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runa-falls · 9 months

Note

Congrats on your milestone, em!!! 🥳💖

If you feel so inspired, I'd like to request a blurb using the following prompt:

“this isn’t what i had in mind when i yelled fuck you.” + Poe Dameron 👀

Thank youuuu 💕

hihi whitney :3 thanks for joining in! this one is a bit longer than a blurb but i can't help it!

cw: smut (18+), friends (with minimal benefits)-to-lovers, jealous!poe, angst, alcohol, fluff?, fingering, hickies, panty sniffing (IDK WHERE TF THIS STUFF I COMING FROM ??), kissing, anddd not proof read

wc: 2.3k (???)

a/n: honestly poe is kinda an asshole in some of this but imma connect it to his commitment issue bc he's afraid to lose the reader idk

poe has never given you a straight answer about the two of you, and for a while it didn't matter.

for a bulk of your friendship, there's been the ongoing war between the first order and the resistance, so there was never time to sit down and talk about it, or take it any further than what it was.

and what is was, was a pair of kissing friends.

it's confusing. the words "kissing" and "friends" don't usually go together. either it's a 'mistake' or a gateway to a different kind of relationship, but you've been stuck in this middle area for months.

the war is over now and you won, but you haven't moved an inch.

this confusion, this fuzzy line between friends and lovers, has been weighing on you.

poe gives you those eyes, that intense stare, the one that makes you feel like the only girl in the universe, but then he openly flirts with officers, fellow pilots, and mechanics that work on his ship, buying them a drink and sitting real close to them, right in front of you.

poe kisses you, tastes you, like you're the finest wine in coruscant, like he's trying to memorize your flavor because each kiss could be his last, but then he tells you he's not ready for a relationship, he's too busy, he doesn't want to ruin the friendship that you have.

now, you're done waiting for him. you've tried to be patient and understanding, to give him time to figure things out, but he's been drawing it out, painfully, and you refuse to just sit there and watch.

you decided to finally take up voren na'al's offer of a date. he's a cute guy and you've worked with him throughout the war. you figure you might as well give him a chance, if only to take your mind off of poe.

you slip on a simple dress, something that makes you feel 10x cuter than the usual resistance uniform that the base usually sees you in. you're not going anywhere fancy, just the local pub to grab a drink and hang out.

it's quite crowded when you get there, though everywhere's been pretty crowded since the war ended. now there's more time for leisure, to enjoy life, without worrying about another attack.

the bar is full of bustling bodies, loud conversations, and moving glasses of jet juice, tihaar, and vosh. you're barely able to squeeze into a small table with how many standing bodies surround you.

"you look really nice tonight!" voren basically has to yell for you to hear him.

"thanks, a bit of an upgrade from my usual--"

"what?!"

"i said, a bit of an--"

voren gets up and decides to just stand next to you while you sit on the barstool instead. "sorry, i didn't realize this place would be so packed tonight..." he's close, almost leaning into you as he speaks at a normal volume.

"no, no, it's fine! I'm happy to see that the whole resistance is enjoying their weekend."

"let me get you a drink, yeah?"

"alright, i'll take...nikta with some soda."

"gotcha." he leaves you and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

you've finally decided that it's too lively in this bar for you. the overlapping voices and cheers overwhelm your brain as you desperately try to get comfortable as a party of one in a sea of thousands.

how can you feel so alone in a room full of people?

this is a bit harder than you thought it would be. for some reason it just feels wrong to be on this date, despite not having any exclusivity with poe in the first place.

"gods, i thought that guy would never leave!"

speak of the devil.

"poe."

he steps closer to you, smoothly walking through the crowd that's nearly trapping you at your table. his face is pink, flushed from alcohol and the heat of the bar, and his eyes are glazed with untethered delight.

he says your name, draws it out with the slur of his tongue. his eyes glance at your attire, a dress he's never seen before. actually, he's never seen you in a dress, ever. "so you have a little boyfriend now?"

where did he even come from?

usually you'd know if he were at the bar, he has a whole entourage of people that like to follow him around. in fact, you'd know if he were in any room because of the loud cheers that constantly accompany the resistance's favorite flyboy.

"this is our first date actually." you hope you sound casual, despite having to raise your voice to be heard over the noise. you try to bite your tongue before you could ask, but you can't. you need to know. maybe it'll make this easier for you. "...are you here with someone?"

"i was, but i ditched them." you heart lurches and warmth quickly pools in your stomach. it's pathetic how easily he can make you feel special, but the doesn't linger on that thought for long. "does your boyfriend know you kiss your friends?"

you sit back at his words, shocked that he's deciding to bring this up now. "ok, where is this coming from?"

"i just feel like i would want to know if my girlfriend was seeing other people." you frown, genuinely confused.

"well, i'm not."

"you...aren't?"

"poe, what--"

"you're telling me that this," he points between the two of you, "meant nothing?"

"why are you bringing this up?"

"because a second ago, i thought we had an understanding but then i see you in this short dress going on a date with some logistic's dweeb!"

you roll your eyes, "his name is voren and unlike you, he's not making me decipher any understandings. he asked me on a date and i agreed."

"and you still kiss me."

"i kissed you and then i got tired of waiting for you to kiss back."

"i just don't get how you move on so easily when what we hasn't even ended."

"oh, fuck you, poe. it never even started!"

"hey...is this a bad time..." voren is back with the drinks, staring at the two of you awkwardly as the glasses of iced alcohol begin to sweat in his hands.

you both speak at the same time:

"no, voren, you're fine."

"yeah, if you wouldn't mind, we're dealing with something right now."

he nods his head slowly, understanding what's happening. he sets the drinks down on the table. "look, i'll see you back at the base, just text me when you want to meet up again." he walks to the exit of the bar and you try to call for him, but it's no use with the wall of people between you.

"look what you did, you ruined my date!"

"wasn't much of a date from the looks of things."

"ugh, you asshole!" you hop off your seat, grab your stuff, and rush through the crowd. maybe you can catch up to him if you get out fast enough. swaying bodies threaten pull you back into the tide as you attempt to escape, but you push through, determined to get the fuck out of there.

the cool air is refreshing when you finally shove the door open, it's almost a bit chilly compared to the building you came out of. you scan the area, trying to get a glimpse voren walking home but you don't see a single person.

"come back, honey, you shouldn't be out here alone."

you don't even have to look back to know who it is.

"i'd rather be alone than with you."

"you don't mean that." a hand gently pulls at your shoulder to make you turn around and face him. a warm hand cups your jaw as he regards your upset expression, his thumb comfortingly gliding over your cheek. you can't help but lean into his familiar touch. "this is why i never wanted to change what we had. i was trying to be smart, for both our sakes."

"by pushing me away? by leading me on?" your voice comes out in a whisper, but it's so quiet in these empty streets that it didn't matter.

"by keeping it simple, safe."

"i can't do it anymore, poe. you can't just expect me to be content with what you give. i need more."

"i know, baby, i was just scared. you're the best thing that's ever happened to me and i didn't want to lose you."

"but the war is over."

"not for me. i'll always be a fighter and i'll always have my battles. sometimes i can't be there for you like i should be, i can't be the boyfriend you deserve, but that doesn't stop me from wanting it any less." he rests his forehead on yours, holding you close to him in the middle of the sidewalk. "i didn't want you to leave me so i decided to never give you the chance."

"and now?"

"now, i don't want to think about what could happen tomorrow or the day after that. i've wanted you since forever and i want you now." he leans in, his nose nudging yours, "do you?"

"you know i do." you giggle softly, a grin spreading on your face.

you tilt your face up and capture his lips, slowly moving against him, savoring this moment. he places a hand at the back of your neck and pulls you in closer, showing you all his love as his soft lips mold over yours.

---

the walk back to base was a blur of soft smiles and quiet words as you traveled hand-in-hand. poe offered you his jacket after seeing you shiver and you reveled in the feeling of the heavy leather over your shoulders. you're both so giddy like a couple of teens that have been crushing on each other for eons.

when you got to the entrance of the main building you both paused for a second and an unspoken question hung in the air. is this the end of the night?

"come over to mine."

you surprise yourself with your bold offer. it was blurted out before you could really think it through.

"is that really a good idea?"

isn't it?

you've been placed at an arm's length from the man you've wanted since you showed up at the base and you've gotten his affection, his touch, and his kiss, but never more. and you want more.

"i want you. i-i mean, i want you to come over..."

he smirks like the asshole he is.

"alright, lead the way."

---

heated kisses are planted down from your jaw and all along your neck. splotches of purple already litter the silky skin, but he's still hungry for more.

poe barely got into the room before you rushed over to him and practically attacked him with a kiss. luckily his pilot reflexes helped him catch you and pull you against his body with finesse.

he laid you out on your bed and crawled over you, wanting to taste every part of you that he been denying himself from. his hands smooth over your curves, groping your tits and your waist as he makes his way down.

fingers tug your dress over your thighs and reveal the suggestive underwear you wore for your date.

he raises an eyebrow, "this for me, or him?"

"for myself, actually...but i guess you can enjoy them too." he pinches your thigh teasingly and you yelp out a giggle.

"fucking brat. you know what," he pulls them off easily, "i will enjoy them." poe crumples up your delicate lace in one hand while holding you down with another. you attempt cross your legs as you watch him bring them up to his face and breathe in your scent, but they're forced open by a strong hand. "mm...my sweet little girlfriend is so needy for me, hm?" you can feel him against your leg, hard and prominent under his pants.

you squirm under him, nearly dripping slick all over your sheets at his words. his girlfriend.

poe brings his hand up to your face, slowly tracing your lips with his index finger. "open up, honey." he groans as you let him slip between your lips. you suckle at his finger while staring up at him, your tongue flicking the tip every so often. "that's right...good girl." he adds another finger and watches you with half-lidded eyes, imagining that it's his cock you're sucking, nearly choking around it.

he pulls them out and reached between your bodies. you whimper as the cool slickness is pressed against your pussy. he runs them through the seam of your cunt, prodding gently against your entrance.

his eyes watch your facial expressions shift when he pushes them in, drinking in every minute sound and move that you make. you let out a broken moan as he curls his fingers inside of you and starts moving, rubbing right against your g-spot.

he whispers encouraging words as you start to shake under him, already so close to the edge. "that's it, sweetheart," he speeds up and vulgar sounds of your dripping cunt fill the room, "cum all over my fingers."

you whine as you reach you climax, pussy fluttering around his still moving fingers. your back arches at the intense pleasure and you wrap your legs around his arm.

his movements stop and he pulls away. you hide your face under your arms as he starts to lick his fingers clean, suddenly embarrassed by his shameless actions.

"what?" he chuckles, "am i not allow to taste my girlfriend?"

"you know, this isn't what i had in mind when i yelled fuck you." you breath out, referring to your heated talk at the bar.

"i know baby, you want my cock don't you? we'll get there once you recover."

with a flushed face, you give him an appalled look, "poe!"

#whitney :3 #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron smut #em's 123 celebration

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bemylord · 3 years

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↠ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴄʀᴀᴛᴄʜᴇꜱ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴅʏ ↞

characters: gojo, sukuna, itadori, megumi, nanami, toji x fem!reader.

warnings: smut, aged up, marks/bruises, creampie, daddy kink [toji and nanami], oral [fem!receiving], degrade and praise kinks, grammar errors.

a/c: or s/o gave them scratches on their body. hc + drabble. kento's, toji's, and sukuna's part might be rough. also i may used inappropriate word don't blame me.

ɢᴏᴊᴏ ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ:

would be teasing you in the morning for being too horny to suppress your nails. although, he doesn't hide the fact he adores the little pain when his clothes touch places where you left stripes.

also likes those moments when you're leaving fingernail marks on his thighs or hips whilst sucking his dick. it'd be better spelled if i specify that gojo using your head as a toy for his pleasure.

would praise you for marks you've given him, labeling his muscular body as yours, letting your fingers traveling all over his back to the chest, outlining every muscle.

prefers to do it slow but deep, touching the spongy coil inside you with his every push, feeling your hands on the back as you're trying to take his dick, being capable of not losing your mushy mind at his sharp pushes as how he's overbearingly fucking you.

'giving me all your juices and marks you've gotten for your master' satoru might be playful during the training time, but you've known he likes to talk dirty and be dominant railing you. those marks perfectly suiting on his skin so why not leave them?

despite being overdose with your cum and a facial expression - you opened your mouth releasing ragged whimpers and arching your back, approaching towards gojo's chest in the climax, cumming all over the base - he'd thrust in you more 'till you'd turn into the drooling mess below.

'yes, honey, you're doing good, so good. constricting my dick so good' obscene squelches become louder, as you could feel satoru's released on your stomach. 'you did so well, honey, i'm gonna take good care of you'

ɪᴛᴀᴅᴏʀɪ ʏᴜᴊɪ:

okay, i think itadori would be the softest boy through all monsters we've got here.

but don't let his innocent face trick you. despite of the fact that most of the time he's a soft bun, he'll make you scream.

ok, make you scream and be asking if he isn't tempestuous.

he'd be disconcerted if you asked him to heal his back. for what? he thinks is a sort of a recall so he could remember what the two of you had been doing in the night and how loud you were while giving him your residue of cum.

he might take some photos of his skin pattern in marks so he could ogle at 'em later, repeating seconds where you were patterning his back.

'take off your shirt, yuji. i'll heal your back'

poor itadori is sitting on the couch totally discouraged as he heard your request. he glanced at you with a bambi look: eyes wide open, as if you said something vulgar. he aimlessly rubbed the back of his head, tossed his head back.

'but i like your marks, baby'

he whined, grabbing your palms in his, forcing you to sit on his lap, wrapping arms around your waist.

'you gave those stripes because you.. you were feeling good, yeah?'

you put your head down at his question but nodded, putting your head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat.

'then i don't need your recovery, baby, let your marks stay until you'll add new ones'

ᴛᴏᴊɪ ꜰᴜꜱʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ:

let people know what sex is. let it be a slogan for your intercourse.

he could fuck you all night due to his long-term capability and would be smug after intercourse as he'd watch the disorder [?] you did on his biceps.

mostly biceps, cause a man knows the main destination of his tongue, masterfully giving you an oral. goddamn that tongue.

he'd let you scratch his back as he'll know that it'd be possibility to show off the mark his love gave him. on other days, you're pulling his hair into your pussy, burying him even more, letting him to destroy you before the fun will start.

his arms full of red stripes. though it wasn't your fault - how can you inhibit yourself while toji is literally eating you like a meal?

'being waiting for my tongue, huh?' he's a teaser - you're at the edge of the bed, baring your dripping pussy to the one he can lick you as you need to whilst teasing and degrading you.

'being waiting to be demolished by me you little whore, don't you?'

you grabbed his strong biceps, dotted them in half-moons then squeeze as toji peeks at you.

'answer me, slut!'

his low voice makes you open widely your legs as not closed to squeeze his head. he's running his tongue on your crotch and labia, teasing you, forcing you to say how reckless and anguished you were without his tongue and fingers.

'yes, daddy, i-i've been waiting f-for you' you sharply breathe, letting out the whimpers, feeling his tongue playing with your swollen clit.

'i'm about to ruin you tonight, are you ready?' he giggled once more, getting into the little game he's been waiting for since he left the house.

ᴍᴇɢᴜᴍɪ ꜰᴜꜱʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ:

it is in their genetic code to make a woman scream but since megumi hasn't got a huge sexual experience as his father does, he'd be tender at first, asking abt your well-being, if he can move, etc..

when he watches at the mirror in the morning, he finds out his back and a few shoulders are drawing by your nails.

he'd be overwhelmed and speechless as he saw a reminder of the night.

'gumi will make up an excuse, sort of: 'i got into the fight with a curse, nothing special'. itadori'd have been asking him if he's okay, how it was but satoru isn't a naive one.

deep inside would be proud of himself that only he could put you on the pleasure, privately enjoying those patterns.

'y/n?' he pronounced your name in a question way, rubbing his shoulder aimlessly, as you glanced at him. you let out a quiet mooing as a response, staring as to how megumi taking off his school uniform.

'would you mind heal me a little?'

you smiled, coming closer to your boyfriend, grabbing a tube of medicine on the way.

'don't think i don't like your.. marks, just-'

'don't apologize, 'gumi, it's kinda chaos on your back' you giggled at your comparison, running with medicine on red stripes. his tensed and muscular body is overwhelming: those abs and pretty strong arms conquering every time you've got an opportunity to ogle.

'tho i love the chaos you made'

ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ ᴋᴇɴᴛᴏ:

i'm certain you'll be scratching his back because nanami is packing - big dick energy, lol.

screaming his name as you've been drawing illegible patterns, mostly on his wide back, so lately he'd smirk at his reflection in the mirror.

those nights when you're trying to fill the lack patterns on his back by drawing lots of geometrical figures or promiscuous tracery.

every move with his tight white shirt at the office makes his stoic face change as he reminisces the night you gave that pleasant pain.

he wants to find half-moons littering his biceps as you were holding 'em while giving creampie on his dick.

if you want it spicy - trail your fingers on his back suddenly, giving nanami little goosebumps to switch his mood.

'darling, you want me to stop?' he unaware question left you desperate as nanami stopped pumping, left a soft kiss on your forehead. 'am i fucking you way too hard?' seldom moment of nanami being tender as he gets used to fuck recklessly 'till you'll be a dripping mess under his cock.

you didn't see fit to answer the question but smack your lips against his, as a silent response named: 'i'm fine, my love, you can move' your wet, deep, and in some way subtle kiss that doesn't fit on the action you've been doing. you trail your nails from the back of his neck to the coccyx, ogling as to how his facial expression changes.

'you want to be used like a slut you are, don't you?'

you couldn't respond, only purr as how nanami suddenly turned on into daddy. feeling how your empty pussy being filled out with a thick kento's cock again as he's making a demolishing [?] pushes.

'get what you want, slut, scratch my back so it'd dotted lately with your nails'

ꜱᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ ʀʏᴏᴍᴇɴ:

as for that rough man..

he gives hickeys - you give him patterns on his back.

he'd be exceedingly obsessed after had seen your marks on itadori's body. still, itadori is a vessel for him, so sukuna will be even more self-satisfied. why? a little reminder for the owner who took possession of your body at the night.

once he'll take possession of the body, itadori it'd be or someone else, he won't stop himself as long as his back will be patterns of yours nail on it.

he does literally everything to make you scratch his back, whether it be licking your swollen clit to the way your legs got shaken or fuck you on his lap.

'let the bastard see what matures did it the night' his pace increase as he uttered the phrase that makes the butterflies in your belly thrives off.

his lowly and husky voice intermingled with ragged breathing, little drops of sweat on his hairline as he crushes devastating punches, letting your moans out of your mouth.

you're digging into his skin on the back as he masterfully target into the spongy coil in your stomach, feeling as your orgasm is building up with his every hit. he wants to see his back littering in patterns of your nails, wants to have that sweet but stinging pain in the morning.

's-sukuna, ugh~' you let out a whimper as your cunt constricting creampie on his dick. he chuckled as your hole clenching his thick cock while nails trailing all over back.

//~~//

idk i start always from sukuna and i've got inspiration only on kento's part, that's why nanami and toji might be rough than a king.

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general-du-vallon · 6 years

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Aw I found a sick christmas/new year fic on my cloud :) have a fic guys, Porthos is sick there’s carol singing idk they’re poly

“Wait up, wait up,” Porthos says, shutting the front door and jogging a bit to catch up with Athos.

Athos waits for him, watching Aramis and d'Artagnan walking ahead, laughing together. Porthos puffs hot air into the frigid air, making it fog up. He's wearing a big scarf, one of Aramis's that is a blanket in all but name, and his thick skiing coat, and gloves, and he still looks cold. Athos offers his arm.

“It's bloody freezin',” Porthos complains, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Athos drops his arm. They walk shoulder to shoulder, brushing one another now and then. d'Artagnan laughs joyously and Athos smiles, focussing on him, the way his head's back, stumbling into Aramis with mirth. Aramis drops back, grinning ear to ear.

“d'Artagnan thinks it'd be a good idea to stop at the Co-op. To buy Haribo.” Aramis says.

“You just ate twelve mince pies,” Athos says, “and a piece of fruit cake.”

“And dinner,” Aramis says.

“Yes, but what did I not get to eat? Snakes. That's what. The Co-op doesn't have snakes, but they do have Haribos, so I'm going to get Haribos. Instead of snakes,” d'Artagnan says.

“You can't eat the geletin free jelly snakes I bought specially for Constance,” Porthos says, still hidden in his scarf, “unless you happen to be Constance in disguise.”

“If I say I am, can I run back for-” d'Artagnan starts.

Porthos cuts him off by feinting forwards. d'Artagnana skitters out of the way, laughing again.

“Come on,” Athos says, “we'll go on ahead and get you sweets.”

d'Artagnan links arms with Athos and falls into steps, talking about the snakes and how unfair it is he didn't get any. Aramis smiles after them, settling at Porthos's side. Porthos sneezes into his scarf.

“Bless you. Can you not sneeze on my scarf?” Aramis says, more irritable than is really necessary.

Porthos pokes his head out of the scarf, turns away from Aramis, and sneezes again. Then again.

“Better?” he asks, sniffing hard and rubbing his nose.

“Yes. Bless you.”

“What's got up your arse and died?” Porthos says, unwrapping the scarf and re-wrapping it around his face.

“Nothing,” Aramis says, “You're just getting on my nerves tonight. It's not anything you're doing, it's me.”

Porthos nods and they walk on. Porthos sniffs again, and Aramis gives him a dark look, but says nothing. They wait outside the Co-op, silence settling over them. Aramis sniffs. Porthos sniffs.

“If you've given me your cold,” Aramis says, “I'll… I don't know. Stop making you ginger and honey. And banish you from the bedroom. Jelly can sleep with me.”

“Stupid name for a cat anyway,” Porthos says.

“It's short for Jellicles,” Aramis says, “as you know. Stop picking a fight.”

“Oh yes, it's me picking.”

Porthos pops his head out of the scarf and sneezes again, sniffing hard afterwards. Aramis pulls a packet of tissues out of his pocket and hits Porthos in the chest with them. Porthos pockets them.

“They were to blow your nose,” Aramis says.

d'Artagnan and Athos come out of the shop before Porthos can retaliate, and Aramis walks ahead to the bus stop. Porthos trails behind. Athos and d'Artagnan, ignoring the tension, walk hand in hand between them. Aramis sits, and Porthos sits next to him. They wait for the bus in silence. When it comes, Aramis sits next to d'Artagnan before Porthos or Athos can do anything. The other free seat is at the back.

“What's wrong?” Athos asks.

“No clue,” Porthos says.

“Are you feeling alright? You sound rough.”

“Got a cold.”

“I know. I asked how you were feeling, not for a diagnosis.”

Porthos shrugs, lower lip pushing out. Then his teeth bite into the lip, and he ducks his head.

“Sorry,” Athos says. “I just meant are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

The issue off the bus, once more falling into an odd sort of triangle – Aramis leading, Athos and d'Artagnan arm and arm in the middle, Porthos tagging along at the back. d'Artagnan and Athos's heads bend close to whisper together then they unlink, Athos sticking his hands in his pockets and whistling, d'Artagnan dropping back to shove a hand into Porthos's pocket and find his hand, leaning into him with a happy sigh.

"Got your sweets?" Porthos asks.

"Mm, yep. I'll eat them at just the right moment, when Athos and Aramis are singing quiet. Set up a right noisy crinkling, embarrass Athos for being a hopeless audience member," d'Artagnan says, voice laced with unspoken laughter.

"Maybe I should join the choir too," Porthos muses.

"Oh yeah," d'Artagnan says, not stifling his laughter, letting it ring out.

"Oi," Porthos says, getting a good bit of growl into it.

"You're lovely my darling, however, your voice is currently hoarse as a... as a... badger's arse," d'Artagnan says, laughing still then laughing harder at his analogy.

Porthos shoves him gently away and goes for him, setting d'Artagnan running out of reach, still cackling. Aramis listens, wishing Porthos wasn't rubbing him up the wrong way today. There's no reason for it, he'd quite like to be cuddly and warm and nice but then Porthos says something or does something and Aramis will be cross again. He sighs.

"So," Athos says, catching up as Aramis slows to listen to Porthos and d'Artagnan.

"No," Aramis grumbles. He's not going to have a heart-to-heart with Mr. never-talks-about-emotions-without-application-of-a-crowbar. "Just, no."

Athos shrugs but looks relieved. Aramis puts an arm around his shoulders and Athos's arm automatically comes up around Aramis's waist, then up to his shoulder. They head into the church like that, and Aramis sighs as they step in. It's a little warmer, but that's not what's made Aramis lighten, every darkness falling away. The architecture is beautiful here, all the thick beams and lovely glass windows, candles lit. The bustle and clatter of setting up chairs and the hustle to see each other and say hello is familiar and Aramis sinks into the welcome of it. About halfway through greeting people, having been roped into helping with mulled wine in the interval, Aramis's bad mood falls away entirely. He squeezes Robert's arm and slips away from him and Sue, scanning the hurry and rush of people arriving to try and locate Porthos. There aren't enough seats and Clare and John and running about for more, but Porthos has a seat, over by the heater. He looks a bit miserable. Athos is stood next to him, and d'Artagnan behind, two little old people sharing the bench seat with him. Aramis goes over and shimmies his way to stand in front of Porthos. There's not space and he's too close and Porthos keeps his arms between them even while he tips his head back to meet Aramis's eyes. His own are slightly pink. Aramis kisses him, bussing his cheek with his knuckles.

"Hey," Porthos says, voice hoarse.

"Sorry," Aramis say, smiling. Porthos nods, his arms dropping, one hand to his knee the other to Aramis's waist, fingers sneaking under Aramis's jumper to tangle in his t-shirt, looking for assurance. Aramis leans in again and kisses him, holding his face carefully, going gentle. "Sorry."

"It's ok," Porthos says. He seems a bit bewildered though so Aramis kisses him again. This time he laughs. "It's fine."

"Good," Aramis says.

"Can I sneeze in your scarf now?" Porthos asks, lips fighting a grin. Aramis kisses him again because he's lovely.

"Don't push it," Aramis says.

"You alright to stand up, Pip?" Athos murmurs, ever so softly so only the four of them will hear. Aramis follows his gaze and sees more than one person who look like they need a seat.

"Dunno, probably," Porthos says, and gets to his feet.

He and Aramis are pressed very close and Porthos starts to laugh, hanging onto Aramis to stay upright. Aramis pushes him to sit again and nudges Athos aside so he can get out, then tugs Porthos after him, still laughing, leaning into Aramis's back and shoulder. The old people shuffle down and Aramis shuffles forward, moving them all until they're still under the heater but can all stand properly, instead of just tangled together and in a mess. Porthos is still holding onto Aramis, arm looped around his shoulders and neck now, giggling to himself, eyes shut, burried in Aramis's scarf.

"This is gorgeous on you," Aramis decides, wrapping it more firmly around Porthos. "And I love you silly. If you must sneeze on my scarf I suppose I will survive. Just wash it before you return it."

"Never giving it back," Porthos says. "It's warm."

Father Hearn gets up then to explain why they're having a fancy service on New Years (because they wanted to) and what they're going to be celebrating (Twenty Seventeen's death) and what they want from the year ahead (good lord anything will be better than last year). Aramis wraps an arm around Porthos and smiles happily to himself, then sighs in pleasure and leans into Porthos, settling in to listen to the father. Father Hearn, Aramis knows, is a trans man, very queer, and Aramis loves him because he's Chillaen as well. Not many people know he's trans, in fact Aramis is pretty sure no one does because he'd probably not have been ordained if they knew. Or maybe he would, Aramis has never asked, it seems and intrusive and rude question. He loves listening to him either way, the familiar accent, the warmth, the tolerance for queerness.

Athos reaches around Porthos to nudge Aramis, drawing his attention to Porthos who's falling asleep where he stands. Aramis pulls his attention away from the front and gazes at Porthos for a long moment before hoiking him up and waking him. Porthos snorts, surprised, and sneezes three times. Athos gives his shoulder a rub and Porthos turns sleepy eyes on him and smiles, head resting heavy on Aramis's shoulder still. Athos clicks his tongue as Porthos's eyes slide shut and Porthos laughs very quietly and shakes himself awake, standing up straighter. Athos nods. Porthos promised he'd listen to Athos singing, he had damned well better stay awake for it. Athos is surprised by a heavy arm sung across his shoulders, he glowers up at Porthos. Porthos is looking fixedly forward, face lit by the orangey light of the heater, lips twitching at the corners. Athos sighs and gives up on being grouchy. Porthos is warm and heavy and very present, Athos gives in.

d'Artagnan moves into Athos's spot when Athos and Aramis make their way to the front, wrapping an arm around Porthos's waist. Porthos leans into him more than d'Artagnan expects so he looks around, but all the seats are taken. He shifts to take Porthos's weight more comfortably and presses close into his hair to find an ear and ask if he's ok, just a whisper. Porthos nods and tips his head back, grinning. d'Artagnan lets go enough that Porthos starts sliding to the floor and Porthos gets his feet under him standing up properly. He stands up straight and all by himself when the Sylvie, conducting tonight, introduces the soloists and Aramis comes out all in his neat black, his colourful jumper removed, his hair sorted into a neat ponytail. Porthos cheers, his hoarse voice calling out in happy pride. d'Artagnan claps along, locating Athos, stood with the main body of the choir, at the back, only just visible, making himself small and unnoticeable. d'Artagnan cups his hands around his mouth and yells and Athos, d'Artagnan knows, goes pink. Porthos laughs and leans into d'Artagnan's side again.

"Don't let go," Porthos mutters.

d'Artagnan takes Porthos's word that he's not messing about this time and shifts so he can better support him, looking around again for a place to sit. There are seats that have people who look able in them, but that's an assumption d'Artagnan is not ever making. He bites his lip and tries to identify someone he knows. Or at least someone who Aramis knows. The choir is singing Dixit Dominus again, the thing they did for Christmas. It's nice enough d'Artagnan supposes, he doesn't really care much for classical choir whatever. He knows that the solos are hard because he's heard Porthos rhapsodizing about it and how incredible Aramis's control is and how clear he gets the notes and how he always hits every single one pitch-perfect and on and on. d'Artagnan finally recognises a woman who comes to Aramis's knitting thing. He pushes Porthos to stand and slips down to where she's sat, bending forward to whisper. She gives up her seat at once, flushing, but when she sees Porthos sat in it two minutes later she scowls.

d'Artagnan could not care less, he stands beside Porthos and holds Porthos's shoulder, both of them quiet as Aramis steps forward to sing the first soprano part. Porthos sways as the music rushes over them and even d'Artagnan can hear that it's beautiful, the notes staying on after Aramis sings, as he sings the next and the next, almost harmonzing with himself, the music hanging in the air for him to play with. Porthos gets up to his feet to cheer as Aramis steps back and the next movement begins. It all goes smoothe as far as d'Artagnan can tell. He gets bored halfway through and cheers loudly at the end for its finishing as much as anything else. He beams when the soloists gesture to the choir and Athos gets applauded too, and when Aramis steps forward and everyone claps for a really long time. Aramis comes rushing over to them, talking a mile a minute, then rushes off again to help dish out mulled wine. Athos gets hold of d'Artagnan's hand, gets his back to Porthos's shoulder, and stands glowering between them.

"Think Aramis'd notice or mind if you took Porthos home?" d'Artagnan murmurs into Athos's hair.

"Maybe, mood he was in earlier" Athos says, glancing back at Porthos – he looks tired but mostly fine. Athos frowns.

Sylvie comes over and distracts him though, commandeering him to drag him around to represent choirness. She's lively and bright, all burning energy, engaging everyone to tell them about the choir and her work with it and the charities they raise money for and how great it is they found such talented people to join in. She holds Athos's hand and kisses his forehead and smiles happily at him and he forgets everything but her, trailing after her warmth, content to be part of things. She eventually drops him back off by Porthos and d'Artagnan, settling with them for a moment. Already ready to flit back off again, busy with her things. Athos watches her, smiling. Aramis brings them mulled wine and wriggles between Porthos and Athos, nudging Athos closer to Sylvie, into her warmth again.

"Got you a warm thing," Aramis tells Porthos, reaching so he can wrap Porthos's hands around the mug. "Non-alcoholic. It's probably disgusting."

"It's quite nice," d'Artagnan says, sipping his own.

"Yours has wine in it though," Aramis says, watching until Porthos takes a sip. He frowns when Porthos coughs and sneezes into the scarf. "Are you ready to head home, baby?"

"Mm, little bit," Porthos says, looking only into his punch.

"Ok, that's fine," Aramis assures, pressing close and kissing the top of his head. "I'll get the bus with you. Is anyone coming back to ours, tonight?"

"Think Athos might go with Sylv, if he has any say in the matter," Porthos says, laughing. It makes him cough again.

"You're sounding pretty rough," Aramis says.

"Just a cold," Porthos mutters, irritable.

Aramis leaves him alone and turns to check plans, Sylvie says Athos is indeed coming home with her, in a tone of voice that suggests that they are going to have some kind of kinky sex (the tone of voice makes Athos go small and bashful, ducking his head in shy submission and batting his eyelids, shuffling into her side and allowing her to play with his hair).

"I could take Porthos?" d'Artagnan offers.

"No, I'm happy to go," Aramis says, smiling. It's not a lie, he wants to spend time with Porthos now.

"Ok. I might come over, later?" d'Artagnan says, tentative, uncertain of his welcome. Aramis hesitates. Technically Athos and d'Artagnan are welcome any time. Technically. "I'm happy to go home? I think Constance is about."

I won't be alone d'Artagnan doesn't say. He doesn't like being alone, which everyone knows, he doesn't want Aramis to feel obligated to offer hospitality. He waits, and Aramis eventually nods, smiling. d'Artagnan knows it's a genuine offer, Aramis took so long to decide that saying 'no' would hardly have done anything more than hesitating forever didn't already do. d'Artagnan's heartrate returns to normal. He still isn't sure about asking for things. With Athos it's easy, Athos just grumbles if he isn't happy about something. Aramis though is intimidating. d'Artagnan smiles back and catches Porthos looking pleased, which probably had something to do with Aramis's decision. Porthos gives a rough, hoarse cough and hunches into Aramis's scarf, getting everyone's attention even Athos's. Athos pushes Aramis aside and lifts Porthos's face back out of his scarf, kissing him. Then he glares at Aramis before leaning back into Sylvie, going all wispy and submissive again.

"I'll look after him," Aramis defends, hands up. "My bad mood fucked off ages ago."

Aramis offers Porthos his arm and Porthos takes it. They walk back to the bustop like that, Porthos exhausted and actually leaning on Aramis.

"Are you ok?" Aramis asks.

"Just tired," Porthos says, yawning, smiling as the bus draws up.

This time Aramis sits beside him and fusses, re-wrapping the scarf around him, taking off his fingerless gloves and replacing them with Aramis's own mittens, zipping his coat up properly, tutting over his lack of thick woolly socks.

"I knitted you some," Aramis says.

"They're knobbly," Porthos says. "They're uncomfy in my shoes. I wear them for slippers at home."

"They're to keep you warm, it's warm at home already."

"Get better at knitting so there's less knobbles, then," Porthos says. He's grinning. Aramis can tell even though the scarf's over his face.

"I'll make you a hat," Aramis decides, pulling his beanie off and stuffing Porthos's curls into it, tugging it over his ears. "With ear flaps. You'll probably just wear that as slippers too, though."

Porthos giggles at the idea and reaches over Aramis to ding the bell, then gets tired and just stays slumped there, shutting his eyes. Aramis hauls him up and drags him off the bus, Porthos giggling again. They stagger to the Co-Op and debate popping in for snacks (Porthos says it's a good idea, Aramis thinks they have enough leftover from Christmas to last them three million years). Porthos's energy runs out though and he tucks his hand into Aramis's and lets himself be lead home, breath coming hard. They take the lift, Aramis pulling Porthos close into his side and kissing his forhead, fussing again, wrapping the scarf better.

The flat is warm as they left it, the debris of Athos and d'Artagnan spending a lazy day with them still scattered – plates, mugs, glasses, juice, a wine bottle, snacks. Porthos goes straight for their bedroom, ignoring the mess, ignoring communal spaces. Aramis follows. It's their room, no one else comes in here, just the two of them. They share pretty much everything else with anyone and everyone but this space is just for the two of them. Porthos sits for a few minutes, eyes shut, gathering energy to get out of his things. Aramis unwinds him from the scarf and gets his coat off, the hat comes off too with the coat. Aramis pulls his hair out of a ponytail and takes off his own coat and things, by which time Porthos has found energy to get out of his clothes and into pyjamas and a jumper.

"Are you cold?" Aramis asks, cupping Porthos's face, worried at the flush and heavy eyes. "Do you have a fever?"

"Nah, just tired. I'm a bit cold, but I'm tired," Porthos says, leaning into Aramis's hands.

Aramis crawls into bed with him, curling tight together.

"You asked d'Artagnan to come over but you're sleeping in here?" Aramis asks.

"Hmm? Oh, forgot," Porthos mumbles. He makes a vague gesture towards stretching himself out and getting back up. "Oh well."

"He'll be fine," Aramis says, laughing. "I'll put some lights on and leave something out for him to eat, he'll be happy."

"Constance'll come tomorrow if he's here," Porthos whispers, pleased.

"Little schemer," Aramis says, admiring. "Clever."

"Mmhmm," Porthos mumbles, coughing, half asleep already.

A stray sneeze half wakes him but then he drifts again, mouth falling open to breathe around the congestion. Aramis smiles and wraps around him, body still thrumming with the music from tonight. When he closes his eyes he can hear it. Every time he looked up when he was singing he found Porthos in the audience. He couldn't really see him clearly but still he knew exactly how Porthos looks. It's how they met, Aramis singing and Porthos on the bench in the park, head back, doped out and saturated with the pleasure of listening, as if Aramis's voice just made the world light up. Aramis sighs and presses a kiss to Porthos's skin, holds him tighter. He remembers d'Artagnan soon enough (ok so it takes him longer than it should, but, well, Porthos is right there asleep and warm in his arms, forgetting the rest of the world is permissible). He gets up and puts some lights on and, yawning, gets some food out. He's considering whether to microwave the leftover pasta bake or leave it for d'Artagnan to do when the man in question lets himself carefully in and tiptoes through to the kitchen.

"Hey," he says, smiling. "Can I have some? I didn't stay long, Athos stayed for the second half but I got really bored and snuck out."

"It's for you," Aramis says, putting it in the microwave and turning to lean against the counter. "Porthos is sleeping in our room, you alright on your own? I can sleep with you."

Aramis doesn't usually offer stuff like that, it's mostly a whim this time but as he says it it's true. He wouldn't mind curling up with d'Artagnan, maybe having sex, maybe having sex in the morning. Maybe just sleeping together. d'Artagnan's lovely, especially kind of sleepy kind of keyed up like this. He's peering into the microwave, watching his food, leaning into Aramis seeing as Aramis is in the way of the microwave. Aramis wraps an arm around his waist and shuts his eyes, sighing, smiling. He's tired, but this is good. Having d'Artagnan and Porthos close is nice, and having Athos here all day, too, and singing together with people, making something beautiful. Making something beautiful with Athos.

"I love you, you know that?" d'Artagnan says. Aramis opens his eyes and finds d'Artagnan watching him now instead of the food.

"I know that," Aramis agrees.

"Good. I'm fine on my own, sleep with Porthos, you were kind of mean to him this afternoon," d'Artagnan says, raising his hands at once, pulling a little away from Aramis, laughing. "I know, I know; not my business. No judgement, just, you're not annoyed with him anymore. I know you wanna curl up with him and reassure yourself."

"I do want to do that," Aramis admits. "I also want to curl up with you."

"So I'll eat dinner out on the sofa and we can curl up there and watch some TV or something, then you can go sleep with Porthos, and in the morning you can sneak in with me and we can have excellent morning sex before Constance turns up," d'Artagnan says.

"That," Aramis says, stroking d'Artagnan's jaw making him grin, "is a fantastic idea, love," Aramis kisses d'Artagnan, to reward him for thinking of such wonderful things.

They get through half an episode of... Aramis isn't actually sure what it is that's on he's sleepy and tired and mostly just focussing on snuggling up to d'Artagnan and watching him laugh and stuff, but they only watch some of it before Aramis gets restless. It's listening to Porthos's coughing coming from the bedroom. It worries him.

"Go on," d'Artagnan says, pausing the TV. "Go, check he's ok."

"I'm sure he's fine, just a cold," Aramis says, wincing as Porthos coughs again, a rough harsh sound. d'Artagnan frowns, glancing toward the bedroom.

"He didn't sound that rough earlier," d'Artagnan says.

"He's fine," Aramis says, decidedly. Then he sighs. "Ok, I'll go. I'm no good for anything."

"We love you for it, go worry somewhere else though," d'Artagnan says. Aramis groans but it's true, he always worries. He starts to get up but d'Artagnan pulls him back down, into his lap, laughing when Aramis falls awkwardly. He kisses Aramis and gives him a squeeze then shoves his butt to get him to stand again. Aramis squeaks. "Oi!"

"Go on, goodnight. See you in the morning unless you're still ridiculously worried," d'Artagnan says, already focussed on the TV again.

"Goodnight," Aramis says.

He waits, but d'Artagnan's ignoring him so he trails back to the bedroom. Porthos is still curled up asleep and completely fine. Aramis lies behind him on his back and looks at the ceiling, listening to Porthos coughing. He turns onto his side after a particularly rough sound and wraps arms around Porthos, humming in case Porthos is awake.

"'m'fine," Porthos mumbles, turning in Aramis's arms.

"Didn't mean to wake you," Aramis says.

"You didn't. Technically I guess you did but ages ago when you got up, not just now, and not entirely, I've been mostly asleep," Porthos says, yawning, snuggling closer. "Staying now?"

"Mm, yeah," Aramis says, into Porthos's hair, holding him close. It's reassuring and warm. "Sure you're ok?"

"Mmhmm. Shh."

Aramis shushes, and falls asleep before Porthos.

#fic #mine #porthos #portamis #poly fic #other tags i dunno

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