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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Mercy, Sabotage, and Dead Space

(gif credit to @redwyyne-archive)

Part One of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.7K

Summary:

1. No sex.

2. No touching yourself.

3. No orgasms.

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

***

This.

This shit, right here.

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

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

But then you met… fucking Dameron.

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

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

But this?

This shit? Right here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yep, there it is. “Second of all—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You… aren’t expecting that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alright, no, wait—backtrack—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A false sense of…

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

… What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except, oddly, he doesn’t say much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. Shitshitshit, did that actually work?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then everything goes dark.

No, literally. The stars disappear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Stay tuned for part two coming soon!!

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

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heavywithourbabies · 3 years

Text

Ten pounds, One week

She couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned (well as best as she could) and tried everything she could think of to put her mind at ease but she just couldn’t sleep. It was too much. All of it was too much. Her whole body was aching and sore, the slightest movement causing more discomfort. Even in their bed, the place she loved most, the mattress was an unforgiving rock to her body. The pillows far too soft without any support. Even the body pillow felt stiff and rigid against her. “10 pounds” she thought, over and over again. “10 pounds”. Then the other thought came. The one she was trying so hard to keep away. The one that caused her the most frightful heart racing anxiety she had ever felt. One more week. The baby kicked slightly and she whimpered. Rubbing her aching belly to try and sooth him, but it only prompted more movement under her taut flesh. Her husband snored next to her and she was on the verge of tears. Her whole body felt like a prison at this point. Completely trapped in this cumbersome and awkwardly huge body, she couldn’t find any relief. It all was too much. It hurt too much. She took a deep breath in and told herself it would be over soon. That this would all be worth it. She closed her eyes and tried to drift off but then the baby kicked again. Hard. She couldn’t help but moan in pain as the thought struck her again. “10 pounds. One week.” The baby kicked her again almost in her cervix and she cried out, unable to hold back the tears which had been building almost all night.

He woke up next to her, hearing her sobs. He was still half asleep but knew the sound of his wife in pain, and it broke his heart. He turned to her back in bed and started rubbing it. “Baby” he said “What’s wrong?”

She buried her face deeper in the pillow and cried harder. He kept rubbing her back and cuddled up close to her, her bare skin hot to the touch. “Honey, please. Tell me.” He said with genuine concern and love for her.

“It’s everything” she said between cries. “It’s everything that’s happened to me, it’s what’s going to happen, it’s what’s happening…” He gently put his hand on her shoulder. “Baby, please, I don’t understand what you’re saying – “he began before she looked at him with tears running down her face. She swallowed and started to say “it’s the – “but then the baby kicked her again, or perhaps punch was the better word since he was upside down. She yelped and threw the blankets back to expose herself.

“It’s THIS!!” She cried, looking at her body.

She had always had a bit of an hourglass figure with well-rounded curves and even with a few extra pounds she was attractive but the pregnancy had taken that from her. In her mind she felt altered. Helpless in this state. Almost mutated……into this. Her hips flared in pain as she turned on her back and tried to sit up against the pillows. They had separated a bit and the awful weight of it all wore down on her pelvis. She felt as if a bowling ball was sitting right atop of her vagina. Which was also aching and taken from her in the pregnancy. In her mind it used to be a small cute thing with pretty floral lips that she could spread and play with. Now it was thick and fatty. Meaty and big. Her lips bulged out, deep and dark, and she couldn’t stand to wear underwear anymore as the hamburger that was her crotch would constantly leak and ruin everything. It was obscene to her. Her most private feminine parts exaggerated into cartoonish proportions. Her thighs ached from carrying all the extra weight and her ass…. she had always been proud of it being big and she knew her husband loved it but now it was huge and plump. Something anyone could notice and stare at. Her breasts once a double d had swollen twice their size. Small stretch marks adorned the underside of them and veins could be seen under the thick flesh. They became heavy and hurt. Aching with milk for the baby. Her areolas were dinner plates now, dark and huge. Her nipples stood painfully erect as drops of milk throbbed out of their ducts. All of her womanly curves distorted and blown up. But the worst…. The worst was her belly. It hung low as the baby dropped recently and was almost hanging off her wide hips. The belly dominated her, huge and unforgivingly heavy. It was dense and packed so full with her huge 10-pound baby in her swollen womb. The skin was pulled painfully taut and hurt all the time, while the heavy weight made it throb. In the beginning and middle of pregnancy she had loved her “bump” but now…. It was like she was just arms legs and tits attached to a giant sphere. Angry red stretch marks laid claim to her belly flesh and her belly button jutted out. That even hurt. Her belly button hurt.

“Look at me” she wailed. “look what’s happened to me!” Her husband could tell by her tone she had obviously let herself spiral out in her thoughts. He would need to do something.” I’m a huge circus freak now!” she cried.

“Well you are a bit bigger than a house” he said with a smile hoping to get her to laugh.

She wasn’t having it.

“I’m bigger than a house.” She started up again with fresh tears in her eyes. “I’m bigger than a beached whale. Look at my body. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand being inside of all…. THIS!” She patted her belly for emphasis and as she did her breasts began to openly leak. “Oh God…… even my tits…. it hurts….” She heaved her heavy body to the side with her back to her husband and cried big salty tears that blurred her vision.

He had been staring at her as she went on. In fact, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. It was slightly embarrassing for him. Here she was in pain and he was- well- he was getting hard. The sight of his wife carrying his baby turned him on like nothing else. All of her beautiful curves were only womanlier and more feminine to him. She was radiant. She was beautiful. She was a fertility goddess made real. He rubbed her back softly as she cried while the sight of her big heart shaped ass made him ache for her.

“The baby is 10 pounds.” She sniffled. “10 pounds. How am I supposed to push that out in a week? What will I look like after that? Even worse? Feel even worse? I’ll just be hanging skin and a floppy belly with ugly stretch marks and- “

She stopped as she felt his big warm hands go from her back to her aching breasts. He was fondling them gently. But it hurt. He grazed a leaking nipple and tugged on it slightly and she let out a hiss of pain. “Don’t” She said. He returned his fingers to her nipples and lightly grazed them, playing with them slowly in circular motions. They felt raw to his touch. “Don’t, please – “She began again and then felt him pressing his hardness against her soft ass.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he asked as he started to grind himself against her backside. “Do you have any clue how sexy you are like this?”

“Please, I know you’re lying – “She was about to let defeat wash over her and then her husband pulled open her thighs and without checking with her, drove himself in. She couldn’t help but cry out. Her fat, swollen pussy was already wet from being so pregnant and he took full advantage.

“I want you to stop thinking about yourself like that.” He said “in fact, I don’t ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again.” His grip on her breast tightened forcing her to spurt out milk and then his hand was climbing up her slender neck. The strong fingers wrapping around her throat. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?” he asked as he slowly thrusted into her. His grip around her neck tightened. “Don’t ever talk like that.”

Despite her misery, she felt herself opening up to him. Felt herself grow slicker to his driving in and out. “yes” she said in a small voice.

He thrusted in as deep and as hard as could and just kept himself rigid there, impaling her on his thick cock. His grip was like iron on her throat. “Say it again” he demanded.

“Yes” She said as best as she could with his hand clamped on her neck and felt herself almost gushing on his cock. The baby kept moving, searching for any spare space inside her belly. “You are the sexiest fucking thing I have ever seen carrying this baby.” Her husband said as he started to thrust in faster. Her big ass pressing against him, trying to keep him at bay. “you have never looked sexier than you do right now, big and ripe with my baby.” Despite her large behind, he kept plowing deep in her. There was pain as he went and her body still ached but a warm feeling kept building in her belly. She felt her nipples straining hard as trails of pre-milk made their way down her swollen chest. “You are my fucking fertile sex goddess.” He said with dominance and she could hear how wet she was stretching around his cock. “I am your- “she tried to speak but the warm feeling was becoming a fire inside her now, rising through her massive swollen belly and to her chest. She felt wave after wave of it hitting her deep in her core. She ached. She hurt. But she also knew he wasn’t lying. His need and desire for her were overwhelming. She felt light again. Almost her old self. If wasn’t lying –

Her husband started drilling into her faster. His balls hitting her clit as he went.

“If he wasn’t lying -”

“Tell me what you are!” He whispered hotly in her ear. His lower arm wrapped around her belly protectively.

“If he wasn’t lying” she thought and felt herself nearing the crest of something good and wonderful. “I am YOUR sex goddess” She gasped. She took his hand on her belly and pressed it tighter so he could feel his baby kicking. The sheets under her chest were soaked now and she felt herself almost drooling between her legs. “Feel me” She said as she rubbed her belly with her husband. “Feel how big and swollen I am for you.”

Her husband grunted and she knew he was close. So was she.

“Feel how heavy I am.” She purred. “how heavy I am with him.”

“Heavy with who” he demanded again in between sharp inhales of breath.

“Heavy with YOUR baby.” She answered in. a husky voice and she felt him go rigid inside of her. Her soft swollen walls could feel his cock throb and twitch deep inside her hot cunt. She felt herself tip over the edge as the first spurt of his warm cum hit her walls. She moaned in ecstasy as her husband, the man she loved, the man who found her sexy no matter what, shot rope after rope of hot cum deep in her core.

The two stayed locked into place like that for what felt like a long time. Neither of them talking. She almost thought he was asleep when the baby kicked again and she felt his big hand rub the spot of movement, trying to soothe his son. She still worried. She still had the anxiety. Her body still ached and felt wretched. But for the moment, she could take it. And in a week she would meet her baby boy. She thought about the labor and the feeling of finally giving him to her husband to hold and she smiled. “10 pounds. One week” she thought and closed her eyes.

#pregnancyfetish #pregnantfetish #pregnanterotica #pregnancyerotica #heavywithmybabies

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thirstyforthearcana · 3 years

Text

Desperate [Julian x Decimus] 🍋

A/N: This is for the first day of the @midsummer-masquerade event which I’ve been super pumped about since it was announced, I combined shibari and marking. It is a bit late as it’s 12:19AM where I am but better late than never I suppose. I’ve never posted anything self made to this account yet so I suppose this is also me introducing myself to the rest of the Arcana fandom (Please don’t be too harsh on my writing this is my first published piece)

Pairings: Julian x Decimus (amab nonbinary OC), brief mentions of Decimus x Kaala (female Arcana OC) and of Asra x Julian

Word count: 1300~

Warnings: Marking (hickeys), bondage, dom/sub dynamic, teasing, spice

NSFW 18+. Minors DNI

Julian had been the one to approach Decimus, striding over boldly with his head held high and a confident smirk tugging at his lips. His advances had been brazen, flirtatious words and suggestive looks. That had happened just over twenty minutes ago and from there things had quickly escalated.

As of this exact moment the two of them were in the brunette’s guest room with Julian pressed against the door as Decim’s lips moved against his in a heated kiss. One of their hands moved up into Julian’s auburn hair tugging at it in a manner which coaxed a mewl from the lithe man. His responsiveness pleased Decimus who parted from the kiss using their grip on the redhead’s curls to tip his head back so they could trail feather light kisses across Julian’s pale throat. The contact to his oh so vulnerable, rather sensitive throat sent a shiver through him as the hair on the back of his neck rose. Their lips felt so good on his skin.

A small sound of mild surprise left Julian when he felt a teasing nip at his Adam's apple. He wove a hand into Decim’s lengthy hair, clutching it to ground himself as his eyes fluttered shut. Decimus began to suckle at the pale pink mark their teeth had left, lightly at first then harder when they took note of how much it seemed to turn Julian on.

He’s so sensitive, Decim mused to themself.

Each second felt like an eternity to Julian who squirmed at every dark hickey being added to the canvas of his flesh which made his cock throb with the aching need for proper stimulation. He rocked his hips forward, grinding himself on Decim’s strong thigh which the latter had pressed between his legs when pinning him to the door in an effort to keep him still. Typically that worked on Kaala but Julian was clearly a whole different breed than her bratty ass. He was an obedient sub, needy for both touch and praise and all too eager to please.

Decimus allowed Julian to begin working himself over on their thigh as they moved away from the latest hickey they had left, deciding to instead pay his neglected chest some attention. They ran the tip of their tongue across a nipple causing another shiver to course through Jules’ body and his grip on their hair to tighten. When their hot mouth fully enveloped the pink bud he let out a low wanton moan.

“Fuck, ah, that feels so good darling,” the former fugitive mewled out, the rocking of his hips stuttering slightly when they flicked their tongue across his nipple several times in rapid succesion. They were going to be the death of him.

With a low hum Decim pulled away from Julian’s chest to get a good look at his flushed face before dipping their head back down to pay the same eager attention to his other nipple. The way they circled the perky bud with their tongue had Jules’ grinding against them with renewed fervor. He could feel his orgasm steadily drawing closer.

Julian was just on the cusp of reaching his finish when Decimus pulled away causing the former to let out a whine of protest as he dragged his eyes halfway open, “Why… Why did you stop?” he panted out.

“Because I want to take my time with you tonight,” Decim responded, raking those intense golden eyes of theirs over Julian’s disheveled form. They gave a thoughtful hum before nodding towards the bed, “Sit, and no toying with yourself, understood? You want to be a good boy for me don’t you?”

Jules gave a fervent nod as he obediently crossed the room to perch himself at the bottom of the bed, “Of course Decimus. I’ll be good, I promise,” he murmured shyly, a light blush colouring his cheeks a rosy pink.

This earned the redhead a pleased sound from the former royal whose lips curled into a pleased smile as they crossed the room and knelt beside the bed to pull a box out from under it.

Julian’s brow furrowed slightly as he observed Decim, “Uh darling, what exactly is that?”

“Just a few things I thought might come in handy,” they stated simply as they sifted through the contents. “How do you feel about being bound? Is it something you’re comfortable with?” Decimus soon questioned, their eyes moving to meet Jules’ once more.

Julian paused as he looked over the rope bundles of various thickness that Decim held up. His thoughts dared to roam to a distant memory of one of the times Asra had bound him during their sexcapades together. His hands were bound tightly behind his back in a simple armbinder and he was face down in the mattress drooling into the sheets as Asra fucked him from behind. He had enjoyed the feeling of security the rope bindings had provided, amongst the other sensations he had been feeling at the time. He blinked, the memory dissipating as he swallowed thickly, “I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“Have you been bound before?”

Julian only nodded in response, another flush rising to his face.

“Do you have a preferred rope thickness?” Decimus inquired casually while laying out a couple of the bundles on the bed beside Julian.

Jules gave this some thought as he examined each bundle of red rope, selecting something of medium thickness which he held out to Decim.

After checking and rechecking that being bound was something Julian was comfortable with, Decimus had him settle in the middle of the bed with his arms pressed together above his head. Decim knelt on the bed in front of Jules, leaning forward to capture his lips in a slow, sensual kiss which had butterflies taking flight in the stomach of the latter. He practically melted into Decim’s touch, savouring the feeling of their warm hands trailing across his exposed flesh, gently caressing it.

Several kisses later Decimus pulled away reaching for the length of rope which he folded in half at the center before looping it around Julian’s chest to form a lark's head knot, the base for most chest harnesses. It was loose enough that the rope wouldn’t bite into his skin but still sturdy as the tails of the rope were brought up over Jules’ left shoulder, looped around the pre-tied section of rope then thrown over his right shoulder.

Fifteen minutes later Julian’s chest was accentuated with a pentagram chest harness and his arms were bound together in an intricate corset armbinder. The ends of the rope at his wrists had been secured firmly to the headboard limiting the squirming of his upper body.

“What a good boy you were holding still and being so patient for me,” Decim praised, stroking the backs of their knuckles along the back of Julian’s cheek gently. “I think you deserve a reward for being so well behaved, don’t you baby?”

Julian gave an eager nod, “Please, I need you, I want to feel your touch,” he begged, the lack of attention to his throbbing cock was frankly beginning to drive him insane.

Decimus seemed content to steal a final fleeting kiss from the redhead which was promptly broken so they could settle further down the bed, face at level with his pelvis. Rather than immediately wrapping their lips around the head of Julian’s cock which weeped precum steadily they pressed a kiss to the protruding bone of his hip.

Jules whined pushing his hips upwards, impatient for stimulation as he uttered another more desperate sounding, “Please.”

Decim hummed looking up at Julian from under their long lashes, the corners of their lips curling upwards into a grin, “I’m going to enjoy ruining you tonight.”

#vesuviaafterdark #midsummer masquerade #the arcana game #lemon #julian devorak #decimus aurelius #julian devorak x mc #julian devorak x apprentice #julian x decimus #fan apprentice #the arcana fan apprentice #the arcana apprentice

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otterandterrierwrites · 4 years

Note

7 or 10, or if you like, a combination of both, please?

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long, but this one was a challenge! (and also, I kept writing other stuff) This is the last of the requests I got from the smutty prompts list—which I opened almost a year ago for Valentine’s Day 😅I’m not going to pretend I don’t do this literally every time. Anyway, you guys are free to keep sending me prompts from that list and I’ll do them in between other projects if you don’t mind the wait. The rest of this collection can be found in this tag, ao3 and ffn.

7. coming untouched and/or early + 10. having to be very quiet for fear of being overheard

Fantasy

Han’s self-satisfied smirk dropped in a partly-acted scowl.

‘What’d you scoff at?’

Leia didn’t even pause as she gathered their empty dishes from the table.

‘Um, what you just said.’

‘Which part, the bit they call Han a natural sex symbol, or the testimony?’ Luke chimed in, barely holding in his laughter behind his glass.

‘Hey! You are just jealous,’ Han said, pointing a condemning finger.

‘Why would I be jealous? They call me a golden boy and… other things I won’t repeat.’

‘That ain’t the same as being a sex symbol and you know it,’ Han said, gathering the knives and forks. Luke just shrugged.

‘Well, to answer your question, even though the whole thing is hilarious, I was scoffing at the testimony.’ Leia turned in the tiny kitchen in her and Han’s apartment to put the dishes in the sink as she quoted the holozine article they had been discussing. ‘“Han Solo is so hot, I can guarantee you he makes people come just by looking at them”. That’s a bit much, don’t you think?’

‘Those rags are getting racier, that’s for sure,’ Luke said darkly, getting up to help carry their empty glasses.

‘Aw, don’t worry, sweetheart, you’re the only one I wanna look at,’ Han said with a big grin and a very deliberate wink as they stopped in front of each other.

‘You know it takes a lot more than that,’ Leia said, rolling her eyes. Luke groaned and squished past them. The initially harmless conversation was turning into more than he seemed willing to handle, and doing the dishes appeared like a suitable escape even if it didn’t take him too far out of earshot. ‘No matter how hot you are.’

Han draped the dishtowel over a shoulder and looked smugly at her. ‘So you do think I’m hot, huh?’

‘No, I just think keeping you around is handy. Chores get done in half the time.’

The conversation moved on as they finished cleaning up. They hadn’t seen Luke in over a month: he had resigned his position in the New Republic even before Han on a quest for knowledge on the Jedi Order. He’d long given up keeping a place of his own in Chandrila, so even though their apartment was minuscule, Leia always insisted he stayed with her and Han on his visits.

After brushing her teeth and setting her brother up in the sofa, Leia closed the bedroom door behind her and began to undress. She looked up halfway through, one of her legs still in her pants, to find Han staring at her from the foot of the bed. He was clad only in his underwear and the look of someone who had a winning Sabacc hand.

Amused, she raised an eyebrow. ‘Enjoying the show, flyboy?’

‘Always.’

Leia hung her clothes from a rack and walked over to him. Accepting his offered hands, she climbed into his lap, her knees pressing down on the mattress at each side of his thighs. She had been looking forward to the weekend, to having more time and energy for him, and he was looking at her in a way that almost made her believe that magazine’s statement. With Luke in the next room, though, she had almost decided they’d have to put it off for tomorrow but… if she was honest, part of her needed to be with him right now because of that article.

She rose on her knees and tilted his head back, her hands tangling in his hair.

‘I don’t mind that other people see you the way I see you,’ she said quietly, staring back into his hazel-green eyes.

‘But?’ Han asked, stroking her back.

‘But I’m not crazy about reading that they picture themselves with you,’ she admitted.

‘If it helps, seems I do nothin’ but look at them and that does it.’

‘Oh, come on,’ she said, rolling her eyes at his smirk but smiling despite herself. ‘You think that I used to come to the mental image of you fixing the Falcon? Eating a sandwich?’

‘No, but now I’m very interested in knowin’ what was it you pictured, sweetheart,’ Han said, sliding his hands down to her ass and kissing her neck.

‘Something like this, but lower.’

He moved down to her collarbone, sucking and biting gently towards her left shoulder.

‘Yeah? Like this?’

‘Mm, I think it was lower,’ she sighed.

His nose shifted against her skin as he caught hold of her bra strap with his teeth and slid it off her shoulder, repeating the process on the opposite side. Leia’s breath hitched as he pressed her flush with him, making her stand taller on her knees, and his mouth dipped between her breasts.

‘This any closer?’

‘Getting warmer,’ Leia said with a breathless laugh over his head. She unhooked her bra and let it fall on the floor. Han’s hands left her ass to cup her breasts, large thumbs circling over her nipples, but he lifted his head and, getting the message, she met him in a kiss, letting her tongue return the favour. One of his hands moved away to run circles in a particularly sensitive spot on her lower back, nails barely scratching the skin in a sensual tickle, and the combination of that with the massage on her nipple and the hardness stuck between her legs made her whimper into Han’s mouth.

‘Shh,’ he whispered, breaking away. ‘You don’t wanna be overheard, do ya?’

‘No,’ Leia gasped, writhing her hips against his to stoke up the ache in her own center. She pushed the flats of her hands against his chest and pushed him down into the mattress. Her long braid fell over her shoulder as she rolled his nipples between her fingers, using the leverage to rub herself more energetically against him through their still unshed underwear. She kept her moans trapped in her throat, but they still came out faintly. They turned into a squeak when Han half rose to catch her and bring her down onto the bed next to him. Leia clamped a hand over her mouth as Han did a shushing gesture.

‘What happened next?’ he asked.

‘Next?’

‘In that mental picture of yours.’ He half-sat and trailed a hand down her leg, then back up, and she locked her thighs tightly to trap it there.

Leia grabbed a pillow and laid her head on it, arms luxuriously stretched upwards.

‘I felt guilty about it at first, you know,’ she told him. ‘I kept having dirty dreams about you, and I’d wake up with my hand like that.’

He turned the heel of his hand and pressed it against her pubic bone, making her roll her hips.

‘Like this?’

‘Yes,’ she breathed in relief.

Leaning over her, he pressed kisses over her thighs and her hips, then swiped his tongue just beneath the waistband of her underwear as she kept stroking herself against his hand, biting the corner of her pillow to muffle her cries. It was equally frustrating and satisfying to feel him doing that to her, like she desperately needed him to give her release but thought she would die of deprivation should he ever stop.

His mouth closed hotly over one of her nipples as his free hand squeezed her other breast just right. Leia opened her eyes in time to see him raise his head and pulled him down for another deep kiss, letting it muffle her sounds as she came.

She wasn’t sure if she had been the one to uncross her legs, and when that had happened, but Han was inside her before the ripples of pleasure had faded, bending her legs to tilt her hips up. He stayed low over her, grinding his hips in a circular movement as he rocked them forward and back, and the friction of her clit with the base of his erection was quick to rekindle her orgasm before it was fully gone. Leia panted into a mouthful of his upper arm, teeth closing over the flesh. Her hands clutched his buttocks as he increased the pace and finally spilled himself inside her, her name escaping his mouth to be swallowed by the mattress.

Moments later, as she grabbed the water bottle from the nook next to her side of the bed, Leia realized he’d never taken off her underwear. She dropped her last item of clothing on the floor and curled up next to Han, passing him the bottle.

‘Maybe I can’t make you come just by lookin’ at you,’ he said, pausing to take another swig, ‘but I can do it in a lot other ways.’

‘Show-off,’ Leia told him. He left the bottle and lay down next to her with a satisfied, sleepy expression.

‘I was doin’ numbers yesterday,’ Han began, scratching the inside of her arm soothingly. ‘I think we got enough now to look for a new place. A bigger apartment, with a spare room and a ‘fresher two people can fit in at the same time. A kitchen with a table for all our friends. Not a government handout, a place we like. What d’ya think?’

Grinning, Leia leaned in and kissed him, touching his cheek.

‘Let’s look for a new place, then.’

Han yawned and wrapped an arm around her waist as she laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

‘You know what would be fun to have in a bigger apartment?’ he asked after a moment. Leia looked up. ‘A sex swing.’

She pressed her lips and patted his chest.

‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’

Holozines could say what they wanted; Leia knew that what she and Han had was much, much better.

#han x leia #hanleia #han solo #leia organa #star wars fanfiction #han and leia #han and leia fanfiction #2019 #rated E #period: post rotj #series: Ignite my circuits and start a flame #one-shot #Anonymous #asks

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vincess-princess · 4 years

Text

ex malo bonum

Chapter 3.

Word count: 3761 Warnings: self-harm tendencies, forced alcohol consumption (idk really how else to tag this), non-con attempt, blood, needles mention

Vince stared at the cracked ceiling.

The ceiling stared back, its cracks and spots like wrinkles and blemishes on an old face. Some more staring, and Vince would probably start seeing eyes.

His home – former home – was supposed to be somewhere above the ceiling. Somewhere up in the sky. No one knew for sure where it was, and now that Vince thought about it, he never knew where exactly it was located as well. It was just there, in him and far from him at the same time, but always at the arm’s length, always there when Vince needed it.

No. No, it wasn’t. For him, it had been there. It remained there still, yet out of Vince’s reach. Its calming, encouraging presence, constantly in the back of his mind before, was no longer there. It got lost among all those new thoughts and feelings, all products of his vessel’s weird, flawed human nature, but now also strangely personal to him too. In search of that presence, Vince delved deep into his mind, where he had never been before, and didn’t find anything.

Or rather, he did. Something he had never seen before; something so foreign and at the same time so his.

Vince yanked himself back to the reality, farther from those somethings. But having once seen them, he couldn’t pretend they weren’t there anymore.

So he decided to stare at the ceiling and focus on the pain in his shoulder. Pain was easy to understand; safe, in a way. Pain was punishing, and punishment was freeing. It was something Jesus had gone through. Maybe Vince was the next Jesus, and his cross was this blood-soaked bed, and his nails were humiliation and manhandling by those demons.

An angel would never have such a thought, something whispered to him faintly, bringing him back to reality. An angel, a true angel, would strive to become like Him, but never compare themselves to Him, because He is unreachable.

Vince shivered as though a trickle of cold, pure fear ran down his spine. He pressed his face into the pillow, trying to chafe half-healed scratches on his face, to wring more pain out of them, to have something else to focus on.

It only made matters worse. His pain mixed with his desperation, fear and unanswered questions, turning into delirium so dark, so deep Vince drowned in it, the reality, like sunlight in the water, was blacked out. He didn’t hear the door creaking, letting in a night visitor, he didn’t see his slim frame looming over the bed, and only when a hand grasped his shoulder and shook him roughly, his mind reluctantly rose to the surface.

Vince’s heart was racing, his forehead was covered in cold sweat, but relief washed over him once he saw that cracked ceiling again. Even if that was Nikki, even if he had come to do what he promised to do to him, it was still better than down there, in the dark. Vince squinted, trying to discern the visitor's face in the faint light from the street. He wouldn’t be able to tell apart Nikki and Tommy, who resembled each other like brothers, if not for the hair: Tommy’s bushy and curly, Nikki’s straight and thick.

The shadow was gangly, and the hair framing his face was messy and wavy. Tommy.

"Asleep, blondie?" Tommy confirmed Vince’s guess a second later and knelt beside the bed. He had something in his hand, but Vince didn't catch a glimpse of it.

"You know we don't sleep," Vince replied indifferently, doing his best to keep the quiver away from his voice, and after a quick glance at Tommy, moved his gaze back to the ceiling.

"Well, I dunno. You could have passed out."

Vince didn't answer. He shouldn't have done it the first time as well, but the question was so normal, so casual that for a second he forgot who was asking.

"Huh, too proud to talk to us, right?" Tommy said light-heartedly. "That's not for long." He reached up to Vince's handcuffed wrists and freed one of them, leaving his other wrist chained to the headboard.

"What are you doing?" he couldn’t help asking. Be that Nikki, he would have kept silent throughout the whole process, be that whatever had come to his perverted mind. But this wasn't Nikki.

“Fixing Nikki’s bullshit," Tommy replied shortly and reached to unbutton Vince's shirt.

That was when Vince, already baffled, couldn’t remain still. He pushed Tommy away with his free arm and rolled to the other side of the bed. He didn’t know how he had expected Tommy to react. Get angry, maybe. Drag him back. Hit him. Enchain his hand back to the headboard. There were so many options.

Tommy didn’t pick any of them. Instead, he burst into laughter. He did drag him back by his hurt arm then, making Vince hiss in pain. And kept laughing. The entire time.

"You should have seen your face. You looked so frightened,” the demon explained once his laughter subdued. Vince was pretty sure he still had fear written across his face, made worse by Tommy’s following words.

“Lie still and it won't hurt as much," he promised, unbuttoning the last button on his shirt and pulling it down Vince’s torso. Seeing Vince’s eyes widen, he chuckled. "What, are you really that afraid of losing your virginity? It's not even a real thing. Just a social construct."

With increasing desperation Vince watched as Tommy climbed onto the bed and straddled his torso, pinning his injured arm to the mattress. For a couple of seconds he enjoyed the mix of fear and disgust on Vince’s face before finally announcing: "Relax. I ain't gonna fuck you. Right now, at least. Maybe later, after I'm finished with that," he poked Vince's shoulder right above the cut.

Vince blinked in confusion, completely taken aback. He had already been mentally preparing for humiliation and pain, the only things he expected from those demons. Had expected.

“Why would you do that?”

Tommy ignored his question. “Jeez,” he grinned at the sight of Vince wincing from hearing this word so distorted, “you’ve got a lot of blood in here.” He bent forward to take a closer look at the cut. His long fluffy hair tickled Vince’s nose and got covered in blood that was all over his shoulder. “Do you even have any left?”

“Does it matter?” Vince murmured, getting increasingly uncomfortable under Tommy’s fixed, serious stare that absolutely didn��t match his nonchalant tone.

“It fucking does!” Tommy flared up, making Vince flinch. He didn’t expect him to sound so serious; he didn’t expect him to even be capable of acting that way. “You think, immortality and shit, yeah? Threw myself off a building, woke up unharmed, now I can do whatever the fuck I want? Well, buddy, it ain’t gonna work like that anymore. Bodies are fragile. They break. And you won’t get a new one any time soon, if ever. You gotta be careful with yours from now on.”

“But can’t demons possess human bodies?”

“Yeah, they can. Those like Mick. I ain’t Mick, you ain’t Mick, and it’s gonna take us half a millennium at best to even try to compare ourselves to Mick. Didn’t you feel it? He’s… he’s…” Tommy trailed off. “Well, you get it.”

Vince nodded automatically, remembering the shudder that ran down his spine when he first looked in those clear blue eyes. He did get it.

“Well, back to business,” after a second of silence Tommy dropped onto the bed the things he was holding in his hand. They turned out to be a needle, a reel of black thread and a bottle of something with a very distinct smell. “I am no doctor, so it’s probably gonna be painful and sloppy. No, it’s definitely gonna be painful and sloppy. Sorry to spoil such a great vessel. Or not sorry.” He pinched Vince’s cheek, opened the bottle and took a gulp out of it.

“Here, have some.” Despite Vince’s frantic headshaking, Tommy pushed the bottle between his lips, and Vince, afraid of getting his teeth knocked out, gave in. Tommy upended the bottle, and acold, burning liquid went down Vince’s throat, choking him and sending him into a fit of coughing. Tommy watched him with such a smug grin, he was lucky to be sitting on Vince’s free hand.

“Whiskey,” he patted the bottle lovingly. “Another great invention of humankind, after sex and rock n’ roll. Or, rather, the reason for them.”

“Tastes like shit.” Vince spat out the remains of the drink, aiming at Tommy, but missing, and most of it ended up on his own chin. Tommy snickered and wiped it with his hand.

“That’s because it’s your first time drinkin’. You’ll get used to it.” Tommy spent good five minutes threading a needle and biting his lips in frustration when the thread didn’t want to go through the eye of the needle. Having finally done it through a great effort, he dipped the needle together with the thread into the remains of whiskey. “Also a good antiseptic.”

“Good what?”

Tommy looked at him in confusion for a second before smiling wide, realization on his face. “Damn, I forgot you’re fresh out of Heaven. Alcohol’s good not only for drinking but also for killing bacteria in your wounds so that the inflammation won’t spread to other parts of your body. If not treated, it can actually kill you.” Seeing Vince’s eyes widen, he burst into laughter. “Trashy, right? The cost for occupying a human vessel. They are a pain in the ass, so fragile and prone to illnesses. Even those occupied by us.” Tommy talked so quickly Vince couldn’t even get a word in edgeways. Great, just great, he thought grimly, now he would have to look after this sack of flesh as well. As though he didn’t have other problems in need of an urgent solution.

Tommy raised the needle up to his level, observed it critically and decided it was ready to use.

“Alright, now lie still. It’s gonna hurt anyway but even more, if you twitch.”

“Very reassuring,” Vince muttered, closing his eyes and resting his head against the pillow. At the mere thought of receiving more pain his body tensed up, and Vince knew that this way it was going to hurt even more. Still, he couldn’t relax.

Instead, he heard a chuckle. “Didn’t know anyone from up there could have a sense of humor.”

Then finally came the pain. Vince winced and breathed shallowly, trying not to make a sound, not to show how he was hurting,

Tommy was definitely no good at sewing. The skin on Vince’s shoulder was already bloody and swollen, and the whole process felt like sticking needles right into the wound. Vince hissed and screwed up his eyes so hard he could see colorful circles, breathing shallowly and biting his lips until they bled. It helped, though. He managed to hold back tears, for now, he concentrated on the lump in his throat so strongly the pain from the needle shifted to the back of his mind, still there, but definitely not as acute as before. Don’t cry, don’t cry, a voice in his hand kept repeating, with dull, unhuman intonations. Don’t lose your composure, it kept saying, and it sounded reasonable.

Vince pressed his lips together tightly, not letting out a single sob, a single tear. He wasn’t going to show Tommy how bad it was hurting, because hurting meant weakness, and weakness meant humiliation.

But God, was it hard.

The cut was narrow but deep, going through almost his entire shoulder. His blood on the needle was making it harder for Tommy to hold it, and it constantly slipped out of his fingers, sometimes while it was still in Vince’s skin. Vince never said a word, just bit down onto his lower lip, again and again, his saliva metallic-flavored.

“So quiet,” Tommy murmured upon pulling out the needle from Vince’s flesh once again. His hand slipped, and the needle sank even deeper in the wound. Vince held down a groan. “Don’t tell me it doesn’t hurt, I know it does. Stop that pretense, for fuck’s sake.”

“What do you want me to do, cry? Throw a fit?” With effort, he almost – almost – managed to sound calm, but the slight quivering of his voice had managed to leak through his already battered facade.

“No, but there’s absolutely no point in holding your emotions in some situations. For example, when you get a wound sewed up with no painkillers whatsoever,” Tommy huffed. “Listen, I couldn’t care less, play a tough one if you want. Just remember that’s not gonna work with Nikki.”

“What do you mean?” Something inside Vince’s chest froze in fear. He knew already what Tommy meant, but there was still a little bit of maybe I am wrong-

“I meant exactly what I said,” Tommy cut off, in a matter of seconds shifting from carelessness to seriousness and completely demolishing Vince’s last bit of hope. He poked Vince’s chest with so much force his finger left a red trace on the skin. “You know he will come here because he always keeps his promises, and when he does come, your stubbornness will only make it worse for you. He wants to get a certain reaction out of you, and if he doesn’t, he will do literally anything, and I mean anything, to get it. You will get out of it with less damage if you just play along.”

During Tommy’s short but convincing speech the silence of the room felt choking. A cold lump in Vince’s stomach grew twice as huge. If even a demon, an evil and wicked creature, tried to warn him about another demon - it was especially serious.

But Vince’s anger, flaring up in his chest, bright, fast and burning, drowned out this very reasonable thought. Somewhere in the back of his mind Vince was surprised at how easy it had risen, powerful and all-consuming.

“If he thinks he can make me do whatever he wants, he is fucking wrong,” Vince hissed. “Did he send you to prepare the ground? To scare me into obedience? Well, tell him he’s gotta put in a real effort to get what he wants!”

His last word was muffled by Tommy’s hand on his mouth.

“Be quiet, idiot!” he whispered, glancing cautiously onto the door. Vince tried to bite him in protest, but Tommy didn’t even let him open his mouth. “You’re gonna wake everyone up!”

Vince tried to shake his hand off, but it stayed firmly on his mouth, pressing his head deep into the pillow. He struggled some more, but his every movement was sending a jab of pain through his shoulder where the needle was still staying. The stitch loosened, and Vince could feel hot drops of blood oozing from the cut.

So after a few more weak jerks, he surrendered, breathing heavily, vision blurred with tears that he tried so hard to hold back and failed.

“Fucking dumbass,” Tommy sighed, examining the stitch. “Ruined all the hard work. I can finish it, but it won’t be half as effective.”

Just do the thing and piss off, Vince wanted to say. He felt so exhausted as though he had run a mile.

“Finish,” he managed to get out. Tommy pulled at the thread, tightening the stitch and eliciting a curse out of Vince, and resumed his work.

Now that Nikki’s name came up in the conversation, Vince’s mind shifted onto him. He was stabbed too, and even deeper than Vince, but he couldn’t remember it doing him any actual harm. When they had arrived to this apartment, his bleeding had already stopped. Vince’s bleeding, on the other hand, had been going on for the rest of the day and half a night. What the?..

“Nikki is a powerful demon,” Tommy had to explain hesitantly when Vince demanded the answer. “Not as powerful as Mick, of course, but definitely not of the weaker kind. He’s been around for a good century longer than me. Still ain’t got no brains, though,” he added with unexpected fondness.

“And you?” Vince asked quickly and regretted it at the very same moment. Tommy’s face, so lively and dynamic before, as though turned into a mask.

“What me?” he said, incomprehension in his voice too perfect to be genuine.

“How long have you been around?”

“How curious you are,” Tommy’s lips were still curved into a smile, but his eyes shifted from cheerful hazel to burnt wood. “Curiosity killed the cat, y’know.”

“What?” Vince blinked in confusion. What did this have to do with a cat? “Really? How?”

Tommy looked at him blankly for a second and then burst into laughter. This time it was sincere.

“Christ, I always forget you don’t know shit about Earth,” he said once he’d calmed down. “You’re gonna be so much fun. That’s just a local saying. Means that you have to pay a price for information. Especially that personal.” He leaned forward, so close to Vince their noses almost touched, looming over him. Vince later would swear he could smell burning wood for a second. “Are you ready to pay the price, blondie?”

“No,” Vince said maybe too quickly, already cursing his curiosity. “Forget it.” Tommy’s pupils were so dilated they took up almost his entire irises. His gaze was making Vince uneasy, and his heart was beating so fast he was sure Tommy could hear it too. When Vince tried to turn his head to avoid looking at those eyes anymore, Tommy grabbed his chin with his fingers, forcing him to stay still. Just like Nikki, Vince realized, a cold shiver running down his spine. Friendlier on the outside, but inside just as dark.

“I’m already done with this,” Tommy said, observing the stitch critically, and bit the rest of the thread off. “And I think I deserve an award.”

That was the last straw.

“That’s what you came for in the first place, right? Could have just gone for it right then and not play a good one,” Vince spit out. He had enough of being scared; now all his fear turned into anger, bitter, resentful anger. Just when he started to lose caution, to relax a little, to dampen his defense and believe not all demons were alike… Fucking asshole. Assholes, all of them. Shouldn’t have answered him the first time.

“Well, mostly,” Tommy grinned, putting away the needle and the reel and reaching for the bottle. “Wanna?”

“Fuck off.”

“All right, more for me,” Tommy downed the rest in one huge gulp. “Imagine how Nikki’s gonna be pissed when he learns he’s not the first,” he chuckled, baring his teeth in a wide smile, a smile that wilted slightly when he met Vince’s gaze. A little more of that, Vince thought with grim satisfaction, and he would learn to burn holes in human skin with his eyes.

Tommy leaned to the side of the bed to put the bottle under the bed and had to let go of Vince’s hand. When he sat up, Vince’s fist collided with his cheekbone. Tommy gasped and flinched back, and Vince couldn’t hold back a sneer.

The injured hand wasn’t capable of anything serious, though. It took Tommy mere few seconds to get over the punch and straighten up. A violent wave of pain swept through Vince’s entire arm, making him hiss in pain and drop his hand weakly onto the bed. He was defenseless - again.

Vince closed his eyes, expecting a response. A punch or, at the very least, a slap on the face. That was what Nikki would do. That was what Vince himself, if they swapped bodies, would do.

Tommy started laughing.

“Oh wow, you aggressive little shit! Did you just go round punching other angels in Heaven like that? Was that why they kicked you out?”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Vince reminded coldly, which launched Tommy into another fit of laughter so strong he almost fell off the bed.

“No, you’re totally a lot of fun,” Tommy claimed once he calmed down enough to be able to speak. “Or maybe you’re trying to get me distracted till everyone wakes up? Huh, blondie, this ain’t gonna work. I mean, yeah, talking to you all night would be pretty cool, but, y’know, a man’s got his needs, and Nikki’s been pretty moody lately.”

Vince was hardly surprised. To believe that the demons who were constantly talking about it hadn’t done it with each other before was to be an utter and complete idiot.

What was the name for it besides hooking-up, by the way?

Resigned, Vince watched as Tommy settled between his thighs, unzipped his pants and pulled them down to his knees. Although the thin fabric hardly provided any protection, its absence brought a feeling of vulnerability so strong Vince couldn’t handle looking at Tommy and stared at the door instead.

“C’mon, that’s only scary until you get down to it,” Tommy said almost sheepishly. “Humans wouldn’t obsess over sex so much if it wasn’t enjoyable.”

I’m no human, Vince wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat.

Tommy’s hands roamed around his hips and legs, then disappeared. Vince heard the zipper getting undone.

And then – footsteps behind the door.

Tommy jumped up, his eyes darting at the door, and Vince caught a glimpse of pure terror on his face before he disappeared in a puff of smoke. The very next moment the door opened, and Mick stepped inside.

“Aha,” he said only, quickly looking over Vince, his sloppily stitched shoulder, pants crumpled at the knees, the empty whiskey bottle sticking out from under the bed. Vince’s cheeks grew strangely hot, and he hopelessly reached out to pull up his pants – hopelessly, because they were out of his reach, but remaining like this, so open and defenseless under Mick’s piercing gaze, was somehow way worse.

When Mick stepped towards the bed, Vince’s hand dropped, and the urge to close his eyes, to escape this whole situation in the only way available was so strong he later wondered what had kept them open after all. Stubbornness, maybe. Or spite. Or both.

Mick stretched out his hand and hitched up Vince’s pants until he could freely reach them. Then he turned around and left the room. Physically, because contempt – or, far worse, pity, - in his icy gaze haunted Vince for the rest of the night.

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thewhiterabbit42 · 5 years

Text

Unfinished Business

Pairing: Gabriel x Loki

Summary: Gabriel’s attempt at revenge doesn’t go as planned, and the god gets his chance at settling the score.

Written for: @warlockwriter - I can't believe I am proposing this, but... Unfinished Business. Loki banishes Sam and Dean, doesn't get killed and takes Gabriel away to punish him properly for breaking his word.

Also written for: @spndarkbingo - Square Filled: Unfinished Business

@spnkinkbingo - Square Filled: Caning

@gabriel-spn-bingo - Square Filled: Bondage

Word Count: 1023

Tags/Warnings: Explicit, dark fic, restraints, gags, caning, orgasm denial, edging, hand job, anal fingering

A/N: Be gentle, y’all. This is my first time doing this pairing. Also, this is unbeta’d and all mistakes are mine.

“Did you really think you could kill me? Me?” Loki demands. He’s moved beyond anger, having let out a large part of his frustration as he sent the meddling hunters painfully on their way by banishing them down a few sets of stairs and directly out of the building. He’s not even disappointment in his old friend for all that’s happened, though it’s hard for him to feel anything but smug when he has the archangel right where he wants him.

Gabriel pulls against his bonds, and the leather cuffs enclosed tightly around his wrists and ankles flares bright with Enochian. The gag in his mouth muffles his protests, though those have mostly faded beneath the ministrations of Loki’s double.

As much as the god would have loved to have been there for the warm up, he had other things that required his attention. He’s made sure to free himself up for the foreseeable future, however, having every intention of drawing out this little piece of unfinished business as long as he can.

His double has outdone itself. The archangel is practically vibrating with the need for release, lean muscles taut with a familiar tension Loki would recognize anywhere.

He wonders how many orgasms has Gabriel almost had? Ten? Twenty? Fifty?

It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than that to satisfy the god.

“After all we’ve been through,” Loki tsks, looming over the archangel’s back. He’s just close enough for the fabric of his suit to brush against skin, and the god can tell by how rigid the archangel gets that it’s taking every ounce of self-control for him not to move.

“We do have quite the history. Perhaps I should show you mercy?” He continues, palming the sharp jut of Gabriel’s hip. He pretends to consider it, fingertips teasing feather light along the juncture of a thigh. The archangel’s legs part in anticipation, breath held as he waits for what comes next. The slightest brush to the base of his cock sends it bouncing.

He trails his fingers along the archangel’s shaft, smirking as Gabriel finally lets out a moan the moment the god takes him into his hand.

The heavy heft is familiar, and Loki is well aware of just how much pressure to apply as he begins to languidly pump. The archangel shudders, hips rocking forward in a way that suggests he’s already so close.

The god leads him right to the edge, waiting until the last moment possible before withdrawing his touch, pulling a deep whine from Gabriel’s chest.

Loki smirks, lips grazing along the archangel’s ear as he speaks, “I think I’ll show you about as much as you showed my boys.”

He draws his hand away, pulling a deep whine from the archangel’s chest. Silence settles between them as he gives Gabriel time to come down from his high. As soon as he’s sure it’s happened, he starts his teasing anew.

This time he runs his hand along the back of a thigh, relishing the way it trembles with the sheer possibilities of what might be coming.

“Just to be clear, this isn’t because of them.”

He allows his touch to curve upward, fingers dipping just inside the cleft of Gabriel’s ass. Everything tightens all over again, muscles so firm they might snap at any moment.

They almost do the moment he presses against the archangel’s hole.

“We both knew my sons had it coming.”

He sinks himself in past the first knuckle, twisting his finger around in search of Gabriel’s prostate. The archangel lets out a high pitched grunt the moment it’s found, body bucking as Loki mercilessly massages it.

“But I asked you for one thing. One. In exchange for my help…” His voice begins to raise, almost drowned out by his counterparts moans. “And the moment you showed up at the hotel, you threw it all back in my face.”

Gabriel clenches, just about to hit the apex of his desire again when the god withdraws from his body once again.

The sound that follows is desperate, filled with something that goes beyond basic yearning.

“After all I’ve done for you,” he tsks, taking a step back and watching the way Gabriel’s body sags as the heat of the god fades from his skin. Loki chuckles before he turns, walking over to the table just outside of the archangel’s vision.

He eyes the instruments neatly laid out, appreciating the thoroughness of his double’s preparation. There are so many to choose from, so many ways he could make the archangel sing.

It’s been awhile, but Loki has a feeling he knows just what to start with.

His fingers smooth over the hard, thin object, the vibrant red of the handle standing out against his skin as he picks it up. He draws the moment out, waiting several seconds before he finally brings the item into view.

Gabriel’s cock bounces at the sight of it, confirming he hasn’t lost his touch.

The archangel is practically squirming by the time he presses the plastic against the curve of his ass, testing the angle with his wrist.

“You should never have broken your word to me.”

He sends the cane down on Gabriel’s flesh, watching the lovely way it tenses on impact as a sharp cry punctuates the air. A pink stripe immediately emerges, as does Loki’s hand to sooth the sting, palm rubbing gently over the mark. He wants there to be pain, yes, but the whole point of this isn’t to torture him. Not in that way, anyway.

Gabriel’s body goes as still as stone as he waits for the next strike to him, and Loki is keenly aware the only agonizing part of this is that the archangel knows exactly just how much worse this will all get if he comes before he has permission.

With any luck, that’s exactly what will happen.

“There’s no point in resisting,” the god reminds him. “I know you. All of you. Every weakness. Every flaw. I know how to push every button to drive you insane…”

And that’s exactly what he intends to do.

ALL the tags

@girl-next-door-writes @blondecoffeecake @room-with-a-cat @nobodys-baby-now @lucifer-in-leather @crashdevlin @idabbleincrazy @lovelyhexbag @megasimpleplan4ever @brokencasbutt67-writer @mrswhozeewhatsis @ourloveisforthelovely @copperseraphim @sherlockedtash88 @azlinh @authoressskr @bofa-deans-nuts @phantomwarrior12 @karichanarts @archangelgabriellives @mizzezm @curious-trickster @tardis-is-mine @archangelashiah @katekvnes @datajana @shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @marichromatic @falcatrecon @flufy07

#Gabriel x Loki #spndarkbingo #spnkinkbingo #gabrielspnbingo #gabriel #loki #gabriel oneshot #loki oneshot #supernatural fanfiction #is there even a ship name for this??#rabbit writes

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papa-rhys · 5 years

Text

Distant (Javier X Reader)

Note: @wholesome-cowboy gave me an idea and it fuelled a fire in me so here we are. Rough, uncaring sex with Javier in Beaver Hollow with just a pinch of misery. Enjoy!

Category: smut + a bit of angst

Warnings: Rough sex

Word count: 2200

You stand on one side of Beaver Hollow, chatting to the girls over your evening coffee – a habit you picked up from Arthur some months back that has resulted in many a sleepless night. The side of the camp on which you stand is very important these days. See, the Van Der Linde Gang has been divided for some time now – irreparably so, you fear – and everyone who believes in one thing spends their time on one side and everyone who believes differently spends their time on the other. You, however, are the exception to this. By day, you spend most of your time with one side – Arthur’s side – but you make your bed on the other side of the camp. The side that is by far the most hostile. The side where Javier is.

There’s no denying that the once loving and oh-so-affectionate relationship between you and Javier has turned rather cold as of late. He has all these grand and romantic ideas about loyalty and you are much too concerned with doing the right thing to have your arm twisted by men like Dutch and Micah. But the problem arises from the fact that both you and Javier are so unequivocally convinced that the other is being foolish.

So you stand with Karen and Tilly, chatting away as Javier eyes you from the poker table on that side of the camp – a bottle in his hand, as usual. He’s drunk again and even from all the way over here, you know what that look he’s giving you means. The only thing he seems to want from you these days is a quick fuck. The only time he talks to you is to proposition you – or rather tell you that he’s going to fuck you – and you go along with it because, well, you love him. And if this is the only contact you’re going to get with him, then you’ll eat it up. Beggars can’t be choosers and you’ve decided you’d much rather take what you can get than get nothing at all.

Javier climbs to his feet, swaying a little as he stands, and finishes his bottle off before slamming it on the table and making a beeline for you across the camp.

“Uh oh,” Karen mumbles. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” Her and Tilly make their excuses, leaving you just as Javier approaches the spot where you stand.

“You talkin’ shit about me again?” Javier asks, slurring his words. “The three of you having a good giggle at my expense?”

“No,” you sigh, swilling the dregs of your coffee around the bottom of your mug and staring into it. “We were talking about Annesburg. You’re just being paranoid.”

“You think you’re better than me, huh?”

“You know damn well that I don’t think I’m better than you,” you tell him.

“Look at you; such a goody-two-shoes.”

“There’s ain’t a single one of us in this camp that’s good, Javier. Not a damn one.”

Javier scoffs and reaches forward, grabbing your wrist and knocking the coffee cup to the floor. “Let’s go,” he says, tugging you forward.

“Javier – “ you sigh, planting your feet firmly on the ground in protest.

Javier turns back to face you and coldly looks you up and down before tugging on your arm so hard that you’re sent tumbling into him. “I’ve had a shitty day, mi amor,” he grumbles into your ear. “I need to fuck someone, and if it isn’t you, then it’ll be someone else. So unless you wanna watch me fuck a pretty little thing from town for the rest of the night, then you should probably just let me fuck you.”

“You’re a real piece of shit these days, y’know that?” you spit, shoving him away and jolting forward with him as he still keeps hold of your wrist.

“Si? Well, maybe I’ve always been a piece of shit and you were just too doe-eyed to see it,” he retorts.

You stare at him with a mixture of defeat and anger swirling in your eyes, but there’s no sign of him picking up on either of them and the gang watches on from the side lines as he pulls you forward with him and heads for the cave, trudging through the mud and puddles of rain water as he goes.

Javier drags you through the dark, damp cave system, walking you past the leftover corpses that you’ve seen way too many times whilst being fucked these past few weeks for you to ever be able to think about sex without associating it with the sweet smell of rotting flesh.

He reaches the usual spot – a little nook with a rock that reaches waist height; perfect for being bent over. Only after he’s slowed to a stop and pulled you in front of him does he let go of your wrist, and he shoves you backwards against the wall of the cave. If this were the old Javier, he’d be kissing you now. He’d press himself against you and pepper kisses across your neck, pouring honey into your ear as you bite your lip to stifle a giggle. But this isn’t the old Javier. And instead of kisses and whispered sweet nothings, he simply leaves you pressed against the wall and begins unbuckling his belt in silence.

The whole thing makes you feel dirty in all the worst ways. After all, even a whore in a cheap saloon is offered the luxury of a little small talk. And even that whore is at least wanted by the man who’s paying her. But the way Javier remains silent – the way he doesn’t even look up at you as he fumbles with his belt buckle – it just makes you feel like you’re a means to an end. He doesn’t want you, he wants to get off. And all those whispered love letters that once filled the narrow space between you both in moments like this are all gone. Replaced by silence and bitterness.

Javier manages to sloppily pull himself out of his jeans and you’ve already dropped your jeans down to your mid-thigh, having done this enough times now to know the score. He spins you around until you’re facing the waist-high rock and he manhandles you, positioning you in exactly the way that he wants you – which is bent over the rock with your ass up, back arched, and face pressed down against the cold stone surface.

He wastes no time pushing himself into you and he doesn’t do you the courtesy of taking it slow. A part of you always wonders if he’s just angry at you and wants to punish you in some way for not seeing the world in the way that he does. For not choosing Dutch – or more so maybe him – over Arthur and the others. And part of you also wonders if rough, uncaring sex is the worst thing he can bring himself to do to you. He could scream at you or hit you or do something even more heinous and unworthy of thinking about, but he never has. And the hope that he loves you enough to not want to hurt you in any genuinely harmful way is what keeps you following him into this damned cave each and every time. The hope that maybe one day, this same scene will play out but with Javier returning to that loving, affectionate man who peppers you with kisses instead of the one who looks at you with such anger and disdain.

He fucks you mercilessly, gripping onto your hips so tight that his fingers pinch your skin. You’re shoved forward with each thrust until he reaches up and tangles his fingers in your hair, using it to pull you up into his chest. He grunts angrily into your ear – the first solid display of emotion that you’ve had from him all week. This is new.

“I bet you say all kinds of things about me to those girls, huh?” he growls into your ear, keeping a tight grip of your hair as he holds you in place against him – still fucking you from behind like the animal he seems to have transformed into as of late. “And Arthur. I bet he loves hearing about how much of an asshole I am.”

“Javi –“

“Maybe you should curl up to him at night, huh? I reckon you’d like that.”

“I don’t –“

Javier tightens his grip on your hair and jolts your head backwards, almost tearing the hair from your scalp and prompting you the throw a hand up to where his hand is tangled to instinctively try to pry his hand away from you and alleviate the pain. “What’s the matter?” he asks, noticing a tear forming in the corner of your eye. “You don’t like it when I talk about your little friend?”

“It’s not… me ‘n’ Arthur… we ain’t like that,” you pant, trying your best not to cry. Your voice is strained – restricted by the angle at which your neck is craned.

“Like hell you aren’t,” Javier hisses.

The idea that he could think that of you makes your stomach churn with hatred and anguish. After everything you’d been through together – after all the things you’d promised each other, all the secrets you’d shared with each other, and all the months you’d spent glued to each other’s hip – how could he possibly think you could ever have eyes for anyone other than him? You’re in this hellish cave system – your hands and face caked in filth from this goddamn rock that you’re bent over and your hips covered in bruises from where his hands have gripped you too tight, day after day – and he still thinks that you feel anything other than deep, painful love for him?

The tear rolls down your cheek as he bends you forward over the rock again, pushing your shirt further up your back so he can run his hand up your spine before pushing you down further with his flattened palm.

He fucks you and fucks you and fucks you even more. The minutes all blend into each other when you’re so deep in this wretched cave and you’ve long since given up on that fantasy of the old Javier coming to fruition tonight. You let him have his way with you – as you always do – and he makes good use of the fact that you’re too tired of all of this to bother biting back. You prop yourself up on your hands, pushing your self away from the rock as he clutches your hips; ramming into you over and over again and knocking the breath out of you every time. It’s been silent since his little outburst of paranoia and you aren’t sure which you prefer – silence or anger. You suppose they’re both painful and that you lose either way.

Javier’s breath becomes shallow and quick and you know enough of the man behind you to know what that means. He lets out a short, quiet moan with each exhale and his thrusts become slow and drawn out; pulling you back and forth as he watches himself sliding in and out of you slowly. You haven’t finished yet, but you don’t suppose you will. He isn’t concerned with your needs these days – only his own.

“Quedarse quieto,” he tells you, keeping you still with his hand on your ass cheek and admiring the sight of his cock held perfectly still half way inside you. He reaches down with his other hand and uses his thumb and forefinger to gently finish himself off; his cock twitching inside you as he fills you with spurts of warm fluid. “Si,” he sighs.

After a few moments of motionlessness, he unceremoniously pulls out, leaving you bent over the rock with cum beginning to drip down your thighs. The crushing sinking feeling in your chest is more connected to the burning in your cheeks than the sex is, you’re sure. You’ve had your heart broken before and you’re very accustom to the symptoms of one. You fight back the urge to turn around and scream at him. The urge to hit him and yell at him and beg him to tell you the reason why he hates you so much. You’re so desperate to know how it came to this. How a loving relationship could turn so cold. So sour. But you swallow your words and bite your tongue; standing up straight and shakily tugging your jeans back up.

Once they’re fastened and your clothes have had the filth dusted from them, you turn around to face Javier, who’s already composed himself and shows no sign of anything having happened beyond the slight swaying he does as he stands – the booze still outweighing the amount of blood in his veins. He looks at you with furrowed brows and for a moment, he looks as though he’s about to say something. But he grunts and sighs and hitches his belt up.

“I’ll see you later,” he says, coldly. You give him a small nod of your head and he breaks eye contact with you in favour of looking at the ground; the tiniest hint of guilt flitting across his face for the smallest of seconds before it disappears again. With a small sigh of frustration, he walks away; leaving you alone in the cold damp cave to reflect on how the hell you ended up here.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #javier escuella #javier escuella x reader #my writing #writing: javier escuella

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shesawriter39049 · 5 years

Text

“RED RIM” HOSEOK (Smut)

PART OF “VIP TREATMENT” -PRETTY MUCH ALL SMUT

NEXT UP- EITHER JK OR TAE...TAKE YOUR PICK

Also this is 2.5k….I got carried away

Meshed together a couple request-Light Dom Hobi/Hella teasing/Dirty talk/ Oral (M) LIGHT daddy kink/ LIGHT Degradation kink( only towards the end)

LINK TO THE CONCEPT FOR “VIP TREATMENT

Scenario- This a little more of a cat and mouse chase than the others will be, let’s just say Hobi’s in the mood to play… after giving into Y/N’s..flirty glances and pouty cherry stained lips.He invited her and her friends backstage before the show to test the waters ya know make sure he wasn’t overly reading into things and that they were on the same page…IE..fucking after the show. But that’s the thing..he wanted it after the show, he didn’t wanna feel rushed or have the stress of someone walking in. More importantly tonight he wanted more than just a quick blow job, but Y/n doesn’t really like to follow instructions. His direction was clear as day….yet she still had to push his buttons. She’s feisty and he knew that going in that’s part of why he wanted her to begin with. He knew she’d be a challenge… her inner dom riveling his...she’s not a yes sir kinda girl off rip…you gotta break her in. He could’ve easily gotten any girl in that line to fuck with with zero sass…or back talk..but that’s not really what he wanted tonight…

He’d prefer the satisfaction of breaking a bad girl...into his good girl, or his good little slut, whichever she’d prefer...

A dramatic sigh left your lips accompanied by your eyes rolling to the back of your head, “I said I’d be a good girl and wait..” Your tone wasn’t forgiving,almost condescending actually it was clear you were pouting and even had a slight attitude. Humming against the side of your neck in response,lips ghosting over your ear “Do you really have the nerve to come at me like that right now? ” Pulling back so his eyes locked with yours, bracing one arm against the wall adjacent to your head. “Haven't we established that I’m not one of those “Yes daddy, please daddy” Purposely adding a throaty whine to your voice “..Kinda girls? At least not until I’m good and ready…” shrugging your brow, attempting to flick his bottom lip with your tongue but he caught you, bringing his hand down from the wall to grab your jaw.. “..And haven't we established that I decide if and when you get to use this smart ass mouth of yours?” mimicking your condescending tone to the tee, taking advantage of how his thumb laid on your bottom lip. Rolling your tongue against the tip of his thumb, he allowed you to suck it into your mouth, as you stared up at him from under your full set of lashes. If he wasn’t going to let you suck his dick well then you’d just act like one. A devilish grin emerged once he realized you were playing hard ball, which only added fuel to the fire.“Okay, if that’s the way you wanna play we can play..but It won’t take long for me to break you down princess…for one...I can already smell how turned on you are right now...I won’t even have to ask you to call me daddy.” You’d never heard someone’s voice sound so fucking modulated, he had some much control over his tone, he knew exactly what he was doing to you. It took everything in you not to react to the petname, or the way he moaned and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth while you teased his fingers. Slowly exchanging his thumb for his pointer, he was right though, the more he talked the more your panties stuck to your clit .Which was already throbbing it was almost painful not to beg him to fuck you then and there. But you already got yourself in far too deep and you weren't going to beg...at least not yet, to be honest you were hoping he’d just cave! Humming against his finger in response as he gently released it from your mouth with a pop, a pout emerging imeditally.

The sound of whatever R&B playlist danced through your ears as it echoed off the walls, hopefully creating a buffer between the two of you and whoever walked by the green room. Nipping at your cherry stained lips, a gravely moan left his throat while sucking your bottom lip into his mouth flicking the tip of your tongue with his. Not enough to give you what you wanted... just enough to make you want more, slowly rolling his tongue against yours. Pulling back with a smirk once you attempted to close your lips around his, suddenly nipping at your bottom lip even harder, this time with a growl that shot straight to the heat already forming between your thighs. I guess that was your “warning” once he felt you trying to test the hold he currently held on both of your hands, which were above your head much to your dismay. Your “Punishment” if you will for not behaving. Once he pulled back from you his eyes stayed trained on yours, a slight arch in his brow... daring you to try again. So you did, his reflexes were second to none when it came to you, jerking you back against the wall while his eyes dropped to your chest. Zoning in on the slight erection forming through your shirt, a almost satisfied chuckle left his lips..at the sight of how quickly your body was betraying you. “Not until your good and ready huh?” nothing but arrogance drizzled from his lips as he mocked your speal from earlier. “Mmmhmm” was about all you could muster as he took your nipple between his teeth through the thin fabric of your crop top. The shirt didn't require a bra, allowing him to hit every nerve, as he sucked your nipple into his mouth.. Too caught off guard by how sensitive you currently where to muffle the moan that left your lips especially once he smoothed his tongue over the current sting that was coursing through your body. Tilting his head in your direction as he continued taking slow kitten licks until your shirt was damn near transparent, both of your nipples now piercing through your shirt, while he massaged the other in his hand. Eyes teasing you to say “mercy” ,but you wouldn't budge. His gaze darkened..... drinking you in piece by piece, finally freeing your nipple with one final graze from his teeth.

It felt like your body reacted to him almost insitecitvaly ,as his eyes drifted down your frame goosebumps followed simultaneously like a gust of wind. This man was looking at you like he was ready to ruin you and that’s all you fucking wanted, you knew he could sense the effect he was having on you. You weren't stupid, he was loving this just as much as you, clearly he just has a lot more self control. Even though you didn't wanna admit it, you already knew in the back of your head he was going to break you. Have you on your knees begging for him to fuck your throat, you were just hoping you could hold out a little longer. But once your eyes zoned in on the strong imprint his dick was forming under his joggers...you damn near started drooling. A throaty whine left your lips just out of pure frustration “Shhhh..stop whining….” The command came out in the form of a low whisper, and it was probably one of the sexiest things you’d ever heard, he was confident. He wasn’t posing a question, he was telling you, in the calmest tone possible, and for the first time tonight you complied instantly..“Good girl…” The first praise of the night, buzzed through your ears as his lips continued to feather down the side of your neck. “Are you ready to behave now baby?” A breathy moan left your lips as your eyes fluttered shut letting yourself get lost, as he added his tongue into the equation. He took his time as he worked his way down , not a inch of your flesh went untouched, if his goal was to make you squirm..he fuckin got it .Everytime he licked, sucked, or rolled his tongue against the side of your neck it was like you could feel each stroke rolling down your pussy. You already knew he was purposely doing it like that to fuck with you moaning out against your skin each time, making sure you knew how much he was enjoying this ”I asked you a question, I’d suggest answering me unless you’d like me to stop” The sudden base the rumbled against the side of your neck, snapped you out of your little wet dream. To be honest you were so consumed that you really didn't process the question. But, there was just something really sexy about the slight hint of annoyance in his tone that was almost taunting you to be a brat.

“Well,I-” Your smart ass response was suddenly replaced by a breathy moan as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder. But he knew what he signed up for ,already prepared for you to try again, actually this time almost egging you on “Hmm? I’m sorry baby I didn't quite catch that?” Hand slowly trickling down your stomach.. “Fuck you-” Eyes rolling to the back of our head once his hand snaked down into your shorts, teasing your clit, in swift circles through the material that was basically guled against your flesh from being so wet. The overly satisfied chuckle that escaped his throat was your breaking point "For fucks sake,stop teasing me!!” Yeah you “behaving” lasted for all of two seconds he gave you a inch and you wanted a mile, tisking against your skin “See if you weren't such a damn brat…” A firm smack hit the front of your pussy through your panties and your whole body tensed under him “...You could be coming all over my hand right now but you just hand to play hard ball huh?” You actually had the nerve to chuckle at that...“Well, really what I wanted was to suck you off so this is a bo-” Yet again you found yourself forgetting how to breathe as he slid your panties to the side pinching your clit between his index and middle finger together while keeping your already overly sensitive bud sandwiched in the middle, massaging his fingers together. You could physically hear how wet you were, almost sounding like he was smacking his hand in water. Releasing our clit and sliding his middle finger in effortlessly, your walls naturally trying to contract around any stimulational it could get curling upwards finding that forbidden rigdent spot instantly. Rocking his finger against it until you knead out in pleasure..which was starting to feel like torture because you knew he wouldn't let you come..not even close. Not until you finished what you started “Fuck, can we just stop playing this damn game? Stop acting like you don’t want it...you wouldn't have me here if you didn't” Your tone adjusted, coming off almost..shall I say passive? With a hum of approval, he finally brought his forehead up to rest against yours, it felt like years since he’s given you eye contact and you needed it. “Let’s get one thing clear…” Grinding his hips into yours letting you feel how hard he’s gotten, moaning on command, the second his body met yours “Clearly I want you, that’s evident or else I wouldn't waste my time if I didn't, that was never the point. The point is, we can’t have two people in control baby and you know that. Regardless of what your use too, tonight it’s all me....” A pout resonated against your lips in defeat which earned a chuckle “ You can pout all you want..incase you can’t tell that won’t get you far and it damn sure who get you coming. You started this…so finish it...ask me nicely...and maybe I’ll give you what you want..”

It took everything bone in your body to swallow your pride and not say something smart, you felt is hand slide past your panties, moving over to smack your ass. Clearly you took too damn long to respond, the shriek that left your lips was accompanied by a smirk because..well fuck you like getting your ass smacked and he picked up on it instantly. Giving it one more smack just to watch your reaction... “I-I’m sorry for being a brat..I know you told me to wait..but I just really wanted to taste you..” You had zero shame at this point arousal was dripping from your tongue as you smirked up at him...“Daddy, pleaseeee” purring out against his bottom lip, this time when you leaned in, he didn't pull back, letting you snake your tongue into this mouth with a satisfied moan, massaging your tongue against his “Are you going to be a good girl for me this time? If I let your hands go, and let you wrap your lips around my cock?” Pulling back just enough so you could understand what he was saying, staying close enough that his lips brushed against yours as he spoke “I’ll be damn good..though...I’d prefer to be your good little slut as opposed to your good girl tonight..if that’s okay with daddy” Fluttering your lashes up at him with a devilish grin, not even able to hide the smile that was tugging on his lips, at the sound of that “You sure? Are you “Good and ready” Now? Because so far you don't seem to listen too well and-” Cutting him off with a nod, as you stared up at him doe eyed, your eagerness getting the best of you “So when daddy tells you to stop..your gonna listen? No back talk no whining your gonna be a good girl and stop?” Brow raising slightly in adjacent to the question he proposed, Sucking your bottom lip into your mouth with a nod, damn hear drooling at the thought of it “..And how about when daddy tells you to come...can you do that for me too baby?” Fuck, and there it was again, naturally bringing his voice back down to that brassy, yet silky tone that made your knees weak, “ Hmm? Can you be a good little slut for me tonight and let me make a mess of that pretty little pussy of yours?” Bringing his lips back to your jaw, licking down the side of your neck painfully slow sending chills down your spine. “... let bend you over on all fours and make you come as many times as I want... Can you do that for me baby?” Almost feeling light headed at the question but you tried your damndest to hide it….”Yes daddy..” Your thighs were trembling you were so excited, he was finally going to give you what you wanted.

“Good girl..” Finally realising his hold on your wrist, with a cheeky grin and the minute they dropped, you wrapped them around the back of his neck , pulling him in for another kiss. Not even asking for permission or easing him into it, pushing your tongue past plump bottom lip, finally exploring his mouth the way YOU wanted too, Sucking his tongue into you mouth with a moan as both of his hands took a firm grip on your ass from under your shorts. Moving your hand down to palm him through his shorts, another breathy moans escaped your lips once were fully able to feel how hard he was. Abruptly spinning the two of you around so he was pressed against the wall, pulling his lips back from yours sooner than you’d like, and you didn't hesitate but whine, brow kicking up on command, cocking his head to the side sightly, as his tongue teased as the corner of his mouth. You knew right instantly that meant shut the fuck up, and you were too far gone to argue. You promised you'd be a good girl and whining does not fall into that category. “You got about five minutes to put that smart ass mouth of yours to work,show me how much of a little slut you really are. Get on your kness for me baby, let me see how well you can take my cock” Flicking at your chin with his index finger and you didn't need to be told shit else, dropping down to your knees instantly. Luckily he had on sweats so it didn't take long, pulling his boxers and pants down in one swipe.Not even able to hide how wide your eyes went..he was just perfect..smooth...his tip curved at a deadly angle, he wasn't too veiny but just enough..his girth alone felt like he could make you come instantly. He couldn't help but chuckle at the look on your face, as he nestled his fingers in your hair, reaching up to adjust his told, making his take a tighter grip ….”My kinda girl..”The sudden praise rushed straight to your pussy, you couldn't even remember the last time you were this excited to suck someone off. ”Fuck, your dick his perfect….I can’t wait to let you fuck my throat later” breathing out against his flesh with a smirk, as you pressed your tongue flat against the base, slowly licking your way up to the tip. Swirling your lips around it, before sucking it slightly into your month with a moan, that reflected he was the best thing you’d tasted all day….because he was! Bring your tongue back down the other side. “Fuck, just like that...drag your tongue down slower baby let me feel every inch of it...” His eyes never left yours as you continued licking up every inching of him, just as he instructed. Wanting to make sure not even a inch was left dry, as you knew you’d have to work him partially in your hand, “Spit on it even more baby, daddy doesn't mind....spit on my tip..before you take me in your mouth..get it nice and wet” Eyes fluttering up at him , as you did exactly what you were told. Spitting on the tip before wrapping your lips over it, sucking in a deep slow breath as you tried to relax your throat as much as possible. Slowly easing him in inch by inch, massaging every his length with your tongue as you worked your way down.

Attempting to take as much of him in your mouth as you can “Shit, such a good fuckin mouth, …” Humming out at the praise as you hit your limit, simultaneously using in your hand to handle the portion that your throat couldn't handle. No matter how much pleasure started coursing through his veins, or how heavy his eyes became he still never took them off you. His moans were low..and gritty and he wasn't quiet either..not afraid to let you know how good you felt, rolling your neck up and down his length. Suctioning your lips once you approached the tip, releasing him completely every time then going right back in. “God, you feel soo good for ...fuck…Such a good little slut for me” You couldn't help but smile in satisfaction with the way his cock tensed every time you wrapped your lips around it again. “You look so sexy with your lips wrapped around my cock like that baby.. I can't wait to fuck your tight little pussy, shit-” it almost sounded as if he was running out of air as the praises contituned to fall from his lips. The grip on your hair getting tighter as you moaned out against his cock, quickening the pace with your hand..tighten your grip slightly as you went down his shaft, you knew the added vibration from your moaning was shooting straight through every nerve in his body. You suddenly heard a knock at the door and his body tensed..”Yeah..” He struggled to get that out it was breathy..breathy as fuck and for good reason considering you didn't stop you actually made everything more intense. You sucked harder, and faster...deciding to focusing your lips on the area right beneath his tip because it was clear that was his sweat spot and working the rest of him in your hand. Bringing your other hand to fondle his balls, which were already slightly lubricated. His eyes shot down at you instantly he didn't need to say anything..his jaw tightened realistically he needed you to stop. There was no way he could focus on the conversation at hand..to be honest if he really meant it ..you would’ve stopped with no hesitation. But he never pulled you away..never even mouthed out the words “stop” he actually started forcing your head further down his dick, making you bob your head even faster. He was testing you..seeing if you’d learned your lesson or not..if you were his good girl or his good little slut..his good girl would have stopped...but..your not really cut out to be “Daddy’s good girl” now are you?

“You need to start getting ready!!” He went to speak and all that left his mouth was a breathy moan as you worked him with both hands and your tongue. A moan left your lips simultaneously, fuck, he sounds so good when he’s getting pleased..so fucking good. Not even aware you were capable of this type of coordination...but damn was it satisfying watching him slowly lose control...because that’s how you felt this entire time. It felt like something straight out of erotica .. squeezing his eyes shut, as his chest heaved harder and harder..you watched him run his fingers through his hair taking a firm grip on his scalp as he tried to pull himself together enough to speak. “Alright I’m sorry I’ll be there in a minute!!” That response coming out even shakier than the initial..as his jaw slacked for the first time he couldn't look at you, reclining, his head against the wall as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “Okay but I mean it..like you have 3 minutes!!!” You finally decided he’d had enough, releasing him from your lips with a dramatic pop...as your eyes fluttered up at him innocently “Yeah I got you!!” His tone indicated to whoever he was speaking with that he was getting annoyed. The minute he heard them walk away he grabbed you pulling you up to him by your hair, spinning you back against the wall..pinning your arms against your head. Returning you back to the position you started in .Lips brushing against his he held you so close “I should've known ...you and those cherry lips of yours would be a fuckin problem..what did daddy tell you? Hmm” He looked so fucked out and sounds so damn good, voice sitting at the lowest you’d heard it, rocking his dick against the front of your shorts knowing how bad you wanted to feel it.The smirk on his face let you know..this time...he was more than pleased..that you decided not to behave. Sucking your lip into your mouth as you gazed down at sinfully enticing his cock currently looked pressed against you ..a slow smirk emerging once you noticed something..letting your eyes flutter up to his slowly…”Daddy told me to be a good little slut...and suck him off until my smudge proof..lipstick..made a red rim around his dick…”

You watched a cheeky grin tug on the corners of his lips, as his hand reached down to cup your as “Damn right!”

...AND THAT’S ALL SHE WROTE FOR PART 1 OF “VIP TREATMENT” No they won't all be cliffhangers that’s just how this one panned out, but these are all mini scenarios this one just happened to run a little long!! IF you guys want me to continue...show this some love and feel free to submit other members as well as seanerios.

Disclaimer- they will not all be backstage hookups! Some of the scenarios may be a little unrealistic ONLY because the boys are Idols..but it’s all fiction anyway so fuck it.

Love you guys as always!

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