#Mira the Bunny | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

callsign-rogueone · 1 month

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mercy - m.s.

Mira Sorrengail x reader Back in your days at Basgiath, you and your friends made up Mercy, a game of spontaneous “assassination attempts”, to prove your strength and skill in single combat. Mira starts a new game, years after the last one ended, and it has unforeseen consequences. 🎧: “I will show no mercy for you, you have no mercy for me, the only thing that I ask: love me mercilessly” - Hatef—k, The Bravery words: 4.5k 🏷: Iron Flame spoilers. NSFW, afab reader but no pronouns used, violent homoeroticism, sparring and a teeny bit of blood, childhood friends to college rivals to lovers, mysterious unresolved tension between you, reader is coded as being on the curvy side bc I am, one very brief mention of past abuse from your father, you could be Dain’s sister but I didn’t say that part out loud for inclusivity’s sake, use of the nicknames bunny (derogatory, but also affectionate), sweetheart, and baby. softdom!Mira, mild predator/prey vibes, fingering, overstimulation, biting (once), aftercare, love confession, soft ending, I proofed this with a migraine so pls ignore any grammar/syntax errors lmao

A cold hand closes around your throat. You know it can only belong to one person.

“Hi, bunny,” Mira purrs, confirming your theory. “Did you miss me?”

Your pulse jumps under her fingers as she moves forward, pressing her body up against your back. You don’t know if you’re more relieved or scared -- she’s alive, but she hasn’t changed a bit, still hellbent on making you play her little game of cat and mouse.

“When did you decide the game was back on?” you ask, finally able to form complete sentences.

“Just now,” she answers, tightening her grip on your neck ever so slightly. “Why? Have you lost your bite? Did those two years in the middle of nowhere make you even softer?”

You burn at the insinuation, bringing a hand up to dig your nails into her wrist -- she hisses in pain, releasing you, and you take the opportunity to slip out from her reach, unsheathing one of the two blades you have left after last night’s events.

You stalk in circles around each other, waiting for someone to strike first.

“Try not to kill each other before I can say hello,” a familiar voice sighs, and your head snaps up.

Brennan is standing twenty feet away from you, alive.

“Truce,” you and Mira declare in unison, suspending your fight.

You rush forward to embrace her brother, hugging him tightly.

He smiles, resting a hand on your back. “It’s good to see you again, kid.”

“Someone knows how to greet people like a normal person,” you say with a glare over your shoulder at Mira, your voice wavering with emotion. You can’t believe Brennan is standing here in front of you, that he’s still alive.

“And someone didn’t punch me straight in the face when they saw me,” he adds dryly.

Your jaw drops. “What the hell, Mir?”

“I don’t regret it,” she says firmly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Brennan’s gaze lands on the reddened bandage around your arm. “Do you want me to…?”

“Oh, no,” you say, looking down at it fondly. “This was a parting gift from the Colonel. I’d like it to scar.”

Both siblings know who you’re referring to, know that the man who sired you and your brother isn’t Dad to you, just his title — he’s never acted like anything other than your commanding officer.

Brennan doesn’t ask if you’re sure, doesn’t push the issue further. He knows your relationship with your father has always been strained, that the Colonel would’ve had more than just some choice words for you when he found out you were going to desert.

He remembers the last time he saw you, a week before you and Mira were to enter the rider’s quadrant — he was in his third year at Basgiath, “home” for an evening. He’d been the one to answer the door when you’d shown up, not knowing where else to go.

You didn’t want to follow in your father’s footsteps, but you weren’t given a choice; your family are dragon riders, through and through, even if the line of work cost your mother her life.

The mention of her earned you a bloody nose that Brennan had been able to fix near-instantly. You’d spent the night on the Sorrengails’ couch, the two of you silently agreeing to never speak of it again.

Mira burns with anger, but she stays quiet. “I’m so sorry, bunny.”

“It’s okay,” you say with a sad smile. “At least he’s finally out of my life for good. Are the kids here, too?”

Brennan nods. “Vi and Dain are around here somewhere. But things have gotten… weird between them.”

“That’s an understatement,” someone says quite coldly.

You turn, tensing when you see Xaden Riorson standing ten yards in front of you.

“I didn’t expect any members of your family to be joining us, Captain,” he drawls, inspecting you. “Why the change of heart?”

Brennan is about to speak, to vouch for you, but Mira beats him to it. “You of all people should know that it isn’t fair to judge someone for the actions of their parents.”

You put up a hand to stop her, speaking for yourself. “I came here because it was the right thing to do. The name on my uniform means nothing to me, but if you cannot see past it, I will take my leave and fight on my own.”

He must realize that you’re serious. He softens ever so slightly, but does not apologize. “Very well. Welcome to the revolution.”

Mira leaves you alone — and therefore, on edge — for two days, a silent statement that it’s your turn to sneak up on her, that she’s waiting to see if you’ll bite.

Nothing has changed about her, including her workout routine — she’s holed up in the gym before breakfast, when half the fortress is still asleep.

She has her back to the door, settled into a high plank on one of the small stretching mats. A perfect opportunity; she’s already on the floor, unarmed. Easy.

You take a moment to admire the toned muscle of her back and the green rider’s relic spanning her shoulders before you press your boot into her spine.

She yelps, her concentration broken — her sweaty palms slip against the foam, sending her straight to the floor with a soft thud. You lean down to pin an arm behind her back. “Consider yourself dead, Sorrengail.”

Too perfect. Too easy. It’s your turn to squeak as she yanks you down to the floor with her, your back hitting the hard wood with a wet slap. It feels like your skin is on fire. You gasp for air, but you don’t have time to recover before she’s looming over you, that devilish grin on her face that you’ve missed so much.

Your friend rolls her eyes, stopping Garrick from leaping in to pry you and Mira apart. “It’s a game we made up as cadets. The two of them took it farther than anybody else, as you can imagine.”

You manage to gain your bearings, twisting a leg up and over her shoulder, behind her neck and using the other as leverage to squeeze tighter, locking her in place.

She digs into your hips, clawing at you with blunt nails, but you hardly feel it through the thick thermal fabric of your leggings.

“I should make you a little white flag to wave,” you say with a sweet smile, convinced you’ve won.

She hisses at you, some snide remark already prepared, but someone else speaks first.

“I don’t want to know,” Professor Devera says, looking down at the two of you still tangled up on the floor, “but we have work to do.”

You release Mira, letting her pull back and breathe. “Truce?”

“Truce,” she pants in agreement, and you seal the deal with a firm handshake, rising to your feet.

“Does it bother you at all that she could kill you in your sleep?” Garrick asks as you exit the gym and ascend the stairs.

“That’s against the rules,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Since somebody can’t bear to admit defeat,” she adds, glaring at you.

The two Lieutenants can tell that there’s a story here, and there is. The rule was made during your second game of mercy. After a week of back and forth with no winner and no surrender, she’d taken desperate — or cunning, measures, however you view it — and befriended your bunkmate, Sascha, as a guise to get into your room, where she’d struck unexpectedly.

You’d nearly had a heart attack when you’d woken up to see her looming over you. Needless to say, Sascha did not take Mira on another date, and at your insistence, the two of you added a new rule to the game.

“Your target has to be awake, and not doing anything directly related to base safety or following orders,” you explain. “The barracks are fair game, but not the flight field.”

“Truce can be called at any time, but it expires in an hour, or whenever you’re off duty for the day,” Mira adds, and you both make a mental note of the time.

“Anyone can start a game by striking first. Surrenders can last from two days to two years, apparently,” you say dryly.

Mira finishes the set of rules with a narrow glance at you. “And you can’t seriously hurt them. You can act in self-defense, but try not to draw blood.”

“That was one time,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “And you shouldn’t have snuck up on me while I had a knife in my hand! It’s a miracle I didn’t kill you.” There’s a note of hurt in your voice as you remember how close of a call it had been.

As soon as you saw the blood dripping down the pale skin of her neck, you had dropped everything to take her to the healers, terrified that you’d hit a vein — you hadn’t, but you still didn’t resume the game for two weeks afterward, until the cut had fully healed.

Mira smiles. “I’m touched, bun, but I don’t think you could kill me if you tried.”

You only bare your teeth at her in response.

Mira is waiting for you outside the bathroom door, leaning up against the wall looking bored — she must have been here for a while.

She pushes off the wall lazily, smirking at you. “So, bunny, do you want to give up yet? Call it all off?”

You suppress a shiver. “That wouldn’t be any fun,” you say calmly, hatching a plan; you can lose her easily enough, and get back to your room and be safe until breakfast, when you’ll be properly dressed and armed.

You dry your hands on your towel, dropping it at your feet and putting one leg behind you, bent at the knee as if you’re going to have a proper fight -- then run like hell in the other direction.

You hear her chase after you, the pounding of her footsteps matching up with your racing heart as you make turn after turn.

There are two problems with your plan.

The first; this place is a damn maze. All these doors look the same, and you’re moving too fast to look at the numbers posted on them. And like any good maze, there are plenty of dead ends. You skid to a stop as you realize there’s no way out of this hallway — or just one way; past Mira.

You quickly find the second problem; you’re running in wet sandals. You trip over an edge of the thick rug that lines the stone floor, headed straight for the ground, but Mira grabs you by the wrist, breaking your fall.

You steady yourself, yanking your arm away.

She lets you go easily, content to stand a few feet back and taunt you. “Just a defenseless little bunny, walking down the hallway in these cute little pajamas, all this skin exposed… I know you don’t have any daggers hidden under that excuse of a shirt,” she says, looking at you with the shine of something predatory in her eyes. “I can see everything.”

You move to cover yourself, crossing your arms — the fortress is cold, and you hadn’t bothered to wrap your chest just to walk back from the showers… you squirm under her gaze, embarrassed. “I am clearly at a disadvantage in these clothes,” you huff, “not fair.”

“That’s on you. You knew this could happen when you got dressed,” she dismisses. “But you’ve also been at a disadvantage this whole time playing against me. We both know I’m a better fighter than you. Maybe I’ve just been faking to let you believe that you’re all big and strong.”

That’s the last straw. You kick off your shoes and lunge at her, not caring that you’re still in your pajamas, cornered and unarmed — you’re going to end this round now, prove to Mira once and for all that you can go toe to toe with her and come out on top, disadvantaged or not.

She grins. “I was wondering when you’d start really trying.”

You knock her to the ground, though she lands more gracefully than you had the other day -- your back is still tender.

“You really need to switch it up, Bun. This whole wrestling-on-the-floor thing is getting old,” she taunts, grabbing your arm and twisting it behind your back.

“Shut - the fuck - up,” you pant. “You think this game isn’t getting old? You’re the one who’s stuck in the past.”

You struggle, and she loosens her grip enough for you to hook one arm over her head, squeezing your elbow around her neck in an attempt to get her to give up.

You hear her wheeze, running out of air, and you’re about to triumphantly proclaim your victory when you feel a sharp pinch in your bicep.

She fucking bit you.

You gasp, releasing her and standing upright to cradle your elbow in one hand and inspect the damage. There’s a perfect imprint of her teeth in the muscle, two tiny punctures from her canines. “What the fuck, Mir? That really hurt.”

“Oops.” She rises to her knees and licks up the small beads of blood forming on your skin, making you squirm.

Gross. Well, actually…

You don’t have much time to think about it before she’s pinning you to the wall. You struggle, but she has you trapped firmly against the cold stone.

“All you have to do is admit that I’m stronger than you. Say the word, and I’ll let you go.”

“No,” you spit, “you cheated and you fucking know it. You were the one who made the no-blood rule.”

“Poor baby. Want me to kiss it better?” she asks, looking down at you with that signature smug expression. You want to slap it right off her face, but she’s currently holding both of your wrists in one hand.

Your stomach flips at the realization of just how strong Mira is, how easily she can pin you down, how she could do anything to you right now if she wanted.

Okay, now is not the time to be horny. You have a point to prove.

You start to struggle, but she only bears down harder, presses in closer.

“If you wanted this, you could have just asked,” she says quietly, her nose brushing against the side of your neck.

Your resolve is crumbling. The way she’s talking down to you in that condescending tone and the way her muscles flex as she presses you into the wall have you more turned on than you should be.

You want only one thing more than for her to hold you down and fuck you absolutely stupid, and that one thing is to win, to have Mira Sorrengail beg you for mercy.

You only see one way to get out of this — to cheat, like she did.

You blink up at her, doe-eyed. “Mir, please,” you whimper, pretending to struggle, but all you’re really doing is grinding against the muscled thigh she has wedged between yours.

She takes the bait, loosening her grip and leaning down to nudge her nose against yours, connecting your lips, remarkably gentle.

It feels too good to carry out your plan. You melt right into her, your whole body relaxing, and she drops your wrists to rest her hands on your waist, dipping under the hem of your shirt as she steadies you.

She kisses soft and sweet — a stark contrast to the ache in your arm from where she’d sunk her teeth into your skin.

She pulls away after a moment, smiling at the dazed look on your face. “You wanna be a good little bunny and let me have my way with you? Let me play with that pretty body?”

“Yes, please,” you breathe. It’s not an act; you really do want her hands on you, you have for years. You’ve never felt this needy in your life, never craved anyone’s touch this badly.

You should be more careful what you wish for.

You gasp into her mouth as she tugs aside your pajama shorts and brushes her fingertips against the embarrassingly damp fabric of your underwear, right over your clit.

“Not here,” you manage, clinging to your one last shred of rationality — at any moment, someone could walk out of their room and see you here, in the middle of the hallway, half-dressed, with Mira’s hands all over you.

She appears to agree. She pulls you down the hall by your wrist, wasting no time unlocking her door and leading you through it, pushing you right onto her bed.

Your back hits the mattress and she’s leaning over you in seconds, though the predatory look in her eyes is gone, replaced with something softer.

Your heart pounds. You have no idea what she’s going to do.

“Such a cute little thing,” she coos, her hands moving to knead at the plush of your hips. “Spread your legs for me.”

You comply instantly, starting to take off your shorts, but she stops you.

“Nuh-uh, bun. Keep them on.”

You whine softly, but she doesn’t budge. Her hand slides over your thigh, settling over the soft fabric. “So warm and wet… did you like me on top of you? Like me holding you down?”

“Yes,” you answer readily, panting even though she’s hardly touched you. “N’ liked… liked kissing you.”

It’s a thinly-veiled plea for her to do it again, but it works.

You whine into her mouth as she starts to circle her fingers over your clit through the two layers of clothing, smearing your wetness into them. Her other hand slides up to your chest, squeezing gently through the thin cotton of your shirt.

You should have known that this would be good -- it’s Mira. She knows exactly what she’s doing; she’s had plenty of bedmates over the years, and she isn’t shy about it at all.

You burn with jealousy at the thought of anyone else being in your position, laid underneath her, her hands all over them and her lips on their neck.

Well, that’s new, you think. And not at all concerning.

Your inner monologue is interrupted as she pulls back, guiding you to look at her with a gentle hand on your chin, assuaging your worries. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s just you and me here right now.”

You push away the thoughts, closing your eyes and focusing on the three soft sensations -- her lips on your neck, her hands on your chest and between your legs, teasing you…

She hooks her fingers into the thin straps of your tank top, slipping them over your shoulders one at a time and tugging the neckline down until your breasts spill out over it.

She swears softly. “You’ve always had such a pretty body, bun. Shame you keep it covered up all the time.”

You burn at the praise, feeling exposed, but the embarrassment quickly fades as she kisses her way down your neck and across your collarbones, down…

You can’t hold back the gasp as she laves her tongue over your nipple, her free hand thumbing at the other.

“Oh, you liked that,” she muses, smug, but quickly returns her mouth to the other, sucking gently.

You did. You really liked that. No partner has ever paid this much attention to your chest before, only some casual groping before they moved things downstairs. Nobody’s paid this much attention to you, period, taken this much time preparing you for the main event.

You can feel the pressure building between your hips, your muscles tightening. You might actually cum just from the way she’s still circling her fingers over your clit through your underwear, and her mouth…

“Want me to keep going?” She asks, and you can hear the grin in her voice as she continues. “You know what to say. Just one little word.”

You don’t care if this is all an elaborate scheme to get you to admit defeat -- you’d do anything if it meant she’d keep touching you. You’re already addicted to her after one dose; you need her like you need air.

“Mercy,” you beg, “I’ll admit it, you’re— you’re stronger, you’re the better fighter, just please don’t stop, need it so bad,”

“There we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she coos, smoothing a hand over your hip.

You let out a soft whimper as she sucks hard on the side of your throat, undoubtedly going to leave a mark.

There’s that rough edge you were expecting.

She pulls down your shorts and underwear in one quick movement, spreading your thighs apart easily. “Gods, bun, you’re soaked.”

Enough for her to slip two fingers right in. She finds that special spot near instantly, laughing when you squeak in shock.

“Oh, right there? Does that feel good?” She asks, even though it’s clear as day that you fucking love it.

You give her a soft sound of affirmation, biting your cheek to hold back the slew of whimpers.

“You’re probably used to keeping quiet, hm? Laying in your bunk with a hand over your mouth, wishing someone was there to make you feel good? Do you think of me when you touch yourself, sweetheart?”

“Yes, ah, I do,” you admit, too far gone to care. It’s true; you’ve spent many a night pretending your hand belonged to her, imagining a moment just like this.

She continues to batter her fingertips against that little soft spot, not letting up for a second. “And does it feel this good when it’s just you alone?”

“No,” you cry, “this is, ah, this is better, oh, fuck, Mira,”

Your fingers flex helplessly, reaching for something, anything to ground you, and she takes pity on you, giving you her hand to hold while you sob into her pillow.

“Shh, bun, it’s okay. Just let yourself feel good. Know you needed this so bad, needed someone to fuck all the thoughts out of that pretty head.”

She strokes her thumb over your clit in time with the movement of her fingers, and that’s all you need; that and her soft voice cooing all those condescending things to you.

You clear your head enough to speak properly, or try to. “Mira, please, gods, fuck, gonna, ah, gonna cum,”

“Go ahead, bun. Cum for me.”

You’ve always been good at following orders.

On her command, every muscle in your body tightens then releases. You grip her hand for dear life as warmth flows through your body, eyes rolling back and cute little whimpers pouring from your lips.

“Fuck, bun, you get so tight when you cum,” she swears, but she doesn’t stop or slow down at all, continuing to press and rub and kiss, overwhelming your senses.

“Too much,” you whimper, squirming away from her touch, but she doesn’t stop.

She shushes you softly. “Just relax for me, sweetheart. It’ll feel better in a minute.”

You sob, dropping your head back onto the pillow in defeat -- you aren’t in a headspace to fight it, and you aren’t sure if you even want to; it hurts, but it’s still so fucking good.

She slows for a moment. “You know what to say if it’s truly too much, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you manage, “I know.”

“Good bunny.”

You whine softly at the praise, gasping as the sharp sensitivity turns back into pure pleasure.

She knows those panicked little whimpers mean you’re close. “It’s okay, bun. Let go for me.”

You unclench your free hand from the sheets, yanking her down by the collar to kiss you as you fall apart beneath her, your soft cries muffled by her lips.

She slows to a stop, letting you ride it out, giving you a few more soft kisses. You whine softly as she withdraws her fingers, feeling empty without them.

She rests her hand on your shaking thigh, petting the soft skin gently. “It’s okay, sweetheart, we’re done,” she soothes. “You did so, so good for me.”

She easily moves you to sit up in her lap, wrapping her arms around you and letting you rest your head on her shoulder.

She hasn't been this tender with you in years. You savor the moment, hiding your face in the curve of her neck as you try to catch your breath.

“Can you look at me?” She asks after a minute.

You lift your head up enough to see her beautiful brown eyes gazing at you with a softness you’ve never seen in them before.

“There’s my pretty baby. Was I too rough with you?” She asks, genuine concern in her voice.

You shake your head. “No,” you promise, nuzzling your face into her neck. “Felt really good.”

You feel great. Your whole body feels fuzzy, your muscles relaxed and your brain completely liquified, all thoughts of the week’s events wiped away save for this moment; Mira holding you so gently, stroking your back — a minute of soft quiet.

You take your chance.

“Do you remember the night we came back from Squad Battle, our second year?” You ask, closing your eyes.

“Of course I remember, bun, that was fucking terrifying. Why…”

You continue. “I couldn’t even make it upstairs to my room, I was that exhausted. I was planning to sleep in the courtyard, until you found me.”

She looks confused. She knows this story; why are you telling it again? And why now?

“You didn’t leave my side for a full day. You helped me shower, found me clean clothes, let me sleep in your bed until you were convinced I wouldn’t die… You put aside the game, and the fact that we’d spent the last two days on opposite sides of a war, because you were that worried about me. I’ve been hopelessly in love with you since that night, and I have spent every waking moment since graduation regretting how we left things. I missed you so godsdamned much, Mir. I don’t want to be apart from you ever again.”

You can feel her sigh of relief, her whole body relaxing against yours.

“I love you too,” she says quietly, still stroking your back. “I was so relieved when I saw you again, bun. I wanted to tell you how much I missed you, how sorry I am for ending things that way, but I was too scared. It was easier to just go back to the way things were before,” she admits. “You know I’m no good at that stuff. You’ve always been the one who was good with words, not me.”

You smile, leaning forward to brush your nose against hers. “Then let me tell you every morning and night for the rest of our days how much I love you, Mira Sorrengail.”

#mira sorrengail #mira sorrengail x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing smut #18+#fourth wing x reader #Mira and Bunny #mine

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