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PROMPT POST #4

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prompt post one
prompt post two
prompt post three

+ All comments except fills should be posted anonymously.
+ All prompts should focus on TFA characters. You can't post OT or PT-only prompts.
+ One prompt per comment please.
+ You can request both kink and non-kink content
+ Crossovers, characters from the other media are allowed, but must relate to the 2015 movie in some way.
+ All prompt comments should begin with a pairing tag (eg Rey/Finn) or Gen for no pairing.
+ Use 'Any' when prompting for any pairing at all (eg Kylo/Any or Any/Any)
+ Anyone, everyone, no one? Use "Other." (e.g. Poe/Other)
+ Warn for common triggers, please
+ NO PROMPTS FEATURING CHARACTERS UNDER 18 IN SEXUAL SITUATIONS.
+ don't hijack other people's prompts.
+ prompts should not exceed ~250 words.
+ also, while this is not really a rule I can enforce, please try to limit yourselves to fewer than 5 prompts per page.
+ reposting prompts is currently not allowed.
+ no prompts based on real life tragic events. e.g: 9/11 au, concentration camp au, etc
+ PLAY NICE

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Hux develops a new kink for feeding and trying to fatten up Kylo which Kylo enjoys way more than he could've expected. To their mutual delight, Kylo's usual intense training routine doesn't lead to him losing this new weight, merely converting a lot of it to muscle mass albeit with a thick layer of fat on top.

Hux can't keep his hands off this new meatier Kylo.

Bonus for comparisons with Hux's own skinny twig-man body.

Slight preference for top!Kylo (with dom!Hux) but Hux banging Kylo like a greyhound mounting a bullmastiff is good too.

Jessika (or F!Poe or another female x-wing pilot) crash lands on a planet. Uninjured, but trapped inside her x-wing, she becomes a victim of the alien creature, that crawls inside and deposits its eggs into the suitable orifices.

Result - heavily pregnant Jessika(/Poe/other), still strapped to her pilot seat and in her helmet. -Art fill is welcomed!-

bonus:
+the creature reprograms her droid so that it starts taking care of and protecting the eggs
+birthing process
+1000 - both vaginal and anal oviposition

Seconded!

+1
Interesting!!

yaaaaaaasss +1

Cute!!
Totally seconded.

Where did I just read some fic (may have even been a fill) where there was a survey and Poe was in the lead as to the most popular to wank to? Even Leia was on there twice. Once as General once as Princess lol

I'm so sorry all I van offer is ao3 somewhere. :/

I was thinking modern would work better (so, Ben?) but am not opposed to canon!

counts mollusks, assesses local ecosystems for stress. turns in reports that utterly derail the plans of developers, aka one Hux.

"You're telling me that the clams are in distress."

"Well, not just the clams. The study hasn't gone on long enough to properly assess any changes to fish spawning behaviors, let alone the effects of organisims on the bottom of the food change rippling up to mid and high trophic levels."

"The clams are in distress."

"Yes. The highly endangered clams that are also a source of local pride."

"And other... creatures will soon be experiencing stress. Much as I currently am."

"Yes."

"I find that I am much too distressed to further entertain your company tonight, Ren. Perhaps you ought to find an alternative method of recreational stress relief in the future as I do not think we will be returning to the one we previously shared, not unless your findings were... otherwise."

"If you're asking me to falsify data the answer is no, but I think that you're missing out on an opportunity to run with the green-building trend. And if you're experiancing stress it seems shortsighted to cut off a source of stress relief."

"Ren. Right now I can think of no greater source of stress relief than punching you unconscious and dumping you in the river to commune with your fucking clams. Get out of my sight before I have security remove you."

"Security likes me, you've been much more even-tempered since we started seeing each other."

"Clams, Ren. You chose a literally brainless mass of goo in a shell over me. I have six exs that are still higher in my esteem than you. And one of them shot me."

"You have a restraining order, right?"

"Out. Before I have two."

"I don't think that's how it works, Hux."

"It is if I stab you."

kylo very awkwardly tries to woo hux. instead of flowers he gets hux a particularly vicious carnivorous plant for his desk, asks after his health occasionally, doesn't destroy *quite* so many consoles, that kinda thing. when he actually bites the bullet and tries to tell him, all awkward and hopeful, hux shuts him down. he's convinced all this is an elaborate way of one-upping him, mind games, whatever.

whether they resolve it and actually get together or no is up to you, im just always a slut for misunderstandings.

This is so cute I can't even.

Han was an orphan and therefore had no one to tell him he wasn't technically a human, but of a near-human species where both sexes could both impregnate and be impregnated.

If he'd known this he definitely would've told his son.

If Kylo had been told this he definitely wouldn't have used his own cum as lube when fingering his ass, thereby impregnating himself.

(Hello all! here is the final installment. I have to say I'm completely blown away by the positive responses, thank you all and here you go!)

The music pranced along, cheerful but stately, each measure clearly marked and audible. This was the kind of dance that always happened at formal banquets: stiff, predictable, more an adherence to pointless tradition and an excuse to see who danced with whom than an opportunity to show off any kind of real skill. As a child, several of Hux’s afternoons per week were full of etiquette lessons, dancing was one of the harder learned ones. It was easy to remember what fork got picked up when, or who to call “Your Excellency” and who to call “Your Grace”. Compiling large amounts of information into orderly stacks in his head was what he /did/. Dancing was more intuitive, hard to simply pound into one’s brain. But he learned. There was something appealing about it, ordered movement to music, a whole floor of people harmoniously moving together like clockwork. So he learned. He always did what was expected of him.

And what was expected of him now was to charm the queen and show her that her decision had been a wise one. Before that though, he looked for where Ren had ended up. The nuisance was right in the mix of it, a pang of anxiety rose in Hux, images of mayhem flashed behind his eyes, but Ren seemed to be handling himself deftly, dancing with the very same senator. It might have been his imagination, but as he watched, Ren’s shoulders went tense and he glanced up at to meet his gaze. A dark, frustrated glance, almost a glower, before he was turning away and hidden behind several other couples. He wondered briefly what that had been about before he was in front of the Queen of Sariindan herself.

He bowed deferentially and kissed her extended hand. Her face was indulgent. “Your Majesty, might I have the privilege?” A suitor glared from ten feet behind him, Hux ignored him. Let him glare daggers; Hux had a knife in his boot and absolutely no interest in wedding the queen for her money.

She inclined her head and took his hand. Hux lead the her to the dance floor. They fell easily into the gently turning crowd as partners switched off. It was a simple dance: a basic box step, turn then repeat, again and again until the music did a little flourish and partners changed. With the music and the hum of conversation to cover whatever was said, the Queen finally spoke.  
“I see you’re making yourself very popular tonight, Bren”

“Please, everyone knows my first name is General”

She chuckled, low and warm. “All right, all right. Who’s your tall handsome friend? He’s made quite the impression himself. Elia might actually take a bite out of him if he lets his guard down” A quick look in the direction the queen indicated showed Ren, several couples over, dancing with an attractive girl that was unmistakably related to the queen. Looking at them, he felt a flash of something hot in his chest. Indigestion? Regret for having finished his fifth drink of the night on top of nothing save some of the broth from the appetizer and a few bites? Whatever it was subsided for the most part when he turned his attention back to the queen.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you”

“Oh no?”

“That, my Queen, is Kylo Ren: Master of the knights of Ren”

She quirked an impeccably sculpted eyebrow at him, then mock-pouted “I suppose that means a new nephew is entirely out of the question”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Ah well. Maybe I can foist one of mine off on her, poor girl.” Her face turned ever so slightly devious. “And how goes your little pet project? The one you were so eager to tell me about during negotiations. What was it, Sunsetter?”

His smile tightened. The Starkiller project was strictly confidential information. The very conspicuous nature of excavating half a planet and converting it into a galactic hyperspace weapon, and the consequential complete impossibility of keeping it hidden meant drawing as little attention toward it as possible, especially in it’s delicate half-constructed state. He may have gotten a bit carried away during his impassioned speech to her on the subject of the future supremacy of the First Order and let slip that it existed.

“It goes.” He said with finality as they came into the last turn. “Sariindan’s contributions of Oridium are greatly appreciated” She smiled indulgently again. He took it as a good sign.

He parted with the queen feeling uncomfortably like he’d lost the upper hand somehow, despite the fact that she seemed more than pleased with the alliance, even fond of him and the First Order’s cause. He shook it off, chalking it up to the fact that talking to her always had the effect of making him feel like he was talking to his mother. Reminding him how young he was, seeming to look through him in a way that was entirely unlike the methodical stripping bare effect of the Supreme Leader’s gaze.

Hux danced one round with some inconsequential rim-world diplomat, focused on his next move, and decided that yes, he did regret that third glass of wine. The problem with the dance that was currently being done was that it required partners to be shuffled every few lines. One partner went left, and the other right, and then all the couples began the dance over again. If his calculations were correct, that would put him with the Handsy Grand Duchess in a few moments. Unless she took the initiative and tried to lead the dance with an ambassador Hux did not recognize.

Alas. She did not. The ambassador clicked away on shiny talons and Hux forced a smile at his new partner.

Predictably, her hands did not maintain the proper closed dance positions. He ignored them, and nodded blandly along. “Oh, you know how it is with the Order, I get my commands and I ensure they get carried out.” The general’s stripes on his sleeve should have been enough to tell anyone that he did a great deal more than relay orders. But she was not actually trying to wheedle him, and did not require a more elaborate dodge than that.

What he had not predicted was for Ren to have switched to a following position during his last dance, and to wind up face to face with him after the trade. However, he did not allow himself to miss a beat, stepping neatly into place and continuing just in time for the music to pick up again. To his credit, Ren went along with it, allowing himself to be led. His form was impeccable. The predatory grace with which he usually stalked about lent itself beautifully to dancing. His feet might not even have been moving in squares for how smoothly they went. Hux should not have been as surprised as he was, after everything he’d seen so far that evening. But he couldn’t help it. Where the hell had Ren learned to /dance/?

“Would you stop that?”

He was yet again surprised. Ren sounded, and looked, genuinely annoyed, his bare face markedly unguarded from displaying his emotions. “Stop what?” Hux in turn, was genuinely puzzled.

“Being so surprised at everything”

“What are you talking about? i’m not—“

“Just because you didn’t personally draft my training sims doesn’t mean I’m a complete incompetent” Ren cut him off with hard tone that carried far too well in his deep voice.

“Be quiet. People will hear. And if you don’t want to listen to me being surprised at you not snapping and hacking the place to bits then stay the hell out of my head.” Or he could comport himself more respectably on a regular basis. Then maybe Hux wouldn’t be forced to constantly imagine worst case scenarios whenever Ren was involved. That aside, it was more than a little distressing that he hadn’t even felt Ren’s intrusions into his thoughts.

“I Am!” Ren thankfully dropped his voice back down to a murmur, if an emphatic one. “Do you think I want to hear your every rant about me? You don’t exactly think quietly, General”

Abruptly the song wound down to an end without any more partner switches, leaving he and Ren standing still, facing each other awkwardly in the intervening silence. Hux could not very well snap back at him while the whole room held it’s breath waiting for the next song. He /Thought Loudly/? What in the hell did that mean?

What they should have done was separated. They should have left it at that and continued on to other partners to continue the objective, but their conversation was not yet done. And as quickly as it had stopped, the band started up again on another slow waltz.

“Stay out. Of my head.” He said sharply as they stepped back together.

There was a moment of stiff indecision as both of them tried to take lead position, but then the music was advancing and they couldn’t very well stand there forever. Ren’s hand slid into place at his back, and he rested his reluctantly on Ren’s shoulder. So. Ren would lead. That didn’t mean anything. Dance was a collaborative exercise, lead and follow were symbolic at best. This had nothing to do with power, he was not giving Ren any power over him in allowing him to lead the dance. The measure came around again, and they were off. A similar waltz, with more of a progression, the whole floorfull of dancers spun counter-clockwise to the music. Hux idly noticed, while avoiding looking at Ren, that the Chandelier had begun to spin in the opposite direction at the same speed. He rescinded a small part of his initial refusal to be impressed. Whoever had programmed it’s grav-lifts had an aesthetic flare that he could appreciate.

Ren led just as well as he followed, gracefully turning them around the floor. His hand was very big on Hux’s shoulder blade and he was altogether far too aware of it’s presence.

Much to his chagrin, Hux was floundering slightly. His head was floating a bit more than he’d have liked, he had not followed in quite a long time, and he was not accustomed to dancing with someone taller than him. It should not have been difficult, it was the same basic steps, just in reverse, right back instead of left forward. He wasn’t even going backward more than he would have been, and yet Ren was practically carrying him through. He found himself wanting to look down, almost stumbling. The drills his childhood tutor had repeated over and over again rang in his ears. “The floor will still be there when you step backwards. Trust your foot to find it. one-two-three. one-two-three”.

Ren smelled nice.

One-Two-Three Hux repeated in his head, a bit louder as they moved in time. It was a complex scent, something spicy, ever so slightly sweet with a deeper undertone, almost an earthy scent. Sandalwood? Hux had not noticed before over the pervading metal smell of the shuttle or the food at the table, but now mere inches away, the perfume was quite pleasant. He could hardly have imagined that Kylo Ren would think to wear cologne, let alone that he seemed to have /good taste/. Hux tried very hard to focus on counting threes, and possibly going over starkiller’s schematics level by level and calculating current budget discrepancies, all to avoid wondering where he might have acquired it.

“That. Stop that. You think too much and too loudly.”

“Thinking is my job, Ren. You should try it occasionally. That and respecting the concept of privacy”

A swell in the music, and Ren raised their clasped hands. Hux did his obligatory spin under them, but his footwork left something to be desired. He stopped spinning when he should have, but his head did not, the room tilted dangerously, and suddenly Ren’s hand was doing more than just resting on his back. The wide spread of his fingers pressed hard into Hux’s shoulder blade, holding him up where he'd nearly stumbled disastrously. His breath caught and he held fast to Ren’s shoulder.

“Perhaps you should try thinking a little less and focusing a little more on dancing?”

The arm baring a large amount of his weight dug into his side, immovable as an iron bar. For once, Hux found himself speechless. Glad for the high collar of his dress uniform, and the fact he tended to blush from the chest up, as he was sure he was flushing furiously. As if on cue, the music transitioned effortlessly into an even slower waltz, intimately slow. The counterclockwise motion of the room ceased entirely as people found partners they wanted to cozy up to. Ren’s hand slid further back, resting firmly on the small of his back. Hux found himself all but swallowed up in him. Eyes level with the dark curls that loosely cupped Ren’s ear, mouth practically pressed to the folds of his cape where it cascaded over his broad shoulder.

“Relax” Ren murmured to the side of his head

“I told you to stay—“

“I’m not in your head, you're so stiff It’s like dancing with a droid”

Hux did realize he’d been tensing all of his arm and shoulder muscles, almost painfully now that he was aware of it. He forced himself to relax. “Stop doing that”

“Doing what?”

“Cutting me off. It’s rude” There was no venom in the words, he was smiling slightly into Ren’s shoulder.

Ren chuckled and he felt the puff of air on his ear. They were more swaying now than dancing, feet just barely moving. His footwork was perfect, now that he’d stopped thinking about it. If he stopped worrying for half a moment, it would have been very enjoyable. Until he heard the lift in the music that meant the song was coming to an end.

Ren shifted, pulling Hux to the right so they were face to face. He saw that Ren’s face, so strangely open, was pinkish around the cheeks, his dark eyes shining with something Hux could not quite decipher. He felt hot under his collar, their faces were mere centimeters apart. The room fell silent and they stayed like that for a full moment. He could see the indecision in Ren’s eyes, the quiet hope.

Hux did not give him the opportunity to make the choice.

He pulled away, trying to steady his breathing which seemed to have stopped at some point, straightening out his already perfectly straight uniform. “Thank you for the dance. Lord Ren” his tone was clipped, but still far too breathless. He either needed to have had one less drink, or quite a few more.

Without looking back, he left the dance floor.

—

Hux did not see Kylo Ren again after the awkward, silent shuttle trip back to the Finalizer. He summed up the event in a brief report, relaying the advances in wearing down Avarian hesitance to negotiate, the significant headway Ren had made on the Senator, and the Queen’s marked contentment with the agreement. All in all, a success. He did not put any mention of the dance with Ren.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think Ren was avoiding him. Or at least, making himself scarce. There were no outbursts, no wrecked panels. No terrorized officers. Three full days without a whiff of him.

And then, abruptly, he was back. As if nothing had changed. Hux arrived on the bridge a half hour early to his shift to watch the morning settle in around a well functioning ship, and Ren was there, looking out of the large triangular windows, as he so often was at odd hours.

Hux stepped up next to him, gazing out at the stars.

“General” The helmet inclined in his peripheral vision

He returned the nod “Ren”

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, both looking out at the galaxy. Then Ren turned away, leaving in a swirl of robes, and just the vaguest lingering scent of something spicy, slightly sweet, with a hint of sandalwood.

Its no secret that Rey and Leia are powerful women and often saving even strong men like their boyfriends Finn and Han.

So in an au where Han is alive, Han and Finn have this thing everytime they find themselves in distress and have their romantic partners save them....they have beers and talk about it.

Hilarious! Poor clams, poor Ren, stressed Hux. Now I want to know the exact circumstances why his ex shot him. (It was self-defense, right?)

Jess is Poe's bestfriend - his most trusted wing-man, beloved little sister and even fuck buddies who'll always be there for him. They're inseparable and it's always a riot whenever these two are together on the base.

They confide in each other for everything, sharing any secret, any stories.
Except that everytime Poe shared stories about his neverending trysts, he's totally clueless that it's practically like punching her in the gut. If only this idiot knows how deep her feeling for him underneath her tough cookie exterior!

Then, the day Jess finally decided to confess to her Poe is the same day Poe happily told her that he is in love with Finn. And this whore even DARED asking her for some love tips!
Of course Jess will be happy for him too. Right?

Give us a pining Jess and an oblivious Poe, Poe/Jess happy ending will be highly appreciated. OP also doesn't mind if it's Poe/Jess/Finn in the end.

Oh jeeze, poor Kylo. That is to say, YES, GOOD.

Maybe you mean this fic? - http://archiveofourown.org/works/6228322 (Morale Surveys by bomberqueen17)

...BB-8 is a he.

Oh yep! That's the one!

Don't know if op saw/wrote that and theres no real smut but it was fun still

Yes yes..and I would love to see the scenes which any 5 of them doing it and what did they have in mind involving Poe when they're jerking off.
e.g: Did they imagine Poe on his knee blowing them in the x-wing? Did Poe in their fantasy lied down on the soft wampa rug all naked, waiting for them? Did their imaginary!Poe shed tears while they took him by force in front all people? Or wearing cat ears and collar in chains, like an obedient pet?

Yeah, that sort XD

James-Joyce-inspired prompt: Someone fucks the farts out of someone.

Quote for inspiration: "You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her."

This is so great so far!

[A/N: Well, this is superlong. What a delightful prompt, nonny! Have a second fill.]

Refuge

Poe could go back to base right now. His mission is complete. Mon Mothma’s illegitimate daughter is safely on her way to Coruscant. Even the First Order blockade around this sleepy planet has been lifted. There’s nothing keeping him in the Western Reaches. If he left now, he could be back two days ahead of schedule—Mariana had turned out to be handier with a blaster than she initially let on. He might even be able to surprise General Organa.

But he can’t bring himself to go home, because home right now is medbay, the agonizing hours of just watching Finn breathe. It’s been a month since Starkiller Base, and Finn is still in a coma. The medidroids say not to worry. They say that this is uncommon but not unusual, that Finn is healing, and that Finn will come back to them when it’s time. But droid philosophy doesn’t comfort him. It only makes him feel more helpless. And when he looks at Finn, looks at his slowly healing back, he feels, illogically but painfully, responsible.

So instead of going home, Poe is sitting in what passes for a tavern in the village where Mariana thought she’d been safe. He’s drinking what tastes like watered down engine oil in an alcove, almost hidden out of sight behind the scarves draped across the alcove’s archway.

There’s a bit of a local crowd—there’s music, the owner’s eldest daughter accompanying her own voice on guitar—but here and there, there are patrons whose dress and haunted expressions mark them as not from around here.

Poe recognizes them immediately as Hosnian refugees.

Despite the total annihilation wrecked on the Hosnian system, the First Order didn’t manage to kill everyone. Anyone who was off-world was spared, albeit without a world to come home to. (“Like Alderaan,” General Organa had said, and whatever pain she felt when she thought of her home world had obviously turned to flint long ago. Poe’s heart had ached for her.) The tattered remnants of the New Republic is trying to organize—every day seems to bring more New Republican survivors reaching out to General Organa, begging for forgiveness and help now that what she had always predicted would happen had come to pass.

She’s a better person than he is for not taking them to task for their blindness.

As Poe takes another sip of his drink, he suddenly feels eyes on him. He glances through the crowd to find a man leaning against the bar, staring steadily at him with dark eyes. He’s tall, pale, dark-haired, and handsome, although his features are a little overshadowed by the nasty scar crossing the right side of his face.

Poe smiles at him.

The stranger blinks, disconcerted, but takes Poe’s interest seems to take this as a cue. He straightens up—way up, Poe notes approvingly—and moves across the tavern to Poe’s little alcove to tower over him.

“You’re Poe Dameron, aren’t you?” he asks. His voice is low and powerful, his gaze steady and intense. Poe grins up at him.

“You’ve heard of me.”

“The Poe Dameron that destroyed Starkiller Base?” The man’s tone doesn’t change.

Poe laughs. “With my squadron and a lot of help, but—yeah. I’m that Poe Dameron.”

The stranger swallows, and his eyes drop to the table. For a moment, Poe figures that he hasn’t thought past his opening move, but then he asks, “Can I buy you drink?”

“You look like you could use it more than me.”

The man’s face flickers in confusion, for a moment, so Poe makes himself clear. “C’mon. Sit down,” he pats the seat beside him on the bench.

The man ducks, his head brushing the scarves, and arranges himself and his long limbs on the very edge of the bench. “You can sit closer, I’m not gonna bite. Unless you ask real nice.” The stranger gives a small smile as he scoots closer to Poe, and, as Poe suspected, he’s cute when he does that. “What’s your name, traveller?”

“Owen.”

“Are you with them, Owen?” The refugees scattered in the crowd look like individual family groups—a quartet of grim-faced sisters, two women with their son—but they could be all together.

Owen glances down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Poe nods. “I can imagine. Looks like they did a number on you.” He gestures to the scar on Owen’s face. It must be new, judging from both how pink the healed tissue is and how Owen’s hand flies to his face, as if he’d forgotten it was there.

“Well,” Owen says, giving Poe that same small smile, “you should see the other guy.”

They laugh, and Poe likes that sound in Owen’s throat. (Owen’s very nice throat.) He probably hasn’t had much to laugh about in the last month. Neither has Poe.

So Poe makes it his mission to make Owen laugh with a vengeance. He tells him stories about daring rescues and a few less-than-spectacular missions, for modesty’s sake. Playing the hotshot pilot is a bit of a posture for Poe, but it’s familiar, almost comfortingly so. If Poe is trying to make Owen forget about what happened to his home world, then he’s also trying to forget about the bedside vigil that waits for him at home.

“And then the Hutt says, this isn’t what I ordered!” Poe slams his hand down on the table, grinning. Owen laughs his low, dark chuckle, and it feels like a victory. Owen smiles his strained smile at Poe. He’s beautiful like that, Poe thinks. Poe reaches out, casually, and brushes his fingertips against the back of Owen’s hand where it rests on the table, stroking his long fingers.

Owen’s eyes flicker to their hands, and then back up to Poe’s eyes. His face is suddenly serious, almost searing in its intensity. It’s the result he’d hoped for, but he still yelps a little in surprise when Owen lunges forward to kiss him. Owen kisses like a freighter—sloppy and overwhelming, with intent. Poe opens his mouth to admit Owen’s tongue, almost startled to feel heat starting to pool in his belly already. Has it been that long?

When Owen pulls back, he looks… scared. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confesses, ducking his head.

Poe tilts Owen’s head back up with his index finger, gazing steadily into his eyes. Owen doesn’t make a noise, but his lips tremble at the touch. It’s not just that he wants this, Poe realizes, it’s that he needs this, needs something to think about besides the end of his world.

Poe can’t help Finn right now, but he can help Owen.

And himself in the process, if he’s being totally honest.

Poe cups Owen’s face—the left side, not the right side with its scar—and kisses him, more gently than Owen kissed him, licking his lips apart. Owen makes a little noise at that and pulls at Poe’s waist with his big hands. Poe feels the sudden overwhelming urge to crawl into Owen’s lap, mount that tall, broad body.

The alcove, despite its scrim of scarves, suddenly feels too public.

“Owen,” Poe asks, voice low, “do you want to go somewhere more private?”

“Yes,” Owen groans against his mouth.

Somewhere more private turns out to be the room Owen is renting for the night, on the second floor of the tavern. It’s not much, but there’s a bed and a door that locks.

Not that he sees much of it before Owen pins him against the door by his shoulders, fists his hands in Poe’s new jacket, and starts kissing him like he’s trying to suck all the air out of Poe’s lungs. It takes Poe a minute to realize his toes aren’t touching the floor. Owen is strong—he could probably pick Poe up, fuck him against the wall without breaking a sweat. Poe groans into Owen’s mouth at the idea.

When Owen breaks away just to breathe, Poe finds himself panting as Owen sets him down gently. He grins up at Owen. “What, I don’t rate the full tour?” he cracks.

Owen bites his lip and the corner of his mouth quirks. He takes a few staggering steps backwards, staring at him. He sits down on the end of the bed. It groans under his weight.

He’s looking at Poe like he wants to memorize him. The attention is intoxicating. Poe takes a few steps forward and shucks off his jacket. He tosses it to the floor as he steps between Owen’s knees.

Owen tilts his head to look up at him, and it’s a nice angle. Poe reaches out, tracing the unscarred side of Owen’s face before cupping the back of his head, threading his fingers through his long hair. “Hey,” he says.

Owen makes a soft noise that might be a “hey” back and swallows, his gorgeous neck contracting. His big hands settle on Poe’s hips, thumbing the hem of Poe’s shirt. Poe smiles.

“You’re right, I am a little overdressed,” he says, and tugs his shirt off by the back of the collar. Owen blinks furiously and rakes his gaze over Poe’s chest. Poe pulls his hand back to tip Owen’s chin up, pressing his thumb into that plush lower lip. “And so are you.”

Poe’s breath catches when Owen’s tongue darts across his thumb. Owen’s eyes crinkle a little as he almost smiles. His hands disappointingly leave Poe’s hips to unbutton his shirt, but Poe bats his hands away. “Let me.”

Owen’s dark shirt buttons all the way down, so Poe has to stoop and then kneel to undo them. He pushes the shirt over Owen’s broad, beautiful shoulders and—

“Wow.” Poe’s a fit guy and works to stay that way, but this is something else. Owen must have been in one of the Hosnian system’s militias, one that took their job seriously even if the Senate didn’t, based on the muscles flexing under his skin. Part of it is genetics—he’s a big guy, which makes Poe’s cock twitch at the idea of where else he might be big—but part of it must be training.

Poe suddenly feels very, very lucky.

There’s also another nasty scar on Owen’s left side. It hasn’t healed as cleanly as the one on his face—its lines are jagged and angry. Poe glances up at Owen. Owen’s watching him with dark, unreadable eyes, daring him to be disgusted. Poe’s heart aches for him.

He tucks his fingers into the waistband of Owen’s pants and kisses his chest as close to the scar as he dares—he has no idea how sensitive it is. Owen gulps somewhere above him. Poe tilts his head back and places his hand on the back of Owen’s neck.

“Whatever did this to you, you survived it,” Poe tells him. “You’re lucky, Owen. We both are.”

He tugs Owen’s head down to kiss him on the mouth. And then the neck, and the clavicle, and the rounded edges of his chest, working his way down Owen’s chest until his chin hits his belt. Owen’s breathing hitches in anticipation, and the sound makes Poe half-hard.

“Can I suck your cock?” Poe asks, as he undoes Owen’s belt.

Owen nods shakily.

Poe reaches in Owen’s underwear and pulls him out of it. Owen’s cock is of a size with him, so—it’s impressive. Poe’s seen bigger, but not in a long time. He wraps a hand around it and glances up at Owen, who is just staring at him with a little shocked expression and starting to go slightly red around the edges. Poe keeps watching him as he puts his mouth on him, watches him blink rapidly and his mouth fall open.

There’s no way he can take all of Owen’s cock, despite the appeal of the idea, so Poe uses his other hand to cup Owen’s balls, rolling them a little. He sucks on the tip gently, swirling his tongue around it. Owen groans as his eyes roll into the back of his head.

Poe pulls off a little to slap the head of Owen’s cock against his tongue. Owen makes a low, breathy noise, digging his hands into the threadbare quilt, and leaks salty precome against Poe’s tongue. The feel of it makes Poe’s cock ache and strain at his fly. He suppresses the urge to take a hand off of Owen to tend to himself and tongues Owen’s slit clean instead.

“Your mouth is so good,” Owen moans. Poe grins up at him.

“Yeah, it’s pretty good. But my ass would be better.”

Owen shudders and leaks into Poe’s mouth again; Poe’s grin widens. He pulls off Owen’s dick and, unable to resist the temptation, pumps it with his hand a little before releasing him. Owen awkwardly skitters backwards on the bed until his shoulders bump against the wall.

Poe takes the opportunity to strip out of his pants and underwear, hard cock bobbing slightly as he lifts his feet up one by one to take off his boots and socks. Owen’s eyes rake over his body, dark eyes foggy with lust. “You too,” he says, and Owen jerks into motion, shucking off his pants, socks, and boots.

“Do you have anything—?” Poe makes an obscene gesture with two fingers, and Owen shakes his head.

“No.” His voice is getting a little deeper and a little raspier with lust. Poe bites his lip as the sound of it goes straight to his already aching cock. He takes a breath, trying to master himself. He wants this to last.

“There’s usually something lying around in a nice place like this,” he says, wandering around the side of the bed. Owen’s eyes never leave him. “And there are other ways for us to have fun.” He’s overstating the niceness of the tavern’s lodgings, but, as he suspected, the drawer in the bedside cabinet contains a toothbrush, a comb, and a small bottle of oil.

Poe takes it, closes the drawer, and sits down on the bed, turning the bottle over in his hands. He starts when Owen leans over to kiss his shoulder. “Mmm,” he says. “That’s nice.” He sets the bottle on top of the bedside cabinet and turns to kiss Owen properly. Owen still kisses with more intensity and enthusiasm than technique, but he’s calmed down enough that he’s no longer trying to choke Poe with his tongue.
Poe’s surprised to find he kind of misses that.

When Owen pulls at his waist, Poe breaks the kiss to hop onto the bed and straddle him properly. Owen makes a gorgeous sound when he puts his weight on his stomach, balls brushing against his impressive abs. “You ready to finger me open with those big hands of yours?” Poe asks against Owen’s mouth.

“What?” Owen blinks up at him.

Poe pulls back a little. Shit, Owen is gorgeous, how did he not notice how much before? His eyes are a little glassy, but his face is actually relaxed, plush little mouth turned down. Poe feels a sudden urge to kiss everyone of his moles and does so, making Owen hum.

Into his ear, Poe whispers, “You are not fucking me with that without opening me up a little.”

“Oh,” Owen says. Poe ducks his chin at the bedside cabinet, and Owen takes the hint, reaching over for the little bottle of lubricant. It looks even smaller in Owen’s big hands as he applies some of it to his fingers.

Poe fists his hands and braces them on the bed on either side of Owen’s shoulders, lifting his hips up so he’s on all fours above Owen. Owen reaches around him, unerringly slipping his cold, wet fingers between Poe’s cheeks and against his hole. Poe stifles a little cry of pleasure as Owen presses a finger into him slowly, and leans down to kiss him passionately when he feels Owen press a second finger into him. Owen crooks and scissors his fingers gently, and Poe groans into his mouth.

It’s slow and unhurried, Owen fingering him as they kiss, as Poe’s cock leans precome onto his stomach. As if they have all the time in the world, as if the galaxy isn’t crumbling down around their heads. Poe thinks that he could stay like this for hours, and then Owen presses his prostate, making him groan into his mouth, and his languid, liquid desire for Owen suddenly sharpens into need. “I need your cock now,” he says, looking into Owen’s dazed eyes.

Owen nods shakily and replaces his fingers with the blunt head of his cock. Poe’s mouth twitches at the feeling of it, and he presses back, spearing himself slowly on Owen’s cock.

It feels—well, it feels as big as it is, but Owen opened him up pretty good. It’s a good, full feeling, and he hums a little at the sensation. He sinks down slowly, less because he can’t take it any faster and more because Owen’s eyes have closed and he seems lost in the sensation of it, beautiful mouth slack with lust. He feels like Owen gets more gorgeous every time he looks at him.

When he’s fully seated on Owen’s cock, he takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Are you alright?” Owen’s eyes opens and he runs a concerned hand down Poe’s back.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just been a while since I took something this big.”

Owen’s lips quirk into something approaching a smile. Poe grins at him, wrinkling his nose.

He sits up on Owen’s cock, bouncing a little experimentally. Owen thrusts into him a little, and he groans at the feeling of Owen moving in him. Another time, he’d let Owen hold him down, have all that strength dedicated to fucking him until he come, but not tonight. Poe clenches down on Owen’s cock, and Owen makes a strangled noise and grabs at his hips. He rubs thumbs over Poe’s hip bones, staring at Poe, his intense, strange gaze making Poe feel like his skin is on fire. “You’re beautiful,” he says.

Poe’s impulse to crack wise, tell Owen he’s not so bad himself, but Owen’s eyes are wet.

“Hey.” Poe leans over and kisses him. “Hey. You’ve been through enough. Let me take care of you.”

Owen makes a strangled noise, closes his eyes, and pulls Poe’s hips down, pulling him farther down onto his cock. He barely brushes Poe’s prostate and Poe lets out a startled, soft moan as a wave of pleasure overwhelms him. He’s close—closer than he wants to be. He doesn’t want this to end. His cock is aching desperately, red and leaking, but he ignores it and kisses Owen sloppily. Owen clutches at his back, nails scraping against his skin. Poe fucks back onto Owen’s cock, trying and failing to go slowly, his head going fuzzy at the edges with his need for more—more friction, more force, more of this man. He trails kisses down Owen’s face and then buries his face in Owen’s neck, mouthing and licking blindly as he starts riding him in earnest.

Poe’s world narrows to this room, to the pleasurable, aching fullness of Owen deep within him, the curve of Owen’s neck under his tongue, Owen’s soft, hitching breathing. “Fuck, you feel so good, you feel so right,” he moans into his neck. He slides a hand up Owen’s stomach blindly, rubbing his fingers against the nipple he finds there. Owen, surprised, moans into his mouth, the sensual noise reverberating through his body, and that undoes the last threads of Poe’s self-control. He moves back onto Owen’s cock and barely manages to wrap his hand around his cock before he comes, spilling over his hand and Owen’s stomach as he gasps into Owen’s mouth. He comes so hard that he starts shaking—it’s so much more intense than he thought it would be.

When he stops shaking, he realizes that Owen’s stopped moving, despite still being so hard Poe can feel every twitch of his cock deep inside of him. He glances up at Owen in confusion. “You came,” Owen says, looking unsure.

Poe smiles. “And you haven’t.” It’s easier to focus on working Owen’s cock when he’s not overwhelmed with the need to come, although Owen’s startled, lust-struck face when he gyrates his hips makes Poe’s drained cock twitch and ache weakly. Owen grabs at his hips again, thrusting against him, but Poe slams back onto him, dropping his whole weight onto his cock. “I said I’d take care of you,” he says.

Owen groans in response, eyes rolling back into his head. He looks so gorgeous, so wanton, that Poe finds himself leaning down and kissing him before he’s even thought of doing it. He murmurs nonsense to Owen as he clenches down on his cock, as he kisses him. It’s basic stuff—“you’re so beautiful,” “your dick feels so good,” but mostly, “I’ve got you.”

Owen comes with a soft cry into Poe’s mouth. Poe works him through his orgasm, kissing his neck, his jaw, his eyelids. When Owen recovers enough to kiss him back, Poe smiles against his lips and lifts his hips up, letting Owen’s softening cock slide out of him. He dismounts awkwardly—his legs feel a little like jelly, from squatting over Owen for so long and from the intensity of his orgasm. He lies down next to Owen, whose breathing is just starting to regulate. There aren’t any handy socks at hand to wipe Owen’s stomach clean of Poe’s come, so Poe grabs a corner of the threadbare quilt on the bed to do it. They’ve already made a mess on it, he reasons. Owen glances down at him, as if surprised by this, and that’s a good angle on him, too—sweaty hair plastered to his face, eyes soft, so well-fucked he looks a little startled by it.

“Thank you,” Owen says, voice low and still a little trembling.

“Don’t mention it,” Poe says, and kisses his shoulder. They lie there in comfortable silence for a few moments, Poe drumming his fingers against Owen’s chest. “Owen?”

Owen glances down at him, his dark eyes unreadable. “Mmm?”

“I don’t know where you’re headed, but… we could always use someone like you in the Resistance.”

He feels Owen tense underneath his hand. Skittish, he thinks, like a stray. Which he now is, thanks to the First Order. “I can’t,” Owen says, after a long moment.

“Okay,” Poe says, and kisses him gently. “Okay.” He wraps an arm around Owen and rests his head on his shoulder. He’ll convince him in the morning, he thinks, as he drifts off to sleep.

But when Poe wakes up with a start from a nightmare, he’s alone.

It’s only when he’s safely on board his shuttle craft and in orbit that Kylo Ren allows himself to acknowledge the mistake he made in seeking Poe Dameron out.

He knew it was a mistake even before he left the Finalizer, when he lied to himself that the Supreme Leader would not miss him for a few days more. But what else was he to do after Dameron started to invade his dreams? He dreamed of torturing him, at first, reliving the experience of being in Poe’s head, but then he began to dream of capture, of being delivered at Dameron’s feet, of being held…

He grits his teeth against the memory of such weakness. He had thought killing his father would have silenced the call to the Light, but he’d been wrong. The temptation of the Light takes many forms, and Dameron is only its latest. He had seen only one solution, only one way to quiet the need inside of himself—kill Dameron.

He’d sought him out to do so, but when he’d actually seen him again, his handsome face haunted, his resolve had faltered. And when Dameron had smiled at him, it failed completely. His resolve had been replaced with half-remembered dreams and fantasies of what it would be like for Dameron to touch him without fear or hatred, what it would be like to simply be able to kiss him with no history, war, or blood between them.

For a moment, remembering Dameron’s touch, he’s overwhelmed by the call to the Light. He slams his hand against the bulkhead, hoping the pain will steady him. It does, as he breathes furiously through his nose.

True, Dameron had treated him with a kindness he didn’t deserve, but that was only because Dameron hadn’t recognized him, either as Kylo Ren or as Ben Solo. Dameron had given that kindness to someone else, someone he wasn’t, someone he could never be. He would have never treated Kylo Ren that way—would have turned away in anger, hatred, and disgust.

Kylo’s breathing evens out. The love of the Light is treacherous and conditional. He knows this intimately. Has he not been cast out, time and again, from the Light only to find true acceptance in the Dark Side? His longing for the Light is a weakness, one that must be extinguished if he is to assume his grandfather’s mantle. He was wrong to stray on the way to Supreme Leader Snoke.

He will go to his master, and finish his training, and yearn no more for the Light.

Or the touch of a kind hand.

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PROMPT POST #4

This post is closed to new prompts!

Kylux - weight gain, size & strength kinks, Kylo gets thicckkk

Jessika Pava or F!Poe/alien creature: non-con, oviposition

Re: Poe/Luke, Kes' reaction

Re: Poe/Any, Poe and Ben role reversal au

Re: Jessika Pava or F!Poe/alien creature: non-con, oviposition

Re: Finn/Poe, BB8 ships Poe/Rey

Re: Poe/Any, Poe/Everyone - 5 times people fantasizing or jerking off to Poe Dameron.

Re: hux/kylo ren - pseudo-incest, daddy kink, age kink, cheating

minifill? Crack, Kylo Ren Does A Ridiculous Job

kylo/hux kind of - miscommunication

Re: Finn/Poe, BB8 ships Poe/Rey

Gen or Kylo/Any: selfpreg

Re: Kylux - Fancy Dinner FILL 3/3

Finn [ /Rey] + Han [/Leia] - Bonding over being Damsels to their Hero Romantic Partners

Re: minifill? Crack, Kylo Ren Does A Ridiculous Job

Poe/Jess - best friends, pining

Re: Gen or Kylo/Any: selfpreg

Re: Poe/Any, Poe/Everyone - 5 times people fantasizing or jerking off to Poe Dameron.

Re: Finn/Poe, BB8 ships Poe/Rey

Re: Poe/Any, Poe/Everyone - 5 times people fantasizing or jerking off to Poe Dameron.

Re: Poe/Any, Poe/Everyone - 5 times people fantasizing or jerking off to Poe Dameron.

Any/Any: Lots of farting during sex

Re: FILL: Poe, Kes Dameron, injury recovery and family time (2/?)

FILL: Poe riding Kylo Ren's cock, "Refuge" 1/2

FILL: Poe riding Kylo Ren's cock, "Refuge" 2/2