#female resistance

[miiju86]

[news4dzhozhar]

[spiderfreedom]

We have been taught that a gift from one man or group of men forces the reciprocal return of another gift. We have for a long time assumed that this was the entire nature of the gift, and while an incomplete view of all gift-giving, it has enabled us to understand fundamental features of the creation of society. While all objects of trade in male-to-male gift exchange empower social connection between groups of men, twentieth-century anthropology has argued that the most important gift that can be given between men is a woman. The "exchange of women," whereby some women are thus set aside (by the incest taboo) as a special group, so that they can be given by men as gifts to another group of men, powers the strongest social bonds. In essence, sisters and daughters of one group are exchanged to become wives of another group, and vice versa. It has been assumed by this traditional accounting of the "traffic in women" that women themselves have little to no agency of their own, but instead simply act as the silent conduits of connection between the two groups of males.

The very different nature of the gifts that women give each other, however, reveals that women do not lose their connections to their natal family when they are "traded out" in marriage, but instead keep close ties to that family. Much like the women themselves, the gifts given among them allow a concentration of treasure to be possessed inalien-ably by the family, increasing its wealth and prestige within society.

- When Women Ruled the World

[blue-eyes-never-lie]

[justonemorebite]

jock → ex-jock? wet.

tubby little butterball → devoted & disciplined jacked gym bro → gluttonous, impulsive, lazy, obese ex-jock pig? flooded

[eveningalchemist-art]

"You're being shagged by a rare parrot!"

In Treasure Island, parrot Captain Flint is described as green, so now I can't unsee her as a kakapo - my most favourite very large and flightless parrot from half way around the world 💚 She gets to annoy Black Sails' Silver (older version) because he never did get a parrot by the time the show ended.

[gennsoup]

"You know what I think? I think this whole concept of women being docile and obedient is nothing but wishful thinking. Or why would you put so much effort into lying to us? Into crippling our bodies? Into coercing us with made-up morals you claim are sacred? You insecure men, you're afraid. You can force us into compliance, but, deep down, you know you can't force us to truly love and respect you. And without love and respect, there will always be a seed of hatred and resistance. Growing. Festering. Waiting."

Xiran Jay Zhao, Iron Widow

[sinisterexaggerator]

Got it Bad

Poe Dameron x Fem! Reader

Summary: You are a medic aboard the Anodyne, a Resistance frigate frequented by one Poe Dameron. He often comes to see you when he is injured; you assume this time to be no different, as he is reckless in the line of duty and could do with your healing touch. But you have underestimated him; he has to show you something. Will you entertain his request?

Warnings: Explicit / NSFW 18+ for: Heavy petting, cunnilingus, PiV sex, kissing, blood and injury, premature ejaculation, dirty talk, medical scenarios, and mention of death in wartime. Contains: fluff, a liiittle bit of angst, smut, humor, and “love” confessions.  

Notes: This is my first time writing for Poe Dameron! Dedicated to @allsystemsblue, because she was the one who told me to! Poe is all over the place in this, but always about consent!

Word Count: 8.1K

Divider and banner by me.

“How many times has it been, then?”

Doe brown eyes blinked once, twice, spidery lashes that may as well have been made of gossamer, or silk, gracing tawny skin with a kiss. Poe Dameron stared blankly at you as you dressed his wound, this being one of the numerous occasions that you were tasked to do so.

You were one of the many medics aboard this particular Resistance vessel that patrolled the Outer Rim. Stationed not too far from D’Qar and the principal base of General Organa herself, this reckless, daredevil pilot had a tendency to bless you with his presence after what you would call less than routine missions.

Not desiring to arrive to his superior a bloodied mess more than necessary, Poe frequently docked his T-70 star fighter in your frigate’s docking bay for safekeeping, allowing his droid companion free rein of the halls.  Moments earlier, BB-8 had been offered a recharging station, Dameron left in your expert care as his ball droid rolled off and out of sight, following closely behind a member of the maintenance crew. The conversation between the two had been amusing to witness.

“Don’t worry, buddy! I’ll be right here waiting for you. Maybe. Possibly.”

BB had issued a series of complaints and reprimands in Droidspeak, causing the pilot to wince as if being scolded by his mother, or the general herself.

“All right, fine! I’ll come and find you then. No sweat.”

Satisfied, the orange and white orb had swirled on its axis, wheeling fluidly across a duralloy floor, leaving its master alone to suffer the consequences of his actions. Though Dameron did not seem to care, remaining somewhat unbothered by the gash across his forehead from where a piece of shrapnel had sent Black One into a spin. Before he could regain control, Poe’s head had crashed into the yolk of his X-wing, leaving a two-inch rent in his flesh.

No, he had not been wearing his helmet.

Despite his foolhardy nature, you thought it curious. With such a varied assortment of medical personnel living and working on the Anodyne - a modified Nebulon-C escort employed by the Resistance for the express purpose of being a mobile hospital - it was a wonder of yours why Poe always chose to search you out.

Not considering yourself to be anything in the way of special, at least the skills you possessed were adequate to put him on the mend. But, somehow, this visit seemed different, even if sticky crimson coated his handsome features.

You had come to notice that Poe was spending less time talking and more time staring, a thing you were not accustomed to as his gaze was unrelenting, the commander scrutinizing every facet of your appearance. He had seemed to limit himself to the surface area of your face, wandering, probing, exploring the curve of your nose, the outline of your lips, and finally the warmth in your eyes.

“Y-you didn’t answer me,” you commented, applying bacta to the injured man with a dabble of your fingers, your voice having lost its normal confidence as Dameron uttered a single, muted question.

“Huh?” he asked, as if only now realizing he was indeed a person, and that he could be perceived by others. He sat up marginally in his chair, those unyielding, heavy-lidded eyes almost vacantly looking through you, or so you thought.

You were beginning to wonder if this had anything to do with the fact that he might be mildly concussed. You were also becoming self-conscious, trying to keep the conversation on track despite Poe being so close to you with his blood staining your hands. “How many times has it been that you have come to see me these last few months? Don’t you know how to stay out of trouble?”

“No,” he answered without thought, leaning forward once more in the chair serving him for his examination. That sole syllable had been expressed in a dilatory fashion, soft and airy, only inches from your mouth.

You let out a breathy exhalation, surprised by this turn of events, yet nothing had happened.  The cocky pilot dared to bite down on a rather pouty bottom lip; he watched you intently, gauging your reaction as he dallied there, finally adding more in the way of a response. “That’s why I’m here. Again.”

“Yes, right, obviously,” you managed, trying to restore some semblance of equanimity over yourself after having been caught off guard.

“Obviously,” he echoed, the word a whisper in the all too quiet room. However, this would not last as more wounded boarded the ship at intervals, soon the medical bay filled with a bustle of activity.

Unwanted activity.

Poe glanced around, assessing the situation. You had just finished bandaging him up when his hand reached out for yours, gently clasping your wrist.

“Doc, I’ve gotta show you something. I’ve got it-- bad.”

“It?” you inquired incredulously, your own glance taking an appraisal of the room. His voice had lowered again, as if this topic of conversation was not meant to be overheard. His expression appeared serious, deep-set brows knitting together in a visual show of his concern. You mimicked him, a rather human way to show empathy in this case, though not entirely sure what for.

“It,” he confirmed, gently pulling you forward toward himself, as if you weren’t already close enough. Your breathing picked up as you posed a follow-up question, a simple one, and straight to the point.

“What?”

He did that thing again, the staring, as if you were a sheet of transparisteel and he was looking beyond it to the other side. You scanned his face, those ruggedly attractive bits of him that you had tended to time and time again.

“Um—” he paused, as if not knowing what to say, like his words had failed him, which was not out of the realm of possibility as you could confirm this uncommon pilot flew by the seat of his pants. You canted your head, expecting some sort of answer, your gaze trailing to Dameron’s fingers latched gingerly around your forearm.

You took note of their thickness, their length, his nails surprisingly trim and immaculate for being a fighter pilot, though you doubted he spent that much time on solid earth when he craved the sky; realspace; to soar among the stars. Catching yourself quickly, it had not gone unnoticed, Poe matching your tilt of the head with one of his own as he peered up at you with those unwavering, expressive eyes.

“Rash … Inya Prime … Think it might be serious,” he informed you, causing you to retract and sit up straight. You tugged yourself loose from his grasp and frowned, turning to wipe your hands off the best you could on an otherwise clean towel, wishing he would have told you this before you had gone and touched him.

“Well, let’s see it then,” you offered, swiveling back around to face him. The pilot pursed his lips before biting down again, his foot beginning to tap against the floor; the motion was almost sultry, like this whole charade was planned.

For some reason, you doubted that assumption.

“It’s … I can’t show you here,” he confessed, lowering his head as he turned it to the left and right, giving the medical bay another sweep with his eyes; it was as if he was suddenly your conspirator, Poe carrying and guarding an important secret.

“Where then?” You compelled an eyebrow to stay level, it wanting to raise of its own volition. It was your turn to stare, Poe taking up each of your hands again, regardless of the fact you had just tried to halfheartedly clean them. He placed them gently atop his knees; he held you there, and you dare not move. Then, the man bore directly into you with his hardened gaze, nudging his head toward the exit door.

“Exam room, down the hall. It’s, um – it’s private.”

You gave him a reproving look. “Why were you on Inya Prime in the first place?” you asked, your fingers twitching beneath his. You were caught between wanting to relax and to allow this to happen, or to jerk yourself away for fear of someone getting the wrong idea.

“Reconnaissance,” he replied without missing a beat.  You supposed that seemed logical enough, though Inya Prime was a small, boring, terrestrial planet of little to no interest to most.

That explained the civilian clothing, whereas most of the time Poe arrived to you in his bright orange flight suit, standing out like a ray of sunshine among the dark, depressing backdrop of space.

“And how did you get this rash?” you inquired curiously, wondering why it was he could not show you here instead, or just how bad it might be.

“You don’t wanna know,” he stated with a sense of finality, eyes searching yours, as if he was trying to penetrate your thoughts with a Jedi mind trick. You held his gaze a moment longer than expected before quickly standing to your feet; you felt the need to break physical contact, Dameron’s hands warm, rough, and—

“Fine, let’s hurry. There are others who need tending to.” It was the truth, yet you could feel your heartbeat betraying you by thumping loudly in your chest; you were sure that Poe could hear it.

“Right, let’s,” he said, standing. He walked a pace ahead of you then turned back around. He lingered, making sure you were going to follow him before he started out the door.

The man seemed nervous, slicking back a ringlet of dark hair that refused to stay in place. He ambulated somewhat awkwardly around the corner, then waited for you to unlock the examination room with a clearing of his throat. It then occurred to him he was standing in your way; he opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it, moving to one side as you gave him an inquisitive side-eye, using your badge to unlock the facilities.

He nodded, just a small movement of his head, eyes darting forward as if thinking hard on something before he entered the small space. It was fitted with a table for patients to lie on - equipped with a step stool and stirrups - a cabinet filled with various medical supplies, a curtain for dressing and undressing, a scale for taking a patient’s weight, and blood pressure detection equipment, among other things. It had all those items necessary and then some, though depending on your diagnosis, you imagined you might need to prescribe him an antifungal ointment of some kind.

“All right, we’re here,” you offered with a gesture. “Now, show me this rash.”

Poe gave a jittery laugh, answering you with a nervy “heh” as he ran his forefinger along the clean sheets of the table laid out before him as if he was checking it for dust.

“Yeah, about that,” he finally spoke up, walking full circle around the bed-like object before he arrived behind you.

“You see, doc—” he began; you craned your neck, looking over your shoulder at him, wanting to know why you now felt trapped, barred to the only way out as he had sandwiched himself between you and the door. “It’s right here,” he said, placing his open palm against his chest and giving it a tap.

This time you were the one to clear your throat, tossing back your hair as you straightened up to appear more professional, or perhaps dignified, forcing yourself to not think about how you were about to come into contact with, or at least see, Poe Dameron’s bare breast.

All things considered, he was an attractive man. You had thought that the moment you laid eyes on him; the time he had come to you battered and beaten with a black eye and a sprained ankle – he had taken a tumble down the side of a rather steep hill on some backwater, jungle-planet and only made it back to his X-wing thanks to members of Black Squadron. His foot was so badly swollen by the time he reached you, it was a miracle he could walk  - or hobble – at all.

A thought occurred to you. “I should wash my hands before we begin,” you declared, moving toward the small sink stationed with a cleaning solution that was meant for disinfection as much as it was for washing away dirt and grim.

Poe looked taken aback momentarily, words caught in his throat as he gave another nod, this one more exaggerated. “Yeah, right, OK,” he shot back, as if for some reason this had been a surprise to him.

You began your task, one hand over the other as you lathered yourself, peeking back at him. “Why don’t you take off your shirt?” you suggested, not able to help the way saying that made you feel, like this was anything more than a clinical procedure.

You could hear the rustle of fabric as Poe began to undo the buttons on his dress shirt, getting the feeling that he was watching you, studying you, bent slightly over the basin in which you were cleansing yourself of his blood. It swirled around the drainage, leading to a reserve tank that purified and recycled what little water was aboard this frigate; you knew that every drop was precious.

Finishing quickly, you refaced him, Dameron’s broad, naked chest staring you straight in the face, though he had not bothered to remove his button up all the way; its two panels were parted and pushed off to opposing sides.

Firm pectorals were spattered with a thin sheen of dark curls, matching the scruff of a beard that had just recently begun to form on his perfectly sculpted cheeks, running its course down to a chiseled jawline. Beneath wisps of black was smooth, golden skin - as if kissed by a main sequence star that orbited some planetary paradise - the happiest of trails leading down and beyond the waistline of his trousers.

You watched, entranced, the rise and fall of his stomach with every breath he took, in and out, slow, and almost deliberately so. You swallowed to remedy the dry sensation in your mouth with what saliva you had available, wondering if your face appeared as red as you felt it must be.

“Right, OK. Rash,” you announced out loud, purposely making an effort to look up and back into his eyes.

Again, he put his hand up, over his heart. “Here,” he repeated, “Right here. You see—”

Poe stepped forward, and you stepped back, each move he made a calculated risk, but one worth taking. “— my … heart,” he said, voice lowering an octave, then promptly continuing, “it… burns, itches, when I can’t … see you,” he emphasized. “And. You. You’re the cure, you’re the—”

He walked another pace forward, looming above you as you found yourself pressing back against the wall of the exam room. “—the only one who can make it better,” he breathily muttered, so close now you could smell the scent of the shampoo he used; it was reminiscent of citrus, but not overpowering.

“W-what—?” You felt you couldn’t believe your ears, your neck lifting back and up as you analyzed his intense facial expression. “Poe, I—”

“Shhh,” he sibilated with a press of his index to your lips. Then, he changed the subject, however momentary. “I lied to you, by the way. There is no rash, I—”

“—Yes, I’ve figured that out,” you interrupted, though your words came out weak, quavering.

“Sometimes, I pretend to be sick or hurt just to come see you. That headache last week?” He gave a short, sharp laugh. “More like … heartache,” he finished, encapsulating your chin between two fingers as his lips met yours.

Your body froze; you were immobile, unable to breathe, unable to speak, and unable to comprehend exactly what was going on. Granted, you may have imagined this moment once or twice – every guy, or girl aboard this vessel you assumed had done so at one point or another. There was more than one reason Dameron was referred to so aptly as “Flyboy,” though you tried not to let that tarnish the present moment.

The only thing you could articulate was a soft moan of acceptance, melting despite yourself against the durasteel partition behind you. Ruddy fingers traveled upward, this time tangling themselves in your hair, palm cupping the back of your head as he gently drew you into a deeper kiss.

“Poe,” you gasped against him, your own hand rising to lightly push against his rock-hard pecs; it was a mistake on your part, this simple act of touching his unclothed chest the catalyst from which your loins stirred. “What—”

“—It,” he murmured, bringing the conversation back around from when he had coaxed you to this place. “—the thing I’ve got it bad for. It’s you,” he conceded, Dameron’s tongue slithering past full lips to gently prod at yours that stood partially agape, ready to accept another kiss.

You easily allowed him entry, that warm, wet muscle dancing in a figure eight, the pattern slow and rhythmic as he lapped at your suddenly hungry mouth. But you would not let lust overtake you, you were a woman of scruples, principles, and a practitioner of medicine; there was a time and place for this sort of thing and now was not it.

“Dameron,” you began again, this time managing to put just enough space between you so that you might think straight, Poe’s eyes immediately overtaking yours with a primal, excitable energy that penetrated you to the depths of your soul. He was so eager, you thought, so attentive, the man hanging, waiting, willing, to hear anything you might have to say.

“I believe you’re concussed, I think it’s best that—”

“I’m fine. Better than fine. Everything’s perfect,” he interjected, pressing his mouth against yours once more.

“—Why?” you blurted out, the question having clawed its way out of your chest. It was common knowledge that the man before you got around, not able to imagine that this meant anything more than an attempt at a quick hook-up.

“Because. I can’t. Stop. Thinking. About you. You.” He spoke your name, a tickle in your ear that sent a tingle of excitement prickling down your spine, leaving goose pimples that were undeniable to the naked eye.

“I can’t explain it. Maybe it doesn’t make any sense; you, me…” he trailed off, the butt of his thumb running over the curvilinear shape of your ear. “I watch you. Sometimes. Not to… sound creepy,” he added quickly, giving a somewhat apologetic look. “… You’re incredible. Calm in the face of danger, in the face of uncertainty. And. You’re not afraid,” he emphasized.

“Besides—” Poe bent down low, brushing his lips across yours, featherlight, causing a feeble mewl to escape before you had the time or the wherewithal to rein it in. “— what if we die. What if this is the only chance I ever get to tell you?”

He was right. What was the use of pondering the future, what could or could not be, based on the assumption that you were going to live another day, or two, or three. With the First Order threatening to undo all the hard work of the New Republic, your lot was on the run, your fierce and beloved leader the only thing keeping this small resistance group together, albeit haphazardly organized.

You feared for the general every waking moment, taking your orders come what may, keeping your head down, the only thing breaking the monotony of your day besides the constant fear of attack or death being this charming, handsome man who now held your attention, and had done so on more than one occasion.

“Kiss me again, then,” you begged, any objection you may have dared to make fleeing irrevocably to leave you open and vulnerable to the onslaught of his affection sans your better judgement.

“Mn, yeah?” he coyly asked, the fingers of his hand, dormant for your short discussion, reactivating to knead the base of your skull as he gently pulled you forward, Dameron once more inserting his crafty tongue into your waiting mouth.

His movements were thoughtful, tongue writhing and contracting in a measured orchestration that seemed rehearsed, yet special to this instant. Each loop was intricate, never so much as to be distracting, Poe’s delicious kiss spurring you to action.

You lifted your hand, allowing your fingers to clutch tufts of his hair. You moaned against him, his arms instinctively tightening around you before he pulled away, gasping for breath.

“Can I touch you?” he bashfully asked, hands smoothing over your back to descend in a downward sweep across your waist and hips. “Please, baby, please say yes. Please, please,” he whined, ardent pecks of his velvet lips only a bonus; you had not planned to turn him away regardless.

“Yes,” you sighed out lasciviously, thinking this entire situation was too good to be true. But why not embrace it for what it was? You deserved admiration, affection, love.

“Thank you,” he expressed with gratitude, as if you had given him his greatest wish, Poe adjusting himself accordingly as he gifted you with another lush, sensual kiss; it was tender and languid, feeling the movement of Dameron’s hand shift from the edge of your hip to the drawstring of your pants.

You were adorned in scrubs, a stark reminder of your station and position, yet you could not help that you were human with needs and urges to be fulfilled. Hell, you hadn’t even known you wanted this until it was happening, though life was anything but predictable - it was sporadic. And if Poe was anything, it was that.

You admired that about him. He had an almost childlike whimsy, taking all things in stride, even his injuries when he acquired them. He cared about others so often and so much he frequently forgot about this own ails. It was a good quality to have in a leader, and although he was often rebuked by his superiors, Dameron was an honorable commander and an even better pilot.

“Keep going,” you implored as you felt your desire building upon itself, pooling in the seat of your belly. Desperately, you wanted him to touch you, Poe inclining his head to one side as he broke apart from your pleading lips.

He made heady eye contact, the way he looked at you both dizzying and intoxicating, the man licking his teeth as he quipped a hushed “Yeah?” alongside the act of his fingers trailing to just below the hem of your waistband. They slipped down, down, two braver than the others as Poe’s index and middle finger disappeared beneath the front of your pants and past the soft, cotton layer of your panties.

Dameron groaned a sound, as if performing a task that was somewhat arduous, yet it was meant to evince appreciation for the soft bed of fluff that greeted him, all prim and trim. His breathing picked up, his probing appendages creeping further inside your undergarments; he whimpered against your throat, feeling welcomed by the warm slick that saturated his thick digits as he parted those soft, pillowy lips that lived between your hips, aligning the underside of his forefinger against the protuberance of your clit.

“Mn, you want this just as much as I do,” he teased, his words husky and sensuous, yet not at all meant to be disrespectful. He was the playful sort; you were glad it translated into other areas of his life, namely intimate moments like these, as it eased the tension you were feeling; the thought you were doing something you should not be doing; something wrong.

“Mhm,” you muttered, the interjection a dulcet susurration upon your partway puckered lips. It quickly devolved into an immodest moan as his thumb joined in, aiding in spreading your folds to allow him ease of access to your shrouded pearl.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you, his tone coated in sugar sweetness as Poe continued to cheer you on, “you’re so soft, and warm, and— ohhh,” he cut himself short, feeling embarrassed for not only the sizeable boner he was jabbing into your leg, but the fact that if he did not control himself he might very well cum in his pants.

“I—mmn. Admiral Ackbar naked. Admiral Ackbar naked," he intoned at low volume; you proceeded to laugh, though Poe did not, a look of stern determination on his face. Still, that did not stop him from pleasuring you as he gingerly thumbed that little nub betwixt your thighs, concentric circles close-knit and diligently applied as you trembled enticingly in his arms.

“Is this OK?” he rumbled in your ear, his voice a throaty purr that made you pitch ever so slightly forward with the goal of kissing him again.

“Y-yes,” you managed, your body mildly spasming as you sought after his tongue, Dameron ever so subtly picking up speed in the way he massaged your swollen clit. It thrummed beneath his finger; he tested uncharted territory, gradually inserting his index inside you to the top of his second knuckle. You were already so wet there was barely any friction to speak of, Poe once more moaning aloud to impart his satisfaction to whoever was there to listen – you.

“Oh, you feel- you feel, so, so good,” he rattled off, priming that digit to curl just inside and against the anterior wall of your sex; you gasped, though you had known what was coming, you just didn’t know how amazing the sensation would feel until he was already pushing you toward an orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” you entreated anxiously, the pliant underside of his thumb continuing its mission as it stimulated your glandular bundle of nerves; they twitched faintly, pulsating under his proficient hands.

“OK, yes. Yes. Tell me. Tell me what you want, baby,” he affirmed. You were quick to answer.

“Another kiss,” you adjured, Poe indulging you before the words could die on your lips. The passion he brought to your embrace, the delicate way in which he held you, the rhythmic pattern of his tongue inside your mouth – it drove you to a quick release, Dameron sucking the heavy breaths from your lungs as he attempted to engulf you, so zealous was his appetite for your quiet, though rapturous praise.

You briefly closed your eyes to regain your composure, breathing ragged, then gazed upon his face as you struggled to recover. He pulled away to stare at you, the feeling of his forefinger sliding out of your soaked cunt something not to be ignored.

You gasped again, a tiny sound. Poe admired you with a twinkle in his eye. Then, he gravitated forward, bending so close to your ear. “I can do better.”

“What?” you questioned, confused, trying to curtail your panting breaths. The twinkle in his eye was infectious, spreading to his mouth, Poe’s pretty lips outstretching into a broad, mischievous grin.

“Wait,” he stated.

You observed as he bent forward into a crouch, sneaking along the wall toward the automated entry. Staying to its right, he was careful not to trigger its motion sensor, using the nearby keypad to lock it from the inside. This time, you did quirk a brow, Poe lowering the lights manually to off, but not before making sure the shades were closed to the rectangular window that gave you a mundane view into the hall. However, you may as well be seven feet tall in order to see out of it, and there were species that tall aboard this ship.

Overall, you felt stupid for not having done this before, yet everything had occurred so quickly. What if you had been caught by a co-worker, or your boss? You had no idea how to explain being fingered by Poe Dameron in a room that could otherwise be utilized to someone else’s benefit.

Then, the man came forward, standing to his full stature as he joined you where he had left you, haggard and still somewhat discombobulated from what just happened – that’s when he picked you up, bending at the knees to wrap both arms around your waist as he carried you aloft, your entire body remaining upright and vertical.

“Poe! What are you—”

“Shh, shh,” he endeavored to keep you silent, walking around the corner of the examination table to place you gently upon it in a somewhat forced, seated position. He immediately got to work, as he had started with your footwear, taking it upon himself to remove one shoe at a time.

“Are you a screamer, or are you a whiner?” he asked with another cheesy smile etched across his face, “because I don’t mind either, but the screaming may draw attention, and I assume that’s something you don’t want.”

“I-I don’t—”

“-know?” He shook his head as if in disbelief, though somehow not surprised. “Ooh, we’ve gotta set you straight, doc!”

You meant to argue, but with your shoes gone, Poe began to roll down your socks; it was one of the most intimate things you had experienced, watching with rapt attention as he pushed the fabric down bit by bit, replacing it with moist kisses along the top of your foot and up toward your now bare ankle.

“You don’t mind, right?” he asked offhand, Poe repeating the process on the other side; this time he enveloped your big toe, intaking it into his mouth as he teasingly sucked, mimicking a poi fish who wanted to dine on what it perhaps thought was a worm.

You involuntarily squirmed, pushing against the tops of his shoulders. “That tickles!” you declared, Poe gazing up into your eyes as a “pop” resounded upon release.

Then, with that same unapologetically severe, impassioned stare, Dameron rose to half-stand on his knees as his hands found your hips, fingers digging into the loose band at your waist. He pulled, softly but with enthusiasm, hypnotizing, chestnut-colored eyes once more drilling a hole straight down into your core as he tugged one pant leg off, then the other, followed by a move that would rid you of your underwear.

Partially naked, and on top of your own examination table no less, you instead tried to forget what repercussions might follow suit of your actions and leaned down to kiss the man again. He rose higher, forcing you to straighten your neck and back, Poe’s broad hands encasing the breadth of your face within them to hold you so, so carefully as he returned your gesture as naturally as if he was drinking water.

Come to find this was a tactic, the man releasing you after stealing your breath away a second or third time, hands sliding to lightly shove you back by the shoulders as he lay you down. At once he disappeared from your line of sight, leaving you faced with a view of the ceiling directly above your head; you idly wondered if you were both getting too far ahead of yourselves.

“Poe, I don’t think we should be—” You exhaled noisily, words caught as you choked on a breath, your overactive imagination unable to be controlled as you envisioned the intense kiss you had experienced earlier being reenacted between your legs. The man had pinned you by your hips,  kissing once, twice,  - feverishly -  the inguinal groove that connected your abdominal wall to your thigh, not wasting a moment’s time in making your briefly held fantasy come true.

“Hm? Mmmn,” Dameron hummed, his response muffled by your flesh. Your body stiffened before relaxing as he licked your already soaked slit with the flat of his tongue; it effortlessly slipped between the folds of your labia, Poe toying with your clit, running circles until the whole thing delved inside your opening.

The man pulled you forward by your thighs, closer to the edge of the table; you could feel the paper bedsheet sliding beneath you as he lapped at your cunt like it was a second mouth. He moaned into you, his breath hot on your skin, the scruff of his chin chaffing your legs, but you did not once complain.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he whispered, the tip of that furled muscle retracting to glide upward along your delightfully slick vulva before it once more found the nub that was begging to be touched; it was already so sensitive.

Your chest heaved as a ripple of pleasure quaked through you, Poe beginning to suck the hard bit that was the recurrent object of his focus. At that moment, you felt blessed, belting out a sound that was a cross between elation and ecstasy, the final product being nothing more than a subdued pule from downy lips.

“Oh, fuck,” you crooned, your thighs progressively closing around either side of Poe’s head as you instinctively tried to brace yourself against your coming climax.

“That’s what I thought—ooh, hey,” the pilot protested, not liking one bit the sudden fettering of his movements. He dislodged himself, then pushed down with both his hands, parting your legs again to make sure he had unrestricted access to your cunt.

Then, he had an idea. “That’s not happening again,” he informed you with an impish smirk, Dameron lifting you up by the underside of your ass as he dragged you even closer, this time making use of the equipment made available to him, though this wasn’t exactly a gynecological exam. The scoundrel picked up both your feet, one after the other, making sure each one was secured in turn, having positioned you spread eagle with your shamelessly wet pussy put on full display.

“Ohh, this is beautiful. Perfect. You’re perfect.” The man had stopped to stare at the exquisite view before him, a hungry look overtaking his winsome visage; you had barely lifted your neck, perhaps meaning to address him, before you were forced to expel a mousy squeak following a show of near desperation on his part.

Poe had darted forward. Now hands-free and having situated you in stirrups, Dameron plunged his tongue back inside of you while clasping his fingers behind his back as he liked to imagine himself in binders. He tongue fucked you as your chest expanded and contracted with each euphoric breath, deep and slow, before he redirected all his energy back to your eager bud.

Then, his head joined in, bobbing back and forth as he enthusiastically ate you out like a man starved, consuming his first meal in weeks, months.

Wet sounds invaded your ears, Poe miming a hound lapping water; it only caused your clit to pulse, your right arm lowering for impatient fingers to latch onto his raven locks; you were careful not to disturb the dressings on his forehead even so, not wanting to let your hard work go to waste.

You held him steady; you pulled him closer, thighs trembling, though your legs still remained forced apart with knees jutting out to either side. It was the dirtiest, nastiest you had ever felt, yet at the same time Poe had made you feel alive. Alive, and not just waiting around to die.

You moaned lewdly as you gently bucked your hips, your body convulsing in rapture as his focus was laser sharp, the full expanse of his thick, skillful tongue caressing you softly from the cusp of your vagina to the vertex of your throbbing clit – over, and over, and over again.

The pattern he applied was slow and methodical, Poe’s cock beyond hard as he gently humped thin air. The man himself was groaning, speaking breathlessly against the soft flesh of your mound, even as he continued to dine.

“Baby, you taste so, so sweet. So, so, good. Mm, be a good girl, yeah? Nice and easy for me. Nice and easy…” The pilot’s words trailed off, that gentle lapping turning toward a precise, calculated stroke with just the tip, this being the very thing that drove to you the point of no return; you came again, one hand still buried in Poe’s hair as the other clasped at your breast.

“Mmmn, oh shit, oh fuck, Poe,” you cursed again, your entire being writhing in unbridled bliss as you rode out one of the most intense orgasms in recent history, this only encouraging the pilot to keep at it until you physically had to push his head away, albeit with caution.

Poe looked up at you with those emotive, gorgeous brown eyes, lips glossy with your excess; you panted heavily, looking down on what could only be described as a shit-eating grin. You took a few more moments to recuperate, then made a demand of him that even surprised yourself. “Fuck me, right now, please.”

That cocky smile faded, Dameron staring fixedly at your face. He searched each part of it, as if measuring the seriousness of your words, then sat up fully on his legs before standing completely to gaze down at you, chin glistening and damp, not noticing the red welts spattering the inside of your thighs from where his stubble had left its mark.

“Since you said please, and so, so nicely might I add,” he joked, undoing the holster at his waist with lightning speed as he let his Glie-44 blaster pistol fall to the floor at his feet.  You sat up on your elbows, enjoying the show, Poe unzipping and unbuckling his pants and belt with such wild, feral vigor, it was as if they were presently on fire.

“Mn, sweetheart, would you hate me if I said I’ve been dreaming of this?” Poe questioned, though you were unable to get a read on if he was being sincere or just full of hot air. You did not answer him, instead reveling in the desperate way the pilot kicked his boots off, witnessing his undressing between your parted legs.

They felt like jelly, still held up by the stirrups. You smiled salaciously, feeling oddly playful as you began to sway your knees back and forth to emulate the fluttering of butterfly wings; you amused yourself by fondling your overstimulated clit for his pleasure and your own, waiting ever so patiently for him to finish.

It only slowed him down; you almost laughed again, this man proving to be predictable as far as men go, spellbound by the fact you were touching yourself, and in front of him, no less.

Poe let out a laborious, rasping breath, as if his throat might be closing in on itself, pearly whites once more finding rose-colored lips as he chewed timidly on a plump bottom rung. At that same moment his pants fell down to his knees, leaving Dameron in his tight white underwear, his package so hard and compact it looked ready to burst free of its cotton prison.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he professed mostly to himself, yet loud enough for you to hear him. He stumbled forward, releasing himself of the pants that still clung to him with every step, wide, warm hands placing themselves upon your knees, one for one.

“Mn, baby, for me?” he asked in a diffident tone, Poe’s cheeks burning hot as he was drawn in by the sexy spectacle before him. After a moment or two of getting lost in his own thoughts, he scrambled for his aching prick; it felt like it was going to erupt any moment now. Already it had leaked droplets of precum, the tip wet and sticky as it sprang loose.

The pilot began to pump himself as he was glued to the rhythmic stroking of your fingers; you teased him by inserting one within yourself, Poe moaning almost instantly as he came up to you all the way by the edge of the bed, gently batting your hand away. He aligned his dick against your slit, eyes laser focused, then he abruptly stopped what he was doing to lift his head and stare at you.

“You sure? What if-”  he hesitated, wanting reassurance.

“I’m protected,” you whispered, at once your feet lifting so that you could wind your legs around Poe’s waist like a serpent coiling about its prey. You squeezed lightly, drawing him in, Poe helping on his end by gently nudging the head of his cock against the lubricious entrance to your vagina.

Dameron shook this time, his body tremulous against you as he sank deeper and deeper into your warm center, guiding it slowly, his girth spreading you open as you gasped, arms overtaking him in addition to your legs; you wanted his chest pressed against yours, beckoning the man to lower himself to the proper height so that you might kiss him, fingers once more gathering in his shaggy mane.

“You f-feel, ohhhh… Like, like. Like clouds,” Dameron stammered, commenting on your plush, tepid walls as he finally bottomed out. He was slow to retract his hips, then slow to press them forward again, “It’s like breaking atmo; that euphoric feeling you get when—”

Poe cut himself off, lips compressing against one another to form a concentrated line. He closed his eyes, his pace deathly drawn-out, tortuously so, each stroke of him inside you sending pinpricks of pleasure throughout your nerve-endings, both from without and within.

It was endearing. Not knowing of all the nuances comprising this pilot’s personality, this one surprised you. Poe had always seemed so high-strung, so exuberant; it was a change of pace to see him take his time on something -  you.

With a tilt of your neck, your mouth found his, your tongue slithering between his teeth to taste yourself on him. You sighed fervently, pulling him closer by the meat of your thighs, in turn interring him deeper within yourself.

“I won’t break,” you informed him softly, having pulled away to encourage Dameron to rise above his stupor and fuck you like he meant it. Poe gave a slow, deliberate nod of his head in return, as if trying to find his center and a place of calm before he would be able to continue.

“Right,” he finally said, intaking a sharp inhalation of oxygen as he rocked forward, pitching his hips so that they were flush against yours. He dipped back again, repeating these motions in a syncopated rhythm, and you finding it impossible to keep your mouth from hanging open as he hit his stride.

“Just like that,” you cooed silkily, your breath warm and wispy against his ear. This alone sent Poe to a higher plane, somewhere you were sure you could not reach him, causing Dameron to make a helpless, needy sound.

You felt a warm gush; a spurt of something that was unexpected this early in the game. Poe’s face contorted pleasantly into a look of ecstasy. You watched, fascinated, the pilot coming inside you after only a few pumps. Hell, you didn’t even mind; he had given you yours twice over. You felt a kind of privilege bestowed upon you; the knowledge that your pussy must be made of solid gold. That, or he really did like you.

“Oh fuck, ohh no, shit, I-I’m sorry,” Poe stuttered, his tone indicative of embarrassment. You tried to lighten the mood with a joke, dotting tiny kisses along the corner of his mouth in an attempt to quell his mounting anxiety.

“What was that about setting me straight?” you teased, Poe forced to laugh despite himself as he tried to catch his breath. He shook his head, brawny biceps propping him up just above you, jet-black strands dangling down to brush against your nose as he sighed a dejected sigh.

“You’re just so pretty, and I was excited, you know? I- It’s- It’s been a while,” he clumsily explained, “haven’t had the time to actually masturbate, being in the middle of a war and all—”

You cut him off with a kiss, a forceful press of your lips to his. It was your way of shutting him up, aiming to put a stopper in all of his excuses; it did not matter to you.

“Poe, it’s fine,” you affirmed, cradling the antsy man’s refined jaw in the crook of your palm, “these things happen. I’m not upset. You already got me off twice; that’s more than most men for the entirety of a relationship.”

You had exaggerated that last part for a bit of dramatic flair, this particular white lie having no purpose other than to bolster Poe’s self-esteem and to make him feel better. He smiled at you, a genuine, honest-to-God smile, as if coming to terms with the fact he had no need to worry, and that he might just get a second chance one day, contrary to what he had at first believed.

“So, uh—” he started, lifting gently up and off of you; his cock incrementally eased its way out of you, the remnants of his seed thick and sticky as it flowed freely out and onto the exam table.

He scrunched an eye, as if still ashamed, Poe sucking on his bottom lip to alleviate the mental anguish he was suffering before he sheepishly asked you a question, “Now that we’ve gotten to third base, would you care to visit first?”

You propped yourself up on your forearms, quirking a brow as you rose to sit. He assumed correctly, thinking that you did not take his meaning, Poe following up to explain more succinctly. “Dinner, maybe? Or—”

Sirens began to blare, a red alert sounding all throughout the Anodyne. A voice rang out over the internal comm; Dameron and you were quickly put on edge.

“Attention, all personnel: report to stations. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill.”

Your face fell, as did Poe’s. He gazed at you a moment, ignoring the awful clamor in the background as people began to race throughout the halls just beyond the door. It was as if time stood still, and you were unable to break away from Dameron’s dark gaze. The man, who was so amiable and easygoing, now looked browbeaten and worn, knowing that any minute now he would have to find BB-8 and return to his X-wing when he had wanted nothing more than to relax in your company. Wishful thinking, he mused.

You were the first to move, rushing to get up. You found a towel and cleaned yourself up, collecting your clothes from off the floor; somehow, your tunic had remained intact, though you would hold out for a future time when Poe might touch those parts of you, too. It was hard not to want to imagine him with his soft lips puckered about your nipple as his stocky fingers massaged and revered your breasts.

“Attention: all pilots, return to hangar. Repeat: all capable pilots return to your ships.”

“It was just as well, huh?” he asked solemnly, referring to the abrupt end of your impromptu rendezvous.

“Go,” you commanded, Poe’s stare lingering, amber eyes piercing you with a look that was ironically impenetrable; resolute, yet somehow somber, wistful.

He broke away, finally, and with difficulty, scrambling to adjust his briefs before throwing back on his pants and buttoning his shirt. He hitched his holster around his hips, the boots made to go on last. You observed as he hopped around on one foot, once more finding him to be endearing as you turned to rush toward the refresher, steadfast in your desire to use the sonic, if only for a moment; you needed to rinse off before returning to the med bay, as was your duty.

Poe called out to you by name; you whirled to face him. The man’s fluffy eyebrows were stitched together as he could only stare at you again. Then, he seemed to finally come-to, stepping the few paces forward that separated you.

“I’ll comm you later?” he asked more than stated, the backs of his knuckles running the length of your cheek. You could only nod, leaning up to kiss him one last time.

“Come back in one piece, OK? I don’t want to have to stitch you up again; be careful,” you urged him. He smiled that charming, boyish smile that made your heart race, as radiant as ever; his mood could change so suddenly.

“No promises,” he replied, meaning it in jest, yet you knew there was some truth to it.

You parted ways with the best damn pilot in the galaxy, hope being the only thing left to you both now. Hope that he would never have to step foot back aboard this frigate, but that if he did, it would be for some better reason, and not because he had failed to heed your warning.

---

Reblogs / comments appreciated!

Masterlist

Ao3

[librafeedee]

somebody gained weight on vacay!!

[eyesfullofmoon]

Faye Schulman in a forest in Poland, c. 1943/1944.

Schulman (born Faigel Lazebnik; November 28, 1919 – April 24, 2021) was a Jewish partisan, photographer, Holocaust survivor, and brigade member. She is widely considered to be the only Jewish partisan photographer who was able to capture the struggle Jews went through during World War II.

From 1942 to 1945, she took over 100 haunting photographs of the Holocaust and resistance fighters — even being forced by the Nazis to take one of massacred Jews, which among the victims included her parents and siblings. After this occurrence, she was determined to document the atrocities that the Germans inflicted, and later on was able to use these photos against them.

After the war ended in 1945, Schulman immigrated to Canada with her husband; released a memoir; was decorated by the Soviet/Belarusian, American, and Canadian governments; and lived another 76 years, peacefully dying at the age of 101.

"I want people to know that there was resistance. Jews did not go like sheep to the slaughter. I was a photographer. I have pictures. I have proof." – Faye Schulman.

[feluka]

been listening to refaat alareer's lectures on poetry on the subway and it's brought me to tears several times. i want to transcribe them and compile a document of all of them as soon as possible.

[visionsofmagic]

make you regret. | miguel o’hara x spiderwoman!reader  

[ao3 | masterlist | part 2]

summary: “keep talking shit and i’ll show you the other things i can do with that mouth of yours.” & “aw, it hurts? too bad. you’re gonna keep taking it until I’m satisfied.”

part 1 • wc: 2.4k • warnings&tags: nsfw, minors dni!, fluff (so little), chocking, oral > m!receiving, kissing, pet names, explicit language, angry and mad!miguel, SPOILER FOR THE MOVIE, biting, licking, squeezing, dominant!miguel, mentions of miguel’s features such as his teeth, brat!reader, no use of y/n, growling, moaning, getting used, roughness, harshness, and more in the story. enjoy! • couldn’t resist to write about him since I saw him in every app I use and well, I have a thing for him like the rest of you, so, hoping you will like this one. part 2 will come soon! [credits for the prompts]  

miguel was angry. you knew it. the moment you entered his personal room to give him a piece of information about the spot and miles morales, a spiderman from earth-1610 dimension, both are anomalies, and miguel needs to stop them before all things crash into each other. he thinks he has to do it - to keep everything in line, in order to prevent any unexpected event happen in a non-canon way.

however, you don’t agree with him, not after you and gwen talked about miles, seeing how she believes in him - how she has a soft spot for him. you know she tries to save miles, nothing wanting him to get hurt. you see your own reflection in her eyes. she cares for miles and you care for miguel but still, you believe he isn’t right completely, no, you believe there is another way to make everything right without hurting anybody.

so, he is mad at you and you know it from the way he looks at the door, then when sees you, he rolls his eyes, turns to the window, and looks outside.

“what is it?” he asks, clearly wanting you to leave soon because, well, you know how he acts when he is mad like this - nothing soft, just roughness that he chooses to show within his body language by fucking you hard and well, you are in a state in which you want him to devour you because you need it too, so, you tease him.

“what a beautiful greeting you have there pretty boy.”

“don’t call me that.” he nearly growls in annoyance.

chuckling, you get what you want; a miguel on edge, ready to make you regret speaking to him like that. “oh, you liked it yesterday, though, when you were -“ pointing to your thighs after sitting on his big bed. “between my thighs.”

only the memory of it made your stomach twist in pleasure and anticipation. he looked so pretty with his cute and teary eyes, looking up to see your face overflowing with the pleasure he was giving to you. your mind goes from his presence to last night and your thighs press into each other to feel something – but you stop when you hear his voice so closely than before. looking up, you see him right in front of you, his tight suit is on like yours, but you believe his suit is the best of you all – probably because of how his body looks thanks to it. his arms folded on his well-built chest, making him look bigger than before. his one eyebrow raised as he talks, “you have guts to come here after you tell me I am doing wrong in front of every fucking else and keep talking about last night?” he is more furious than he looks, you realize and well, it doesn’t help at all, especially when you feel the excitement. luckily, you are his ally, maybe more than that as you hope, not his enemy.

“yeah, I kinda do,” you say with a smirk on your face, being a brat, totally. “the expression on your face at that moment was surely worth seeing! I should take a photo of it only to put it on my wall and see –“

“huh,” he interrupts you, realizing what you’re trying to do and it makes him calmer now but you know he will make you going to pay, and when he says, “you sure have bravery today, not that I complain,” he smirks, holding your chin with his two fingers, making your head raise up as he kneels a little closer, “keep talking shit and I’ll show you the other things I can do with that mouth of yours, pretty girl.”

the air in your lungs decreases each second as your nose can’t find a source of air to breathe because of his words that made you freeze in your place, looking up at his determined face – he is about to make you regret.

“m – miguel – I.” you try to say when you see his eyes getting darker with each passing time and his fingers play with your parted lips.

“shh, keep it,” his fingers travel to your hair, playing with it softly, “you will have all night to say you’re sorry – that you didn’t mean to get me so angry, right, my pretty girl?”

gulping in both excitement and fear, you let him hold you by your neck, kneeling down to your level, pulling you closer, and beginning to kiss you passionately – reliving a lust through his lips mixed with madness on it as well which can be felt clearly since his hold on your neck become unsteady, making your hands grip the sheets of his bed.

moaning into the moan, you realize your legs begin to shake due to the weakness you begin to have – only because of knowing what will come next, still excited as hell for it to come sooner but you can’t say it aloud, not when he only acts to give you pleasure full of pain. “miguel! I – fuck –“ you moan when he bites your bottom lip, his teeth begin to appear slowly, alerting you that the night will not be easy.

“yes, like that, take everything I give to you while just moaning like a dumb for me,” he chuckles, that dark side of him taking some control of his soft side. fear and passion can be felt at the same time by you. “I bet you wanted it even before coming in here, didn’t you?” he asks, not seeking any answer to his questions – he just loves to talk in order to make you weaker each moment before him. “thought about it, planned it, wanted to make me wanna use that mouth of yours with the way I like most.”

he was right – he knew you more than you knew yourself and when words left his mouth, you came to the conclusion that you did it all on purpose all along the moment he looked at you with an angry expression and left you in there and still, letting you go after him no matter how he was angry with you. the bond you have is a complex one, both you and he knew it; him being what you need fully and you being his blood – the only taste he finds amusing to have.

“then, I will make your dreams come true,” you look at him with hope but his smirk only grows wider and darker, “In my own way, of course.”

oh, shit – you thought, he was going to do it roughly.

taking a little back, he looks down at your body, making you close your thighs together but he stops you, putting his legs between your thighs, opening them wider as you go back a little, palms behind you – on the surface of the bed, head raising up. “wider.” he commands, the voice turns into something that gives chills down to your spine as you open your legs wider – wide open that he can look at right into thighs, watching how the suit cling to your body fully, leaving lots of specific parts of your body visible to his eyes – another thing you did on purpose before arriving into his room.

“good – “ he says, “good girl.” so, he begins to use pet names now, well, it is a sign that these are the times he still acts soft before turning into a beast.

“miguel,” you try to say before his hands found your breasts over your suit, gripping them with his big hands. you can’t feel the warmness of his hands though and it only makes you want more, to feel him closely, not over your suit and not when his gloves are still on, “please. let me – let me take this off.” you point to the suit, hoping he will let you before it continues to give you half pleasure and half annoyance.

“huh,” he chuckles, playing with your hardened nipples, squeezing them not so gently. “did you believe I would be – nice enough to let you get pleasure so easily like that? oh, how delicate of you,” he kisses you again, biting it again. you sure he will leave a few red marks on there. “to think that I will be soft tonight.”

he then goes back, standing with his all glory, taking his hands back to put them on the lower part of the suit, and before your mind can make a comprehension of his actions, he opens his zipper, freeing his half-hardened thick and long cock right into your shocked face. saliva begins to appear on your half-open mouth when you see it. your hand makes an attempt to hold his cock but he is faster, gripping you from the wrist, tightly. you look at his face, “not hands. mouth.” he is not smirking or teasing no more, he just stands there, waiting for you to use your mouth.

“c’mon, open it,” he orders, and you listen to him without wasting any time, opening it widely enough but still, he is bigger than you can take. however, it isn’t like he used your mouth before – gently of course, but now, it doesn’t seem so gentle. “yeah, like that. a cock dumb – I will make you a cock dumb.”

you already are – just for him. however, you can’t tell it when he gives a few strokes to his cock, making it hardened and put it right into your open mouth in an instant, making you choke on his cock.

“m- mi – guel!” your voice is blurry as you close your eyes when he makes you take it all as much as you can.

“can’t speak freely when you have my cock in your wet mouth, huh?” he smirks again, taking his cock back, leaving so much salvia on your mouth that even a few of them connects your mouth with his cock, dripping into your suit from there and you only can cough in pain. pain – it is what you get a minute ago but still, you want to take it again. so, you look up at miguel’s face – satisfied expression on.

“again,” you say, confident of yourself. “I want it.” then, you open your mouth wider than before, leaning closer to his cock enough that its tip touches your lips from time to time as he strokes his length.

he chuckles, a little surprised by your words. “you are already a cock dumb for me, don’t you? fuck – I want to ruin you without even making you suffer. but, it should wait,” he puts his hand on your cheek, caressing it and then, moving to your back hair, pulling it roughly, earning a low growl from you which he enjoys – always. “I need to fill up that mouth of yours first fully.”

he nods to you and you know what you should do. firstly, you let your tongue slide on his cock from tip to the end, even giving a few licks on his heavy balls, making him growl – coming like melodies into your ears that you keep licking more and finally, you take half of it, trying to get used to it but miguel has other plans with you – rough and harsh ones; he holds your hair, pushing you forward. his cock touches the back of your mouth and you literally begin to cry in pain, choke on his cock, gasping, you try to take breaths but it is so hot – he is so hot.

salvias appear in your mouth, dripping from your lips onto his cock, making you move easier than before and you know he will not stop until he cums, so, you let him have his way with you; holding you from the hair, pushing your head forward and backward rapidly – roughly, moaning as he looks down at your pathetic face, his cock disappearing inside your wet eager mouth, earning beautiful sounds from you too.

holding his thick thighs, you try to find a source to stay still, not to fall into the ground because of the impact of him – fucking your mouth without thinking about the air you need, the pain you get, blurry vision because of tears running from your half-closed eyes to your cheeks, finally finding their places on his cock.

“m – mi –!” words can’t go out of your mouth which is getting used by miguel.

his gloomy eyes found yours, and the sight he sees makes him go deeper, want to remind you that silly actions and talks mean no good for you, not when you use them against his, even if they only have a purpose to be in a state like this, but apparently, you didn’t wait for him to be this rough. he didn’t too. nevertheless, he is having one of the best moments of his life.

“aw, it hurts? too bad. you’re gonna keep taking it until I’m satisfied,” he says, closing his eyes again as he throws his head back, feeling your warm mouth and lips around his cock. your nails scratching his thighs. “you gonna make me cum hard.”

and you do. it doesn’t take him any longer when you begin to moan in pleasure rather than pain, sending radiations to his cock, hands hug to his wrists, and you literally bounce on his cock. his hands hold you from the cheeks.

moaning, leaving a few growls, he says, “fuck, fuck – so good, so fucking good – !” and he cums into your mouth.

he stays still for a moment before looking down, seeing you look at him too. his one hand leaves your cheek while the other stays to caress it. he slowly takes his cock back from your mouth, letting all his semen stay in there too. when he takes off, you close your mouth, gulping a few times in order to leave no semen to go wasted, not after he gives you all.

breathtaking voices come from both of you. hotness spreading through your veins, keeping you warm. he says, “open your mouth.” you do, opening it. he nods in a satisfied manner.

your chest raises up and down while you are taking deep and rapid breaths to calm yourself down and miguel’s fingers find your eyes, cleaning tears away, getting softer.

“you look so pretty now,” he says, kissing your forehead, “but you will look prettier when you have my cock buried deep inside your walls doll.” he gives you a smirk and you realize it is not over – you're not even close to it.

“still wanna make me regret my words?” you ask, smiling, knowing damn well this is going much better than you think.

“no, not at all,” he shrugs, “I just want to put you in a position that you forget what you were having regret for.”

to be continued.

[yuriiofthevalley]

everyday i'm more and more tempted to post my entire face from several angles on here

[thenewgothictwice]

“My paintings represent the world we were left with after the war, which destroyed every aspect of our lives and reduced all that is beautiful to ashes. My work manifests my insistence and perseverance to exist, and to love life through all that is beautiful.

My use of bright colours is an invitation for hope, optimism and joy. They are an indication that we still exist.” - Palestinian artist Dena Mattar. Follow her on Instagram ❤️: https://www.instagram.com/mattardena/

[pixie-in-a-moonlantern]

KILL ME LIKE A LOVER

Durgetash | explicit 18+ Enver Gortash x f!Durge / Halsin Silverbough x f!Durge smut, sex, p in v sex; homicidal urge, light bondage in a non-sexual setting, graphic threats of violence; prolonged emotional/physical hurt, comfort, fluff, love confession, 2 romantic relationships (separate for now, hinting at possible future poly f!Durge/Halsin/Gortash)

❗ Closely follows events of the first fic: I Don't Like You (Tumblr | AO3)

Read on AO3 for more context and comfort (I'll be very grateful if you toss me a kudo there as well, even if you read and reblog here ♥ - remember, fic writers share their work for free!)

13,795 words in 10 chapters

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“You’re back,” he whispers, and an almost maniacal glow radiates from him. “And something in you is drawn to me, I can see it. It makes me hopeful.” He tilts his head to the side and brushes hair away from my neck. “Did you really not expect me to use every resource at my disposal to convince you to stay?”

I gulp. Gods, I should never have gone to see him. Some things are best left buried, some fires best left extinguished. But I poked a bibberbang and now my world is ablaze.

01 She walks escorted.

The Watcher walks beside me the whole way to Wyrm's Rock. I try keeping my head down, but any hope of not being noticed is lost with every thundering step the Watcher takes. People hold the Baldur's Mouth gazettes and point at the hallowed hero as she walks escorted to the City's would-be savior for an audience.

I wish I could just open up a portal to the Hells in the sidewalk and jump in. Gortash is going to pay for this one.

We finally reach the elevator to the audience hall and the stupid clanker squeezes in with me. I bulge my eyes, just about ready to go on a murder spree.

"Seriously? It goes straight up into the tower, where else do you think I could go?"

"There is no need for alarm, citizen," the Watcher assures me monotonously, not moving an inch. "I was instructed to deliver you safely directly to the Archduke, Lord Gortash."

"Would you chill with the 'Archduke' already?" I groan, head lulled back. "You know he's not one yet, right? No matter how many times you repeat it."

The Watcher doesn't respond. Perhaps Gortash expects such quips from people and instructs his hellish machines to not react. Or—perhaps if I was other people the metal hulk would just smash me on the spot for such a comment. Fucking tyrant.

What was even wrong with me when I willingly worked with this man, having just as deprived plans for the Sword Coast myself? Did I accidentally get lobotomized into a sane person? That would be one Hell of a joke on fate. And on Bhaal.

I imagine he must be simmering in his own rage, watching his prized child run around helping refugees. That little fantasy cheers me up. I lean on the side of the elevator and just chuckle to myself through the ride, mocking Daddy dearest in the relative privacy of my skull.

The Audience hall is deserted once more. The Steel Watch form a line in between the columns from the entrance to the dais on the other side, standing at attention. It's like some sort of welcoming ceremony, but just for little ol' me.

I reluctantly scale the acres of red carpet over stone flooring, feeling my chest tighten.

Gortash watches me as I approach, the remote-control suit of armor still stomping next to me. This time, he sits on the throne in all his grimy glory like the shameless usurper he is.

Except... he doesn't look grimy. Did he bathe again? What in the Hells does he think he can pressure me into doing?!

... again.

If there's a term for how his face simultaneously brightens and darkens, I can't recall, but that's exactly what happens. He's happy to see me and has very unsavory thoughts about it.

The Watcher only peels off my path once I'm literally at the lowest steps before the dais. I cross my arms over my chest and give Gortash my most unamused expression, even though my heart is racing with both fear and excitement.

He smiles as if he didn't notice it and opens his arms wide in a grand welcoming gesture. "My dearest assassin," he exclaims, voice warm like sunshine.

"Yeah, right, whatever," I roll my eyes. "So what, do I just stand here, like a pleb before their master, or did you have something civil in mind?"

He leans back in his seat and pats his thigh, a smirk playing around his lips. "You can always come sit on my lap."

Indignation and an unwelcome spark of lust flood my chest. I let out a bestial growl, not quite sure if I mean to intimidate him or my inner demons.

Gortash chuckles and, to my surprise, actually stands from his throne and steps down, until he's face-to-face with me.

It's hard to say whether he made it better or worse. I try to keep my gaze from wandering down his ridiculously low cleavage, but looking into his eyes is not much safer. They gleam with both smugness and affection and my stupid heart flutters.

"How lovely to see you, Nara," he drawls, sight approvingly gliding up and down my body. "I love how you chose to wear your custom made version of my gauntlet."

I sigh. I should've known he would bring it up.

I woke up on the nautiloid wearing that thing. I didn't remember anything about it, but it looked badass and was also quite useful. I store a healing potion in the socket and even the claws have come in handy in a pinch.

I didn't feel like getting rid of it when I noticed him wearing the same thing in Moonrise, because I grossly underestimated the significance. I just thought he set off a new trend among Baldurians and I wasn't immune to the allure. Happens to the best of people, right?

After I made the mistake of having sex with my ex, I figured ditching it won't help me anyway—if I do it now, it will only show him that I care.

"I didn't exactly have time to change for you, Gortash," I sneer. "You had your metal munchkin threaten me into coming here. It paraded me through the town, taking the busiest route. What do you think I am to you? Your lapdog? Your fucking mascot?"

Despite my derisive tone, he chances a step closer and my heart jumps up into my throat.

"You came to see me yourself first, remember? No one forced you."

"Well, at least no one saw me then," I bitch.

"Too bad," he bites his lip, coming closer.

He slowly, cautiously reaches out and runs the backs of his fingers along my jaw. I grit my teeth in an effort to not show it, but I like it too much to make him stop. He smiles contentedly and keeps lightly touching my face.

"You're back," he whispers, and an almost maniacal glow radiates from him. "And something in you is drawn to me, I can see it. It makes me hopeful." He tilts his head to the side and brushes hair away from my neck. "Did you really not expect me to use every resource at my disposal to convince you to stay? Nara?"

I gulp. Gods, I should never have gone to see him. Some things are best left buried, some fires best left extinguished. But I poked a bibberbang and now my world is ablaze.

"Do your friends know what you did the other night?" he smirks, smarminess making its comeback in his voice. "Does your druid know?"

"I tell him everything," I say equally smugly, finally gaining some leverage. "He's the most wholesome man I know. He's not trying to own me or isolate me like some."

A shadow of irritation and disappointment dims the self-satisfaction in his face. Point for me.

"Karlach wasn't so understanding," I continue, narrowing my eyes. "She's worried about me falling for you. I told her it's a ridiculous notion, but she proceeded to make me feel better by describing how she's going to disembowel you if you hurt me."

He scoffs. "I can imagine. She always was a crude weapon. Effective, but crude. Nothing like your refined style." His gaze softens again when he gently combs the hair on my temple with the claws of his gauntlet. "You never used brute force, yet there was no one you couldn't break. I wouldn't have been an exception, but you stayed your hand. Against your father's explicit wishes, apparently."

"I'll break you right now if you want," I say in a trembling voice. His tone and touch are doing things to me. I'm getting scared and the Urge in me is trying to respond to the stress with violence.

His mouth stretches into a delighted smile. "I'm sure you'd like that. But so would he. I thought you were done being his good girl?"

My throat goes dry as I recall the night it all went awfully wrong. When I failed to do my duty one too many times. When I got my reward for disobedience.

"What Orin did to me," I croak, "was Bhaal's punishment for my refusing to kill you."

Once Gale understood the predatory patterns of his former lover, he got eerily good at interpreting gods' behavior. He gave me more answers than even Gortash managed to. Knowing this lifted a certain weight off my mind; I wasn't just discarded for being useless—I was being a bad murderer to Daddy and he decided to teach me a lesson.

Gortash's face goes slack for a moment, before darkening with realization. He didn't know. Or he didn't want to. It was easier to blame Orin's ambition.

"So, yeah, I'm done being his tool. If I do kill you, Enver," I'm the one to reach for him this time, running a fingertip down that enticing window of his shirt, "I'll be killing you for myself."

He gulps, fumbling for lost balance. "Incorrect, sweetheart. It was punishment for loving me. Not calling it what it is doesn't make it any less true."

"Did I, though?" I've had a long sleepless night thinking about it. "I was a naive, brainwashed cultist. Did I really choose you? Or were you just convenient? The only man around with enough balls to risk it with me, maybe? Or worse: the only one who figured how easy it would be to use me?"

I'm hissing by the time I finish the last sentence and I can see how close to home it hits. His chest heaves and he takes a few steps back, turning from me. I can't see his face, so I assume he's looking for a way to refute my accusations.

"I don't know."

His voice is so small I can barely hear it. Small and vulnerable, filled with insecurity. I'm once again reminded of the image I created of the little boy Gortash treated to neglect and betrayal instead of love, and I feel the telltale stinging in my eyes.

He slowly turns back, his expression a pure emotional chaos.

"I... don't know if you chose me," he says a little louder this time, but still sounds so... lost. "One day we just... were and..." His eloquence bends under the heft of his uncertainty. "It was so easy to be with you, so... natural. I..." He closes his eyes against the turmoil raised by the memories. "At first I figured you were just having a bit of fun rebelling against Bhaal, but... You were so amazing. So warm, when your Urge was satisfied. I've never... no one ever made me feel like you did."

The only things I knew of our relationship were what he told me. I imagined it a lot different than what it sounds like now, after he suffered a sobering blow to his ego. I can't know how much of this is genuine... but he suddenly painfully reminds me of Astarion, the way he fumbles in the dark as soon as his winning act falls apart.

I know he's not a good man. I've heard plenty about the things he's done—and is still doing. But how much of his flaws can I blame on nature when I also know what he's been through? He's a survivor. No one is inherently evil—not even me.

The people you surround yourself with have a profound effect on you. Even Astarion's worst traits are being slowly worn down in the unexpected acceptance he's receiving. If it had been Gortash who was betrayed, almost killed and taken, and then found by such a wholesome group of similarly afflicted weirdos, would he have remained selfish and cruel? Or would he have chosen a better path, like me?

"I thought I was a 'horrible influence' on you." I swallow hard. I shouldn't believe a word he says... but I do.

"You were," he shrugs casually. I find him a lot more pleasant without the air of fake grandeur. "We did wonderfully bad things together, things I wouldn't have thought of myself. But that was your heritage." He studies my face for a second, longing in his eyes. "No one taught you to be silly and fun. No one taught you to be gentle. No one taught you how to appreciate more than blood and guts in people. You bloomed with all colors like a flower, when we were alone."

I blink the tears away and hug myself. No wonder Bhaal got mad. He wasn't raising me to be gentle and fun. He wanted a devoted follower. He wanted to own me. And yet I seem to have found myself in someone else instead of him.

He couldn't smite him, so he took it out on me.

"Then why can't I remember any of this?" I whisper. "My murdering days keep coming back to me. But the picture where you should be is blank."

I don't expect it and certainly don't wish for it, but Gortash notices my discomfort and rushes to me. He takes my shoulders and squeezes them reassuringly.

"You are his creation," he says grimly. "He has the power to restore everything within you. It's clear why he chooses only the parts without me: for the same reason he had Orin attack you. You were a different person with me—a person he didn't like and didn't need. He won't let you remember me as long as your blood belongs to him."

I'm getting overwhelmed. I feel used, manipulated, trapped. I feel my fear and smell the scent of my blood as Orin's beating the life out of me, calling me slurs I've never heard of. I feel as if someone's invisible hand presses on my windpipe and I sense a dreadful but familiar presence.

"NO!" I'm shaking my head wildly, trying to push him out. The world seems to blacken around me, but I keep fighting. "I'M DONE WITH YOU, YOU HEAR?!" I yell blindly at the ceiling, pulling on my hair.

YOU CAN NEVER BE 'DONE' WITH ME, CHILD.

I gasp when his voice thunders in my brain without having gone through my ears. It's deafening and it's all around me, smothering me.

YOUR CONTROL IS AN ILLUSION. GIVE IN. OBEY. BEFORE YOU FORCE ME TO END YOU.

I shudder and shrink into myself, falling to my knees, cradling my head. I'm suspended in agony for several impossibly long seconds... then my vision goes black.

02 Daddy sets an ultimatum.

"...Talas... Talas!"

My head is pounding and feels like it's stuffed with cotton. Someone's calling out my name... but it's not really my name.

"Nara!"

There it is. But it feels wrong. I feel movement, but can't tell what's happening.

"You know what," I grumble and I'm surprised to hear my own voice, "I've changed my mind. I hate the way you say it."

"Thank the devils," I hear Gortash snort. "As names go, exchanging 'Talas' for 'Nara' is a pure downgrade."

I open my eyes. Red mist is clouding my gaze. I feel thirsty and hungry. A rough palm cups my chin and a violent jerk runs through my body, making my teeth snap and try biting it. But the hand is strong and its grip tightens enough to hold me still.

"Easy now," Gortash hums, unbothered by my little attack. "You're safe. I'm safe. Let's work through it slowly. We've got all day."

I look up and find his face and it's the only thing I can clearly focus on. Everything else is muted, but his features are so sharp I squint at the intensity at first. But I understand. I know what I want now.

I want to kill him.

I grunt and try to reach for him, but I'm restrained. I look down through the red haze and see myself kneeling on red satin sheets. I'm still wearing all my clothes, but my boots, armor and gauntlet are off. The ties right above my elbows creak like tough leather as I strain against them, but I can clearly feel soft padding pressed against my skin. My wrists are bound in front of me. I can move, sit back, relax...

...but I need to KILL.

"Let. Me. Loose," I filter through my gritted teeth, almost foaming at the corners of my mouth like a rabid animal. Then a maniacal giggle gurgles in my throat. "And I'll show you something fun!"

"For fuck's sakes, you're beginning to sound like Orin," Gortash shakes his head in disappointment. "I'm sure you'd have fun, my dear, but if I'm not completely off my game, I believe you would regret it later. Maybe you would even cry for me?" His brows form a hopeful little arch, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I'm not keen on finding out, but I'd like to think you would."

I growl, pulling on my binds with all my strength.

"Don't be a spoilsport, Enver, come on!" I tease, baring my teeth, my tone dark, rough, vulgar. "I know you like the pain. I will cut you and slice you and bleed you real nice. You'll love it, I promise."

"Ssshhh," he soothes, caressing my face, skillfully evading my bites. "You can cut me when you calm down, Talas. You won't get to kill me today."

Anger jolts through me, hot like a branding iron. I lurch at him, uselessly dangling on the ends of the thick chains tying the leather cuffs to the bed frame.

"You will let me loose! And I'll tear you to pieces." My voice scratches like sandpaper. "I will slit your throat... and as you bleed out, I will lick blood off your soft skin." Growls turn to hisses. "I will drink blood from your sweet lips. I will shower in the thick stream of it as the last pathetic bubbles of your breath emerge and burst at the edges of the fresh cut. Then curl against your struggling chest to listen as your heart stops."

Gortash smiles as he listens, infuriatingly misty gaze softening his features.

"That sounds almost romantic," he purrs. He holds my hair firmly in his fist to keep my head steady and nuzzles my neck, slowly kissing a line from my shoulder up to my lobe. "I always thought the Urge was purely homicidal," he hums against my skin, "but is it possible you're mixing in your love and lust for me? Would you kill me like a lover?"

A chortle escapes my lips and I realize he's given me back a sliver of myself. I don't have the capacity to analyze if it were his words or his touch, but a tiny, heavily suppressed part of me suddenly knows what's happening. It knows this is not me. My Urge is spreading through me like a malignant growth, filling every inch of my torso, of my head, and that little piece of me is watching in horror.

No....

I let out a tortured moan and my head lulls back for a second. I can feel my body spasming and the agony is making it hard to keep my thoughts remotely clear. I hear my blood thrum in my ears, and a low voice speaks inside my skull:

It is wise to obey me. Yet you resist. You did not kill the Moonmaiden. You did not kill the druid. But you WILL kill the Tyrant's Chosen.

Or you will DIE in his place, child.

I feel tears trickle out of my eyes, even as my mouth is making raw, animalistic noises. The pressure in my temple grows so much I feel like my head is going to pop. It's excruciating, but I have no intention to submit. I fight with all my will, defiantly flipping off the god I didn't choose till the bitter end.

"En... ver," I squeeze through the teeth I grind so roughly my jaw hurts. My voice is but a wet wail, a desperate plea—but it's mine.

If I could focus on anything beside the blinding pain, I would see the alarm in his face. I register his hands on my arms, holding me upright. The sound of his voice carries over my head, but I can't distinguish the words. A high-pitched whine fills my ears. My vision fades to black again.

And I fully expect to not wake up this time.

03 We are still alive!

A chunk of void. A big skull in the center of it. Flames dancing in its eye sockets and around it. Almost playful.

I don't understand its meaning. Who am I, anyway?

Even though the skull is clearly before me, I can feel it surround me. It presses on my temples and squeezes my chest. I feel a headache of the century crush my head in its metal jaws.

A creature slinks from behind the skull. Hideous, covered in blood. Long body with a thick tail and four clawed arms. It hisses and chitters, spreading its toothy mandibles. Its beady little eyes are flashing with malice.

I cover my head with my arms as it jumps at me.

But it's not there anymore. I try to gasp, but a sick clicking sound comes out of my mouth instead. I hear rumbling laughter—the giant skull is pleased, it's mocking me.

I reach forward and instead of hands I see claws coated in fresh blood...

.

...and I wake up screaming.

There's water everywhere. I thrash and splash and heave for breath, but my arms are wrapped tight around me and my wrists and ankles bound. I accidentally splash water into my mouth, breathe it in and start choking.

Someone's big, strong, incredibly warm hands fish me out and steady me, patting my back, helping me cough. I hear a soft rumble, but this time it's not eerie and foreboding—it's familiar and soothing. A broad palm strokes my wet hair, humming comforting sounds in my ear.

"You are safe, my love. I'm here."

I lift my heavy eyelids and look up. Halsin's beautiful face is in my view and my heart is uplifted. He puts a cold compress over my forehead and I feel a little better.

"Halsin," I squeeze out of my burning throat, failing to make it sound as loving as I felt.

He smiles anyway and his eyes sparkle with affection.

"You will be alright, my heart. I will take care of you."

"I will too," I hear another voice and Gortash steps into view, obviously annoyed by Halsin taking all the credit. He's hugging his chest, nibbling on the ends of his gold claws, looking anxious and worried.

I finally realize where I am. It's Gortash's study. The flames roar in the fireplace next to the bathtub and all lamps are lit: it's dark behind the tall windows. Through the finally calm water I see my body, completely naked.

But none of those things are important right now.

"Come closer, Enver," I croak, failing to produce a seductive voice, sounding like a hag instead. "Untie me, let's have some fun. We haven't finished what we've started."

Halsin and Gortash exchange glances. It only ticks off my Urge. I flail back and forth in the tub for a second, trying to loosen the binds, but they were put on by someone who knew what they were doing. It infuriates me, tearing a ragged scream from my lungs.

"COME CLOSER, BABY, AND LET ME GUT YOU!"

"Nara," Halsin pleads softly, stroking my hair again, putting back the compress I shook off and adding one to the back of my neck. "You will get through this, I promise. The tepid water and the cold compresses should help lower your blood pressure, so you don't suffer an aneurysm. You popped many blood vessels before you passed out. That's why Gortash called me here."

I feel the Urge let up just a smidge when the cool rags press on my aching head and Halsin's voice and touch give me comfort. I try to breathe deeply and steadily. But no matter how hard we both try, it's no use. I take one look at distressed Gortash and the pull is back in full strength.

"Have you experienced this before?" Gortash asks, doing his best to ignore my rabid growls.

"She woke me up in camp several nights ago," Halsin nods somberly. "Refusal to kill Isobel redirected the Urge at the person closest to her heart, as punishment. She came to me before it overtook her and put her trust in me. It lasted the whole night, but she won in the end. But it was not this bad..."

"He..." I try to utter words that are not permitted to leave my lips. I fight my own muscles to continue. "Said... He... Dies or... I do."

Halsin's brows join in surprise and he glances at Gortash again, whose face darkens even more.

"Sounds like we really pissed Bhaal off this time. She screamed at him, defying him, before the Urge took over. I was just an outside observer, but I figured he was communicating with her. Seems like we know the gist of the conversation now."

"What were you doing?" Halsin wonders.

"Nothing much," Gortash shrugs evasively. "Talking. Talas was learning more about our past, about how and why she came to such an unceremonial end in the cult. Said none of her memories of me returned to her. Clearly Bhaal's job."

"Nhhhnnnhhhng!" I add my gold to the discussion, thrashing in the tub again. I'm glad I'm at least able to follow their words, even though I can't contribute. Sweet images of me running my hands through Gortash's spilled guts flash in the back of my mind, but they're just white noise.

Halsin wipes my upper lip with a troubled expression. He lets go of me to touch the air in that divine way of his, to call upon Silvanus, and pulls healing energy out of nowhere, pressing it to my head with the broad palm of his hand. I breathe a little easier for a few moments.

"If this goes on for much longer, I'm afraid even I might not be able to help you," he sighs, squeezing his eyes shut, pressing his forehead to mine. I gulp and just moan in response, hoping my intonation will convey my thanks.

"I don't suppose we could trick the Urge somehow? Have her stab me a couple of times and then knock her out, and when she comes around I'll be lying in a pool of blood and... You get it."

Halsin chuckles in amusement.

"You would just let her stab you? Are you a masochist, or just so in love?"

"What kind of question is that?" Gortash growls defensively. "We have a problem. I'm offering a solution. If I had to die, I'd prefer it to be by her hand, but I plan no such thing just yet."

"I do not think it works quite like that," Halsin shakes his head. "But thank you for the offer."

"It's... my fault she's like this." Gortash's discomfort at admitting responsibility is evident. "I don't want her to die. So if you have ideas, I'll do anything to help."

"You can help me right now, Enver," I screech, failing to restrain myself. "Come here! Come and make love to me. But don't forget to untie me and bring me a knife. I'll show you a little trick! You'll be positively drained after I'm done with you."

"Perhaps the best thing you can do to help is to get out of her sight for now," Halsin suggests and only a touch of derision reaches his tone.

Gortash frowns and grumbles something under his breath, but takes his leave. There's only Halsin's broad form next to me now, effectively shielding me from seeing Gortash. My Urge immediately eases up and I lean back on the headrest, exhausted from fighting my own muscles.

It doesn't last long, though.

"Halsin?" I coo, swallowing hard as I feel another crushing wave of twisted need.

"Yes, my heart?" He bends down to kiss my forehead. It doesn't work as well as before, but I manage to hold back the instinct to bite.

"I love you," I tell him while I can still form words of my own choosing. "And I'm grateful for everything you do for me. Don't take this personally, but now that you're getting in my way of killing Gortash... I'm beginning to want to kill you, too."

He pulls away, but not far, and studies my face. I can see so much compassion in his eyes, but they're tired and he looks older. He wipes my upper lip again and sighs.

"This is going to be another long night, isn't it, my love?"

.

"Halsin, stop," I mumble weakly as he prepares another spell, looking more and more sapped every time. "Please. Just... let me go."

I'm so run down. The pain is debilitating. In the rare moments of peace, all I can do is float. My mind is fried, my organs struggling to keep running. I've had enough.

But the worst is the thought of accidentally pulling Halsin under with me.

"Do not even start," he growls. His voice sounds dry and spent, but he collects the healing energy and once more fixes some of the damage the high blood pressure has done to my vessels.

I want to cry, but I don't have the strength to do it. But I notice something: it's been really quiet for some time.

"Where's Enver?"

"He is... off trying something else."

The evasiveness would normally make me inquire, but the Urge lashes out again, spasming my body, forcing more horrible words out of my mouth.

"I WILL SKIN YOUR LUSCIOUS PELT, LITTLE BEAR! I WILL WEAR IT ON MY BODY AS I WATCH YOUR PATHETIC ATTEMPTS TO PUT YOUR GUTS BACK IN YOUR BELLY. I WILL—"

04 Unbearable lightness of unprecedented fluff.

I feel like I must have died when I open my eyes and nothing hurts anymore. The world is soft and quiet, the water around me like a blanket, the dim flickering lights enhancing the peaceful silence. Perhaps this was the afterlife.

"Welcome back."

I don't recognize the voice at first. I slowly turn my head to find Halsin—

—but I look into Gortash's worn out face, languidly blinking at me. I see a giant bear slumped on the rugs by the bathtub, exhausted from keeping me alive.

I watch Gortash in fear for a little moment. But there's no tug, no agony this time. I only feel... slight elation. My weary heart flutters, tapping into its last reserves of power.

"Enver," I whisper, letting my eyelids fall. I feel his palm cup my cheek and his lips plant a soft kiss on my forehead. Tears stream down my face, but I can't gather enough strength to sob.

It's over. It's really over. At least for now.

"Sshh," he coos quietly, combing my hair. "Do you feel like you can handle moving to the bed? I'm afraid you'll melt if you stay in that bathtub for much longer."

I take a few breaths and nod. The instant I move, I can feel all my muscles scream in protest, but I push myself through it. He's right, my skin is getting tender from soaking so much, I can't just sleep here anymore.

He unties me and that's when the ache in my arms and hands joins the party, making me whimper. I've struggled against my own body for hours and hours with only short reprieves of unconsciousness. It's taken a heavy toll. But I'm alive, and so is everyone else.

My legs are so wobbly I slip back into the water a few times, splashing around, sprinkling sleeping Halsin. His snout twitches and I hear a grumble, but he doesn't wake up. Poor thing.

Gortash is trying to hold me upright, but his angle is all wrong, standing next to the tub. But on my fourth try I manage. I just lock my knees and hope it'll be enough for a minute. I notice the water in the bath is surprisingly fresh after housing me for so long, but it's already draining—someone must've changed it several times during the night.

I gasp in surprise when warm drops start raining down on my head and shoulders.

"Another handy technological marvel," Gortash smiles. "Just try to keep yourself on your feet. Let me wash you."

He takes a sponge and a bar of soap and begins slowly rubbing my skin under the gentle, refreshing shower.

I'm too busy keeping my knees locked and staying awake to have any deep opinions on why he's being so caring. My foggy, tired mind is simply enjoying his attention.

He's gentle and thorough and doesn't shirk from any part of me, but doesn't linger for longer than necessary. I mistily welcome the muted rush of excitement his touch gives me and close my eyes, fully trusting him like I only could with my marbles scattered all over the floor.

"Mmm," escapes my lips. I don't know words, but apparently I can make sounds.

"Sit back down, I'll wash your hair," Gortash commands softly.

I sit curled up, my eyes shut, jaw slack, little mewls of pleasure coming out of my mouth. His fingers caress my scalp in circular motions, coaxing some blood back into my skin. It melts away my tension and feels so good against the leftover headache that still throbs in my skull.

Gortash picks up the shower head and rinses the shampoo foam off my hair. It finally hits me that it smells like him. I let out a quiet chuckle. Doesn't he have a special flower scented bottle for his feminine conquests? Maybe he just likes marking them this way.

He helps me stand back up again, dabs me with a towel and then wraps me in a robe.

"Come here, princess," he murmurs and pulls me into his arms.

And he carries me to the bed. I don't think I would protest even if I had the energy. I may be a strong independent woman... but this is nice.

He pushes a tray of food and drink to me and we both eat in silence. I can't force much into my wrecked throat, but I thirstily guzzle all the water and wine. The slight buzz is not helping my overused veins, but it does wonders for my cramped muscles.

Then I lie on my side, watching him freshen up and change. I finally have plenty of time and no capacity for shame; I take in every detail of him I can spot. The toned muscles of his legs. The line of fine dark hair on his chest going to his groin. The way his thick hair softly reflects light when it's crisp clean. The pleasant, earthy color of his skin. Every glance he tosses over to check up on me.

My heart flutters again. I gulp hard and convince my eyes to close, so I can't see any more of him.

Suddenly the mattress beside me sinks and I can feel him next to me. The warmth from his body envelops me, his scent fills my lungs and I find myself looking into his dark eyes. My poor blood pressure spikes again and I try making my gulps for air subtle, but I can see the delighted amusement deepen his crow's feet.

"Sleep," he sighs, studying my face. "You need to rest to get your strength back."

He runs his fingers through my damp hair and kisses my temple. His skin is soft and warm, but his short stubble and rough palms leave a tickling sensation that's driving me wild. I inhale a lungful of him and press my mouth to his jaw, testing the scratchy surface against my lips.

I can hear his breath quicken and feel his hand move to my shoulder and rub the silk of my borrowed robe. I take his face in my hands and bite this time—just a little, letting my teeth graze the stubble, enjoying the sweet scratch—and I hear a moan.

I forget myself. I forget who he is. I just want to keep tasting his skin.

His mouth is on mine. I hungrily welcome him in. His hand roams my body, kneading my flesh—mine frantically search his every surface, unable to decide where to stay. Perhaps I'm just cold from exhaustion, but I feel like he's radiating more heat than an average human being. I bathe in the warmth, pulling myself as close as possible.

The way he pulls air in through his teeth when I bite his lip is like music to my ears. How is this man so edible? He drags his fingertips across my face and I suck his thumb into my mouth. The low rumble of his chuckle travels right to the knot in my lower belly and my eyes roll back.

He presses me flush to his body, molding my flesh, and I let out a feral groan, grabbing fistfuls of his thick hair and pulling. I need him. I need him now.

His mouth moves to my neck, but he doesn't kiss and nibble like I want him to, he takes me by the nape and immobilizes me. I can hear his ragged breath in my ear as I blink in bewilderment.

"Talas," he exhales desperately. "I know your opinion of me has taken a sharp dive... but I don't fuck mentally compromised women."

He lets me pull away and I stare at him in doubt. He snorts, shrugging.

"Alright, I guess sometimes I do," he admits, "but I just know you'll wake up in the morning with your wits intact and hate me for taking advantage of you."

The hum of blood in my ears quiets down as I swallow my disappointment. Tears sting in my eyes; I can't tell why, but I feel robbed. He sighs and pulls me closer again, but only to hug me.

"I've missed you so much," he whispers into my hair. "I don't want to ruin this." Running his fingers through my hair once more, spreading soothing tingling over my skin, he rocks me gently. "Sleep. I promise I'll make it up to you later... if you still want me to."

I can barely hear his last words, but I sense the uncertainty in his tone. The pressure around my chest tightens and I wrap my arms around him and hold on. The pleasurable hormones surrender the stage to the exhaustion in my muscles and bones. I feel myself falling asleep even before my consciousness drifts off.

05 Warm bodies.

The soft light creeping in through my closed eyelids rouses me gently, but I'm so tired everything still feels like a dream. I cling to my drowsiness and try to go back to sleep again.

Then I feel a warm palm on my hip, stroking the silky fabric covering me.

I shift slightly, moving into the touch, and the hand slowly travels across my back. Another joins it, caressing my thigh. I moan quietly, reaching out for a body to hold—

—and I find two. Both are very warm and my hungry touch is ecstatic to feel each pressed to one side of me. I gently squirm between them, rubbing myself against soft muscle that eagerly responds in kind. Their musky scent is both soothingly familiar and enticingly erotic. I can hear two breaths and two sets of soft sighs as I let my palms feel my way across their skin.

I open my eyes and meet Gortash's sleepy eyes watching me. My heart jumps up into my throat and I jolt into a sitting position. I turn to find Halsin on the other side—probably crawled onto the bed when he felt strong enough to move again.

"Shit," I mumble under my breath, quickly removing myself off the satin sheets.

"And it was just getting good," Gortash laments wistfully, a tone of amusement coloring his raspy voice.

"Seriously? Jokes?" I pull my robe tighter around my body, suddenly self-conscious about being completely naked under a thin layer of translucent fabric, and prop my hands against my hips. "Did you even realize you were groping me right next to my partner?"

"As I recall, you were enthusiastically groping me back, sweetheart," he smirks. "A few hours back you didn't mind making out in front of him."

I gape mutely at them both for a second.

"I was out of my mind!"

Halsin groggily drags himself off the bed and holds me close, patting my back comfortingly.

"I'm sorry," I hum into his chest.

"There is nothing to be sorry for, my heart." He kisses the top of my head.

I push away to look at him sternly. "Yes, there is. You've spent your whole night taking care of me at great cost to yourself and the first thing I do when I'm finally okay is this? Not even my mental state is an excuse. I only want to make you feel loved and safe, not uncomfortable and uncertain. I don't deserve you."

Instead of appreciating my commitment, albeit failed, I see pain flash in his eyes.

"Halsin?" I sniffle, my chest filling with dread. "Please don't leave me."

His expression melts into a touched one. He cups my face and smiles softly.

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise," he rasps. "Not until you decide otherwise, my love. You have nothing to fear. I will always be by your side, for as long as you'll have me."

I feel tears trickle down my face, the relief mixing into my terror tapping a generous stream.

"Now I'm sorry," he sighs, futilely trying to wipe my tears away with his fingers. "I misunderstood. I thought..."

He didn't have to explain. It didn't even come to mind at first, but I figured it out.

"You thought I would replace you with him?" I chuckle through the turmoil in my chest. "Not in a million years."

"Yes, don't mind me," Gortash growls and removes himself from the bed as well. His face looks like it's carved from stone, cold and hard. We both watch him as he locks himself in the next room, leaving us alone.

"I think you hurt his feelings," Halsin says quietly and I can hear commiseration in his voice. "He really is in love with you, sweet thing."

"Well, I'm not in love with him," I snap. "I don't want to have anything to do with him."

I'm still raw from the suffering Bhaal has inflicted on me, and the realization of just how much my heart has softened towards Gortash puts me on edge. The possibility of hurting Halsin through another bit of my unfortunate past just piles on top of that.

"Far be it from me to push you towards another man," he smirks, mild amusement creeping into his expression. "But I don't want you to limit yourself on my behalf, Nara. I thought you understood that I don't wish to own you." He takes my hands and kisses my knuckles. "If that is what you need, you are free to be with anyone else to any extent you deem necessary for your happiness. I only want you to be safe and happy by my side. That is my only goal."

I close my eyes and let him lean his forehead against mine.

"You know that's my goal too, right?" I mumble.

I can sense he doesn't believe my words—never have. But I haven't figured out why. I really mean it. He's the ray of sunshine in my bleak days. I want him to keep shining at all costs, even if I'm not the one basking in the beams.

"You deserve all the joy you can get, my heart," he whispers. "Do not make me the one to stand in your way. I will always wait for you to come back home to me."

I swallow a new wave of tears. "Then let's go right now."

"No," he sighs. "I will go. You seem to have unfinished business here. When you are ready, find me in camp. I believe you are safe here, at least for as long as you don't try to kill him first," he chuckles.

"I just might," I grouse. "He's playing a dangerous game here. I didn't think he'd be so bold to try to seduce me in front of you. Didn't he notice how big you are? Doesn't he think you'd rip him to pieces if he pisses you off?"

"I think he knows he has a chance." Halsin gives me a slightly patronizing glance, likely getting tired of my refusal to acknowledge my weakness. "Doesn't he?"

"I don't want to have anything to do with him," I repeat, but my voice falters.

He smiles, presses his face to mine and inhales deeply. "I can smell your arousal, little duck," he chastises softly, combing my hair with his fingers.

"That's for you, too," I frown, a little embarrassed, recalling the unexpectedly pleasant first moments of my morning.

"I know," he nods and this time I can tell he's certain. "But you two have history. Unless you explore this road, you might spend the rest of your life wondering 'what if'... I don't want that for you. I don't want that for myself. Whatever you do, I would like you to be sure that you're not missing out on something. I will be here if you decide to come back to me."

I have no more to say. I let him press a kiss to my lips and watch him exit the room. I don't follow. I keep standing where he left me, hugging my shoulders.

"I can't believe you actually stayed."

I whip around to find Gortash in the doorframe, dressed and tidied up, shaved and smelling fresh. He's leaning on the doorframe and though his face is still grim, his swagger doesn't seem to have suffered irreparable damage.

"Don't congratulate yourself just yet, Enver," I sneer.

"Oh, don't be crabby, baby," he purses his lips in mock comfort. "You landed such a perfect boyfriend. I'm jealous, now I want one, too. Hurry up and break his soft heart—maybe he'll be interested in me instead."

"I'm not breaking his heart," I spit. "I love him."

That sentence makes him wince, but he recovers in record time, smirking like the bad boy he is.

"Then maybe I'll break it for you. When he's no longer there to enable you, will you run back into my arms?"

I don't realize I'm moving before I have his stupid tall collar bunched up in a fist, pushing him against the door. I bare my teeth, my nose a hair's-width away from his. My tortured muscles protest against such treatment, but the rush of adrenaline outvotes them.

"Touch him and I'll kill you," I hiss into his face. "Stone or no stone."

The initial flash of surprise, even fear, is quickly replaced with a seductive smile.

"Gods, I missed this fire," he grunts, grabbing my waist and pulling me flush to his body. "Too bad your devotion belongs to another now."

I tear from his grasp, gritting my teeth so hard they squeak. I don't know what else to do; hurting him only gave him twisted pleasure. So I stomp off to the bathroom, looking for my things, so I can leave this cursed place already.

06 Payback is a bitch.

I dress up in my clothes that feel like they've been freshly cleaned and pressed, and complete my morning routine with the conveniently offered supplies left in the bathroom for me. As I put on my gauntlet I have to stop and lean against the sink. My thoughts are spiraling.

Remembering all that I've done since I arrived at this tower is making me hyperventilate. Gods, I really did nearly jump Gortash's bones. My reason was clearly damaged, but... Gathering my wits didn't erase the desire. I still want him. I hate everything he stands for... but I can barely resist him.

I stare into my scarred face in the mirror, hoping to understand my own mind. Even if I really used to love him in the past doesn't mean I should now. It physically hurts me to imagine Karlach's probable response to that. And Wyll's. And everyone's, really. Apart from some of my companions who would prefer to take control of the Brain, or even to actually team up with the Tyrant's Chosen, none would approve.

"Oh, fuck me," I mumble.

I close my eyes for a few long seconds, trying to get a hold of myself. It doesn't help; my mind is serving me memories of Gortash's gentle, respectful touch, in blinding contrast to what I thought I knew about him. How does that happen? Was he just that good at playing me? Or was it genuine?

Poor Halsin. Perhaps the thing that scares me most is his disapproval. Would he stay by my side if I succumbed to my twisted desires? Would he be open to sharing me with a man who doesn't care who he abuses as long as it serves his power-hungry agenda? Even he must have a limit to what he's willing to tolerate.

I slam my hand against the mirror and growl. I feel like I'm being split in two. One part will not let go of the beautiful, peaceful vision of what life can be with Halsin. The other... the darkness in me, one that has nothing to do with the Urge, craves to be nourished, to be recognized and utilized, to be accepted.

Can I have both? Or is that just a mad hope of a lobotomized freak?

I need to get out of here, now.

I rush out of the room, then into the Audience hall. I'm hoping it's deserted and no one will notice me leaving, but Gortash is once again comfortably seated on the throne, his alert eyes on me the second I come into his field of vision. I slump my shoulders and frown, turning to him.

"Hey, look," I choose a neutral tone, nonchalantly hooking thumbs in my pockets, "I gotta go. We have lots to do in the city. There's a vamp that begs to be staked, a pregnant hag on the loose, and also Orin's not gonna kill herself."

"Ah, yes," Gortash drawls, getting up and slowly sauntering towards me. "You're very busy. The slayer of Ketheric Thorm. The hero who's lifted the Shadow Curse. Pretty impressive."

I purse my lips, glaring at him. Of course he figured out it was us who exchanged his planned article in Baldur's Mouth for a puff piece on us.

"Yeah, it would be a shame if we were slandered instead of celebrated, don't you think?" I nip sarcastically.

"Why do you think I made you come here, my dear," he tosses me a sour grin. "You get in my way, I get in yours. You'd do best to remember that."

I roll my eyes, folding my arms over my chest. I actually considered thanking him for what he'd done for me tonight, but I'm not in the mood to do that anymore.

"Yeah, yeah. If you're done threatening me, mind letting me go? Like I said, lots to do. You want the netherstone, or not?"

Gortash stops maybe an inch from me and leans in to whisper in my ear: "You're not a prisoner here, sweetheart."

A powerful shiver runs through me, so strong I can't possibly hide it. His gaze slides down my body and lips twist in a delighted, sinful smirk. My breath hitches at the sight of him and his scent makes my throat go dry.

He pulls back to a little more respectful distance. "But I thought you might want to have that brunch on the balcony I planned for us yesterday. Don't worry," he chuckles, "I had my cook make us fresh food—birds seem to have eaten the last batch, anyway." His gaze lingers on my eyes, gauging my thoughts. "It's sunny outside. I want to sit with you, talk and enjoy the view from this tower."

Still reeling from the mind boggling reaction I'm having to his closeness, I swallow hard. 'What's the worst that can happen' isn't even a question here. I know what can happen. I know what my body, my own treacherous body, wants to happen. But maybe... just maybe... if I spend more casual time in his presence, this assault of hormones will stop.

After all, there's nothing more off-putting than really getting to know the horrible man you're attracted to. Could be just what I need to get over him.

07 What's the worst that can happen?

I let him lead me onto the balcony. Any thoughts get knocked out of me as soon as I lean over the stone wall and stare at the city stretching below us.

I've only spent two weeks here since we arrived, and from up-close it never quite seemed as grand as people tend to describe it. It's big and loud and overcrowded and smelly... But it seems gorgeous from this high above. No wonder Gortash wants to settle up here permanently.

I don't appreciate the thick atmosphere of this place. I miss the clean waters and animal white noise of the picturesque location the nautiloid crashed in. Even the Underdark is breathtaking in its menacing way.

This doesn't feel like home anymore. It's familiar, but I'm a different person.

Much like what I could say about Gortash. The fact that we used to be a thing shouldn't mean that we have to be it again.

I have so many questions it feels like a chunk of anxiety is balled up inside me—I don't even know what to ask specifically, I just know I need a lot of answers. I want to understand what happened between us and how. And how can a man so callous, so cruel to everything else be so gentle and sweet with me.

I have to know what game he's playing. Is he hoping to weaken me? Stab me in the back as soon as I kill Orin and take both the netherstones off my cooling flesh? Was any of what he showed me real?

"Heavy thoughts, Talas?"

I sigh and turn away from the view to see him comfortably sprawled on an actual rug stretched over the stone floor.

"Couldn't get a blankie?" I quip, shaking my head. "Your ass get too soft?"

"Well, since I don't have to live rough anymore, I just don't do it," he chuckles, tapping a spot next to him. "Come have some comfort, too. I imagine you're not used to it anymore, being on the road for so long."

"I think I pretty much forgot what comfort felt like when that Myrkulite bitch of a torturer got a hold of me," I say dryly as I make my way to the picnic. I immediately see the change in his expression and his fists clenching.

I sit down and stretch my legs in front of me. "Do all your Absolute lackeys respect you this much, or was she special?"

"That's still under investigation," he growls darkly. An image of his most loyal soldiers beating information out of the slightly less loyal soldiers crosses my mind. "The nerve on her. The nerve on Ketheric. He should've told me."

"I guess plotting to take over the world doesn't make for the best bonding time," I smirk, picking up a chalice of wine.

"True," he nods, deciding to wash his rage down with some wine as well. "This is not a circle of trust. I even had to kill a number of my own for being too ambitious. Mostly when they tried to assassinate me to take my place. Or get to me through you."

"Hm," I grimace, not ready to believe I was so important to him that he wouldn't sacrifice me in a blink of an eye if it brought him enough reward. "How do you know I won't kill you? Bhaal sounded pretty determined. He'll try again. You might not get so lucky this time."

"He won't. Not until you get rid of Orin."

I raise my eyebrows at him and toss a few grapes in my mouth. "How would you know?"

Gortash pauses, looking away, squinting at the sky.

"Last night I told her what was happening, got her properly pissed off. I promised you would come to her, which is what you want, anyway. She went to talk to him, to convince him she's capable of defeating you. I hoped she had the pull—and it looks like she does, because it worked. Bhaal wants you to ritually combat her at the Temple just a smidge more than he wants me dead—and can always make either of you do it later."

He says it in such a matter-of-fact tone as if he didn't just confess to virtually saving my life. I gape at him mutely, wine forgotten half-way to my lips.

"Well," I chuckle in disbelief, "I'm stunned that you didn't brag about it immediately."

"I knew you would see it as bragging, no matter when I told you," he rolls his eyes, chugging his wine. "So I wasn't going to. Until you asked."

I shrug and nod, admitting that's true. I'm always ready to believe the worst of him. Just in case.

"But you should know." He turns to me, face serious, gaze intense. He takes my hand and squeezes. "When Orin is dead, he will sic you on me. It won't matter what you feel or what your agenda is. This time he'll have no reason to relent, he will have one of us dead."

He sighs and tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear with the same tenderness I tasted last night. His eyes are warm and gentle.

"If nothing else works... I will let you kill me," he whispers and my breath catches in my throat. "Which is why I suggest you keep your word and we finish our plan together. If we're successful, we might have enough power to keep him away from us."

I watch his hair flow in the breeze around his face. He lets go of my hands and looks to the sky again, as if the endlessness of it helped him feel like he has more options, more freedom.

"So, at the least, we have until you kill her."

His voice is so heavy, raspy, wistful, I shiver again. He doesn't even suggest that we actually stay together or anything... he's just contemplating the near future, counting down days until he might not see me again. Or live.

"You would just let me kill you?" I ask, suddenly reminded of Halsin's similar question from last night. Gortash brushed it off then and I was too busy trying to survive, but it hits differently now.

I see his throat jump as he gulps. He seems to mull over his answer. Then squeezes his eyes shut.

"I began hatching the Absolute plan for my sake only. I wanted power and control. But then you came..." He flashes me a glance, almost shy. "And things changed. So slowly I didn't even notice at first. But I started to work towards a different goal. I wanted to make this work for us. Make the world the perfect place for us to be happy in. To do whatever we want, to have all the comforts, all the fun."

He pauses for a long time. I'm wracking my brain to try to remember something, anything, so that I could confirm his words, but the memory of him is still as incorporeal as before.

Before I figure out how to react, he speaks up again:

"I didn't know how differently it could end," he rasps and I'm in shock to notice his eyes getting somewhat wet. "How someone could hate me, hate you, so much that they would tear us apart and destroy everything." This time he looks at me steadily, though I can see how much effort it takes him to not let his sight run away again. "I love you, Talas. We were having so much fun I hadn't realized it... until I lost you."

I rapidly blink in utter bewilderment. My heart squeezes hard. I feel tears fighting their way out of my eyes. I can taste bitterness in the back of my throat. As if the only thing I could remember about our past is how heartbreaking it was to be separated from him like this.

And I realize that I believe him. It makes sense. Bhaal's ultimatum revealed one thing: this murder was personal to him. I really must have been in love with Gortash before my disappearance. Enough to make the Lord of Murder feel threatened and want our bond broken.

And I'm beginning to see why—to see past my initial impression of him, past his flaws and sins. It makes me scared. What happens if I give in to it, even if just for a little while?

But just how much time to decide do I really have?

08 Innocence of a guilty man.

Turns out, I don't need much time at all.

Gortash's confession was so raw it's impossible for me to stop thinking about it. He's quiet as we eat our breakfast, and so am I, but my head is buzzing. The alcohol doesn't help hold my walls up, but I don't think being sober would save me now.

'We only have until you kill Orin.'

That could be mere days. We've only just arrived, but already met her more than once—sniffing around, gauging our weaknesses, snickering maniacally and giving us the creeps. If we don't strike first, she will. Not to mention the ticking clock that was the tadpole wriggling in my head, threatening to turn me into a tentacled monster the second the Brain breaks free of Gortash's and Orin's control. We are all screwed if we don't find her soon.

My mind ambushes me with slightly fuzzy memories of last night. The way Gortash washed me, the way he carried me to the bed like royalty, the way he cared. I don't have to run away and marry him in secret to enjoy him. I don't have to make any promises at all.

I can just have him one last time. Whatever happens next.

"Well," I peep, nervous about what I'm going to do, "since we're full, alone and have the time... maybe we can... uhm."

Gods, I'm awful at flirting. I'm so lucky Halsin decided to approach me first. We would still be hungrily circling each other if he hasn't.

To my utter dismay and embarrassment, Gortash laughs out loud. "You haven't improved one bit," he shakes his head.

"Shut up," I grunt, trying to hide in my hair.

He props himself on one elbow, reaching for my jaw, caressing me and pulling me down to him for a kiss.

"Your best line so far was 'I would love to carve you up real slow,'" he smirks, coaxing me to look up. "Fortunately, that worked like a charm on me."

My brow crinkles and I burst into vivacious laughter. It makes me feel better, more at ease. I guess I didn't change that much.

"Gods, it's been forever since the last time I heard that laughter," Gortash sighs, stricken.

He attacks my mouth voraciously, making me gasp into the kiss.

It's different than before. It's not libido that drives him this time. There's pain behind the layers of need. Pain of long separation, of deep grief, of lost hope, of impending death. He's virtually inhaling me, as if he would love nothing more than to blend into me.

I feel dizzy and compelled to return the kiss with the same intensity, even though I'm running out of breath. I don't want to hold back anymore. What good would it do me to fight my feelings when this is the last time I get to have him.

His skin is much smoother after the morning shave, but I can still feel the faint remnants of stubble gently scratching me. I run my fingers all over his face, trying to imprint every shape of him into my damaged brain. I come across the scar on his chin and the sensation feels more familiar than ever. I know I've touched this scar before.

His hand copies my movements, tracing my scars. They must be new to him; Orin left them on me when she tried to kill me. He remembers my face when it was still flawless, yet his fingers are feeling my new imperfections with reverence.

"Bleed that bitch slowly," he rasps against my skin. "Savor the kill. You deserve a sweet revenge for this."

"I wish I could do the same to Bhaal," I reply breathily.

"So do I, my love. So do I." He pulls away a little, skin flushed, eyes misty. "Let's go inside. It's chilly here, you might catch a cold."

I squeeze my eyes shut, half wanting to laugh, half crying. I feel him get onto his feet and the next thing I know I'm in his arms, carried like a princess once more. I hug his shoulders and hide in his neck, nibbling hungrily, making his breath catch as he's walking towards his study, gait a bit wobbly.

My legs are weak too—I nearly buckle as he puts me down by the bed. I steady myself holding onto him, while he's doing his best to keep my armor and clothes intact as he's pulling them off my body in ragged, desperate moves.

He pauses with his hands hovering over my offered gauntlet.

"What?" I wonder. "Think you won't be able to enjoy it without me hurting you?"

He tilts his head, squinting in the distance. "I don't think we've ever tried that."

"Just take it off," I say and put his fingers on my wrist. "If it's not enough, I can always use my nails."

"To be honest," he raises his eyebrows pensively, "I don't think I even care. I just want to be with you."

He shakes the metal off my hand and tosses it to the floor. Then his eyes find his own, with the glowing netherstone adorning it.

"I promise I won't steal it," I chuckle. "At least not until I have Orin's."

He doesn't seem to appreciate my teasing. He takes the gauntlet off, but quickly puts it in a small, sturdy looking metal box and locks it inside.

I roll my eyes. "Still don't trust me, Enver? Did I use to fuck people just to get their precious stuff and favors? I thought that was more your style."

"Just a precaution against whomever else might be sneaking through the tower," Gortash smirks and returns to me. "You weren't even interested in fucking until you met me," he touches my face. "Granted, you didn't have many eligible choices around you, with your father keeping you in dark tombs among abominations. But I taught you everything, little lover."

My breath hitches a little at the realization, but I gulp the shock down.

"Well, then I guess I'm glad you've been sleeping around with so many of your noble conquests. Would hate to be taught by someone inexperienced."

He laughs with his eyes shut, then sighs and pulls me into his embrace.

"Oh, Talas, don't be jealous. There's no need to drag nobles into my bed anymore. I did try to drown my grief in a few... but it never helped. You were my first in months."

I blink at him, stunned by his words yet again. "Explains why you looked like you hadn't bathed in weeks at your inauguration." I swallow hard, distressingly aware of his enticing scent now.

"I've let myself go a little, yeah," he admits with an amused grin. "My company didn't mind. I thought Ketheric smelled like death, but then I met Orin." I snort and he joins me. "That faint stench of rotting flesh makes me want to gag. You, though..."

He buries his nose in the crook of my neck, pulling off his clothes. "You." He inhales a lungful of me, groaning. I shiver, closing my eyes, running my fingers through his hair. "The sweetest thing I've ever tasted."

I yelp as he suddenly picks me up and lets us both collapse onto the bed. Our limbs tangle, skin grazing skin, our mouths lock in a thirsty dance of tongues. It's a strange feeling, like being with him for the first time, even though it's far from it. I'm not fighting him, not resisting unwelcome desires, not trying to pretend this isn't what I want... I give myself to him willingly and eagerly.

09 Your fingerprints all over me.

He pulls us higher and flips us over, so he could lean on the head of the frame with me on top. The unexpected exposure makes me flinch. I'm still getting used to showing all of myself even to Halsin, and this... I haven't had time to decide how to feel about it. But the way he watches me makes me shudder. His gaze worships every inch of me, his fingers following closely after. So I lean into his touch and close my eyes, letting my mind rest in the soft waves of pleasure.

"How are you even more breathtaking than before," Gortash whispers so quietly I'm not sure he even meant to be heard.

I look down at him, using the rapidly depleting brain capacity to study his face some more. I didn't think he was capable of such adoration. I'm trying to hold onto my healthy doubts for the sake of everyone who's put their trust in me, but it's getting truly difficult.

So I choose to focus on the rest of him instead. On how he makes me feel.

I let my hands wander over his body, enjoying the inexplicable electric sensation of touching his deliciously mocha skin. Making him shiver as I run through the fine hair on his chest he so likes to show off. His muscles are defined just the right amount, well hydrated and comfortably soft. The little love handle on his tummy makes my mouth water and my hips grind against him wantonly.

He groans and grabs me by the nape to pull me into a ravaging kiss. I lift off his lap just enough to help him slip inside me. I cry out softly, unable to hold back the sweet tears of ecstasy.

My needy mouth devours him. He holds my hip in a firm grip to help me ride him. The fingers of his free hand dig into my back, desperately pressing me to his chest, but the hurt they cause isn't physical. I don't want to look into his eyes, I know they will bewitch me.

But I fail and let his gaze swallow my soul.

I can't focus on kissing him anymore. I just lay my forehead on his shoulder and keep rolling my hips. I feel the crushing orgasm closing in when he rakes my hair and starts murmuring in my ear:

"I love you, Talas. I love you."

I let out a sob as it hits me like a wall. I'm not screaming or moaning—I'm crying. My heart is breaking, my soul is splitting... Yet, in the midst of my torment, there's mind boggling ecstasy shooting through my body like lightning.

He caresses my back, letting me ride out the last of the tremors, while I latch onto his mouth again, mixing his intoxicating taste with the salt of my tears. He doesn't seem bothered, drinking my inexplicable sorrow eagerly, thirstily.

I collapse onto his warm chest and keep softly sobbing into his flesh.

I remember now.

"Are you alright?"

I don't respond for a long while. I just keep slowly rolling my hips, not letting him stop making love to me. He listens to my intentional body language, running his fingers gently all over my skin, and lets me deal with it in peace before I'm ready to speak up.

"I love you too, Enver."

The leftover reason in my brain gags its mouth in horror. But I know that it's true. It's been true the whole time, I just didn't know, being stripped of all my memories of him.

The memories didn't return per se. Only feelings. I was a drooling mess, and still my heart yearned for something I lost. Someone I lost. I doubt I could even recall his name or his face... but I knew I needed him.

"Please," I sniffle, finally dragging myself up to look at him. "Make me forget how I know this. It hurts."

That strange sucking feeling in the center of my chest suddenly makes sense now. I've had it since the crash. My head was empty, but my heart ached for him.

"Talas," he whispers, cradling my head. I watch his eyes well up like mine.

I kiss him, letting him tangle his fingers in my hair. He presses my face closer to his and drowns in my mouth. When we're out of breath, he leaves my lips to travel up to my cheeks and eyes, kissing away every tear.

He wraps me in his arms and smoothly rolls us over, pressing my back into the red satin sheets. He holds my hands above my head and I expect him to get rough—I wouldn't mind having this gnawing emotional anguish knocked out of me with a delicious pounding I know he's keen to inflict.

But his fingers lace with mine and his eyes watch me with tenderness I didn't think he was capable of. He's not done fighting for me.

And I'm not done being loved by him.

I hold his gaze, studying the specs of color in his irises. I let out soft moans as he languidly moves inside me and kisses my mouth without breaking eye contact. And when my body begins buzzing, building up to another mind-shattering climax, I whisper his name. The first one slips from my lips accidentally, but as my mind clouds I get bolder. When my body spasms and my toes curl, I scream it over and over in between waves of ecstasy.

His gaze never wavers—up until his own finish catches him unprepared, drawing a surprised, tender whimper out of him. His body quivers, uncontrollably shooting hot seed inside of me as he holds me close, encasing me in his arms like something fragile and precious, moaning my name into my ear.

Mind blank, I just lay, limbs wrapped around him, not willing to let go. We stay like this, gently caressing each other, panting, cooling off. It's not until we start getting uncomfortable that we're finally forced to let go.

"How would you feel about having a bath together again?" Gortash suggests, his roguish smirk gracing his lips once more.

I'm all sweaty and sticky and full of his load, so I nod.

I don't want to leave just yet. Going back into the real world means being faced with responsibilities and morality. It means remembering what a menace this man is to the city. It means considering losing him forever if he decides to stand in our way. I'm not ready for that. Not after I had an emotional charge the size of an extinction-level catastrophic event go off in my chest just minutes ago.

10 One last chance.

Gortash fills the tub with hot water and takes me by the hand. But it seems like I'm not quite ready for this, either.

Come on. It's just a bathtub. The only place that's actually filled with horrors is your own head.

And I recall all the tenderness and care that happened around it, as well. Two diametrically different men doting on me, sacrificing their strength and favors for me. The thought further eats away at the walls of my poor heart.

"Need some help?" Gortash glances at me, evidently understanding my hesitation. His arm snakes around my waist and he kisses my temple. "Come on. I'll be in there with you. Promise not to tie you up this time—unless you want me to," he chuckles into my hair.

I snort and relax a little. There was really nothing to be afraid of; Bhaal was taken care of for now, there was no reason for my Urge to come out this soon. But my legs won't work.

"Yeah, I do need help," I sigh, draping myself over his shoulders.

He tosses me a wicked grin and picks me up. "You're getting used to this fast."

"It's a nice thing to get used to," I shrug innocently.

"You know you got heavy?"

"Maybe you got out of shape," I narrow my eyes at him, then we both laugh.

I almost don't notice how he submerges both of us in the pleasantly hot water. My heart thrums in my throat for a bit, but then Gortash starts rubbing my neck and shoulders, massaging the tension out of them. I let him do it for a while, then close my eyes and lay my head in the crook of his neck.

"Thanks for saving my life last night," I mumble and I really mean it. "I was ready to beg Halsin to mercifully end me. Wait, no, I did actually beg."

I feel his palm run along the side of my face, then his fingers combing my hair back in soothing motions. "It's the least I could do after putting you in danger. I'm so sorry, Talas."

"It wasn't your fault," I sigh. I know what he means, but... when two people fall in love, neither of them should be held responsible for the disproportional reaction of their relatives.

"I still can't believe how close you were this whole time," he rasps and I his hands ball into fists. "Bloody Ketheric. What a low, petty revenge for making him feel uncomfortable and redundant during our Absolute meetings."

I snort. "How were we getting on his nerves so much?"

I feel his chuckle reverberate into me through my back. "You used to like sitting on my lap and making out while he was speaking. And whenever you spaced out during discussions, or simply didn't have an opinion, you would always back me up, not even listening to his arguments."

"Oh," I grimace. "We were very dismissive of him. I'm not surprised he felt affronted."

"Oh, Talas." I hear exasperation in his voice. "He kept you in his dungeon as a toy for his deranged 'scientist' and let me believe you were dead. He deserved to get his tongue ripped out and be beaten to death with it. Would you really just forgive him?"

"I'm kidding," I turn to him, eyes still closed, and plant a kiss on his chin. "I hate his fucking guts. I'm just sad I wasn't able to make his death proper fun."

"There she is, my Bhaal-babe."

"We've met all of his children," I growl. "All cursed and deranged, almost begging to be put out of their misery. The man couldn't give two fucks about any of them, beside precious Isobel he raised from the dead in exchange for their lives, with thousands of innocent souls on top. He didn't deserve redemption and he knew it."

There's a long pause and I can feel Gortash tensing up.

"Do I?"

That knocks the breath out of my lungs. My eyes open wide, but I only stare into the distance.

Why would he even ask that? He didn't seem remorseful of his many, many sins. He looked straight in Karlach's face and looked pleased with himself. He tadpoled Wyll's father and shipped him who-knows-where the minute he got him to surrender his title. He subjugated a whole city and prepared to wage a fake war on it, just so he could pronounce himself its savior.

And those were only the deeds we knew about so far.

"Do you think you deserve it?" I deflect the question back at him, unsure how to respond. Suddenly I'm aware of how naked and defenseless I am in his presence again.

"Shh," he rubs my arms, noticing my discomfort. "I didn't mean to make you bristle up. In the end, Ketheric was left with no one who supported him out of their own free will. I know how depressing that is—I was in the same position before you returned. There's a big difference between doing things because you know you're alone against the world, and doing things for someone you love."

I scoff. "Well, if that's how you operate, how about you give me the stone and help me clean up this mess? Because that's the only way this," I gesture between him and myself, "is going anywhere. You know that what we just did doesn't really change anything between us, right?"

I can see the hurt in his eyes—but no surprise. He knows. He's just probing for another option. Or trying to manipulate me. Whichever.

He decides to abandon the topic. "We've never done it like this before," he studies my face. "You changed so much."

"Enver," I sigh, feeling almost bad for him. "How do you still want me back, when I'm not even the woman you remember?"

Silence. He evades my gaze, watching the sunlight behind the tall stained glass windows. He doesn't seem to understand it himself.

"I guess you've given my life more meaning than anything I've ever done before."

My heart and eyelids flutter, touched more deeply than I was willing to admit.

I know what that feels like. I could've let my Urge dictate my path, succumb to the thirst for blood and death, do what I knew to do best. Instead, I've found myself in people around me, people of varying degrees of 'good' who sometimes struggle as much as I do.

I've found purpose in keeping them alive. In helping them denounce their gods, avenge their traumas, fix their mistakes, save what's important to them. In loving them as much as they've grown to love me. They healed me in ways medicine and magic could never have done on their own.

They saved me, and now I would rather choose death than let a bloodthirsty god take control over my life again.

Perhaps Gortash would do the same...?

I don't dare to guess. Not until I see the change with my own eyes, in action, when I present the choice to him with Orin's netherstone in hand.

Because I've just decided that I will do just that. Despite everything he's done, everything that deserved grave, and likely final, punishment, I will allow him one last chance to do better.

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