Cute

Ok Idk who needs to hear this but Steve Rogers was just *the first* Captain America. He was legitimately never meant to be the only one. Phillips WANTED an army of them. Steve Rogers was not the icon of Cap that the government wanted him to be. They DISOWNED him because of this.

Sam Wilson served as a soldier far longer than Steve Rogers ever did, and not simply because you can't count the time that Steve spent CAST as a dancing monkey (based on his own interpretation).

Steve Rogers is the only Steve Rogers. We called him Nomad, too, since there was a time he WAS NOT Captain America.

The role was recast, by the government, several times.

I don't give a shit about Captain America as a concept. I love Steve Rogers and I love Sam Wilson because of who they are despite what 'America' or Phillips or John Walker or any other forces want.

If you think their title was the important part, you missed the point completely.

i got my hair retightened today and it always feels like i got scalped. now i won't get home till 5am tomorrow and i don't have any ibuprofen 😭

The Mirage of a Goodbye

Here is my story for @almostfoxglove 's angst writing challenge! The moodboard gave me some trouble while I thought about what I could write, but once the ideas came, it was fun to write it, and a little heartbreaking too. It's been a pleasure to participate. I hope anyone who reads it will like it.

@schnarfer, thank you so much for being so wonderful and sharing your thoughts with me! They have been tremendously helpful and appreciated. And to my friends @thundermartini @encasedinobsidian and @joelmillerisapunk for always being so supportive and sweet. Love you all!🫂♥️

Masterlist // AO3 link

pairing: din djarin x fem! able-bodied reader summary: Forgiveness and healing are heavy words. They come with a price, one that may be life-changing tonight. word count: 2700 tags/warnings: medieval au, angst, did I say angst?, a good dose of angst, grief, mentions of death, established relationship, eight years gap (if it can be considered an age gap), mentions of pregnancy, reader has no description other than having hair, no use Y/N

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The sound of the pestle grinding against the mortar, the constant, uninterrupted motion, is almost numbing. A reprieve. Bathed in candlelight as the moon rules the sky, and insomnia is her cruel fellow. Seizing her focus while the food, her maid's last attempt to nourish her, lies forgotten on the table in front of the hearth as she stands in the alcove where her healing tools reside wearing only a nightgown. 

Her body is cold as ice. It has been since the day he abandoned her, and nothing is powerful enough to warm her. 

The rotation of her wrist, pulverising, transforming the blend of herbs into a mixture to combat infection, mutes the cacophony in her mind, offering a solace -the safety her chambers haven't been able to provide. 

It puts a halt to the endless reminiscence in the spare seconds that had invaded her dreams, building in exchange a wall of loneliness sinking its claws around her, tall and wide. Unapproachable. Ripping them beyond recognition as the week-long celebrations for the anniversary of the end of the war became grief and death, turning them into a void shell. The musings of an innocent girl who had yet to experience the world's cruelty in its fullest, not being a mere spectator trying to aid anymore, but proof of how all souls are victims of it. 

"My lady." 

The voice is low and gruff, his, with a cadence ingrained in her core; it's impossible not to recognize it the moment it reaches her ears despite the caution infused in it. 

It doesn't come alone, though. It's accompanied by his hushed steps, tiptoeing into her room, softly sealing the secret door they had discovered many years ago - a covert entrance used countless times to spend time together, seeking privacy and hidden from the outside world. 

“The prodigal son has returned.” 

She turns to stare at him, at Din, memorizing the details that make him whole. Real. Not the mirage that had been her companion while he was gone, poisoning her mind, experiencing a whirlwind of emotions. Hurting, raging, and mourning in equal amounts. Becoming a raw creature, seething with longing, so much it ached; hating him beyond words, hating herself for trusting him, for hoping she'd be someone's first choice for once. Believing she'd never see him again as the days spanned, becoming weeks, lifetimes of misery and penance. Crippled. Barely surviving the vipers at court, learning a role she had never expected to have bestowed upon her as the loss tried to devour her, paying for a sin she hadn't committed.

He's dressed in dark leather and with no trace of his armour tonight, the obsidian scales embellished with hints of gold she had gifted him after becoming the General of her father's army, of the realm's army.

His frame has not changed. Strong and beautiful, sturdy, flooded with life, luring her with his chestnut curls. Tall and broad as the day he vanished three months ago, as she remembers him under her touch, caressing his soft skin, bronzed and scattered with scars and freckles. Gripping her hips, helping her take her pleasure atop him, encasing her body amidst the sheets, feeling safe. Treasured. His weight, caging her, burning alongside hers, dancing, adoring her with his cock sheathed inside her, splitting her, inebriated by the passion, the ecstasy growing till exploding, claiming her with his seed.

“Are you preparing one of your remedies?”

“I’d say so," she states, cutting, a vicious chuckle ripping her tone, refusing to accept his attempt to break the tension between them, thick enough to leave a bitter metallic taste on her tongue.  “Why? Do you also think it's beneath me to prepare them now? That I shouldn't care?"

The firstborn. The boy. The heir. The future king. 

Those had been her older brother's titles -pushing her to exist in his shadow since she was born eight years later than him. She’d learned to accept it, watch her absent parents cherish her in their own way but do nothing to mask their preference. Favoring him, spoiling him, giving him their attention and praise, whereas she was handed to nursemaids and tutors without an extra thought. Not growing resentful and even becoming grateful, happy and keen, valuing the lack of pressure on her shoulders, the freedom it provided. Allowed to learn and become a healer, to prioritise love over political alliances in a marriage, and not be chained, used as bargaining flesh.

A sentiment she had been sure about. But Din’s presence only accentuates her doubts, every decision she has made since her future imploded.

Her heart longs to mend, run to him, bury her face on his torso, and breathe his soothing scent -the hints of rosemary from the soap she prefers merged with his musk- feel his arms envelop her, squeeze her hard, and never let go, allow him to ground her like only he knows how to do. But she doesn't surrender, steeling herself, fuelling her anger, folding her forearms over her chest to prevent herself from reaching for him, staring at him in silence, expectant, purposefully making him uncomfortable.

“No, I… I brought you something.”

The tension in his frame bleeds to his words as he approaches her, maintaining his distance. Insecure, hovering around the table as he sets down the bundle he's carrying, shrouded in a thick cloth.

The shape is foreboding, straight, and long, causing a pricking sensation that traverses her from the base of her spine to her neck as she unwraps it, recognising it instantly. A sharp blade black as coal, with an angular hilt carved with an engraving she doesn't require to see to be certain it's there. The will be done. Branding it, bestowing a name almost forgotten, a myth considered lost long ago. The Darksaber. A blade of kings, of worthy rulers blessed by the Gods.

“What have you done?” She demands. The pain of his betrayal stabs her, slicing her heart, and making her recoil in disbelief and rage.

“It’s yours.”

“Mine?” 

“It’s my gift to legitimise your reign," he offers, raising his palm, trying to hold hers. But she moves backward, using the table as a barrier, swatting his attempts, her pain blinding her to the damage her rejection provokes.

“It’s not. This is a curse. Tradition…”

“You’re breaking tradition. I thought…”

“You thought? How could you? The only way to yield it is by winning it in combat. You know it.  Everyone knows the legend. What have I done to deserve this?”

“I only wanted to help,” he implores, failing, interrupted by her reproaches.

“Help? How? By leaving when I needed you the most?" Her finger points at him accusingly, being both judge and executioner. "The only reason the Lords accept me as their Queen is because I’m the only option. And you go and bring this? No one would believe I’d best you. They are going to declare it’s a favor from the Gods.”

“I…”

“Is this your attempt to get the crown without bloodshed? You would have more than enough shore. The Armorer and his cohort still think the crown should have gone to your father, not mine.”

“I’d never do that.”

“Color me surprised," she scoffs, "your actions are speaking quite loudly. Perhaps I should do that, give you the crown, and be free from everything."

“What do you want from me.” It's just a murmur, begging, reverberating in the walls like a roar, as intense and dangerous, silencing her

She wishes to curse at him, wound him, scar him as much as he has done to her. Send him away, sentence him, banish him from her presence, enforce the power she has now, the one she's still getting used to, but she doesn't. His solemn countenance, sad, haunted, the lack of sleep in his stare, glassy with unshed tears, the intensity in them, the one perpetually existing in his gaze, make her shudder and lift the veil of her sorrow.

They are one of her earliest memories: his eyes. Brown, filled with kindness and childlike wonderment. He’s unremarkable to many, low born, easy to forget, to pass over, undeserving of a second glance. The eyes of an orphan, the son of the king's brother-in-arms, who had perished leading the rebellion that had granted her father the throne, adopted by the new king and raised with his children, sharing the age with her brother. She had forever been aware of the truth, conscious of their uniqueness from the beginning. 

Honest, trustworthy, pools to his soul that matured as he grew and developed new shades. Magnificent. Protective. Always looking at her with respect, sometimes teasing but never mocking, attentive, knowing of her worth independent of her sex, by being herself. Bewitching her, lavishing her with the attention she deserved, allowing her to bask in it as much as she desired, encouraging her to do so, constantly seeking her, falling in love in stolen moments. Infatuated and passionate as they kissed, losing their innocence together, sharing countless nights in the sanctuary of her rooms, asking her to marry, promising to never hurt her or give her motive to doubt his loyalty.

“The truth.” Two words, simple, easy to voice, yet massive and terrifying to answer to, decisive. “It was naïve of me to presume you'd still want me, but you left. You looked me in the eyes announcing my father and brother’s death, kneeled like everybody else, declared me queen, and left.”

“I’ve never stopped wanting you. You must believe me, but it was not appropriate for me to approach you. Appearances…”

“Fuck appearances! We were an open secret. People may not have proof of the depth of our connection, but they know what we meant to each other. I had convinced Father. He planned to announce our betrothal that day. Once you returned from the hunt.”

“I tried to later," he admits with remorse embedded in his expression, "but you were talking with Lord Vanth.” 

“You thought I’d stray?”

“No. Never, but it made it impossible to ignore my shortcomings.”

“What?”

“I’m no politician. I don’t understand the court's intrigue. I’m a warrior. I’m not good enough for you, a Queen.”

“Don’t you think that’s why you’re the right one? Why I'd choose you over anyone else,” she offers, her tears falling, rolling down her face like rivers, unstoppable. “I know it’s selfish to ask, but the only way I can confront it, not be destroyed by the Crown, is if I have someone as loyal and faithful as you. The warrior you are, who has the army’s fealty and respect. A shield. A sword. A friend who will see me and not a tool for power, who will not muffle me to aid his own ambition but support me. A Consort I love and who loves me just as fiercely.”

“I…”

“Why did you leave?” she requests, gentler, still not giving in.

“I got scared. I couldn’t breathe, so I went to our tree.” Her hope grows at his confession, loud, taking root in her chest, blooming. "We haven't been there in a long time.”

“Oh.” 

She stays still as he approaches her, tracking his movements, holding his gaze, gasping at the first contact. His skin grazes hers, grabbing her fingers, restoring the warmth she had been bereft of, infusing her lungs with fresh air.

“I was remembering our moments there and sensed this pull in my gut as if someone were calling me. My father’s voice echoed in my mind, urging me to do what we said we'd do as kids. Crack the riddles and find the Darksaber.” 

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

"Because I wouldn’t have been able to leave you." The rawness is proof of his honesty, letting him tug her closer. "It sounds insane, and perhaps it was the fear taking control, but I couldn't ignore it. It took me longer than I intended, but I found it.” His mouth curls at her response, the obvious wish to question for more details. "I’ll tell you everything," he promises, pecking her knuckles slowly, relishing in the action, the privilege. “Once I touched the hilt, all fell into place. I wasn't scared anymore. I was sure where I was meant to be. Beside you. Always." His lips grace her again, worshiping, resting his other hand on her lower abdomen. "I saw you. I felt so proud. You looked so beautiful. Powerful, holding the saber for everyone to see, with the crown in your head and your belly swollen, carrying our child.”

“What?” As soon as he says it, she knows it's true, suddenly remembering how long it has been since she last bled, no longer able to claim that her tiredness came from her lost sleep, from the myriad of tasks she had to face each day, no longer able to assume her nausea was a present from her anxiety, deny what her body had known for weeks, no longer able to restrain her fears.

Her heart gallops against her ribs as her palm lands close to his, not touching, forming a protective barrier with only a few inches between them.

How could she be a good mother when her own had been so lacking? When she barely knows how to reign. Who she is. How to embrace her identity now. When the terrifying prospect of having to do it alone seems so certain at this juncture, and the worry of being pressured to renounce her child for being born out of wedlock looms in her mind.

“Will you forgive me?" His question is a plea, a whisper slipping from his mouth with sorrow infused in his irises as he cradles her cheeks, kissing her forehead, and his thumb caresses her cheekbone. Ensuring her attention and belief in him as he keeps talking. “You’re not the only option. You’re the best one, better than your father was, and better than your brother or me could have ever been.”

It’s easy to believe him. Understand his motives and feelings. Forgive him despite needing time to heal. To picture them together, facing every challenge as a team, turning the Realm into a better place to live, safer and prosperous, raising the child in her womb and any other they would be blessed with, being the parents they never had, growing old, and creating thousands of memories.

“I’m sorry. I tried my best. Don't ever forget that I love you.”

It's a vow sealed with a secret barely contained, with a grievous hue alluding to a deeper significance in his visit. Pushing her to move, raise her hands to his chest to pull him closer and taste his lips, ask what worries him, what he's yet to voice, and share his burden. But a sudden knock on the door distracts her. It opens with urgency before she has time to welcome the intrusion, showing the concerned expression of one of her guards. 

“Your grace, the General has come back.” 

Her jaw opens, ready to state the obvious and acknowledge the man before her. But when she looks, her hands are empty, raised in the air with nothing to grasp. She’s standing alone, bewildered, frozen, staring at the void where he had been seconds ago as Ser Mayfeld continues informing her, and dread invades her.

“He was found unconscious atop his horse in the stables. He has a serious wound on his thigh. The fester has reached his blood, and the healers don’t think he’ll survive.”

The glint of the blade invading the corner of her eye, lying where Din left it, ensures her sanity. No godsend. Damnation, trying to take her man, demanding a price she's unwilling to pay.

Awakening her from her stupor as the pestle calls for her. Giving a new meaning to the tug she had sensed earlier, not only a seek for comfort in the motions and aromas of the healing herbs anymore but a forewarning of the need for a salve to clean the infection.

She seizes it, feeling its weight on her palms, her mind enumerating what she will need, trembling, almost knocking down the other tonics on the table, grabbing them in a rush to throw them in her satchel. And starts to run.

He deserves to live, to be a father. And her child deserves the father she knows Din would be. Stern only when forced to, gentle, patient, silly in private, fun, dotting, attentive, and loving.

She refuses to yield. It cannot end like this when the future is close enough to graze it.

She won't let him go without a fight. He must survive.

Npt (because there was interest in my WIP Wednesday!) @whocaresstillthelouvre @milla-frenchy @jennaispunk @604to647 @pascalssbabyy

@yxtkiwiyxt @aurorawritestoescape @secretelephanttattoo @baronessvonglitter @burntheedges

holy space balls

Alright… headphones on, volume max. Nighty night ✨❤️

someone, reading my writing: wow great story!

me, sticking my hands in the plotholes: thanks it has pockets :)

blink and miss it but someone pointed out bucky’s shamelessly checking sam’s ass out here

Dr Abbot keeping in shape 💪💪

Just wanted to draw Abbot in some casual/sporty outfit

Later: Donnie Donahue x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cosmic-psychickitty @sjlovestory @storiesaplenty @imawhoreforu

Companion piece to:

The Worst Kinda Day (NSFW) - Donnie can't explain the relief he feels when he gets home to find you in the shower.

Queen of Soul - You consider your current career choices as you undressin the bathroom.

Gold (NSFW) - Donnie reminds you who you belong to when he sees another man hitting on you.

You’re in your underwear when Donnie gets home from work. He lingers in the doorway of the bedroom watching as you sit at your dressing table in that pretty lace bra and panties set, adding the setting powder to your features over your make up.

His cock stirs his trousers because your skin contrasting against the cream hue of that fabric, it does a little something for him.

“Is it wrong that I wanna get to my knees and worship you like the goddess you are?” He asks you, pushing off the door frame.

Your lips curve up into a smile as you tilt your head up towards him. His mouth covers yours, a searing kiss that makes a rush of heat erupt through every single one of your nerve endings as his palm cradles your neck.

“Later.” You whisper as you pull away, you attention shifting back to the mirror. “I have a session at the studio tonight.”

“I thought you were off.” He frowns as he sits down on the edge of the bed to unlace his kicks. “I was gonna cook, we were gonna do something special…”

“I was but then Leon called, he can only do tonight so…”

“Alicia.” He says softly, dragging his palms down his weary features. “This guys gonna try and get into your pants… on our wedding anniversary.”

“Donnie.” You say firmly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “That’s not gonna happen. I promise I’ll make this up to you but you know how important this track is to my career.”

“Hm.” He says retying his laces.

“Hm?” You question, turning to face him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means go do your thing.” He shrugs as he raises to his feet. “I’m gonna head out and do mine.”

“Donnie…” You call after him but he’s already out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Love Donnie? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

his teeth are so straight, i find that slightly off putting. maybe he isn't perfect 🤔

but that makes him sexier(?) somehow

this is something very personal to me

i died

Young One

Din Djarin x Poe Dameron

read on ao3

Masterlist : Star Wars Masterlist

My Ko-fi

Summary: Poe, a young spice runner is trying to figure out his place in this world when a mysterious helmeted man approaches him at a bar.

Warnings and content: Age gap (22 and mid 50's), Poe is not a virgin but not much more experienced. Poe had one (1) sexual experience with a man before that did not feel good and was painful, the helmet stays on, not an innocent kink situation as Din isn't neccecarily turned on by Poe being inexperienced (in and out of bed), but he does find Poe funny and likes guiding him. Anal sex, lots of fingers in mouths, praise.

AN: I've never written for Din! RARELY wrote for Poe, both facts would surprise anyone who knows me IRL. Usually in fics, Din is more inexperienced with reader, while Poe fics Poe is a slut (its canon). I wanted to play around with the idea of switching it due to age (and no reader)

An hour or something before I posted this, I saw @ivystoryweaver posted a Poe x reader, so i thought i'd share it here!

MAY THE FOURTH BE WITH YOU! (and with your spirit)

3.3k words

Divider by @dreamland-gallery

Being a spice runner was not as glamorous as he thought.

Don’t get him wrong, Poe Dameron was no idiot. He didn’t think it would be easy living by any means; it was illegal, after all. He knew there would be feast or famine. Still, he thought there’d be a little more feast… Stories of Han Solo, ones unable to be separated by fact or rumor due to the New Republic trying to clean up his image, lead him to believe there would a lot more fun, a lot more food, and frankly, a lot more sex.

Poe wasn’t a virgin, by any means, but he hadn’t exactly been around, either. Growing up, Poe didn’t get into much trouble. Zorii said she could tell he was raised by a grandparent, that he had that air about him, which Poe took a bit of offense to, if he was being honest. He hoped she’d fuck him, at least, but alas.

His stomach growled. Thinking to his credits, he should have enough money for some soup and still pay for the hotel in the morning. If not, he supposed he could just skip out. It was a seedy motel, the kind of place that didn’t want galactic authorities involved. 

Half a bowl of soup later, Poe at least didn’t feel lightheaded, but his senses were not about him enough to notice the stranger eyeing him until the helmeted man sat down at the bartop next to him. Poe raised a curious eyebrow, but given he had a mouthful of soup it was the man that spoke first.

“They let you eat on the job?” His voice was altered by the helmet, but there didn’t seem to be a voice modulated in use. It wasn’t particularly deep, but definitely male.

“I’m off the clock?” Why does this guy care if he eats?

“Then you might want to remove that bandana from your pocket, young one.”

This did not help matters for Poe, only adding to the confusion. Still, he reaches back, feeling the forest green bandana he used to keep sweat off his forehead hanging out his pocket. “What? Why? Oh gods, is this a gang thing? I swear, just a spice runner, I’m not a part of-”

But the man just chuckled, cutting Poe off. “Gods, how young are you? And when was the last time you ate real food?”

Feeling just a little indignant, Poe only answered half. “22, and I don’t think-”

Again, he was cut off by the man flagging down the bartender. “Get the boy a sandwich, a side of ahrisa and something to drink, on my tab. Put the soup on there too.”

“I don’t-”

“I can see your ribcage under your shirt, take the food. And, if I may, some words of advice.”

Sitting back against his chair, Poe picked up his cup of soup and lipped it to his mouth to sip before answering. He hoped he looked cool. This guy? This guy was cool. “Seems like you’re going to give it anyway.”

Another small chuckle through the helmet. It was shiny, as was his uniform. Beskar, if he were to guess. “First, don’t go around announcing to every stranger your age. You look like you could pass for 25, and aging yourself younger will make things worse. People worse than me are more than ready to take advantage. Also, don’t go telling everyone you run spice. I think that’s supposed to be day one of training. I could have been a cop. Don’t talk to cops. Lastly.” He grabs the headband out of Poe’s pocket, leaning in intimately close but not pulling away once the objective was achieved. He holds it up to Poe’s face. “Don’t let handkerchiefs hang out of your pocket. You're flagging.”

Although he was certain it was making him sound more naive than he wanted to in front of the mysterious stranger, he asked, mouthful of soup again. Fuck he was hungry. “Flagging?”

He swore he heard a smile in the man’s voice. “Green handkerchief means your open for males to approach you for paid sex.”

Poe choked on his last bite and he had to pound his chest to cough up the bantha bite. “S-sex?!”

“Is it the paid part that scares you so bad, or the fact you’re attracting males?”

A blush crept up Poe’s neck and he hoped his upturned collar hid it, but it was doubtful. Poe had been around a time or two, one of those round trips being a less than stellar fumble with someone who also didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t mean badly, and they’d remained friends, but the memory hadn’t exactly made Poe gung-ho to  get anything put up inside him. Poe’s food came, and despite his embarrassment he couldn’t exactly say no to a nutrient dense meal right now.

“That’s why you approached me, isn’t it?”

“Smart boy.”

More blushing. “And… that’s why you bought me food?”

To his surprise, the man shook his head, voice a little softer, despite the shining helmet. “No.” It was firm, clear. He wanted to be understood. “I bought you food because I’ve been in the same position, young and hungry. Anything that happens is what you want to do.”

There was a beat while Poe processed the words, ashamed to say he was deepthroating the sandwich as he considered them. Thank god there was a band playing, otherwise the man might have heard a bread-muffled whimper, moan, or whatever he could call the noise that left his throat.

After he chewed a rather large bite (a process that took well over a minute, Poe and him making what he presumed to be straight-on eye contact through the black of the mask), Poe swolled, hard. “Anything that happens?”

He held out his hand. “Din Djarin. And what’s your name, young one?”

*

His mouth tasted of leather; a glove covered him, covering the sounds trying to escape his mouth as Din’s other hand palmed his fully erect hard-on.

“Impressive.” He complimented what Poe could only assume was his size, but he was too hazy to think too hard on it. He wanted to kiss him, to take off his helmet and taste him, but Din wouldn’t let him. “I got one rule, the helmet stays on. Understood?”

“Y-yeah” He didn’t care, as long as he got to cum. He was so hard, it was painful, much more so  than the hunger pains that bit at him earlier today. He definitely wasn’t sleeping with the mysterious older man because he bought him food, but the act had made him feel safe enough to engage with.

A tight squeeze through his pants, Din pressing his body against Poe’s so he could feel his hardness. The helmet felt cool against his burning cheek; foreign and enticing all at once. He clutched for the metal and the fabric between the plates, desperate for something to hold onto as he quickly began falling apart at the seems.

“And you?”

“Huh?”

Din buried the front of the helmet in Poe’s neck, and he swore he heard him smell him. Could he smell through the helmet? He’d heard of some sects of Mandolorians that wouldn’t remove their helmets, and now the pieces were coming together.

“Things you don’t do or don’t want. Like that.” Despite still being grovely, Din’s voice was encouraging.

Poe swallowed, trying not to cum in his pants right away and embarrass himself, but it was getting harder. “I uh- ohfuck, I don’t know?”

The movements still, and Din removed his hand from his cock, giving Poe a moment of reprieve and clarity of thought. He lifts his helmet to look at him. Both men aren’t too tall, Poe at 5’8 and and Din a few inches above, but Din has an authority to him, an air of power and confidence that makes him seem so much more as he angles his face down at the younger man.

Poe laments the loss of contact when Din’s body is off his, but as Din pulls off his glove  a finger at a time, drool builds in excitement for what’s to come. Hopefully. If Din decides he doesn’t want a scrawny inexperienced loser, he thinks he might simply die. Or his dick might explode. Either one. 

“Have you ever been touched, young one?”

Poe began to stammer. “I- Well, yes, it’s just, well a lot has been happening and, you know, my grandma kept a sharp eye-”

Thick fingers nudge at Poe’s lips, and he opens willingly. “Don’t talk about your grandma when I just had my hands on your cock, Poe.”

Unable to speak, Poe just nods and begins sucking on Din’s fingers.

“Now, I’m going to ask you yes or no questions. Just nod, or shake. Can your pretty head handle that?”

Poe starts to talk, but Din slides his two fingers in deeper, making Poe gag.

“I said, shake your head. Or nod. Or is that too complicated for you?”

Poe shakes his head, and another gloveless hand runs it’s fingers through Poe’s curls. “Good boy. Now. Have you been inside someone?”

Poe nods and sucks.

“Good. Now, has anyone been inside you.”

Despite being lulled by Din’s dominance, Poe winces a bit. He nods.

If Din noticed the wince, he didn’t say, but he did pause.

“And do you want me inside you.”

NODDING NODDING NODDING!

Din chuckles, then removes his hands from his mouth to begin undoing Poe’s buttons. “Now, you are going to tell me if there’s something you don’t like, or if you want to stop. I only want what you want, understand?”

Poe nods, and Din chuckles lowly again.

“You may speak, young one.”

His voice was sticky, dripping with his need and desire. “I understand.”

The last button undone, Din slides the shirt off him, letting it fall to the ground in disregard. He looks at his lover's body. 

“Beautiful.”

*

When Din had approached the young boy, he initially thought he was a hooker, just… a really bad one. Maybe that’s why he was so goddamn skinny, not getting any clients, and Johns certainly don’t pay a flat rate. He figured he’d feed him some good food, they both have a good time, he gets a warm bed to sleep in. Din had more than enough to buy him for the night, give them both a reprieve. He didn’t love sleeping with the helmet, but it was worth it for some skin to skin contact, a body to hold at night.

But after talking to him, realizing he wasn’t a hooker, just stupid, he still felt that same mix of pity and attraction he did when he saw him walk in the doors of the bar. He wasn’t joking, the button of his ribs showed.

Din’s fingers traced down the sides of his lover’s body, sat with Poe’s legs on either side  Both had gotten almost naked, Din’s helmet stayed on, and now Din wanted to assess what he was working with.

He felts the bones underneath his skin, fingertips tracing over the ridges and bumps. He really should eat more. Was the spice business really doing this poorly under the New Republic? Or had he joined a bad team? He’d probably do better as a hooker, the way he was blessed by the force with a perfect face, dark curls and soulful eyes. Could get any gender he wanted, could even be high class on Canto Bite… and yet, Poe was here with him, those eyes blown out with lust, cock absolutly dripping precum onto his thin stomach, just for him.

“Now tell me, Poe, when you were taken, was it unpleasant?” Din had seen the look on his face when he had recalled it, and wanted to know what he was working with. If it had been traumatic, Din wouldn’t deny the desperate boy if he truly wanted him. He was old enough to know what he wanted, even with an old man like him. He just needed to know how careful to be.

He looked like he was considering lying again, so Din encouraged him to tell the truth.

“It hurt.”

Something stirred in Din, something dangerously strong for a hookup. He wanted to protect him, to go back and harm whomever had harmed him. “They hurt you?”

“He didn’t mean to! Neither of us knew what we were doing. It was just…” Poe hesitated. “Awkward. Didn’t feel very good… then sometimes it did,but, I mean, putting something there I guess that’s normal.”

Din could not wait to show him how good it could be. He raised his hand to him again, loving the way he was so receptive, so willing and ready to listen. “Get it nice and wet.” Poe wrapped two hands around his wrist, holding him there as he licked and sucked and slobbered all over the hand for him. He bet his tongue would feel good on his cock, but that was for another day. Or not. He’d likely never see him again after this.

“Good boy.” He praised, then, scooting back and sliding a hand between his ss cheeks, Din slowly put two fingers inside him, watching the way Poe’s eyes rolled back. “It’s not supposed to hurt.” He assured. “A stretch, not pain. You will tell me if there’s pain, understood?”

He could only nod, turned into a mess in his bed. Din worked him over, opening his tight hole, scissoring him open. He would do this right, he would show the boy how good it was supposed to feel. He would not make it hurt. Poe’s fingers desperately gripped at the bedsheet, moaning and writhing all sprawled out before his eyes. Sweat was beginning to stick his curls to his scalp, but one long lock fell to his forehead. 

All the must of the cheap tavern couldn’t compare to the sweet smell of a man’s sweat, a man’s desperation; none of the clamor or noises outside could compare to the sounds Poe made now. All of that existed after him, elevating him, drawing Din’s senses not away, but to the treasure in front of him. His cock throbbed, begging Din to put it in to slam into his ass until he filled him with so much cum it would leak out of his for days as a reminder of what they shared, but it wasn’t until the third finger fit comfortably inside him, splaying the fingers open, that Din decided he was ready.

His uncut member nudged at Poe, Din’s hand sliding the foreskin back and forth as he touched himself. “It hurts, you tell me. Even if I’m about to cum, you want to stop, you will tell me.” It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t a suggestion. It was decided.

Poe's fingers were tight on the bed sheets, not in pain but pleasure. “Yes sir.”

He looked at his hands. “You’ll pull off the sheets” Din stated, with a ‘as a matter of fact’ tone. The sheets being pulled off didn’t really matter, but Din leaned over to take the white-knuckled grasp, threading their fingers together. He placed his other hand flat on Poe’s sternum, wanting to feel the skin on his, to feel his stomach move as he swallowed and lungs breath as he gasped. To feel human, to feel real.

He pushed inside, and Poe’s hands clutched his for stability, for comfort as his eyes rolled back in his head.

This is how it should feel, young one. Din thought to himself. It’s supposed to feel this good. Could be better. If I got to know you, helped you explore, learned what you like… You deserve someone that good to you.

But they had tonight, and he would make this count. He’d lay him so right that from now on, Poe would consider Din his first, not whoever it was that hurt him, accident or not. Being someone’s first is sacred, and Din did not take the task of repairing what was done lightly.

Din thrust inside him, feeling his cock swallowed to the hilt by his fluttering hole, watching Poe’s mouth fall open and that ringlet of a curl on his forehead bounce intime to his cock slapping on his stomach.

“Need you to breathe.” Din reminded him. “In when I squeeze your hand, out when I let go.” 

Poe nodded, and did what he said, breathing in and out until he relaxed, the tension leaving his body, his hole loosening and Poe was left with nothing but the feeling of being full.

“S-so good…” He moans, fucked-out face lost in lust, a haze around him as he grew closer and closer to his orgasm.

“Do I make you feel good, Poe?”  He slowly pulled out, them rammed his cock deep inside. And again. And again.

“So! Gorram! Good!”

Din wrapped his fist around Poe’s dick, jerking him off. He wanted to cum, to claim him in a primal way. “You will scream my name when you cum, young one” Fast, fast, his cock slicked with pre-cum and sweat. “Let them all know who-”

“DIN!!” Poe came in a leg shaking, bed rocking orgasm that overtook his whole body. The sweetest moan escaping from between those lips Din wanted to bite so bad. The lips he wanted to fuck. The lips he wanted all over his body…

His orgasm hit him like a speeder, and Din gripped Poe’s thighs so hard he worried he might bruise him, but Poe just moaned harder as his orgasm finished out, spilling rope after rope on his stomach and Din’s hand.

Din wanted to lick the white seed off his happy trail.

*

“Good” Poe responded when Din asked how he felt as he cleaned the boy’s mess. Good didn’t even begin to describe it, but he was so exhausted, he hoped his sleepy smile told the full story.

The wet rag whipped at his stomach. Poe had never made such a mess taking care of himself, it was like Din’s hands and cock were magic. He couldn’t imagine going back to masturbating after that, he didn’t want to. He was waiting for Din to say ‘okay, get the hell out of my room’ instead, it was,

“Do you want to stay tonight?” which surprised him. He never had someone bed him and ask him to stay.

“Oh, yeah but… i have a room, and my stuff is-”

Again, firmer. That tone Din uses when he wants Poe to be direct and clear. “Yes or no. Do you want to stay the night?”

“Yes. Yes I do.” He couldn’t imagine getting out of bed right now. Not when he was sooooooo cozy.

“Good. I’ll have your room canceled and refunded and gather your things.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I know, but I will. Now rest, sleep. Shower or bathe if you’d like, but don’t drink the tap water, it’s disgusting. Here.” Din handed him a bottle. “Drink this.” It wasn’t a question. “I’ll be back.”

*

When Din returned, Poe’s items packed neatly in his bag, he looked at the young boy sleeping on his bed. It’d been a long time since he’d bedded someone so handsome, but that attractiveness wasn’t all that was stirring something in him. He’d lived long enough to know what. Dressing down into night clothes, Din went to the bathroom to get some time without the helmet, to brush his teeth and wash up before returning to his lover, helmeted.

Crawling into bed, skin to skin again, Din pulled Poe close. The young man curled up in his arms, seemingly asleep until he muttered, “You’ll be here in the morning, Din?”

“Yes, now get some sleep, young one.”

“M’kay…” He mumbled. “Thank you.”

Din took a strong whiff of him, dizzy with the smell of sex and the musk of the hotel. “Goodnight, Poe.”

“Goodnight, Din.”

Listen. I already have ideas for more. Im obsessed with these two. If this part does well enough, i may write more after i kept up on some other series LIKE FUCKING FINISHING IYWBW

I'm not posting it here but 3 years ago i started writting this series for Han X OC, it was my first fic ever. got 27 chapters in before i got distracted by moon knight. Now im posting it on ao3. now that im doing these overnights and I can write more after school ends I plan on finishing it ;-; something like 10 chapters left? It han x oc, but there will be some poe x oc and kylo ren x oc

Also, I want to write dark!kylo ren x poe and poe x reader x han solo, so, stay tuned. we're returning to my star wars roots.

tagging those who asked and my usual peeps and one or two i thought might be interested. if its not for you, ignore! i wont be offended.

@avastrasposts @for-a-longlongtime (mel said to tag you lol ignore if its not for you!!!) @marshmallow--3 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missdictatorme @clawdee @campingwiththecharmings @alfiestreacle @miraclesabound