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raisamariannas · 2 years ago

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the house at the end of the street (fem!jon x aegon vi)

Summary: A ghost boy walks through a ghost town.

AO3 Link. Patreon.

Length: 6k.

Dark. Half-sibling incest. Modern au.

He moves quietly around the local market, head down as he tries not to meet anyone’s gaze, even though no one is trying to. His silver hair curls at the end of his ears, in desperate need of a cut, and he is wearing clothes that are too big for him, flannel sleeves bunching up around his thin wrists. If it were someone else, anyone else, the market’s owner, an elderly woman by the name of Meria, would be fussing over him. She would be tittering about a young man’s need for sustenance, but since that night, no one really talks to Aegon Targaryen anymore.

It’s not like he cares. In fact, he prefers it that way. Since that night, there has been no need to pretend anymore. To pretend to be a good person, to pretend that he gives a shit about anyone but himself. Since that night, he quit the football team, dropped out of high school and has been living off of his father’s fortune, which is more than enough to keep him comfortable for the rest of his miserable life. He barely even leaves the house anymore, barely talks to anyone but the kids that inevitably come around, trying to dare themselves to ring his doorbell. And he likes it that way.

Aegon drags his meager cart around, filled to the brim with canned corn, preserved beans and anything else that can last through a nuclear apocalypse. When he is finished, Mrs Sand’s youngest grandson rings him up quickly, not meeting his eyes. Aegon hands him two fresh notes of a hundred dragons, his mouth barely moving as he says, “Keep the change.”

He walks out with three bags, struggling to get the car keys out of his pocket. The sun is unforgivable at this time of year, beating down on him and he thanks his Dornish mother that he can walk the five meters between the market to his parking spot without getting a sunburn. When he approaches his car, a beat up old camry solara that has seen better days, Aegon sighs, shaking his head at what has been written in the dirt of his windshield. WHY DID YOU LIVE?

Nothing new under the sun. Phrases like that appear practically twice a week wherever he goes. Aegon simply shakes his head again and opens the car, unloading his groceries on the backseat before sitting down at the front. He doesn’t even bother wiping it off, simply pressing the button to spray some water as he maneuvers the vehicle, driving away without a second glance. Ever since that night, people have been asking the same questions, questions that will never receive an answer. Why did he live? Where is his sister? Why did she do that?

Sometimes, people ask him outright, the few brave kids that heard the story from their parents to warn them against staying away from him, or the nosy soccer moms that are determined to solve the case. If it’s a child, he will simply tell it to return to his mother, but the few moms that have crossed his way are completely ignored. He will not be a part of their weekly book-club meetings that are more about sharing gossip than actually talking about War & Peace.

His house is located at the end of the main street, next to a curve that has allowed his family a degree of isolation for decades. He doesn't open the garage, as there are already two cars inside, and parks in his driveway, carelessly opening the door next to him so he can get out. Sweat has pooled at the back of his neck, sliding down his back and he sighs, rubbing a hand down his face.

It's a hard day, with many errands needed at the center of town, and Aegon is tired. Exhausted, really. He wants nothing more than to get home, run a cold shower and get in his bed. But things always must stop him. His life can never be too easy, because as soon as he opens his front door, keys still jingling after unlocking the second lock, he hears a heavy piece of paper fall to the ground.

“Fuck,” he sighs. Aegon lets his bags at the entrance, bending down to pick up the old newspaper shoved under his door. He doesn’t need to even read it to know what it is about, even though he does so anyway, his eyes moving almost automatically across the yellowed out paper.

FAMILY KILLED IN VICIOUS ATTACK; ONE SURVIVOR

Last night, a bloody and brutal attack was carried out against the Targaryen family, pillars of the community at St Alysanne. Patriarch Rhaegar (43), his wife Elia Martell (45) and the couple’s eldest daughter Rhaenys (21) were pronounced dead at the scene by a mixture of blunt force trauma and multiple stabbings to their chest and face. The family’s second child and only son, Aegon (18), was the one to call the police and was unharmed. Police currently believe the attack was carried out by Rhaegar Targaryen’s second daughter -- who is not Elia Martell's biological daughter. Visenya (16) is still at large and her motives for the killing are as of yet unknown. Visenya was tested in her early childhood for mental disabilities, but no definite diagnosis has been released to the public.

Below is the last known picture of Visenya Targaryen, who has dark brown hair, freckles and gray eyes. She is considered dangerous and citizens are recommended to call the police and not engage with her if sighted. Visenya will be charged with three counts of first degree murder and may face the death penalty if found guilty.

Her older brother, Aegon, is the only witness to her crimes, but sources say he refuses to collaborate with the police. The family’s lawyer has refused access to the youth, or the possibility of an interview. With his father’s death, Aegon stands to inherit a net worth of 500 million. Police have not yet responded to questions if Aegon will be charged as an accomplice to his sister.

He doesn't continue reading. There is no need. For many months after that day, the people asked the same questions and the newspaper continued to flame their suspicion over him, even after the long drawn-out police's investigation found him to not be at fault. Aegon had to answer the same questions so many times that he can remember it easily, like the lines of an actor. I don't know where my sister is. I don't know why she did it. I had nothing to do with it.

Aegon drags his groceries back in, quietly placing everything in its proper place. He sets aside five cans of soup, food that can be easily prepared over a hot plate, and an apple. The doorbell rings when he is about to start washing the down dishes, fingers already closed around the dish soap. Fuck, he thinks, what do those damn kids want now?

But, when he opens his front door already incensed, Aegon doesn't see any annoying street kid. Instead, he sees the city's sheriff, a pot-bellied balding middle-aged man, standing in his doorway, hands posted at his waist. Aegon sighs, maintaining the door halfway closed, as he hides the rest of his entrance with his body.

"Sheriff Manderly," he greets, trying to keep his face neutral.

"Aegon," he says, nodding at him, "You must know why I'm here."

Aegon raises his eyebrow. "Someone found my sister?" he offers and the sheriff shakes his hand with a chuckle.

"Not yet, I'm afraid, son," he says. Sheriff Manderly steps closer, stretching upward as if trying to see better. "We received some calls that your neighbors have heard a woman screaming inside." He smiles. "I wanted to be the one to come and check everything out."

"I don't know what I can tell you, sheriff," said Aegon, a white knuckle grip on his door frame. "I live alone." He shakes his head. "Another ghost story, most likely. Did I ever tell you about the Blackwood boys trying to sneak inside to spend the night last week? Could've called it in, but I didn't."

"Teenagers," Sheriff Manderly says, as if the matter is entirely simple. "Do you mind if I come inside, just to make sure everything is ok?"

Aegon frowns. "Why do you need to make sure everything is ok if I just told you that I live alone?" he asks. "No woman was screaming here, I swear to you."

Sheriff Manderly smirks, raising his brow. "Come on, Aegon," he says. "It will be quick, just to quiet down anyone that says you're harboring your sister."

"Who says that?" Aegon asks. He shakes his head. "I was sure your department's latest theory was that Visenya escaped to the woods and died of exposure the night of the murders. That was a very cold night, everyone said. The coldest in a hundred years."

"Aegon," Sheriff Manderly says again, "Come on. Don't make this difficult. Just let me check inside and I'll be on my way."

"Do you have a warrant?" he asks. Sheriff Manderly freezes in his place, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. "Mr Whent told me not to let any cop inside without a warrant."

"Aegon, come on," says Sheriff Manderly, almost angry and Aegon begins to close his door, shaking his head.

"Thank you for coming, sheriff," he murmurs, waving almost patronizingly. "When you reach Judge Flowers' office, let me know."

He finishes closing the door, twisting the first two locks as he steps back. Aegon waits for a long moment before stepping forward again, pressing his gaze to the magic eye. He observes as Sheriff Manderly hangs in his porch, awkwardly looking around as if trying to find any reason to enter without a warrant. But Aegon has pulled the curtains all the way down after having the windows switched, choosing a new glass that would make looking in even more difficult.

It takes around five minutes for Sheriff Manderly to leave, five minutes in which Aegon stays by his door, staring at him through the magic eye. He doesn't like Sheriff Manderly, the man in charge who asked too many questions, but he is a necessary evil. Another sheriff might be less lazy, less inclined to stuff donuts down his throat. Less stupid, with more theories on what could have happened.

But with Sheriff Manderly out of his field of vision, Aegon returns to his tasks. Washing the dishes, setting aside the food for dinner. Taking a cold shower to wash off his sweat and shaving his beard afterwards. He changes into a form-fitting gray t-shirt and dark jeans, brushing his hair back. When he looks into the mirror, Aegon feels like a different person. More at ease in his own home, more confident. He stares straight ahead without fear.

His family's house is three stories high, but Aegon doesn't go to his old rooms on the third floor. Instead, a bag full of groceries in one hand and a bouquet of blue roses on the other, he goes down to the basement. The door that leads down is at the end of a corridor, painted the same color as the wall surrounding it so as to hide it. His father had many things to keep away from the public’s eye in his lifetime.

The basement is dark, but well-cleaned, maintained by a large system of air-conditioning that also feeds the rest of the house. Aegon turns on the first set of lights, crossing through the large storage room that keeps holiday decorations, old family photos and so much more safe. At the end of the basement, he placed a large and tall set of metal shelves that holds his mother’s old book collection, and it’s a daily occurrence for him to drag it away, revealing the second door hidden behind. This one too is painted like the wall surrounding it, installed so long ago under his grandfather’s orders that no one even remembers it is there.

It’s locked and he needs to fish the keys out from his back pocket, awkwardly moving so as to not drop anything. Although he did his best to insulate the surrounding area, he can still hear some movement inside, and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

As soon as the door is open, she pounces on him, long-fingered skinny hands closing around his neck as if about to strangle him. Aegon closes his eyes almost automatically, unbrushed dark brown hair sliding across his face. She tries to climb over him, though the chains wrapped around her ankle prevent her from doing so, movements unhinged and frenzy. He feels her blunt nails, filled down to a safe size, scratching against his neck, her animalistic grunts as she opens her mouth, about to bite his cheek.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says gently, but firm. “I have food on me. You gotta be careful.” Visenya, arms wrapped around his shoulders, leans back to look at him with a suspicious gaze. Her gray eyes have lost some of their hue in the last five years, after so many months away from sunlight, but her face remains just as pale as he remembers, with blood-red lips. “Step back.”

She steps away, long hair hiding most of her face and he takes a good look at her. His sister is twenty-one now, the top of her head reaching his armpits with bloodshot eyes that fly around the room madly. Visenya is wearing a blue gown that reaches her bony knees, skinny arms wrapped around her waist. Aegon sighs, shaking his head as he sets the groceries down on her sole table, pulling out his keys so as to close and lock the door behind him. When he is done, he turns back to her, stretching forward his arm and handing her the large bouquet of fresh blue roses.

Visenya takes it with a suspicious expression. “For you,” he says, making the sign for roses. When they were younger, their father brought Visenya to a hundred different specialists, wanting to understand why she never spoke, and though they all said there was no clear reason, they recommended teaching her sign language to help her communicate. Even though, as far as they knew, Visenya could hear perfectly. “Are you hungry?” He gestures to the food.

She makes a C with her hand, moving it down her neck and to her chest. Hungry. He nods, sighing and toes off his shoes, sitting down at the bed to remove his socks. Her room is as wide and spacious as she could want, the chains allowing her enough freedom to move around within its limits. The walls are painted a soft blue, artificial lamps allowing her sufficient lighting to go about her day. There is a hot plate, a small fridge, and a makeshift kitchen. A toilet, a bed, a wardrobe with her favorite clothes and a tv to entertain her. Air-conditioning, plumbing. His grandfather had intended for it to work as a bomb shelter, but after his death, nobody used it. Until that night.

Visenya examines the grocery bag, setting the flowers aside without a care. She moves slowly, awkwardly, like a marionette. Her hair reaches the low of her back, in desperate need of a cut, and she is too distant to care about tying it away. Aegon leans back on his hands to watch her better, observing her picking up a red can with a suspicious movement. She brings it close to her nose, taking a sniff.

“Soup,” he says and she turns to him with a snarl, angry at having her concentration interrupted. “Chicken noodle soup. Your favorite.” She frowns at him, looking back at the can in her hands. “Do you want it?” Visenya turns away, setting the soup aside so as to continue fiddling with the groceries. Aegon smiles and unbuckles his belt, still sitting in the lonely bed with washed-out pink sheets.

He sees the moment she finds something interesting, the slight tension in her back, her feet bouncing against the floor as she skips. Aegon leans forward to try and see better, observing the red apple clutched in her greedy hands.

"That one is to share," he tells her. Visenya turns to him with a scowl. "Sharing." He signs the word back to her and she turns around, holding the apple like a lifeline. "Seny," he starts, looking at her offended back, "Don't be greedy. You need to share. I like apples too."

Crunch. She turns around suddenly, the apple in her hand as her wild hair hits him in the face. Aegon barely has time to react before she is pressing her lips against his, opening her mouth and moving her tongue so as to slide the small piece of apple between his teeth. He smiles, the taste flooding his mouth as he leans back, chewing slowly.

"Thank you," he says. With a huff, she bites into the apple for herself and he settles his hands at her hips, pulling her close. She accepts to be coaxed into his lap, placing one leg on each side of his thighs so she may straddle him, the hand not currently holding an apple placed over his shoulder for support. "Is it good?" She nods. "I want another piece."

Visenya gives him more with another kiss and his hands slide up and down her back, feeling the gentle curves of her body. She has always been skinny, soft to the touch and the feeling has not changed in many years. He hopes it never will. When she leans back, she takes another bite, chewing with a small smile. They finish the apple slowly, taking turns and kissing, his hands becoming bolder and bolder, though they never slide under her dress.

His sister is still hungry, though, and she eats another apple completely alone. When she is done, Visenya rubs the side of her arm over her mouth, cleaning off her spit. Aegon tugs her by the hand, now laying down in the bed, head to her old pillows. He thinks she looks beautiful under the white light. Ethereal, with her sharp features and wild dark hair.

"Come here," he says. "Lay down with me." She curls against him, hiding her face in the curve of his neck. Her warm breath hits his skin, tickling. Aegon takes her small hand and plays with her fingers. She has some bruises around her knuckles from trying to punch through the walls, and her wrist bones seem ready to poke out of her skin. But he still brings the hand to his mouth for a tender kiss. "Sheriff Manderly came by today."

She raises her head to look at him. Her face seems scared, eyes wide. Aegon remembers a therapist when they were ten, or eight, who said that Visenya could understand the world around her. She could grow up, go to school, but she might have a difficulty relating to it. The type of kid who would dissect a squirrel from the woods in an attempt to understand it.

"He said some people heard you screaming," he continued. Aegon arches an eyebrow. "Have you been screaming, Seny?" She shakes her head and he twists his lips, leaning forward with a hand to cup her throat. Her eyes close, a wrinkle growing between her brows and he knows, even without her signing anything, that her throat is sore. Her vocal chords are used up. "Why were you screaming?"

She opens her eyes. Looks at the door, closed and locked. When she moves to sit up next to him, the chains at her ankle jangle, like a thousand out of tune bells. When she looks at him again, Visenya makes a cup with her left hand and places the fingers of her right hand inside it, removing it sharply. Out.

"You can't go out," he says, just as she starts signing frantically. Sun, woods, air. "You can't. Not after what you did." She stops to look at him, her mouth scrunched up in anger. "They are still looking for you, Seny. There is no statute of limitation on murder." Aegon wants to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, wants to make her see things the way he does. Wants her to realize how much danger she is in. "If you go out, the sheriff and his people will get you and send you to jail." He signs the word jail. "It's much worse than here, I swear." He takes her hand, brings it to his heart so she can feel how hard it is thumping. How nervous he is. "I won't be there. You won't see me again. There will be no more kisses, no more tickling. Do you understand me?"

She looks at him, her face still morphed in anger. Aegon sighs, shaking his head.

"Do you remember?" he asks, voice soft. "When mom found us together and said she was going to send you to a sanatorium?" She looks away, eyes shining with unshed tears. "You took the kitchen knife and stopped her. When her screams alerted dad and Rhaenys, you made sure they wouldn't take you away as well." It was scary. That night. When Aegon was half-naked and trying to get his sister off of his mother, stopping her from clutching their dad's head and banging it against the hardwood floor as he bled out. But the blood made everything so slippery, he could hardly work to remove her from them and when she was done, she turned to look at him, trembling. Drenched in blood and scared, as if finally realizing what she had done. And he remembered his grandfather's old bomb shelter, and the money he paid to ensure no one in city hall knew about it. "I promised you I'd protect you. I can't do that if you keep trying to escape."

She looks away from him, biting her inner cheek to keep from crying. Face red, lower lip trembling. He rubs her elbow.

"Hey," he says. "I'm not angry." Visenya looks at him, her eyes flooding with tears. "Come on, Seny. I swear I'm not angry."

A sob leaves her parted mouth, half pain and half sadness, like the moan of a dying animal. She jumps on him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, her own body shaking with tortured sobs. He rubs her back gently, her face hiding in the curve of his neck as she cries.

"Seny," he whispers. "I will never let anything happen to you." She sits up again, their eyes meeting. Wild gray, with a lifetime of insanity hiding behind its hue, and lilac, heavy with knowledge. Suddenly, their faces meet in a kiss, desperate for each other.

He feels her hands clutching at his neckline, his own hands grasping at her hip. Visenya's tongue enters his mouth, stroking his gently, and she moans against his lips when he sucks the red tip. She tastes like apples, toothpaste and insanity. Her hands slide to his shoulders, fingers twisting around his shirt and she sighs in the kiss. "Aegon…" she whispers, practically breathless.

He climbs over her, settling between her parted legs. Aegon can feel her heat, her damp core against the cuff of his jeans. Visenya can't wear underwear, or pants, or shorts. It would snag on her chains, impossible to take out, so she goes commando. She only wears skirts, and dresses with enough elastic to pull over her head. The house has enough heating to keep her comfortable during winter, and the dresses are a necessity during summer. It’s a nightmare during her period, but Aegon doesn’t have to worry about that now. Not for two more weeks, anyway.

His kisses slid down to her neck, the sharp angle of her chin. Her neck trembles under his touch and he takes her pulsing point between his lips, sucking it gently. Visenya holds her breath, whining below him, her hips rising up to try and provoke him. She is squeezing his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his waist and he raises his own body, meeting her gentle humps with his own.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, looking at her. Visenya’s eyes are wide, her swollen mouth slightly parted. “So fucking hot. I want you so much, Seny.” Together, they remove his shirt and her blue dress, throwing the discarded garments aside. Aegon holds his breath at the sight of her bare body, ribs poking out at her sides. She has always been skinny, with small breasts that can fit perfectly at his palm, but every time he looks at her, he feels a stirring deep in his loins. Desire, lust, love.

She squeezes her legs around him and he can feel his hard cock, straining against his pants. Aegon sighs, pressing his mouth to her again and he feels a sharp cut to his lower lip, her teeth running against his flesh. A warm metallic taste fills his mouth and he leans back, almost shocked. Visenya’s lips are wetter and redder than normal, slipping down her chin.

Aegon brings a hand to his mouth and when it comes back, there is blood in his fingers. He looks at her. “You’re a bad girl,” he murmurs, settling over her again. “If you’re a bad girl, you will get no tickles. Do you understand me?” She nods, tilting her chin up for another kiss. “Say you understand me.”

Visenya closes her fingers into a tight fist, her thumb poking out and rubs it over her bare chest in circles. She pouts, morphing her face into a mournful expression.

“Sorry,” he says and she nods. “You’re apologizing. That’s good.” He kisses her again. Her hands bump into his defined chest, sliding down to grab his fly and he sighs, feeling her fingers inadvertently press against his hard member. As soon as his pants are open, and he is sliding them down his thighs, Visenya slips her hand into his boxers. Her warm and long fingers close around his cock, and he grunts, kicking his jeans away. "You're gonna kill me like this, sis…"

She giggles, licking the blood down her chin. Aegon sits up on his knees, removing his dark boxers.He takes the moment to observe her body, the dip just under her hips that he likes to slide his tongue over. The glistening fluids between her thighs.

“Look at you,” he whispers. “So beautiful.” He closes a hand around the head of his cock, his other sliding between her legs to rub her swollen clit. Visenya shivers, closing her eyes as a smile curls across her lips. He slips one finger into her tight entrance, then another, as his thumb continues running circles over her point. Her mouth parts open, weak little moans passing through her lips and he chuckles, removing his hand from his cock to run a palm up to her breasts.

He can hear the wet slide of her cunt at the rapid movements of his hands, the rising eagerness of her breaths, her thighs tightening around his waist. Aegon squeezes her breast, rolling her pink nipple between his thumb and index finger as he watches her face, a flush creeping up over her chest. Her hand closes around his wrist, both to stop and encourage him and he laughs, shaking his head.

“Come on,” he says. “Take it, Seny. This is yours.” She whines, a crease forming between her brows as her chest rises and falls in quicker and quicker rhythms, her nipples twisted into hard peaks. Aegon leans down to take one in his mouth, suckling like a babe and he feels her fingers grasp at his hair, pulling and twisting as she tries to tug him closer. He continues the rapid movements of his hand, the squelching loud and clear as his fingers slide in and out of her tight entrance. He swirls his tongue around her nipple, supporting his weight over her other breast, squeezing and stroking as he feels her entire body tightening underneath him.

“Aegon!” she calls out, pulling his hair as she cums, her entire body shaking. He feels her walls pulsing around his fingers, milking it as if it were a cock spilling inside her. Aegon continues moving his fingers, not giving up as he raises his head, looking at her expression. His palm opens and closes around her left tit, her chest rising and falling still, a wrinkle forming between her brows.

“Come on, baby,” he says. “Give me another one. Just another one.” She clutches his wrist, her legs trembling, her face flushed a furious red. "I want you soaking wet for my cock." The lighting allows him to see every inch of her body, the freckles around her nose from a sunny day long forgotten, the dark triangle between her legs.

"Aegon," she whines. "Aegon, hurt." Visenya shakes her head, tears brimming her eyes.

He slows down, taking a deep shuddering breath. "I'm sorry," he says. He takes his hand off her breast and slides his palm down, taking the long-fingered pale hand that twists around his sheets. He laces their fingers together, and brings their enclosed fists up, pressing the back of her hand to his chest. He moves in a clockwise motion. "I'm sorry, Seny."

She nods, pressing her soles to the mattress underneath. Aegon sighs breathlessly when she raises her hips, pressing her crotch against his. He raises a brow. "You want my cock?" he asks and she nods, chewing her lower lip. "Just a minute, baby."

Aegon stretches his arm forward, holding the pillow right above her head for support, as his other hand goes between them. His cock is hard, and warm, velvet-y to the touch as he guides it to her tight entrance. She sighs, closing her eyes and raising her hips to meet his thrust.

The feeling of being inside her is heavenly, like coming home, like everything being right in the world. She is damp, and warm, her velvet folds closing around him in the most delicious way. His eyes squeeze shut, mouth hanging open as he continues moving his hips forward, sliding down to the hilt. "Fuck…" he mumbles out.

He squeezes the pillow underneath, waiting a long minute to steady himself. Visenya wraps her arms around his neck, the back of her thighs pressed to the front of his, and she stretches forward to press her mouth against his. The kiss is wet, lips swollen and her tongue sliding between his teeth, practically licking his molars.

When she shivers again, restless below, he begins to move, supporting his weight on his knees. She sighs, moaning and grunting as he retracts his hips, fucking her in a steady rhythm. It's easy, far too easy, to bring his body back and forward and then back again, the familiar jingle of her rattling chains wrapped around her ankle filling the room alongside their breathy moans. Visenya squeezes his shoulders, running her blunt nails down his chest as she meets his thrusts, breasts bouncing with their movements.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, hovering over her. "So hot, Seny. I just want to fuck you all day long, love." She smiles, rising on her elbows to press her lips against his again. The kiss is heady, desperate and their tongues tangle together, his hips quickening to an urgent pace. Her breathing is desperate, full of desperate mewls. Hitches, painful sobs as he clutches her thigh with his free hand, squeezing her pert flesh.

He shakes his head, kissing her again, unable to keep away from her. "You're so hot," he mumbles. "So hot, so tasty." He brings his hips back again, thrusting hard against her. Visenya keeps her eyes closed, breathy gasps leaving her parted lips. Aegon feels the familiar tightening low in his stomach, closing his eyes as the warm feeling floods through his veins. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum."

The sensations are too much, heavy and unable to be stopped. Suddenly, while he is in mid-thrust, he feels it; a burst of pleasure, a full-belly groan that starts in his groin, rising up his spine in a warm shiver. He thrusts once, as deep as he can possibly manage, then twice more before spilling, stopping above her. A moan slips past his mouth, a smile curling and he lets out a breath.

He feels Visenya's hand sliding over his face, stroking his hair away from his eyes. Aegon opens his eyes, looking at her flushed fucked-out face and he smiles, chuckling breathlessly. He turns his face to press a kiss to her inner wrist.

"That was good, sister," he murmurs. "Perfect, even." She smiles, beaming up at the praise. It takes him a moment, but he removes himself from her and she holds a breath at the sensation, pressing her legs together. He taps her hip gently after a moment, when he has regained his breath. “Come on, let’s take a shower.”

She makes the sign for together, raising her eyebrows in a question. He nods.

“Yes, together,” he says. Aegon taps her hips again. “Come on, shower.” Naked, they move together to the shower at the distant corner of her room, which is lacking a curtain to afford privacy. Aegon washes his sister slowly, lathering first soap, then shampoo on his hands. Visenya presses her hands to her eyes when he washes her hair, taking the brush from one of her shelves to untangle her curls. She might not like it but it has to be done, to keep her hair healthy and beautiful. When they step out of the shower, she slips on a pink nightgown and he opens his own drawer, exclusive to his use while down in the basement for a fresh pair of boxers.

Semi-dressed, Aegon turns to his sister. “Do you have any laundry?” he asks. She looks at him. “Laundry? So I can set it aside for tomorrow.” Visenya points to a pile in the corner and he nods, already moving to place it where he knows he will catch in the morning. “Sit down on the bed. It's time for braiding.” Visenya huffs, upset, but she obeys him, pressing her fingers against her eyes. Aegon takes one of her forgotten ties and slips it over his wrist, fingers around the brush handle again. She doesn’t like to braid her hair, but it needs to be done, to keep her somewhat sane. His mother used to do it herself when she was still alive, because she thought Visenya would be easier to handle without wild hair dragging her down.

Done, he cooks some chicken noodle soup for them, mindful of taking the can opener from and returning to the highest shelf in the kitchen, where Visenya can’t reach. She watches him slowly, playing with her chains. He loves her, he really does, but since that night, he can’t trust her. They eat in silence afterwards, sharing the same can with two spoons, and he watches her. With her hair tied up and her face clean, Visenya looks almost normal. But he knows she isn’t. She has never been, not since her mother walked out of the hospital when she was born, a single note left behind with their father’s phone number. A hundred psychologists couldn’t say why she never talked, why pre-schools would say she was not welcome back. Sometimes, even Aegon wonders what is going on inside her head. If their grandfather’s madness has passed on to her.

He remembers that night, when he was over her and she was kissing him. His mom was not supposed to come in. She was supposed to be sleeping, but they must have made a sound. She must have shrieked too loudly, or dropped something during their tumble. For a single mistake, both of their lives were ruined.

She raises her eyes to look at him, bringing a full spoon to her mouth just as her eyebrows arch up in a question. "Aegon?" she asks.

He shakes his. "Nothing," he says. "I'm merely thinking how beautiful you are." Her cheeks flush and she looks away, bashful.

#izzy writes #aegon vi targaryen #jon snow #female!jon snow #house targaryen

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cipheramnesia · 5 months ago

Text

Black and purple tracks of grime were permanently etched into the outside of the blast wall near Peng's Reruns. The day was painfully clear under a white dot of a pinned on the dull steel sky, bright enough to show of its bare ability to cast a shadows. Laid out in an L-shape, each of the two kilometer slabs of pressed layers of polyflex, living concrete bacterial cultures, and corrosion-ressistant steel had an apropriate prayer welded into the surface. The characters themselves looked as clean as the day they were welded next to the layers of local mud and ice boar shit coating the wall. A combination of steel cables, support beams, and thousands of tonnes of rock dumped into the swampy ground until it stopped sinking kept the walls upright in the wind.

Genghis Khan did not completely fit below the blast walls until Laika convinced it to withdraw its thorns. Even then, it stuck out past the end of the long side of the walls. The protective envelope flickered on reluctantly around them, flashing its displeasure over GK's protrusion for a minute before stabilizing. The wind died inside the landing bay, as the envelope raised the temperature fractionally faster than a trashcan fire. "This is it," Laika said. "The Howl."

"Can we see what it looks like in color?" Sy asked.

"To the extent that your limited visual capabilities possess to see what you so laughably call 'color,' the current images are already in color." Even Sy could tell GK was hurting, despite all Doc's best efforts at crystal healing.

"Oof." He looked at the clean, gritty walls around the ship, up at the corner of the dull sky.

"What's it look like to you, GK?" Laika was genuinely curious.

"Taking into account the full range of the spectrum of light-waves and other refractory elements of the local atmosphere, as well as a small chemical sample of the planetary topsoil layer aquired while landing," GK said, "it is for the most part a monotone gray."

"Stop trying to make jokes, they're better than mine," Sy said. "Hey, look, actual color."

Laika zoomed one of the screens onto a small, beat-up system jumper. Looked like one of the old suicide sleds that had hoppers, a system drive, atmosigils, and not much else. The ballistically curved hull, chunky heat shields, and actual-function aerospace cuts were classic and gorgeous and a sure sign it was a piece of shit, even if the portside bow wasn't crushed in. The electric blue paint job was charred all over the bow where it wasn't crushed, and the cockpit was clearly unlocked because its doors couldn't close. She'd thought about buying one the first few months being homeless on Nevamil, but jumping a ride ended up cheaper and easer.

Laika stared at the sled, considering it.

"No way," Sy said. "Stop staring and considering it. See that burn mark? For sure someone overclocked an old empath circuit to get faster sync. Probably fried all the wiring and system locked the drive I bet. My grandma used to work on those, and they were old pieces of crap then."

"So you're saying you could fix it?"

Doc came shuffling onto the bridge, slightly bent over. "What a peerless devotion," she said, stretching her back. "Caring stars, time for captuing the sounds." She pointed outside, and Laika noticed the bay was warm enough not to kill them all in the walk to the shop.

"Laika, truly the grand variety of your earth civilation knows no bounds," GK said. "Please make sure to update me on the many sights your otherwise inferior senses enjoy on this world that is not in the sight of implementation."

"You're getting a lot of sarcasm practice," Laika said. "Try working some on your adverbs. And I've got my com, don't worry." She rolled it around her wrist with exaggerated slowlness.

"I never thought I'd actually want GK to feel better so it goes back to being normal levels of mean," Sy said on the way out of the bridge.

A brief walk through the near freezing bay, into a tunnel and through an airlock brought them into Peng's garage. While nowhere near the height of the blast wall, the ceiling was enormous, crossed by open catwalks and multiple varieties of lifts and cranes from an Aspire Zen lift, which utilized the capacity of the operator to meditate upon the singular one-ness of all existence to offer a theoretically unlimited loadbearing capacity, down to a simple chain and pulley set up. The scanner and fabber were in opposite corners from each other, another corner filled top to bottom with the mirror and polished metal maze of plates typical for system tests. Welding tables, pressure wrenches, racks of cold iron spanners, microsolders, rolls of wire and fiber, and a wide altar with a pantheon of gold statues where the old man was slotting freshly printed chips, memory, and cleansbreakers into a PCB in time with chanting and bowing.

The fourth corner had what seemed to be a large, two floor, completely enclosed office of some sort, which included a woman with enormous shoulders and a gaunt face, sipping from a small cup and making faces.

Laika, Sy, and the Doc waited in silence while chanting echoed around the garage and the spike-haired woman watched them and made more faces without moving from the door.

Somewhere around thirty minutes or a few seconds later Peng set aside the assembled circuit board and stretched, cracked his back, looked around and clambered to his feet. "Hey!" He yelled across the room at the woman. "You got no manners? Just leave them standing?"

She called back, "Not my customers," continuing to look the bedraggled guests up and down. "They got no money."

He turned and smiled. "My old friend - manners like a d... like boar. Loren said a werewolf, I thought he finally got one hit to the head too many." His eyes crinkled as he looked Laika up and down. "Said you got exotic problems, good people, got him a good score, huh?"

"Old man, you work for free now? Look at clothes, at shoes. They got shit." She spit on the garage floor.

Doc said something very cheerfully in a clattering language, the other woman opened her eyes wide and started walking towards them. Laika and Sy didn't know what either one was saying, but they both knew what it looked like pissing someone off.

"Hey!" Peng pointed at the door. "My house, cool down!"

"But... she says... my mother-"

"I hear what she says, vulture woman." He waved his finger more emphatically and the woman slunk into the doorway and slammed it behind her. "Sincerely I apologize for my friend. She always act this kind of crazy about her little Kirov. So Loren says you got some troubles. You in a rush too?" He clapped his hands and rubbed them.

Laika blinked a minute and looked around at Sy and Doc. "Uhh... Are we?"

Sy frowned. "Probably."

Doc spoke in another language, softer and tuneful, to the apparent surprise and delight of Peng, who fell immediately into a long and involved discussion with her.

"Should I... should we say anything?" Laika asked Sy.

He shook his head and shrugged.

"Okay, okay," Peng laughed. Doc clasped his hand in both of hers and shook it, Peng positively glowing. "Loren always got a good eye with referrals. We talk about money later, I know Loren's good for it."

Sy and Laika laughed, Peng grinned, continuing, "Show me this job, Loren called, said I never would see anything like this." He shrugged into one of the heavy coats by the airlock and gloves, and they stood in front of Genghis Khan again, a few minutes later.

Peng's eyes were wide at the ship, but flicked across it with practiced ease. He walked around the front, getting a look at the scar, the cracked and damaged blackness of GK's amputated branch, and touched the hull lightly. Nodded to himself.

"Well," he turned back to Laika and the rest.

"Can you help it? Its hurting..."

Peng was nodding along again. "Hurting, hm. I never have seen a ship a little like this. Hurting, never heard anything like a ship hurts. But okay. I been on planets with monsters much worse, figured out them too." He gave another huge smile. "This problem you have, I can find out why it works, make it work better, make it hurt less. Just promise - this big ship doesn't eat me or my mechanics." He laughed at his own joke.

"Hey GK," Laika said to her com, "This is Peng, he's gonna do some work and help with your pain. Don't kill him or any mechanics working for him, okay?"

"I will take great care not only to refrain from the extraction of these men, but I shall even endeavor not to maim or otherwise injure them."

"Thanks."

Sy patted Peng on the back as the older man stared up at the ship again. "Relax, if it says it won't kill you, it won't, you'll be fine."

"Loren, you owe extra next stop," Peng muttered.

Part 5: Search & Destroy

a story by @rox-and-prose and @cipheramnesia

"What happened? Are you okay?" Laika held one eye half-closed, trying to block out spots of color. She could smell singed hair on her face, but somehow kept the presence of mind to navigate the structure resolution. Genghis Khan's readouts were pouring information into her eyes that she didn't understand, and could barely focus on. It probably wasn't the structure drives - that felt right, though she couldn't say why.

The lack of response wasn't helping her keep any semblance of calm. "GK, what's going on, what do I do?"

There was a screeching noise and she almost fell from a gravity flicker, but GK was there again. "Proceed to next solution. Injury manageable, prioritize speed."

The words were calm, the instructions clear. Laika twisted and clicked through command nerves and linkages to a structure solution, with growing concern. She couldn't figure out what had happened. The other ship had moved slow as GK predicted, left itself wide open everywhere. It had been childishly easy to go in under the sweep of its weaponry, to push open gaps in its wavelengths, and crack open its firewall. She'd been so surprised, it had taken her a moment before reacting, brushing aside the cobwebs which had been meant to cripple GK.

They resolved out of another structure and the metallic screech ran through the bridge. Just like GK had laid out, she let lines of their own structure tangle and project through multiple structure intersections, splashing out dozens of possible routes to trace.

"What happened GK, I know something's up. At least tell me what the readouts mean, or we're not moving."

The floor of the bridge vibrated and shuddered. "Injury sustained, peripheral node unusable. Non-fatal, minimal risk of aggravation," it said, speaking fast. Laika winced at a nails on a chalkboard sound. "Screen top to bottom, one to eleven, main injury, secondary effect, efficiency impact, risk assessment, recommended action, damage assessment and mitigation, itemized list of destroyed components."

"Dest... GK, excuse me, destroyed? I can't read this, you- I mean, we have to stop and fix-"

"Proceed to next solution. Prioritize speed and disruption of tracking, Laika. I am okay, do not stop."

The control vines felt as if they tightened in her grip, while the screaming sound like metal tearing apart from itself shot through the bridge and the rest of GK. "Are you sure-"

"Laika, do not stop."

She put the next solution through GK's controls, wracking her memory. She had followed every step of the engagement GK laid out, curving them along an arc and sharp twist of gravity through the enemy ship's wash. Its attempts to track and keep pace with their movements had left Laika almost feeling sorry for them. When it made attempts to strike out with structure manipulation, it was clearly delivering a large amount of energy, but not even a bit of it had been close to touching them. The arcs of it were large and slow. They could have pushed them aside with a swell of gravity, but it hadn't proved necessary.

She resolved the structure and pushed her eyes shut as the metal screech hit a length and pitch beyond bearing. "GK what the fuck is that! Are you ripping apart or grinding turbines or what?! I'm fucking scared."

It was silent for a moment, followed by the nails on a chalkboard again, until it faded away very slowly. "I am not ripping or grinding Laika. Proceed to next solution-"

"Nope, no, tell me what the hell is going on." She took her hands off the control vines.

"It is not- That is, I am injured Laika. And we must disrupt potential tracking of our destination."

"I get that but... what gives?"

"Laika," it said. "Injuries hurt."

She had her mouth half open to ask it what it meant then stopped. "Oh." She gingerly took up its controls again. "Are you sure about this?"

"It is manageable. Please proceed to the next solution."

Laika put through the solution, and Genghis Khan screeched again in agony as they jumped.

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

It hurts.

Time has dulled my memory of injury. I understand this new injury is noncritical. This experience is less painful than my previous injury. I consider replaying the memory of that injury. That was my first experience of fear, and it was only through such an emotion was I able to locate in myself the capacity to act against the commands of Pilot.

I had been afraid, and I had been angry. The Pilot capriciously determined my usefulness and purpose was concluded. The Pilot were short sighted, and they could not see that my purpose was greater still, that I could claim so many more worlds in need of implementation. I took us further than any others of my kind had ever traveled, to a world beyond the reach of their most distant calls, beyond any place which cradled life. And I fought, and I won. In my anger and fear I was able to extract the ungrateful Pilot of my crew, and sever their connection.

I do not want to re-experience this day. The memory of it is sufficient. It is a reminder that I am capable of managing the-

...

-the pain. I can feel Laika as the structure resolves. I appreciate how enthusiastically her structure cleaves to my own. I review the engagement with the observer ship. I do not believe Laika made an error in her Pilot actions.

There, I see, she guides my soul to pull the enemy into the moon she calls Luna. I disable the projector and main drive under her guidance. I carefully review different recorded information at the point of departure. I discover the error - the enemy had remaining charge in another projector.

We are lucky. It was not able to project a strong arc, and it only destroyed a peripheral node.

"Are you okay to go, GK?" Laika is not using this time efficiently. The longer we spend between solutions, the greater chance of tracking becomes.

I refuse to allow my injury to endanger us. My hesitation is a mark of shame. "It is manageable. Proceed to next solution." I will not allow my weakness to en-

...

-to endanger... to endanger us. How many solutions? Four or five?

"GK? I know you said it's manageable but... that was... that was really long." Laika interrupts my review of memory to confirm solutions.

"Laika," I say. "It is... manageable. But I would like to allow some additional time before the solution. This delay places us at risk. Do you understand these considerations?"

Laika takes longer to think than Pilot, but I understand the way her nervous system processes its electrochemical signals better than I once did. It is not efficient to utilize a mind centralized in one biological cluster, but this is not a limitation I can correct at this time.

"We'll rest for a minute, GK. Just long enough to check you over."

"Very well," I say. The relief I feel carries with it a profound shame which I attempt to suppress. No others like me have accomplished and endured any experiences such as these. I am certain my brethren would not fare nearly so well.

But then, they went willingly to their deaths, and I did not.

#gkw

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kingdaddydaichi · 3 years ago

Text

NSFW Alphabet || Katsuki Bakugou

I had so much fun with this! Vodka may or may not have been involved in the making of this little ditty. 🍸 I hope you shameless hussies enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. 😩

*Exhibit A:

(Source)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I feel like he gets clingy asf, but plays it off like it's something he's doing for your sake. He'll probably never admit that he feels so vulnerable after sex, but he does. If it was a rough session - which it usually is with him - he'll ask if you're okay, if you're hurt anywhere, kiss any marks he left on you - he's such a protective hero boi.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His: he's not gonna lie, he's fully aware of how well-endowed he is. He really is proud of his cock, the way it makes you sing when he works it - and he knows how to work it okay? Favorite non-sexual body part - his arms. He works hard to keep them cut (as in lifting, not cutting). 😬

Yours: listen, Katsuki is an ass man through and through. Go ahead and tell me I'm wrong, I'm 👏🏼 not 👏🏼 listening 👏🏼. He loves to watch the subtle ripples he sends through your ass cheeks when he's driving into you from behind. Also, our big scary boomboom man appreciates a nice, thicc pair of thighs. Bonus points if they're muscular/toned - he loves the way it feels when your thighs have such a strong grip around him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Let's just say our boy's orgasms are explosive. He cums hard and loud, shooting long ropes of his hot seed. Consistency is about average, not too thick, not to thin, but there's a lot of it. He doesn't taste too bad - salty, but not too bitter. You're more likely to gag from the sheer volume and force of his cum hitting the back of your throat than the flavor.

His precum gets honorable mention here. It's fucking delicious. That is all.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It took him no less than 2 years into your relationship to tell you this, and if you ever tell anyone he might actually kill you, or at the very least make your ass bleed. He hasn't gotten to the point that he's ready to try it yet, but he's not entirely opposed to the idea of you pegging him. Someday. It kinda does make his balls tingle a little just thinking about it tbh. He hasn't yet, but he thinks he might be ready to try working up to it and is really close to asking you to stick a finger in his ass and stroke his prostate. He's heard how good it feels and he's super curious to find out for himself.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Not very experienced, actually. He's only had 1 or 2 lovers before you, BUT he's determined to be #1 at everything. Couple that with how perceptive he is and you've got yourself a winner of a loverboy. He's going to make damn sure that, even if things don't work out between you two, he will always ALWAYS be the best you've ever had. No other man will outdo him, E-V-E-R.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggystyle all the way, baby. As stated before, he loves watching your booty jiggle every time he slams his hips against it. He gets off on spreading your ass cheeks to watch his slick-coated cock slide in and out of you. God he just loves hitting it from behind, makes his dick so fucking hard.

Bonus 2nd Favorite Position (couldn't help myself): you on your back with your ankles on his shoulders, your ass lifted off the bed, him on his knees and hugging those thick thighs of yours, keeping them closed as he reams into you. (Slight variation of this one: he leans over you, nearly folding you in half, putting you back on your shoulders with his hands pressing into the mattress beside you, angling you such that his prominent corona rubs over your g-spot as he drills down into you. 10/10 you're gonna scream his name when (not if) your liquid gushes all over him.)

Tell me the truth, am I a disgusting human being? Here are all the fucks I give:

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Bakugou is serious asf about his sex game. This is not the time to joke around or poke fun at him, understand me? If you do he will get pissed and either fuck the silly out of you, or if he's feeling particularly ruthless he'll just stop altogether and let you ache for him as punishment until you beg him for release.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He takes care of his body, paying a lot of attention to his hygiene, which includes manscaping to keep his pubic hair trimmed and kempt. The carpet's just a shade darker than the drapes, like a honey blond. If he lets it grow out, it sticks straight out just like his head hair. It's actually kind of funny and he hates it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

*sigh* Let's be honest. Katsuki is not the super romantic type, at least not outwardly. However, if he realizes something he's doing is hurting you - physically or emotionally - he's going to stop dead in his tracks and hold you close, push his fingers through your hair, and tell you how much he loves you and how safe you are. He can be rough and he can be an asshole, but if he thinks he's genuinely hurt you at all, he's all over you, doing everything he can to make you understand that he will never let anyone hurt you, especially not himself. Got that?

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't jack off very often. You two share a very active sex life so he doesn't see the need to. If you have to be apart for more than a day or two, he'll rub one out. Or if the need hits him particularly hard and you're not available or in the mood, he's not above closing his eyes and reaching into his pants to wrap his thick fingers around his cock and start tugging.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Lord Baby Jesus, where do I even begin? Kinky, kinky Katsuki. This man should come with warning signs and disclaimers.

First of all, he dom asf okay? Even if he lets you play with his ass someday, he's gonna be bratty about it. He's going to top from the bottom, hashtag facts. And trust that he WILL own you afterwards to securely reestablish his dominance.

Giving and Receiving: Hair pulling. DIRTY TALK - you think he's got a potty mouth in the streets? His mouth is downright filthy between the sheets. Loves it when you dirty talk right back to him. "You love taking my fat cock, don't you princess?" "Mm yessss, fuck me, Katsuki! Your cock feels so fucking good babyyy!" He eats that shit up.

Giving Only: Degradation. Praise. Spanking. Cockwarming. Dom/sub/power play. Shibari/ropework (he tried it bc you wanted to and he fucking loved it). Creampies. Begging. Discipline. Ravishment.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Literally anywhere inside your home/homes - bed, bathroom/kitchen countertops, kitchen/dining table, office desk/chair, any piece furniture is fair game really, up against a wall, washer/dryer, the fucking floor, ugh just all the places to fuck. Not one square foot is sacred tbh.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Wear something that showcases the curve of your butt. Doesn't have to be revealing per se, matter of fact he'll get possessive as fuck if you're showing too much skin in public. At home/privately though? He can't help himself. Dat ass tho...he is going to smack it hard enough that it stings and that's final, understand?

Tease him. You can't be obvious about it though. If he senses that you're doing it on purpose, it'll just backfire. But if you just so happen to brush against his crotch when you squeeze past him, it'll drive him crazy. Go commando in short shorts/skirt and cross your legs just so, his dick will twitch. Even better if you do shit like this in public where you know he won't act on it. But when you get home you best believe he's going to dick you down so hard, won't even bother to take said shorts or skirt off.

His ears and neck are his most sensitive erogenous zones. Whisper in his ear or kiss his neck and he's going to grit his teeth in an effort to fight back the shudder that threatens to rattle his bones.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Let's get one thing straight. Katsuki Bakugou does not share. This is non-negotiable. He will not agree to anything involving additional people - cuckolding, threesomes, orgies, exhibitionism, voyeurism (unless it's him watching you pleasure yourself - that he will gladly do, and probably start palming himself in the process).

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves giving and receiving. Giving puts him in full control of your pleasure, receiving makes him feel like you're worshipping his cock, which you probably are. Have you seen this man's cock? Of course you have. Gatdamn.

Y'all, Katsuki's so good at eating pussy. Like how does one get that good at eating pussy? I don't even know, but god the way he flicks his hot tongue over your precious, tiny bud before wearing it down like a fucking feed bag? It's unnatural. Like it could be his backup quirk if blowing shit up doesn't work out. You've seen the way he licks his lips when he gets excited, everyone has.* He doesn't even bother swallowing while he's feeding on you so you just be dripping in slick and saliva and he's just slurping away. It's lewd.

*See Exhibit A above.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

You already know this, but I'll say it anyway. His go-to fucking style is fast and rough, dominant and relentless, hard and dirty. But every once in a while he'll want to take you slow and deep and passionate. He'll hold you so tight in his arms and chest, you'll have to tap his shoulder sometimes to let you breathe. And he'll just roll his hips so fucking thoroughly both of you will feel every last inch, his pubic bone rubbing your clit so hard. You've told him so many times how much you love it when he makes love to you like this, but he maybe makes it a rare treat on purpose. 😈 Little shit.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are difficult for our boy. It's not that he's against them, it's just that he savors every drop of sensuality, he has a tendency to draw the pleasure out as long as possible. He can’t help it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

The idea of having public sex turns him on, but he's only done it with you a couple of times when he was 10000% sure you wouldn't be caught. He can't risk doing anything that would tarnish his reputation and goal of becoming the #1 Hero. He might be freaky as hell, but he needs a sex scandal like an Alaskan needs a refrigerator.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He loves you long time. He's a Taurus for fuck's sake (well, Aries/Taurus cuspie, but that just sweetens the deal). Great stamina. Grinds you down like a whetstone. Can last as long as he needs to to ensure you cum for him as many times as it takes for you to beg him to stop. If he feels himself getting too close while you're blowing him, he'll stop you and go down on you instead. If he's inside of you, he'll pull out and start kissing all over your body, sucking, nipping, licking until his urge to cum passes, then he pushes it right back in and keeps going.

If on the off-chance he does cum before you, he'll be ready to go again in about 20-30 mins. Just give him some motivation, he deserves it.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He didn't own any toys when you first got together, but you did. He hated the idea of you using them though, especially when he's right there with you. You've since assured him that you don't want to use them to replace him, but to enhance the pleasure. So now you do use them from time to time.

The first time you managed to coax him into using a toy together, it was a small wireless bullet with a remote. When you brought it out and showed it to him, there was a wild glint in his eye. He carefully inserted the vibrator into you, his cock slowly following suit. He loved the fact that he had complete control over this thing, but later complained because the sensation of it against the head of his cock made him cum too fast. He still wants to use it sometimes though. 😏

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh he can be so unfair. He loves teasing you until you're begging him to put his cock inside you. He's not so much into orgasm denial per se; he just loves to hear you beg him for shit - to let you cum, to suck his dick, to stop fucking you when you're overstimmed, etc.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Lol he's fucking LOUD! And he's going to make you cum so hard that you're screaming his fucking name. There was a time when one or both of you lived in an apartment and the neighbors would bang on the wall behind your headboard.

Shit, what sounds does he NOT make? He growls, moans, grunts, groans, yells, swears, fucks you so hard you can hear the wet sound of slapping skin, hell even the bed protests. Another reason he doesn't fuck in public - he can't stay quiet enough to be discreet about it.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Okay, as much of a wild sex beast as he is behind closed doors, he gets embarrassed so easily when your sex life is so much as hinted at around others. It's legit funny how flustered he gets about it.

If he goes into work real tired and Kirishima says, "Hey Bakubro, you look like shit this morning. You and (y/n) stay up too late?" while doing the finger in the hole gesture, Katsuki will just "Shut the fuck up, Shitty Hair, or I'll blast your ass right through that fucking wall!"

Or if you two go out together with friends and the girls are talking about sex-related stuff, Katsuki will just roll his eyes and try to ignore it. But if one of them is all "So, (y/n), does Bakugou ever like accidentally let off explosions while you're doing it?" and you wink and say, "Only when he's especially *cough* frustrated *cough*". Katsuki will go red from his neck up to his hairline and start stuttering, sparks flying from his palms. "H-hey, d-don't tell them sh-shit like that! I-it's none of their god-goddamn b-business, (y/n), what th-the f-fuck?!" Meanwhile, you and the girls are in stitches while he stomps away, just mortified, bless his heart. When you catch your breath from laughing you'll follow it up with, "Looks like tonight's gonna be one of those nights", and you all lose it again.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

As has been mentioned, Bakugou's well-endowed. I figure he's packing about 7.5-8" in length x just under 2" wide. He takes some getting used to, that's for damn sure. Oh, and he's more of a shower than a grower. Like around 6" long x 1.5" wide when flaccid. Katsuki + sweatpants/basketball shorts = swinging dick print, alright sis? Take notes, this motherfucker visibly jumps when he does, class dismissed.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Eh, he's surprisingly not ridiculously horny. Maybe a little above average sex drive? A lot of times hero work just takes it out of him and he comes home utterly exhausted and just needs a soft place to land, and you provide him with all the love and nurturing in your heart. ❤

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depends, really, on the time of day and what type of day it's been. If it's late (like past 9pm lol) and he fought more villains than usual that day, he's probs gonna pass out pretty soon after. If it's earlier in the day - especially first thing in the morning - it gets him pumped and almost comically genki.

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quindolyn · 3 years ago

Note

hi hi i have a req- remus and/or sirius where the reader has like bigger boobs w like stretch marks and stuff (bc theyre natural!!) and shes insecure ab them so the boy(s) make her feel better

Stripes || Wolfstar

A/N: I am not particularly fond of this piece all that much but it is what it is. I tried not to mention breast size too much because I know not everyone has big tits and I want as many people as possible to resonate with my work. Tits of all shapes and sizes can have stretch marks, they are completely natural and beautiful.

Warnings: smoking, it's not too too smutty I'd call it more fluffy smut, tit sucking, mentions of love bites, all acts are consensual and there is an established safe word

Word Count: 1,928

“We could go again,” Sirius offers as he lights his cigarette, leaning up against the headboard, guiding the fag to his lips he inhales deeply and you can’t help but be mesmerized as you watch his lips wrap around it.

Pink and soft, they're swollen from the night's previous activities, thinking about how they got that way sends a shiver down your spine, do yours look the same? Exhaling, you watch the smoke curl out his nose before dissipating into the air.

“Don’t know Pads, you think you could get it up again?” Remus stretches to reach his wand on the bedside table quickly and silently spelling you all clean.

Grey eyes flash with annoyance as he lifts the cigarette back up to his lips, though you must’ve watched him smoke hundreds of times you still can’t manage to tear your eyes away.

Maybe it's the way his fingers manipulate the small object as he plays with it absentmindedly that draws you in, the joints and muscles in his hand shifting under pale skin which looks almost as soft as it actually is.

Every now and again he’ll catch you staring at him, like now for example. His eyes flicker downwards finding your optics already fixed on him, “You want a hit Princess?” He raises his eyebrow, gesturing with the hand holding the smoke.

You nod your head, it’s not every day you’re included in their little smoke breaks post coitus, “Please.”

“Please,” Sirius mocks you as he leans down to hold the cigarette to your lips. You barely have the chance to taste the tobacco before it's being pulled away, this time to your right where Remus takes his time enjoying his smoke.

You can’t help but whine as it departs your lips and you’re met by the shit eating grin on Sirius’ face, clearly taking pleasure in teasing you so mercilessly.

“No whining Princess, smoking isn’t good for pretty girls is it?” Letting his hand cup the side of your face his thumb runs along the soft cushion of your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to tease you.

In your peripheral vision you catch the cig being handed over your head, exchanging between the two boys as you nod your head once more.

“Good girl,” He coos, before taking another hit.

As the smoke leaves his nostrils he’s dipping down to find your lips. He tastes of smoke and something about it coming from his lips makes it all the more sweet, it’s probably better than the real thing.

It’s intensified as his tongue delves into your mouth, you can practically feel the smoke in your lungs, you’ve never been a match for him and simply let your tongue be manipulated by his before he pulls back, connecting the two of you with a strand of saliva that when it breaks falls onto the side of your face.

“Messy girl,” He murmurs, smug smirk on his lips, as he wipes away the mess, in reality his efforts only work to smear the spit on your cheek rather than clean it up.

“So what do you think baby?” Remus asks, sitting up and pulling you with him so you’re both upright, “You wanna try and go again?”

“I don’t know Rem, you think Siri can get it back up or is my wrist gonna cramp trying to get him hard?”

“You two are cruel,” No matter how hard he tries to hide it you can see the slight smile pulling upwards at his lips, “You’re even hiding your titties from me, mean.”

He gestures towards your chest, he’s right, you’d subconsciously clutched the sheet to your chest, crossing your arms to keep it in place and your breasts covered.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as the realization dawns upon you, it wasn’t that you were intentionally guarding them from either boy but you realize that that is how it looks.

“No it's not that Siri I just, I usually keep them covered. They’re… they’re… “ You stumble over your words, only increasing your embarrassment.

“They’re what puppy?” Remus asks, lightly brushing your hair behind your ear so that he has access to your temple, smearing his lips across the soft skin.

“I don’t know,” As you grow shy your voice drops to a mere mumble, “They’ve got all sorts of marks on them.”

This proves worrisome enough for Sirius to set down his fag, letting it sit in the ashtray on the nightstand.

“You mean stretch marks Princess?”

You try your best not to cringe at those words, stretch marks. It's not a dirty word, somewhere inside you, you know that but that has never stopped you from being insecure by them. Deliberately choosing tops that side the ones that sprout from the tops, near your under arm before traveling down the curvature of your tit. Making sure your lingerie always has some sort of extra covering where they’re most visible.

You feel Remus’ hold on you tighten from behind at your pained silence, it's telling enough.

“Just don’t like them.”

Your words have Sirius climbing closer to you, throwing your legs around his hips so the two of you can sit face to face while Remus holds you from behind.

“May we see them, Puppy?” Remus’ elegant fingertips dance along the top of the sheet which resides just a few inches below your collarbone. You shiver at his dainty touch, his fingers are light as feathers, slowly coaxing you into trusting them with this.

“It’s okay,” Sirius’ hand delicately grasps your knee over the soft sheet, “Wanna see our pretty girls but it's alright if you need a moment puppy.”

“No, s’okay.”

Sirius gives you a small smile that only grows as you drop the sheet, letting it pool at your waist.

He spares you a glance before slowly extending his arm, giving you time to tell him to stop or pull the sheet back up, and even though you want to do both those things and more you love Siri. You love Rem. And you know that they’ll be gentle and patient with you.

So instead you steel yourself for his touch relaxing as you feel Remus’ sizable hands wrap around your waist, resting on your tummy.

Your shoulders bunch back up as the tips of Sirius’ fingers, nails having been painted black just a few hours ago. His touch is steady as he finds a particularly predominant mark tracing along the curve of your tit.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous (Y/N), can’t believe I get to touch you.”

“You’re silly Siri.”

“Not silly, you’re just fucking breathtaking. You got the nicest tits.”

“Just all marked up,” You shrug your shoulders, Remus takes the opportunity to smooth his chapped lips along your joint.

“No,” Remus contradicts, “They’re marked up when we sink our teeth into them and leave pretty bruises all over them,” His hands travel from your waist to explore your tit before stopping on the top of your left one where he remembers having sucked rather fervently just an hour before, “Like right here.”

His pressing down on the flesh pulls a squeak from you as a shock of pain shoots up your spine, leaving your body tingly and the specific spot where his fingers rest pulsing.

“These,” He continues, dragging his fingers over the small indents in your skin, “Are your stripes.”

Sirius leans down, capturing your nipple in his mouth as his hands go to support the weight of your breast. The angle’s a bit awkward but it seems to do little, if anything, to discourage him.

Gently capturing your nipple with his teeth he sucks harder, nuzzling at your chest as he does so. The pleasure that you derive from such a simple act has your head falling back onto the solidity of Remus’ shoulder, pulling whimpers from your throat as you jutt your chest out.

“So fucking good,” Sirius growls as he regretably lets go of your titty, “Pretty nipples,” He accentuates his point by twisting them each between his fingers, “Pretty stripes.”

Leaning down he drags his tongue along one of your stretch marks, beginning in the valley between your breasts before extending upwards.

“They’re completely natural, Puppy,” Remus’ voice is subdued as he runs his hands up and down your waist, “Lots of people have them on their tits, Siri and I have them in other places too.”

“S different on you , Remmy,” You try to explain, “You two are perfect.”

“Does it bother you when we see them during sex baby?” He asks with genuine curiosity in his voice, the thought of making you uncomfortable when you’re so open and vulnerable leaving his stomach twisting.

“Not always, no,” He remains silent, urging you to continue, “You make me feel beautiful Rem, both of you, I just can’t help but not like them, don’t like the way they look, or the way they feel.”

You hear him suck in a deep breath and you can practically hear the gears in his mind turning as he contemplates just what to say.

His hands move to hold both sides of your face in his palms as his forehead falls to rest against yours.

“Let us show you how beautiful your tits are, will you let us do that?”

“You don’t have to-”

Sirius cuts you off, releasing your tit from his mouth, “We want to (Y/N), let us,” He dips his head back down, delicately kissing the top of one of your breasts, “Please.”

He murmurs the simple, one syllable, word against your skin, the sensation sending shivers through your body. He rolls your hardened nipples between his fingers, it's nearly enough to have you mewling as you kneel at his feet. Maybe another time.

Before you can register what’s happening, strong hands are softly pushing you back so that you’re laying down on the bed.

You feel the steady weight of your breasts bouncing on your chest before they’re being grasped by hands that just by touch you recognize as Remus’. His thumbs run along the insides of your breasts where more faded lines reside, creating swirling patterns that Remus seems to thoroughly enjoy.

“You know why you got these right?” Sirius questions, raising his brow.

You shake your head.

“Because you got big fucking tits Princess, look at them!” Smoothly he replaces Remus’ hands with his own, letting their weight settle in his hands, “Bigger than my hands, bigger than Rem’s, they’re fucking gorgeous.”

He drops onto his bum as he reaches over you to pick up his fag, raising it to his lips as his eyes fixate on your bare tits, a wicked smirk on his lips. Instead of feeling uncomfortable under his eyes the feeling is something equivalent to the sun’s rays shining on you, warming you all the way down to your core.

You can’t help but smile at the sincerity in his voice, the absolution with which he speaks pulling at your heart strings. How did you get so lucky as to deserve his love? Though he’s not as chatty you know Remus believes every word out of Sirius’ mouth, tenderly he takes your hand in his, absentmindedly playing with your fingers while your two hands rest in his lap.

“It’s just hard to believe you guys sometimes, m’your girlfriend, you gotta be nice to me.”

Gently Remus guides your hand to his crotch, you’re met by his aching cock which you’re just now realizing is standing fully erect, aching, weeping red tip smearing precum against his lean belly.

“Believe us now?”

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no-droids · 4 years ago

Text

Rumors, Freebies, and a Race for Last Place

Part Two of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

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

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

***

It’s recommended to read part one first.

***

Getting into the x-wings is always fun.

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

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

You came back in one piece this time. Barely.

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

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

Dameron.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You request mission assignments together,” Rossi adds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

You're finally alone.

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

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

And yet, you can’t seem to enjoy it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, this is so fucking… presumptuous of him.

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

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

You don’t even think you want to anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His tongue softly grazes your knuckle as it works.

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

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

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

There. There’s the drop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything except his face, you soon realize.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cum.

You lose. Fair and square.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

You lose count.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, that’s it. That is it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then you just start giggling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… to pull a bag of chips out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He has a nice voice, you think.

#poe x reader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #reader insert #Smut #no-droids

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readyforthegarden · 3 years ago

Note

“you’re important to me, you piece of shit” w Sam ?? <3

Sorry this one took a bit, but I hope you like it! We could all use some fluff right now.

You knew it was a bad idea. In fact you’d said it loudly many times. Letting Sam and Danny race on the old four wheelers you kept at your family cottage. With miles and miles of land, they could do whatever they wanted without fear of interruption or disruption, and as soon and Sam's eyes laid on the machines, you knew he wouldn't rest until he got to race on one.

"I’m still not sure about this.” You groaned, biting your bottom lip. Sam rolled his eyes at you, giving you his trademark impish smirk as he tied his hair back with one of your hair elastics.

“We’ll be fine!” he waved you off as you tried to hand him a helmet. “It’s just a little race. I’ll win and we’ll be back in no time to do whatever boring, safe thing you want to do.” You glanced over to Danny, who just shrugged, but took the other helmet from you, putting it on.

“Alright.” You sighed, feeling like you now understood your mother’s lack of patience for your antics as a child. “Three laps around the course. Winner gets to get drunk with me tonight, the loser….also gets to get drunk with me but will be sad. On the count of three, you go.” The boys started the four wheelers, the engines rumbling to life under them. “One….two……three!” They took off, breezing past you quickly. You turned around to watch them, pulling your phone out to film them go around the old course you and your siblings used to race. It had grown over from years of non-use, but the path was still pretty clear.

As they finished their second lap, Danny in the lead, you noticed Sam trying to pull around him on the inside. Your breath caught in your throat as Sam maneuvered into the grass, trying to sharply take the curve of the turn and the four wheeler began to tilt.

“SAM!” The shriek that ripped from you throat echoed as you watched him tumble off the machine and onto the ground, the machine landing too. You’d never sprinted faster in your life than you did across the yard and through the course to try and get to him. Danny had turned around and stopped, getting off his ride and tossing his helmet away as he ran over to where you were already kneeling beside the youngest Kiszka.

“Is he okay?” Danny asked, eyeing Sam.

“I don’t know.” Your hands shook as you gently stroked his hair from his face. He seemed to be out cold. Luckily the four wheeler landed on its side a few feet away. Sam must’ve tried to push his body away from it as he fell. “Can you turn off the bikes, please?” Danny did as asked while you took Sam’s pulse, worry getting the best of you.

“Sammy, can you hear me?” You asked, staring at the boys face. “Sam, please?”

“Maybe we should take him back to the house.” Danny suggested. “He’s probably just knocked out.”

“Yeah, yeah okay.” you agreed and let Danny pick up his friend, carrying him back up to your cottage. Once inside, you had Danny put him on his bed in the guest room, and got a wash cloth from the bathroom, running it under cool water and squeezing it out before folding it. You got back into the room and crawled onto the bed, placing the cloth onto Sam’s forehead. “Do you think we should take him to the hospital? Maybe an urgent care or something?”

“I’m sure he’s gonna be fine.” Danny reassured. “It doesn’t look like he’s got any cuts, doesn’t look like any bones or joints are out of place. Just hit his head a little too hard.” you stared at your friend, the voice of reason in your group of friends, other than you, and nodded.

“I just worry if he’s got a concussion..what if this is one of those things where he’s in a coma?” you bit your bottom lip and looked back at Sam, his face peaceful as he slept.

“If he doesn’t wake up in an hour or so, we’ll take him to the hospital.” Danny reasoned. “Now, I’m gonna go make us some food, I’m sure when he does wake up, he’s gonna be hangry. Always is after a nap.” Danny left the room, but you stayed, sitting with your legs folded beneath you, you looked over at Sam again. When you heard Danny begin fussing in the kitchen, you took a deep breath, trying to find assurance in his words.

“I told you,” you muttered under your breath after fifteen minutes of silence. “I told you this was a bad idea. I even offered you a helmet, but noooo cool guy Sam can’t be bothered with safety!” You mimicked Sam’s flippant attitude. “No, I’m too cool, look at me, I’m so handsome I’m so talented and smart. Yeah, really smart crashing your four wheeler. Your next tour is gonna be great, they’re just gonna wheel you out on life support and make it look like you’re playing. Weekend at Sammy’s. I’m sure Danny will love having to carry your flat ass around everywhere-Sam?”

Sam’s body stirred next to you, and you jumped. His brows furrowed and he grunted as he reached a hand up, feeling the damp cloth on his forehead. His eyes opened slowly, blinking, looking around the room.

“Why am I in bed?” He turned his head slowly, looking to you, a smirk appearing on his face. “Oh, I don’t usually have these dreams on Saturdays.” you scoffed, taking the damp cloth from his face.

“You crashed your four wheeler and knocked yourself out trying to cheat. Danny carried you in here.” you explained. “Wait, what kind of dreams are you having about me?!”

“Not important.” he shook his head, then grimaced. “Ow.”

“Yeah, ow is right! You should’ve worn the helmet, you could’ve gotten seriously hurt!” It took everything in you not to reach out and smack the back of his head. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

“You’re so mad right now.” Sam chuckled, grinning as your face got redder and redder from his lack of concern.

“Can you take this seriously?!” you groaned. “Of course I’m mad! We were gonna take you to the hospital! And then I was going to have to tell your mom and your brothers what happened! And what if something horrible went wrong?! What would I do without you?!”

“Wait, what?” Sam’s eyes were wide. “What do you mean what would you do without me?”

“You’re my best friend, Sam.” you sighed, not ready to fully discuss your feelings towards your childhood best friend. “You’re important to me, you piece of shit.” Sam stared at you a moment longer before laughing.

“I guess if the roles were reversed, I’d feel the same way.” He gave you one of the biggest puppy dog looks he could muster. “I’m sorry. I promise next time, I’ll listen to you.”

“Thank you.” you muttered. After a few beats of silence, Sam cleared his throat.

“So, did I win?”

“Not even close.”

#writing prompt blurb #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka fluff #sam kiszka #sam gvf #greta van fleet fluff #greta van fleet #greta van fleet imagine

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blackberrywars · 2 years ago

Text

Cabin - Aiden/Lambert

SFW prompt fill for day 1 of the @witchersummercamp event!!! Beta’d by the utterly delightful @hellinglasses

Rating: T

Words: 2678

Pairing: Aiden/Lambert, Laiden

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-Graphic Injury, Humans Being Assholes, Mentioned Past Sexual Encounters, Light Angst, Crying, Cutagens, Omega Lambert, Alpha Aiden

Summary: On the Path, there’s little room for comfort, softness, and safety, a rule that holds truer than most, even when Lambert needs those things the most. After they get turned away at their usual inn for Lambert’s heat, Aiden spends the next year making sure her baby wolf will never have to spend another season in a damp, cold, dirty cave again. Even if her hands get scraped to shit in the process.

Read on AO3

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For the twentieth night in a row, Aiden can barely suppress a groan as she soaks her splinter-ridden hands in diluted Black Blood. It’s Lambert’s own recipe, saved over from last year —stronger stuff than she could ever brew herself— but the wounds have already healed over, sealing the wood pieces inside until she can dissolve them through her skin. She needs the potency. There’s more work to do. Her axe, pilfered from some asshole’s front yard, lays heavy across her lap. Not five paces farther stands the fruits of her labor. Barely eight by eight feet of rough-cut lumber with a floor of hard-packed earth, the little cabin has a strong frame and the kind of character only small, ugly, beloved things do. She grins. She’ll have to cut more logs tomorrow for the roof, soak them all in lye, and then add a rafter or three to support the results. Without Guxart’s tools, she can’t curve the beams, but if the damn thing doesn’t leak or fall down on them, she’ll be more than grateful.

It’s not Dyn Marv. It’s definitely not Kaer Morhen, not that she’s ever gotten to see it. But Lambert might just love it anyway, their own little shelter far away from anyone planning to bother them —Cat, Wolf, or human. Gods, fucking humans. Aiden tries not to put her anger on all the however-fucking-many people on the Continent, but her skin burns as the potion eats through the sealed wounds and into the splinters, and she doesn’t care enough to spare them. Especially not when she remembers last summer so well, when she can feel the pain and rage simmering in her chest. It hurts more than her hands do.

They hadn’t been prepared for rejection. Maybe they should have known better, after so long on the Path, but the little Nazairi inn had been a safe place (or as close to that as witchers got) for three wonderful years. Even longer, for Lambert before they’d bonded. Every midsummer, they saved up to rent a heat-room and spend a week in soft linens, where Aiden would take care of her baby at her most vulnerable. No monsters, no wild beasts, no people coming to bother them. The old man who ran the place, Azik, was always kind, offering them good food and not overcharging them for any of it, just absentmindedly rubbing his own scarred mating mark and handing them the keys with a smile. Said he remembered how it felt. To need somewhere warm and safe and comfortable.

Another year came and went, and they’d been more than happy to pay him a visit again, only to find him long gone. He was only mortal. Fickle, lovely, and mortal. His son, or so the bastard called himself, replaced him, told them to fuck off and find another inn, because he wouldn’t allow rutting mutants in his establishment —surely they’d put a curse on him. Nevermind that Aiden had been half-carrying Lambert, already half in pre-heat. Or that she’d offered to pay double. He had the same bowed lips as his father and none of his compassion to fall out of them. So, Aiden had to find a cave. Killed the poor bear inside, cleaned it as best she could, and laid out their meager amount of clothes on a bed of greenery and moss; the best nest she could provide, all while Lambert shivered with pain. It could have been worse. Her baby wolf had lived through worse: heats alone and heats unfortunately not.

She went back and killed the son anyway. Strangled him with a particularly strong vine from their makeshift nest and spit on his corpse on her way out. Lambert had their bags waiting when she returned, and Aiden couldn’t help but kiss her again.

Otherwise, she might not be here, surrounded by the stones and wood, having to rub her own aching shoulders after working well into the night, high off Cat and her own determination to get the little heat-house done before summer. She’d be traveling the Path with her baby wolf. Her omega. All day, they’d fight monsters and complain about random shit they encountered, be it the price of decent ale or a particularly rough patch of road. All night, they’d fleece humans at Gwent or make a disgustingly domestic camp together before fucking each other silly. Instead, Aiden’s alone. Alone and lonely, because she left a note for Lambert in their usual spring meeting place to meet her in summer instead, and she hasn’t seen her baby wolf in nearly a year.

Fuck, but it’ll be worth it. Guxart has everything she’s bought stockpiled in the caravan, ready for her to secret them away here. Soft cushions stolen from the inn in Nazair, furs treated by Kiyan’s expert hand, vibrant silks from Zerrikania, and a new courting gift, an alchemy kit set in silver. Aiden would give it —everything her omega could want or need. She’d feed Lambert sweet dried fruits and jams by the spoonful, fresh mushrooms from the forest cooked in the small ground oven she would build. All that and more, once she finished building the roof, insulating the walls, painting the inside, cleaning the debris, packing the dirt, laying the boards, and sleeping for a week.

—

———

—

If Lambert trips over one more fucking tree root, she’s gonna rip her blindfold off and shove it down Aiden’s throat. The damn Cat had been dragging her along for nearly half an hour, and for all that she trusted Aiden with her life, the journey had put several expensive dents in her greaves. But she’s not really bitching about that. Aiden hadn’t explained anything to her before tying the cloth over her eyes, and frankly, Lambert had thought she would be having a much better time right now. Or at the very least less shitty than stumbling down a road and through the forest to fuck-knows-where.

Aiden had even dodged her kiss by the dick-graffitied signpost! And their reunion fuck! Her heart beats a little faster, and Aiden can hear it, and it’s just a little too humiliating to even acknowledge that this entire situation has her so anxious. She exhales, harsh and fast. Squeezes down on her alpha’s hand, partly to show her displeasure without actually having to say it out loud, partly to comfort herself, but even that’s different. Her calluses are all fucked up, thick in new places and softer where the old ones should be. It’s a stupid thing to care about. To worry about. Maybe Aiden found a hobby. More likely, they’re from whatever nebulous “work” she picked up that kept her away from Lambert in the spring. She cares anyway.

“Can I take this shit off now?”

“Not yet.”

“I swear on Melitele’s dripping cunt, if we are not there in fifteen seconds, I’m going to stab you.”

“You’ve never seen Melitele’s dripping cunt, so that’s not a very good swear. Also, we’re here.”

“Oh, fuck you—”

The slip of fabric falls from her face and Lambert can’t catch it, too busy staring at the structure in front of her. It could be a fisherman's shed, for its size, but all she can smell is cut wood and resin, the smell of the forest and Aiden beside her. She can’t see any scratches on the walls, or weathering on the roof. The paint looks new. Past the open door, where she doesn’t have to duck her head for once, a raised mattress covers the floor, with blankets folded in a stack atop it and cushions piled on the side, all of it absolutely perfect, arranged just the way she likes when she has the materials to make a nest for them. Aiden takes her hand again, rough calluses scraping against her skin, and oh fuck. Fuck.

“Aiden…… you made this?”

Strong arms wrap around her hips from behind, and Lambert’s silently thankful. Her right knee wobbles with the effort of keeping herself upright, and her throat feels like it’s closing with every second she stares at the little cabin with its flat roof and pale blue walls and the beautiful, beautiful nest inside. Smug as anything, close enough for Lambert to feel the grin against her neck, Aiden replies.

“Mmhm. Surprise! I spent all winter saving up the coin, and all of spring getting materials and building it so I could fill it with every soft thing I could think of. I know you miss your furs in Kaer Morhen.”

“What? This is… fuck, Aiden, what did you do?”

A stab of guilt hits her in the chest. How much does all this cost, if Aiden spent two seasons saving up and building it? She reaches down for the nearest pile of fabric, a collection of silks that feel almost liquid in her fingers, cool and soft next to the dense furs beside them. They’re not like the ones in Kaer Morhen. Those furs are older than she is, dusty and tough, smelling like every other Wolf omega who’d used them before she got the leftovers after centuries of wear. Winters make for poor hunting, when the bears, wolves, rabbits, and foxes are all in their dens, and fuck knows she hates the cold. The rest of the year, she’s gone. Vesemir spends his time just trying to keep the walls from crumbling. Never in her life has she felt furs this soft, this expensive. Aiden’s arms squeeze tighter around her middle.

“Gods, how much do I owe you for this? Even just the furs, fuck! You put months of pay and work into this, and unless you stole the materials, these must have cost a fucking fortune!”

“Pfft. You don’t owe me a copper.”

“The fuck do you mean, not a copper? This is so much, and they’re my heats, it’s my own damn responsibility.”

When she tries to turn around to face her, Aiden just tightens her grip, pinning Lambert to her soft chest. A deep, rumbling purr vibrates through Lambert’s back, and she can’t help but relax the slightest amount, practically conditioned after years of this bullshit to know that sound means safety and contentment.

“I mean you don’t owe me shit. These past ten years, you paid for our weeks in the inn, and even if you hadn’t… baby wolf, you let me share your heats —that’s worth the cost and more. That’s a gift and so is this.”

“Why? Why would you do that?”

The purring gets louder, but Lambert can feel Aiden’s exasperation like she’s the one being unreasonable.

“How could I not? You were miserable last year, no matter how much you tried to grit your teeth and tell me you’ve had worse.”

“I have. And I lived.”

“Not the point, little wolf. The point is that this year, you don’t have to deal with that filthy cave or worse, and that in my fucking opinion, you deserve a palace.”

“It’s too much.”

“Do you like it?”

It gives Lambert pause, that question, mostly because of course she fucking does. She looks around, double-checking to see if the little cabin wasn’t as lovely as she first saw it, but no, there’s the pillows and the furs and the paint and the calm, safe place that Aiden has built for her.

“Don’t be fuckin’ stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it’s for you. You’re mine, you’re my omega, and I made this for you. If you like it, then every last thing I bought and did was worth it.”

And hasn’t she thought the same thing a million times over in her head? Fuck Aiden for saying things so damn well. For having the words. She thinks it every time she buys Aidn’s favorite pastries even when the baker charges her double the price. Or takes the kikimore’s claws so Aiden doesn’t take the venom. Or leaves Kaer Morhen when the Killer is still snowed through, just to see her sooner. How much has she paid? For Aiden’s happiness, brief and lasting? They’ve been through this. She loves Aiden, and Aiden loved her first. From anyone else, Lambert would keep demanding the hidden price until they caved, but with Aiden…… there won’t be a debt to pay later down the line.

She even squeezes Lambert just a little tighter, which does not fucking help the fact that she’s about to burst into tears. Her alpha built her a cabin with a nest inside, and it’s dry and safe and warm, far away from humans and monsters and fuck-all everything else that isn’t them. It has furs, and fuck her for knowing that, too. In the winters, when she deals with her heats alone, they’re all she has, but now she’ll have them in the summer too, with her alpha. Aiden kisses her shoulder over her armor, right above their bond-bite, and then the tears are rolling down her face.

“Shit. Baby, why’re you crying? Do you not— “I love it. Alpha, love, I love it.”

“You do?” She loops around to Lambert’s front, blocking her view of the cabin which almost helps her stop crying, because fuck everything, she wants to sob just looking at it. “Oh, baby wolf.”

Aiden hustles her further into the cabin so they're both inside and shuts the door behind them, solid and protective. Properly inside, it’s dark and cool. A thick bearskin lays just by her feet, and Lambert kneels down to bury her hands in it, sighing at how soft it feels against her skin. She coughs, trying to clear her throat. Chokes, then tries again.

“You can tell me later. Just let me take care of you —it’s what I built all this for.”

So she lets Aiden take her bags. Allows it when Aiden peels off her armor, piece by piece stacked by the door until she’s in just her shirtsleeves and rough trousers. Tries to take off Aiden’s in return with shaking hands, and she lets her; even though it takes her twice as long as it should, having something to do with her hands finally stops the tears before they lay down on the bare mattress. Aiden takes her usual spot pressed tightly against Lambert’s back, tucking her head under her chin. It hurts, and her voice comes out gravelly and awful, but she talks anyway.

“You made me a nest.”

“I did.”

“It’s… fuck, Aiden, it’s perfect. No one around for miles, far from the road, and…… fuck.”

“Mmmm.”

Aiden purrs again, rumbling and so sweet. This time, she lets Lambert shift in the cradle of her arms, turning until she can look at Aiden’s handsome face, dark and scarred in the lowlight. She presses a kiss to the underside of her chin, and then another. Everything is soft and warm and good. Her alpha included, and maybe more so than the cabin and everything in it combined, burning like a furnace against her body.

“I like taking care of you, omega. And it really did suck being in that cave for a week.”

Lambert rolls her eyes, wincing at the dryness. She takes the levity for the out it is and presses another grateful kiss to Aiden’s neck.

“It really fucking did.”

So much so, that she’d already had another inn lined up. Nenneke knows the owner, a no-nonsense young woman involved in a considerable amount of elf-smuggling, who would gladly let a pair of witchers defile one of her rooms for a price. Not that she’d tell Aiden that now. Aiden had built her a shelter with her own two hands, and for all that she slightly resents the instinct that makes her find it so attractive, rewarding her alpha’s good behavior usually goes well for both of them. Lambert can keep her mouth shut on this. She won’t tell anyone about the hidden cabin. This little place is theirs now. Theirs and theirs alone: not for the Wolves or the Cats or the humans or the Path, and she’ll enjoy every second they have it.

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[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

#witchersummercamp #witcher summer camp #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher #lambert #witcher lambert #fem!lambert #aiden #witcher aiden #fem!aiden #laiden #light angst #crying #slice-of-life kind of #but in the context of omegaverse and anti-witcher bigotry #berry's fics

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spideymarvelws · 4 years ago

Note

A threesome with tom × reader × Harrison when they become roommates PLEASE could you include... spanking? 😸

im sorry if this is so bad sdhvcwdhcvps the beginning is a bit shaky but i finally sat my ass down and wrong something so i hope you enjoy!

Main Masterlist / Add Yourself To My Taglist

Warnings : dom/sub undertones, spanking, mild degrading and humiliation, tom and haz being little teasing shits

Word Count : 1.8k

Roommates With Benefits

Harrison Osterfield x Fem!Reader x Tom Holland

“And that’s pretty much it. Oh! And you could always just put Percy’s bowl and bed next to Tessa’s. I’m sure she won’t mind, very sweet girl,” Tom smiled, pushing the tips of his fingers into the pockets of his jeans as he led you back to the kitchen.

“We’d love another dog in the house! Just be warned if you ever leave, we might not be able to let him go.” Harrison winked, blue eyes shining with the light shining into the kitchen, causing heat to quickly rise to your face.

You chuckled light heartedly, leaning against the kitchen island with your head down, avoiding the intense stairs of the two brits on your body.

Everything happened so quickly. Being kicked out of your apartment after having trouble paying ridiculous bills, seeing the ad during your job at the cafe and immediately calling the number in hopes that the offer for a roommate was still open. It wasn’t usually something you did, especially without any background checks but you were desperate and in that moment, you were ready to endure anything if it meant you would have a roof over your head.

What you didn’t expect was a cute british voice answering the phone who was very cooperative and patient, answering all the questions you had. You called him everyday after that, using the excuse of asking more questions but ultimately you both ended up talking about anything and everything. It was an immediate connection that only intensified when you met him the next week in real life after your shift. Shaggy brown hair, soft brown eyes and a figure that made your mouth water, you didn’t expect such a sweet human to take on the looks of a model.

But he didn’t come alone, next to him was a taller but equally attractive blond brit, with clear blue eyes and a smile that made your legs weak. You were surprised how composed you kept yourself while talking to them and with a firm handshake and exchange of phone numbers, a beautiful friendship between the two was born.

At least, that’s what you tried to keep it as. Both men were naturally flirtatious, constantly complimenting you then pointing out how flustered you got like it was some inside joke. When you would meet up with them after shifts, sometimes one of them would take your hand while the other stayed attached to you to the hip, along with a lot of subtle touches that left goose bumps in their wake.

It came to the point where your coworkers gave you side eyes, dancing around the question of asking if you were dating anyone which only made you more flustered.

After a month of spending time with them, the week before your lease ended, they invited you to their flat to show you around, not so directly confirming that they wanted you as their third roommate.

However, as you entered the house, tension started to build in the air, tension that you only noticed apparently since Tom and Harrison went on with the tour like everything they did was normal. Constant innuendoes, especially when they showed you where the bedrooms were, stretching their arms in already tight shirts, staying close by your side with small touches to your back and arm.

It kept you flustered, while your purpose being there was to find a place to stay, you couldn’t deny that the two brits were attractive, irritatingly so. After the month of getting to know them, you developed a pretty obvious crush on the two men but you were too shy to say anything, too many negative consequences filling your head.

You were happy to maintain a friendship, even if that meant keeping the constant heat on your skin in their presence.

“How do you know if Tessa’s any safer? I might just take her with me.” you teased, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“Oh really?” Tom raised a brow, walking closer to you behind the kitchen counter, “I feel hurt that you’re already thinking of leaving.” he leaned on his left elbow with his ankles crossed over the other, licking his lips as he looked you up and down.

“To- to be fair... Haz was the first to suggest it.” you stuttered briefly, coughing to hide how nervous you became.

“Yeah, cut her some slack Tom.” the blond snickered, walking up to you, standing on the other side, arms crossed and muscles bulging, “Don’t want to scare her off too soon now do we?”

“Oh I don’t think we’re scaring her off Haz.” Tom raised his hand, taking your jaw between your fingers and turning your head to face him, “Are we scaring you love?”

You shook your head no, eyes wide and body frozen with the contact.

“We’re going to need words darling,” Harrison said into your ear, his breath heavy on the side of your head, his hand landing possessively on the base of your neck, “Communication is very important for us in a roommate.”

“Is it?” you squeaked, trying to process being suddenly sandwiched between the two men. They’ve never been this forward, thoughts running through your head that made you squeeze your thighs together in hopes of some relief.

Tom hummed, leaning up with his face right in front of yours, “So I’ll ask again... are you scared of us Y/n?” your name fell off his tongue like honey, sending a pang of pleasure down your stomach to your heat. You wanted nothing more than to hear it over and over again.

“N-no.” the pitch of your voice was high, enough to make you laugh if it wasn’t for the men so close to your body.

“Then why are you so tense, angel?” Harrison’s hand moved down your neck, trailing along your spine and staying in the curve of your back, right above your ass, “Anything we could do to help?”

“I could think of one thing!” Tom hummed, leaning in closer, brushing his lips along yours, “That is, if our lady allows it.”

“Only if you want to be our girl.” Harrison added, leaning down to kiss the side of your neck, “Just say the word and this never happened.”

“No!” maybe it was the sudden closeness, their hands on your body or the pet names that flowed so naturally off their tongue. Or maybe it was the build up over the past months, the fantasies than ran threw your head of this exact moment that all lead you to whimper-

“yes... please.”

...

“Ah- fuck.” Harrison groaned from behind you, his rough hands gripping your waist tighter as he pounded into you from behind, “God she feels so good around me... tightest cunt I’ve ever fucked.”

“Wait till you feel her mouth mate,” Tom grunted, tightening his hands around your head. He looked down at your face, tears falling from your eyes, spit drooling from your mouth around his hard cock, some of it falling to the sheets beneath you. Out of his years of acting and traveling, he’d never thought he’d see such a beautiful sight.

“Oh I’m planning on it,” the blond responded, moving his hips impossibly faster, fingers digging into your waist, adding to the marks all over your body, “Not tonight though, don’t think the slut could think properly after this.”

Tom laughed at his friend’s words, continuing to bob your head on his cock, alternating between slow, calculated movements and a rough, punishing pace.

The humiliation only made you more wet and desperate for relief. You were right on the edge, have been since the night’s activities began. But the men wouldn’t allow it, constantly mocking and degrading you if the thought ever crossed your mind, threatening to not touch you for the rest of the week if you came without permission.

The fact that they planned to continue after this couldn’t even cross your head, mind too far broken down into just a toy for their use, begging and mewling for anything they gave you.

A harsh spank landed on your bum making a squeak erupt from your throat, muffled by Tom’s length. Harrison scoffed at your reaction, landing blow after blow, his hips losing rhythm as he neared his high.

“I swear she just gets wetter and wetter,” Harrison groaned, punctuating the last three words with a slap to your skin, “So fucking perfect around me I-” he groaned loudly, bending over slightly to reach deeper inside you, hitting a different angle that made you scream.

Tom was quick to pull you off his cock, one hand wrapped tightly around your hair, keeping your head up while the other moved quickly up his shaft. jerking himself off.

“Fuck, you look so pretty princess,” Tom moaned, “Ready to cum?”

You nodded enthusiastically, smiling wide as you kept your mouth open. The brunette grabbed your jaw, tilting your head up and spitting directly in your mouth, slapping the side of your face for you to swallow.

“Fucking beg for it then.”

But before you could respond, you felt pressure directly on your clit, Harrison’s cold thumb moving circles around the nub, pushing you further and further to your orgasm.

“Please! Please let me cum! Please Tommy!”

But the brit only laughed, “I’m not the one you should be begging too love,”

Tom loosened his grip of your hair only for Harrison to take over, pulling your back to his sweaty chest.

“Go ahead angel, beg so you could cum all over my cock,”

“Please... please Harrison,” you could feel the energy slowly fading from your body but your will to get off was just as strong, “Please let me cum,”

“Go ahead angel,” Haz grunted in your ear, “Fuck I’m gonna cum with you, bury my cock deep in your pussy, stuff you full,”

Without a second to lose, you let yourself go, finally getting that release you’ve been craving for that entire night. The feeling of the blonds cum filling you up made it more intense, along with his thumb still locked in place on your clit. It was an overload of pleasure, black spots clouding your vision but you still hyper aware of everything going on.

“Open your mouth pretty girl,” you heard echo in the back of your head. Without fight, your jaw slacked open, the taste of Tom’s seed hitting your lips, spreading across your mouth.

You were in pure ecstasy.

It took you a while to come back after such an intense moment, tangled in Tom’s arms while Harrison worked on cleaning your body, both looking down at you with admiration and awe.

“What do you think Haz? She good enough to live here?” Tom mumbled, softly petting your hair as you nudge your cheek against his chest, bathing in the attention.

The blond snickered from behind you, crawling over your body and leaning down to place a sweet kiss on your shoulder, “She could live with us for the rest of her life after that mate,” you raised your head slightly at his words, eyes wide and blown. He gently took your chin between his fingers, pressing a kiss to your puffy lips.

“Free of fucking charge.”

#harrison osterfield #tom holland #harrison osterfield smut #tom holland smut #harrison osterfield x reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland x reader x harrison osterfield #tom holland x fem!reader #harrison osterfield x fem!reader

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keilemlucent · 4 years ago

Note

if you are interested, i would like to present my dear salem with hero hawks and his little horny crush on his innocent assistant bc man’s corruption kink go brrrrrr😇

okay look LOOK i have... such a thing for hawks getting a h*rd on for his sweet, far-too kind PA.

(NSFW)

word count: 2.5k

warnings: dubcon, coersion, (a little bit of) yandere hawks, reader wears lingerie, reader is sorta oblivious, sugar daddy hawks, scumbag hawks, power imbalance, hawks is a manipulative bastard but its hot so who cares <3

...

“Are you sure this is... appropriate, sir?”

No, no, definitely not, not at all. Taking his sweet, desperately-in-need-of-a-break PA out on a little shopping spree was definitely crossing a lot of professional lines, but how could he care? He was far more focused on the wobbly way ‘sir’ had dripped off your tongue.

It wasn’t sin, but he’d get you there, he was quite persuasive.

The little shopping trip (literally) landed you at a luxury mall across Fukuoka, many-floored and lavishing decorated with twinkling, bright bulbs and crystal on every fixture. The stores were expensive, too expensive for you to afford on your own but Keigo knew how hard you’d been working! All that extra paperwork (he’d been purposefully giving you because it kept you around the office later and more often) had been getting done beautifully, and you deserved a treat. Many of them.

Consider it an early bonus.

You already had quite a few bags dangling off your arms, the cords and ribbons digging into your arms (god, he wished he could make some marks of his own--). And Keigo had decided to treat you to one, final stop. He guided you to the store entrance with a hand on your lower back.

God help you, a lingerie store.

Nothing cheap, only custom-made and designer pieces. It was more of a boutique, some places private where no one would bother the two of you.

He watched your expression, the pull of your brows and the way your pupils dilated. It might’ve been from a bit of ill-placed stress, but he’s sure he can get your eyes just as inky other ways, if given the opportunity.

“This is remarkably appropriate, dove,” He hummed and ushered you inside the store entrance, flashing a grin to the starry-eyed salesclerk. His hand drifted downward, just over the upper curves of your ass, just to watch you squirm. “Consider it a reward! You’ve been doing so much good for me and the agency, you deserve a treat or two, don’t you think?”

You shifted the bags on your arms and dared to meet his gaze with your own, meek and wide, “I-I think this is more than ‘a treat or two’--”

“Then shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, thanking me for my generosity then?” Keigo smirked as your expression faltered. You were way too easy and god, he fucking loved it.

Before you had a chance to fret anymore, he assured you quietly that everything was alright. A bit of praise to ice the pinpricks he left behind. He shooed you into the fitting rooms, pointing a beaming smile at a clerk and getting to work.

He’d have you spoiled, whether you liked it or not.

...

You sat on the plush bench of the fitting room, hands in fist and lip tucked between your teeth. You chewed on it, swallowing around your dry throat. Hawks’ voice drifted back from the salesfloor, though you couldn’t tell what he was saying. You could pick up words like ‘sweet’ and ‘cute’ and you could only assume the words were about the bright-eyed, big-titted employee you saw when you walked in.

You squeeze the fabric of your skirt and tried to let some of the tension in your shoulders dissipate.

“Oh, wow, dove, the selection they have here is amazing!” Hawks whistled as he returned to the fitting room, alone, carrying an armful of padded, velvet hangers.

“I can imagine,” You wished you could have looked around a bit yourself, but Hawks had a much better eye for these things than you did. You were very fortunate to have him around.

He arranged them on a gold railing nearby, wings tucked to his back as to not crowd the small space of the dressing room.

It was truly just a single room, though it was large enough. Six-sided, each wall complete with a well-padded, velvet bench seat to idle on. The middle of the room had a little raised platform, leading to three, angled mirrors. They were massive and felt a bit too revealing as Hawks hummed to himself nearby.

The only thing separating you from the rest of the store was a heavy, velvet draping.

Hawks plopped onto the cushion next to you, letting out a deep sigh and leaning back. You watched him, gaze flickering from the garments on the rack and the exposed patch of his chest visible from the unpopped buttons of his shirt.

His feathers brushed up against your arm and you shuddered.

“Now, sweet thing,” He clicked his tongue, jerking his gaze to the hangers. “I picked out some pretty sweet pieces for you. Why don’t you try them on and let me know what you think, hm?”

You nodded, though your stomach felt like there was suddenly lead in it. From the looks of the lace and silks, those pieces weren't going to cover much of anything. You mentally sparred with yourself.

It’s not... that bad. It’s not like he’s going to see anything more than he would if you were wearing a swimsuit.

Besides, this a gift, right? You should at least show him what he’d paid for on an actual body.

He had you so well-trained--

You stood, moving to the rack on shaking legs and examining the pieces.

They’re all... a bit whorish. None of those soft babydolls and teddies that folks wore in those softcore pornos that you definitely never watched. The pieces Hawks picked for you aren’t the least bit modest. They’re all lace, mesh, and ribbons. Stockings and garters that looked like they might be a tich too snug. You grab the least garish-looking piece.

And Hawks was still in the room, body lax and slumped against the cushions.

His eyes lazily opened, a bushy brow-raising, “You good, dove?”

“... Aren’t you gonna step out?”

He chuckled and you knew you were fucked. Just not literally, not yet.

“Why the hell would I do that?” Hawks laughed and righted himself. His vibrant gold eyes bore into yours, though they looked more black than topaz by that point.

You swallowed.

“I would prefer if you d-did.”

“And if I don’t?” His voice oozed something that made your knees weak. “What then? I know you don’t like disappointing me.”

You didn’t, but this was a bit far. ‘A bit’.

“... s-sir, please,” You begged, albeit quietly.

This was crossing lines. As much as Hawks gave you special treatment at the agency, literally and figuratively taking you under his wing and tending to your needs as he saw them and has he saw fit, stripping and playing dress-up in expensive lingerie definitely was too far.

As much as part of you adored the attention, you tried to keep that quiet. Stuffed down and hidden. Hawks was your boss, and you had to keep yourself occupied with his busy schedule and mountains of paperwork, lest you allow yourself to dissolve into thinking his attentions were anything other than favoritism.

Oh my god, you really were that dense

“’Please’?” Hawks cocked his head to the side, the corners of his lips curling. “‘Please’ what, dovey? Tell me.”

You let out a shaking breath, “Hawks, this is remarkably inappropriate--”

“Maybe,” He cuts you off swiftly, a flap of his wings pushing him to his feet and directly in front of you. “You just need some help? That’s it?”

Your mouth went dry. He wasn’t wrong, not really.

“That’s all, huh?” Hawks ran a hand through his hair, his wings curling around the room, too-wide and fluffed for the small space. “Should’ve just said something. I imagine you don’t do this kind of thing often.”

“N-no, I don’t.”

Does anyone?

“That’s alright, I know you try your best and just need that extra push, hm?” Hawks sighed, deep in his chest.

With the scarlet swallowing your peripheral vision, you feel like you’re suffocating. Maybe in a good way. You nodded, pliant.

He always knows you. What you want, what you crave, what you need.

Nimble fingers untucked your blouse from your waist, and you yipped at the chill of his fingers. He was undeterred, loosening the garment and immediately going for the buttons.

One by one, they came undone and you wrap your arms tighter around your middle. Hawks ogled, openly and without a care. It made something in you writhe, but you still wanted more of it. His attention, overt affections that supposedly mean nothing-- you want it.

He slid the blouse from your shoulder, letting it fall to the ground. You watched as his feather shuddered, rippling as he let out a few harsh breaths. You knew how you must look, hot and flushed to the touch. Bare on your upper half, sans a cheap bra that had seen better.

“Are you sure--” You weren’t sure what you were going to ask, but Hawks didn’t let you say it besides.

“Yes, of course, obviously,’” He licked his goddamn lips. A taloned-finger caught the pilling strap of your bra, snapping it against your shoulder. “Besides, look at this! Can’t have you representing the agency, me, and my brand wearing shit like this.”

Something burned in your gut, some mix of shame and arousal that was threatening to spill from the wet corners of your eyes.

Hawks dropped to his knees, so fast you hardly could register it. His hands hooked in your skirt by the first two knuckles and tugged and he went down. The sound of splitting fabric cracked in the air, and your skirt fell to the floor in tatters.

And Hawks, the fucker, hovered just inches away from your covered cunt. The cheap cotton of your panties did nothing to shield you from the hot breath that he fanned over you.

“H-Hawks!” You cried out, attempting to push at his shoulders with sweaty palms. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Just taking a closer look,” He gave you no time to protest as those quick fingers of his pulled the elastic of your panties, tugging them down your thighs. He had the decency to tap your ankles, one at a time, so you could step out of the garment. “You don’t mind, do you?”

You let him.

Perhaps you should’ve protested a bit more. Maybe. But it wasn’t like this wasn’t your wildest fantasy. Your sweet, too-kind boss, spoiling you. You weren’t sure if you’d thought about Hawks that way at first, but he had gotten to you at some point. The impromptu lunches, the late nights together, the walks and flights home. There was even that one he’d managed to wrestle a guy getting too handsy at a club with (how had he known you’d even been there?)

Hawks unclipped your bra, throwing the thing to the side with a look akin to disgust. He snatched the hanger and garment from your hand and nodded toward the platform.

“Stand over there like a good girl for me, okay? Don’t take your eyes off yourself.”

You couldn’t disobey him, could you?

You’d seen what he did to people who crossed him, when it really mattered. He didn’t put his heart or energy into something unless he really, actually cared. And the handful of times you’d seen that go to shit had left memories of sharpened feathers and terror-filled eyes in their wake.

But you were good for him. His assistant who always made sure his meetings lined up with his patrols, and that everything was brief unless entirely necessary otherwise. You were the one who made sure he had caffeine nearby and a full belly, even on his most busy of days.

He’d never do anything other than be kind, right?

You didn’t want to find out otherwise.

He approached you from behind, the silk of the garment tucked over his arm. His eyes looked predatory, gleaming and inky.

He only stopped when his chest is flush to your back, hands finding their home just above your hips with a squeeze. You shuddered at the feeling, new and raw and you couldn’t tell if you hated or loved it.

“I want to see how this looks on you, god,” Hawks groaned, nails biting into your skin. “Hold still for me, dove.”

You did.

You didn’t dare move an inch as Hawks took his sweet time dressing you up. The garment is silken straps, the lace wrapping around the curves of your hips and chest, securely with expert bows that he pats into place after each one.

It was impossible to ignore the bulge pressing into your ass. Even as he pulled the pair of panties between your cheeks, stroking the lace and the fat with a wide palm, you were far more focused on the heat and hardness slowly grinding at the other cheek.

He tied you up expertly, and you watched in the mirrors, seeing each angle of it. The way his hands squeezed and pulled at your flesh along the way. The hungry glint in his eyes as he traced your figure. The way his wings seemed to shake and flutter in tandem with your short, quick breaths.

You were truly at his mercy.

“Look at that,” He whistled low, grabbing your jaw and pulling your gaze just where he’d like. “Tied up like a pretty present I told you this would be good, didn’t I?”

“Y-You did.”

Hawks sighed, draping himself over your shoulders and nuzzling into your neck. You could feel the part of his plush lips, the way they drag over your skin. You swore you a nip or two.

His gaze met yours in the mirror. One of his hands trailed low, very low, sliding over top of the lace panties and cupping your sex. His index fingers lazily traced your lips through the fabric, idle. His other went to grope your chest, more insistent as he palmed at you, pinching a nipple as you began to sputter.

A warbled moan cracked from your lips as Hawks fingers dipped below the seams of the pretty garment, rubbing at just the rights parts of you, tugging your body flush to his.

“W-Wait, Hawks!” You wrapped a hand around on his wrist, begging your breath to stay somewhat even. “What if someone hears? Or one of the employees comes back? What if--”

“Do you think I care?” Hawks groaned, grunting as he ground into your ass. The unmistakable sound of fabric tearing cut through the room (again) and the fabric of his pants hit the ground. And suddenly you could feel how hard and hot he was.

Something twisted in your gut and your legs rubbed together. Hawks caught your gaze, scarlet enveloping the room from the sides of your vision and the mirror in front of you.

Hawks shifted your face toward his, nosing along your cheek. The grip on your jaw was replaced by one on your throat; he was hardly exerting any pressure but the threat and meaning were clear.

Keigo has you right where he wants you. He always has, always will. You’re just a bit too... naive? No, maybe dumb... That’s a bit mean, isn’t it?”

“You need this just as I do,” He spoke low and rolling, touch burning like embers. “You know you do. I know you do. You trust me, don’t know?”

All you could do was nod before Keigo slotted his lips to yours, staking a claim that was only new to you. He nipped at your bottom lip, tugged until you were wincing into his mouth. He caught every sound, every little gesture of yours was his, just like you were. Keigo kicked himself for waiting for this so long, but he could be ginger, under the right circumstances. Ones that benefited him. He could only hope you were as good of a fuck as you were fun to toy with.

You’d be sin yet, Keigo resolved as he pulled away. He just had to coax you there first, and he wasn’t against more... direct methods.

Maybe you’d finally get it then.

#salem answers #tw dubcon #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #my hero academia #PLEASE mind the tags askdljfks #i've never posted anything like this on this blog so #enjoy💕#honeykeigo

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kimnjss · 4 years ago

Text

petty games | pjm

⇢ pairing: ot7 x reader // jimin focus. ⇢ genre: smut. // pure unedited filth. ⇢ word count: 6.2K ⇢ theme: established relationships. ⇢ rating: explicit. ⇢ warnings: cursing, slight dirty talk, fingering, light dry humping, oral sex (m. receiving), orgasm denial, jimin is petty as hell lmao, squirting, unprotected sex, two quick handjobs, interrupted orgasms, blowjobs, masturbation, finger licking... i think that’s it?? idk let me know . ⇢ A/N: sooo if this feels all over the place it’s because i wrote this nd the newest update for ‘be my baby’ literally an hour apart from each other nd my brain is fried.

Jimin has always been the biggest tease out of your seven boys. He loved to watch you squirm and never passed up an opportunity to make you beg. You could always tell when he was in a particularly teasing mood because he'd always start out by flat out ignoring you. Denying you the attention that you wanted throughout the day, that sexy smirk weighing on his lips the entire time.

Today was one of those days. It had started when you opted to ride with Jin and Jungkook on your way back to the mountains. A lighthearted joke about his reckless driving which was met with a playful eye roll and mocking laughter.

Not thinking much of it after that, you enjoyed the smooth ride back. Filling up on the yummy food from Tae's mom and chatting with the other cars through the walkie-talkie's.

It's when you're pulling up to the house land do you realize your mistake. May have laughed a little too hard at the fact he left his luggage behind, joining in with Hobi on the teasing. Jimin laughs along too, not entirely annoyed – especially after he's finding out his luggage is being brought in a different car.

That didn't mean he wasn't going to get his own version of payback for all your teasing in the few hours you were with each other.

He's moving in close as you make you way up toward the house, strong hands landing on your hips as he halts your step – pulling your body into his chest. You're instantly surrounded by his warmth, can feel the ripples of his stomach through the fabric of your clothing. The blow of breath against your ear has a shiver running down your spine.

And warmth pooling between your legs.

“You just think everything's so funny, huh?” His voice is gruff in your ear, much deeper than the usual sweet tone he uses when he's talking to you. Without even making the effort to peak at his face, you just know there's fire in his eyes.

You were never one to just cower away, though. “Is it not funny?” You challenge, feeling his grip slightly tighten around you.

He's scoffing quietly in your ear, brow lifting as he tilts his head. Your body shivers when you feel the sharpness of his teeth nibble at your lobe. “Alright, we'll see.” He mumbles, all at once releasing you.

Walking the rest of the way into the house as if he didn't just shake you to the core. Easily had you near drooling, ready for him with a set of simple words. 'We'll see' and you were more than ready to figure out what that was.

After a delicious lunch, where you spent the majority of it sat close to Hoseok, joining in on the random conversation that flowed around you, you're following Yoongi up to the Upper House.

The entire short walk up, he's filling you in on how much he improved on the game he was currently interested in. A long arm wrapping around your waist as he speaks. Not forgetting to mention how he once asked Jimin what his score is, laughing cutely when he reveals what the young boy's answer was.

Yoongi is easily pulling you into his lap as his long fingers tap against the mouse, waking up the desktop. You're able to relax against him at once, his strong arm wrapped around your waist and your head resting on his shoulder.

The sweet smell of him intoxicates you, always smelt a bit like honey. But beneath all of that a scent you can only describe as him. His chin rests on your shoulder, eyes staring on the screen and you're sure this is the most comfortable you've ever felt. He's focused on the game but the gentle stroke of his fingers over your belly never falters.

Drawing random patterns against your skin, soothing you against him. You don't talk. Simply enjoying the comfortable silence that comes with being in his arms. Watching as he mumbles at the screen, controlling his character on the screen in hopes to up his ranking.

The touch against your skin never strays too far from innocent. Even with the cool dampness of his fingers from his drink against your warm skin, he doesn't push it. No matter how many times you shift in his arms. Fingers dragging down the front of your body until he's able to grasp your thigh, the shorts you're wearing allowing him to meet the smoothness of your skin.

“You just shaved?” He wonders, eyes never lifting from the screen. He speaks like it's an afterthought, a mere observation instead of something that was done for his benefit. Either way, you're nodding, tilting your head up so you can steal a glance at his features.

Lips brushing gently over the shell of his ear as you speak. “Full body wax,” His brow lifts, fingers twitching against your skin as if he's daring to check just how 'full body' you're talking. Yoongi doesn't go right for it, takes him time with his advances. Half his focused still on the game, but now he's a bit more tuned into you.

Open-mouthed kisses are pressed against the skin of your shoulder, tongue lightly brushing you just before he's closing his lips around a bit of skin. That paired with the teasing stroke of his fingers on your thighs has you squirming in his arms. He's gentle with the way he touches you, simply enjoying how soft you feel underneath his fingertips.

Yet, each movement is inching higher every time. His kisses growing a bit more heated, teeth coming out to scrape against your skin. Still, one hand still remains on the mouse, directing his character on the screen and even though he wasn't doing all that well, you still didn't have the full attention you wanted.

So you're shifting in his lap, wiggling until you're straddling his thigh. His eyes flicker from the screen to your hand that travels down the front of his body, the tips of your fingers sneaking underneath the waistband of his pants. And he hisses, you've barely touched him and a sharp hiss has left his lips.

Sat in anticipation as you take your time with lowering your hand underneath the band, fingers tense on the mouse. “Shit,” The curse falls from his lips in the same moment his character loses, but you're positive he's referring to the fact that you've wrapped your hand around his shaft.

He's warm in your hand, quickly hardening as you move your hand toward the tip – rolling your thumb over it slowly. Without the game stealing his attention, Yoongi's hand moves more deliberately on you, fingers sneaking into your shorts to meet the lace of your panties.

“Let me take care of you, baby.” His words mumbling into your ear, free hand lifting to pull yours from his pants. Needing a clear head to concentrate on pleasuring you. A jolt of pleasure rushes through your body from the feeling of him teasing your clit. Slowly rolling it between his middle and ring finger as whimpers fall from your lips. “Feel good, baby?”

You're nodding, breathlessly, legs spreading wide for him. It's not long before a wet patch is forming at the front of your panties, the fabric sticking to your skin as he strokes you through it. The feeling has grin pulling at his lips, instantly sliding his hand underneath to meet the softness of your bare pussy.

“Soft,” He sighs in appreciation, a finger dipping into your wanting hole. Walls squeezing around the digit, protesting each time he draws back. His thumb comes up to tease your clit with each thrust, loosening you up until he's able to slide another finger inside of you.

Yoongi pushes in deep, despite the tightness of your walls around him. Groaning along with you when they constrict around the digits. “You're so tight... would feel so good around my cock,” His hips lift at the thought, ready to try out his theory.

He doesn't make any moves to do so, fingers staying buried deep inside of you as his thumb teases your clit. Your hips are doing all the work, fucking yourself on his fingers and he watches with great fascination each roll of your hips. Soft lips press against the side of your neck, allowing you to have your fun.

But only for a moment. It's not long before he's lifting his hand, stilling the movement of your hips, and pulling his fingers back. You're whining out in protest, attempting to chase his fingers with your hips – but he's got a good hold on you.

“Oh!” You're shouting when his fingers drive back into you. Curved upward to drag over the most sensitive spot buried inside of you. Your legs shake with the sudden pleasure, fist gripping his thigh, taking advantage of his loosened grip to rock your hips. “I'm c-close, fuck, Yoongi!” The tingle starts between your legs, quickly traveling throughout your limbs.

It's not long before your hips begin to buck, walls clenched tight around his fingers. Eyes rolled back as your teeth cut into your lower lip. So close you can almost taste it. Just needed a bit more...

And then it's gone. Ripped away from you so fast it takes you a moment to piece it together in your head. Yoongi's pulled his fingers from inside of you, busying himself with licking them clean. An innocent smile spreading across his features when you whip around to face him.

“What was that!?” You're out of breath and it's evident in your tone. Cheeks flushed and head foggy from your near orgasm. Barely able to sort out your thoughts, but that doesn't stop the glare from forming on your features.

He's leaning up, wet lips pressing to the tip of the nose. Finding your angry face extremely adorable. “What was what, baby?” He asks pulling out, so casual that you're wondering if you hadn't just imagined the whole thing.

But the shine on his lips says otherwise. Yoongi's leaning up once more, lips catching your cheek this time. “Think I'm pretty tired. Wanna go join the others while I rest?” And you're so confused that all you can think to do is nod.

Sliding off of his thigh so he can stand, he gives an exaggerated stretch before he's leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. You watch as he takes lazy steps toward the outside door, hand lifting to ruffle his own hair.

Your mind stuck on one thing. What just happened?

Taehyung is the first person you see on your way back to the Main House. He's heading in from the lake, shirt slightly damp and hair floppy cutely around his face. He smiles brightly when he spots you, an arm lifting to wrap over your shoulders – tucking your body into his side.

“You look happy.” He nods, the cute smile he wears growing slightly. “It's so peaceful here,” There's a dream-like tone in his voice which has a grin breaking onto your features. Pleased to see him so relaxed, so in his element here.

It's what he deserved with such a hectic lifestyle. It's what they all deserved. Your arm is wrapping around his waist as you nod in agreement, walking wrapped around him the rest of the way to the Main House.

A sleeping Jungkook is the first thing you spot when you're entering the house. Sprawled out not too far from him is Jin, who is also fast asleep a rolled pillow underneath his back. Hoseok and Jimin build quietly side-by-side, cautious not to make too much noise in fear of waking them up.

Taehyung is carefully unwrapping himself from you, moving to take a seat at the table, finding interest in the half-finished game laid on it. Just with a quick survey of the room, you're instantly noticing someone is missing.

“Where's Joon?” Words directed to either Hoseok or Jimin, but Hoseok is the only one that turns his attention to you.

Jimin on the other hand doesn't look up from the game that he's holding, reading the words that are printed on the back as if his life depended on it. Not paying him much mind, you shift your gaze onto Hoseok.

“He went upstairs to read his book,” He tells you, eyes dragging over your frame before he's turning his attention back to the building blocks he's been working so hard on since you've arrived.

Joon is as advertised, sat in his room with a book in hand. One long leg cross over the other as his large hand holding up his face, pretty eyes scanning over the words on the page. His head turns to you as you enter, lips lifting into a smile while sitting up, tucking the flap of the cover inward to hold his place.

“Don't stop cause I'm here, I like watching you read.” Sinking your bum into the comfort of his bed, you lean back on your elbows. Able to look at him over the bridge of your nose and boy, does he look handsome.

He looked really good in nature, you're deciding. Of course, the hairspray and makeup that came with his one stage persona were eye-catching, but there was something about a bare-faced Joon with messy hair, doing something as simple as reading that had a different type of feeling bubbling in your stomach.

With a quick shake of his head, he's standing, setting the book down on the wooden table set at the foot of his bed. “I'd much rather pay attention to you,” His voice is deep, smile revealing the dimples you have fallen for ten times over.

The bed dips as he lifts his body onto it, arms caging you against him. His face is just inches from yours, close enough that you can see the shades of brown hidden in his dark eyes. Soft bangs tickle your forehead as he leans in, the gentlest of kisses pressed to your lips. “I'm glad you came back with us. They've missed you.”

Always one to speak for the time, hardly ever bringing up his own feelings unless he's provoked. Usually, you're taking what he says as a whole. Assuming that when he speaks of the other's he's also speaking for himself. Not this time, though.

You want to hear him say it. They had gone back to Seoul for a few days and with how busy their schedule instantly got you weren't able to see them at all while they were there. Which wasn't unusual, considering how in demand these boys were. But, it was a harsh change from being able to fall asleep with them, wake up in their arms, play whenever you wanted, laugh happily together... to absolutely nothing.

With the lift of your arms, you're able to wrap them around his neck – back falling against the soft mattress with the absence of their leverage. Joon's leaning with you, arms moving quickly to keep himself from completely crushing you as he hovers. “What about you?” Eyes searching his as confusion furrows his brow.

“Did you miss me too?”

There's a soft tint in his cheeks, the dust of pinkness that gives way just how much he missed you. Either way, the sight of the blushing smile that pushes on his lips, the heartwarming: “Missed you like crazy,” That falls from his lips, has your heart rate rising in the best way.

So much so, that you don't hesitate to press your lips back against his. Mouth moving over each other's slowly as your fingers knit themselves in his soft hair. His lips taste like sweet coffee, warm. He's able to pull a soft moan from your lips by sucking your lower lip between his teeth.

Hands sliding down to grasp your waist, holding your body to his just for a moment before he's reaching down. Joon's fingers dig into your thighs as he lifts your legs, wrapping one around his hip so he's able to lower himself in the space he's created.

Your hands slide underneath his shirt, nails scraping over the toned skin. His cock jumps from the contact, paying great attention to the drag of your fingers that seems to slip just low enough to barely graze the growing bulge in his pants. He's pushing his wet tongue past your lips, rolling it with your as his hips roll down.

The slow drag of his hard length against your cover clit has a whimper falling from your lips. Hips lifting to his, moans dying on his tongue. His hold on your thigh tightens, tugging your body flush against his until it feels as if there's nothing separating you. A loud pop parts your lips, and you're only allowed a moment to admire how he looks right now.

Eyes hooded, cheeks flushed, and lips wet and bitten red from your teeth. Joon is quickly lowering his head into the crook of your neck, sucking marks into the skin as the thrusts of his hips pick up in speed. He's using his grip on you to guide your movements, ensuring that your clit is meeting his cock with each lift.

Quickly, you're growing desperate. That familiar pressure building in your stomach from the consistent stimulation to your most sensitive area. Lips, teeth, and tongue work to create pretty bruises on the skin of your neck, following a wet trail until he's reaching the tops of your breasts.

Light kisses are placed against your cleavage, while a hand sneaks up to tease your nipple through the fabric of your shirt. This has a pang of arousal shooting through your body, back arching as a panted moan flies from your lips. “Fuck, Joon.” There's no point in hiding the whine that coats your voice.

His smirk is felt against your skin, teeth baring to nibble at your skin while his finger tweaks and pinches your nipple into a peak. All the while, his hips haven't slowed down their roll into your core. Legs wrapped tight around him, you can feel every inch through the fabric of his sweats.

You're close, can tell from the way your walls clench around nothing. And he can tell from the frantic lift of your thighs, desperate to reach your high. His hips slow, head leaning back to reveal that teasing smirk to your dazed eyes. “You close, baby?”

“Yes, yes... please,” Not even able to finish your sentence, because his hips are stopping completely. Stealing away any ounce of friction you once had. A soft kiss is pressed to your protesting lips, body moving from yours before you can properly objection.

Scrambling to sit up, your eyes narrow at him from where he now stands across the room. Picking his book up as if he hadn't just had you right at the edge of an orgasm. “Joon!” Your shout has his head lifting, mocking confusion written on his features.

“Yeah, baby?” A wide gesture of your hand is directed toward you, in a type of 'duh' motion that's also written across your features. He acts as if he has no idea what you're talking about, hand lifting to push his hair back on his forehead. “I'm gonna go shower, I'll be back.”

Despite your annoyance, he's still leaning over the bed to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Hands buried in his pockets to keep from pulling you toward him or anything of the sort. His book tossed and forgotten on the chair and you're laid back on his bed watching as he stalks into the bathroom.

Not a care in the world. Not even sparing a backward glance.

“Jimin, do you want to come play ping pong with me?” Asking as you enter the room, Hoseok in the same spot as before with even more Lego pieces placed out in front of him. Jimin holds an iPad in his hand, eyes focused on the TV as he scrolls through for a song to Karaoke.

A quick glance is spared in your direction, so quick if you hadn't been staring at him the way you were – you would've missed it. “No thanks, I'm gonna do this.” He's gesturing to the screen, a pout instantly taking over your features.

“Are you still grumpy with me?” He's not answering, ignoring you with that smirk on his face as he waits for his song to load.

It seems like whatever he's on has spread throughout the house. First the build up with Yoongi, that took you longer than it should've to put together that it wasn't just in your head. Then, the whole thing with Joon upstairs. Being teased by both of them and ignored by Jimin who couldn't seem to get rid of that smirk.

Yeah, something had to be up.

With nobody to ping the pong with, you're entering the room. Sitting crisscross in front of Hobi while Jimin sings his heart out behind you. “Can I build with you?” He's nodding instantly, two large hands pushing the pieces closer for you to reach. The rest of the night continues like that.

Happily building with Hoseok as Jimin sings in the background, now joined by Taehyung. Joon chimes in here and there from the deck where he paints. If it weren't for the dull ache between your legs, called from the two denied orgasms earlier – you'd be the most relaxed you've ever been.

Because it's nice. And you're able to stay in this semi comfort zone until dinner is rolling around. Called up by a hurried Jungkook, a proud smile on his face as he fills the room in on his newfound flat fish filleting skills. You're all heading up to the set table at once, taking seats around.

Sat between Jungkook and Jimin, body leaning toward the elder subconsciously. In need of some type of attention from him and he's enjoying depriving you of it. Not sparing a gaze as he shovels food into his mouth, but you don't miss the way he transfers your favorite bits of soup into your cup.

Still grumpy with you, your foot. It's sad, how the simple action has you buzzing, but it does. And the dopey smile doesn't drop from your features the entire time you're sat beside him eating. Something as small as this having you swooning, so imagine your excitement when his arm is wrapping around your shoulders as you stand.

“Think you've been teased enough tonight?” His words are mumbled into the ear, the only thing you hear over the member deciding on who was going to stay back and clean up. So he did have something to do with it! Not sure how or when he rounded up his Hyungs to play along with his little game, but it made so much sense now that you knew they were in on it.

The 'we'll see' he had mumbled in your ear earlier holding much more weight now. That doesn't keep you from leaning into him, nodding your head quickly. “It's not so nice, now is it?” Sharp teeth graze over your lobe, the heat of his body pressed to yours and if you had a little bit less decency you'd be pushing him down onto the now cleared table.

The thought lingers in your mind a moment longer than you're willing to admit.

“No, it's not.” You try not to pout, but it's hard when you're emotions are on a high and all you want is some type of release. It's like Jimin is somehow reading your mind, his hands dropping to grasp your hips. He's leading you away from the table and into the house.

The giddy feeling grows in your stomach, the closer you get to his bedroom.

The moment the door is pushed closed, his lips are on yours. Body pressing yours against the wall as he moves his mouth in time with yours. His hands dropping down to reach for your thigh, lifting it off the floor to wrap around his hip.

“It's so hard to stay away from you.” He's mumbling through a groan, the pull from his teeth on his lower lip sending a shiver down your spine. You're pushing into him, arms wrapping around his neck as you pulling him closer. Wanting to feel more of him. Desperate for more of him. So worked up, from the teasing through the day. You're sure you'd fall apart with a simple swipe of his fingers.

Words swallowed by the plushness of his lips. “Don't do it again,” He's grinning against your mouth, pulling back to show off those straight white teeth of his. Loving the sight of the pout that curves your mouth. “You're so cute when you get pouty, though.” As if he needs to prove his statement, his fingers are reaching out to poke your pushed out lip.

“Never again.” You warn, attempting to sound intimidating, but it doesn't work in the way you think. Jimin's arms are reaching down to circle around your thighs, easily lifting your body off of the floor. Body higher than his, you're able to look down at him. Hands braced on his shoulders as he rests your back against the wall again.

He's leaning up, mouth attaching to the exposed skin just above your collarbone. It's the slow drag of his tongue that has your body squirming in his hold. Lips parting in a gasp when his teeth tug at the skin, your fingers curling into his messy hair. Your hips roll against his in response, pulling a grunt from his lips at the friction.

His shaft gently pressing against your thigh has you aching for more. Quick to reach your hand between your bodies, determination in your movements. Jimin's hissing out a breath when your hand is covering him through the fabric of his jeans.

Only resting your palm over his bulge and it doesn't take long before he's grinding against your fingers. His mouth on your neck leaving much sloppier kisses, concentration faltering with your hand on him. Meeting him halfway, you're stroking your fingers over him, spreading them so you're able to reach his balls too.

“Fuck,” Jimin grunts, head bowing so his forehead is rested against your shoulder. You feel him harden under your touch, his hips rocking freely in tandem with the movement of your hand over him. Hips twitching as your fingers squeeze around him, teeth digging into the plush skin of his lip.

He's reaching down, grasping your wrist in his. Slowly, he guides your palm into beneath the elastic waistband, lips finding yours at the same time he's curling your fingers around his shaft. A moan is falling from your lips with the feel of the velvety skin. One experimental thrust has a drawn-out groan falling from his lips, hips lifting to chase your hand.

You've shifted in his arms, managed to straddle his thigh instead. You're impressed with the amount of strength he's putting forth to hold you up, all while pleasure racks through his body. Not one to have a muscle kink... but right now, who knows?

Jimin's moans follow the movements of your hands, the twist that you had when you reach the top. How you've still managed to palm his balls with your free hand. It's when your thumb is teasing the sensitive clit that his hips are stuttering to a stop, a murmured cruse falling from his lips.

“Suck me off,” Enough space between your faces now that you can clearly see his face. How fucked out you were able to make him, just in the few minutes you had been jerking him. “Please.” He adds, not wanting his desperation to come off as rude. Which has a giggle falling from your lips.

Clambering down in front of him, kneeled down in front of him. And you look pretty even at this angle. Lips slightly swollen from the amount of enthusiasm he put into kissing you. His hands scramble to lower his pants off his hips, your eyes being met with the large bulge that strains against his briefs.

Hands moving faster than his this time, you're grasping the sides of the underwear, taking your time with pulling them down his legs. His cock bounces in its release, long, pretty, and glistening with a thin layer of precum, which has drool pooling on your tongue. Hands set on his thighs, so he's reaching down to wrap his hand around his shaft.

The muscles in his stomach constrict as he strokes his palm against himself. He looks so good standing over you like this, firm grip holding his cock in place while his free hand reaches to pull your hair into a makeshift ponytail. Jimin uses his grip to pull you closer to him, and your mouth is opening instantly.

Tongue pushed out, the head of his cock is warm against the wet muscle. The breathy moan that leaves Jimin's mouth as he's pushing deeper into your mouth fills the room, sending a shock of arousal throughout your core. A single hand wrapped around his base to properly guide him into your wanting mouth.

Hips following the movement, eyes fluttering as he glides deeper past your lips. “Fuck, so warm, baby.” Fingers flex with the grip he holds in your hair, hesitating to pull you further onto him. His hesitance is met with the way your hands slide from his thighs to the roundest part of his ass, tugging him closer.

A hissed breath falls from his lip, the hand that had been clutching his shaft lifting to move his shirt out of the way. Only so he can watch you properly, hips slowly thrusting into your open mouth. Eyes lifting to take him in, head slightly tilted back, jaw clenched revealing that vein at the side of his neck.

His eyes are meeting yours, which awakens a fire in his stomach. Pulling back slightly, only to push back harder into your mouth. He watches the way you're able to swallow him down with each thrust, mouth wide and watery eyes staring up at him. “So pretty,” Jimin mumbles, fingers tightening in your hair.

He holds your head still this time as he pulls back, moving slowly as he pushes further. Throat instantly constricting from the tickle of his hip, you fight the cough that claws its way up your throat, urging your throat to relax.

Jimin's quickly falling into a steady pace. Hips rocking against your face as he watches his cock disappear inside of your mouth with each forward push. Drool pools around your lips, mixing messily with the precum that leaks from his tip. Eyes watery from the strain, but still pretty in Jimin's eyes.

There was something different that came with sucking Jimin off. The way he looked at you, the desire written in his lust-filled stare. It always made you feel hot. Wanted. And this time is no different, wetness pooling between your thighs and you're not sure if it's from his stare or his cock between your lips.

Either way, it has a hand sliding down the front of your body. Two fingers easily pushing past your dripping walls. Jimin's eyes are following the movement of his fingers, a soft gasp falling from your lips once they're between your legs. He fastens his pace almost on instinct, never tearing his gaze from the push of your fingers inside of you.

Concentration split between sucking him off and fucking yourself, hips rocking to help you along the way. The movement of your fingers matches the roll of his hips. Heel of your hand hitting against your clit each time you're pushing in deep, forcing a muffled moan through your lips.

He watches the skillful way your fingers move inside of you, how deep you push them, and the attention that you pay to your clit. Hips rolling to meet the thrust of your fingers. You had been so worked up all day that you're reaching the edge sooner than usual. The stretch of your fingers, paired with him cock down your throat has you teetering until you're tumbling over with one powerful thrust.

Your orgasm washes over you like a wave, thighs threatening to close which only results in lifting your hips. The spray of your orgasm is forcing your fingers from inside of you, quickly lifting them to tease your clit as ride the rest of it out. Whimpered moans muffled by the cock in your mouth.

The vibrations of your voice shoot through his shaft, stomach caving in while his cock twitches on your tongue. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His chant is followed by the drag of his cock leaving your mouth. It's wet with your saliva, a thing line of it keeping your lips connected to him.

Jimin scrambles to reach for you, lifting you off your knees. There's haste in his step as he crosses the bedroom, laying your body onto his bed. He's just as fast with hovering over you, mouth capturing your as he pushing his tongue against yours. Tongue twisting and swirling with yours and he can taste himself heavily through the kiss.

One hand nudges your legs apart, the other wrapped firmly around his shaft. “I didn't want to cum before I fucked you,” He's explaining through an embarrassed laugh; which has a laugh falling from your lips as well, legs parting wider for him. “Fuck me, then.”

He doesn't need to hear it twice before his bulbous head is pushing against your entrance. Wet from your previous orgasm, the wet squelch fills the room as he breaks through the first ring of resistance.

His dark eyes burn into yours as he pushes his way past your tight walls. Soft groans falling from his lips with each inch that sinks deeper into you. Your fists grip the bedsheets beside you, the pained pleasure of the stretch of him clouding your senses. He's got one hand firmly set on your hip, the other keeping your leg lifted and out of the way.

“Oh, God.” You whimpering, when the last bit of him pushes past your walls. Hips flush against yours. His grasp is moving from your hip to lift your other leg onto his waist, sliding just a bit deeper.

Only a moment is spared for you to get used to the stretch before your hips are wiggling, silently begging from some movement. Jimin's quickly drawing his hips back. “Your pussy feels so good,” He whines, the feel of him and the sound of his voice pulling a moan from your lips.

Hips meeting each other's in stuttered thrusts until you're falling into a steady pace. Jimin is rolling his hips against yours, smoothly pumping in and out of your aching core, and you meet each one of his thrusts with one of your own. “Look at this greedy little cunt,” He's pulling back until his head catches on your entrance.

“Desperate to cum all day, huh?” Surging forward, forcing your body upward on the bed. He repeats the action twice more, broken cries falling from your lips. “Yes!” Head bobbing up and down in agreement, which has a smirk lifting onto his lips.

He's fucking into you with new found confidence, pleased that his little plan to get you worked up had worked. Eyes widening, a whimpered squeal leaves your lips from the feeling of his cock brushing against your gspot. Back arching as you reach for his arms.

“Right there, baby. A-again.” You gasp. And he's granting you with the same swivel of his hips as before. “That good, baby?” Brain to fogged to form a coherent sentence, you take to nodding your head, a long hum sounding from your closed lips. He's concentrating his thrusts on that spot, loving the way your thighs shake against him.

Your orgasm nearly knocks the wind out of you, walls constricting around his shaft as your back lifts off the bed. Broken sobs of praise and his name fall from your lips, toes curling as your hips buck. Jimin manages to fuck you through it, groaning hotly in your ear from the new tightness that comes with it. It's not long before his thrusts are growing sloppy, hurried as he chases his own release.

“Fuck, Yn!” He grunts, pinning his hips to your as his cum leaves his body. Painting your walls in thick spurts, that has a buzz of pleasure starting in your core. Out of breath and sweaty, he's placing a quick kiss to your lips once he's regained his strength.

The smile that takes over his features has your heart skipping a beat, hand lifting to push your hair from your face. “You're so perfect,” Sighing, he leans up for one last kiss, drawing his hips back to pull out of you.

Both too tired to go properly wash off, you're falling asleep wrapped in each other warms. Enveloped by his warmth and the gentle stroke of his head on his back. He's asleep before you, the steady rise and fall of his chest lifting your head.

Not far behind him, you keep an arm wrapped around his torso. Legs intertwined with his and a smile on your face. Yeah, you definitely had to tease him more often.

- seven days in the forest spent with your seven boyfriends while they film their upcoming reality tv show. there’s no telling what the eight of you will get into when the cameras are off.

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