Y'all really liked this one, hope i did part 2 justice.
~
His weight is still heavy against you—more grounding than suffocating now. Like he knows, if he lets go, the moment might shatter and blow away with the ash of everything else he’s lost.
Your fingers are still tangled in his hair. Not holding him down, not anymore. Just there. Threaded. Anchored.
“You always do that,” he mutters against your skin, voice hoarse and low, rasped like worn leather. “Dig under my ribs. Like you’re trying to find something worth saving.”
You swallow. “And have I found it yet?”
He lifts his head just enough to meet your eyes. Something ancient flickers there. Not cruel. Not angry. Wounded. Like a wolf with a scar it forgot to guard.
“How should I know,” he says honestly, then after a beat: “But you keep bleeding for it.”
The quiet that follows isn’t empty—it thrums with everything you haven’t said. Everything he can’t.
How do you begin to unwrap this moment? How can you bring yourself to unravel it knowing that when you do, your mask will unravel along with it. Galliard is quiet, searching your face before he nuzzles into the small space in your neck.
The way he sighs, like the world was taken off his shoulders warms you from the inside out. The words slip out before reality and logic can catch up.
“I love you, Porco,” you whisper, so softly it barely survives the air between you. He jerks up, staring at you like you’ve just committed a cardinal sin.
Or a miracle.
“You shouldn’t,” he breathes, hazel eyes searching your own for any deeper meaning. “You shouldn’t.”
And yet… he doesn’t move. Doesn’t leave. Doesn’t even blink.
“You scare me,” you admit, barely more than a breath. “Not because you’ll hurt me. But because… I think I’d let you, happily”
He lets out a breath, rough as gravel. “Then you’re the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”
You smile. “I’ve been called worse.”
A beat.
Then two.
You beam up at him, fingers playing with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. He shivers.
And then he snaps.
Porco kisses you like he's trying to drown in it—desperate and devouring, tongue sliding against yours, hands suddenly everywhere. His body curls over yours like a wave breaking against the shore, the storm he’s kept sealed behind his teeth crashing open.
“You think you know what love is?” he growls, mouth dragging down your throat, biting—claiming. “You think I can just let you say that and not show you what it means to be mine?”
His hands are rough as they slide beneath your shirt, pulling it up and over, tossing it aside without ceremony. He stares down at you, chest heaving, eyes molten.
“You love me?” he asks, almost cruel with how softly he says it now, like the words are too sharp to hold barehanded.
You nod, breath catching.
“Then you don’t get to run from this,” he says, voice thick. “You belong to me”
His finger dips between your lips. Which set though? Whose to say.
“You can take it?” he asks, voice low and wrapped in teasing velvet, like sin dipped in honey.
You nod—breathless, reckless, already undone by the way he looks at you.
He smirks, slow and feral, all sharp teeth and dark promises. “Good.”
Then he descends like a man who’s gone too long without water, and you’re the only thing that can quench him. His mouth is back on you—slower now, reverent and ravenous. He kisses down your body like each inch is a revelation he’s only just allowed himself to believe. His tongue drags down the curve of your neck, over your collarbone, pausing to suck a mark into the soft swell between your breasts. He groans when you arch into him.
“You always taste like this?” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. “Like fucking heaven?”
You don’t answer. You can’t. Not when his hands slide down your waist, thumbs drawing slow, hypnotic circles into your hips as he trails his mouth lower. His teeth graze your ribs, your stomach—he bites, just enough to leave something behind.
And when he reaches your thighs, he parts them like scripture.
“You don’t get to mention Reiner again,” he growls against the inside of your leg, the heat of his breath making you shiver. “Not when I’m the one who has you trembling.”
His name spills from you—Porco—a gasp, a prayer, and it wrecks him.
Suddenly your wrists are pinned above your head, his grip iron, his breath ragged. His eyes flick up, wild and wanting. “You know what that does to me?” he growls, sinking lower. “Hearing my name on your tongue like that?”
Then he’s there, mouth between your thighs, tongue slow at first—cruel, taunting, like he’s savoring every second of your unraveling. He licks a long, deliberate stripe before flattening his tongue and devouring you.
You cry out, your hips jerking, and he groans into you like he’s the one losing control.
“Say it again,” he murmurs, voice low, the vibration of it sending a jolt straight through you.
“What?” Your voice is barely a whisper, caught between pleasure and disbelief that he’s this—intense, this his.
“That you love me,” he says into you, and it’s not a demand—it’s a need. He doesn’t want it. He requires it; Needs it like air in his lungs.
Your hand tangles in his hair, your back arching as his fingers join his mouth, curling just right. “I love you,” you gasp, hips stuttering.
He groans like you just gave him your soul.
And then—he doubles down. Faster, deeper, rougher. No more teasing. No more play.
This is possession. Worship. War.
And you, the altar.
Porco rises up, dragging his body over yours, lining himself up without ceremony but not without worship. He cups your face like it’s the only thing anchoring him to this earth.
And when he sinks into you, it’s not just sex.
It’s surrender.
It’s war.
It’s everything he’s never been allowed to want—all at once.
You cry out his name again, and he drops his forehead to yours, breath shuddering.
“I’m not going to be gentle,” he warns, even as he presses deeper, deeper.
“I don’t need you to be,” you whisper, wrapping your legs around him.
He thrusts into you with a feral sound, hips snapping forward like he’s chasing something just out of reach. But it’s not out of reach. It’s you. It’s always been you.
And the way he moves—fast, deep, claiming—leaves no room for doubt.
You are his.
Every breath.
Every scar.
Every broken, burning piece.
And in that moment, as the tent fills with the sounds of tangled bodies and whispered names, there’s no past. No war. No wounds.
Just Porco Galliard, and the girl who crawled under his ribs and refused to let go.
💬 0 🔁 6 ❤️ 91 · Doberman Energy · Pulling back the flap of the tent, you're met with Galliard’s bare back, muscles taut like a storm held
one of the excuses I hate seeing for defending the tr*mai ship is that Vegeta approved FTrunks relationship with fMai so we shouldn't argue with it....
let me hold your hand when I say this but VEGETA DOESN'T FUCKING KNOW ABOUT MAI'S TRUE AGE. HE WAS NEVER THERE WHEN THE PILAF GANG KEPT TERRORISING GOKU AND HIS FRIENDS FOR THE DRAGON BALLS. ALL HE KNEW ABOUT THEM ARE THEY'RE LITTLE BRATS LOITERING AROUND CAPSULE CORP
another stupid excuse comes from this same sentiment is that Vegeta would like Mai more if he knew she was an assassin. HUHHHH??? OH YEAH HE DEFINITELY WOULD LOVE HIS SON WHO WAS HELD AT GUNPOINT BY THAT FUCKING WOMAN AND BE TOGETHER WITH HER
sometimes, reddit becomes a place where it finally grows a braincell and comforts me by telling me, yes, there are some db fans out there hate Mai and her bullshit onesided cringe romance with Trunks
Aside from the obvious age gap weirdness, what else is wrong with trunks x mai?
Personally, I find Tr*M*i (at least in the present timeline) to have completely changed two characters to have completely changed two very beloved characters to make them work together
Mai isn't even close to who she was in OG DB and Trunks' character has been diluted to another fighter when in reality GT Trunks and even kid Trunks had an affinity with Tech and tinkering, all for the sake of what? Another "scientist/inventor x fighter" relationship?
There is still time, of course but it's upsetting to see it happen in real time.
Aside from the age gap and flanderization of these characters they feel very forced in my opinion, from the beginning we don't get any other angle aside from "this is Trunks' love interest now" I've always said Tr*M*i would have been much better shipping material had it been say Yamcha (or any other male) x Mai's daughter, and maybe this girl is part of a new pilaf gang. Their goal is still the same and maybe Trunks becomes interested in her because of how good she is with Tech — eliminates the weird age gap, keeps the gag relatively similar and you have a new character with no preconceived motions to develop a relationship with not just Trunks but Goten and Marron as well!
anyway thats my lengthy opinion on the ship without getting into more salt than its worth
I made this way back when I was new to dragon ball so that's why it looks kinda ass. this is a reference to Denji and Nayuta from Chainsaw man manga
I use Denji and Nayuta as one of the main inspiration for the Briefs siblings interactions cus they have such a good dynamic between big brother and little sister.
this is also where I get the idea to make Bulla not liking Mai (self project time baybeee). not cus of weird jealousy, but because she finds Mai 'dangerous' to Trunks. honestly, I'm just doing anything to make Trunks stay away from that old woman.
friendly reminder that trunks x mai is the most shit from ass, forced, nonsensical, poorly written ship that has ever existed in the history of dragon ball and all of manga/anime tbh and should have never seen the light of day!
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