he snaps open his eyes, frantically looking towards the desk—

the wordless, beautiful man is not there, as if he was never there to begin with. nary a hair nor an indentation in the chair, not a single scent left lingering in the air like a lover's kiss goodbye.

(i remember waking up with a startled noise, a deer-in-the-headlights look— i remember feeling like my heart would pound right out of my mouth, that my hair would fall off my head. was i alone? i had to check.

the train had been quiet, save for the life-like signs of people sleeping. was he... still here? out of reach, but here?

i had spared a look before— he was. and he was still out of reach.)

[no-droids]

Rumors, Freebies, and a Race for Last Place

Part Two of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 22.5K DONT say shit alright just don’t

Warnings: Okay. There is degradation in this, some name calling and heated interactions. There is a LOT of smut, dirty talk and rough sex. If these things offend you, please do not continue reading.

***

It’s recommended to read part one first.

***

Getting into the x-wings is always fun.

It actually might be your favorite part.  Granted, alarm bells ringing and thousands of jumpsuits scrambling in all directions is never typically a good thing, but there’s also an inherent rush about it, a thrill in launching up the metal paneling as quick as you can and suiting up to provide aid.  It’s a side-effect of camaraderie, of being surrounded by like-minded individuals willing to do everything they can to help.  You never feel like you’re going to your death, even though that’s often the grim reality for at least one of you on a good day.  There’s always a roaring in your ears while you do it, adrenaline sharpening your senses and preparing yourself for conflict, not thinking anything beyond gogogogogo—

But getting out of the x-wing is… not great.  At least for you.  It’s sluggish.  Your body is always completely drained and you never come out of it feeling the same way you went in.  Even in times of victory, there’s a somberness inside you after battle.  As much as you tell yourself you’re fighting for good, for prosperity against an evil machine hellbent on enslaving the galaxy, there’s only so many explosions lighting up in front of your eyes and screams cutting out through your comms you can take before winning just doesn’t really feel like winning anymore.  Most pilots are able to handle it better than you are, but since you joined the Resistance, you��ve never truly felt the desire to celebrate.  Not even when you serve a massive, glaring defeat to the other side.  There’ll always be at least one missing x-wing, one empty seat at the table, one person not here to celebrate with you.

You came back in one piece this time.  Barely.

The whole mission went sideways—literally.  You’d purposefully stationed the tandem just outside the coordinates you were meant to be surveilling so that you’d be hidden from sight and dead to the scanners should the fleet arrive, but something must’ve happened.  You must’ve powered down a few seconds too early after he turned the thrusters off, because apparently the ship drifted in dead space for close to eight hours without either of you noticing, having no working computers to actively read your location and correct it.  You were sitting ducks right in the hyperspace drop zone by the time the First Order showed up, and by that point you had no choice but to engage.

“Gold-Ten,” a voice murmurs from behind you, and you blink, suddenly seeing the base landing platform stretching out long in front of you, hundreds of docking ships and boisterous pilots scrambling out of them to hug their comrades and congratulate them even as medics rush past with white coats and gurneys.  They’re never for the pilots, but they dispatch healers anyways whenever a convoy returns in case a straggler gets picked up.  There’s an unspoken understanding in space battle—pilots never get injured.  They either come back unharmed, or they don’t come back at all.

Dameron.

You turn around and watch him slowly approach you with an unreadable expression, his jumpsuit still bunched halfway down his torso.  The once bright white sleeveless undershirt is now greasy and damp with sweat,  his dark curls sticking to his forehead.  He winces with every bow-legged step—you know the feeling—before he’s standing directly in front of you and something is carefully being pulled out of your hands.  You didn’t even realize you were holding onto anything.

Your helmet.  You forgot to leave it in the x-wing, and you’ve been carrying it around under your arm aimlessly while mentally checking off the squadrons as they return, counting the numbers you lost today while everybody else hugs and whoops and claps each other on the back.

It’s not as bad as you were expecting it was going to be, not as bad as it seemed just an hour earlier when you were listening to Dameron bellow out evasive flight maneuvers a millisecond before he enacted them and you adjusted your firing at the TIEs accordingly.  You used to think you were quick with how rapidly you could suit up and fly out, drop in to assist and engage, but on the other side, it felt like your reinforcements lollygagged for ages before arriving.  You were left to defend against an entire fleet in one stupid ship, more lines of TIEs sinking like flies from launch decks every second.

“Gold-Ten,” you hear again, and you blink a few times, needing to focus your vision before you can find his gaze.

Dameron’s palm, previously hovering a few inches above your shoulder, suddenly drops to spread along the curve of it and you take a deep breath, almost wanting to shudder at the feeling of something touching you.  You channel all your focus into it, feel his fingers branch out strong along the tight muscles in your neck, giving you an anchor you automatically lean into.

You and him are no strangers to touching.  Before today it was mostly reserved to poking and prodding and flicking and light slapping in an effort to piss each other off, but now… you can’t even think about it right now, your body will just fucking glitch out on you.  After everything that just happened, you cannot think about where else that hand has been recently, not right now.

“You did… you did really fucking good today,” he tells you quietly, slowly trailing his hand down the length of your entire arm until he catches your wrist and a few of your fingers in his loose grip.  “Seriously.  That was… we were…”

His touch is so present, so reassuring.  Grounding, when all your mind wants is to just float away.  You glance down at where his fingers are gently tangled with yours and you feel your hand tighten just slightly, the smallest squeeze while he blinks down at you.

“We almost died, like… every single second,” you barely manage to croak, not really having the words to express it right now.  You always need at least an hour or two after missions like this to just sit in one place and regroup.  Usually you find yourself wandering back to your room to lay on the bed and stare up at the ceiling while you consider your own mortality, but Dameron interrupted you this time before you could process it by yourself.  “We…”  Your voice sounds absolutely shredded.  “W-We shouldn’t even be alive right now.”

“I know,” he nods in soft agreement, taking a small step closer to you.  “But we are alive.  Hey.”  He dips his head as soon as your gaze starts to drift, catching your eyes once more and drawing your attention back to the present with a squeeze of your hand.  “We’re alive, right?  Be alive with me.”

You take a big breath in and close your eyes, feeling the oxygen fill your lungs once more, but this time, it’s… restorative.  A wonderful, beautiful reminder of your existence.  You’re alive.  Usually the word just feels like a synonym for persevering.  Pushing onwards despite trials and tribulations, not looking back.  But the way he says it, especially with his hand in yours and a quiet invitation to tag along, it sounds… breathtaking.  Full of light, and hope.  It suddenly leaves the dim shadows and slides into a completely different category of feelings, feelings you’d never imagine being able to conjure so quickly after such a close brush with death.  Alive—it slots right in next to words like colorful, radiant, sunshine, and butterflies.  Enchanting words, ones you’d like to hear again and again.

Your eyes slowly open and there he is, the man you were sure was going to accompany you to the afterlife.  You were stuck with Poe Dameron in one of the closest calls you can remember, and strangely, his presence was nothing if not… a comfort.  For the first time in your life, you were grateful he was there.

You open your mouth, suddenly feeling the needy, unfounded urge to tell him that.  “I’m gla—”

“Dameron!”  You hear a series of voices call from somewhere to your left, and he immediately drops your hand to whip his body around and place himself directly between you and the approaching onlookers, using his large frame to hide you from their sight.

“What’s up, Briggs?”  Dameron projects to one pilot in particular that seems to be leading the group, his back oddly close to you in this position.  Your fingers still feel tingly from where he was holding onto them.

A chorus of congratulatory, “Nice flying, Captain!” and the like can be heard floating through the air from beyond his shoulders, before the leader speaks loudly over them.  “Hey—me, Seven, Six, and Twelve were gonna grab some drinks in the mess hall with a few of the Blue girls,” he tells Dameron, slowing to a stop as soon as he sees you standing awkwardly behind him.  “Oh hey, Goldie.”

You lift a hand and clear the remainder of the dissociation from your throat, not knowing him well enough beyond the squadron he and his group fly with.  “Greenies.”

“Anyways, I guess they wanted to know if you’d come too.  These idiots are convinced they’re never gonna give us the time of day unless you—”

“Uh—fine, whatever, just give me a few minutes alright?”  Dameron quickly assures him with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “I’ll meet up with you guys later.”

A few of them take turns giving him heavy claps on the shoulder and acclamatory words before the group eventually disperses, and he waits a few more seconds for their attention to fully scatter in another direction before turning back to you.

Shit, he’s standing really close.  Why is he so close to you?  You take a step back and blink up at him, the noises of the landing deck gradually amplifying back up to normal volume as you retreat back into your own space.  Since when did he have that effect on you?  You suddenly feel wide awake, and the chorus of happy chaos surrounding you is something you’re finally able to take in.  You knew it was happening before, but it was like it just existed outside of the creeping numbness.  Now, the knot of internal turmoil has untied itself a bit and you feel your surroundings start to fight for your direct attention.

Dameron continues to look at you the same exact way, though.  Like you’re still the only one here.

You look down at his half-suited figure and blink at the helmet loosely held in one of his hands.  Hey.  Hey, that’s yours—

“Give me that,” you hiss, suddenly snatching it from his fingertips.  “You have people waiting.”

The cutting words serve to snap him out of whatever spell he’s under.  Dameron quickly lifts his head and looks around a few times with sharp eyes, before hooking your elbow and twisting you into a complete 180 until your back faces most of the excitement.  You resist, immediately trying to push him off you and worried he’s going to confront you about… things, but he’s determined.

He doesn’t say anything to you at all, though.  His fingers quickly grasp the baggy fabric of your jumpsuit even as you sputter and start to ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, and you glance down just in time to see him yanking the gaping velcro closed at your crotch.

Your cheeks instantly start burning as he tugs and smooths the fabric down until it’s seamless once more, especially when his eyes flick up to yours without moving his head.  Fuck, you’re instantly hot with some wicked emotion, a mixture of embarrassment and outrage and… something else.  Maker, you almost wish you were numb and disoriented again, if only so you could avoid feeling whatever the fuck this is.

You quite suddenly shove your helmet back into his stomach with an infuriated sound even as he doubles over with a shocked whoosh of air, changing your mind about returning it to the ship yourself before storming off without another word.

*** 

Okay, so you’ve done some thinking, and.  Well.  Fuck him, that’s what you’ve decided.

No—not… fuck him.  But like, fuck him.  You know.  In the negative sense of the word.  The bad fuck.

There’s a full tray of food sitting in front of you but you’ve so far been unable to touch it.  Mostly you’re just wondering why the fuck you’re even here.  Well, you know why you’re here—you should eat, it’s dinnertime and this is the mess hall.  You’ve been known to skip out on meals after heavy missions, secluding yourself away and just wallowing for a bit, but you… strangely didn’t feel like doing that today.  You don’t want to self-isolate when you feel okay enough to avoid it, not again.  So you’re here, because the clock says your tummy should want food, but you can’t bring yourself to even look at it.

No, you’re looking at him.  Glaring, actually.

Across the mess hall and beyond the transparisteel divider that separates the cafeteria from the bar area, Dameron is all eyebrows and smiles and side nudges and winks right now.  You can’t hear him—the sound won’t travel this far, but you can see him situated in the middle of a rowdy group of pilots.  He laughs in that disgustingly charming way of his, where his stupidly cute nose scrunches up all cute and stupid and you want to just ask the Maker why he’s doing this shit to you.  What have you done to deserve this torture?  Sure, you may have willingly agreed to it, even… conceived and propositioned the idea, and sure, absolutely nothing is stopping you from forfeiting and walking away at this exact second, but does that make it okay?  No, you’ve decided.  It’s not okay.  He’s not allowed to… to make you feel like this, so fuck him.  In the bad way.

“Just fuck him already,” a voice suddenly grumbles as someone plops down into the seat to your right, plastic trays of food clattering loudly on the table and snapping you out of your reverie.  Gold-Sixteen blocks your view as he silently drops into the seat in front of you and wraps his green lekku around his neck a few times before immediately beginning to shovel food into his mouth, while Gold-Three opens her box of blue milk next to you and continues.  “The Blues never fucking shut up about it, it’s getting annoying.”

“Don’t listen to her, Dime,” Gold-Eleven tells you, quickly occupying the seat on your left and biting into a crunchy piece of fruit, talking loudly over the chatter even as he chomps.  “Rossi just knows her pool is up tomorrow, she doesn’t want to lose any of her precious credits.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Gold-Three immediately snaps, leaning forward and around you to point the prongs of her fork at Eleven threateningly.  “Zhang’s pool starts on Sunday.”

“Oh fuck off, you guys are betting on this now?”  You groan, shoving your plate away with a flick of your fingers now that you’re certain you’ve completely lost your appetite.  Sixteen immediately snatches up one of your bread rolls while Zhang swipes your juice and Rossi goes for a packet of glockaw sauce.

“You’re the one who announced it in front of everybody, we’re just being active spectators,” Rossi returns, ripping the packet and pouring the sauce on her vegetables with a shrug.  “How the fuck do you bet against fucking each other though, that’s my question?  It’s a paradox, wouldn’t you both just lose at the same time?”

“Dameron and I aren’t going to fuck,” you tell her very slowly and clearly, starting to get a headache.  Why is it impossible to avoid this conversation topic, even with an entire Resistance base to roam around in?  “Ever.  The bet never had anything to do with fucking each other, it’s about not fucking other people.”

“Literally what is the difference?”  You hear Rossi ask with her mouth full, but Zhang speaks over her.

“Somebody should probably tell Nine that, she’s the bookie,” he tosses out carelessly, dropping the core of his piece of fruit to his tray before wiping his hands on his jumpsuit.  You bury your face in your hands and let out a loud, exhausted sound into your palms, not knowing which response serves to aggravate your already emotionally overloaded ass even more.  Nine is the bookie, of fucking course she is.  “But hey, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think any of it actually goes outside of Gold, so.”

“I’ve heard the Blues talking about it, but that’s it,” Rossi chimes in while chewing some of her veggies.  “Maybe some Reds.  Point is everybody else thinks it’s already happening, honestly.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper, using your knuckles to rub at the backs of your eyes until bright spots appear.  Where are stress headaches localized?  Are those the ones right under your brow bone?  Because stars, you feel it.  “Fucking… why?  Why do people think that me and Dameron are…?”

Nobody at the table immediately responds, and you drop your hands after a moment to look at each of their astounded faces in turn.

“You fucking serious, bitch?”  Rossi blurts first, her voice completely deadpan, and you growl in vexation.

“Have I not been vocal enough about my severe dislik—”

“And yet you kicked Nine out of your room to let him bunk with you,” Zhang immediately suggests.

“You request mission assignments together,” Rossi adds.

“Spend your off-days together,” Zhang continues.

“You’re both really weird about how long it takes the other person to shower,” Rossi tacks onto the list Zhang is now making on his fingers and you shake your head frantically.

“No—no, that’s so that we know neither one of us is cheating,” you try to explain, and you already know it sounds unconvincing without needing the two quick, lofty and sarcastic nods on either side of you.  “Showers and off-days are prime masturb—no, you know what?  No.  I’m tired of the assumptions, I don’t owe anyone shit.  This is super fucking uncool of you guys, you know that?  It’s insane that this is what counts as gossip in the Resistance nowada—”

“There’s only so much bad news people can take, Ten,” Gold-Sixteen grunts down at his almost finished plate, and all three of you snap your gazes across the table at him.  The forest-tinted twi’lek doesn’t speak much, it’s uncommon to hear his voice without distortion over the comms, but you blink as his sharp teeth continue to form words without looking at you.  “Quit being so sensitive.  Rather bet on this shit than which system is getting demolished next.”

And with that, Sixteen excuses himself with a silent nod, having gobbled down his full plate while you, Three, and Eleven were bickering.  You feel your cheeks flare with anger and shame—you didn’t deserve that, you immediately reassure yourself, but the hidden self-doubt the comment sows just further contributes to your upset.  You want to call out to his back that just because the First Order exists doesn’t mean you have to put up with your own fucking squadron turning you and your mortal enemy into glorified race fathiers, but he’s already leaving the mess hall while Rossi and Zhang have moved on to other topics, both of them continuing to grab more food from your tray as they talk.

You have a tough shell.  But today was… a lot.  You bite your lip down at the table against the sudden wave of emotion, blinking quickly to clear the weakness watering your vision.

See, this—this right here is why you use last names.  These people aren’t your friends.  Betting on who you fuck for laughs, using you as a source of entertainment without your consent just because they’re in the middle of a war, and then guilting you into feeling like you’re the one acting like a stuck up bitch about it?  You’re fighting in the same fucking war—you’re on the front lines just like everybody else and nobody gets to lecture you on the devastation of battle.  You almost died today.  You fought tooth and fucking nail to stay alive and by all accounts, you shouldn’t even be sitting here right now, much less dealing with this childish shit.  This is your squadron.  These people are supposed to be the ones closest to you out of everyone, the ones you’ve been flying into chaos in formation with for years, and yet not a single damn person has even mentioned your performance to you today, all anyone can ever seem to talk about is—ugh.

Unfortunately, your unobstructed view also allows you to look at the source of your bad mood once more, immediately noticing the way more people have crowded around him now, and the headache continues to throb painfully behind your eyeballs.  You were in the same ship, does nobody realize that?  You were gunning, he was flying—you were offense, he was defense—that’s the only fucking difference, and yet, it’s like that side of the mess hall is just completely lit up with hearty laughter and music playing from someone’s holopad and congratulatory drinks being passed around, while yours is… well.

You continue to fume inwardly, struggling somewhere between bitter and hurt, and you can see your reflection through the transparisteel giving him a death glare, wondering how many of the people surrounding him have made bets with Nine.  How many of his little entourage have their money wagered on Dameron getting in your pants by a specific dat—

You stop short while staring at his handsome face, an infuriating, horrifying thought suddenly striking you.  No… no, he wouldn’t…

“Does he know?”  You immediately interrupt the chitchat between Three and Eleven to ask with a deadly edge in your voice, tipping your forehead at pretty boy.  Ooh, you can already feel it burning.  It would be so fucking typical.  Oooooh, Maker, if he’s heard even a fucking whisper about this outside wagering going on amongst the pilots, you will fucking smother his ass in his sleep tonight.  How could he not know?  With as many friends as he has?  If you’re just being made aware of it, then it’s a given that somebody has to have told him by now, which just means that it’s all the more possible—shit, even more likely—that he’s… participating, too.  You do your best to keep your voice even, but you can hear the quiet fury shaking in it.  “The bet about when me and him are gonna fuck, does he know about it?”

“Who—Dameron?”  Zhang turns his head.  “No, I don’t think s—”

“Yeah,” Rossi says at the exact same time, and your blood instantly turns ice cold as Zhang leans around you to blink at her stupidly.

“No.  Yeah?  What?”  He says, sounding genuinely confused.

“Yeah, remember?”  Rossi confirms with a shrug.  “Nine was mad as all shit, came at me in the rec room a few weeks ag—fucking Maker, Eleven, you were there.”

“Oh,” Zhang suddenly exhales, “yeah, that’s right.  Oh, yeah, Dime, he knows.”

You’re—fuck, you’re about to rampage.  You’re burning a fucking hole through Dameron while he converses animatedly with his numerous buddies, waving an open hand and shaking his head at someone with a smile and then gesturing broadly to this side of the transparisteel.  His pool is probably up soon, you figure.  That’s why he came onto you so strong earlier today.  He was going to get two weeks of your pay, plus whatever he must’ve offered up to Nine that says he’d get it to happen within a certain amount of time.  Perfect, your old roomie and the arch nemesis you stupidly agreed to trade her for, two asshole peas in an asshole pod.

“—she thought I was the one who told him—”  You know Rossi is still talking but you’re not actually hearing any of it.  Nobody has any fucking idea.  Nobody has any idea what he did to you today, how unbelievably close you were to… to actually…  “—was all just for fun, but then he had a few choice words for her and told his squad that if any of them had made a—”  You don’t know why you’re so surprised honestly, you should’ve expected…

Wait.

“Wait,” you suddenly blurt, and while she shuts up immediately, your mind starts whirling even faster.  Dameron had some… what?  “Wait.  Explain.  You’re saying he didn’t…”  You slowly shake your head, furrowing your eyebrows and trying to piece it together.  “He didn’t… place a bet with her, or anything?”

“What?  No,” Rossi shakes her head a lot more forcefully than you, getting frustrated.  “No, fucking—didn’t you hear anything I just said, Ten?  He got all high and mighty for some stupid reason, totally reamed her ass out for it.”

“But…”  You blink, stunned.  “But… why?  Why would he…?”

Rossi shrugs.  “Fuck if I know.  All she said was that he ordered Black not to throw in, made her lose a fuckton of money from it.  Had no idea Dameron would be so touchy about his sex life, honestly.”

He… he isn’t.  He isn’t touchy about his sex life—you feel like he never shuts up about it.

Rossi continues talking, but you’re not listening again.  You stare stupidly at yourself in the clear transparisteel as Dameron’s voice comes back to you, repeating something you specifically remember him saying earlier today.  Something you thought was just a careless jab at the time, aimed blindly at one of your comrades with nothing more than the intent to piss you off.

…I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half… 

You blink beyond your own reflection to focus on him once more, still lost in his own little world, not paying a single lick of attention to you while you’re essentially having a fucking crisis over here.  You didn’t think the insult had any real substance to it at all.  You just naturally assumed that was the result of him wanting to lash out at anything or anyone remotely close to you, if only to get a reaction, so you never gave him one or paid it any mind.  

This is why he said that about Nine?  Because he knew she had organized this fucked up betting pool behind your back?

Stars, you need to get out of here, all these rumors are fucking with your head.  Your assumptions and the hairpin turnarounds are giving you worse whiplash than Dameron’s… well, admittedly spectacular flying today.  You were wrong about wanting to avoid isolating—in fact, that suddenly sounds like a phenomenal idea.

So, you just get up and leave right in the middle of Rossi’s sentence, needing some time alone.  Neither of them call out to you as you quickly walk around the table and through the barrier towards the exit, thank the Maker, and you’re just about to retreat with no interruptions until suddenly two Greenies step in front of you and block your path.

You halt immediately, looking up at them with a furrowed brow.  “What now?”  You grunt, not having the patience to even wait for a response before attempting to squeeze around them.

“Hey, so you really saved our asses out there today, Goldie,” the one on the left quickly sidesteps in front of you and rushes to say, and you settle your weight back on your heels with a huff.

“What are you talking about?”  You glance back and forth between them, not recalling a time you’ve ever spoken to either one, before jerking your head to gesture over your shoulder.  “Go congratulate trophy boy over there, he was the one flying.”

“We did,” the one on the right tips sideways to look at Dameron behind your shoulder, likely still laughing and joking with someone about something, something super fucking dumb probably.  “Well, uh.  We tried.”

“What?”  You let out a heavy sigh and rub your temples.  “The fuck is that supposed to mean?  I don’t have the time.”

“He won’t take any credit, just keeps saying that all he did was steer you around,” the other one shrugs as his companion straightens and looks down at you once more.  “Wouldn’t accept any drinks we offer him, nothing.  So we thought we’d buy you one instead.  Unless you’re… leaving?”

It takes you a few seconds to process that, even as he allows the open invitation to hang in the air.  You can’t stop the way your torso automatically twists around to study your copilot from across the mess hall in baffled silence, suddenly realizing that they’re… they’re right.  Dameron has no congratulatory drinks sitting in front of him even though more and more people have made their way into the bar.  He’s just sitting there grinning and nodding along to something someone else is saying, completely and blissfully unaware of the extent to which he’s fucked with you in the past twenty minutes.  The past… whole day.  Month and a half.  Or… fuck, how long have you known him?  Two years?

But then Dameron’s gaze gradually drifts this way, before suddenly locking with yours.  His eyes flick behind you to look at the two Greenies blocking your exit, and then back to the way you’re staring at him, wide-eyed and startled.

He suddenly stands up and starts to take a few steps towards you, and the sheer abruptness of the movement causes you to react immediately.  You stumble your way backwards through the two pilots, feeling a few hands reach out to steady you through the awkward fumbling, but you slap them away and announce loud enough for Dameron to hear beyond them that you’re taking a shower, and you don’t give a fuck how long it’s gonna be this time.

***

The knob squeaks as you turn the water on.  Usually you’d step back and wait the grueling five minutes or longer it takes for it to heat up with your arms crossed over your naked chest, but this time you move directly under the freezing spray, hoping to use the ice cold to shock your system.

You're finally alone.

Technically solitude doesn’t really exist within this base.  You’ve heard of others that are a little nicer, having a little more room for the ranks, but not here.  Housing assignments, showers and restrooms, mess and recreation halls—they’re all communal.  Everyone is given rotating shifts, so while that means there’s never any true quiet to be found, it also means that showers are spread out well throughout the day and night.

But, at least for this moment, there’s nobody else around.  At least in here, in the tiled chamber with multiple shower heads stationed around you—you’re sure there are a few girls lingering in the locker room and the entry area beyond it, but for right now, you’re blissfully by yourself.

And yet, you can’t seem to enjoy it.

You know you should be basking in the isolation.  You should be thrilled at the rarity of only hearing your own flipflops slap against the floor as you turn around and drench your hair with the icy spray, but the lack of an immediate distraction for your focus allows it to wander to things you don’t want it to.

Explosions, mostly.  Lighting up like fireworks in front of your eyes even as they flutter closed and let water drip down them.  Constant, never-ending.  Some of them small—TIEs you shot down, allies drawing fire away from you and then subsequently getting overwhelmed, zipping through dense debris from deadly collisions so quick that you had trouble distinguishing friend from foe.  Some of them were massive—star destroyers splitting apart, warp drives overloading, enormous casualty counts.  You don’t know how many lives you took today, not directly.

The beginning was the worst—when you were still slightly disoriented, when you were panicked and screaming into the comms for assistance.  Then the closest stationed tandem showed up first—Red-Two and Eight, you think it was.  Doesn’t matter now.  They took some heat off you before the cavalry arrived, but you remember Dameron barking out your name the second their left thruster got nicked and they started spiraling, a ferociously deep, “With me!” cutting through the white noise.  It was enough to snap you back, forcing you to instantly flick your eyes away and focus dead ahead without witnessing their demise.

It wouldn’t have normally been necessary.  You’ve been flying with the Resistance for years, you’ve seen way too much bloodshed by now.  But you’ve never been the catalyst of it—you’ve always been able to confront threats accompanied by your squadron, right between Nine and Eleven, the flight controls rumbling steady under your palms.  You’ve never faced down an entire fleet in one single ship.  You’ve never had to rely so directly on the skills of another pilot in order to stay alive.

The water slowly heats to a lukewarm while you reach for the shampoo.

Surprisingly, for as much as the two of you clash in normal interactions, it was like everything eventually became… synchronized.  Spectacularly so.  Dameron started off the enemy confrontation by calling out his flight patterns to give you a chance to adjust your firing in real time, but then at some point, it just stopped being necessary.  There was a moment where you both were able to suddenly… get it.  Get each other.  He didn’t have to say anything after that—you could predict each other without second guessing, react instantaneously, and work your way through the littered battlefield accordingly.  You never thought it would be possible to collaborate so well with someone you’ve spent ages despising.  Sure, you’d both die if you didn’t—shit, you’d probably still both die regardless—but this kind of teamwork extended beyond the need to survive.  It doesn’t matter how much you want to stay alive when reading someone else’s mind is physically impossible, but for some reason…  You have no idea why, but it apparently came naturally between you.  It fell to pure instinct, pure reaction, and remarkably, his would somehow match yours perfectly, every single time.

You lather the shampoo in your hair, remembering how his voice changed over the course of the mission.  How it gradually shifted from panicked roars and barked orders into ecstatic cheers and genuine praise after landing a difficult shot, how he just couldn’t seem to stop whooping.  

You smile softly as the tepid water rinses away the dirt and sweat from your body, until the temperature is brought up to a gentle, comfortable warmth raining down you and echoing in the empty shower room.

And, your first name.  Dameron kept calling you that, the whole time.  The one you’re now absolutely certain you’ve never personally given to him.  The one he would’ve had to have listened for specifically.  Remembered, or at least asked the right person about.  But why?  It’s not… it makes no sense, he doesn’t give a shit.  He’s notorious for not giving a shit.  He can’t even be bothered to remember the names of the girls he’s actually with—so why did he go to the trouble to figure out yours?  You’ve been nothing but a thorn in his side the same way he is to you, right?

Right?

Your mind starts recollecting more recent events, trying to work through and process it by yourself.  He was… singing your praises today.  He was openly giving you credit for the win while you pouted in the corner and assumed the absolute worst of him.  As much as you’re frustrated that nobody else seemed to give voice to your contributions, you’re even more surprised that he was the one who did.

And then even earlier.  Gold-Nine, holding wagers with members of your squad (and others, apparently) about when you’re going to fuck him.  Dameron, tearing her a new one for it, forbidding Black Squadron from throwing in and not attempting to hide his disdain for her from you.  He… he defended you.  Stood up for you when your own squad was being a bunch of dicks behind your back.  And nobody ever fucking mentioned it to you.  What did Rossi say—a few weeks ago?  He’s known all this time and only today, only after you… openly showed more interest in him than you ever have, after you worked up enough nerve to try in your own little way to flirt back this time instead of responding to his casual comments with contempt and disgust, only today is when he decided to make a real move on you.

…Your mind is completely blank and yet you still feel yourself start to heat up just a bit at even alluding to the events that took place earlier.  The way his fingers felt—

Steam begins to fill the open concept chamber while you shake your head against the train of thought and reach for the soap, beginning to circle the bar along your arms and shoulders with a sigh.  This is already the longest shower you’ve taken in almost two months, and your body slowly relaxes under the mist and heat as you take forever cleaning yourself, slowly and hypnotically rubbing the soap along your skin.

The second you let your eyelids dip shut at the feeling, you immediately shiver at a flash of Dameron dragging his finger out of his mouth and blinking dark eyes at you through the transparisteel.

Fuck.  The soap slips from your hand and you quickly catch it against your body before it falls to the ground completely, suddenly feeling the need to breathe in the misty air a bit harder.  Shower, you’re in the shower.  Come on.

The dirt and grime is scrubbed from your face and you tilt your head to move the bar of soap across your neck.  As it lathers, you can’t help but remember the way his lips felt against the skin right there, the scratch of his beard.  You keep working the soap against that same spot for a while, not knowing if you’re trying to wash away the sensation or simulate it, until you gradually slow and make it lighter, softer—yes, that’s closer to how it felt, that’s—

Soon the water is boiling hot and you’re trying not to boil along with it, remembering everything he said against this spot, the filth he whispered to you here.  Your pussy starts to throb between your legs as the memories play out in your mind, how close he got you to shattering bliss without even really working for it.  If you put it all together collectively, you don’t think he actually touched you for more than a minute or two total today.  Mostly he just talked to you, but stars, he hit buttons you didn’t even think you had, had you a split second away from cumming harder than Maker knows while his finger rested just above your clit and provided no stimulation whatsoever.

Fuck, you enjoyed it.  You did, you’ll admit it when there’s no one else here but you.  You enjoyed the fuck out of it.  You wish he’d do it again.  Force you to lose, force you to cum so you can at least blame him for it, remove your responsibility from the equation and allow you to put just one more thing on his shoulders, to taste ecstacy instead of expecting you to bear the weight of pretending you don’t need it any longer.  He was doing you a favor, you realize that now.  Your body is staging a fucking coup and you wish you could’ve called mercy before it got to this agonizing point.  He turns you on, you fucking admit it.  He inspires violent emotions in you—jealousy, arousal, anger, temptation—thoughts you don’t want to have and consolidating it all into various forms of hatred makes the finer details easier to ignore.  Your perception of him has always been skewed by your iron will, but he all but took a fucking sledgehammer to it today, dented it beyond all recognition.  You want him, you want to him to take it all away, you want him to fuck you—in the… fuck, in the good way.

You don’t have a thought beyond that.  Your hand quickly falls down the length of your body to wash your private parts, biting your lip as your hips slowly start to rock into it.  You’re getting clean, you’re getting clean, this is how you clean yourself, this is… yes, as long as you keep the bar of soap pressed between your palm and the top of your curls like this, you’re cleaning yourself and you can just… ease your finger down just a little bit and—

Flipflops suddenly echo from the twisting hallway leading to the tiled freshers, and you immediately snatch your hand back up again, not needing to turn around to know another girl is walking into the room.  A knob somewhere to your right eventually makes a dull squeak as you quickly finish washing up and turn your showerhead off, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around yourself.

Maker, you feel like your pussy is plotting your demise.  Fuck, you can’t believe you almost cheated in the fucking showers just now where literally anyone could walk in, you thought you would’ve had more self-control than that.  You make your way into the changing rooms and grab your pajamas, starting to tug them on without fully drying your body and having only one thought in mind.  

Dameron will probably be celebrating late tonight.  You can tuck in early, scurry back to your room and cheat there.

Well, no, not cheating, because you clearly remember making a very compelling argument about wet dreams earlier today.  Maker, a freebie, the word has never sounded so enticing.  What you’d say amounts to a… bye-week orgasm basically, since you know he’s already lost at least one match against his own body and you’re meant to be competing on the same level.  It’s only fair to let you persevere through the toughest part of the challenge if he was allowed to throw a game early on and still stay in the competition.  Maybe he threw multiple games, you never got a straight answer concerning that, so it’s still under review.  He could’ve thrown… three games, even.  Or four.

You dress as quickly as possible and then nearly bolt through the entrance area to the restrooms with all the sinks and stalls.  The balled up dirty clothes and wet towel in your arms allow you to hide the way your nipples are stiff and tender against your thin pajamas, and you can’t wait to climb into your bunk and take everything off under the covers.  You’ll be able to cum, at least once.  It’ll relieve so much stress, get rid of this nightmare headache, rip through your body like lightning and paralyze it until you can start over from square one and think like yourself again.

And, you’re just about to power walk your ass back to your quarters when a body nearly slams into yours as soon as you step foot outside the door, your shoulder jerking back just in time to avoid a collision.

A mechanic, you think.  You’re not exactly sure, you don’t hang out with too many of them—he’s Chiss and his glowing red eyes don’t even land on you as you gasp and sidestep him at the last second, but it’s not him that catches the majority of your attention.  He just exited the men’s room at the same time you left the women’s, and the door takes a moment to swing shut behind him.

You freeze.  It can’t be more than a few seconds—but it feels like everything slows down and it lasts a fucking eternity.

Dameron is standing at a sink in the far corner of the room, naked except for a towel identical to the one in your arms wrapped loosely around his waist.  He cradles the base of his own throat with one hand and gently drags a razor down the smooth contour of it with the other, his chin tilted up high and regal while his eyelids dip low to concentrate on his movements.  He glances down and holds the foamy blade under the running faucet, tapping it twice against porcelain before the door slides him out of frame.

I can shave, a low, silky murmur slowly fills your ears, heat swelling low and hot in your tummy.  Tonight, I’ll shave it off.  Make it nice and smooth for you.

You feel like your body is just a collection of rigid knots all tied together, and the one between your legs is the tightest it’s ever been.  Stars, on another day you’d say it feels like a bad cramp, even though you know your injection makes your period rare and like clockwork.  Regardless, the split second image makes you shudder and clamp up painfully, and you just stand there and stare at the closed door for a second, trying not to shake.

Fuck, this is so fucking… presumptuous of him.

Realistically, you know it could have absolutely nothing to do with you.  It’s his face—you’re not self-centered enough to have completely lost your concept of autonomy.  He can do whatever he wants to his body, and that includes facial hair, full stop.  You also know that he’s not being… obvious about it, no matter how much it feels that way to you.  He’s using the sink and mirror at the very end of the room, not any of the ones nearest to the door—but even if he was, it’s not like he could’ve planned for you to walk out at the exact moment the metal hinge was angled wide open.  He couldn’t possibly have intended for this, for you to see him doing this.  He wasn’t making a show, didn’t even notice you standing there.  You blame literally everything on him, or at least you always try your absolute best to—but this one…

It sends a hard shudder down your spine and you clutch the fabric in your arms tighter, trying not to drop it.  Fuck.  This is torture.  Fuck him.  Good and bad—both ways, all the ways he can be fucked, fuck him.  Your head is spinning, you’re sweating fresh out of the shower, you need to cum.  Maybe if you hurry, you can get that precious orgasm before he’s finished, because if Dameron is able to intercept you before you can tend to this, you’re… you’re not sure how you’re going to say no to him.

You don’t even think you want to anymore.  

You feel like you’re just… holding onto it on principle now.  Too stubborn and hardheaded to want change.  Too stuck in your own ways to recognize how much everything already has changed.

Somehow, you end up making your way back to your room, but the whole thing is a blur.  Your flipflops plap against your heels as you navigate through hallways as quick as you can, emptier than you’ve seen them in months.  You know most of the pilots are probably out celebrating in either the mess hall or rec room, but the thought doesn’t really presently register.  Almost nothing registers besides your continuous forward motion and the way you feel yourself throb with every step, aching for something you are going to get tonight.  Fuck, you are so attached to this orgasm now, it’s not going anywhere and neither are you.  You deserve this, you deserve some relief.  Come hell or highwater, it’s happening tonight.

As soon as you step into your room and slap your hand blindly against the wall panel to close the door behind you, you’re carelessly dropping the bundle of fabric to the floor and then shrugging out of your pajamas in the cool pitch darkness, having exactly one mission in mind.  You don’t bother with lights, with brushing your hair, with literally anything besides clamoring up the ladder to your top bunk and wiggling under the thin bedsheet, making sure to pull it up to your chin before your legs butterfly open.  The tip of your finger wets itself on your tongue and then you’re dropping it down and sliding it against your poor clit, the pleasure arcing and flaring so sharp and sensitive even from your touch that you have to give it just a second.

…No, no you don’t.  You don’t have to give it fucking anything.  You keep moving your finger hard and quick even as your hips naturally want to jerk away from it, shoving yourself through the sensitivity with gritted teeth and a ferocious will.

Fuck, how long do you think you have?  Was Dameron shaving pre or post-shower?  You can’t remember, all you know is he had a towel around his waist.  And that thin gold chain hanging down his neck.  Was his hair wet?  Fuck, why can’t you remember?  His chin and jaw were smooth as silk, you know that much.  Post-shower, then.  Probably.  Probably?

His chin and jaw were smooth as silk.  You keep getting stuck on that no matter how chaotically your thoughts whirl; they fling out in different directions at different velocities but all somehow manage to go in a perfect circle and end up at the same place you started.  His chin, his jaw, his mouth, his neck, his chin, his mouth, his jaw, his mouth, his mouth, his mouth—

You feel yourself start to clamp down and you speed up, chasing it.  The pleasure starts burning deep inside you, the fire slowly licking down your thighs and rising up into your abdomen, and then—

And then a series of quiet beeps from the hallway practically blare like alarm bells to your frantic mind.

You immediately stop moving your finger, snapping your legs tight together and flat to the mattress as soon as the door to your room shifts open and fluorescent light spills inside, and you feel like you could actually fucking cry right now.

All this edging is just a form of self-flagellation at this point.  You lay there and try not to make a sound, try not to tremble hard enough to shake the whole bunk with it, but even your breathing feels like it’s going to give you away.  Dameron, shirtless with his towel draped over his shoulder, slowly steps into the room and then pauses almost immediately, making your heart stutter for a second at what so blatantly caught his attention.

One quick glance down towards his feet confirms the simultaneous hope and fear—you left everything on the floor.  The towel, the dirty clothes, and your pajamas are strewn about haphazardly right where he needs to walk.

You know what it must look like to him.  A trail of clothes leading directly to an occupied bed isn’t exactly subtle, even though you didn’t necessarily intend it that way.  Still, what can you say?  Your hand is shoved in between your legs right now and you’re in your birthday suit under this thin sheet, what the fuck can you say to him?  Sorry Dameron, got too caught up with how stupid wet you get me that I left those there on accident on my way to cheat, but totally not because I lowkey want your help doing it.  Convincing, that’ll go over great.

Dameron slowly lifts his head to look at you.  Or, at least you think he does—the light from the open door behind him casts his body in a dark silhouette, but you know your face is perfectly illuminated for him right now.  Blinking down at him from the top bunk with your brows pulled up in the middle, wide-eyed and desperate and caught red-handed.  Fuck, you don’t know if he can see the way your knees are clamped tight together and your hand rests perfectly still against your pussy like this from the angle he’s at, but you know it has to be super fucking obvious either way.  You’re breaking the rules, you’re touching yourself, and you both know it.  You can’t lie, you can’t even sit up without confirming his very valid suspicion.  He can call the game at any point, but…

You watch his head fall back down to study the mess you left for him once more.  Fuck, are you positive that was an accident?  Normally you wouldn’t second guess anything about your own understanding of the interactions that occur between you and him, but—you’ve never done that before.  You’ve lived with roommates on this base for years, you don’t just… get naked before getting into bed, that’s bad form.  How are you going to get up in the morning without having your pajamas shoved near your feet while you sleep?  Wrap this thin bedsheet around yourself and scamper down the ladder until you can snatch them up from the floor, and then what?  Climb all the way back up just to wiggle the clothes on underneath the blanket before going back down again?  Maker, you fucked up, your pussy is plotting your fucking demise.

But then everything inside you pulls taut as Dameron suddenly decides to move.  Slowly, he leans down to catch your orange jumpsuit closest to his feet with a few fingers, before he stands upright and carefully begins folding the fabric without saying a single word to you.  Electricity buzzes through you as he very obviously takes his time with it, using nearly his whole armspan to lengthen and fold the sleeves while his chest and chin meet for support.  When he’s eventually satisfied with it, he takes a few steps toward the empty desk on your side of the room and then sets the neat rectangle of fabric atop it where you usually keep it.

You bite your lip and you can’t help it—you start to move your finger as he goes back to sort the pajamas you wore for barely two seconds from your dirty clothes, folding and putting away whatever is clean and then tossing the rest into the shared laundry basket that gets collected every week.  Somehow it makes you feel even more naked, seeing all your clothes be returned to their proper places, realizing that this is your base state now, this is what you’re going to wear tonight.  Nothing.  You left everything on the floor and trapped yourself up here, he’s simply shifting a pawn forward two spaces in kind now that you’ve made your first move.

You can feel yourself pulse threateningly against your own fingertip while he collects your wet towel and drapes it over your closet door to dry, and your breath comes louder through your nose while you bite back the noises you want to make, the way your movements so desperately want to speed up.  Your hand working the way you want it to under the white sheets would be too much, too revealing, but you don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to care.

But then of course, the asshole has to go and put away his towel and clothes, and you endure through the whole thing while pressing back and forth against your clit so hard and slow that your toes curl and pull the sheet tucked under your chin taut.  After that’s done, he makes his way over to the portshade above his desk and slowly slides it open a few inches, the light of three moons outside gradually filling the room.  However, when Dameron goes back to press a button on the wall panel and close the door to the hallway, you immediately see how much softer it is in here, how the artificial fluorescents have thankfully disappeared and the room illuminates more than it blinds, glows more than it beams.  He presses one more button as the lock inside the paneling slides into place.

You bite your bottom lip and try your best to hide the pleasure you’re building for yourself while he makes his way back to his desk, quietly swiping the radio off it and lowering the volume knob completely before he flips it on.  The noise slowly amplifies until you’re able to catch two distinct voices conversing in Huttese—it’s the only lingua franca that still broadcasts on this old technology in this part of the galaxy, but he’s already flipping through the stations in search of something specific.

If you were thinking straight, you may have actually recognized this for what it is, but you’re having trouble even processing the details of your general surroundings right now, your mind is lagging and too slow at reading between the lines.  Dameron’s doing exactly what he said he would do.  He laid it all out earlier for you in the x-wing, telling you exactly what he wanted plain as day, and now he’s checking the whole list off one by one.  The shade is open and the room is lit just enough to make him out, the door is locked, and he’s finding something to listen to.  Something quiet, and easy.

If you were thinking straight, you’d realize that there’s a much more obvious reason why he shaved his beard—you never told him the truth about how much you liked it.  You never tell him the truth.  You allow—even encourage him to think the sharp things you say to him are exactly how you feel.  He did it because he believed you.

Oh, but you’re not thinking straight.  Your thoughts are scattered and the only thing they can agree upon is how good this feels, even as your breathing starts to grow heavier, grow louder underneath the sound of the radio.  The thought stays right beneath your consciousness, tugging at your preoccupied mind.  You work your finger with just a little more verve now that he’s flipping through the stations, knowing he’s distracted by spinning the dial through intermittent white noise while different voices and songs fill the room for just a second at a time.

Your bed, his voice suddenly echoes through your thoughts, originating from your subconscious but almost sounding like it’s coming from the radio in your delirious mind.  I want you comfortable.

Fuck, the understanding finally clicks the second he flips to a slower song and you start to burn at the thought of what’s next.  The silent promise that his actions allude to.  You have the realization way too late but at least it still comes at all with the state you’re in.  Your hand slows down immediately, not even needing to consciously consider the choice between achieving orgasm through your finger or his mouth.  Still, it’s hard to stop touching yourself completely when it feels so fucking good to your deprived body.

Fuck, it’s barely been a few seconds since your realization and yet you immediately bristle in distress at how fucking long he’s taking.

So you open your mouth.  You’re desperate and needy and on the verge of something, and it comes out without thought.  You don’t think it’s loud enough for him to hear, but his head immediately lifts and looks unseeingly at the wall in front of him for a second, as if he’s questioning if he imagined it.  A soft melody plays on a bluesy guitar while you hiccup and wait, but he doesn’t move.

And then you say it again, higher and tighter in your throat, pitched up to an impatient, girlish whine.  “Poe…”

The radio is tossed onto the bottom bunk as soon as he spins around and walks towards the ladder, but it’s like your finger has a mind of its own the moment he disappears underneath your line of sight.  Your legs spasm against the mattress and you bite your lip, not caring about the frantic way your hand begins moving under the sheet as his muted footsteps climb up the rungs.

Your eyes snap to his as soon as you can see him beyond the railing at your feet, heaving himself up until everything above his waist is above you, too.  His pauses there and his lashes quickly dip to the shameless movements between your legs as you work yourself towards that approaching bliss, and then flick back to the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him so torn, wanting so badly to wait for it but not being able to right now.

Slowly, he begins to move forward, crawling his way up the mattress and over your body, noticeably careful with where he places his limbs.  You’re not hard to dodge, though—you’re like a rigid stick of desperation under him, knees and ankles still clamped tight together and your arms streamlined as close to your body as possible with tension as you keep rubbing your clit.  Not to mention the sheet is thin and shows your figure almost perfectly with how tight you’ve hooked it under your chin, only leaving the finest details to the imagination.

But then there starts to be a little strain against the fabric, an unspoken question he’s still bothering to ask even though you could’ve told him to fuck off ages ago.  Poe could yank the sheet down and flip your shit over and destroy you right now if he wanted—fuck, like you want him to do—but his face slowly appears in front of yours instead and his dark eyes search your features for answers.  The length of his chain dangles from his muscular neck and glows against his golden skin, his whole upper body stretched long and bare over you.

From the gradually increasing tightness pulling on the fabric, you expect the sheet to rip down your body as soon as you lift your chin and let that resistance go, but instead… stars, it’s slow.  Why is he going so fucking slow??  The bedsheet barely flutters down to your collarbone before he’s able to stop tugging on it so hard, and then he just gently inches the hem down from that point on.

Fuck—your eyes drop to his lips as he eventually reveals your shoulders and sternum to the room, and then lower to your cleavage while you let out a hushed whimper, praying he understands the extent of how vulnerable you’re allowing yourself to be.  You don’t do this often—and you definitely don’t do it with someone like him.  He’s the one who said you needed this, isn't he?  So why the fuck is he dragging out the anticipation?  Pretending like he doesn’t see the way you’re begging for help in the middle of another warzone that’s breaking out for the second time today?

Poe’s head drops down to give the contour of your neck a long drag of his tongue, slow and hot and wet, the sheet eventually dropping beneath your nipples and exposing them to the cool air.  You bite your lip and keep working yourself under the fabric even as it’s led down the length of your tummy, and you just get wetter and wetter feeling him mouth at your skin as the radio continues to play soft from the bottom bunk.  He follows the skin as it’s revealed, licking down from your collarbone and working with the increasing rate of your breathing.  His lips never feel like they vary in pressure, even as your chest heaves up and down and your lungs work hard for air.

His open mouth slowly drags down the curve of your breast and it makes your blood burn fire through your veins.  You nearly choke when your nipple is enveloped in soft heat, his tongue quickly fluttering up under the stiff peak and giving it to you so gently, contrasting so light and vernal with how brilliant and neon bright the need between your legs is.  Your hand starts to work quicker, and fuck—you can hear it now, your desperate movements audible over the shallow breaths and the sound of one song gradually fading into another below you.  You’re just too fucking wet and your pussy is smushed with how tight your legs are pressed together—the noise is unavoidable, and Poe’s knees are planted too close to either side of your thighs to spread them really at all.

Fuck, you knock against the resistance regardless to let him know what you want, but he doesn’t budge and it makes you just about lose your damn mind.  Does he have to make everything so fucking difficult?  You couldn’t close your legs earlier and now you can’t open them, and it’s like he’s able to take perfect advantage of each opposing position to prolong your torture.

But then his tongue leaves you even as his jaw opens just slightly, and that’s the only warning you get before his teeth graze your nipple with a sudden arc of sensation and you flare up all at once.

It’s a miracle and a curse that you’re able to stop at the very last second, your hand jerking away from your pussy and flexing into a fucking death claw on your thigh at how close you were, and you don’t know why.  Why did the fuck did you stop?  There’s nothing standing in your way right now, you’ve consciously given yourself express permission to cum, but still.  It must just be learned instinct at this point—hammered into your muscle memory for weeks on end to not allow the pleasure no matter what, especially when you’re this fucking close to it.

Nonetheless you garble out nonsense and cinch inwards on yourself to fight it off now that you’ve apparently decided against it.  There’s nothing worse than a half-assed orgasm, and you have to quickly summon the conviction behind your split second reaction before it’s too late and your body takes the pleasure any way it can get it.

Poe’s mouth releases your nipple at the way your whole spine suddenly hunches in and he drops his forehead to your chest, breathing heavy down the slope of your breast as you tremble and grapple for your sanity.

“Did you just cum?”  Is the first thing he says to you, his voice is so ragged and stony it’s practically gravel crunching as he speaks.

“N-n-no,” you quickly stammer at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe correctly.  Inhale, exhale—fuck, which one is inhale again, which one comes first?  Maker, does he need to call a fucking medic?  “Huhhhhalmost?”

Poe takes a deep breath and slowly releases it with a bassy and warm mmmm rumbling against your skin, so coarse but pleased enough to sound like melted chocolate dripping down your body.  The noise sends a violent shudder through you and it’s almost enough to knock you back to that edge again, even without your fingers assisting it.  

His head dips and the sheet pulls down even more, just below your belly button now, and you let out a quiet gasp in anticipation, nearly on the verge of begging him to keep moving downwards.  But when Poe’s eyes close and his mouth suddenly moves back up to open over your other nipple instead, your patience snaps.  

Fuck him, bad way.  This is your orgasm, you’re done waiting.

“I’m gonna cum,” you snarl furiously down at him, shoving your hand between your legs even as Poe’s lips quirk against your skin.  It’s not a warning, it’s a threat.  If he’s gonna be like this, he doesn’t get to share it with you.  It’s your orgasm, you’ll give it to yourself if he doesn’t give a shit about it.  “Thought you wanted it, guess not.”

You immediately feel his teeth again in response to your admittedly slightly bitchy comment and this time he lets your nipple roll just a bit between them, making you jerk at the sensation and quickly find your clit again.  Oh, you’re soaking fucking wet, you’re wet everywhere.  Slick and swollen and burning, and it’s not going to take much at all.  The sheet sticks to your overheated body and you can’t tell the difference between your sweat, his saliva, or wetness from between your legs—it all just feels damp and slippery as you gradually lose your bearings under his mouth.

“Fuck this, I’m gonna cum,” you breathe once more, possibly nothing more than a mindless reiteration but most likely just one last veiled plea for him to give you what you both want.  As if he can tell, Poe quickly lifts his mouth and suddenly the sheet is ripped the rest of the way down your naked body completely, sharp and frustrated, and then his lips brush against your elbow as it twitches, nipping the sensitive skin there.

“Brat,” he growls quietly against your forearm as he keeps dragging his lips down further, following the path it makes along your tummy.  “Just likes making shit difficult.”

“You’re the one—” you hiccup, trying to sound angry but just melting into a puddle at the tip of his tongue slowly trailing down your frantically moving wrist, “—you’re the… the o-one who… who…?”

But you’re already sprinting towards that edge, feeling him drop even lower and his hot breath fan against your fingers, and at this point you’re too far gone.  Poe gently kisses at your closed thighs, in perfect position and ready for you, but you can’t stop yourself anymore unless he makes you stop, and the longer he waits down there without grabbing your hand to replace it with something better the more you don’t give a shit about whether or not it’s going to happen.  You can feel the orgasm rising, you can feel your toes flex and everything start to lock down for the approaching tsunami.  You’re going to get it this time, you’re going to cum, you’re going to—

“This is—” you rasp, “—this is a f-free, a fffff-ffreeeeb—”

His tongue softly grazes your knuckle as it works.

And then there’s a moment.  A suspended moment that seems to go on forever, where you’re launched directly over that cliff and yet you still seem to be gaining altitude.  Where’s the drop?  You’re already cumming—you can feel it, there’s absolutely no fucking going back now, but it’s like your sheer desperation has so much momentum that your body tricks itself into believing there’s nothing to land on, no gravity to immediately rip you straight down to your demise.

You choke out his name and your back arches with it and that must be the signal, because Poe finally pulls your hand away and lets his chin dip, and then his jaw falls open and allows you just enough time to catch the glimmer of his pink tongue before it slides wet and slow through your swollen folds.

Heat.  It sears through your whole body with a wracked shudder, the slick glide over your clit as his eyes flutter closed, and within the very first second of feeling his mouth on you, you’re instantly cumming inside it.

There.  There’s the drop.

The burning erupts into molten chaos, crumpling your whole body on impact like an accordion, but he sinks all his weight down on your legs and forces you to endure it with everything below your waist pinned to the mattress.  It’s fucking mayhem.  You feel like your voice actually rips itself in half with the ragged cry of blinding relief, so enormous and soul wrenching in power that you couldn’t even hope to muffle it.  You can’t move your hips through it, you can’t stutter up to ride it out—you have to experience the whole thing with your lower body completely still while his tongue takes slow, gentle licks at your throbbing clit, only able to sit your shoulders up and slam them back down and grab his head as you endure.

You cum hard.  Fucking hard.  It’s daunting and explosive and utterly devastating in the havoc it wreaks, and just when you think you’ve seen the worst of it, it’s just so slow.  Creeping along and obliterating everything in its path, taking an eternity to pass because of how fucking big it is.

When you’re finally able to float back down into your own body again, the first thing you notice is how tight his hold is.  Poe’s arms are wrapped around your thighs to keep them pressed tight together and you can feel the wetness all the way down to your fucking knees as they tremble against each other.  Stars, what did he do to you?  You feel like you actually wet yourself, there’s way too much dampness on the mattress underneath you to feel anywhere close to normal for you.

His mouth eventually leaves you but his head doesn’t move, nothing else moves.  Even his hot breath feels like rough stimulation to your throbbing pussy.

And then Poe shifts and adjusts his body just enough, catching the backs of your knees and slowly spreading your legs up and apart like you wanted to do ages ago.  They feel like jelly, wobbly and unsteady even as his thumbs hook right under your knees and easily support most of their weight.  Your pussy is soon exposed completely, and his shoulders move down just before his head drops to lick the collection of wetness right from your entrance.  Fuck, he couldn’t get it from the previous angle your legs were at, just your clit at the very top—but this is deep and personal and you know he’s probably getting mouthfuls of how hard he just made you cum, using the tip of his tongue to scoop your arousal up and swallowing it quietly before going back for more.

“Poe,” you whisper, and he rumbles low in his throat in response without stopping.  This isn’t for you, this isn’t for your benefit right now.  Your pleasure receptors aren’t concentrated right here, just the physical evidence of them being overloaded just a few moments ago, but he stays for longer than necessary.  He keeps his mouth here far longer than you need to push past the throbbing sensitivity and start to crave the sensation again, forcing you to bite your lip to stop yourself from telling him to move back up just a couple inches.

So you seek it out instead, the lower part of your body clearly not listening to a damn thing your mind tells it right now.  Your hips drop and his velvet tongue catches your clit at the apex of its repetitive motion, and you gasp and rock upwards again as Poe groans and immediately rises with you to chase it.  He attaches to the swollen flesh and sucks at it gently for you, following your lead, letting your wet fingers comb his hair back from his face and clutch a good fistful of it as you plant your feet and slowly grind up into his mouth.

Fuck.  He was right.  You needed this.  Everything about it is heaven—endorphins pour off you in waves as you roll your hips against his face, and he lets you do it.  He’s not just pliant, he’s willing.  His tongue works diligently, his eyes close and he moans into your pussy, allowing you to tug his hair and fit to his mouth exactly how you want.

Oh, everything burns.  Everything smolders and sparks, because he’s always been so withholding and now he’s just going for it.  He’s reading your mind better than he did during the battle today, not necessarily submissive in his approach but… servicing.  Accommodating.  Finally giving in and putting real effort into helping you chase after another shot of ecstasy without being so stingy about it like before.

As soon as you feel another familiar swell of something deep down, your mouth is suddenly dropping open.

“How many—” your ragged voice comes out without thinking, and it takes so fucking long to actually attach the train of thought to its conduit of translation.  You swallow thickly and flex your fingers in his hair, tugging at him to ground yourself, trying to anchor yourself to the very thing that’s about to fling you into oblivion again.  “—fuck, how many times did you… how many fr-freebies do I—do I…”

Poe eases his chin back just enough to respond, and the slick sound his tongue makes leaving your clit makes you shudder and miss the wretched words at first.  “Mm.  Just the one.”

And then his tongue is already sliding back through your pussy by the time your eyes pop open in immediate panic, and your clit is in his mouth again as soon as yours drops to frantically contest.

But the words aren’t coming, it feels too fucking amazing.  Your jaw goes slack and your fingers tighten in his hair.  Maker almighty, the orgasm swells up so sharp and quick that you have to fucking kick him at the very last second to get away from it.  Thankfully Poe’s mouth abruptly leaves you with his oof of shock at your audacity, lifting his head as you snap your legs together and grit your teeth through your miserable retreat from ecstasy.  You don’t even notice the way your knee almost knocks into his jaw with it—you just focus on shamefully easing your way back down again from the platform overlooking bliss like you’re too afraid of the high-dive.  After a second, you actually have to turn on your side and rock yourself like a child as Poe slowly sits up with a grimace, lifting his arm to rub at his ribcage where your heel slammed into him.

You peek an eye open to watch him do it and oh no, it’s not a good plan.  He’s so… fucking hot.  Fuck.  He’s unbelievably good-looking—his hair curls and frames such handsome features, his body is lovely and warm and seeing his chest bare and up close like this makes you want to reach out and slowly drag your hand down the smooth curve of his side.  But then your gaze catches on the dark sweatpants tented shamelessly between his legs and how he’s glistening with perspiration, too, and how he tugs at the fabric covering his crotch and sighs softly, blinking down at you slow and intoxicated with lust.

You have to close your eyes and bury your face into the pillow because your body is latching onto anything to keep you within inches of that edge.  The mere sight of him is enough to make you worry for yourself.  You take deep breaths and do your best to tune his existence out entirely.  Just you, just you in your bed, trying desperately not to cum without even touching yourself.  You’re naked and curled up and there's no one here to look down at you with deep brown eyes, no one else breathing and especially not equally as loud as you are.  Just you, just you.

And, just when you think you might finally get to the point where you’re not teetering anymore, where you’re at least mostly certain that moving around and looking at things and just existing in general isn’t going to make you completely unravel hands-free at any moment, he has to fucking… go and be himself.

You peek up to see him staring down at you, dark and intimate and devouring, before his hand gently brushes down the curve of your hip.  “Maker, you are so fucking hot right now.  Was that a close one, pretty baby?”

Your hand snaps out to grab his wrist with a whimper and you don’t know if your intent is to stop him or just hang on for dear life, but your grip is weak and you shake and Poe takes the opportunity to grab a handful of your ass while you do absolutely fuck all to stop him.

“Mmmm.  Open your legs,” he murmurs, releasing your flesh just to give it a soft smack.  “You’re only making it worse like this.”

“What?  W-What do you—” you stammer, but Poe drags his hand down your thigh to catch one of your knees and pull it up without waiting for your babbled reply.  Both knees go with him, your pelvis wound too tight and frozen to do anything but rotate your whole entire body on your tailbone.

“You’re just adding more pressure by keeping them closed,” he explains, wiggling his fingers in between your knees to try and get enough of a grip to pry them apart.  “C’mon—open your legs, let yourself breathe.”

“Nnnnnnstop talking,” you groan, trying to slap at him, but he’s strong enough to force the movement regardless, levering your knees apart and then pushing them tight to the mattress.  And, though he would normally be right about it, you’re fighting your mind to get away from the orgasm just as much as you are your body.  The sudden exposure and the positioning and the way he automatically drops his gaze down at your needy pussy with his cock still hidden in his pants like that only serves to displace the cause instead of eliminating the effect.  Closing the door and opening a window, shifting the stimulation somewhere else but allowing it to throb steady and aching regardless.

“Much better,” he sighs lowly, digging his fingers into the sore muscles inside your thighs and you just keep your hands loosely attached to his wrists as he works.  “Fuck me, baby’s got such a pretty pussy doesn’t she?”

“Poe,” you wheeze up at him, hearing him rumble at the sight of your cunt contracting around nothing, probably shining and glistening with your desperation for him.  By this point, you’re worrying again.  You have no doubt whatsoever that he could talk you into cumming just like this, with your hands trembling and clutching at his wrists.  If he keeps murmuring filth while holding your legs open and staring at your pussy like this, you have no doubt you’ll find a way to get there somehow.

Thankfully, he seems to understand.  He goes quiet and just keeps massaging your sore muscles while you try not to writhe underneath him.  Stars, it’s like he’s genuinely doing what he can to take it easy on you and you’re still all kinds of fucked up about it, still frantic and desperate while all he’s doing is just squeezing your legs.

“Calm down,” he gruffs, but you can’t.  “You’re working yourself up, don’t—”

“Stop talki—” your ragged growl is cut off by your own hiccup as you quickly find the strength to shove at his hands, knowing they’re at least mostly to blame for your prolonged tightrope walk.  You can’t fucking think when he’s touching you, you become too hyper-aware of your own body, it feels too good in a way that’s hard to describe and impossible to explain.  Poe’s palms immediately listen and raise in front of him in surrender, his back lifting to give you space while you hide your face from him with shaky hands and gasp.  It’s pathetic and your legs are still held wide open and your fingers tremble hard enough to resemble a malfunction.

You just.  You need a hard reset.  You need that thirty seconds of complete idle, of figuring shit out on your own without an electric current running through you before you can start working properly again.  It can’t be rushed, it’s necessary when most people just want to power down and then right back up again.  The wires connecting your parts are all criss-crossed and tangled and sparks are lighting up at the slightest stimulus, you just need to experience absolutely nothing for thir—

“I’m sorry,” Poe murmurs, still staying in his own space but the gravelly voice shooting a bolt of lightning down your spine.  Thirty seconds, of course he couldn’t give you thirty fucking seconds.  “Fuck, you’re so hot, I’m sorry—”

“Please stop talking,” you beg him, your fingers curling against your face, “Maker, I—I don’t want to cum—”

“Fuck, I know, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucki—”

You go to kick him again and even though it collides wrong and does nothing more than get your message across, the jostle is enough to knock you back from the approaching oblivion just slightly.  It serves to wake you up way more than it remotely hurts him, the equivalent of someone just smacking a piece of machinery and fixing the problem temporarily.

You heave an enormous breath and blink your eyes open behind your fingers, immediately locking with his.  Poe’s teeth are digging into his bottom lip but he’s mercifully silent, even when you drop your shaky hands down to your spread thighs and stay equally silent another full minute while you make the effort to right yourself.  After awhile though, you realize he must be taking cues from you, waiting for you to speak.

Only, you suddenly don’t know what to say.  You’re at a complete loss, looking up at him through your eyelashes in uncertainty now.  Something you’ve never been around him, even as your pussy is wide open for him to look at.  He hasn’t recently, though, you don’t think.  He’s just keeping his eyes on your face, watching you bite your lip and blink up at him while your mind whirls, the only sound that can be heard is the radio continuing to lull from the bottom bunk.

You wish he’d say something.  How come he’s choosing right now to listen to what you tell him to do?  You don’t… you don’t know what to say to him.  Why can’t you figure out something?  You fidget but then suddenly feel your expression lose all its struggle and just look… innocent.  Needing his help.

“Do you want me to leave?”  Poe eventually asks after another moment, tentative of breaking the silence, and you frantically shake your head before he’s even finished speaking.  Fuck, something drops in your stomach at how desperate you’re probably coming off right now, but you’re so lost and you know that’s at least one question you know the immediate answer to.

Poe tilts his head thoughtfully, slowly reaching a hand towards your thigh without removing his eyes from yours.  “Want me to make you cum again?”

You shake your head again, wide-eyed and worried.  He immediately pulls his hand back and blinks slowly at you.

“You want to be edged more?”  He asks lowly, and you shake your head vehemently for the third time.  Poe sighs and sits back, planting his palms to his thighs and pulling at the fabric of his pants in budding frustration, clearly tired of playing twenty questions.  “Well what do you want, baby?  You wanna just hang out?  That’s fine, I don’t care, but you gotta tell me.”

Fuck, he’s right, what do you want?  The only thing that’s standing in your way of feeling better, you soon realize.

“Want you to cum first,” you mumble, cheeks warming at how childish you sound.

“Not a fucking chance,” Poe immediately scoffs, crossing his arms over his bare chest.  “And pouting at me isn’t gonna help.”

“Why not?”  You breathe, dipping your gaze down his body.  “I can use my mouth.”

“I don’t—” he stops short, suddenly registering what you said and switching gears.  “You can—?”  Poe narrows his eyebrows and looks suspicious.  “You’ll let me… cum in it?”

“Okay,” you whisper in breathless agreement, sitting up and reaching for him, but Poe groans and pushes you back down on the mattress with a flattened palm against your shoulder like you just aced a test he was hoping you’d fail.

“Fuck whoever’s idea this was,” he grits darkly to himself while you arch up against his hold, wanting him to grab your tits but knowing it’s not a good idea right now.  “Maker, I’m so fucking hard—fuck whoever’s idea this was, making me turn that down—”

“You said,” you pant, licking your dry lips and blinking up at the ceiling, trying to control yourself, “before, you said that you’re… you’re not doing this for a bet, right?  So why not?”  Your voice goes softer when you flutter your gaze back at him, even though the accusation feels like it should be sharper if anything, since it comes from a very real place of distrust.  “Were you just… lying to me about that?”

“Fuck, come on,” Poe groans, his voice starting to waver as he shakes his head and squints one eye at you, exasperated.  “You don’t get it.  You can’t think of a single fucking reason I don’t wanna blow my load just yet?  Really?”

The sentence coupled with his rock solid hold on you skitters a thrill through your body and you automatically reach up to run your hand along his forearm.  He looks down at the caress and then back to your face and fuck, even you feel like you’re sending mixed signals right now.

“You could… fuck me,” you whisper, and Poe’s dark eyebrows pull up as his gaze falls down your naked body, nodding and digging his teeth into his bottom lip.  An agreement backed by so much unspoken desire that it looks like it almost hurts him just to hear you say it out loud.  “And we can just… see who cums first.”

“Yeah?”  He croaks, his eyes pinned between your open legs.  “Just say fuck it all and race for last place?  Okay.”

Your heart pounds, having just enough wherewithal to preemptively establish a safety net for yourself.  “And—and we can’t finish at the same time or we both lose.”

“Fuck,” Poe groans, reaching down to catch the hem of his sweatpants with his thumb and lifting his hips until his cock is exposed to the dim room.  “We can’t stop once we start, then, we’ll have to see it through.”

Except you don’t catch any of the last part because, uh.  Well, to sum up.  May the Maker have mercy on you all.

Just like that, the only thought in your mind is… you get it.  Okay, you get it.  He told you before that girls were only interested in him for his cock, and it actually… stars, it makes so much fucking sense now, you totally get it.  You thought maybe he was just boasting as a form of overcompensation at first—or, to put it another way you’ve probably used in conversation with him before, talking big talk but walking small walk.  Only now, you’re… humbled.  By a fucking dick, you’re humbled.

You haven’t seen more than a few of them in this context, so you know you’re not necessarily qualified to give an informed opinion, but heavens it’s a sight.  It’s thick and swollen and just a shade darker than his complexion and everything inside you rockets to attention as soon as he wraps his hand around it.  It’s big.  It fills his whole palm without much room to spare.  Far larger than what you’re used to, and you know that no matter how he fucks you with it, you’re gonna feel it tomorrow.  Next weekend, probably.

Your eyes must betray you, because Poe suddenly loosens his grip and breathes your name softly, causing you to flick your eyes back up to his.  You didn’t realize you were staring so openly.

“I’ll go slow,” he reassures you quietly, voice gentle and knowing.  The complete lack of sarcasm or aggression in his tone is enough to snap you back to yourself, knowing that can’t possibly be right.  He’s talking to you like he did when you stumbled your ass out of the x-wing today, when you were barely responsive and lost in dumb shock.  He doesn’t have to… be nice to you right now, like you’re still only moments away from losing it.  It’s offensive.

“I can handle it,” you harumph, widening your legs while Poe immediately suppresses a grin.

“'Course you can,” he sighs with the slightest note of fondness creeping into his voice, dropping his hips as he lines up at your entrance.  “And I’ll go slow anyways.”

You open your mouth to respond but at the first push of his head inside, you inhale sharply and your palm immediately shoots out to press against his chest on complete instinct.  The stab of pain is impossible to mask from your features and Poe instantly stops with a shaky breath, watching how your jaw drops at the intrusion and your face contorts.

“Ahh.  Shit…” he whispers as his head tips down, dark eyes clamping shut and his hold on you tightening.  “What—shit, what the fuck…”

“Keep going,” you growl out, even though you know you’re just making it more difficult on yourself.  You can take Poe’s cock, you can take it, he has absolutely nothing to brag about, it’s completely normal-sized—

His hips inch forwards and you gasp at the excruciating arc of sensation, slapping at him harder.

“Keep going,” you babble while locking your elbows and shoving him back, “fuck, keep going, keep going—”

“Baby,” Poe groans, wrenching one of your hands from his chest and bringing your wrist up to his mouth to kiss and breathe hot air on it, “baby, you gotta let me—”

He moves a little more and you cry out, jerking your hand back from his lips and knocking it hard against his chest before you even realize it.  Oh shit, you can’t handle it, you haven’t been fucked in so long—

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, trying to be nicer by flattening your palm but then immediately digging your nails in, “fuck, I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s been awhile since I—”

“Shit, I can tell,” he pants brokenly, his fingers dropping back down to flex hard on your hip.  “Hoooolyfuck, I can te—ah, fuck, it’s alright, it’s alright, just—nnnnnnshit, okay, just relax, don’t tense up too muuuh… much—”

His cock pushes deeper even as he keeps rambling through it and you feel yourself being rearranged to make room for the slow movement, giving way to a rich pleasure even as the discomfort increases.

Poe stops once more when your hands shove up against him, somehow simultaneously shakier and firmer than all the other times put together and a little more than half of him inside you at this point.  You’re so slick and hot between your legs that there’s no resistance besides the stretch, nothing to stop him from slamming home besides your weak hands trembling at his collarbone, but everything about the way he stays completely frozen for ages says he’s controlled and patient.

Everything except his face, you soon realize.

When your body is finally able to come to terms with the sensation and you blink up at him, Poe isn’t looking at you anymore.  He’s staring directly over your head at the wall, tangible regret manifesting itself in seething frustration marring his expression.  His eyebrows furrow and he scowls but all of it is silent and directed at himself, as if he’s asking why the fuck he actually agreed to do this.  You know then that it must be really fucking wet.  You know then that you must be just blazing hot and tighter than sin and as if in rhythmic agreement, his cock jumps inside you with each pounding rush of blood through it.  You can see the sweat beading at his hairline as he continues to ignore you for the moment, choosing instead to silently lament at the wall like it did something to mortally betray him.

You could… make this a sprint, something devious suddenly whispers to you.  He’s struggling through the pleasure and you can outlast.  From the severity of that look alone, you can put an end to it before it even starts.

Admittedly, you don’t even let the devil finish his damn sentence before you decide to take your own initiative.  You clamp down around him as hard as you can and Poe whips his attention down to you and punches out a curse that sounds like you wrenched the word from his throat before he was anywhere near ready for it.  It comes from somewhere high and defenseless in register and then quickly falls down into a growly pit as his hips automatically lurch forwards the rest of the way inside, hard, smacking into yours as you squeeze wickedly around him.

You keep squeezing through the sudden upward shove of bliss, you keep tightening up even though you’re making agonizing noises and your eyes clamp shut and it hurts.  But stars, it feels good, why does it feel so good when it hurts so bad?  It makes your throat scrape and your face twist up, but you can hear his cursing getting louder and more desperate so you still don’t relax your viselike hold around him.

“Stop it—” he snarls down at you rabidly, “—oh fuck, stop or you’ll make us both cu—”

Shit, he’s right.  You know he’s never been more right about anything as soon as his hips stutter and kick up to a full blown gallop in the middle of his furious scolding, and the sudden build of ecstasy is so fast and intense that you sob his name, not being able to loosen your muscles anymore as soon as it overtakes you.  But it’s like a closed circuit, you’re both recycling the same pleasure without knowing how to shut it off.  The harder you bear down on him, the faster his hips work, the vicious cycle compounding and circling and manifesting in the perfect typhoon within just a few tumultuous seconds.

But then suddenly he rips himself out of you with a gasp and it’s not a moment too soon, because both of you have to scramble and grab onto things to brace yourselves through the worst of it.  You choose the mattress and he chooses the railing, and through the searing discomfort and settling of the chaos that’s becoming more and more familiar to you as this exhausting day passes, you know you fucked up.  You underestimate his self control, time and time again.  But, exactly like earlier today, you feel a thrill skitter up your spine at how he’s going to respond to your brazen treachery in the face of a newly established truce.

“Fuck,” he jerks his head to spit the obscenity at you, sounding more pissed off than you’ve ever heard him, the shredded anger in his voice starting to burn through you.  “Fuckfuckfuuuuck—you make me so mad.  You make me so mad.  I wish I could fuck you right now, on Maker, I’d ruin you.  I’d wreck your shit until you learn and you’d deserve every single fucking second of it, you—”

He stops short and growls jagged sharp in frustration, but you can’t help yourself.

“Say it,” you whimper on a dare, feeling your heart pound.  The words quiver with an inexplicable sort of excitement as you dig your fingers into the mattress, wanting to hear his voice snarl the mysterious profanity.  “Say it.  ‘You…’—what?  Say it.”

Shock suddenly paints his previously tense expression blank, even though his pupils blow out and his chest heaves.  Your voice is too breathless, it’s too needy to sound nearly as antagonistic as you want.  

And then Maker, it’s as if the sheer control he’s clinging to serves to spark his vexation even more.  Mad that you would ask for something so enticing at a moment like this.  Your heart thunders as Poe nearly flashes up close to you and points a threatening finger at you.

“You’re not going to get what you want from me,” he snaps, quiet and furious.  “Not tonight.  I don’t give a shit, I told you I’d slow fuck you and now I’m gonna do it until you act right.”

“You’re an asshole—” you move to lift up onto your elbows, but his hand suddenly plants against your clavicle and shoves you back down flat on the mattress.

“Not even ten minutes after I make you cum and you’ve already got a fucking attitude problem again,” he shoots back, positioning his cock at your entrance with his other hand once more, and Maker you’re drowning between your legs.  His sharp rebuttal and the firm hold on the upper part of your chest makes it that much wetter, knowing you can’t do much more than lift your legs the way you need when he eases his way back inside.  

“P-Poe—” you gasp breathlessly, but it's like he doesn’t hear you.

His expression tenses and he shudders out a low growl.  “Fuck.  Tight little baby.  Rude little baby, just wants everything her way but doesn’t know how to behave herself.”

You have to bite your lip hard to hold back a whine when he’s completely sheathed and his hips connect to yours, and… shit.  You already feel it.  You already feel that simmering starting to take hold deep down once more, that monstrous second orgasm you’ve been fighting now digging its claws into you and licking the base of your spine with fire.  And, as if he can tell, his demeanor instantly changes.

“Uh, oh,” Poe murmurs quietly, equal parts lilting and baiting, slowly dragging his cock out and then starting up the laziest pace you’ve ever experienced with his hand still planted high on your sternum right below your collarbone.  “Can you feel it coming?  Fuck, I can,” he shudders.  “Already.  Fuck, you’re so wet, you’re so wet—wish you had let me eat you out mor—”

“You can’t c—umm,” you hiccup, grasping his wrist and writhing through the building ecstasy, and you don’t know who you’re talking to at this point.  Your other palm slaps at his shoulder with increasing urgency—fuck, he’s been fucking you for barely ten seconds and you’re already struggling to hold everything back.  Only, his hand quickly grabs yours and pins it to the mattress, his face dropping closer as he rolls his hips achingly slow.  You feel his back working with the steady pace, you see his neck flex as his cock drags so thick inside you, and then your gaze starts to lose focus a bit.  It slides up his throat as lazily as he’s augmenting your pleasure, following the contour of his smooth skin until it reaches his face.

And mercy, Poe’s tongue comes out to wet his lips and a dark curl hangs down his forehead, concentrating hard on fucking you steadily without giving into the same creeping euphoria you’re feeling, and you have to turn away and bite back a whimper at the metal railing when the image starts to burn you alive.

“No,” Poe gruffs and his hand slides up a few inches to frame your jaw, twisting until you face him directly once more.  “Right here, you stay right here with me.”

Your eyebrows pull up weakly and your eyes flick across his stunning features, the way he’s so present, so focused and determined while you’re starting to drift.  His skin is so smooth, so golden when his jawline used to be dark, and—

“I—” you choke, starting to lose it, “—I-I…”

“What is it, baby?”  Poe growls, staring down at you with unwavering, intense concentration.  “Tell me.  You gonna cum?”

“I…” you whimper, blinking at him slowly, “I… liked your… b-beard…”

Poe’s eyes, previously hardened and steadfast, suddenly go a bit dumb, a bit dazed.  After a second, his eyebrows lose all strain, his gaze turns warmer and he rolls his hips deeper—

But the swell begins to become the only thing you can comprehend—that and the fact that you should be fighting it.  You should be revolting against it, but now he’s looking so softly down at you and you can’t remember what could possibly be so bad about letting him take away all this ache and desperation again.  Let him continue to take it away, over and over and over until it’s nowhere to be found at all.

And then Poe leans down and kisses you.  And it’s… nothing like you’d expect.

It’s gentle.  It’s tender.  It goes on forever while he rocks into your soaking wet cunt, easing his throbbing cock in and out of you with such a smooth, repetitive motion that sends sparks of ecstasy down your spine at the apex of each thrust.  

You handle it silently.  At first.  You don’t audibly react to any of it, you force your voice to at least keep quiet if you can’t hide the pleasure from your face or body, but then true to fucking form, he has to go and ruin it all.  Poe uses his knees to scoot up just the slightest bit, and then his moan breaks through the absence of the desperate sounds you’ve been holding back as his tongue slowly slides into your mouth.

Your pussy flares, contracting painfully around his cock as it hits a spot that makes your legs shake against his sides.  Your eyes roll back as his soft tongue dips into your mouth and everything just gets tighter, and tighter.  Poe moans again and his hips push a little bit harder into yours on the next thrust, and it’s almost like a domino effect, except that doesn’t do it justice.  It doesn’t topple one by one, it doesn’t take any time at all for the beginning to reach the finish—it’s a house of cards, the whole thing collapses and crashes down in on itself all at once.

You cum.

You lose.  Fair and square.

You make a long, anguished whine into his mouth as you just start spasming, clutching hard at his shoulders and drenching his cock with it, your eyes squeezing shut as you cum so slow and fucking helpless around him.  Oh Maker, it’s fucking devastating, it feels even more destructive and powerful than the first one.  You pull and shove and claw at him equally, mouth slack as Poe tightens his hold and keeps tasting your whimpering cries, fitting his hips snug to yours as he slowly pushes you down through the debilitating ecstasy.  You sob in euphoric defeat and a low, bone-shattering groan of satisfaction rumbles through his chest in response, grinding his cock into you and holding it deep as your pussy convulses.

All those weeks of holding out, just to lose.  You had a freebie, he gave you an orgasm already and it was like a massive dose of spice to your deprived system—all it did was make your body want it more.  Even worse, your orgasm doesn’t immediately inspire one in Poe like a part of you hoped it would, if only so you could reasonably contest the validity of the outcome.  He’s able to ride out every twitch and flex as you shudder your way through it, continuing to lazily slide his tongue into your mouth while it’s held open and slack.  He tastes like you.  He tastes hot and slick and everything about your body feels the same way, damp and unbearably warm from your nape to your elbows to your cunt to the backs of your knees.

You lay there for what feels like a lifetime afterwards, powerless to the way your thighs tremble violently against his hips and letting the tip of his tongue slowly trace the bottom edge of your teeth while he firmly keeps his cock buried inside you.  It pulses thickly and you know he wants to cum, you can feel the tension pulling at his shoulders as he keeps perfectly still.  But then Poe shuffles his arms up until they’re braced around your head, using himself to box you in completely without moving his lips from yours.  His teeth close on your bottom lip as he inches his hard cock out long and aching from your sensitive channel, and then groans and goes back to the same exact dragging pace from before.

Your expression furrows, even as he keeps kissing you and the movement lights up your oversensitive nerves.  Fuck, you want him to speed up, it’s all the more shattering and viseral when he takes his time.  What is he doing?  What is he waiting for?

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, demanding a quicker pace.  You don’t know why he isn’t just letting loose on you now, giving into his body’s need to cum.  He’s aching for it, still rock hard inside of you.  “Come on, I already l-lost, just fuck m—”

“Told you before,” Poe whispers back, refusing to speed up.  He keeps his pace dragging and steadfast, no matter how much you work to entice him.  “Never… fuck.  Never gave a fuck about that stupid bet.  Suffer though.”

The complete lack of harshness in his tone sears through your nerve endings even though what he said wasn’t exactly nice.  You never thought hearing him tell you to suck it up could be delivered in a way that inspires so much arousal in you, but then his tongue is in your mouth again as his hips work slow and easy, and your eyes roll back at how… overwhelming it feels.  So intimate.  You’re completely surrounded by him, his forearms propped next to your head and his mouth on yours, and… Maker, there it is again.  Your body is so deprived that it’s already gearing up to go again.  He’s being lazy and you can’t fucking stand how it’s breaking you down.  Gradually, with incredible stamina and a patience you never expected from him.  When you first feel that pull, part of you still wants to pick up the other end and start a tug-of-war with the sensation.  You’ve been fighting for so long that your body almost doesn’t know any different, its automatic reaction is to resist.

A distraction, that’s what you need.  That’s what guys do to stop themselves from cumming too soon, right?  Fuck, think of something, think of…

—Poe, you can't think of anything but Poe.  Fuck.  His cock sinking deep, the way he tastes, how his fingers thread into the damp hair at your crown so you can feel him that much more, how you can hook his biceps with both hands and swirl your tongue around his while he fucks you open.  Your hips roll up with the pace and almost immediately stutter back down again, not sure if you can handle the wicked shot of oversensitivity—but then Poe groans and shifts up until his thighs are under your ass and he can curl you in more, lift your feet a bit more and make you feel smaller.  And—stars, the next thrust in is enough to nearly make you bite him on complete accident, an unexpected sound ripped from your throat as he keeps that specific angle.

Poe keeps going.  He keeps kissing you, keeps rocking into you.  He lets you claw at him, lets you grapple helplessly while his cock shreds molten hot euphoria deep inside you, and then everything tightens up again.

“Ah, fuck,” Poe breaks away and curses a whole few seconds before you descend into mindless chaos once more, garbling out broken syllables with the absense of his mouth keeping yours occupied.  Your voice crescendos and breaks at the same time you do, the pleasure arcing through you over and over and wringing you out repeatedly around his throbbing cock.  Poe’s lips quickly move forward and give your whole cheek an open kiss while your expression crumples with it.  Teeth drag down your skin as he moans hot air across your skin, his hips slowing to a complete stop with an obscenely slick sound.

You throb and clench around him and his lips are suddenly on yours again, his tongue sinking deep and dominating.  Your mouth is slack and all you can do is squeeze him through the bliss, scrape your fingernails down his back and hope it leaves a mark.

Eventually the tremors pass and you’re dead in the aftermath, you don’t have energy.  Your body is starting to acclimate to the slow orgasms and just let them steamroll you flat, fully accepting now that you can cum but still putting everything you have into it like every single one might be your last for a while.  You come back to yourself enough to feel Poe’s cock solid and achingly hard inside you, and your bottom lip is being tugged between his teeth.

And then he eases out and goes back to fucking you.  Same speed, same control.  

Your eyes nearly fucking cross.  “P-Poe—”

He immediately makes a noise of disapproval with his mouth closed, a nuh-uh but kept tight in his throat.  He doesn’t want to hear it, he’s not even letting you finish your thought.

You can’t take it, though, you didn’t think he was capable of this.  This is torturous in an entirely different way, overstimulating and shattering you with every thrust.

So, you think back to the one thing that got him to nearly snap earlier, the one time you really got to see that fire you love playing with.  Only now, you need that fire, you need him to take everything out on you.  Your floor muscles clamp down without warning and squeeze him as tight as possible, squeeze squeeze squeeze until you feel his hips stutter to a halt once more.  Your breath catches—fuck, is this gonna work?—but then Poe breaks away from your lips to drop his head and sink his teeth into your neck.

You nearly squeal at how careless he is about it—an animal that bites you lazily even though it sends sharp agony rocketing through you.  Again, your attempt at sabotage backfires spectacularly as a subsequent flare of pleasure swells up, and oh, that’s what you want, you want him to be mean—

“Please,” you whimper, hooking your ankles behind his back and locking down hard enough to make your toes curl.  Poe groans as you grab a fistful of his hair and tug at the way your skin pinches between his teeth—you know you’re gonna have a bite mark for a few days and it thrills you.  “Fuck, please, Poe—please just fuck me, please, I want you to fuck me until it hurts, fuck me the way we both nee—”

“You and me almost died today,” Poe grits into your neck, cutting off your desperate whimpers with a short growl.  “Maker, it was so close, I don’t think anybody has any f-fucking…”  His hips pull out and then spear deep and you choke, tightening and tightening.  “But—shit, we didn’t, we lived and now—oh fuck, now baby’s finally letting me fuck her and I’m not cutting it short, no matter how pretty she sounds asking.”

His words sound slurred against your neck and you can’t tell if it’s his delivery or your perception that’s lagging.  But when you feel Poe inch his cock out and start to slowly fuck you through the tightness, you let out a weak little whine and feel yourself drifting… somewhere else.  

Things subtly lose their clarity, your eyelashes dip and you stop talking because words won’t come.  You can’t tell if you’re staring at the ceiling or your eyelids or the back of your head, but Poe’s voice abruptly breaking through the silence makes you realize you don’t have a concept for time anymore.  You couldn’t tell him how long you’ve been floating, but you almost don’t understand what he’s saying at all and it takes you a remarkable delay to fully comprehend.  But judging from what he says, it sounds like it hasn’t been long.

“Shit, are you cumming again?”  He suddenly gasps into the crook of your neck and grinds his hips achingly hard into yours,  “O-Oh—fuck yeah, you are—baby’s cumming again—”

“P-Poe?”  You stutter and smack your hand against something, him maybe, not knowing literally anything else.  Not knowing what he’s talking about, not knowing where you are, not knowing your own name, “Poe—oh m-my… God—”

“Whhh—W-What—?”  You hear him breathe a split second before everything compresses down tight, and then it all shoves forward at once.  All of the buildup makes itself known the very moment it becomes too much to control, like a flash flood but the downpour happened miles away.  You think you might actually squeak this time, helplessly cry out like it hurts because stars, it does.  It hurts so fucking good, it spiders pure plasma through your entire body with rhythmic jolts and wipes your mind completely vacant.  Your shoulders shoot you up and knock your chin into something and you think you might be crying?  You don’t know anymore.  Your spine comes back down to the mattress like the damp fitted sheet covering it is made of pure ice—your body is overheated and you keep tensing and jerking back up until Poe forcefully pins you tight against it, growling filth under his breath as he slow fucks you through it.

You feel his hand dropping down between your bodies and you sob pitifully at the ceiling when the tip of his calloused finger brushes your clit.

***

You lose count.

It’s just… constant, there isn’t a point in keeping track anymore even if there happened to be the ability—which, nope.  Not even close.

He ruins you slowly.  Meticulously, with nothing more than steady, unwavering determination.  Every structure you built, he takes apart by hand instead of bulldozing it the way you beg him to when you find the words.  You’re certain you find them—you must find them at some point, but they’re interspaced between babbled gibberish and breathy whispers of his name.

Even though it’s slow—Maker, it’s so slow—you’ve never been so fucking exhausted.  He makes you give him everything and then he drains the reserves, the hidden ones you weren’t even aware existed.  He never goes fast enough; in fact, you think he’s actually slowed down over the unknown amount of time it’s been since you first called out his name and asked for this.  If you were in a frame of mind to notice, you’d probably realize he’s trying harder and harder to not cum, but in your wild headspace, it just feels like a prolonged punishment for you.  It still feels like he’s depriving you for his own pleasure, even though he’s actually depriving himself for yours.  But you always do manage to find some way to read things wrong with him.

Eventually, he begins to waver.  He stops talking so much, stops chastising you when you plead with him.  He hasn’t looked at you since he first kissed you—he’s either hidden his face in your neck or closed his eyes as his soft tongue slides across your bottom lip before dipping inside.

But then there comes a point where even you realize he’s struggling not to let go now, and in your faded traces of sanity, you hear your broken voice cut through the sounds of the soft radio.

“Y-Y-You—” you gasp, trembling under him, “—youneedtocum.  You need to—”

“No,” Poe grits against your chin, sounding shaky and weak no matter how sharp he makes his consonants.  “Fuck, not yet, I—I-I don’t want to yet.”

“Oh no,” you wheeze out, feeling the swell begin again, the familiar flicker of warning you get as his cock slowly rocks into you.  Maker, the pleasure is getting raw and painful even as your pussy is drowning his cock with it, allowing him to glide slow and deep into your sensitive channel and letting the sheer tightness of it be the only resistance your body puts up.  You can feel the wetness on your cheeks though, the tears of frustration gathering as your body prepares itself for yet another wave of attack.  “Oh no, ohhhhhnononononono—”

“I don’t want—” Poe gasps, his hips stuttering just a bit and one of his hands coming down to smack the pillow next to your head as he chokes, “—don’t want this to… e-end yet, I—”

Your next orgasm suddenly slams through you and Poe immediately rips himself out of you before it’s too late.  He shushes you frantically while you sob in distress and writhe side to side through the contractions solo this time, having nothing to clamp down on, not even able to grind up into him because he keeps his leaking cock elevated far beyond your reach.

Oh, that’s it.  That is it.

“Fuck me!”  You wail up at him, water blurring your vision and tears streaming down your cheeks, “Stop fucking around and just fuck me, you asshole!  Fuck me and fuck me hard Dameron or I swear to every fucking star in the sk—”

You don’t get too far.  He’s immediately scrambling over top of you and a strong hand is clamping down tight over your mouth, muffling your high-pitched cries against his palm.  Your legs are shoved apart and one is caught under his arm and wedged back as far as it can go.  His head drops to your neck, and then he snarls a ragged, “Brat—“ under your ear before ramming his cock back inside you.

Stars.  Stars light up, it’s so much—the angle, the force, the speed, the sound his hips make as they start ruthlessly colliding with yours.  Your eyes screw shut and you dig your nails into the meat of his back, but he doesn’t slow down—he speeds up—

“Fuck, you still think that throwing your little fucking fits works on me?”  He hisses, drilling into your g-spot with such blinding hard precision that you can’t do anything more than just claw at his chest, gasping for air that just won’t come into your lungs.  “Huh?  Think you can just be a little bitch to me about it and it’s gonna change anything?  You still don’t have any fucking idea, do you?  Look at me—” he snarls, grabbing your face and shaking it to get you to respond, “—look at what you fucking do to me—”

But you can’t.  You already came countless times and he’s lurching you up the bed with every single rabid thrust into your blindingly sensitive cunt, fucking you into the railing and then the wall behind it.  You still feel his fingers grasping at your jaw, forcing you to address him, to look at him, and you can’t seem to focus your vision on his blurry features even when your eyes flutter open.  You’re too dumb with grinding pleasure to see anything besides blurs and stars, to say literally anything back to him.  But that’s not what he cares about.

“Oh fuck yes, there it is,” his voice whines, pitching up something vulnerable as his hips ram you into the corner hard and unyielding, “fuck, there’s those pretty eyes, that’s what I wanted, baby, that’s all I wanted—th-that’s—fuck, that’s—”

They must cross, or roll back, or something, because suddenly you can’t see him at all anymore.  You don’t know what happens—but you know it’s wet.  You know it bursts forth something fierce and you shriek his name with a hoarse and shredded voice like he steals the last part of your whole fucking soul with it.  Fuck, you’re not even there for most of it, you might actually black out.  

In your conscious moments, you can feel his whole body flexing over and over again on top of you.  He empties his load deep inside you and takes a fucking eternity doing it, so many breathless praises leaving his mouth so quickly that they slur together and you can’t understand any of it even if you could hear him.  All you can do is feel your cunt tighten and convulse in tandem with the throbbing of his cock, rhythmically working the cum out of him until Poe stops stuttering his hips, until he finally trails off into nothing but labored gasps and slumps down on top of you in exhaustion.

You both lay there for a while, dead weight breathing.

You want to hold him, your cum-struck mind quietly provides in the comedown.  You want to feel his body now that you can finally think straight and take a moment to enjoy this blissful relief.  He fucked you so good and you want to touch him, you want to run your fingers through his hair and massage the tight muscles at the base of his neck.

But then you just start giggling.

It’s stupid.  It’s so fucking stupid.  You smack your hand over your mouth but the garbled noise easily floats beyond it, completely elated and having absolutely no explanation at all.

Poe quickly pulls his head back to look at you and you try to twist sideways under him to hide it, but you can’t stop—like a complete loon, you snort and start to laugh harder at the ridiculous sound.  Oh, you don’t just float, you’re the air itself, so light with endorphins that you close your eyes and get lost in the fit until water wets the outside corners.

After a moment, a hand gently grasps your wrist and slowly pulls it down until he can see the way your mouth opens as you giggle, hear it unobstructed and let the sound bubble up at him and fill the room.  And you blink your eyes open just in time to see him slowly break into the most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen him bestow a person.

And… you’ve seen him grin a million times.  He’s almost always smiling, as long as you’re not right in front of him.  He smiles at his squadmates, he smiles at girls, he smiles at complete strangers, and you always thought it was pretty.  Always knew that he could light up a room with it, you always knew he could get anything he wanted with it, but this… this isn’t that kind of smile.  That one is practiced and alluring.  It wasn’t fake, necessarily, but that smile’s purpose always had more to do with making anyone who happens to witness it feel a certain way than it did about signifying his own emotional state.

This one is… goofy.  Amazed, and uncoordinated.  Thunderstruck in a way, except the clouds all part at the same time and let you see a rainbow.  It makes you feel… alive.  Colorful.  Radiant.  Sunshine.  Butterflies.

Poe quickly drops his lips to catch yours and you moan happily, sliding your tongue into his mouth this time.  You both adjust, you arch into him as he pushes your damp hair back and makes a deep noise of satisfaction, letting you explore while he wraps his arms around you and finds a way to make this atrocious position comfortable.  Every part of you is smushed up against him and there’s absolutely no space to be found, and you’ve never been happier.

“We made a mess,” he groans against your lips, rocking his hips into you with a disgustingly slick sound as if to illustrate, and his cock is soft but it’s still so thick that it stays buried inside your sloppy entrance.  “Shit, I—I think I might be bleeding.”

“What?”  You ask breathily, and he heaves himself up with his elbows just enough to reveal his chest.  You both tuck your chins unattractively to look and you don’t immediately see any blood, but your claw marks are clearly red and visible scraping down his pectorals.  “Oh.  Pfft.  You’re fine.”

He drops back down with a huff and your head is tilted at the perfect angle catch on the tiny droplets of blood decorating the marks criss-crossing his shoulder blades.  Oops.

But he’s already kissing up your neck and over the curve of your jaw and making out with you again like he can’t get enough of it, and you forget.  You forget everything.  You forget every disagreement, every gripe with him you’ve ever had.  It’s all wiped away and replaced with giddy, childish adoration.  Resetting completely and starting off on the rightest foot imaginable.

“Let’s go to my bed,” he murmurs, and you make a tight noise of disapproval.  No.  This is good, this is how you want to stay.  The railing is digging into your lower back and he’s heavy but you’re perfect like this, this is perfect.  “Baby,” Poe pants against your lips in exasperation when you quickly clutch the back of his neck and keep him glued to you, “mmph—you got everything all wet—”

This time you make a low hum of agreement and drag your hand down the bare curve of his spine to his ass to give it a squeeze.  A testament to how hard and raw he fucked you.  Poe shudders hard enough for you to feel his body tremble but you just kiss him harder, pulling him down onto you more.

“You’re gonna have to give me, just like—I don’t know, at least an hour or two,” he chuckles, grabbing your hands to make it easier to peel himself from your body and groaning when his cock finally slips out.  “Come on, let’s hang out in my bed.”

You’re so boneless when he pulls you to sit upright, you roll a little bit and Poe has to catch you, and you laugh again.  Maker, you’re a complete mess and absolutely delighted about it.  Your attempts at grumbling and complaining don’t hold any sway when you’re still trying not to giggle, and Poe is able to pull you to the top of the ladder and make his way down first.

As soon as he’s out of sight and calling up to you, you weakly slide into position with a groan and feel yourself leaking at the movement.  “Gah—look what you did.  I’m all… gooey.”

“I know, s’the hottest fucking thing,” he says under his breath from the floor, before beckoning you by tapping on the closest rung a few times.  “Come on, be careful.”

You do as he says, easing your naked body down one step at a time with wobbly legs.  It’s clumsy and you whine the whole way through, wordlessly grousing and mumbling.

“Oh, I just know it,” he comments on the sound, “nice clean sheets, I’ll get the violin.”

Normally, you probably would’ve snarked something back down at him, but you’re still so loopy and shaky-legged that you just start laughing again.  The fact that he’s absolutely right and you’re being ridiculous about something like moving beds suddenly strikes you as incredibly fucking funny for some reason.  You don’t realize his hands are hovering inches away from your hips until your legs buckle and Poe quickly supports your weight.

“Maker,” Poe chuckles before giving you a firm yank, and then catching you before you can tumble down the ladder in your naked, teary-eyed mania, “let’s go, giggles.”

He carries you a few steps to the mattress and plops you down on top of the comforter, letting you take up the whole bed while he sits on the end and puts your feet on his lap.  Poe grimaces for a second and then shuffles until the radio is pulled out from under him, and you can hear the soft sound of it playing once again.  You bury your face into his pillow, inhaling the warm scent lingering there while he tosses it carelessly to the side and rubs your shins for a little bit, watching you stretch out naked on his mattress.  

“I’m not giving you two weeks of pay,” you suddenly grunt, and he just grins down at you, not arguing.  Not saying anything.  Sitting in comfortable silence with you when you’re expecting him to bicker.  So you stay like that for a long time, breathing deep and relaxing, until Poe’s hands leave you for a second…

… to pull a bag of chips out.

Maker, at the first squeaky sound of the wrapping assaulting your eardrums, you want to roll your eyes.  You want to tease him about how fucking typical it is.  Like clockwork, you could probably set your watch to his middle of the night cravings.  You don’t know why you thought fucking him would change any of that.

You want to give him shit for it.  You even open your mouth, the snark on the very tip of your tongue.  But then your stomach growls as soon as he rips the thin plastic apart.

Poe’s eyes shoot to yours and neither one of you move, but apparently your tummy doesn’t get the memo.  It takes forever to trail off into silence again, and he blinks.  Fuck, you know you should’ve forced yourself to eat at least something earlier.  Warmth floods your cheeks and you scramble for something to say, but there’s no way to play it off.

“Would you like some chips?”  Poe suddenly asks with a boyish grin, raising his eyebrows and tipping the open bag freely in your direction.

The corners of your mouth pull downwards even as the inside of it waters.  You wouldn’t call it stubbornness necessarily as much as it is a… a desire to stick to consistency.  After the unbelievably hard time you always give him about midnight snacking, you’re hesitant to partake.

Though, the chips rustle against each other and sound absolutely fucking delicious as Poe shakes the bag and bounces his eyebrows, and you know what?  Fuck it.

You snatch it without thinking, cradling the precious food to your chest as you dig your whole hand in and shove a bunch into your mouth at once.  You catch him smiling again, but he doesn’t comment.

You both take turns, and by take turns you obviously mean you take turns stealing the bag from each other instead of just setting it equidistant between you and openly agreeing to share it, but it works for you.  It seems appropriate.  And then it’s quiet again, just munching and crinkling, except for the radio continuing to play from its place in his lap.  You have to work to listen over the loud crunching vibrating through your skull, but when you finally manage to stop chewing and catch a few bars, you suddenly find yourself trying not to smile again.  Fuck, it’s been years since you’ve heard this song, you love this s—

“Fuck, I love this song,” Poe promptly exclaims with his mouth full, licking the tips of his fingers before scrambling to pick the radio up and twist the volume knob without using his wet fingertips.  He starts humming over the melody, loud enough to almost drown it out completely, because of course he does.  The one damn time you actually want to listen to his radio and he still finds some way to mildly irritate you.

But this irritation is almost… fun.  You want to laugh just as much as you want to yell at him.

“Hey, who sings this song?”  You immediately ask over the sound of him clearly not knowing the lyrics, already ready with it.  Oh, the round is in the chamber, your finger is on the trigger, you are ready, and Poe’s eyes sparkle as he seems to stop and think about it.

“Mm, not sure,” he eventually shrugs, just before you rush, “Let’s keep it that—”

And then he’s slapping a hand on your leg and belting out the chorus while you scoff, giggling.  He ruined the punchline on purpose and is now getting chip dust all over you, but you know any complaint you make will be drowned out by his suspended notes and backing track, so you just roll your eyes and swipe the bag of chips from him while he continues to serenade you.

“My ears are bleeding,” you mutter under your breath.

He has a nice voice, you think.

[subtle-edge-of-rot]

No because the twins especially would be relentless

Bo would hear the stifled moans you make and how you try to hide your face from him when he leans in the doorway. He'll fold his arms and whistle at you while you're pathetically aroused and on the cusp of release. You know how possessive the each of them get and even if Vince is in a sharing mood that doesn't change the fact.

"Bo, please..." A beg for help that leads with moaning his name. Vincent would tighten his push on you, wanting to see you twitch and drool for him when he gets you off without needing to touch you. He's the one thats pushing you against the machine, why are you looking at Bo for help?

They'll pity you but that isn't to say they don't want to hear you beg a little more. Vincent is ever patient, edging you while you slur his name until he feels like you've earned his dick. He's not normally this mean but even he has his moods, leaving the door open while the two of them have their way with you. When Lester gets home if they're still hilt deep in you he'll be able to join, able to hear your moans and breathy pleas through the walls when he walks into the house.

-💙

Bestie they’d be the ultimate tag team. They both play with your body so well—they know just how to handle you. They move flawlessly together—some sort of weird twin synchronicity. That being said, they’re also somehow competing with one another. I don’t think they realize that they’re working in tandem, they’re both just trying to one up each other.

Vincent edging you would be the sweetest of all torture. He knows exactly what you can and can’t handle. Listening to you beg for him is music to his ears. But when he hears you moan for Bo instead of him, even though he’s technically sharing, he’ll up the ante until he thinks you’ve earned his cock. He’ll be the one to take you first…not that Bo minds using your mouth.

Lester would love to come home to your whines and moans and pleas. He’ll be the one to actually take pity on you and work you towards a release. He’s your knight in shining armor and you’ll be singing his praises—and definitely riding him into the sunset.

[yn-ymn-yln]

Hello I don’t know how to request I just got the app I hope this is it right😇could you please do Rebekah x reader please where r gets kidnapped,hurt and abused by the men there and eventually she finds reader and Rebekah can’t believe what happened to her baby she can’t believe she looks so small and fragile but when Rebekah finds reader she is “asleep” so when she goes to pick her up she feels something on the back of her head and it’s blood she starts to freak out because she realizes r isn’t breathing and scoops r up and sprints to her brothers to see if they can do anything and the only way to do it is if becca turns us into a vampire if this is too dark or upsetting you don’t have to do it just write something else if you will thank youuuu🌹

Hi love! so I'm going to apologize ahead of time because this took so long, and also because I drifted from the original request quite a bit. Regardless I hope you like it!

A Turning Point

Rebekah Mikaelson x reader

*ANGST WITH A HOPEFUL ENDING*

Your death was something Rebekah had never prepared herself to face, but laying on the dirty floor of the compound is you, face ashen and body soundless. She waits for the arrival of her brothers, the hope that they would snap their fingers and reanimate you the only thing keeping her sane.

Elijah is the first to step foot into the space, Klaus following shortly after. Their eyes taking in the sight of their baby sister caressing the face of a corpse. Elijah’s heart shatters as Rebekah brushes a stray piece of hair from your face.

“Wake up lovely. I need you to wake up.” Her tears aren’t an unusual sight, though it doesn’t make facing them any easier.

“Sister?” Rebekah blinks up at her oldest living brother, relief overtaking her features.

“Elijah, you have to help. I can’t wake her up.” Neither him nor Klaus speak as her gaze returns to your lifeless form. “Damn it, WAKE UP!” Gently she rocks you, her head dipping down to rest on your chest, her cries becoming hysterical.

Elijah eyes Klaus cautiously, knowing the delicate situation unfolding before them would need to be handled gently.

You were gone.

“Rebekah, she’s dead.” It’s Kol’s voice that rings through the sullen atmosphere of the compound. His crass words ripping any illusion she had built to shreds.

“No. I-I can feel her, she isn’t dead. I know she’s not.” Elijah acts quickly, separating the youngest Mikaelson from what was left of her heart. “NO! DON’T TOUCH HER!” It’s Klaus that lifts the body from the floor, shieling Rebekah’s eyes from the sight of her lost love.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Almost in tandem with his brother, Elijah lifts Rebekah into his embrace, speeding her off to the safety of a different space.

“Y/N!” The long-drawn-out cry from the blonde has Klaus flinching, his eyes casting down onto your still form. You had been a friend to each and every member of the family, even the ones who refused to let you in.

“You were supposed to love her forever, how do you plan to do that from a grave?” The sentence is harsh, Klaus’ temper bleeding into every word spoken.

“If there’s a way to bring you back, we’ll find it.” Kol doesn’t seem phased by the situation, his mind going over every piece of knowledge he had about magic, his words a vow.

From her room Rebekah listens, her head placed against Elijah’s chest as he runs his hand soothingly up and down her back. her eyes brim with tears at the sincerity in brother’s voices, her hope returning with their finality.

“It’s true.” Her watery gaze shifts to look up at Elijah. “We will get them back.” His words bandage the last of the cracks on her heart, her strength returning with each of her brother's sentiments.

They would bring you back.

You would be in her arms again.

No matter the cost.

[mrskurono]

Mommy Series || Miya Twins

Tag(s): tw:incest, tw:age gap, mommy kink, nursing, mmf threesome, dub con ish, fingering, vaginal penetration, cum play, dirty talk, lewd imagery below cut

Character(s): Atsumu Miya (hq), Osamu Miya (hq)

For years whenever both boys felt scared they knew they could crawl into mommy’s bed no questions asked.

Just the way she’d lay in bed with both of them latched onto her breasts. It evolved with the boys as they got older. Osamu would come into the room first. Carrying his blanket. Not even asking if he could come snuggle. 

Shortly after that Atsumu would come sneaking into the room when he realized his shared bedroom was empty. A clear cut indicator that Osamu made it to mom first. Sometimes, not always, Atsumu would beat his brother all together. 

Whispers to his drowsy mother as if she was awake. Hardly considered that. It was request no mom could deny. The Miya mother would pull her covers down and a smug Atsumu would get into bed before his twin did. That way when Osamu wandered in after midnight. Atsumu could peek over their mother’s side with a wicked grin. Having taken his spot snuggled up against mom’s warm side. 

Osamu would grumble. But simply get under the covered on the opposite side. Nothing was going to stop him from getting cozy with mom when he was little.

Soon it faded though. The boys remained competitive but their mom had long forgotten the last time either of them snuck into the room with her. Still as protective of her boys as she was the day they were born. There was no denying that she’d do anything if her boys needed it. 

Graduation. A tournament. Tests. Stress in heaps. Both twins had been internalizing it for a while. Eating away at each other unbeknownst to their mother until finally it came to a head.

Neither twin could sleep. 

Clock mocking them with the face reading a couple minutes past two in the morning. Atsumu huffed for the thousandth time. 

Osamu finally had enough, “Gonna to go lay in bed with mom.”

“What yer a baby ‘Samu?” Atsumu mocked even though he was in the same boat as his twin.

“No.” Osamu at least didn’t grab his blanket like when he was a kid, “I’m tired and mom’s bed is softer.”

Grumbling to himself for not getting a rise out of his twin. Atsumu laid there seconds after Osamu legitimately left. Just like when they were kids Atsumu finally couldn’t stand being in the room alone. Flinging his own covered off the other twin stalked towards his mother’s bedroom after his brother.

The door open slightly to the master bedroom. Atsumu peaked in wondering if his brother made it actually in here or if he lied and went to the kitchen. Sure as the sun. There was Osamu tucked into their mom’s side on the left side of the bed. Immediately Atsumu pouted and pushed into the room.

Less tactical than his brother. Atsumu hovered over the right side of the bed. The vivid imagery of having this same memory throughout his childhood. Osamu was bigger but he was still snug against their mom’s side with his much bigger arm draped over her abdomen. And that snarky underhanded grin on his lips as Osamu looked up at him. 

Like he was eight again, Atsumu started chanting his mom’s name as he nudged her arm, “Mom...Mom....Mum-”

“Huh- ‘Tsumu?” Hardly awake, eyes in fact still closed, their mom could hear her other son’s hushed words, “Hun what’s wrong? What time is it?”

“I can’t sleep-” Atsumu confessed, more honest than he cared to admit. His eyes drifted to his brother’s broad hand resting on their mom’s side and Atsumu felt his body getting warm, “...’Samu is already-”

Not even thinking, basically still asleep, his mom pulled her covers back. Exposing her nightgown and the empty space on the right. 

Certainly smaller than he remembered it. Atsumu didn’t stop from getting in next to her. The bed felt so much bigger when they were little. Now with two nearly grown men in it. They wondered how the three of them ever fit in it.

Nestled down at eye level with his brother. Atsumu and Osamu were staring at each other in the dark of the room. Now both of them had their arms draped over their mom. In a bit of a pissing match Atsumu squeezed his mom’s side more and pressed into her. He wasn’t first in here but he was gonna get more of her attention. 

Osamu responded by pressing up into their mom and flicking at Atsumu with the arm draped over her. Both of them about to get hissy with one another if their mother hadn’t interrupted.

“Stop,” Her voice a groggy mumble, “Or you can go back to your own room.”

Both of them were kinda amazed. Wondering if she even realized both of her grown boys were in bed with her. But as they were snug against their mom’s body in bed. The silk of her gown on their fingertips. And the way they had to angle their hips against her to keep from falling off the bed. Both twins were starting to feel the heat spread through their bodies.

Still gunning to win over the arbetrary fact of who ‘loved’ mom more. Osamu brought up his trump card, “...Mom, I breastfed longer than ‘Tsumu right?”

Rubbing her face, their mom remained silent for a second. They both thought she was asleep before finally speaking, “You both did.”

“Yeah but-” Osamu glared at his brother over her, “I was longer yeah? ‘Tsumu just didn’t care or-”

“Yer a lil’ shit ‘Samu I breastfed just fine I wanted mom too-” Atsumu snapped at his brother. Gripping at his mom more like that would win, “Eatin all the time mom probably didn’t want to feed ya-”

“I fed both of you at the same time.” She mumbled drifting in and out of sleep, “Like this- And...Yeah, on each breast. Tandem feeding or whatever...They call it.”

Osamu wouldn’t drop it, “But I did longer yer just the shit ‘Tsumu so-”

Heated over his nitpicking and the warmth spreading over his body finally Atsumu glared at his brother and snapped, “Shuddup I want mom too ya can’t have her to herself- I’d- I’d still be doing it if-”

“Boys-”

“Yer lyin-”

Done with coming in second Atsumu broke his concentration from his brother and looked down at his mom. Impulsively his broad setter hand slipped under her gown. He’d shut his brother up with proof.

“Atsumu what are-!” Their mom with no time to react, gasped the second she felt her son’s hand grab at her breast. Absolutely nothing on under the gown. He got a fistful of soft supple warm breast.

Stunned a second. Atsumu looked at his hand shift under the gown as he realized how soft his mother’s tits actually were, “Warm...”

Never ready to let his brother show him up. Osamu proceeded to follow the lead. His hand pushing their mom’s gown all the way up now. Just so his hand could find her free left breast. Like his brother the twin stopped to look in awe at how wonderful his mom’s breast felt in his big hand.

“Soft...” Osamu inadvertently licked his lips as he stared down at his mother’s breast. Her well used nipples, prominent even though they weren’t hard. It was clear she’d nursed two very ample eaters with them. 

“Mom yer so warm...” Atsumu mumbled, almost eerily calmed in the seconds after finding his hand on his mother’s breast.

“Y-You two-” Beyond stunned to take in the moment that both of her son’s were groping her breasts. All the woman could think for a split second was how different their hands felt now than when they were infants. And the heat spreading through her body. They weren’t babies anymore. 

First to do so was Osamu. The nagging feeling eating him away until he leaned forward to catch her nipple in his mouth. Not sure what to expect taste wise. The calming warmth from his lips sealed around his mother’s nipple only caused a bit of a rumbling moan from the grey haired twin. Needing to shift closer to her. Osamu didn’t even think of the growing problem pressing into his mom’s thigh.

“Shit ‘Samu-” Atsumu felt his mouth watering. Maybe it was his brother. Or that he remembered how nice it was to nurse. But soon the blond twin was latched onto his mother’s other breast. His soft breath tickling her skin as was Osamu’s. Both boy’s eyes fluttering shut as they nursed like their life depended on it. 

This was the most relaxed they’d felt all night.

Far from the same could be said for the poor Miya mother. Both sets of tongues, washing over her sensitive tits at different speeds. Much like when they were babies. Osamu’s lazy circles paired with his suck here and there was just like how he’d nurse as a baby.

And Atsumu. Almost urgent in the way he sucked more and more of her tit into his mouth. Like he couldn’t get enough. The hearty eater he was as a baby clearly didn’t leave him as a grown man.

“B-Boys-” Certainly not asleep now. Their mother still suffered at their mouthy assault. Mind clouded with the jolts of pleasure dancing all over her body. Neither of them listened as their hands traveled past just holding her breasts to their mouths.

“Mom’s skin is so soft...” Atsumu mumbled against his mother’s breast in the moments after his hand found it’s way down along her thighs, “ ‘Samu feel-”

Osamu hummed on his mother’s breast. Unwilling to unlatch or open his eyes. But what he did find was his broad hand moving down her soft stomach. Stretch marks and all, the way her tummy felt so supple under his hand made the twin press into her harder. Almost unaware of his own hard on. As was Atsumu. They were engulfed in feeling their mom’s familiar body for the first time in years.

Finally, when Atsumu’s adventurous hand brushed their mother’s unclothed core, a moan bubbled in the dazed woman’s throat. Almost startled by it. The twins stopped and looked at each other wide eyed.

Like it hadn’t dawned on them beforehand what they were doing. But when they stopped to see the sight of their mother’s gown hiked up over her breasts. Her slightly untrimmed bush hiding her core. And the way she was squeezing her legs together in the middle of this turmoil. The Miya twins got a wicked idea of how to love their mom more.

“Yer gonna hog mom like ya always do!” Atsumu pushed Osamu off the breast he went to return to.

“No! Yer being a brat ‘Tsumu!” Osamu moved to yank at his brother’s hair.

“Boys!” Cutting through their bullshit, their mother’s voice called their attention from each other back onto her.

In that moment they understood working together might be better.

Atsumu didn’t return to her breast like Osamu did. Instead he found his mouth moving down his mom’s stomach until finally he shifted down to between her legs, “Wow....Mom’s so wet-”

“Atsumu don’t talk like that!” Their mom’s voice held no real command in it. Her body betraying herself in the dark of night to her both her sons touch. 

Neither listened. Osamu’s hand found the breast Atsumu had left. Fingers pinching and rolling her nipple between his fingers as his mouth stayed one hundred percent latched on. His eyes at least open now to lazily look down at his brother’s face framed by their mother’s thighs.

Atsumu on the other hand was enthralled by the sight of his mother’s glistening cunt lips. Sure she had a little bit of an overgrown bush but that was the last thing on his mind. Brash about it, Atusmu took a finger a drew it up her wet slit. Earning the exact pleasant reaction of her moans when his finger grazed her hard clit. That made him smile. Osamu wasn’t making her moan. So Atsumu took it a step further.

Pressing his finger against his mom’s clit, the setter flicked it a few times. Just to see his mom buck her hips up and stifle the moan leaving her. Very much liking that kind of reaction. Atsumu grinned at Osamu as he delved one finger inside his mother’s soaked core.

“She’s so wet ‘Tsumu-” Atsumu purred, “Yer missin out.”

Osamu mumbled something on his mother’s breast. Still not willing to give up the comfort of her breast in his mouth. Instead he lent one hand down to see what all the fuss was about. And a fuss indeed. Just as he drew his finger up his mom’s slit he found his finger to be coated in juices. And the way she whimpered the second his finger touched her clit was mind blowing to say the least.

With Atsumu’s finger knuckle deep in his mom. Enjoying the sensation of his mother’s walls twitching around his finger. Osamu joined the fun by drawing little circles around his mother’s clit. Mouth still busy with the breast in his mouth. Now though half his attention was spent on her aching bud.

“B-Boys-” All that could be managed past clenched teeth. Body not hers anymore. Their mother hiding her face in embarrassment as she felt the tightening of her stomach which could only mean one thing.

“Add another yer jus teasin-” Osamu grumbled, lips barely parting from her nipple. But the way Atsumu only kept one finger twirling around inside showed the dunce wasn’t listening to their mother’s body right.

“Shuddup I was gonna-” Atsumu grumbled. Drawing another finger up her slit just to wet it. Slipping both strong setter fingers back inside his mom’s core and he had to smile to himself, “Wow Mom- Yer suckin my fingers in. I wonder what else ya could suck in like this-”

Unable to answer their mother was left to the mercy of the boys toying with her. Osamu’s fingers pressing her clit in the right way. And Atsumu’s fingers stretching her more than her own ever did. It was hard to not loose it. And when she did both boys got the show of their lives as their mother’s juices drenched everything under her. Atsumu’s hand included. 

The way she was panting and whimpering was a sure fire sign they did something right.

“Our turn mom.”

Shuffling before she realized it. Atsumu was propping her legs up and wedging himself up against her. While the press of Osamu’s cock to her cheek caught her off guard. The woman didn’t know where to focus in the moment. Both boys manhandling her without a second thought.

Just as watching their mom squirt had riled them up. Now as Atsumu rubbed his cock against her cunny. And Osamu pressed his cock against his mother’s lips expectantly. Both twins were set on getting their turn too.

“F-Fuck-” Atsumu, the most impatient, slipped his cock inside his mother’s twitching cunny with a little more force than expected, “Mom- Yer so tight- Fuck...how did ‘Samu’s stupid head ever come outta here.”

“Yer the one with the big head ya idiot-” Osamu had to inhale sharply mid remark as his cock finally made it past his mom’s supple lips. Her tongue immediately lapping at the underside of his cock as her son’s length forced her to take a second to breath out her nose, “F-Fuck....Mom...”

Finding themselves too focused on pleasure. The bickering stopped almost immediately. A mother did know her son’s well. She couldn’t stop moaning around Osamu’s cock as Atsumu began rutting into her. Strokes of a young man who certainly hadn’t learned much. But she had her suspicions neither of them knew nothing. It was just that they’d need some teaching if either of them were going to be really good.

Good enough to keep her from thinking straight. As Atsumu finally bent down, caging his mother between his hands. Fucking her with a desperation like none other. Atsumu wasn’t sure if he was more turned on by the fact his cock was buried in the same place he and his brother came from. Or if every time he looked up he saw the outline of his brother’s cock prod at their mother’s cheek as she bobbed up and down on him in time with this thrusts. The sight of his brother fucking their mother’s mouth nearly as intoxicating as the sight of his cock disappearing inside her needy cunt.

“C’mon switch already-” Osamu pushed at his brother. Finally fed up watching him get to enjoy their mother. 

Atsumu grumbled and complained but pulled his aching cock from her before he was ready. Unlike his brother though Osamu had his hands on his mother, encouraging her onto all fours, as Atsumu moved to her mouth. 

“Mom, all wet and ya smell good...” Osamu took a second with his hands on her ass. Spreading her apart so he could see the slight agape cunt his brother had already stretched out. Still she was soaked and the second Osamu slipped his cock against her cunt lips. He knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself. 

Plunging himself balls deep into her. It was a blessing Atsumu already took a bit slower. The way Osamu fucked with a frantic need was only worsened by the way he hunched over her. Hands finding her breasts. And holding on for dear life as he rutted into her like a dog in heat. Just the thought, the feeling, being so close to mom. Osamu could hardly control herself.

Atsumu, keeping his mother from falling off the bed with Osamu’s powerful thrusts. Found himself directing her head towards his slimy cock. Coating in her own juices. Atsumu nearly lost it the second she devoured every inch of him regardless of slick covering it.

“S-Shit-” Atsumu grabbed both sides of his mother’s head as she worked up and down his length, “I’m surprised- Surprised ya didn’t blow ‘Tsumu cause yer so fuckin useless-”

“Shuddup-” Osamu grunted between thrusts. He couldn’t argue with his twin and keep the deep thrusts hitting his mother’s cervix. Instead he chose to keep stuffing his cock as hard as he could into his mother.

Muffled lewd noises coming more and more from their mother. Atsumu was the first to notice. Followed by Osamu as her walls clenched around him.

“Moms gonna cum.” Atsumu groaned when his mother took him down to the hilt. Stifling her moans and enjoying the sensation of her throat against his cock.

Osamu wasn’t going to stop. His thrusts became harder and his grip on her breasts firm just as his fingers found her nipples again. The way her cunt sucked him in meant he wouldn’t last much longer either. 

And as their mother’s muffled moans hummed against Atsumu’s cock. So did the groan of the grey haired twin. Thrusting into his mom’s spasming cunt as he couldn’t help but paint her insides white. Filling her with thick sticky cum until Osamu could feel it ooze around his cock. His mother was filled with his own cum. The thought left every fiber in his being tingling. Soiling the very cunt he came out of with his cum. 

When finally her legs gave way and Osamu pulled out to let his mother lay back down. Atsumu was an impatient shit ready for his turn.

“Move already ya fuck-” he pushed Osamuout of the way from between their mother’s legs. His hand squeezing his own cock in desperation. Precum beading down his slit. Sure he could have let his mother suck his cum from him. But the fact Osamu got to cum inside. Now made him want to do it too.

“Stop pushin-” Osamu grumbled, sedated in the fact he gave his mother his precious load first.

“Move quicker then-” Atsumu grumbled.

Returning back to his mother’s breast. Osamu laid behind her as their mother was trying to catch her breath in the moments after her orgasm. No reprieve between two rowdy boys though. Osamu was groping and sucking on her tits all over again. When the familiar sensation of Atsumu rubbing his cock up and down her cunt was what made her moan again.

“God yer so hot mom-” Atsumu couldn’t help the groan. His mother’s hot core. With the addition of her juices and Osamu’s cum smearing on his cock. All he wanted to do was fuck himself silly now with his mom’s cunny.

Osamu hummed his agreement. Eyes shut again as he was back latched to her breasts like a needy infant. Unaware of his mother looking down finally to see her baby between her legs. Cock in hand as Atsumu lubed himself up with cum and juices. All to push his cock down to the hilt back into his mom’s quivering cunt.

“Atsumu!” His name left her like a gasping moan.

“Hah!” He grinned, pressing hard into his mom and savoring the feeling of her walls twitching around her, “I made her say my name!”

Osamu, less than enthused, didn’t open his eyes but briefly unlatched his lips, “I made her cum.”

Huffing with that fact. Atsumu wasted no time. For himself and his mother.

His thrusts much snappier and shorter than his twins. It didn’t stop the woman from becoming a babbling mess as Atsumu fucked her relentlessly. One orgasm already stolen by a twin. And another quickly approaching on the way.

“Fuck mum-” Atsumu slurred his words. He thought he could do better but the way her walls wrapped around him and the sight of his mother’s jiggling tits under him was gonna be his undoing. Frantically he pressed his thumb against her clit wanting to desperately make her cum just Osamu did.

Like before, when Osamu stole her first orgasm. Atsumu’s fucking paired with his thick fingers on her clit meant there was no chance to escape. The knot in her stomach grew. Osamu’s lips on her tits. As Atsumu fucked like a bunny in heat. Finally it was too much.

Gushing over her son’s cock just as she’d done with his fingers. Atsumu’s strokes only lasted a handful more as he grunted. Needing to push his hips hard into his mother. Bottoming out in the moments her orgasm milked him for everything he was worth. Atsumu getting finally adding his cum to the mixture with Osamu’s.

Everyone was breathless, save for Osamu who returned to lazily sucking on his mother’s breast. Atsumu wasn’t quite ready to pull out but all the resistance to sleep beforehand hit him like a train. His cock popping out to let the plug of cum ooze down his mother’s ass cheeks. Atsumu collapsed back on his side of her.

Both boys back to their rightful place on either breast. Eyes closed even as Atsumu and Osamu had wandering hands after all of it. Both of them drawing their fingertips down there mom’s stomach to find her cum filled pussy. They hummed pleasantly while the twins played with her cum stained lips and every so often pushed their finger in their mom. Playing in the mess they’d left for her down there.

Atsumu hummed against his mother’s breast, “Thanks for lettin us sleep with ya mum.”

Osamu echoing his brother, “Thanks mom.”

They were her boys. If they needed her, how was she supposed to tell them no.

[kinsbin]

Title: Training Word Count: 3390 Pairing: Ares/Reader, Apollo/Reader, Ares/Reader/Apollo Fandom: Blood of Zeus Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Summary: Apollo likes to flirt with you while you train with Ares to become a great soldier. A joke on your part about letting them both compete for you gets a little out of hand.

Set with Blood of Zeus Gods in mind, but I'm sure you could imagine them to look however you want.

A/N: If I must write the content for the x readers in this series so be it I’m going to write. 

AO3 Link

----

It had been a joke, you swore it.

Well, perhaps that was a lie. It was only half of a joke.

To be honest, all you could remember was Apollo’s snide voice overhead of Ares’ training session with you. A musing coo meant to distract the other god so that the relentless work you were put through may go slower and bide him more time to find a way to mess it up. Apollo’s curious musings of bewilderment over how well you could handle his sword versus Are’s hammer were met with a snide retort about how Ares’ hammer was ten times better than Apollo could hope to be. You paused to watch them bicker, appreciating the break from the otherwise exhausting session, and smiled behind your war hammer as the two gods you adored bickered before you.

The words had slipped out of your mouth as more a commitment to the theatrics of the argument more than anything else:

“Why don’t the two of you let me decide?”

It had brought about a lengthy pause before the look shared between the two gods turned into something of matching mischievous smirks. You paled at the realization of what was going through the two god’s heads at the same time and something about it made your throat go dry and the space between your legs throb.

It was how you then found yourself being pushed into the soft, silken sheets of Apollo’s bed by the taller god, your lips claimed by his own with tender curiosity as hands trailed up your side with teasing touches. You weren’t aware just when your clothes had come off, but it didn’t matter as Apollo’s large hands covered your breast with a careful caress, pinching a nipple between tanned fingers while his lips accosted the side of your neck with hungry kisses. The attention made you gasp, hands flying up to tangle themselves into Apollo’s long hair.

Beyond the lover on top of you, you were able to watch as Ares began removing his own clothes with a methodical slowness, his red eyes never leaving your form as it was ravished beneath another. Jealousy seemed to spark inside of him as much as competition did, making you mewl helplessly as Apollo’s mouth trailed from your neck to one of your breasts, his lips hungry for it as he nibbled along the tender flesh.

“You’re so soft, (Y/N),” Apollo purred with praise thick on his voice, “So beautiful…”

The praise that fell from the lips of a being ten times as beautiful as yourself made your face flush bright red, a sight Apollo seemed to enjoy as he gazed down with moderate amusement at you. A fingertip trailed from your breasts to your face, cupping your cheek in one large palm and letting his fingertips rub gently along your kiss-swollen lips, pulling the bottom one down curiously. On instinct, you opened your mouth and took the digit between your parted lips, sucking on it while one heated gaze met the other, making him hum in approval.

A firm hand fell on Apollo’s shoulder, pulling the other god away with a sharp tone of, “Get off.”

Apollo smirked as he rolled off of you, tilting his head with a click of his tongue.

“So demanding, even in bed? I doubt you could rile them up anymore than this, don’t you think? I mean, just look at them.”

You gasped as Apollo pulled your legs apart with ease, revealing your soaking core. He inserted his fingers with little warning, two thick digits filling you up and making you keen with delight as he pumped them in and out a few times. He pulled away to reveal the hefty amount of slick that coated them with a satisfied quirk of his eyebrow. A challenge to the other god. Ares growled in return, gripping at you fiercely before bringing you up so that you sat comfortably in his lap, your hands splayed on his hard chest and your hips straddling his own. Ares’ half hard length rubbed teasingly along your entrance, making you squirm in appreciation of the friction.

Still his gaze was… soft… A gentle and concerned look warmed in red eyes as he asked the quiet question of if this was truly okay. The Gods were large, much larger than you - whomst they had comfortably sandwiched between their massive forms - and as desperate as he was to destroy you in that single moment there was a necessary hesitance. A careful judgement of limits all soldiers had within themselves and towards others. It was simply in his nature.

You smiled nonetheless, nodding your head before leaning forward to kiss Ares. Your mouth was so much smaller than his own, it barely did work to cover his full lips, but it was all the permission he needed as his arms wrapped around your waist and he pulled you closer to him, consuming you against his body as his tongue pushed past your parted mouth to taste you.

Already you felt full. He took up so much of your mouth with one fell swoop. One hand was enough to grip half of your ass, spreading it apart and allowing his other hand to dip into your dripping cunt. Ares’ fingers were thicker than Apollo’s. Just one was enough to fill you to the brim, stuffing you up and making you moan into his mouth. You felt Ares’ lips form into a smirk as he continued to work one finger into you, pumping and curling the digit in all the right ways as he grew harder in tandem to the soft noises that fell into his lips from your own.

Apollo slid himself behind you, pressing his lips into your neck and trailing kisses down your spine. His hands held your waist as he let his own hardness touch needily at your back, his tongue darting out to lick up the sweat against your skin before trailing downwards.

“Move your fingers,” Apollo hummed towards Ares, and you shivered at the feeling of his breath on your lower lips. It made Ares growl into your mouth, pulling away to frown down at his fellow god and growl a dark ‘fuck off’ in the lust of his possessiveness. It seemed to urge his fingers faster inside of you, adding a second and stretching you in a way that made you keen in delight against his chest. Ares smirked, gazing at Apollo, who pouted through the edges of blonde hair and thick lashes.

There’s a moment of tense silence between the two before Ares relents with a roll of his eyes, his fingertips sliding from your entrance and making you keen in desperation to be filled once more. Your whines turned to moans as Apollo’s lips replaced Ares’ fingers. He sucked and lapped at your entrance like a starving man, using his grip on your thighs to hold your squirming form still as he plunged his tongue between your folds, humming in appreciation of the taste.

“Listen to that,” Ares mused with a lopsided smirk, “Your slutty little moans… Better than the finest music on Olympus.”

Your face heated up red with embarrassment while, beneath you, Apollo chuckled. It sent a series of sweet vibrations up your entrance as his tongue gave one more longing lick at your clit.

“That we can both seem to agree on.”

His lips returned, nibbling gently on your clit as he let a finger slide into your entrance alongside it, making you keen into Ares’ chest. Ares busied himself with lowering his lips to your neck, leaving a fearsome series of bites and bruises along the bare flesh. A signal that you were his. Surely Apollo would fight to leave marks of his own as well. It was the one enjoyable thing about a human lover. Their marks lasted. Their test of just how much your body could take was always different.

“A-Ap...Ares...App-pollo-Gods I-Hh~.”

You tried to form words but nothing came out beyond the stuttering of desire, your entire form trying to work its way out of the god’s bruising grips as they ravished you. Instead each form held you closer, devouring you until the overstimulation brought a pulsating pleasure to your cunt and an orgasm that rolled off of your lips as much as it did down Apollo’s face. Ares swallowed your moans and curses in his own kiss, his deep and guttural growl of arousal shaking your very core as Apollo hummed with absolute delight. As though he were tasting the sweetest nectar of ambrosia.

Ares took a moment to pull away from your lips. To drag his tongue up to collect the sweat of your pleasure against his taste buds and revel in it. Below, Apollo took one last languid lick of your insides, placing a kiss on your clit before sitting up to kiss the back of your neck. Turning your head, you whined in a needy tone. Your mouth was desperate for your lovers. Apollo obliged with ease, allowing you to taste yourself upon his mouth while Ares’ cock gilded sweetly along your entrance, now fully rigid and everything of what your pleasure needed at that moment.

“Our needy little mortal seems like they want something,” Apollo teased in a whisper behind you, his kisses burning your skin as he chuckled, “I wonder what they could want?”

“Beats me,” Ares played along with a gruff chuff of his own, “All they seem to want to do is whine like a bitch in heat. Can you spit out your words, little one?”

Ares’ touch was hard as he gripped your chin between thumb and forefinger, pinching your face so that you were forced to meet his stern, red eyes. Your face was red with embarrassment as it was held still, your gaze squirming without success to land itself anywhere but by the lustful eyes of your mentor. Instead you were forced into it, and Ares quirked one eyebrow upwards with moderate curiosity as he waited for your answer. Behind the two of you, Apollo chuckled. His heat radiated off of him in waves as his fingers curled around your body and tugged lightly at the most sensitive areas they could find in an effort to make you squirm with desire.

“Come now,” Apollo whispered, “We know you’re not mute. Tell us what you’d like us to do to this pretty little cunt of yours~.”

A feathered touch to your throbbing, sensitive core made you whine loudly, drunk off the pleasure the two gods dangled right in front of your nose. Opening your mouth best you could against Ares’ tight grip, you simply let your words spill with starving desperation. Drool fell alongside words as you squirmed and gripped Ares' wrist with shaking fingers.

“A-Ah- Please… I w-want you inside me. Aressss please I want to feel you f-fuck me! I want to feel you both, pleaaaaase please- gods- ahhh - please-!”

Your begging was sweet, making both gods blush in awe at the squirming pile of flesh between them. Their dicks throbbed desperately and Ares could only grunt his approval, hearing you keen hungrily. He threw you down into the bed, flipped you so that you were on all fours, and positioned himself at your aching hole. His tip was large and dribbling with precum. The feeling of it pressing hot and heavy on your entrance made you whimper and moan, an effort to buck back on the cock not going unnoticed as Ares chuckled. He steadied your hips with his hands as Apollo reached out to grab at some of your hair, tugging and smiling as your attention was turned to him once more.

“Can I have your mouth, little one?”

It was silly of him to ask when he was in the perfect position to take, but you didn’t care about formalities. Instead you let their mouth open up as wide as it could, lolling your tongue out and showing the way the strands of your drool clung to your lips as you begged desperately for your god’s cock. Apollo chuckled, rubbing your hair in one more affectionate swoop before pressing the tip along your mouth. He slid it in carefully, his dick thinner than Ares’ certainly but longer by the slimmest margins. It curved beautifully down your throat, making you gag for a moment before your throat began to relax. You started to breathe through your nose all while Apollo exhaled breathy moans of delight at the warmth encompassing him.

“Gods your mouth,” Apollo gasped sweet praises as his head threw itself back, “So tight - mmmm - so wet… Sweet thing you are heaven.”

“Not as tight as this cunt, though,” Ares’ growl was dark behind you, reminding you that he would not be forgotten. The massive god of war gave no warning to you before pushing himself forward. He sheathed the tip of his cock within your tight entrance, making you scream in delight as your walls clung to him. The vibrations of your pleasure made their way up Apollo’s cock, causing the god’s hand to tighten in your hair as he cursed gently through gritted teeth. As still as he tried to keep his hips for his you, he could not help the gentle shift of them so that his cock pushed itself just a little deeper to the back of your throat.

Ares continued pushing behind you with little care to your form. He was relentless and determined to fit himself within you. To take the pleasure that had been teased to him the whole day. Fingertips left hefty bruises on your hips as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. You used Apollo’s hips for balance as the tips of your toes curled through Ares’ relentless pushing.

Once the god of war was bottomed out, he let out a hefty snarl that buried itself in the back of your neck, making you shudder as your walls clenched around his girthy cock. It throbbed inside of you as he gave a single moment to allow you comfort. To adjust to him as he revelled in the warm, tight heat that surrounded him. Both he and Apollo were lost in the wetness of you, their human lover. In the way you squirmed as you were filled with two hefty cocks. You felt your stomach bulge with Ares’ girth, your guts churning as your jaw began to ache around Apollo.

Your signal was all they needed. You shifted your hips back and moaned weakly around Apollo’s cock, eyes gazing up in a teary, silent permission to openly destroy you.

And - oh - how willing the gods were to please.

Ares movements were primal as he dragged himself along the walls of your cunt, feeling them clench around his girth with sweet desperation until only the tip was left inside of you. He pushed back in with fearsome greed, making moan after moan spill from your mortal lips in the process. He continued his relentless pace. So fast was his force that you could feel your insides churning with devoured intensity. Your guts shifted with each heavy push of the god’s desperate cock, making goosebumps shine along your body alongside the sweat that formed.

Your nails dug into Apollo’s smooth thighs, not leaving marks but offering the god a pleasant pain through his pleasure as his own hips moved in tandem with the other god’s to fill you up perfectly. His dick thrust so tenderly inside of your mouth - such a different feeling than Ares’ roughness - that you could barely keep up with the argument of sensations. Drool slid past your lips and dribbled down Apollo’s handsome cock, landing on the bed sheets below as his grip remained firm on your hair.

“Gods, you feel so tight,” Apollo moaned as Ares grunted his agreement, his body covering up the entirety of your form as he pounded into you with a hunger only a god could truly have.

“Tight and wet,” Ares growled with a chuckle in his tone, “This what you want, little mortal? To be taken at once by two gods? To be worshiped like this? To be fucked in a way - hh - no other mortal man could satisfy you?”

“We wouldn’t let anyone else satisfy you,” Apollo’s own growl warned in front of you as he let his hand grip your scalp tighter, “No, you are ours and you belong to us. This is our mouth to use and our cunt to fuck, isn’t that right? Only ours. Our perfect little human.”

You could do nothing but moan in agreement around the two, your brain changing into mush as the gods accosted you. Pleasure clouded the edges of your vision as your stomach churned with clenching desire. Your second orgasm built itself up in the center of your body, making your toes curl as your moans grew more and more vocal by the moment. Ares sensed your impending orgasm by the way your walls fluttered around him, making him groan as he picked up his pace, snapping his hips hard into you. The sound of flesh slapping along flesh echoed as he worked himself greedily into you. Chasing his own release alongside yours as your grip on Apollo only intensified through your heady pleasure. Tears had begun to spill from your eyes, wetting your already damp face as Apollo kept his grip steady, dragging yourmouth along his cock to fuck you at his own pace.

It was when Ares’ fingers moved to your clit and Apollo tugged tightly on you that you lost it. You came with a moan around Apollo and a tight squeeze around Ares, making both gods curse as their own hips snapped to speed up their impending orgasms. Ares came with a guttural, heavy growl that echoed war drums in the back of your mind. You could feel the throbbing of the dick inside of you as it filled your insides up with rope after rope of cum. Apollo held your head still as he came inside of your whining mouth, shooting his own sweet tasting ropes down your throat. He brought you to swallow each strand as you squirmed and gasped around the sudden intrusion.

The three of you remained like that for what felt like eternity, connected within one another as you caught your breath. Apollo’s hand continued to stroke at your head, ruffling the already messed up strands of hair in his movement of praise. He eventually slid his softening cock from your mouth, watching with a light chuckle as you coughed up a few strands of his cum that did not make it down your throat. The semen and spit glittered down your neck as you gasped. You collapsed all the way on the sheets beneath you once Ares slid out as well, exhaling as he admired the way his own semen dribbled from your full entrance.

Sliding into the soft bed sheets, you shut your eyes and heaved a breath of fresh air, your limbs sore and cunt aching from the abuse it had suffered. Yet it was the most delicious feeling in a way. Sweet and hot and sticky all at once, you ached much like you did after a good workout session.

Apollo lay down first with you, his lips finding your forehead and pressing a kiss to it with a chuckle.

“Such a good thing for us,” He cooed sweetly, “Taking us so well like that. You’re a natural, (Y/N).”

Ares scoffed above them both, sliding into his own space against you and tracing designs on your trembling thigh. Not one for as many praising words as Apollo, he simply showed his appreciation with touch above all else. You all but purred into his touch as they let your body relax.

---

You had no idea when you fell asleep, nor how long it was.

You simply woke up a moment later with sheets over your body and a pile of fresh fruit presented in a glimmering gold bowl, your lovers gone to work about the day as they got their rest.

A smile broke on your lips as you accepted a pomegranate from the golden platter and began to open it, watching the world of Olympus continue on beyond the comfort of Apollo’s pantheon.

[op-imaginesandmore]

How would Issho/Fujitora, Doflamingo, Smoker, Arlong, and Gin react to their s/o dying in their arms? (human s/o for all of them including Arlong) Sorry there are so many the posts you've made so far I've enjoyed immensely. I love your style of writing! (:

I know it’s been *checks notes* actual years since I have touched this blog, but I kinda wanted to try my hand at a few of the asks I have in my inbox. I’m going to do just Smoker, and with each of the asks with multiple characters I will pick the one I am most comfortable with writing and go from there. I hope you like it! And also, to anyone who reads this and likes it, thank you! But my ask box will remain closed until…idk, probably a long time. I don’t want to get any one’s hopes about about anything.

Pairing: Smoker x GN!reader

Warnings: Angst, character death (you asked for it), mild descriptions of injury, mentions of blood, implied smut (mildest of spice), unbeta’d if that is a warning

***

The OP was supposed to be a simple one. Get in, do reconnaissance, stay under the radar, come back with what info they needed on the pirate crew, get out.

No one thought Big Mom herself was going to recognize Y/N, because you were good at your job. You had been spying for the government for years, you’d worked with Smoker as one of his subordinates, had infiltrated countless pirate crews, revolutionary bases, treasonous scum that thought they could get away with anything, and had always succeeded in your job.

Lay low, go unnoticed, get the info, come back to him. It was a perfectly organized system that was like clock work, each gear turning for the purpose of civilian protection, and justice.

Until now.

Blood soaked the beach he was kneeling on, who’s it was, he had no idea. Could be his, was probably the pirates’ that were scattered around the Vice-Admiral like debris after a storm, but what infuriated him most was it was most definitely yours.

Wheezes, broken and wet, escaped from your lips, swollen eyes looking up into stoic grey that was like looking into twin hurricanes. Anger, righteous and intense, swirled around with frustration, concern, grief, and an emotion you knew from your quiet moments between soft sheets and the hard planes of his body.

So gentle you barely felt it, he lifted you from the sand like something precious, your blood dripping down his arms and pooling beneath your broken body. Your eyes, swollen and bruised, squinted up at him and a soft smile cracked painfully across your lips.

“Hey handsome” you rasped, a cough that was soaked with blood spurting out. Smoker put a large hand through your matted hair, jaw clenching as he tightened his hold on you.

“I’m gonna get you to the ship’s infirmary” he seethed through his teeth, the usual multiple cigars he kept there like pacifiers long gone. He made to get up, but the cry that came from your lips was shrill and heartbreaking. He immediately stopped, holding you to his chest in a hold soft enough for a newborn.

“I know it hurts, but you need-“

“Do you remember Alabasta?”

Smoker stopped, looking down at your broken body that had the audacity to be giving him the smile that always managed to make his heart flutter in his chest like a crushing school girl’s. He swallowed thickly, not trusting his voice and opting for a nod.

“You were such a baby about Strawhat, I thought you were going to implode when he had his crew mate save your life.” You reached a trembling hand to his face, stroking the rough stubble of his jaw. Almost involuntarily, Smoker leaned into the soft touch, turning his head to kiss your palm as memories of their time on the desert island came to mind.

It had been the first time you had ever yelled at him, calling him reckless and blind. Telling him you were thankful for Strawhat, grateful he had saved his “stupid, sorry, ass” so you had the chance to give him a piece of your mind. He had retaliated with a practiced speech about being your superior, about how you should worry more about your job than what he was doing, how you shouldn’t talk to him like that.

Then you had the nerve to yell at him that you didn’t have a choice but to worry about him. When he yelled at you back about the why, instead of answering him you kissed him square on the mouth.

Their first kiss was in the moment, it was all teeth clacking and sudden and Smoker had been blindsided, but also hadn’t been. The two of you had been flirting with the line between officer and government agent for months at that point, subtle glances and bold, shameless flirting on your part had morphed into soft and subtle touches and hours of listening to you talk about everything and anything.

When the shock of it had worn off a second after you started kissing him, he hadn’t expected for himself to kiss you back. He had adjusted your chin, softened the kiss, and wrapped his arms possessively around your waist and lifted you, your legs wrapping around his own waist in a way that sent chills down his spine as he carried you to his desk. He set you down upon it, gentle as can be, but your legs stayed around his waist, his hips grinding into yours in a way that had him growling. Your lips had been like soft, plush, velvet on his own chapped ones, tongue sinful in its exploration, running against his to beg for entrance.

The two of you broke apart, you were panting, your face flush as you put your head on his chest and listened to the quick thumping of his heart. He smelled like a cigar, a hint of sweet fruit in a haze of earth and smoke that always managed to make your head spin. A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you licked the taste of him from them.

“I worry about you because I care about you Smoker” you looked up at him, your eyes twinkling in the soft glow of the sunlight coming in through the porthole of his cabin “probably more than what’s appropriate for a working relationship, but I don’t want to hide it anymore.” You put your hand on his face, stroking the apple of his cheek in a way no one had ever dared touch him before “if you don’t want this though, we can stop right now and never talk about it a-“

Smoker was kissing you again, softer but with a passion that turned your whole body into jelly that molded into his. It was brief, too brief for your liking but he was looking at you with a smoldering gaze that promised more.

“We do this, we tell no one.” He said with conviction “I can’t have my subordinates thinking I have favorites, and fraternizing could get me and you in a lot of trouble.”

You nodded, understanding alighted in your eyes as you coyly bit your kiss swollen bottom lip.

“If that means I get to see your smoke powers at work in the bedroom, I’ll take an oath of silence”

He felt his body react, his hardened length against your thigh making you squeeze your legs together, bringing him impossibly closer.

Smoker’s chest tightened at the memory.

“I’m glad” you said, swollen gaze growing distant “that it all happened the way it did. The last year and a half has been the best of my life” another cough, violent and cracking in its intensity that it had you whimpering into Smokers chest, and his eyes were burning with the tears that were inevitable now.

“Y/N-“ Smoker started, the deep rumble of his voice cracking “baby, you’re gonna be fine, let’s just-“ he took a breath, steeling himself to try and lift you up again, but your head falling limp against his chest stopped him, made the breath leave his lungs and, for the first time in a very long time, Smoker felt true terror grip his careful self control.

“Y/N?” His voice, so unlike the commanding bass it usually was, soft and broken as the body he held “Y/N? Sweetheart c’mon, wake up” he shook you, your head lolling to one side and then the next awkwardly, before it rested back on his chest and Smoker realized your uneven breathing had stopped, the rasping, painful breaths gone quiet and the only sounds to be heard on the bloodied beach were Smoker’s own uneven hyperventilating “Y/N please! You-you can’t do this! Baby, c’mon-open those pretty eyes, please! Y/N? Y/N!”

He held on tight to your body as he slowly broke down, the tears running rivers down his face that had smudges of your blood on it from holding your body up to it, his face buried into your hair as if he could revive you if he held on a little tighter, begged a little harder to whatever god or devil would listen. His cries broke through the silence, their only companion the lapping of water against the sand and gore. He rocked back and forth, clinging to your lifeless body like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

That was how Tashigi found her Vice-Admiral, sobbing into your hair as he begged you to wake up. Her heart shattered into a million pieces, but she had to keep him moving, had to remind him of the duty he still held.

“Vice-Admiral Smoker?” She breathed, caution in her tone, heartbreak threatening to pull her under when his breath caught. He looked up at Tashigi with a tsunami of emotions that she had never seen him display. Heartbreak and grief worked in tandem to make the ever stoic and statuesque officer crumble to his knees.

“I’ve gathered the survivors of our platoon, we’re awaiting your orders, sir”

There was a pregnant pause that seemed to stretch for an eternity, Smoker looking down at his dead lover, the emotions that had been raging across his face draining from his being, and was replaced once again with the careful stoicism that his position required of him.

He got up slowly, you still cradled against his chest as he looked out at the horizon. It was another long moment before he spoke.

“We bury our dead, then we take the fight to the one who started this.” There was a fury in his words that struck fear into Tashigi, a fear for how reckless her Vice-Admiral was about to be against a Yonko.

“But Smo-“

“Did I fucking stutter?” He whipped his head around, the grey of his eyes burning with an unbridled rage that seemed barely contained “I’m not gonna rest until every last piece of filth that carries the name of Charlotte are wiped from every ocean from the East Blue to Raftel.” He glanced down at the body in his arms, a soft, broken look before the rage hit again.

“They’re gonna pay for what they’ve taken, I’ll make sure of it personally.”

[junicai]

a dust of conflict.

| summary | Aria doesn’t always need to get out. Sometimes, she needs someone to tell her it’s okay to stay. 

| word count | 900

| warnings | None

| era | circa. 2019

“I think you should re-evaluate some things, Akari.”

“I think you need to get out!”

“Clearly there are things more important to you than us, so why aren’t you the one leaving? I’m sure you’ll be just fine on your own, right?” 

In lieu of a response there was the slamming of a door and a screamed curse to accompany it, then a heavy, unsettling silence left to fill in the gaps. Jaehyun and Taeil exchanged a look from where they were hiding out in the living room.

The argument between Jungwoo and Aria had been a long time coming - every one of their conversations growing more and more volatile each time they came to butt heads. Despite the older members racking their brains for the why and the how their relationship had deteriorated so quickly, the only thing that they could come up with was the unwritten excuse for all spats between groupmates. 

Stress. Lack of sleep. Too much exercise. Lack of downtime. Social media. Not enough food. It was tattooed onto the inside of an idol’s brain the second a pen was put to the dotted line of a contract. 

An explanation never made anything easier to stomach, though. Feelings are real and cutting, no matter their point of origin.  

Aria stumbled out into the living room, sweater half-pulled over her head with one arm in and one arm out and dragging a barely full backpack behind her. The thunder clouds reigned over her head like a crown, warning away any potential conversation. The deadened look in her eyes offered the promise of another yelling match, although it’s effect was greatly lessoned by the pinkness of her under-eyes, and the snuffles she muffled into her sleeve. 

Without hardly a glance towards the other boys huddled in the living room, Aria made her way to leave the dorm. Doyoung exchanged a look with Jaehyun, and they stood up in tandem; Doyoung tasked with soothing Jungwoo, and Jaehyun with wrangling an emotionally-vulnerable Aria.

“Aria! Aria!” 

Swinging the backpack over her shoulder, Aria paid Jaehyun no mind as she began to make her way to the hallway of the dorm. She was still dressed in the indoor-leggings she bought a few months ago and then realized she could never wear outside because the material was too thin, and people would be able to see the line of her underwear through it. 

Clearly, it wasn’t stopping her now.

“Aria I swear to god-” Jaehyun extended a hand, grabbing onto her shoulder and spun her around to face him. The tear tracks were glistening in the overhead lights, and her eyes were red and puffy. 

“You know he didn’t mean it.” Jaehyun breathed, hand clenched in the fabric of Aria’s sweater. It was one of her own, this time, which was rare. She normally went for another member’s hoodies when she was feeling upset - something about how they always smelled like home. 

Jaehyun was going to deck Jungwoo after this. 

No, he wasn’t, but he was going to think about doing it and not feel bad. 

“Maybe he didn’t mean it, but I still don’t think I should be here right now.” Aria ran a sweater-covered hand over her face, trying and failing to clean up the mess of tears over her cheeks as more spilled over her waterline to replace them. 

Jaehyun’s fingers gripped tighter. “No, what you should be doing is staying here, with us. Taeyong hyung said he’d make dinner tonight, remember? This is the first time we’ve all been back in time for a ‘family dinner’ night, so you can’t leave now!”

Internally, he winced. He hated using excuses to get Aria to do things, but oftentimes it was the only way to get her to listen to reason. She didn’t care too much about her own safety (Honestly, what was she thinking? Leaving the apartment at 9 o’clock with a backpack) but she did care about commitments and keeping promises. 

“You promised you’d be back in time from training, right?” Jaehyun pushed further, feeling like he was digging nails into his own skin. 

Aria dropped his gaze, finding the cracks in the floorboard much more interesting than anything written on Jaehyun’s face. 

“I don’t think it’ll be okay for me to stay tonight, I think I should go, oppa.” She finally mumbled out, the fight seeping from her shoulders as her bag slipped off to the side. 

“And if I tell you it is?”

“Where would you go?” 

Johnny and Yuta spoke at the same time, both looking at each other in mild surprise. 

Aria blinked once, twice, before bursting out into renewed tears. Jaehyun floundered for a moment before settling on shoving Aria’s backpack away from her body and into Yuta’s arms, pulling her into his arms. 

“Ari,” Jaehyun soothed, wrapping her into his chest. “Ari, you know you can stay here. Hell, I still don’t get why you think you can’t. It’s your home here too.” 

Aria’s response was a blubbered mess, and Jaehyun really didn’t have the sense of mind to attempt to dismantle it. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Jungwoo didn’t mean it, you know he didn’t.” Jaehyun rocked her side to side as they slowly dropped to the floor. 

[meltwonu]

11. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

35. “Bite me.”

        “If you insist.”

notes; panther-hybrid!minghao, bunny!reader, the slightest whisper of jealous!minghao, heat fuckin, breeding!kink, oral(fem receiving), dirty talk, mentions of breath play, spitplay! Also this is so random but ive noticed this trend where sometimes when im posting sth for the day, THAT member will also be posting on like twt or doing a vlive or sth and i know its like theres only so many members! And im like YEA but its funny to me bc its like theyre saying ‘hey u stop that sinful content rn and enjoy this wholesome one instead’ and im just like hahah nope 😈💕 all I do is sin babyyyyyy 🤣 anyway thank you for requesting! enjoy! 💕

“Fuck, this can’t b-be happening…! Ugh!”

You try redialing Chan’s number, only for it to go straight to his voicemail after only a few rings again. A soft cry spills from your lips as you pace around your living room; palms clammy around the small device.

Your heat had come early and your usual heat partner, Chan, seemed to be either ignoring your calls or way too busy to notice you’d already phoned him five times. “F-fuck, please…” You attempt to dial him one more time, biting your lip and rubbing your already slick thighs together as you listen to the phone ringing.

‘I’m sorry, the number you have dialed--’

“Damn it!”

Minghao lives in the apartment next to you.

The quiet panther hybrid kept to himself most of the time and the only real times you’d seen him, he’d briefly smiled at you in passing whenever you’d both be in the hallways or elevator. You didn’t really know much about him in all honesty, but in the moment, you didn’t really care.

You storm out of your apartment, nervousness wracking your body as you stop right in front of his door. Raising a hand to knock, you momentarily think about your options.

A. Go back to your apartment and hope Chan picks up eventually

B. Ask Minghao this one time for the biggest favour of your life.

“Fuck it.”

Before you can change your mind, you quickly knock on his door, yelling a small ‘it’s me!’ as if Minghao would know. The door opens after a few tense seconds; Minghao’s tall form coming into view when he opens it wide enough.

“Who--oh.”

A look of realization washes over him and he’s quick to smell you in the few moments that the two of you just seem to stare at each other. “What exactly are you doing in front of my door like this?” He drawls.

Minghao doesn’t really anticipate the effect it has on you, but you quietly whimper in return, thighs clamped tight and body shivering at the dominating aura that the panther hybrid already exudes.

“Please… I--my h-heat partner is--isn’t responding and I… Please b-breed me… I can’t--can’t wait any l-long and it--it h-hurts...”

Minghao raises an eyebrow as he leans against the door; sharp eyes fixating on your body that won’t stand still. 

“Get inside, right now.”

Your fingertips tangle into Minghao’s hair as he eats you out; careful of his sleek yet fluffy black ears that protrude from his mess of hair.

Loud cries spill from you when he dips his tongue into your wet entrance before dragging it back up to your clit, teasing you as he takes his time.

“Fu--fuck, Minghao! More, more!”

“I didn’t know you were so sensitive.” He teases; lips easing into a smirk before he sucks your clit into his mouth. You let out a loud garbled moan as your entire body trembles with his touch. “I’m, ah, m-my heat…” You trail off, unsure of where you were even going with your sentence when Minghao flattens his tongue and drags it through your soaking folds. “Oh god, I--I can’t--!”

Before you can even stop yourself, you’re cumming on his tongue; fingers tightening in his messy locks and hips raising off of the bed as you grind against his flattened tongue. “Minghao, Minghao, Minghao!” The pleasure continues to wash over you even when he shakes your fingers loose from his hair and he sits up.

“You’re cute, y’know.” He smirks, lips coated in your wetness. “Just a cute ‘lil bunny getting her pussy eaten out in a panther’s bed. Aren’t you scared? I could eat you up right now, sweetheart.” His tone is teasing; eyes glimmering with mischief when your teary eyes meet his.

“Bite me. S-since, you’re so, ah, big ‘n b-bad…” You gulp as you watch him lean over you, suddenly feeling small underneath him.

“If you insist.”

Minghao has never really helped anyone through their heat.

But he’s surely heard you go through yours plenty of times.

“Oh--oh, Minghao! H--harder! Please, f-fuck me harder!” Your nails dig into his bed sheets, drool dripping from your lips as he fucks you from behind.

“Fuck, you’re so loud.” He chuckles, “Do you know how loud you are, bun? When you’re getting fucked.”

Your cheeks burn hot at his question, “H-huh…?” Minghao stops his thrusts for a second, grinding against you as you moan loudly in response. His chest meets your back as he leans over you; peppering gentle kisses along your shoulder blades before nipping at your skin. The small action has goosebumps rising on your skin almost immediately as you bite your lips to hold in your noises.

“The walls aren’t soundproof, y’know. I can hear all your cute ‘lil moans and cries whenever you’re going through your heat. I can hear how rough you like to take it and how you beg and beg and beg for more.” Minghao pauses, smirking against your skin when you clench around his cock. “The way I’m fucking you is nothing compared to how you really like it, right, bun? I hear the things you’ve said to that heat partner of yours. The walls are just so thin~” Gulping, you wait for him to continue, unable to deny the way you seem to get wetter and wetter the more he talks.

“You beg whoever it is to fill you up with cum, over and over, and all night too. And I hear the way you always tell them to be rougher with you, to choke you and spit in your cute ‘lil mouth, but do they ever give it to you?”

“N-no…”

Minghao grins, kissing your skin one last time before he straightens his back and starts fucking you at a much quicker pace. He wraps his fingers around your small fluffy tail at the small of your back, tugging on it lightly as you cry out his name. “That’s right, bun~ You just need someone like me who’ll put you in your place, right? Like the good ‘lil bunny you are.”

Garbled noises spill from your lips as he talks and you can already feel yourself on the brink of another orgasm once he starts to angle his thrusts to hit your g-spot. “Ngh, M--Minghao, fuck, ah, r-right there! More, p-please!” You move your hips in tandem with his; frenzied movements letting the panther hybrid that you were close to cumming again.

“Your cute ‘lil cunt is so fuckin’ tight and warm around my cock. Fuck, I could get used to you, bun. You should come see me more often~” Minghao licks his lips as his fingers continue to play with your tail; eyes trained on the way your body shivers underneath him. “You’re scared of me but you want me to fuck you all day, don’t you? Breed your hot ‘lil pussy until you’re full of my cum. But even then you’d still be begging me for more.”

He lets go of your tail, instead reaching around your body until his fingertips are on your clit.

“Cum for me bun, let me feel how tight you get around my cock.”

A high pitched whine is all you can manage when you cum on his command; eyes clamped shut as the pleasure washes over you. You let out a choked sob in the midst of your high, already itching to get to another orgasm.

Minghao opts to grind against you as you ride out your pleasure and he can’t help but grin at the way you keep trying to fuck yourself on his cock.

Your stuttered breaths and whines are the only noise in the room when Minghao draws his hips back; eyes fixated on his cock that’s covered in your wetness when he pulls out. He gently maneuvers you onto your back as you groan.

“Don’t tell me you’re tired already, bun? I still haven’t bred your cute ‘lil cunt. Don’t you want me to fill you up with cum? Get you nice ‘n full like you want?”

Your bleary eyes blink up at him, shaky fingertips reaching down to your soaking folds. Licking your lips, you spread yourself for him, letting him see how much wetter you were getting with each passing second. He raises a brow at you, noting the lust that pools in your eyes. 

“Hurry and b-breed me then, M--Minghao… I wanna, ah, feel you c-cumming too..”

The panther hybrid grins; eyes twinkling with playfulness as he positions himself at your entrance.

“Don’t mind if I do, bun~”

[pierdutaintimpsispatiu]

Vladbruarie day 1

for @vladvodashitposts event

ziua 1: legături (bonds) || prizonier la Poartă (prisoner in childhood)

The road was long and dreadful. The oldest of the two boys moved his lips in a silent murmur, repeating to himself the words his father has spoken to him before departing. "Do not precieve this as exile, son," his father has said, nodding his head at the young prince. "It is but your duty – to your people, to your country –" a light squize on the shoulder pushed the little one towards the Sultan's envoys. "You are aiding us more than you know, my boy, remember this much if nothing else."

Vlad, for this was the boy's name, frowned to himself. Why wouldn't his fingers stop twitching? He was doing what needed to be done for the country he was born for, the people who welcomed him and his family with reverence and looked to himself with as much hope and respect as his father and older brother, Mircea, were met with. So why, then, was there a weight on his heart? A heavy, dark feeling looming and tigtening inside his young chest in tandem with the horses' gallop that took him farther and farther away from home.

His eyelids fluttered shut when Vlad cringed internally. He uttered a word wrong as his mind wondered aimlessly to the face of his mother – long since gone – and of his stepmother, who smiled at him gracefully and waved from the road until he knew she couldn't see him anymore. She told him to look after Radu, just like his mother would have, has she had the chance.

Vlad's eyes snaped to the younger boy next to him. Radu, his little brother. The quiet child who barely learned how to walk and talk properly. Radu has cried himself to sleep, face buried in Vlad's shoulder. His head was still resting on the older prince's arm when they reached the majestic palace of the Sultan. A beautiful, glorious prison, but one nontheless. If not in looks, then in meaning, thought Vlad.

The night of their arrival, young Vlad and little Radu were placed in separated bedrooms. Despite their noble statute, the two boys often times seeked the comfort of their older brother in dark, scary nights that spook the sleep away easier than any excitent ever could. As soon as he heard the soundless steps creeping in front of his door, Vlad realized he has to take over the big brother role.

Radu didn't knock. And he didn't ask if he can stay. He rushed to his brother frozen by the window and hugged his leg, his hair brushing against Vlad's knee. The brown of the former's eyes softened under the moon and his trembling hand steadied to stroke his baby brother's flushed cheeks. "Have you cried again, Răducule?"

"I want mother," the kid mumbled.

"So do I," Vlad confessed. "I swear to you it's true," he added at the look on Radu's face: skeptical that his big brother would mean such a thing. "I want to go to sleep in my bed at home and wake up to the teacher's lessons, not to whatever may come tomorrow." Now, Vlad slowly detangled Radu from him and placed a hand over his tiny shoulders and, trying a joking tone, said: "But it doesn't suit to wish for what cannot be, brother, no?"

"What did we do, Vlad? Why do mother and father hate us? Can't we apologise and have them take us back? Moașa says that if we repent, all our wrongs shall be forgiven."

Vlad sighed. As Radu spoke his heart out with the hope and innocence all kids posses, the two brothers reached the bed. Kneeling at its edge, with Radu sat on the scented, probably freshly washed blanket, Vlad forced his small face to look at him.

"Listen to me very carefully," he begin. "Mother and father do not hate us. And we did nothing wrong. Understood?"

"But, then, why...?"

"It is our duty, Răducule. We shall help Wallachia as we can, even when it pains us."

"Why?" Radu cried, pouting and crossing his tiny arms. "I don't want here. I want home."

The endless wory begin to claim Vlad. His patience thinned, his mind clouded and he felt his body not just tired, but exhausted. "Radu," he warned, but before anything else could come out he remembered what he kept hearing from as early as he could understand the language spoken to him. Family, Vlad, dragă, it is the core of our power, the center of our strength. As long as we're united, we will thrive.

"Come here," Vlad relented. And the kid jumped into his brother's arms, grinning, suddenly content and at ease. "Our hearts are home, yes, Radu? Nothing can change that. But to protect our home, our family and our people, our minds and bodies have to be here."

"How long?"

"I don't know. But we have each other, a piece of home to hold onto. I will take care of you, little brother, do not worry."

Radu seemed to ponder over the words, turning the idea on all sides in his head. Eventually, he broke into a smile, nodding enthusiastically. "And I will take care of you."

Despite himself, the late hour and the threat of the unknown, Vlad laughed. A genuine, sincere, light sound that didn't stop until it cleaned every trace of hurt in him. "Of course, what would I do without you?"

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The morning found the brothers lounged on opposites sides of the bed. What should have been a restless sleep, free of the bliss of dreams with glimpses into the night, wide awake, became ordinary. Vlad and Radu were even confused to see the change of scenery before remembering the previous day and where they really were.

A servant knocked, but didn't bother wait for an answer. The servant eyed Radu with distaste, turning the same loosely curled lipped face to Vlad. "You are both expected to present yourselves to breakfast, properly dressed, within the hour. Follow me, if you please."

Not really having much of a choice, the two foreign princes fell in line behind, allowing themselves to be led to a shared bathroom between their rooms. Bigger than what was the norm back home and of much more luxury, as soon as the servan left the two brothers alone, they took the oportunity to turn it into a playground. When the servant returned for them, Vlad and Radu, short on air from laughing, had their clothes soaked, hair tangled and the clean change left for them, damped.

At the horrific look that passed over – and refused to leave – the servant's face, Vlad straightened and muffled his joy. He stepped in front of Radu to protect him of the ill gaze, resisting the urge to put the servant in place; such a behabiour towards two princes... unacceptable! But even though young and not yet prepared in the art of the Court, Vlad knew it'd be bad to draw too much attention. Bad to cause havoc and earn a reputation amongst the tributes. The one in front of him may be a servant, but not his, nor Radu's. The Sultan's. And that meant his eyes and ears, most likely. Better not to risk an attitude that can harm his land and its people. That'd put his father and family in a tricky position.

"You may leave," Vlad said on an even voice. A child, trying to play an adult on the stage of frail politics. "We will manage ourselves from now and shall be at breakfast right on time."

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The first hours of his new life, though with a rocky start, unfurled well. Vlad fit in the caretaker role exellently. The young prince carried himself with dignity and honor on the palace's hallways, emanating confidence in relation to others with just a pinch of superiority to maintain his statute clear. He was polite and maniered as taught in Wallachia as the future ruler. He used his knowledge and inteligence to navigate the life at the strange court. By noon, it seemed to Vlad like he lived seven lives already and old age, still far.

As proud as he was of himself, as sure he figured it all out and feeling ready for his life in the heart of the Empire, as hopeless, powerless and scared Vlad felt when the announcement of his new lessons reached his ears.

Vlad loved learning for sure. The knowledge presented to him opened in the young prince a desire for more. It is, he realized, the groundbase of power. And he couldn't have enough of it; be it arithmetic and philosophy, geometry and astrology or horseriding lessons and permission to attend his father's council with Mircea to learn strategy, Vlad valued scholar work.

But he knew it'd all be diferent under the care of the Sultan. How could he focus on or enjoy his readings if he doesn't know anything of his brother? Because Radu wasn't allowed to keep him company. Another teacher saw to the fearful child, begging for familiarity.

"I'll see you after lessons, yes Răducule? It's fine, I promise. I'll see you soon."

If his words fulfilled their sole purpose to sooth Radu, Vlad's mind was still in distress. The lack of attention made it hard to undesrtand what was being said to him. Even more, caused a stimming hatred to rise inside him of the new language he was forced to speak. Maybe if it was easier to learn, without worries in sight, Vlad would have loved the challenge and welcome the new skill in his skull. But as the situation presented itself, the only reason Vlad didn't fail his classes was fear. Motivated by the dreaded nighmares of what might happen home, or, even worse for he was closer than Wallachia, what might happen to Radu, Vlad became a praised student. And encouraged his brother to do the same.

If during daytime Vlad embraced his new life, posing as the prodigy son, at nighttime the prince snuk pieces of his true identity through the thick, ornated walls of the palace.

"Is it safe to talk, Vlad?" Radu asked after they retired to their chambers. The older brother pressed his finger to his lips and shushed. "Yes, if you're not too loud."

"Sorry."

"Alright, where were we? I believe we finished with verbs last night, is it right?"

"Yes, but you promised me a story, not more grammar. Please."

Vlad chuckled indulgently and shook his head in amusement. "Very well. If you can answer my questions on the verb correctly, I'll tell you a story."

"One from home." Radu stressed his point.

"Yes, of course that one from home. Mother used to tell me and Mircea this one. Are you ready?"

The romanian lessons were very important to Vlad. To this day, he not only remembers, but feels the unnamable emotion that coursed through him once settled at Târgoviște. It rained around him with the language he only heard in the bosom of his family. It wasn't weird anymore, it was normal. And beautiful. His own.

Beside the toungue of his ancestors, Vlad held dear the believes translated to stories. Doica used to tell him that through religion a people have a heart, throuh folklore a people have a conscious of themselves. And so, young Vlad was set to teach little Radu as much as he was able to. Plant in him the meaning of home – of Wallachia – on all possible levels.

>>> brothers bonding while prisoners in childhood

[idesofrevolution]

Okay: Bad Boy Musky Transformation it is. Enjoy!

I knew, of course, that Marco sold whatever the degenerates in the neighborhood needed. Weed, Acid, Ecstasy, Shrooms, Coke... take out the hard ones and you have his menu. He always seemed to afford the good things in life with his dark money. Two weeks ago he’d bought a Ducati; a week prior it was a 60 inch TV! God knows it wasn’t from dutiful employment, but I knew damn well just what it was that afforded him these luxuries: whatever could be inhaled, snorted, or smoked. And yet, here I was, working two jobs at McDonalds & Popeyes just trying to afford my garbage studio apartment. 

He’d only ever been kind to me, I’ll admit. He’d bring by a pizza he said he couldn’t finish, or his old speakers he’d upgraded. Nice guy, if a bit dim. Always out in the courtyard, laying by the pool with his shirt off. Always surrounded by other guys who’d slip him a hundred. It’s not fair! Four years of college and what did I have to show for it? Student loans and no job prospects. Yet there he was: no trade, no job, no future really; but living like a king. So it was one day where I’ll fully admit that my jealousy overwhelmed me. 

I was short that month, for the first time mind you. Short only by a hundred dollars for rent, but I had already gotten a notice on my door. Pay tomorrow or get lost. It was this desperation that made me remember every deal that thug made, every 8-ball, every eighth, every pill... Would he really notice a hundred missing from his pile? I knew for a fact that every Wednesday night, precisely at 10, Marco would leave for the hookah club and not return until 4 or 5 at the earliest. I knew he locked his door, a few locks actually, but I also knew that the moron left his window cracked nearly every night. It just so happened that on that particular evening, he did just that. 

In that fleeting moment of curiosity, a plan built up in my head. I watched him loudly slam his door, lock his several locks, and saunter out down the stairs. I waited about five minutes before creeping out of my apartment, careful to watch for other prying eyes. I had to be quick. I made a run for it, bolting to his open window on the balcony. It slid open quite easily, and I heaved myself over the ledge and into Marco’s dark apartment. I landed on the ratty old carpet and quickly shut the window. Looking around the apartment, it was a three bedroom for sure. In the same state of disrepair as mine, but furnished with some of the most expensive, gaudy things I’ve ever seen. Brand new leather couches, a coffee table made completely of glass, a massive stereo system next to his 60 inch TV... An absolute manchild lived here.

However, I wasn’t there for the TV or the oversized sectional. I had a sneaking suspicion that he, like many of us, kept his extra money somewhere in the bedroom. Ensuring that no noise would come from my steps, I snuck quietly down the hall, covered in paintings of scantily clad men toward the bedroom. Interesting, he swung that way, huh? Opening the door, a wafting stink hit me in the face. The room was covered in dirty laundry, used condoms, half rolled  blunts, and lines of coke on nearly every surface. This is what I was expecting, and I was surely right. Holding my nose shut, I crept toward his dresser, and began to ruffle through his belongings. Damp socks, damp underwear, damp lycra, everything in there was damp and reeking. I slammed each of the drawers shut, and opened the closet. There, on the tile floor behind rows of pristine sneakers were a pair of destroyed old Vans; and inside each were rolls of hundred dollar bills. Jackpot. I knelt down and grabbed one of the rolls, momentarily unclamping my nose to remove the rubber band. The smell was unbelievable. It took me aback, just how strong it was. I’m sure each of the pairs of Huaraches, AF1′s, and the like had strong scents of their own, but from this single pair of beat up old Vans was the most salty, sweet, almost cheesy footmusk that I’d ever encountered.

For a mere second, I contemplated bringing one of the shoes to my face, letting the dirty, wet insole touch the tip of my nose. However, it was in that second that I should have just left well enough alone. The lightswitch flipped on, and looming over me was the hulking, shirtless Marco. In my right hand was his wad of cash, in the left was his grody sneaker. My face flushed, and my stomach dropped to my toes. He crossed his arms and smiled.

“If you wanted a loan you could have just asked...” Words were caught in the back of my throat. I wanted so terribly to make up some fantastic excuse as to my presence in his closet, but the frog in my throat had other ideas. The growing grin of Marco, paired with him beginning to kneel down to my level made my heart nearly stop beating. “And if you wanted a sniff I’d have given it to you.” He smirked and slowly pulled the shoe from my hand, taking a quick whiff of it’s stench. He turned quickly and laughed, waving the wafting scent away from his face before grabbing the back of my head and plunging it right into the shoe. “Okay, deep breath now.”

I tried to struggle, to fight back, but the man was nearly twice my size and pure muscle. There was no chance of me weaseling my way out of this. I had to just play along with this weird fetish that he seemed to have. I inhaled a quick breath, barely getting any stink. 

“No, no. I said deep breath.” I felt a strong hand shoot to my crotch, grabbing my junk within my jeans. The shock of this invasive gesture broke my concentration, and a gasp of breath escaped from my mouth. Into my nose, my mouth, my sinuses, my brain did the musk penetrate. I moaned loudly, the confusion of a powerful grope and a powerful scent submerged me into a strange state of consciousness. Or rather, a lack thereof. I was inhaling the footsmell like air, and I couldn’t get enough. My cock began to tent in my pants, and I felt my right hand drop the roll of cash I thought I so desperately needed. “Ahh, haha. That’s right, let it in. Let me in.” 

His voice seemed distorted, as if we were in a deep cavern, it echoed in my skull. He removed the shoe from my face, pulling me to my feet by my bulging groin. Guiding me toward his bed, I sat down on the smelly sheets, no longer in complete control of my faculties.

“Take your clothes off.” His words entered my ears like soft velvet, it felt wrong to disobey. In fact, I wanted to obey. For the first time, I wanted to listen to whatever this man told me to do. His bulging muscles, his plump lips, the way his crooked smile felt so dangerously mischievous, the way his smell took my breath away like a vacuum. For the first time, this man was everything I wanted. I ripped my clothes off and lay there on his bed wearing nothing but my bare, cold skin. Smiling, he took hold of my throbbing, upright cock in his rough hand. Ripples of goosebumps ran up and down my body as he slowly ran his calloused hand up and down my shaft. Each stroke allowed a groan or a moan to sneak out of my lips, before he leaned down atop me and planted a soft kiss onto my lips. He tasted like an ashtray and as his tongue slipped into my mouth, rolling atop my own, I could feel some of his taste transfer to me. I can’t explain it, as we kissed I could feel that taste of cigarettes and blunts seep into my tongue. I pulled his pants down, his thick, uncut cock tumbling out of his compression shorts onto my stomach. He smiled as he pulled away from the kiss. I stuck my finger under his foreskin, swiping it around, and brought it to my lips. It tasted like ripe, sweaty cock, and I began to crave it. “Oh yeah, babe you’re a keeper.”

He jumped up, and pulled me toward the edge of the bed. I got a perfect frontal view of his gorgeous cock and saggy balls, his virile and manly smell kept pouring into my nose and into the depths of my mind. He grabbed me by the back of my hair and pulled my eager mouth forward, engulfing his slick, smelly cock. I suckled, my loud slurping seeming making him even hornier. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him fiddling with something just out of view. As he thrust down my throat, I realized just what it was that he had. His used condom, I presume from whatever sexy fuck occurred the night prior, was in his hands. I closed my eyes as I felt its rubbery walls close tightly around the tip of my cock, slickly sliding down my shaft until his cold, creamy load touched my slit. With a loud snap, I looked down and saw his thick white cum completely enveloping my cockhead. I only got a quick glance before he’d pulled out of my mouth, replacing his succulent cock with my now favorite smelly shoe. I licked the sole, letting the thick toejam season my ashy tongue as the musk thrust into my nose once more. 

I knew what was coming, and I was prepared when I felt that slippery cock slip like butter into my tight hole. He’d grabbed my cock, covered in his seed, and jerked in tandem with his thrusts into my ass. Sensory overload. His smell, his seed, his cock, his taste, the very sight of him... It was all him. He was marking me. I was his property, and I was glad to oblige. Every single hard smack against my ass cheeks, every stinking waft into my brain, every breath of his smoky breath coming out of my mouth... It was too much! He fucked like a madman, stroking my cock into his slime until I felt a strange tingling in my cockhead. It was a slick, penetrating sensation of his seed... slurping into my slit! I was nearly screaming as I felt it sink deep down my shaft, into my engorging balls. It was stewing, brewing inside my growing sack! I heard him howl as he unloaded his fresher load into me. 

I felt his cock within me shooting spurt after spurt... going from ounces to gallons very quickly. His cum spread throughout my body like water into a balloon. I could feel the silky liquid beneath my skin, creeping, inflating every part of my body. It seeped up my throat, into my mouth, behind my very eyes into my brain. The pressure grew as I felt growth, I felt strength, I felt different. My body was gelatinous beneath my skin, before slowly firming into a much larger form. An improved form. I pulled Marco’s shoe from my face, and looked at my changing body. The cum kept flowing as I saw my muscled arms, my bulging abs, a grotesquely inflated ballsack... He leaned down and kissed me again, giving me another much needed taste of his addictive taste. My brain was melting, reforming, changing... Things were fuzzy and blurred before it was my turn to blow my load. In it, was who I used to be, my failures, my strife, my worries and obligations... Flowed like a jet out of my cock into his condom. Cum flowed out of the top of the condom, before Marco ripped it from me, letting the hot juices pool between us. 

“Lookin’ good, babe.” He smiled at me, and I looked at the man I loved with a smirk. Yeah, I sure fuckin’ do look good. We laid there all night long, fucking and kissing and sniffing and tasting... By the time the sun came up, I was in his clothes, I reeked of his sweaty manly musk, I was wearing my favorite pair of red Vans, and I was readying an 8-ball for pickup later that morning (after a few lines for me and the boyfriend). I kicked back and lit a cigarette, enjoying the laid back life I’d come to love with my man.

It’s a love story. How touching. So let me know what you think. Give me some anons on your opinions! Also, toss a few quid into the tip jar and I’d be eternally grateful <3 <3