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nonasuch · 1 year

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here is a fun little star wars scenario that has been pinging around inside my head like a screensaver:

so let’s say there’s some very zealous, very low-ranking fresh young Imperial officer on duty the day they take the Senator from Alderaan into custody.

and he is very very nervous because a) he’s been here for like a week and b) none of that week required him to be in a room with Darth Vader. which he now is. so he is trying to focus very very hard on Doing Everything Exactly According To Protocol, as a means of not focusing on the seven-foot evil wizard standing fifteen feet away.

and part of the protocol for processing new prisoners is to make a new file for them in the prisoner database, and enter all their biographical details and vital statistics and a gene sample and their known associates and the nature of their terrible crimes against the Empire and so on. which he does! very meticulously!

except the computer keeps throwing an error message. the stupid thing keeps beeping at him, this awful grating little noise that makes his shoulders ratchet up tighter and tighter every time it honks at him, and he can’t fix it and Darth Vader is right over there—

except oh god oh fuck the beeping noise must be annoying Darth Vader, too, because he’s coming over here and our poor junior officer is convinced he’s going to die before he even lives long enough to send his first paycheck home to his poor widowed mother —

he stammers out an apology. Vader just stares at him. he swears he’ll figure out the problem right away, sir, it’s probably a bug in the system, it’s just that for some silly reason it keeps saying this gene sample doesn’t match the one on file for the Senator so he can’t get her logged as a new prisoner just yet —

“Dismissed,” says Vader. the poor kid flees, gratefully.

Vader considers the matter. in fact, his underling was correct: the gene sample, which he saw taken through his very own helmet lenses, does not match the official record of Senator Leia Organa, heir to the throne of Alderaan. so: perhaps the sample on record was falsified. not impossible, but very, very difficult. and ordinarily a crime attempted by the lowly and desperate. he cannot see any need for it, in the daughter of a queen.

another possibility presents itself. Alderaan has no history of using royal doubles, as some worlds do. but Bail Organa has worked closely with royal houses where the practice is long-established. perhaps he was inspired. perhaps the girl they captured is not Leia Organa at all.

Vader runs the gene sample against the ship’s database. it is woefully incomplete, of course, containing only a fraction of the Empire’s billions of citizens: the ship’s own complement, a selection of known criminals and Rebels they might encounter, high-ranking officials whose identity must be confirmed should the Emperor require their presence. unlikely that this girl, whoever she is, would have a record here, or even a partial match—

the computer beeps at him. it’s a cheerful beep, this time, not the error message that stymied the junior officer. the computer reports that the gene sample is a partial match for Pooja Naberrie, the Senator from Naboo. they are, with eighty-nine percent probability, first cousins.

and Vader just. kind of stands there. for a minute.

when he goes to Leia’s cell, there’s no interrogation droid with him. he goes in. he shuts the door behind him. he stands there, silent, for frankly a worryingly long time, until Leia has run through her entire stockpile of “how dare you, I’m a member of the Senate on a humanitarian mission” and “whatever you want, you can’t possibly think I would be of any help” and “well, if you’re going to interrogate me, get on with it already” and “are you even listening to me?” and falls silent herself.

Vader has been listening to her. he has also been listening to the Force, which seems to think that she’s not lying. obviously the humanitarian mission part is bullshit, that goes without saying. but the “I’m Senator Leia Organa” parts and the “I won’t help you” parts? yeah. he searched his feelings. he knows them to be true. the Force is singing in his head, bright and clear, in a way it hasn’t for nearly twenty years.

there’s still Tarkin to deal with, though. Vader turns and leaves the cell without a word.

Tarkin wants to blow up Alderaan. this is unacceptable, obviously, and Vader forbids it on the grounds that the Queen and the Viceroy possess vital intelligence, not disclosed to their daughter, that must be acquired. said intelligence being, not that he’s saying this out loud, how the fuck Bail got his hands on his daughter, and who else knows about it.

“the fate of the galaxy rests on it,” is what he does say out loud. from the way the Force harmonizes with his words, that might even be true.

so the Death Star just. parks there. in an incredibly threatening orbit around the planet. they issue a demand that the Organas surrender themselves, or else, but apparently the happy couple just left for a low-tech weekend retreat in the mountains, what awful timing, they’re sending someone to fetch them right away. Vader shuts himself up in his quarters, to seethe and watch the surveillance feed from Leia’s cell. he’s not really paying attention to much else.

and it’s not like a random freighter getting tractored in for being an incredibly obvious smuggling vessel is the kind of thing you’d alert Darth Vader over, anyway.

so he’s still sitting there, one great big thought filling up his whole entire head, watching Leia take a frustration nap, when her cell door opens.

and a trooper comes in.

and the trooper takes off his helmet.

and he says, “I’m Luke Skywalker. I’m here to rescue you.”

(continued here)

#i have no idea what happens after that but it's definitely not the plot of star wars: a new hope #star wars #not fic

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luminnara · 1 month

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Unheavenly Creatures Part Two | Feyd-Rautha x reader (NSFW)

PART ONE

Summary: in the wake of an arena victory on his name day, Feyd rautha blows off some steam with his darlings.

MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Read this fic on AO3 under the same account name, luminnara!

Warnings: group sex/foursome, exhibitionism, voyeurism, mentions of cannibalism, canon typical violence, it’s Feyd-Rautha it’s not all sunshine and rainbows, bloodplay, biting, marking, possessiveness, the whole shebang

Word count: 4.6k

Note: I have been desperately trying to find any info I can on the harpies, and I have not managed much 🥲 so pls enjoy my headcanons and made up names ily bye

Tags: @austinswhitewolf @aeilani @maneater17 @serrendiipty @belovedbastardremus @the-dark-dreamer25

It was a day of celebration, and the entire palace—no, city—was abuzz. Inside, a feast was nearly finished, a kitchen full of cooks working day and night for a week to prepare the na-Baron’s favorite dishes. Outside, beneath a black sun, the citizens of Giedi Prime sat cheering in the arena, drinking in the sight of their beloved Feyd-Rautha as he gutted the last of the Atreides warriors. Even as you made your way back to the palace, the roar of the crowd was deafening, their penchant for bloodshed seemingly increased tenfold on this special day.

“Come,” one of the women next to you said, her voice a high, breathy hiss.

“Feyd will want us,” the other smiled, her black teeth contrasting dramatically against her near-white skin.

Feyd-Rautha’s darlings had been quick to accept you as one of them. You suspected it was partly because they didn’t dare question him, though you had seen occasional instances of what could be considered mild defiance from them in your short time on Giedi Prime. They, and you, were permitted to act out on occasion, though none of you were foolish enough to do so in a way that would cast an ill light on your beloved na-Baron. And he was your beloved—with each passing day, you grew more and more comfortable with the Harkonnen heir, and more and more certain that he adored you.

“We will feast on Atreides tonight,” Issa sighed.

“Feyd will reward us,” Yarina said, looking down at you with a grin.

You returned it.

As the three of you walked down the hall, moving as a single, predatory unit, Harkonnen and guests alike were quick to move out of the way. You heard the whispers, caught the curious, sometimes shocked stares as you passed. Feyd’s darlings were rarely seen wandering, and as such, even members of the Harkonnen nobility found themselves stunned by the sighting.

You kept pace with the others as you walked, mindful of the carefully curated air they liked to keep about them. They were both exquisite examples of Harkonnen beauty, equally as dangerous as they were lovely, and though you still did not know much about who they had been before Feyd chose them as concubines, you enjoyed their company. It was a good thing, too; now, you spent nearly every moment with them, and when you weren’t with them, it was because you were alone with Feyd-Rautha.

Some nights, he called you to his bed, having his way with you, whispering things in your ear that he would never say during the daylight hours. Things he reserved only for you. At night, Feyd-Rautha could be almost kind, and you came to suspect that he loved his darlings, in his own way; otherwise, why would you all be allowed to touch him, to pleasure him, to feast with him?

You had never expected that you might become a concubine for the heir of one of the Houses. As a child, you had often dreamt of becoming a princess and being swept away through the stars to wed your handsome prince. But you were no noble; your parents bore no titles, and the closest you were ever meant to come to greatness was when you served your former masters. Was it luck that had brought you where you were today, freely roaming the Harkonnen palace while you awaited your beloved Feyd-Rautha? Or had fate played a trick on you, giving you close to what you had always wanted while still refusing you any title or noble birth? Perhaps it was better this way; perhaps you would enjoy your life as a concubine far more than you would if you had been a lady of the court.

Perhaps the universe had known you would one day commit violent acts, and planned a fitting role for you. If you hadn’t killed your father all those years ago, would you even be on Giedi Prime now? Would Feyd-Rautha had cared at all about the handmaiden who had wandered too far? Perhaps he would have killed you, seeing you as expendable. He would have slit your throat, and his uncle the Baron would have pretended he cared enough to apologize to the Lord and Lady you had served. They would have gotten someone new, and you would have been easily and quickly disposed of.

Perhaps Feyd would have fed you to his darlings.

How strange the wheel of fate was.

“What are you thinking about?” Issa asked you, tilting her head as she looked at you curiously. Her voice was always breathy and alien, a dreamlike quality within it. It matched her appearance and yet it didn’t, making her seem even less human than her black teeth and eyes did.

“Yes, you seem so far away,” Yarina agreed, her accent more akin to the na-Baron’s than Issa’s. You had been on Giedi Prime long enough now to recognize differences in accent and dialect, and had begun trying your best to imitate Feyd’s in an attempt to better fit in. You had no idea if it was working or not, but no one had commented on it yet, which you took to be a good sign.

“My House allied with House Harkonnen,” you said as the three of you neared Feyd-Rautha’s chambers.

“Your former House,” Issa corrected, raising a hand to stroke your cheek. “You are Harkonnen now.”

“I do not look Harkonnen.”

“You do.” Yarina pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

This was normal with them, you had come to learn; they touched casually and constantly, always in contact with each other and now you by default.

“There is no doubt my former Mistress, or at least her husband, is visiting for the celebration.” You said.

“Perhaps our lovely Feyd-Rautha will kill them for you,” Yarina offered.

“Perhaps our lovely Feyd-Rautha will allow us to kill them,” Issa grinned.

You did not know if you wanted that to happen.

You followed them through the door and into Feyd’s living quarters, settling on the large bed while you waited for him. You could imagine him stalking through the halls, bright red Atreides blood painting his chest and face as he hurried back to you. He would kill or maim anyone who stood in his way or tried to slow him down. He was always wild after a fight in the arena, and he always came to you hot and hard and ravenous.

You hoped today would be no exception.

“He must hurry,” Issa pouted as she lounged next to you. “I’m growing hungry.”

“He will come,” Yarina sighed. “He would never let us starve.”

You weren’t sure if they were talking about sex, or food, or both, but you always marveled at the way they spoke of Feyd. They knew how dangerous and callous he could be, but to the harpies, that was normal. If he was a lion, then they were the lionesses; just as cunning, just as regal, just as hungry. Whenever you walked alongside them, you learned more of how to be like them. You learned how to keep your head held high in a room of Harkonnen men, confident that none but Feyd-Rautha would dare to touch you lest they lose a limb or their life. You learned how to stomach the violence that the na-Baron enacted so frequently, and even how to anticipate it eagerly. You had changed in your time on Giedi Prime, and you were becoming more and more like your fellow concubines by the minute.

When you finally heard heavy, determined footfalls outside, you perked up. The door opened not a moment later, revealing a bloodied Feyd-Rautha, his chest heaving and his gaze dark as he crossed the room, eyes glued to you. There was no time to be scared before he was upon you, cupping your face in both hands as he kissed you hungrily, greedily, sharply biting at your lip. You gasped involuntarily and he was quick to force his tongue past your teeth, exploring your mouth while a hand moved to squeeze at your breast.

You felt a soft hand press against the back of your neck as one of the other harpies held you, her body supporting you as Feyd-Rautha pushed you down. The other moved onto her knees, undressing him quickly before leaning in to lick blood off the side of his face.

He moved to catch her lips in his and you gasped for air, heart racing as hands pulled at your dress. Craning your neck, you saw that Issa was behind you, her hands now massaging your breasts as she leaned over you.

Feyd easily threw Yarina down next to you, the bed rocking slightly. He paused, panting as he stood and looked down at his three darlings, all still clothed while he was bare. His full lips curled into a smirk, eyes raking over your bodies as he crawled over you once more.

“This must go,” he said simply, taking a fistful of your dress and pulling.

One of the others sucked in an excited breath, quickly taking the torn scraps and tossing them to the floor.

Feyd-Rautha dove for your throat, leaving open-mouthed kisses against the soft flesh as his strong arms caged you in. Someone’s hand slipped between your thighs and you opened your legs obediently, feeling slender fingers stroking you as you were prepared to take the na-Baron.

It wasn’t the first time you had all been together like this. After you had settled in and grown more comfortable with the others, Feyd had permitted them to watch as he bedded you. They had both been fascinated by the small amount of body hair Feyd chose to let you keep, and you had been fascinated by the way no one, not even Feyd-Rautha, had touched you intimately without permission, or at least without being expressly told not to.

This wasn’t the first time you had felt those fingers inside you. When the three of you were alone, the others taught you how to please Feyd-Rautha. They had perfected it to a science, and it reminded you of some of the rumored Bene Gesserit teachings you had heard of; secretive, calculated, confident. Always in control, even when it seemed that they were not. You had been surprised to learn that the na-Baron was vulnerable in front of his concubines, shocked, even, by what you had seen when he took them to bed; for he was not always demanding and petulant, but also subservient. The others knew how to give him what he truly wanted and needed, and that was sometimes the permission to be a different man while behind closed doors.

Today, though, that was not what he wanted nor needed. Today was a day for chaos, for Bacchanalia. Today, Feyd-Rautha’s feral energy was driving him into a frenzy, teeth sinking into whatever he could find as he marked you with his bites over and over.

“Yes,” you gasped as fingers pushed deeper into you. “Oh, yes…”

Feyd tore himself away from your neck to devour another’s lips, his hips grinding against yours as a pair of hands wrapped themselves around his cock and began stroking. The bed was a tangle of limbs and the air was heavy with breathy moans, no one quite sure of where anyone ended and anyone else began.

When you felt the head of his cock prodding at your entrance, you moaned, and it came out almost choked. There, surrounded by so many bodies, you felt hot and slick all over, already sweating before the real work had even begun. Your voice was thick in your throat as you begged for him, pleading with him to please fuck you, please use you…and he obliged, because you were saying exactly the right things to make him drunk with lust.

“Feyd,” you whispered, hands searching for him.

“M’darling,” he groaned as he pressed his face into Issa’s neck, the sound guttural and primal.

“Please,” you whimpered as Yarina ran her hands over your front. Your thighs tensed in an attempt to soothe the needy ache between them, but Feyd-Rautha was in the way, like a solid tower of muscle and flesh that refused to give. “Feyd please!”

He was faring no better than you. His cock ached and wept as it slid over your lips, now wet with your own arousal and throbbing with need as blood pooled in your groin. With each teasing thrust of his hips you grew more desperate, breaths coming in whiny pants as you huffed and begged, chest heaving as your back arched up off of the bed.

As Feyd-Rautha allowed himself to be guided into you, he groaned that deep, heady groan, the one that always had you melting and turning to putty in his hands. You gasped at the feeling of his cock sinking deeper and deeper, slowly, until his skin brushed yours and you swore you could feel him in your womb.

When his hips rocked back you let out a strangled moan, and when he pushed into you once more you made a noise that would be considered filthy back on your home planet. Feyd-Rautha had a tendency to bring those noises out of you, and fill your head with thoughts that some would be disgusted by. As he fucked into you with ever-increasing brutality, though, he reminded you why you were so happy living with him now. Looking up into his dark eyes that watched you while his lips brushed over another woman’s shoulder as she held him, you felt nothing but lust and glee and adoration. Sharing him was easy when you were part of a set like this, and when you were all together as one moving, breathing creature.

His gaze was intense. You knew he loved watching you as he pleasured himself with you. Sex was like war for him, each bedding a conquest, each fuck a battle. You were never his enemy, though; you were his prey.

And you enjoyed being caught.

“Feyd,” the harpy behind you called in her hissing voice.

He tore his lips from Yarina’s flesh, leaning over you as his hips continued thrusting, meeting Issa above you. He attacked her hungrily, hands gripping her roughly as his speed movements grew more erratic. You knew he was becoming more and more frenzied by the sighs and moans, his kisses turning to bites. You watched, enraptured, as he sank his teeth into her shoulder, a bead of dark blood running down her breasts and dripping onto your cheek.

Yarina made an excited sound and dove around Feyd-Rautha, intent on licking it up. Before she could, he released Issa, shoving her aside as he snarled at Yarina, hands coming down on other side of your head as he caged you in once more.

She hissed at him, jealous and hungry, moving instead to suck at the wound the blood had oozed from. The na-Baron huffed a ragged laugh, baring his black and bloody teeth as he grinned at them, then down at you.

“You will have your turn,” he said to them while looking at you. “You will never go hungry.”

You knew he was speaking of both literal and sexual appetites, and that he meant it; there was plenty of blood and plenty of him to go around, and he was incredibly good at balancing his attentions between all three of you. Though his concubines were meant to serve him, at times it seemed as though that was achieved by him serving you—ensuring that all of you were happy, proving that you were well cared for in all ways. When his darlings were happy, Feyd-Rautha was happy. You could almost call it love.

His love was harsh, though; as he gazed down at you, you felt as if you were the only one in the universe, drawn in to those dark eyes, and you obediently turned your head and bared your throat to him. He relished the sight, and the willingness, and the vulnerability. He could kill you so easily like this, with his cock buried inside you and his teeth in your flesh. A part of him longed to spill your blood everywhere; you knew because he had said so before.

But he wouldn’t kill you.

You were his.

And he was shockingly gentle with his things, reverent when it came to their care. His knives, lovingly and proudly displayed on the wall, another hidden in the bed in case of emergency, were always sharpened. His favorites were sharpened by him, because he trusted no one else with them, much they same as how he trusted no one else with you.

As his teeth sank into you, he moaned, relishing the feeling of having you there in his jaws. He could crush you if he really tried, if not with his teeth then with his hands. But as he held you close and swept his tongue over the sore mark he had left, you knew he never would. You were safe with him, as odd as that felt.

“You are so beautiful like this,” he breathed as you gazed up at him.

“You are as well,” you replied, smiling at the admission.

He kissed you, deeply and seriously, not a hint of those teeth. It was pure, in a way, just like his care for you was; not pure in the innocent sense, nor the good sense, but pure in that it was simple and primal. It wasn’t evil. It wasn’t overtly just. It simply was.

Then, he nipped at your lower lip, sharply enough to draw blood, and he sucked at it greedily. You felt a tingle in your core, something uncoiling within you. When you brought your legs up and hooked your heels around him, he pushed into you even further, as if he wanted to force himself inside your very skin. When he dropped his head next to yours, you knew he was close—and when he bit into you again, you shrieked, and you knew you were close as well.

“Fuck,” he growled against you. “Move.”

You immediately unlatched your ankles and he pulled out, painting your front in his seed. Marking you as his once more.

He tilted his head as he looked at you. You writhed beneath him, hips bucking as you searched for him, so close to your own end and yet now feeling devoid and empty.

“Shh, pet,” he cooed, reaching between your legs. “I will care for you.”

You were nearly in tears as you watched him, far beyond the ability to speak coherently as he toyed with your swollen clit. His mouth moved to your inner thigh and he bit, drawing blood, leaving a trail of marks. The sounds that left your throat were desperate and wanton, echoing off the high ceiling of his chambers as Feyd-Rautha made quick work of you. Your pleasure was agony and beauty, and as he dragged you down over the edge, your voice felt hoarse from your cries and moans.

Anyone passing by in the corridor would hear.

You did not care.

You would never be ashamed of the sounds you made when Feyd-Rautha pleasured you, and as he bent down to swipe his tongue over you and lap at your wetness, you felt a smug sense of achievement. There was the na-Baron, on his knees, tending to his low-birth, off-planet concubine.

He pressed a kiss to the deepest bite mark. “Exquisite.”

Then, you were gently moved aside, and he began anew with one of the others. Though he was selfish, your pleasure was his, and he worked through the three of you however he pleased, always ensuring you were sated. You watched in fascination as he made them writhe, and when he allowed his own skin to be broken, you sucked at the wound, tasting the strange Harkonnen blood on your tongue and appreciating the fact that you were probably the only person from your home planet to have ever been given the chance.

How strange, the things you appreciated now.

-0-

“Something troubles you tonight,” a rough voice commented.

You turned your head to look at its owner. “Why do you say that?”

“You aren’t in bed with the others.” Feyd-Rautha approached you, coming to stand behind you.

He was right; you had initially found sleep to come easily after a long day of celebrations and feasting, your aching body in desperate need of rest. But after some time you had awoken, and it was impossible to close your eyes again. So you had dressed yourself in a black robe and slipped away, escaping to the balcony window down the corridor.

“My apologies,” you mumbled, looking down at the railing.

His chest brushed your back as his hands gripped your elbows. “You shouldn’t be out alone.”

“I know, but—“

“I was worried.”

His admission made you pause. When you glanced up at him, you saw that he was serious, jaw tense as he looked down at you.

“You were?” You asked, staring at him with wide, black eyes.

“I was.” His voice was stern. “It is not safe.”

“I’ve wandered these halls before,” you said, a hint of amusement in your tone. “Even before I joined you.”

“You were a guest.” He said. “I was your greatest threat then.”

“I wasn’t afraid of you.” You jutted your chin up towards him.

“I know,” he grinned. “When you told how best to spill your guts so as not to ruin the meat, I knew.” Then, he grew serious once more. “I also knew I must have you, and no one else would touch you.”

“No one here would dare.” You said haughtily. “They know better than to play us.”

“That is not what I worry about, my darling.” Feyd-Rautha placed his hands on the railing in front of you, leaning his chin on the top of your head as he looked out over Giedi Prime. “I am the heir to the Harkonnen throne.”

“You’re an important man,” you furrowed your brow. “What of it? Does that not guarantee me protection?”

“You are a target.”

“…na-Baron, I am a concubine, not a bride.” You scoffed. “There would be no reason for any political adversary to—“

“Feyd.” He growled.

“Wh-what?”

“Call. Me. Feyd.”

You gulped. “I-I’m sorry, Feyd.”

“Don’t…” he heaved a sigh, steadying himself. “Don’t apologize, darling.”

He was silent for a moment, and you weren’t sure whether to feel safe or uncomfortable.

“All of Giedi Prime knows how important my darlings are.” He continued. “You are safe when you are with me. But I cannot guarantee that safety when you are alone.”

Feyd-Rautha turned his head, leaning his cheek against you. It was an oddly intimate movement; in fact, the entire situation felt more akin to one that should take place with husband and wife, not murderous na-Baron and concubine.

“I am only a concubine,” you said again, voice small.

He barked a cruel laugh. “Is that what you tell yourself?”

You winced at the harsh sound. “It is the truth.”

“My darlings,” he began, his voice low, anger simmering just below its surface, “are much more to me than simple concubines.” He turned you in his arms, forcing you to lean back against the railing. “Surely you know this…or do you turn your nose up at me?”

You recognized the glint of anger in his eyes and felt panic rising. He couldn’t really think you hated him, could he? “Feyd, no…”

He gritted his teeth as he glared down at you. “The little off-world pet, too good for the likes of the barbarian prince…I know what the Great Houses say about me.”

His hands drifted down to grab at the thin fabric of your robe, grabbing it in bunches as he hiked it up. He paused for a moment and you realized he was listening, for your quickening breaths and heartbeat, and you watched as something in his eyes shifted.

“They call me psychotic.” He nosed at one of the bite marks on your neck. “What do you think, darling? Are they correct?”

“Y-yes, Feyd.” You stammered, both frightened and excited by the game you now realized he was playing.

He made a thoughtful noise as a hand slipped past your robe, fingers finding your swollen, used folds and plunging inside. “What else?”

“Th-they say you are bloodthirsty,” your breath hitched as his thumb brushed your clitoris.

“Am I?”

“Yes, Feyd,” you gasped at the addition of another finger.

A sick smile twisted itself onto his face. “What do they say about me on your home planet, darlin?”

“That you are v-violent,” you steadied yourself with a hand on his bare chest as your thighs trembled. “That you kill without second thought. That you are cruel and crave violence with every breath.”

Some of it you had made up; truly, you had never heard anyone on your planet speak in great length about the na-Baron of Giedi Prime. In fact, most people on most planets probably didn’t even know who he was. But for the sake of his ego, and for the hand between your thighs to continue its work, you exaggerated, and it worked. Despite a long day of fighting and fucking and enjoying spice, Feyd-Rautha was awake, attentive, and ravenous.

“And what does my darling think?” He asked, rubbing your clit as he twisted his fingers inside you.

“I-I think—!” You gasped, eyes wide at the sensation, wetness pooling around his hand, “Feyd—!”

“Answer me,” he purred, amused.

“I think that you are all that and more!” You blurted, tears pricking the edges of your modified eyes.

“Good pet,” he caught your lips in a kiss and focused his efforts on your clitoris, allowing and encouraging you to reach your peak on his hand.

And you did, of course you did. You always finished with Feyd, oftentimes before him. As your orgasm overtook you, he breathed you in, devouring you in his adoration.

As you came down, he leaned back, pulling his hand away and watching your flushed face as he licked the taste of you off of his fingers.

“Delicious,” he rumbled, looking at you with a hunger in his eyes.

Then, he placed his hands on your shaky hips and turned you, and before you had even caught your breath, his cock was inside you for the second time that day. He squeezed your breast as he fucked you, pressing kisses along your spine that seemed far too gentle for the na-Baron, and again, you marveled at the way he treated his darlings.

“Do you see now?” He panted in your ear. “Do you see your importance? Only my darlings do this to me.”

Only his darlings made him so feral and so tame at the same time, because while he bit and tore and raged with you, he refused to truly break his favorite things.

“And you take me so well,” he growled, spending himself inside of you with a grunt.

Feyd leaned against you, pressing a kiss to your temple. You felt comfortable there, within the safety of his body. Nothing could harm you when you were with him; you were one of his darlings, and now, you were certain that he adored you.

“Come,” he said, pulling himself out of you and straightening up.

“Bed?” You asked as he easily swept you into his arms, carrying you back to his chambers.

“A bath,” he decided. “Then bed, with the others.”

And you smiled as he held you, so secure against his chest. Feyd-Rautha was everything you had said and more—he was a lover, as well, in his own way.

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #dune #dune x reader #unheavenly creatures

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icanhearcolors · 7 months

Note

I really love the idea of Tav drawing Astarion to show him what he looks like, could you maybe write something about that? ^-^

Hiiiiii! I can indeed thank you for the request :b

Welcome back to another episode of Abby tries to write something short and can't make it less than two thousand words.

EVERYBODY LOOK AT THIS GIF CUZ KJNKBJHGFRRETFO

Sorry I think I got possessed for a second there

Word count: 2.1k

The night sky had never been this gorgeous in the city. In Baldur’s Gate, the upper city was illuminated by mage lights that adorned the cobblestone paths. The light was bright enough that the citizens split into two factions, the night life and the day. Even those without dark vision could operate solely at night in total comfort if they chose to. In the lower city, fires were always burning, sending plumes of rich smelling smoke into the air constantly, obscuring the night sky.

But out here, under the blue light of a full moon, you can see every star and constellation in vivid detail. A soft purr-like snore hums against your back, and you brush a hand over the downy feathers of the owlbear cub you rescued from the goblins. He was getting so big. If he gets half as big as his mother was it is going to become a challenge to travel with him. It’s a sacrifice you’re more than willing to make. Besides, you could always cast the reduction spell on him in a pinch if any problem arose. He sleeps curled around your back, alongside his friend Scratch the dog, whose fluffy white head is resting in your lap.

The campfire crackles a few yards ahead as Wyll adds a few logs, humming a Baldurian tune you recognize but can’t quite recall the name of.

For the first time since the nautiloid crash you feel peaceful. Safe.

You turn your gaze to Astarion’s tent, probably for the thousandth time tonight, and stare at his profile as he flips through the pages of the seemingly sentient necromancy tomb you had discovered a few tendays prior. A faint green light curls from the pages like mist, illuminating half his face and casting the rest in shadow. You’d never really understood the saying “so beautiful it hurts'' until you met Astarion. An unknown emotion compresses your chest in a way that makes it hard to breathe sometimes when you look at him. You think it started out as empathy. Every detail of Astarion’s story he revealed to either warn you about vampires or shock you for his own amusement painted a picture of a horrific life full of trauma and misery that you found hard to reconcile with your enigmatic companion. He was always the first to crack a joke. He laughed loudly and on a constant basis. From an outsider’s view he’d appear almost carefree. Happy even. You wondered now how much of that laughter was real, and how much of it was the armor he’d donned a couple hundred years ago when he breached the surface of his own grave. You recall a conversation you had with him a while back about vanity. In his two hundred and forty years, give or take, he’d only been able to see his reflection for thirty nine. An incredibly young age to die for a high elf, and a small fraction of his life-span. Even if any fuzzy memory remained of that past life, it was no longer accurate anyway.

He was something different now.

Your eyes slide to your pack. You had found something yesterday- something rare indeed. A merchant selling art supplies outside of the city. You had everything you needed to give Astarion something you took for granted every day. His reflection.

Slowly, both as to not disturb your sleeping friends and not alert the elf in question to your actions, you slip a hand inside the bag. Your fingers find a pencil easily, the paper next, and you begin to draw. At first you draw him as he is, using his current unmoving form as a model, but you had been quite the artist in your time in Baldur’s gate, and you finished that drawing almost too quickly. So, you draw him again from memory, this time with his head thrown back, face scrunched with laughter. Then you draw his frown, his smirk, the condescending expression he so often gives Gale, the softer one you don’t quite understand that he reserves for you. You don’t hide or downplay his vampiric traits. You draw him exactly as he is, blending colored chalk to capture every shade of red in his eyes. Time falls away as you lose focus on everything but your work. Eventually, some time much later, the cramps in your muscles wake you from your trance. You stretch, and your knees, shoulders, and spine crack loudly. Scratch wakes up, stands, shakes himself off, and trots into the bushes. Your owlbear notices, and trills a soft sound before standing too, following him into the woods. You smile as you watch them amble off, happy they get along so well. You turn back to your drawings and examine them with new eyes. You expected to feel excitement, pride maybe, but instead a cold feeling ties your insides in knots as you realize you can never give these to Astarion. The drawings are some of your best work, but they’re also… reverential. A glimpse of Astarion through your eyes. Anyone who saw them would think you had drawn your lover, not your less-than-trusting involuntary traveling companion. He would take one look and realize exactly what you’ve been hiding from him since- well since you met him. You were infatuated with the vampire, and somehow, miraculously, despite the fact that you’d slept with him once already, he seemed to be unaware.

He was going to find out.

You eye the campfire, half tempted to toss the whole pad of paper into it.

In your panic you turn your gaze toward Astarion’s tent.

He’s not there.

His tent is open, and no one is inside it. You can see that from here.

Somehow- maybe it’s the tadpole, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent so much time with the rogue, you realize you know exactly where he is.

Slowly, as if to avoid instigating an attack from a stalking predator, you turn your head to find Astarion standing behind you, peering over your shoulder.

Even though you were expecting it, you still startle out of your skin. Astarion drops to his knees on the ground in front of you and claps his hand over your mouth just in time to muffle your screech. You both look at eachother with wide eyes before turning slowly and in unison towards a sleeping Lae’zel. She’s frowning in her sleep, which isn’t unusual for her. She twitches, and then rolls over to her other side, sound asleep. You sigh in relief, through your nose because your mouth is still covered by Astarion’s hand. You swat it away and throw him a withering glare.

“What the in the hells is wrong with you?” You whisper-shout.

Astarion presses his lips together and turns his head away from you for a moment, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“Oh yeah, laugh it up. If she’d woken up we’d be dead right now.”

“Look it’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention. You haven’t moved in almost four hours, I wanted to know what you could possibly be writing.”

You clutch the drawing pad to your chest and swallow nervously, eyes darting around for any glimpse of something you can use to distract him.

Unfortunately as you’ve come to realize, regardless of what they used to be, once turned vampires become lethal predators. Astarion sees your darting eyes, catches the scent of your fear, and you see the shift in his demeanor.

His movements become slower, more fluid, as he tilts his head in malicious curiosity.

He reminds you sometimes of the big cats that roam the mountains of Faerûn. Once something captures his attention, there’s little use in trying to pull him off the hunt.

Still, you’re going to try.

“I’m not writing.”

His eyes flick to your hands, dusted in red powder, then back up. He hums.

“Drawing then. What have you been drawing Tav?”

His voice is darker now. Persuasive.

“It’s- uh… personal.”

Astarion lowers himself fully to the ground and stretches his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his arms.

“A personal drawing?” He purrs, “Well now I have to see it.”

“No-” You cover your face with your hand, “That’s not what I meant and you know that Astarion.”

A moment of silence passes, so you lift your hand away from your face.

Astarion is gazing at you with that unknown expression again. His eyes look earnest, a soft smile on his lips, when he speaks the words that are your undoing.

“You can trust me, Tav. I already know how talented you are, you don’t have anything to worry about. Just show me.”

You sigh, and his smile grows. He knows he’s won.

Bastard.

“Fine you can see my drawings, but I need to tell you-”

The drawing pad is already out of your hands, your permission apparently all that was keeping Astarion from snatching it away from you.

Your heart stops at his first look at the paper. He stills, flipping through the drawings slowly, his eyes tracing every detail with excruciating slowness.

Finally, he puts you out of your misery.

“I-” He clears his throat, not meeting your eyes. “These are...”

He grips the paper tightly when you attempt to take the drawing pad back from him. You’re confused, and a little… well actually very hurt for a reason beyond your understanding.

Does he hate it? Did you overstep?

“What are you thinking?”

Astarion finally looks at you, his expression guarded. He points to the drawings.

“Who is this?”

Oh.

You’re shocked silent. You should have anticipated this. Of course Astarion wouldn’t recognize himself in your drawings. That was the entire reason you drew him in the first place.

“He’s um-” You fall silent again.

Astarion looks both terrified and heartbreakingly hopeful. You’re sure he already knows the answer. You’ve spoken to him at length about what he is. You know that he knows he’s the only vampire spawn you’ve ever met, and you’ve been traveling together without much separation ever since.

He still needs to hear you say it.

You stare at your wringing hands in your lap and take a deep breath.

“I remembered that conversation we had about how you don’t know what you look like, you just have to go off of what other people tell you, and I bought these art supplies earlier and I haven’t drawn in so long, I used to all the time but with everything that’s going on- and I meant to just draw you once but I wanted you to know what you looked like when you smiled too and then I got a little carried away I’m so-”

You don’t hear him move. Your rambling speech stutters to a stop at the sensation of a hand on your cheek. Astarion hooks his thumb under your chin and lifts your head just enough to press his lips to yours.

Your eyes widen in surprise and then flutter closed. All thoughts cease, replaced by a languid warmth that melts you into a puddle on the ground.

You tilt your head and kiss him back, a tingling sensation racing down your spine. His hand slides from your cheek into your hair, and he gently pulls your head back, deepening the kiss in a way that steals the air from your lungs.

All too soon he pulls back, just a few inches, and smiles.

A real, genuine smile that shows his teeth and lights his eyes. You think you would do terrible terrible things to see that smile more often.

He brings his other hand up to frame your face, holding you in place as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

“Thank you.” He says simply, his voice hoarse.

“This is a gift. I won’t forget it.”

He repeats the words he said to you what feels like centuries ago, the night you found out he was a vampire and agreed to feed him.

“You’re welcome.” Is all you can think to say.

With absolutely no warning at all Astarion drops his hands to your shoulders and yanks you toward him just in time. A pillow, rather violent in its velocity, grazes the back of your head in its catapult into the forest. Somewhere in the dark woods, Scratch yelps.

“Next time it will be my sword Isticks”

Growls Lae’zel from her bed roll on the other side of the campfire.

You turn back to Astarion with an amused but also terrified expression, and he smiles knowingly, rolling his eyes.

He picks the drawings up off the ground from where they’d been scattered at some point and gathers them in one hand. He stands, hoisting you up with his free hand, and practically drags you across the camp to his tent.

You’ll have to draw him more often.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #baldur's gate iii #bg3 astarion #bg3 #i have a problem

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pansear-doodles · 4 months

Text

My new iterator OC, Messages From the Stars

Messages was built on a high peak mountain for better use of their primary function: to signal boost and communicate to all in the local group, even outside of it, stretching miles and miles from their area.

They had various radio towers and their city houses communication arrays rather than cities, as it was too harsh for their citizens to live there. There were cave systems that were used as temporary homes during their construction- once construction finished, only very few citizens remained for maintenance, before eventually they left too.

Messages is able to prevent slag buildup thanks to the mountain's natural spring waters, which were the cause of the cave systems. Overtime, the cave systems expanded, allowing flora and fauna to reside, sheltered from the harsh climate. Many creatures adapted to the dark cold environment- primarily lantern mice and a distant cousin of the scavengers called yetis, larger in size and denser fur, they were one of the many predators of lantern mice and other smaller creatures.

One day, Messages received a signal that caused their entire superstructure to rumble violently, creating a landslide that decimated all of their remaining communication arrays. Their can is engulfed in a mixture of earth and snow, but the heat of the structure was enough to create a small crevice on one side of the can. Unable to communicate to the others, Messages started to modify nearby fauna. They managed to figure out that Lantern Mice are the only reliable subjects, thus has trained and created a new subspecies of lantern mice called star mice. They had larger ears, a pouch to carry pearls and a star shaped tail to indicate Messages's ownership of them.

The star mice gained a sapience similar to slugcats, creating their own communities and self awareness of the steel god. They were loyal to Messages and were their only sense of company, being isolated from the rest of the local group. The only iterator that they're able to communicate well with still is Nine Linen Lanes, who is nearby. They became reliant on sending them information and gaining some back, eventually becoming close friends. Lanes would occasionally send back the star mice with gifts such as knitted clothes and heat sources to keep Messages and the mice warm.

Messages is lonely and since their isolation, has grown cold and standoffish. Their way of speaking became less friendly, although those who know them well such as Lanes and the mice can see past that, and know that deep inside, they're actually quite kind. They oftentimes find distractions in creating poems, embedded on the endless amount of pearls they have. Sometimes the mice would accidentally bring these alongside the intended packages. These poems are described as dainty at best.

#rain world #rainworld #oc #my art

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ilguna · 5 months

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Can I get 6 and 23 from list 2 with Finnick please?

☼ sunburst (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, gun use, blood mention, ehh gore.

wc; 2.5k

prompt; 6. "I know, it hurts. I'm so sorry, but we have to get this out." AND 23. "You need to keep your eyes open. Just a little longer."

When you were recruited to be a part of the mission to storm the Capitol, you were under the impression that you’d actually be in some danger. You spent weeks training in District Thirteen, thinking that you were going to be running for your life every waking moment. It was supposed to be more like being inside of an arena, than a walk on the bad side of District Four.

Both of which you can handle, for the record.

What you can’t handle is the boredom that comes with being a member of the Star Squad. While you were told you’d be at the front lines with the rest of the rebels, the reality is that you’re stuck days behind them. President Coin is too afraid of putting their precious Mockingjay into danger.

It’s an interesting concept, considering that Katniss has expressed no issue in the past surrounding the idea of putting her life on the line. The first time she did this was when she wanted to get sent to District Eight, an active battlezone, to see the citizens there. The next time was District Two, where a gun was held to her head, and she still proceeded to give a speech, and got shot for it.

You suppose that’s the exact problem, though. She can be a magnet for trouble, whether she intends to be or not. In that case, you’re not sure why they didn’t tell you that you’d be stuck here with a mixed group, beforehand. You might’ve changed your mind and found a different way to help the rebellion.

And it’s not like you haven’t tried to have patience, because you have. It’s been severely run thin by the propo team—a camera crew from the Capitol, their only job being to film videos to slice together to show the districts. Their incessant need to get a shot of absolutely everything that’s going on has got you beyond irritated.

They’re so demanding with it, and all it is is a bunch of bullshit. They want you to walk down the street the right way, looking fierce and in the middle of battle. When in reality, there’s no one for a several mile radius, and all the threats are being given away by the Holo. A device that was made to tell you where the traps, the pods, are.

If you could, you’d tell them that you’re done participating, but you really have no choice. You’ve been seen in so many of their other videos, that it’ll make the districts and the Capitol question why you’re not in the rest. Either they’ll think that you died, or that you’ve decided the rebellion isn’t worth fighting for.

Which isn’t true in the slightest. You just think that it’s morally wrong to be back here, pretending like you’re fighting, when the faceless rebels at the front lines are the ones almost getting killed everyday. You want to be up there, with them.

The rebels ahead don’t set off all the pods, though. They leave the mild ones behind, marking them as such, assuming that the group behind them will take it out when they pass. That group happens to be you.

Sometimes, Boggs, the squad leader, will see a pod on the Holo, so he’ll ask for volunteers to set it off, naturally. You don’t even know what the point of raising your hand is, anymore. He won’t call on you, or Finnick, or Katniss. He keeps his attention on the District Thirteen trained soldiers to do the important tasks.

Despite the fact that you had, once again, spent weeks training to be able to do something like that.

What will happen is that Katniss will pretend to set off the pod with an arrow at a distance, to keep her from getting hurt by accident. While a soldier off to the side will trigger it. This makes the rest of you all duck for cover, afraid of whatever the pod has to offer. And when it’s all said and done, and you’re ready to move on, the next step is to reenact your reactions to defending yourself from whatever threat came out of the pod.

It’s been four days of this, and it’s driving you crazy. You’ll spend a few hours pretending to fight, and then return to camp for the rest of the night, safely out of harm's way. It’s taking everything in you not to ask Boggs to leave to go back to the Nut, where the rest of the rebel soldiers are. Maybe there, you can get reassigned.

The problem would be convincing Finnick to go with you, because he doesn’t mind being in the Star Squad. He thinks it’s great, because that means you’re not in any immediate danger. After what they did to Peeta, the last thing he wants is for the Capitol to potentially get their hands on you, or for you to die.

Neither of which you plan on letting happen.

The only way you’ll be able to get him to leave is if you do it without bringing it up to him first. Cut out the whole conversation on how he’d prefer if you went with Coin’s plan, instead of making your own. He has a way with words, and he knows this. That’s why your resolve can crumble in the matter of fifteen minutes, all because he’s the one reasoning with you.

That’s what you’ll do tonight then; you’ll go talk to Boggs.

The Holo begins to beep loudly, warning your squad that you’re coming close to a pod. Boggs slows his pace, opening it up to take a look. When he comes to a full stop, so do you.

A sigh escapes you, Finnick glances over, watching as you turn around to take a few steps away. This is the fourth pod that you’ve come across today, meaning that Boggs will probably call it a day after this. Even though you’ve covered more distance today than you have the past three.

“The Holo says it’s going to be a swarm of muttation gnats.” Boggs says, “Who wants to hit it?”

You turn to face the squad, watching as almost every hand flies up, with the exception of you, Finnick and Katniss. Even Gale, Katniss’s best friend from Twelve, has his hand raised. You think he’s been tasked once, which is the hope he’s probably holding on to.

Regardless, Boggs motions at one of the Leeg twins. “Leeg, I want you. The rest of you, go find someone to stand in the meantime.”

You cross your arms over your chest, shaking your head. “Predictable.”

“Come on, (Y/n).” Finnick grabs the underside of your arm, pulling you with him to the other side of the street.

The pod is disguised as an electrical box on the side of an orange shop. If it weren’t for the Holo, you wouldn’t have suspected a thing of it, but that’s the whole point. The pods are hidden in plain sight, meant for your eyes to glance over them, so that they can kill you later on.

The best the Capitol can do is gnats?

“Okay, Katniss, we’ll focus on pulling the arrow back, and holding it.” Cressida begins, she’s the one that has the specific propo visions. If this doesn’t go according to her plan, she’ll rework it and have Katniss do it over again until it’s right.

“Just a regular arrow?” Katniss asks, reaching back to grab one.

“No, we’ll have Leeg set off the pod, and then you’ll use an explosive arrow to kill the gnats.” Cressida says, looking at Boggs. He gives her an approving nod.

“What happens when that shot isn’t good enough and we have to start over?” You mutter, Finnick bumps your shoulder.

“I know you’re unhappy, but can we please not make enemies out of the people that could save our lives?” Finnick asks.

You look at Finnick, “I’m not making promises I won’t keep.”

You watch as Cressida gives Katniss directions on where to stand and how to hold her bow. This gives the cameramen, Castor and Pollux, enough time to find their angles, because realistically, there won’t be an opportunity for reshoots. With one of them on Katniss, and the other on the pod, Cressida gives Boggs the go ahead.

“On the count of three, Leeg.” Boggs tells her. Finnick adjusts his footing, prepared to duck if necessary. You don’t move from where you stand, staring dead at the pod. “One, two, three!”

Leeg shoots at the pod, piercing the metal that encases the gnats, leaving bullet holes. The sound of metal on metal screeches through the quiet street, as the door swings open, releasing what’s inside.

A startled scream comes from you as piercing pains hit you all across your body, throwing you back onto the ground. The back of your head slams against the cement of the sidewalk, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut, as the world begins to spin.

“(Y/n)?” Finnick’s voice wavers.

The punctured points in your body begin to deepen, as the shrapnel from the box begins to burrow in your skin. You grunt, writhing, eyes opening suddenly to see it for yourself.

It’s not shrapnel, they’re metal darts, and they've got claws that are digging into your skin.

“No!” Someone cries.

“We need the medic team!” Jackson barks, her voice is clear. “We’ve got two down, Boggs!”

“Copy.” He says.

From what you can tell, you got a brunt of the hit, a consequence of not taking cover like you were instructed to. There’s over a dozen of these, stuck in your body, going deeper as the seconds tick on.

“Get them out.” Your voice is rough, as you reach to grab one. “Get them out of me!”

“(Y/n), honey—” Finnick seizes your hand, keeping you from doing it. “Stop, leave them.”

“They’re in me!” You cry, “They’re going to kill me.”

“We can’t take them out. We learned this, remember? They’re stinting the blood, we have to wait for—”

“No, she’s right.” Katniss is standing at your feet. “Look at them.”

You don’t want to, not when they all move at once, ripping your skin open further. You can see the brief stream of blood in the air, before it’s gone, covered by the dart. It’s not large enough to block the chunk of skin it’s pulled from your body, though, because the blood begins to pool, quickly.

“Shit.” Finnick says.

There’s a girl crying, when you lift your head to see, you find that it’s the other Leeg sister, on her knees, next to the first one. The one that had shot at the pod, now has a dart sticking out of the side of her head. It’s already found her brain.

She’s dead.

You begin to breathe heavier when you realize that this will be your fate, too, if they don’t start to pull them out. Which must be the same conclusion that Finnick comes to, because he rolls back his sleeves, hands hovering over one of them.

You grab the heel of his shoe, knowing that you’ll need something to hold on to. He gives you a look, and you nod quickly, urging him to do it. The second that his hand is around the dart, it begins to wiggle. To keep it from going further, he yanks.

You scream, throwing your head back, body tense, as the entire world goes white. It clings on, refusing to be pulled off in just one attempt.

“Stop!” You tell them, “Stop!”

“Katniss, I need help.” Finnick says.

She drops her bow without question to get to her knees to help him. You watch through blurred tears as she holds the dart while he pries the claws apart. It’s like a thousand needles jabbing into your skin repeatedly, refusing to leave the area alone.

And then they get it free, and the first tear slides down your cheek.

The metal clinks on the ground from Katniss dropping it.

You can’t help the sob that breaks through your lips. This is just the beginning isn’t it?

“Hold on, honey.” He tells you.

“I don’t—”

He begins to pull at this dart, more aggressive than he was the first time. Unprepared, you cry through gritted teeth, squeezing his shoe. He manages to unhook it faster this time, but that means little to you.

Him and Katniss go back and forth, pulling them out of the areas they think will hurt the least. There’s a few times where their hands slip, which causes an indescribable pain.

The pool of blood beneath you is growing. You can feel the puddle reach your fingers on your free hand, coating your skin in red.

“There’s only two left, (Y/n).” Finnick smooths your hair back. “These will hurt the most.”

“Just wait.” You tell him, grabbing onto the bunched sleeve.

“We can’t stop, or it’ll keep digging in.” He tells you. “Breathe, okay?”

“Finnick.” You warn, bracing yourself when he secures his hand around the metal dart, beginning to pull.

The feeling of your guts being yanked from your body, makes the dark spots at the corners of your vision come around quickly. For a moment, you’re gone, drifting off into the peaceful voice, until Finnick’s lifting your head up with one hand.

“You need to keep your eyes open. Just a little longer.” Finnick tells you

“I can’t.” You sniff. “I want to be done.”

“One more.” He tells you, lowering your head back to the ground.

“No.” Your lips tremble.

He grabs the dart, you squeeze your eyes shut. “Please! Please, please, please! It hurts!”

“I know, it hurts.” Finnick says, he doesn’t sound very happy that he has to do this to you. “I’m so sorry, baby, but we have to get this out.”

This one has decided to hold on, taking twice as long as it normally does. For a second, it almost slips out of their hands, when Finnick’s able to pry the claws open.

A faint sense of relief floods through you, but it’s gone when your body begins to tingle. “Finnick.” You whisper. With a shaky hand, you dip your fingers into one of the many wounds that will end up being scars. The exposed raw flesh against your fingers makes you nauseous.

It subsides slightly when you pull your hand out, and find an orange substance mixed with the blood.

Poison.

“No.” Finnick says, looking at Boggs, presumably. “How far out are the medics?”

“They’ll be here any minute.” He says, coming over to see better.

“They need to have an antidote ready.” Finnick’s voice echoes, bouncing back and forth in your head, as he splits into two people, then four…

Your eyes flutter shut.

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

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lorelune · 1 year

Text

oh to be alhaitham and kaveh's third roommate. less of a stray, more of a tax-paying citizen of sumeru city who mellows the two of them out. mediates by your nature.

you listen to kaveh's rants and ravings, let him show you his blueprints and new inspirations, and inspire him in kind with casual beauties you bring him. a padisarah in full bloom you found by the market. a seashell, found on the shores of yazahada pool, carried in from the ocean by the rivers current.

you sit quiet with alhaitham. you pet his hair after long days, lean against his side during the kinder ones. he likes when you read over his shoulder or have your nose in your own book. you start keeping a book of crossword puzzles on the coffee table, topped with a black ink pen, and you'll ask alhaitham to do one with you when the mood strikes.

(nsfw)

you cow them both into being a bit more... reasonable with one and other. they're oil and water, sun and moon, sky and sea. you remind alhaitham that antagonizing kaveh with staunch logic isn't the best way to resolve a conflict. you remind kaveh that not everything he feels is a personal slight is intended to be taken in such a way.

you are the jar that hold the oil and water. the star bed that carries the sun and moon. solid earth that keeps the sky tethered and the sea close.

alhaitham takes your recommendation for books seriously-- dives into fiction at your request. his assistant at the akademiya catches him reading what could only be called a "smut novel" between meetings. kaveh drags you into the study and kisses you breathless on the comfy chaise lounge in the corner, pushing you into the cushions and telling you sweetly-- "stay just like that." sketches you. paints you. memorizes the contours and curves of you.

when you tumble into bed, it's a dance.

kaveh maps out the curves of you with soft, long-fingered hands. leaves scratches and opened-mouthed kisses in his wake. kaveh wants to feel you. the rush of heat that comes when he sucks a bruise into your neck. the breath that rushes from your lungs when you let out a pretty keen.

alhaitham wants to know you. wants to learn you in the most intimate way. he wants to know the best angles to crook his finger inside you, the positions that make your eyes roll back in your skull. there's something about rendering you-- someone so horribly intentional, kind, present-- into a puddle, at his hand, that alhaitham quietly adores. shows you, more than tells you. you never leave bed without a limp, or a drooling web of slick and spunk stickying your thighs.

you drag them close. glut yourself on them. watch starry eyes when they kiss, whimper at the way they both go weak for teasing. you spit in your palms and tug at them both, watch with a split smile when kaveh has to duck his head into alhaitham's neck. overcome with just a little touch.

it's all reciprocal. you trade teeth marks (and in alhaitham's case, chomps) and have a schedule for who cooks dinner each night. you link arms with kaveh on the way to the market and steal sips of alhaithams tea before bed. you all attempt to steal the duvet during the night, so you propose to invest in another to keep folded at the end of your shared mattress.

you're grateful, to have fallen into step with them

#lore writes #alhaitham x reader #kaveh x reader #alhaitham x reader x kaveh #drabbles #i love these two #their dynamic #oh to be squished between them #lovely and domestic :'^)

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kataraavatara · 1 month

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do y’all think that there are hewn city citizens who were born, lived their whole lives, and then died without ever seeing sunlight or the stars once. because they are literally trapped under the mountain, no? Mor was allowed outside apparently but by ACOWAR this exchange happens:

so they’re trapped inside of a mountain and can’t get out? how horribly claustrophobic. how confusing and scary for a little child.

#hewn city acotar #hewn city #court of nightmares #night court critical #night court #anti inner circle #inner circle critical #carly’s anti rhysand manifesto #anti rhysand #feyre critical #acotar critical #keir acotar #keir

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icarustypicalfall · 24 days

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Exciting don't you think?

masterlist • ao3 • follow for more

Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

summary he is too oblivious to notice, bless his foolish heart and pretty eyes.

warnings re2 leon Kennedy, sorta open ending? fluff, mentions of murder and serial killing, short drabble :3

note my hyper fixation is alive y'all, i am not over the infinite darkness leon, but re2 leon is so sweet. sorry if it's inaccurate this is one of the rare times where i post something other than the cod fics. enjoy and ily

“[he] is only slain by stab after stab, and loves on till the last drop of life blood drips away”

Raccoon City, what a magnificent place to be! The soft notes of jazz filled the air, permeating your car as you gracefully cruised through the night. Darkness reigned, with a sprinkling of stars and a glowing moon casting its ethereal light upon the road. It was a wonderful night, such a night as is only possible when we are young.

Ah, speaking of youth, you spotted a youthful-looking police officer on the side of the road, gesturing for you to pull over.

Darn it.

Trouble was certainly brewing. You were well aware that the curfew had already passed, a precautionary measure implemented by the government to safeguard citizens from a recent spate of serial killings. They were secretive about the details, as always.

With a heavy sigh, you glanced in the rearview mirror. Thoughts raced through your mind as you turned off the engine, coming to a halt just as the officer approached your vehicle.

Taking a moment to double-check the weapon holstered at his side, the officer—Leon, made his way towards you. A gentle cough escaped his lips before he rested his forearm on the window, knocking lightly to signal for you to lower it.

As you complied, a sweet smile adorned your face, emitting an aura of innocence. The cold breeze crept under Leon's skin, causing him to shiver. He couldn't help but be captivated by your alluring smile and daring attire, a testament to your mischievous nature. Despite his best efforts to maintain composure, his heartbeat quickened as he mustered the courage to speak, attempting to avoid any stammering. "Your registration and identity papers, miss.."

You obliged, handing him the requested documents and, for a fleeting moment, your fingers brushed against each other. Your mischievous self reveled in his bashfulness, as his cheeks flushed, and he retreated to his patrol car to inspect your records. Meanwhile, you remained still, leaning against the window with an impish grin.

Leon returned, his voice barely above a whisper as he returned your papers. "It is past curfew, miss. May I know why you are out?"

Your smile grew wider as you locked eyes with him, finding him rather intriguing. His baby blues avoided your gaze as he fidgeted with the door. With a grin, you replied, "I was with a friend, officer. I assure you, I am a good girl."

Leon gulped, nervously rubbing his neck as the blush continued to stain his cheeks. These formalities were unfamiliar territory for him, making him all the more flustered. Softly, he whispered, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he leaned closer to the window. "Alright, miss... I mean, call me Leon."

You asked, finding the play rather too attempting not to."Tell me Leon, do you always work alone so late?"

He shook his head, feeling his insides flatter with warmth, none had really shown interst in his job before. He replied in a hushed tone still smiling.

"No, I usually don't work alone at such late hours. This is my first time."

Ah, still so young, you thought to yourself.

No, not him.

You nodded, sealing his cheek with a tender kiss. Leon blushed once again, pulling away and watching in awe as you started the car. "Take care miss!"

He called out, and you laughed, "I do enjoy a little danger, Leon."

He observed as you drove off, his heart fluttering with an unfamiliar sensation. Unfortunately, he was oblivious to the crimson stain on your shirt or the axe resting in the back seat.

The following morning, Leon couldn't believe his eyes when he saw your picture in the newspaper. The headline screamed of the capture of the notorious serial killer who had slain a cop while being stopped during the curfew.

You did that in order to silence the persistent officer who had stopped you right after Leon. Caught red-handed, the only thing on your mind was those mesmerizing baby blues... too precious, too angelic. You contented yourself with leaving a mark on his cheek and etching a core memory in his heart.

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toadlessgirl · 1 year

Photo

Okay, time to get pretentious and REALLY talk about this shot.

So put on your over-analysis goggles, and let’s talk about the Imperial Cog, Renaissance-era military forts, 18th century prison architecture, the military-industrial complex, the surveillance state, and why this single shot of Mon Mothma standing in a doorway in “Nobody’s Listening!” (the 9th episode of Andor season one) is making me so feral I want to kiss Luke Hull and his entire production design team right on the mouth.

For those of you not in the know - the shape on the screen behind Major Partagaz is the crest of the Galactic Empire - often called the Imperial Cog. It appears throughout Star Wars media on flags, tie fighter helmets, uniforms and as a glowing hologram outside ISB HQ.

In canon it was adapted from the crest of the Galactic Republic.

irl it was created by original trilogy costume designer John Mollo. Mollo has stated that the symbol was inspired by the shape of historical fortifications.

Bastion forts (aka star forts) first appear during the Renaissance with the advent of the cannon. Their shape eliminated blind spots, allowing for a 360 degree field of fire.

An apt metaphor for the Empire. Powerful, imposing and leaving you with nowhere to hide.

The Imperial crest also strongly resembles a gear or cog - hence the common “Imperial Cog” nickname.

Given how inextricably linked military and industry are, it’s also an apt metaphor. Both alluding to the Empire’s massive industrial power, and how it treats all of its citizens with a startling lack of humanity, valuing them only for what they are able to produce for the Empire.

The idea of the cog is repeated in the shape of whatever it is that they’re producing in the prison. They’re literally cogs in the Imperial machine making more cogs for the machine... while inside a larger cog.

This shape, in relation to a prison, also references something else which was almost certainly intentional on the production team’s part.

In the 1791 British philosopher and social theorist Jeremy Bentham proposed a design for a prison he referred to as the “panopticon” - the name derived from the Greek word for “all seeing”.

The basic design for the panopticon was a large circular rotunda of cells with a single watchtower in the center. The plan would allow a single guard to theoretically observe every cell in the prison, but more importantly cause the prisoners to believe they are under surevillance at all times, while never being certain.

Later philosophers (notably Michel Foucault) used the panopticon as a metaphor for social control under totalitarian regimes or surveillance states. The perceived constant surveillance of a panopticon causes prisoners to self-police due to the belief they are always being watched, even if they don’t know for certain that is true. They live in constant fear even if nobody is actually watching them, even if “Nobody’s Listening!”

The idea of the metaphorical panopticon has in more recent years been adapted to many other examples of social control: CCTV, social media and business management...

Like the concept of cubicles in an open floor plan office.

So that all being established - let’s finally talk about Mon Mothma’s apartment.

The cog shape is everywhere. There’s hardly a shot where at least one cog isn’t visible. Every room is connected by cog-shaped doorways.

The shape serves as a backdrop to most scenes, often centered and featured prominently.

(Side Note: The cog also appears as a repeated pattern on room dividers with the interesting added detail of intersecting lines that make them resemble spider webs.

The fact that Mon is often filmed directly through these web-like screens (particularly when conducting rebellion business) leads me to believe that this was a very intentional choice.

Even in the very heart of the Empire the nascent Rebellion is starting to build a web of networks and intelligence.)

I had originally presumed that the repeated appearance of the cog was just Luke Hull and his production team adding some brilliant visual storytelling to their already amazing sets. But the following line from episode ten leads me to believe they intended for these details to have an in-story explanation as well.

When speaking to Tay and Davo Skuldon about the apartment Mon states that “It’s state property. The rules are strict on decor. Our choices for change are limited.”

While it’s unclear whether the “state” in this instance is Mon’s home planet of Chandrila or the Empire itself - that second option makes the decor even more insidious.

If Mon’s apartment is Empire property that means the shape of the doors is intentional in-world, not just for the sake of visual storytelling. It means that this was a conscious decision by the Empire. A reminder to even the richest and most powerful of its citizens that they are always watching - whether you can see them or not.

Which brings us back to our original shot.

My favorite thing about this shot isn’t just that is shows how very alone Mon Mothma is.

It isn’t just that she’s in the heart of the Empire, surrounded and dwarfed - just another cog in their machine.

It isn’t just that’s she trapped in her own metaphorical prison, worrying her self sick about who may be watching, not safe even in her own home.

What makes this shot truly extraordinary to me, is that right in the midst of the Empire you can see a new symbol forming.

Forming with Mon Mothma right at the center.

It’s a bit blocky, still constrained by the the harsh lines of the Empire, but giving how intentional every design decision on this show has been I find it pretty hard to believe it’s there by accident.

A symbol that will one day adorn the helmet of a boy from Tatooine.

One that will come to represent what all rebellions are built on...

#andor #andor spoilers #star wars #HOW IS THIS SHOW SO GOOD?#mon mothma #production design #history #long post #whose extensive knowledge of star wars and the history of the criminal justice system is useless now MOM

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cockdestroyer32 · 1 year

Text

all mine

tangerine x fem!reader

word count: 2304

summary: after the events in the bullet train in tokyo, you and ladybug have a new job in a new place, unfortunately, you're not alone.

a/n: okay so in this reader's codename is sarin. and you're besties w ladybug bc I lov him. title is from brent faiyaz's 'all mine' which has nothing to do with this fic but I didn't know what to name this and I rlly love that song so. also no smut in this.

When I grow up, I wanna be famous I wanna be a star, I wanna be in movies, when I grow up I wanna see the world, drive nice cars, I wanna have groupies.

The song blew out of the car’s speakers, and both you and Ladybug sang each word perfectly (and very obnoxiously, you were practically yelling out the lyrics.) He drove and you sat in the passenger seat, you both swinging your arms around dancing tirelessly as the citizens of Greece who were able to spy inside the moving car judged your shameless partying. You hadn’t seen Ladybug in months, so when you found out you were finally going to be assigned to a mission together again, you both beamed, and got together to plan your entire trip from the cities of New York to the city of Larissa. You went from cackling a little too loudly at comedy movies on the plane, to endless chatter at the airport, to listening to your iconic super duper awesome 2000s hits playlist on a rented Jeep (the playlist title was Ladybug’s decision.) There’s no one you’d rather work with. Except…you weren’t working alone tonight.

This hit wasn’t just any hit, it was a stakeout. So, Lemon and Tangerine were called.

You had walked into Tangerine a few times before; New Zealand, Cuba, Romania, and Tokyo, of course. You’d been the longest with him while in Tokyo, when you had to team up because of a lost briefcase. He was incredibly irritating and the different ways you both did your job clashed immensely, but by the end of the night you two had worked frustratingly well together.

You’d never met Lemon before though, you hoped to God he wasn’t just a Tangerine 2.

“Oh, boo!” Ladybug starts and you join him when you look up.

“Booo!” You yell out at the warehouse as if it’s just told some awful joke at a stand-up show.

The building has the same architectural creativity as a cardboard box. Except that instead of brown, it’s grey and dirty, and instead of holding a gift you just spent the last days waiting anxiously to arrive at your home, it just holds the next gruesome hours you’ll spend planning your hit.

You and Ladybug allow The Pussycat Dolls to finish the last few seconds of their song and turn off BlueTooth before you can be sad about not singing Britney.

You sigh and say, “It’s gonna be a long night.”

“Yep, but the sooner we do it sooner we’re done. Come on, let’s meet the fruit duet.” You chuckle.

The warehouse acted as a lighthouse, the nighttime a sea of nothingness. You can spot the remnants of the trucks that passed by in this area marked in the muddy ground. Tonight smells of wet grass and fancy dinner parties, the ones you should be in right now.

You enter the warehouse, the night’s cold air vanishes and it shifts to a warm, still atmosphere. You take off your coat. Tangerine and two other men are already in the room. Even at such a dead spot in town, Tangerine is still dressed elegantly, sporting a blue striped suit that fitted him perfectly, and smelling of rich men’s perfume. You often wondered if he could fight in those suits. Although you loved a good luxurious suit—God knows your blood money could buy one, your closet was full of Versace, Vivienne Westwood, Dolce & Gabbana and Burberry—you preferred to wear more tactical outfits for the job, you know, in case someone fucked something up and everything went to shit.

“That’s Lemon, by the way.” Ladybug whispers to you, while pointing his head to the man standing in front of Tangerine.

“What? I thought they were supposed to be twins,” Ladybug shrugs.

“Um, I hope we’re not late…you’re Lemon I suppose?” You pretend like Ladybug didn’t just tell you and offer a handshake. He takes it.

“That’s right, and you’re...”

“Sarin.”

You look over to his brother.

“Tangerine.” A nod, no handshake.

“Sarin.”

“You’ve met Ladybug.” You say to the two brothers.

“Yes, we had the pleasure.” The taller man doesn’t hide the sarcasm.

“Accommodating as always, Tangerine.”

“So, shall we?” Says the other man in the room, the one who was managing this whole thing, and you all follow him.

He takes you to a desk where there lie multiple files on different workers and a big map layout of the warehouse. The man shows all of you the place, discussing what approach the team should take for the mission, at what time each one should arrive at the building, the shift times of each warehouse worker, the spots each one should be in…and so on and so forth. Time passes relatively quickly, demanding you and Ladybug a secret high-five, and you all turn to look at the man who’d organized this.

“Yeah. That’s it.” The man repeats.

“Yeah.” You agree, still looking at him.

“You can go home now.” He practically demands.

“Uhh, I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to get paid now,” Lemon adds.

“You’ll get paid after you get the job done.”

“Did you not get the memo lad? We get first half now and second half after the job is done.” Tangerine said.

“Yeah, we’re supposed to get paid now, didn’t our handler message you?” You asked honestly.

“Well I didn’t bring the money, so what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know, but we’re getting paid.” Tangerine insisted.

“There are lots of ATMs in Larissa…” Ladybug spoke. The man mutters some curse word under his breath,

“Fine. I’ll get you your fucking money, but you’re gonna have to wait.” He disappears from sight, making his way up the stairs in the corner of the building.

“Damn, what a Gordon.” Lemon remarks.

“Thomas the Tank Engine?” You ask.

“Yeah.”

“Nah, I think he’s more of a James, just super cocky.”

“Oh my God, there’s two of them.” Tangerine sighs.

“I’m gonna go get some air.” You say.

With your coat in hand, you make your way to a backdoor on the side of the warehouse. Slipping the garment on as soon as you open it, the chilly air cutting through your skin. You slide your hand into one of the coat pockets, finding a small rectangular box and a smooth metallic item. You fish one of the cigarettes out of the box and light it, inhaling the nicotine, warming your body while letting yourself freeze in the moment. You were so far out of town that you couldn’t hear any of the cars, any of the people in Larissa, your team also seemed to be particularly quiet inside the building. Here, it was silent, save for crickets chirping in the vast nothingness that was the field at nighttime. Tomorrow it’d be full of people, receiving and delivering new packages, trucks coming and going and workers arguing amongst each other, all their chatter overlapping, sounds of life, until you all arrive and the sounds of an active workplace morph into that of an action movie, slashing and yelling (no guns, this was supposed to be a somewhat subtle and more practical job) and then, nothing. The building once again ghost quiet, but this time painted red.

It didn’t bother you. You’d been in this business for way too long to be perturbed by the sounds of the dead now. You knew what you were getting yourself into from the beginning, this is no bombshell. Although the still of a city that’s beginning to fall asleep is much better than one that had its commotion ripped away from it. So you took these quiet moments you had to yourself and held them tightly in your hand, like some old trinket gifted to you by someone special. And for a few moments, as you exhaled the smoke out of your body, you felt outside of space and time, frozen in the moment, your feet planted on the ground, scared that if you move even an inch, you’ll fall off the face of the earth. You melt off the moment when you feel a pair of eyes on you.

Tangerine stands by the back door on your right, looking at you. You’re not sure how long he’s been there, but he has a calm look on his face, a smile on his eyes but not on his lips, by far much different than all of the ticked-off facial expressions you’d seen on him before.

“The fuck are you looking at?” You tease.

“Geez. I’ve just come to get some air.” He walks in your direction. You offer him your cigarette, he takes it. You two breathe together for a while before you ask,

“Do you like this?”

“What? Jobs in the middle of nowhere handled by some fucking dickhead who can’t even pay us right?”

“No. This.” You look around, motioning slightly to your surroundings, “The quiet. We don’t get a lot of it in our job.”

“I suppose we don’t,” He passes the cigarette back to you. “It is kinda nice, I can hear my thoughts for once, don’t have to listen to Lemon yapping about.”

You snort. “He’s nice. I was scared he was gonna be like you.”

“What? I’m nice.”

You stare at him.

“How am I not nice?” He continues.

“How are you not nice? Okay let’s see, you’re impatient, you’re always irritated, you look like you’re constantly on the edge of throwing a fit, you’re always cursing people out and you always got that look on your face of a teen girl who just got her phone taken away by her parents.”

He takes this in for a second, surprised at the speed of your answer, as if you’d been waiting for this moment for a while, and maybe you were.

“Hm…still think I’m nice.” He adds, you smile to yourself, nodding your head in fake disbelief.

You can feel his eyes on you, even as you take another puff on your cigarette and stare at the darkness. You don’t look back, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“S, Fruit, guy’s back.” Ladybug pops out of the door, and you follow him back into the building, followed then by Tangerine.

The man now holds bags of money, one for you and Ladybug, and one for Lemon and Tangerine. You finally leave the warehouse, each of you making your way to your hotel rooms. And you would’ve been able to wash the night off your body and rest on the hotel’s comfy bed, if it wasn’t for the misplaced amounts of money. See, your bag and Ladybug’s held only his share, not yours. Thankfully, it wasn’t some scam, your money was placed along with Lemon and Tangerine’s. So, now you’re going up an elevator to Tangerine’s room to get your share. You knock on 215 and he opens the door.

“Hey.”

“Hey, come in.” You walk into the room, but only close the door slightly, not shutting it, and you stand next to it, ready to just get your money and leave, not expecting to stay here any longer than you have to. He goes to the back of the room and brings back a bag, “Here.”

“Thanks,” You spy inside the room, the place is quiet, most of the lights are off and it holds only one bed. “Is Lemon not here?”

“No, different hotel, leave no trail and such.”

“Oh.” You’re genuinely surprised. Shit, that’s smart, perhaps you and Ladybug aren’t as great professionals as you thought you were—even if the bar when you two worked together was already pretty low.

“What? Is me delivering your money instead that bad?”

You snort. “No, no, that I don’t mind.”

You look at each other for a second, perhaps you should be on your way-

“Are you staying in Greece after the job?”

“Uh, no. Me and Ladybug are going back to New York right after.”

“Oh.” He looks down, the expression on his face something you can’t quite read. “Are you and Ladybug…”

“No! God, no!” You almost yell. “No, he’s my best friend.”

“Oh, right.”

“Why?”

“Just…curious.”

Hm. Curious.

You stare at each other again, a smile on your eyes but not on your lips.

“Okay, I should get going.” You start opening the door to leave.

“Wait,” He says, grabbing your arm. “I think…you should stay here the night.”

The smile reaches your lips, amused. “Why?”

“You know, you could just stay here the night, if you want…”

“Okay but, why?” You tease. He furrows his brows. “I’m sorry Tangerine, I just don’t know what you’re telling me.” Your words are of someone genuinely confused, but your face and tone tell a different story. He catches on and sighs.

“I’m just saying…you could spend the night here, with me.”

You click your tongue, “Tangerine…you have to speak clearly.”

He squeezes your arm, and approaches his face to yours, changing his tone, “Sarin. I want you to stay. I want you.”

You let your lips fully curve up this time, pleased.

You put both your hands on his face, and close the space between you, only placing a light kiss on his lips, then pulling away to see his reaction. He keeps his eyes shut for a moment, as if still in the moment. Then, he opens his eyes, staring at you for a second, and pulls you in for a stronger kiss. His hands at first cupping your face, then one makes his way towards you back, pulling you in closer, even though you were already as close as you could possibly be right now. You shut the door with your foot behind you, not letting each other go for even one second. Tonight your own bed’s gonna have to wait for you.

#bullet train fanfic #tangerine bullet train #bullet train tangerine #tangerine #tangerine fanfic #tangerine fic #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine x you #tangerine x fem!reader #aaron taylor johnson #bullet train #tangerine x reader

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imsofuckingdonewiththisgoddamn · 4 months

Text

When Our Stars Cross Paths; V Treech x Mentor!Reader

Pairing: Treech x Mentor!Reader

Word Count: 2.67k

Warnings: Mentions of blood

Sweet Angels🪻: @nemesii @mrsyixingunicorn10 @chmpgneprblem @thxmiss @storiesofmyhead @valdezsttuff @nekee-lilac02 @shykittycat @aceofspades190 @holymotherfxrkingshirtballs @lostmoongoddess24 @nothing2113

🎬Mood boards🎬

You could’ve sworn your spine was broken

A groan of pain escape your mouth as you landed flat on your back, sandwiched between the solid dirt floor and whatever boy had landed on top of you. Similar moans could be heard from the others sprawled around you, with most people suffering from disorientation as well as the sudden adjustment to bright light after a prolonged period in the darkness of the van.

You attempted to sit up, albeit unsuccessfully as the person who had landed on you had yet to shift their weight off of you. Freeing your right hand from the tangle of tributes, you gently nudged their shoulder, fingers coming into contact with the soft wool of a jacket. Unfortunately this effort only produced a pained murmur from the boy as he rolled slightly off of you, yet it was not enough to allow movement on your part. Quickly growing irritated by the restriction of oxygen, you drove your knee into his back, using both hands to push the boy up off your chest.

“Watch it Sunshine.”

You instantly recognized the voice as belonging to Treech. A sigh of embarrassment leaves your lips at the realization; a faint blush creeping onto your cheeks at the physical proximity of the two of you, as well as the sudden nickname. You continue to shuffle underneath him, grumbling about how heavy he was, which managed to make the taller boy laugh. Finally, as the mess of tributes starts to untangle and take in their surroundings, Treech is able to stand up, relieving your body of the added pressure of his weight. After bringing himself to his feet he turns back around to face you, offering a calloused hand. Accepting his assistance, you take his hand in yours as you rise up off the ground. Only then did you realize where you were.

“The Zoo?”

Treech turns around to face his surroundings, a look of disgust painting his face as he noticed the crowds of Capitol citizens gawking at the tributes from behind metal bars. Most stayed a good distance away from the cage, as if they were scared the tributes would attack if they were to approach. The inside of the dome itself was unremarkable, save for the few trees and logs scattered across the ground, there wasn’t anything of use, including food and water. Just as you were noting the need to bring dinner for Treech and Lamina later in the day, you remembered the canvas bag you had brought with you to the train station. Turning away from the gaping mouths of the Capitol citizens—most of whom were shocked to not see one but two Academy students inside the cage, you searched the ground of the enclosure for your bag. You spotted it rather quickly, it had been with you when you were spilled out of the van and was lying where you had fallen. Scooping the bag up, you checked to see if the remaining food and water had been damaged. Thankfully, the vast majority of the food and drink remained unharmed, and would be able to be consumed by Treech and Lamina if you weren’t able to get back to them that day. You suspected that if word got to your parents of your little “field trip”, your grounding was sure to follow. However, as you caught a glimpse of Dill, who was currently in the midst of a coughing fit a few meters away from you, you were reminded of your original intention of offering food and drink to the rest of the tributes. You turned back to face Treech, who had found Lamina and taken a seat next to her on a nearby log.

“I’ll be right back, I just need to finish passing these out.” Holding up the bag to show the pair what you were referring to, you searched their bodies for injuries, getting the first good look at them since the fall, thankfully they both appeared to be unharmed. Although Lamina wasn’t technically your responsibility, you felt a sense of protectiveness over her and was equally as concerned over her wellbeing as Treech’s. Lamina gave you a soft smile, while Treech refused to make eye contact, more content to keep his focus trained on the audience that was growing outside of the enclosure. Rolling your own eyes at the boy’s constantly changing attitude towards you, you walked over to where the District eight tributes, Bobbin and Wovey were sitting. Wovey was one of the youngest tributes right next to Dill, she reminded you greatly of one of the young girls you used to babysit and like Lamina, you felt a great sense of protectiveness over her. Bobbin was a few years older with blonde hair that was almost as light at Coriolanus’s, he was missing his right arm starting at the elbow and you were curious as to if was from an accident in a textile factory. Being much older than both of the tributes, you felt much less intimidated when approaching them. Watching you advance, Bobbin wrapped his one good arm around Wovey, eyes tracking your movements as you got closer.

“Hi, are either of you two hungry?”

Wovey perked up at the unfamiliar voice and turned to face you, her almond eyes showing faint traces of tears. Her eyes dropped to scan the bag you held out a few feet in front of her, seemingly debating on whether or not you were a threat. After a few seconds of careful deliberation, Wovey deemed you safe to approach, sliding off the log she was sat on and grabbing the canvas bag. Unlike most of the younger tributes, Wovey didn’t wait for her partner’s permission to grab the treats, quickly snatching a sandwich and orange without any further hesitation. She passed the orange off to Bobbin, smiling at her new found treasures as the older boy began peeling the fruit for the two of them.

“Thank you, Miss!” Wovey angelic voice rang out as she hastily unwrapped the sandwich, sinking her teeth into the sourdough bread with a contented sigh. Bobbin, who had now finished peeling the orange, eyed the sandwich longingly yet made no move to approach the bag himself. Sensing the boy’s shyness, you reached in yourself, passing a second sandwich to the blonde boy. He gave you a grateful smile, unwrapping his sandwich and passing half of the peeled orange slices to his partner as you walked away.

Making your way towards the opposite end of the enclosure, you saw the girl from District nine, Sheaf performing what appeared to be acrobatics for the cluster of Capitol citizens who had gathered a few feet outside by the metal bars. Panlo, her district partner sat on a rock a few feet away, holding his head in his hands. The two shared a resemblance that under normal circumstances, would’ve led you to assume the pair were related. As Sheaf finished a series of back handsprings, you made your presence known to the pair.

“Would you guys like something to eat?”

Sheaf turned away from the Capitol crowd, holding a small pack of peanuts she had been gifted by a spectator for putting on a show. Panlo looked up from his spot on the rock, but didn’t show any signs of interest or fascination with the bag. Nonetheless, Sheaf walked over to where you stood, gently rummaging through the dwindling tote. She settled on a water bottle and an apple, giving you a short nod of appreciation, thankful she no longer had to perform to eat. She turned back around to face Panlo, curious to see if he would be taking food as well. When she was met with only a mop of chestnut curls nestled between between two hands, she sighed and dug through the bag once more to grab a second water bottle for her stubborn partner. The nimble girl walked back over to the rock, crouching beside the boy in an attempt to coax him out.

Realizing that the District ten pair were next of your list, you let out a groan. Not wanting to find out what move Tanner would pull next, you desperately searched the enclosure for anyone else you hadn’t offered food to yet. Luckily for you, Brandy, Tanner’s district partner was sat by the metal bars, quite some distance away from him. You made your way over to the girl. Her eyes were a nearly transparent blue, and she wore a patterned scarf in her auburn hair. Despite the thin layer of dirt that covered her clothes and her mouth being fixed into a scowl she was quite pretty. Clearing your throat to get the redhead’s attention, she twisted her head around to face you, the scowl on her face slightly softening.

“You want something to eat, Brandy?”

The girl quickly nodded, the grimace melting off her face as she used the palms of her hands to push herself up off the ground. Once standing, she gingerly took the canvas bag from your hands, occasionally looking back up at you as if she couldn’t believe what she was being offered. Eventually after a minute of searching through the now dirty material of the bag, she pulled out a piece of banana bread wrapped in tinfoil and a water bottle. Quickly stuffing the goodies into the pocket of her sweater, she offered you a somewhat sad smile as she handed your bag back to you. The poor girl wasn’t used to being shown kindness from Capitol citizens. Remembering that Arachne was her mentor, you hoped your classmate would have the decency to show up and provide for her tribute…

As you parted ways with Brandy, your eyes darted around the monkey house, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dill or Reaper. Though after the events that took place in the van, you were silently dreading the imminent interaction between you and the latter. Spotting the pair proved to be an easier feat than expected, due to Dill’s continuous coughing fits, you could hear the young girl’s hacking from across the enclosure.

Despite their earlier spat in the van, Reaper sat protectively at Dill’s feet, a look of worry cast over his features as he helplessly watched his younger partner continue to cough. There were faint traces of dried blood at the corners of Dill’s mouth, leftovers from earlier fits. Rummaging through the remaining contents of your tote, you pulled out the largest water bottle you could find as well as a handkerchief with embroidered flowers along the perimeter from your dress pocket. As you got closer to the District eleven pair, Reaper took notice of your presence and straightened himself up, his concerned look being replaced with a glower at the sight of you.

“Didn’t learn any lessons from what I did to your little friend huh?”

While his treatment of Coriolanus had very much intimidated you, it hadn’t dissuaded you from attempting to help the pair, particularly Dill. However, instead of responding you placed the water bottle and handkerchief at his feet, not breaking eye contact as you did so.

“These should help with the coughing fits.”

Immediately understanding your intentions behind the gifts, he scooped the water bottle up and untwisted the cap, dabbing a bit of the water onto the handkerchief that he held in his other hand. He then handed the bottle over to Dill, who wasted no time gulping down the contents while Reaper used the now wet cloth to clean the dried blood from her mouth. Once he deemed Dill blood-free, he turned to face you, offering a thankful nod that let you know the two of you were on good terms.

Checking to see what was leftover in your bag, you saw only a single sandwich, two water bottles, and a handful of fruits left at the bottom. However this didn’t concern you as you only had the District twelve tributes left on your mental list, and you were near certain Coriolanus would ensure Lucy Gray was kept fed. You caught glimpse of the aforementioned boy and girl a few meters away towards the edge of the enclosure. They were speaking to Lucky Flickerman, a Capitol reporter, and upon further inspection, Coriolanus appeared to be holding the hand of Lucy Gray. Not wanting to interrupt whatever the two had going on, you set your sights of finding Jessup. Lyzzie had been assigned as his mentor and like Clemmie, she had been very pleased at the selection. After a few moments on scanning the area around you, you spotted the boy sitting under one of the few trees in the yard. He was tall, above average but still a bit shorter than Treech and Reaper, with a soft babyface that made him appear years younger than he actually was. Picking up your pace, you jogged over to where the boy stood, his eyes fixed on his partner and her mentor.

“Hi Jessup, would you like something to eat?”

The District twelve boy whipped his head around, startled by the sudden noise, but the panic melted from his face when he caught sight of you. He had been watching you when you were talking to Bobbin and Wovey, and was to ease knowing someone was ensuring the wellbeing of the younger tributes. Lucy Gray had also mentioned taking a liking to you after observing you at the train station greeting everyone at each cart, and she’d been looking forward to meeting you before she was pulled away by her own mentor. Jessup took the now rather light bag from your hands, debating over the contents before opting for the two water bottles and the sandwich. He handed the nearly empty tote back to you as he began to unwrap the tinfoil clad food. He patted the ground next to him with his hand, offering you a place to sit.

“As much as I would love to join you, I think Treech is beginning to wonder where I went. Tell Lucy Gray I said hi though, and that I quite enjoyed her performance.”

Jessup nodded, understanding your desire to get back to your tribute before you were inevitably swept away. Nevertheless, he smiled brightly as he bit into his sandwich, entirely grateful for the meal.

Walking away, you caught sight of the District seven pair only a couple meters away. You had practically made an entire circle around the monkey house and had ended up right where you initially started.

“Hey Red, miss me?”

Lamina looked up from where she had been sitting, smiling at the sight of her new friend. She quickly scooted down the log, making space for you to sit between her and Treech. You happily took the seat, much to Treech’s irritation, and emptied out the final contents of your canvas bag, offering an apple to the redheaded girl and a nectarine to Treech. Lamina grinned as she began tucking into her fruit, exhaling contentedly at the sweetness of the white flesh. Treech on the other hand, absently tossed his nectarine from one hand to the other, clearly uninterested in forming conversation with you. Taking notice of the boy’s subconscious actions, you let out a small suppressed laugh, which immediately garnered his attention.

“Something funny, Sunshine?”

You felt a familiar warmth creeping up onto your face at the repeating of the nickname.

“You didn’t tell me you could juggle, Lumberjack.”

Treech scoffed at the pet name, rolling his eyes. He looked like he was about to make a rebuttal when two peacekeepers approached you from either side. It was only then did you take notice to the fact that Coriolanus had already been apprehended by a second pair of peacekeepers, and was promptly being dragged out of the zoo much to his dismay. You felt one of the peacekeepers place his hand on your shoulder, a gentle reminder that told you it was time to leave.

“Stay out of trouble while i’m gone. I’ll be back later tonight with more food and blankets, I promise.” You snatched up your empty canvas bag as the second peacekeeper began tugging on your arm.

“I wasn’t concerned.” You could hear the disdain dripping from his words. Lamina punched his shoulder, unamused by his blatant rejection of you.

You were going to kill this boy before the games even begun.

A/N

Another chapter out!!!! 🎉🎉🎉 I’m so sorry I keep drawing scenes out but I can’t help but satisfy my urges to write subplots wherever I go. 😭 And what do we think of the nickname Sunshine, do we love it? Do we hate it? Also I’m thinking about doing a Treech POV chapter if y’all are interested. I hope you all have a good new year, and I will try to have chapter six up as soon as I can!! I love you all so much and genuinely appreciate every comment you leave. ❤️

XOXO

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writesick-lover · 5 months

Text

Just One Date

Finnick x reader!

A/N: I honestly REALLY like this prompt and felt like it could work for Finnick! It's a bit too sudden, but I think that's kind of the charm of this whole idea, sudden, unexcpected but exciting ;) I might make a part two cause I think I built too good of a background for reader (at least in my mind) so please let me know how you like it!

Warning: a bit of swearing and mention of killing if you squint

Prompt: “I need just one date.”

“You think you can woo me with just one date?”

“Absolutely.”

➷ ➷ ➷ ➷

It has been years since the perfectly arranged hell for Finnick Odair had started. But who would have thought about it? That the Capitol's sweetheart, the youngest victor who stole thousands of hearts across the whole country, now suffered in the wealthiest part of Panem? Unimaginable. To be drowned in gold and washed in blessings, to wake up every day and have his plate filled with food and enough water to drink and bathe in, even for the whole day if he wanted but hate every single minute of it.

And though it was hard to grasp, that was Finnick Odair's case. Because Finnick dreaded every upcoming moment of his life since he was brought from his games as the victor, the survivor. The bloodthirsty drive to live, once warming his heart that followed him through each step in the arena, has now subsided, trapped by an iron fist of fear and desperation.

He could vaguely remember the first time those feelings had settled in, spreading through his veins like poison as he left his firts customer's bedroom, making him loathe every breath taken in and out by his body ever since. That's when he knew he would have thrown everything beautiful about his victorious survival just so he could live again. But that just wasn't the case for Finnick Odair, it simply wasn't his fate. And while his life was partially in his hands, he mostly felt like the blood of whatever part of himself he had killed was preventing him from moving on, from fighting. Maybe he grew tired of it. Maybe he thought he had enough of fighting for his whole lifetime.

He watched from afar, how fond the Capitol had become of District 12's star-crossed lovers, Katniss and Peeta. And for the first time ever since he was 16, something had awakened in him, a hope, that maybe this could be the end of his show. That maybe the citizens of Capitol had found someone else to watch and obsess about and he could finally be free. But that thing, that hope, was killed before it could even be aflame.

As he turned around from the glamorous couple, his eyes fell on the darkened blue ones, hidden like snakes in the snow made of white hair. The disgust, the abomination, the darkness screaming nothing but death brought Finnick to the harsh reality, once his gaze was met with Snow's. He was never getting out of this train. Not alive.

Until the spark inside him ignited again.

It was the meeting of the previous victors, one to which the new love-struck victors were not invited, yet they still happened to be the centre of its talks. Thankfully, the space was filled with only the comfort of people Finnick had known for a while and who had known him. There was a certain silent alliance the victors had built over the years. As he passed the familiar faces, sending polite smiles here and there, he caught a face that was very unfamiliar to him. You were new there, you have won only two years prior to Katniss and Peeta, the 72nd hunger games, which happened to be the opposite of the 74th year's sensation.

Finnick could remember meeting you in the Capitol, you're terrified tearfilled eyes meeting his, billions of questions behind them making his stomach turn there and then. But now you seemed just stiff, your guard high up. He would even go to the lenghts of saying you had an intimidating aura around you.

You could feel his stare burning your skin, so you turned around to face him, your mouth shaping into a genuine smile as soon as you saw him, your eyes sparkling in recognition. That's what he was talking about. All that pressuring shell fell right apart when you smiled or opened your mouth, earning you tons of sponsors back in your games. When you sent him your smile through your tears back then, Finnick could feel the butterflies rummaging through his guts. "Who are you staring at, Finnick Odair," Johanna's low voice beisde his ear made Finnick jump. "Johanna," he groaned, rolling his eyes as his right hand fell on his heart.

"The deceitful seemed to have caught you're eye, hm?" That was your nickname. The deceitful victor. Finnick remembered the talks once your games were over. You were called two-faced, a liar, and while some of the Capitol's people found this feature of yours absolutely unacceptable, others found it intruiging. After all it was thanks to your deceit, that you had won.

"They just seem rather... lost," he hummed, shrugging it off and turning to face Johanna fully. "Didn't expect you to come here,"

"Neither did I myself," she snapped back, looking behind her. "Blight dragged me here," Her piercing eyes slowly turned back, burning a hole in Finnick's face, the sole proof of the little affection the woman had towards him. "Charming. Make sure to say hi from me," Finnick grinned as Johanna scoffed, placing her hand on her hip and rolling her eyes dramatically. He could only nod, leaving the victor from the 7th District be as he made his way through the party again.

"They just did it right," one of the men in the group behind Finnick stated loudly, alcohol audible on his tongue by the volume of his voice. "Getting Capitol into their story, creating a perfect ballad except both of them survived to live the happily ever after," Finnick stopped in his tracks, the glass full of liquid spilling a bit on the grass under him, as he halted too quickly, not entirely sober either. He groaned as some of the drink got on his shoes but it didn't stop him from listening closely. "Do you get it? They are not harrassed by Snow or anyone, except the Capitol's undying obssession. They just continued to live in District 12, leaving as if nothing happened, as if they haven't just dismissed the whole history of the hunger games," a woman shrieked. Finnick smirked. Imagine leaving like nothing happened. That would be nice.

"That would be nice," another boy voiced the same thought. "To leave and spend your life with someone like that. They survive the games with you so you have someone to lean on, support, love, Capitol doesn't bother you that much, just to see what you already do naturally, it's-"

Freedom, was the word on Finnick's tongue. He didn't hear the rest of the sentence as it was drowned out by the sound of Finnick's blood flowing, his heart beating out of his chest as his eyes widened. Freedom, support, protection- no more abuse, no more hell, just peace. Finally, a bit of peace for Finnick Odair. His head spinned, his stomach turning from the sudden imagination, a certain heat spreading through his body, coming from his chest. The flame burned, burned in his eyes as he looked around, his eyes falling on you.

You were perfect. Capitol didn't have an exact opinion on you which was hurting your reputation as one of the victors. You could use some of those blessings Finnick was showered with daily. And he could use you. As his freedom.

His fast loud steps made you turn just before he stopped inches away from you, his feet rocking him back and forth for a while until he stabilised himself. You smirked as you thought about whether he was drunk, wanting to talk with you, but you were sure he had to be when his words hit your ears.

"Come on a date with me,"

You couldn't help but let out a loud snort, immediately clasping your hand over your mouth, the noise still audible. "What the fuck," your eyes landed back on his, the dark browns burning like two coals. "You're serious?" you stopped laughing, your eyes widening at him. "Yes," he nodded, falling silent again, waiting for your answer. "Why?" was another question that slipped out of your mind. You seemed to have caught him off guard, his right leg now tapping nervously. It was a good question. He didn't know himself, why, he just knew he was drunk enough to come up with such idea and sober enough to make it work. But he didn't think of you're answer taking so long. And you partially enjoyed it, finally seeing that confident Finnick Odair uneasy, his state suddenly depending on your answer. It made you wonder what was in it for him.

"Why not?" he finally spoke, voice raspy.

"Why yes?" you retorted back, making him roll his eyes. "We barely know each other, and correct me if I'm wrong, but this is actually about fifth time in our lives we even acknowledged each other,"

"So? Please, Y/n. I need just one date," he groaned, taking a step closer, you refusing to back away. It was always games, everywhere you went, the play never stopped.

"You think you can woo me with just one date?" you lifted your eyebrow in disbelief.

"Absolutely."

➷ ➷ ➷

>>part 2

⤞ My masterlist ⤝

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satorubi · 1 year

Text

°.୭̥ 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 — fushiguro toji

synopsis : toji hates brats, luckily for you, he doesn’t have an issue with taming them.

𓆩♡𓆪 content warning : wc : 3.1K : black coded fem! reader, dominant toji, brat taming, missionary, upstanding citizen position, use of profanity and pet names. minors do not interact. <> this is the long awaited part two of jet lagged LOL, i’ve had this in the drafts for so long but i finally got the inspo to pick back up on it. this is me posting this bc i was too excited to wait. also !! i forgot the name of the acc who gave me this inspo ugh, if you see this, lmk so i can credit you bby <33

the aroma of the hot night air and various dishes bombarded your nostrils as you sat in front of your husband. with a glass of wine in your hand and a little frown wrinkling your lips, you let out a sigh that toji knew all too well.

"is everything alright, doll?" he asks, raising a fork to his face. the man asked himself what was going on in that little head of yours. he assumed that a chic dinner on a patio somewhere in paris would make you fall in love with him all over again like it was the first date. but it looks like he was wrong. your food was still intact and your features were warped in frown— he was lost.

“don’t like your order? wanna’ get somethin’ else?” toji tries again, placing his hand on top of yours only for you to snatch it away. you kept staring at the stars, ignoring your husband's gesture.

“is there somethin’ you wanna’ say or?”

you scoff, “i don’t know, why don’t you ask jen? you two seem to be getting along well.”

jen, the name of the waitress that’d been serving you two this evening. toji had been very ignorant to his actions but you didn’t fail to take notice; the way she smiled at him after every visit to the table, the little glances she was throwing his way, and don't forget the coarse tone she used when speaking to you.

it was driving you crazy, and not to be stingy, but you hated sharing what was yours. you couldn’t even enjoy dinner with the man you’d spent years with due to a sense of jealousy, and toji knew this. yet, he hadn’t done a single thing to stop it.

“who the fu— are you serious, yn?”

“dead serious,” you snap, watching as he ran his tongue on the inside of his cheek in frustration. toji takes out 200 hundred dollar bills and lays them on the table without needing to say another word.

“let’s go,” he mumbles, a bit too calm for your liking.

the two of you walked out of the restaurant and into toji's black audi, both of you wearing a disgruntled expression. toji opened the passenger door for you without speaking, despite the fact that he was upset, he still managed to be a gentleman.

you anticipated a lengthy trip back to the paris le grand, but thanks to toji’s sudden need for speed, you got there pretty fast. as you entered, you could hear toji following closely after you as your heels clanked across the presidential suite.

“yn, c’mere,” he says, his gruff voice making your body and pussy jump all at once. you hated how weak in the knees the man made you— it was like a superpower of his.

“toji, i just wanna’ call it a night. “ you utter, but he doesn’t budge. he only moved a few feet toward your frame, pointing his index finger at the void in front of him.

“come. here.”

standing in front of him with your arms crossed and a scowl on your face, you prepare to receive the ‘stop being a brat’ lecture. to your surprise, though, toji's scarred lips gently touch yours before whispering, "you know i love you, right?"

“yes.”

he smiles, kissing you once again, “good, cause i’m about to fuck you like i don’t.”

“what—“

“head upstairs and strip for me. after that, lay down. i’ll do the rest,” unbuttoning his dress shirt, he gives the command. you blink a few times before following his orders, racing up the stairs and removing the black, velvet dress that once gripped at your waist. you laid your back against the mattress and not long after, you could hear toji too— his heavy footsteps inching toward the bedroom door.

“y’know how disrespectful you are?” toji growls before grasping your ankle and yanking you toward the edge of the bed. he had some nerve; calling you the disrespectful one. if anything, he should’ve been the one receiving a punishment, not you.

“bein’ a brat during our nice dinner? i planned that shit all by myself and you wanna’ act out.”

toji used his strength to flip you onto your stomach; you could feel the rough texture of his palms on your abdomen as you moaned. it seemed as if you had forgotten about the jealousy that had formerly distorted your thinking.

“you were flirting with her,” you press, but it comes out as a gasp of sudden joy in your insides. toji’s fingers rub here and there to get a feel for the area that had you screaming most. as you groaned and whimpered in response to his touch, you could hear him sigh.

toji was offended that you'd even consider that thought. given how long it’d taken for him to release the guard he had up when you first met him, he would’ve assumed you’d noticed at least a bit of his progress. the amount of courage it took for him to approach you to begin with was a story to tell alone.

you were more than just a pretty woman on his arm. you were his wife, his best friend, and his lifeline all in one. to be frank, the thought of even touching another woman disgusted him.

“you think i want her?” he asks, hands roaming your chest shoulders before pushing a deep arch into your back. all of this was pulling you right back to where you were on the plane a few days ago; bent over and begging for assistance.

you hadn’t been prepped, but you were too in the moment to care. and if you were being honest, you didn’t need it. the pool between your legs had started to stream down your thighs as toji rubbed his tip in between your folds. even while angry, toji was still teasing.

“you were acting like it,” you say. it came out muffled due to your head being mushed into the pillow, but toji heard every word. prior to you saying anything else, he used his hands to flip you onto your back. without warning, toji slipped himself in fully. he hadn’t made any sudden movements; the tip of him was touching your cervix while his width sat comfortably along your walls.

a small whimper came from you as he gradually began to move his hips. he was giving you slow strokes, but you felt every little inch of it.

“tell me, yn. what exactly would i want her for?”

the question was unable to be focused on. all anger and frustration left your body the moment toji began to penetrate your cunt. it wasn't so much the speed of his thrust as it was the drive and force he put into them. each stroke felt like he was pouring his heart and soul into you.

the man’s hands held on to one of your inner thighs and the other on your foot as he moved in and out of you. it took one small look between you two to see the commotion. every time he went in, there was the outline of his cock carving a space only he could fit into.

“you know i don’t like the silent treatment. quit fuckin’ around and answer me.” he wasn’t even giving you any room to adjust. toji knew you could take it, but he’d at least be kind enough to give you minute— but kindness was a bit out of reach right about now.

“toji— fuck you,” you grunt and he furrows his brows.

“fuck me? you sure?” he asks, now picking up the pace. the sound of his hips ramming into you was messy. his hand moved to your throat, putting only minimum pressure to the vessel all while using it as leverage.

he was practically yanking you onto him and you were already out of breath, and the night had only just begun. toji was filling you up and then pulling away and over. it was blissful torment, and you savored every moment of it.

“toji! fuck- keep going, baby!”

toji positioned his hips toward the side, his dick tickling right where you needed him. you could feel him in every crevice; his cock stretched you so easily. toji couldn't possibly go any deeper than this — and you rationalized with yourself, knowing damn well you’d be proven wrong.

“oh i’m baby now? what happened to ‘fuck you’?” he grunts, still beating your poor cunt raw. you were sure you’d be mush by now if you weren’t clinging on to his wrist for dear life. you knew this had to be more than just one of his punishments. every stroke sent to your pussy carried meaning behind it, like his life depended on it. your body was rocking along with him, allowing him to put his all into it.

“t-toji, please- daddy, im sorry! fuuck oh my god.” your moans and apologies gained no sympathy from the man.

“you got all pretty for me,” he says, fingertips pressing on your skin, “just for the night to be cut short by that envious little head of yours, hm?” he’d released the grasp on your neck, giving you some air— his idea of a fucking reward.

“i’m-i’m sorry, toji. fuck- you feel s’good.” the sentences that left your lips were strung out due to your orgasm approaching rather fast. once toji found that perfect rhythm, it became hard for him not to fuck you straight toward your climax. the headboard was crashing against the wall and the sheets were bunched into a mess— just like you were about to be.

“answer the question.” you felt good too— beyond good if he was being honest, but he couldn’t give in just yet. cause to be quite frank, you had toji completely fucked up. there were no thoughts on his mind other than fucking you back to your senses.

toji’s gaze was almost scary; darkened irises that held sincerity as well as anger. he was staring so deeply past your eyes that you were sure you could see your own reflection looking back at you. no matter the pain he felt from your nails scratching at his chest or the sting in his lower abdomen from holding himself back, it didn’t compare to the ache he felt from tonight’s situation.

he needed to prove it to you. regardless if it was just a brief moment of envy.

removing his hands from your neck, toji placed his hands on your thighs, picking you up from the mattress and standing tall onto his feet. you thanked the man above for giving you the love of heights, because otherwise you’d be in a load of trouble.

with his cock still buried deep inside of you, his hands find their way to cup under your ass, holding you up as you came face to face with a sweaty toji. he then walked forward up until your back rested against the wall.

“hold on to me and don’t let go.”

you wouldn’t have let go even if he asked you to. toji stood at a good 6’4, you’d be damned if you fell from your tree of a man. “just fuck me toji,” you sigh, resting your head against the wall.

“you’ll never learn, yn.”

the sound of skin slapping followed behind toji’s stern voice. starting off slow, he started with just the tip; letting your hole suck him in at your own pace. toji kept adding inches, filling you up and taking it back out again until you were entirely full. the new position had him fucking you even deeper than he was before, your cunt being more open this way.

“take this fuckin’ dick.” with his forehead colliding with yours, toji made sure to keep eye contact as he fucked you against the wall, small whines and curses leaving the both of you. it was taking everything in you not to fall completely weak when he began to kiss your lips.

a string of saliva connected both of your lips, leaving your mouth messy and longing for more. your worry of falling had drifted far away by now, making you a moaning mess as toji bruised your pretty pussy. the lovely symphonies coming your mouth heightened not only his speed but his force.

you were slamming against the wall, leaving a repeated pounding noise for your neighbors down the hall to hear. your commotion wasn’t one of toji’s priorities. right about now, the only thought on his mind was making you cum.

“i love this fuckin’ pussy.” he moans, his voice gruff with nothing but pure determination in the tone, “got me fucked up, yn. fuck- thinkin’ i’d ever leave you for anybody else.”

you couldn’t even produce a sound. mouth agape in an ‘o’ shape, you squeezed your eyes shut and prayed for mercy. toji’s hips were rotating in a circle, drilling into you with your legs quivering in response. you ran fingers through his hair and all over his nape, burying your head into his neck having no choice but to let him kill your cunt.

“shit toji! i’m-i’m- so sorry! i know you wouldn’t! please go faster..” you cry out.

toji pauses, “you own it. alright? you fuckin’ own it.” mumbling, he tilts his head to the side and lets his cock give you one hard kiss to the cervix. “look at me when i’m talkin’ to you.” tears twinkled from your eyes as you looked at him with low eyes. you were trying your best to keep consciousness due to the overwhelming pleasure between your thighs.

“who’s dick is this?” he asks, kissing your lips and tugging on your bottom one with his teeth. barely above a whisper, your voice conjures up a small, “mine,” as he resumes the harsh strokes to your pussy.

you could feel every vein that protruded from his base to his tip, the flesh tickling your insides. you were whimpering and hearing sounds you’d never made before, and it was just what toji needed.

“tell me again.” his voice was softer this time, mouth near your ear sending a shiver through you— another thing you loved about toji. it was no surprise, but you were a sucker for the man’s voice. that smooth, slick tone with just the right amount of charm to make you fall to your knees with every word.

“m-mine. it’s mine, baby.”

you were breathless and so close to the edge. just as you prepared for that moment to arrive, you could see a light beaming in the corner of your eye— a mirror. it was almost like you were hypnotized, watching your husband fuck you senseless. toji’s ass flexed with each movement, your feet dangling beside him with your anklet glistening in the dim lighting.

“keep sayin’ that shit. i wanna’ hear you too. let me know who’s making that pussy cum,”

you were almost slipping from his grasp from how hard he was fucking you. when he re-adjusted your position, you let out a disgruntled groan. you knew he was smiling before you could see it for yourself. it was then when he realized just how to take you to the very top.

“oh? you liked that? liftin’ you up and down on my dick like this- lettin’ me hit that spot?”

his questions were pointless, because the minute you whimpered he repeated his actions. believe it or not, but you were sure the man may have just given you a new favorite position.

“ooh fuck! i’m gonna’ cum, toji. don’t s-stop!”

and he didn’t. toji used all of his strength to lift you up and down onto his cock. he was filling you completely; the only thing being seen was his balls dangling from under you. you were practically howling and he didn’t care to shut you up at all.

“gonna’ cum on this dick? do it, mama. i know you can. c’mon, give it to me.”

that was all it took for your eyes to disappear to the back of your head, your orgasm hitting you like a train. not only bad you creamed on his cock, but you release some juices too. you could see small droplets of your ecstasy on the wooden floor, as well as a bit on toji’s thighs.

“atta’ girl. you want some of me too? wanna’ see you sleep with my cum drippin’ out of you.”

“yes! yes, please yes. wanna’ feel it all in me. i won’t waste it, baby.” a few more strokes later, and you could feel your husband thumping inside of you. toji’s firm arms wrapped around your back as he pressed his dick deep into the depths of your cunt— making sure to give you every single drop.

“aah- shit! fuuuck..” he expresses. you could feel his palms wandering your waist as he carried you both to the bed. your worn out bodies laid exhausted next to one another, toji pulling up the comforter to fit you both.

your head rested against his bare chest, your heart fluttering at the sound of his heartbeat still traveling back to its original pace.

“i’m sorry.” you utter, avoiding his eyes in guilt. toji places a hand on your shoulder, rubbing the skin faintly as he waits for you to finish your statement.

“i shouldn’t have reacted that way. i know you would never do that to me.” sniffling, toji catches your small tear falling before you do, wiping away any guilt that clouded your mind. you knew he wasn’t actually angry with you, but you could tell it hurt him. it was silly for you to go on and make accusations you knew weren’t even close to true.

“i’m not angry with you, baby. i kinda’ like when you get possessive, it’s sexy. but i hope you know you don’t have to worry that little head of yours, ever.”

your head rested against his sticky chest as you placed kisses along his toned stomach. toji quickly grabs your face in his palms, caressing you gently, “i’m serious, yn. i don’t want you to feel like that ever again.” just then, toji seals the night with a deep peck to your lips. you couldn’t deny, when you felt his lips on yours, all things wrong seemed to dissolve.

although dinner was a bust, you could proudly say that resting in your husband’s arms would’ve sent you into a frenzy to begin with. you didn’t need a fancy, overpriced dinner— all you needed was him.

and you had exactly that.

the rest of your night was spent with toji sitting beside you as your limbs softened in the warm bath water. after that, you disregarded your need for sleep and decided to watch him do it instead. tiny breaths left his nose with his chest rising and falling, so peaceful.

it was in that moment when you realized you’d fallen in love with fushiguro toji all over again.

#𝖘𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖓 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖘 #toji x female reader #toji x black y/n #toji x black reader #toji fushiguro #toji smut #jjk x poc!reader #jjk smut

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terrestrialnoob · 2 years

Text

Long Lost

Danny Phantom x Batman Crossover. Damien and Danny Twins AU.

A humanoid creature covered in toxic green fur, with blood red eyes, and pitch black medieval armor was tearing Gotham to the ground. Weapons were ineffective against it, either going straight through the creature’s body or barely doing enough damage to warrant the creature’s attention. Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Spoiler, Signal, Black Bat, and Batwoman were trying to either evacuate the citizens or coral the creature to a less populace area, but the thing seemed to feed of the fear it was causing the citizens of Gotham, growing in size every time it shattered a building and screams filled the air.

Batman had wanted the Justice League, but only John Constantine had the proper abilities to answer this call. He informed them that the creature was Tyranys, an ancient spirit of terror and destruction, a ghostly being of pure fear and rage that had to be defeated by The Ghost King Pariah Dark. Constantine suggested summoning this Ghost King, and while no one liked the idea of unleashing him into the living world that could easily spell Armageddon for everyone, Tyranys was too far above Constantine’s punching weight and no one else had the right kind of power to defeat him.

So, Batman and Robin stood by as back-up and protection while the magic user put together a ritual to summon The Ghost King. A massive circle of symbols Batman recognized as ancient Greek with candles and items of power Constantine seemed to more hope than know would work to summon their target. Changing filled the room and the electric lights flickered and shattered, sending the entire building into darkness save for the candles and eventually, the small green flames that spontaneously burst into being and floated around the room. In the center of a diagram, a large green flame irrupted casting the entire warehouse in ghostly green light.

When the flames lowered, there stood in the center of the room a teenage boy who looked eerily similar to Robin. The same height and build, though maybe Robin had a little more muscle. Same face shape with the same amount of baby fat. The same lips turned in a annoyed sneer. The same nose scrunching as it examined Constantine. It didn’t change its color or clothes though. Maybe it couldn’t.

His hair was white and the green of his eyes glowed in the darkness of the warehouse. He wore scattered pieces of white-silver armor, clawed gauntlets and pointed shin guards, half a tasset hung from a silver belt with an empty sword’s sheath on one side and a strange cylinder on the other, all over pitch black clothing. Except there was a white symbol on his chest, where heroes wore their identifying marks, that was halfway between a flaming D and an frosted over P. A white fur mantle circled behind his neck and out of which flowed a cape. The fascinating cloth slowly flowed like it was caught in a light breeze. It was midnight blue on the outer side with frost laced around the bottom edge but the inside was a scape of stars and galaxies the clarity of which could only compare to the view from the Watchtower above Earth’s atmosphere. Above his head a black crown of sharp spiked metal hovered gently in a could of mist that shimmered like the Aurora Borealis.

Constantine stopped his face from contorting in disgust, how dare this creature copy the form of Robin, a kid? Likely to gain their sympathy and lower their guards, to make them think it was weaker and less disgusting than it truly was.

Batman was internally screaming. He knew there were beings of dark magic that could change their forms, but this thing looking like Robin but not quite. Just a little too thin, a little too angular, a little too emotional and expressive. It didn’t feel like something copying what it saw, it didn’t even seem to be aware of Batman or Robin, unless it somehow copied Robin without looking… He glanced at Robin who stood with his mouth hanging open for a moment before composing himself.

Constantine stepped forward and said with command, “Ghost King Pariah Dark, I bind you to my will.”

The being in the center of the room let out a light laugh, truly amused. “Do I look like Pariah Dark to you?”

Constantine glared, “I don’t care what form you take, you will do as I command.”

“I’m sorry, man, but Pariah Dark hasn’t been Ghost King for a little while now.”

“Oh? Then care to tell us what your name it?”

“And give you that control over me? No.”

“I know what your name is,” Robin said, and the Ghost King turned to him, clear animated surprise covering his face. “Daniel Al-Ghoul.”

Batman’s eyes widened, even through his mask. He kept his eyes locked on the Ghost King, Daniel Al-Ghoul. Another son of Talia? Another son of Batman? If he was a ghost that meant he was dead. If Batman had another son who…

He glanced between the living and the dead. The Ghost King looked furious, and let out a harsh laugh. “You really think I’m still an Al-Ghoul? After you killed me? After our ‘mother’ refused to revive me? Both because our ‘grandfather’ thought I was too weak? You think I’m still one of you?”

The words bit deep into everyone present, Constantine looked ready to bolt at the awkward situation, but knew he was the only one with the training to even begin to deal with this if it got out of hand.

Batman internally flinched at the confirmation, almost too in character for the Demon’s Head and his daughter. An older brother, unless ghosts age? What had Batman been doing when this child died? He knew of the vague tortures Damien had gone through with his other family. It was a hard hit to now understand just how lucky Damien had been.

He looked to Damien who was probably more carefully controlled than anyone could be expected from the situation. Damien spoke in short sentences, straining to control his tone and inflection, “There is an ancient spirit of destruction destroying Gotham City. Our weapons are ineffective against it. We wanted to summon the Ghost King to stop it.”

Daniel glared at Damien, “All dressed up and playing hero, with our father no less, and you summon me to ask for help?”

Damien nodded, Bruce could see the emotions trying to breach the edges of Damien’s carefully constructed mask. Bruce himself was pushing his emptions to the side, and stepped forward to say, “If you have the power to stop Tyranys, then yes, we are. Daniel, please help.”

Daniel looked up at Batman with a glare so sharp it felt like it was cutting through Bruce’s soul. Another son. Another Dead Son. One he hadn’t known about. One he hadn’t saved. One he hadn’t even known needed saving. He had so many questions. But there was, in this moment, a monster tearing through Gotham City. The Mission comes first.

Daniel let out a laugh so cold and hollow Batman felt the temperature drop, and then, the Ghost King vanished.

There was a sharp sigh and Constantine said, “I think that’s a no-go on getting the Ghost King to defeat Tyranys for us.”

“Any other plans?” Batman asked, getting back on task and ignoring the aching chill that ran through him. He got empty looks in response. He let off a grappling hook towards a skylight, “I’m going to check on the situation outside.”

He heard Robin follow up after him, and once on the roof, stood frozen in shock again. There in the distance, he could see Tyranys chasing after Daniel. The Ghost King flew around it and shot blasts of green energy that caused actual harm to Tyranys. He drew its attention away from the rest of the city and it followed Daniel as he led towards the docks. He drew it into the Gotham River, where it stood only half submerged in the grimy waters where the two were locked in battle. Daniel flew around masterfully avoiding being hit by the creature and summon shields of green energy for defense. He shot more powerful looking green blasts and ice shards, not worrying about collateral damage anymore. He even duplicated himself to attack it from three sides. There was even some kind of sonic attack that shook the warehouse despite how far away they were and sent a shiver of fear through Batman’s spine.

It almost felt like this was some kind of show Daniel was putting on specifically for them. Like he was shouting at them, “Look at how not weak I am!”

There were several minutes where Tyranys just seemed to grow larger and more powerful and Daniel upped his attacks to match. Then, all of the sudden, Daniel stopped attacking Tyranys and it started to shrink. It turned towards the city it had just been lead out of, but Daniel flew between it and fired off another blast, obviously not at full strength any more. But Tyranys continued to shrink. Then Daniel pulled something out from under his cape and a bright white light enveloped Tyranys, and left nothing behind.

The Ghost King hovered over the waters of the river as it flowed into the space left by the massive creature. An army of bats were powerless against the threat Tyranys posed, and a dead teenager stopped it in minutes. And then he turned and flew away from Gotham with the monster he’d trapped.

Batman turned to Robin who was still in a state of trained control. “I have questions.”

Robin was quiet for a moment then said, “Me too.”

#danny phantom #batman #dp x dc #crossover #twins au #bruce wayne #damien wayne #danny fenton #john constantine #dc #ghost king danny

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cloud-player · 11 months

Text

Dates with HSR Men

> Gepard, Dan Heng, Jing Yuan

> Gender Neutral!Reader, non-explicit, canon-compliant

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Gepard

• As captain of the Silvermane Guards, Gepard doesn't have much free time, really. When he's not in the front lines guarding against fragmentum monsters, he's on missions to rescue drifters or settle disputes in the Administrative District. Suffice to say, he doesn't have much time off.

• But when he does get time off, Gepard almost runs towards the Goethe Hotel, where you're staying. He had already passed by the flower shop, a bouquet of expensive hydrangeas in his (clammy) hands. Citizens were looking at him in curiousity and interest because it's so rare to see the esteemed captain bashful and blushing.

• When you finally come down to the lobby, Gepard's breath audibly hitched and you swore he almost looked like a stone statue. A handsome, god-like statue.

• "Where do you want to go?" Gepard asked, even though he already knows the answer and you both are walking towards it: the Belobog Theater. But still, because he's a noble gentleman, Gepard always asks. It's cute.

• The play is enchanting and the entire time, Gepard held your hand. You thought he was paying you more attention than the play, to be honest. You scold him for that, but Gepard just smiles and presses his lips to the back of your hand. He reminds you that he's seen the play before and just wants to see you enjoy it too.

• "Did you have fun today?" He'd ask, walking you back to the Goethe Hotel after a filling dinner at one of the prime restaurants in the Administrative District. Gepard stopped at the entrance, hesitating for a moment before taking a deep breath, as if building up the courage for something.

• Gepard isn't big on public displays of affection, so it was a (welcome) shock when he suddenly pressed his lips against yours. It was a brief, passionate kiss, but it sent shivers through your spine and shot warmth to the very tips of your fingertips.

• With a promise to message you again when he's free for another date, Gepard smiles and bids you goodnight. You spend the rest of the night on cloud nine, reliving the kiss and the day in your mind until you fell asleep.

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Dan Heng

• Dan Heng barely leaves the Archives Room, so when he finally got over his emotional constipation long enough to ask you out properly, you were really expecting the date to take place in his room anyway.

• "I asked Pom-pom to make your favorite food. They don't allow me in the kitchens." He mutters shyly, letting you inside the room. Dan Heng had redecorated a little for the date-- the books and papers were cleared away and there was a soft, fluffy carpet on the floor.

• "March and Himeko also told me I should..." Dan Heng trailed off, blushing. He produced a bunch of origami paper flowers arranged in a bouquet and gave it to you. "A gift for tonight."

• He also said Welt reminded him to be courteous and gentlemanly around you, though Dan Heng grumbled out that he didn't need reminding like a child. You laughed, telling him that it just means everyone on the Astral Express genuinely cares for him.

• Dan Heng then asks if he can show you something. He turns the main lights off and presses a small button on the side. A hologram of all the planets and star systems you have travelled to shoots up above you both.

• "I asked Mr. Yang's help for this." He admitted. You shove him lightly, enthralled by the sight of the cosmos. Dan Heng lays you both down on the carpet so you can stare at his creations.

• You noticed he was looking at you more than the hologram. Dan Heng reddens at being caught, but he resolutely stares at you again until you're also a blushing mess. He reaches out and holds your hand, both of you in silence until sleep comes.

• Of course, Pom-pom disrupts your sleep a while later to remind you to go back to your own cabin. You woke up to find yourself wrapped in Dan Heng's arms, and Pom-pom gives you both a soft look before finally acquiescing and letting you stay in Dan Heng's room for the night.

• You sighed in relief and buried your nose into the crook of Dan Heng's neck, feeling his hold tighten around you. And with that, you drift back to sleep.

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Jing Yuan

• Jing Yuan doesn't let his heavy workload stop him from taking you on a date. In fact, he even disguises your dates as 'civic duty' so he can get away from the older generals trying to get him to stay in the office.

• Still, walking around with the general himself in Central Starskiff Haven just garners so much attention and onlookers. Jing Yuan doesn't seem to mind, just as long as he gets to hold your hand as you stroll along the bridges.

• He rents the best table at the tea store, the one on the second floor overlooking the entirety of the place. It gives the best view and enough privacy for Jing Yuan to rest his chin on his hand and gaze at you while you talk about your insterstellar adventures.

• You're worried you might have bored him, but Jing Yuan placates your fears by saying that he's more than at peace listening to your stories and playing with your fingers as you wait for the rose tea and carrot cake arrive.

• "That reminds me..." Jing Yuan pulls out a small box from his pockets. "This was Yanqing's idea." He tried to downplay his own thoughtfulness as you opened the box to reveal a golden orchid brooch. He smiled at you when you excitedly pinned the flower onto your shirt.

• "It matches your eyes." Jing Yuan never runs out of things to say that make you blush, but before anything else happens, a messenger runs towards your table and hands Jing Yuan a scroll indicating that the Divination Commission was summoning him-- and thus ending your date.

• Deeply regretful, Jing Yuan reluctantly stands up. The messenger then added that you were also being summoned by the commission, and Jing Yuan visibly brightens. He insisted you go together, calling his private starskiff. While waiting, Jing Yuan slips his hand around yours once again.

• He never let go.

#honkai star rail #hsr gepard #hsr dan heng #hsr jing yuan #honkai star rail fluff #honkai star rail fanfic #gepard x reader #dan heng x reader #jing yuan x reader #cloudnotes

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