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euaphoric · 7 months

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🕸️ KINKTOBER - DAY 3. 🕸️

Teacher’s Pet

[PAIRING] taehyung x f!reader

[GENRE] college au, teacher x student, pwp [WARNINGS] smut, age gap (9 year difference), daddy/sir kink, hand kink (i love tae’s hands what can i say hehe), fingering, oral (m. receiving), unprotected s*x (whoopsies), hitting from the back, spanking, breeding, light degradation, use of pet names (kitten, baby, doll, etc), slight possessive!tae ?? if you blink lmao

summary: it’s all fun and games making your professor get all flustered by your actions, until he actually does something about it and reminds you who’s the real one in charge.

wc -> 2.8k

kinktober m.list

you knew exactly what you were doing trying to provoke professor Kim the other day. it’s a little game you like to play with him, getting him all hot and bothered in public places knowing he couldn’t do a single thing about it. that’s why you wore the tiniest, micro skirt you could find in your closet— which barely covered anything, you’ll flash someone if you bend over even the slightest. during class when mr. Kim asked everyone to come and grab their test result papers from his desk, he called your name out trying his best not to make it so obvious he was staring at your body. you drove him insane the first day he laid his eyes on you, fully obsessed and captivated by your ethereal beauty. he almost moaned out loud when he saw you bend down to pick the test paper up, “accidentally” dropping it when you turned around, giving him the view of a fucking lifetime.

he was so going to make you pay for that next time he saw you. as much as he wanted to just say fuck it and ruin you straight after class was over, he had some important matters to take care of. fortunately for him when he sees you again he’ll have much more time on his precious hands. more time to have his way with you and punish you for all the sins you were about to make him commit. he thought all the little tricks you had up your sleeve were finished, but not just yet. thinking you couldn’t get any more bold than wearing that tight, short skirt, you came to class wearing a plain white button up top, but it had some alterations to it. you tied the ends into a knot, making it into a cute crop top, also leaving most of the top buttons undone and the collar flared out. the outline of the hot pink bra you wore underneath could be visibly seen with lace detail peeking out from the opening of the shirt. he also noticed something… you changed your belly jewelry. the one you had before was a simple silver barbell with a pink heart gemstone, but the one you wore today had a diamond playboy bunny dangling at the end.

this game of yours isn’t funny anymore, it’s pure torture at this point. your presence was enough to take his mind into unthinkable places, doing everything in his power to get through this hour lecture without stuttering or faltering his words. even some of the students were noticing his sudden change in behavior, usually he speaks in a sophisticated, eloquent manner but today he was acting noticeably different. “what’s up with mr. Kim? he’s talking super fast and not as calm and collected as usual.” your classmate Aria voices her concerns next to you, not knowing a single clue that you were the cause of it. you were making it extra hard on him too, staring at his beautifully crafted face while seductively sucking on a cherry lollipop. every time he’d look over at you you’d make sure to twirl your tongue around it, foreshadowing what you’ll be doing to him later on. thank god the room was dark besides the projector, he would’ve been extremely embarrassed had someone seen the massive boner he was sporting under his slacks. you were getting such a kick out of making him a flustered mess, not caring of the consequences that’ll come with it later, you’ll end up enjoying it anyway. its absolutely unfair that he couldn’t wrap his hands around your pretty neck, push you up against the wall and fuck you senseless like the dirty slut you are. he will in due time though, it’ll all be worth the wait in the end.

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once class was over, as usual there’d be a line of girls waiting to speak with mr. Kim. most of their questions didn’t even pertain to the lecture, they just wanted to say they had a conversation with him. he was quite the ladies man and very popular among campus, he was mostly known for just being that really hot English professor everyone wanted to fuck though. “awww, i was hoping you’d stay a little longer so i could talk to you more!” an annoyingly cheerful female student says to him, trying to act all cute and nonchalant by twirling her hair around but failing miserably. “me too! i need some help on starting my thesis mr. Kim, could you maybe give me a private session on how i should go about writing it?” another perky girl joins in to ask, her voice was so nasally you wanted to cover your ears with both hands. these girls will throw themselves at him like it’s a brothel but you didn’t need to do any of that, he was waiting specifically for you and no one else. “sorry girls but i’ve got other important plans after this that needs my immediate attention. i’ll see you all next class but please get going, it’s getting late!” his eyes never left yours as he said that, no one in this room mattered to him besides you. you could tell the female students gathered around him were devastated, most of them pouting and trudging away in sheer defeat. it was laughable how they still try making advances all just to get politely rejected. you wouldn’t say it inherently makes you jealous, but their obnoxiously tone deaf behavior was enough to turn your mood sour.

you head towards the exit but his voice halts your movement any further, clearing his throat before gaining your attention, “ahem, excuse me miss.” it didn’t take much for you to realize he was calling after you, who else would he be talking to? some of the others girls turned around to see if he was addressing them but he shooed them away to leave. his mind went feral soon as your gaze landed in his direction, subtly licking his lips while looking down at your perfect cleavage. if he doesn’t fuck you and dump all his cum in you sooner or later he’s going to die from blue balls. once he could see that everyone’s left, he wasted zero time doing what he’s been fantasizing about for days. an ominous smirk forms across his lips as he backs you up against the door, fully shutting it with both of your body weight combined. “mr. Kim what’re you doing—” “shut up.” before you could get another word out his large hands are on your throat, crashing his lips into yours without any warning. he kisses with so much force and energy, stroking the left side of your face with his free hand. the placement around your neck disappears once he travels down to your chest, roughly cupping one of your breasts, kneading it through your shirt. pulling away for a moment, a long string of saliva connecting both your lips from his wet, sloppy kissing. “fuck.. been waiting to do this shit again for so long… also what did i say about you speaking formally to me outside of class? i’m only taehyung, daddy, or sir when no one’s around.” the strict tone of his voice instills an inexplicable sense of fear within you, having little to no idea what he’s capable of or what he’s even thinking on doing next.

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taehyung had the most gorgeous hands you’d ever seen, the visible veins showing and his beautifully tanned skin was enough to make you go crazy. he noticed you staring at them too, viciously smiling at himself once an idea strikes his mind, “open.” you didn’t hesitate to obey his order, mouth inviting two of his fingers to take in, eagerly sucking on them as you look into his eyes. he would never tell you this but watching you do this alone could simply make him combust, he doesn’t have to ask twice for you to do anything, you’re his perfect little sub. “fuck, keep going.” taehyung’s low groans make you even wetter as you continue sucking on his long, veiny fingers, staring at him all innocently knowing damn well you’re about to get fucked like no tomorrow. a slight moan slips out as you bob your head up and down, making his cock twitch from the vibrations going up his spine. “you like my fingers baby?” his head tilts to the side in amusement, loving the obscene view in front of him. “mhmm,” you nod with your mouth stuffed full of his digits, taking them in deeper as you would his cock. “everything you do is so fucking hot… how are you even real.” he husks, biting his lip at your filthy actions. your saliva coats his fingers deliciously when he detaches from your mouth, loving the way your chin is covered in drool. he drags his hands down lower to reach the hem of the pleated skirt you were wearing, hiking it up to gain further access. your heart almost stops when you feel him slide your panties to the side, letting out a high pitched sound when he sinks those same two digits from your mouth into your soaking cunt. “nnnggghhh~ daddy,” your voice becomes shaky as his fingers slide into your wet folds, hearing the sweet sounds your arousal makes.

your hips involuntarily grind against his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he feverishly rubs your clit while fingering you. “i want you to suck my cock so i can blow my load all over your pretty face, if do that for me i’ll make sure you get straight A’s the rest of this semester. sound like a deal my sweet kitten?” he already knew you were going to agree, you needed to pass this class in order to graduate and what better way to get an easy A than to fuck for it? you were willing to do just about anything to please taehyung. “y-yes sir.” you comply right away, whining from the sudden emptiness as he pulls his fingers out, bringing them up to his lips as he sucks off the juices. “mmm.. tastes like heaven.” he will truly never get enough of you, ever. you quickly drop to your knees to undo his belt and unbutton his pants, greedily licking your lips as you finally get to suck him off. taehyung instantly fell in love with you when you gave him head for the first time, he’s never wanted another woman to touch him since. you were the only one who’s ever been able to get him to cum just from sucking his cock alone. as you slide his briefs down his member springs out with a small bead of pre-cum leaking out. your lips kiss his pinkish-red tip, dipping your tongue out to lick it up. his cock flinched at any little slight stimulation, he didn’t jerk off or anything since that day he saw you in that tight mini skirt, wanting to save all of it just for you. opening your mouth wider to take his full length, your eyes begin watering when the end of his shaft hits the back of your throat. “already taking it all so well like the good little kitten you are. look so fucking hot like that with your mouth full of my cock.” his hands grab fistful of your hair, pulling hard as he forces more of himself down your throat.

you gag and choke a bit from his hips rutting into you, but that doesn’t stop you from sucking his cock like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do on earth. giving all your efforts to please him, looking up with bright big eyes while you deepthroat. your pussy was uncomfortably wet, you could feel your slick leaking on your thighs. moaning as you continue bobbing your head up and down, feeling him throbbing in your warm mouth from the sensations. “yeah baby… just like that keep going.. fuck…” taehyung swung his head back in pleasure, pulling your hair tighter as he feels himself getting close. you could sense he was close too by his erratic movements, and you know exactly how to get him to cum. you collect more saliva as much as you could to make it even sloppier, some of it almost dripping from the corners of your mouth as you keep going. he felt like the end was nearing for him, seeing flashes of white as he grunts loudly, bucking his hips up in a frenzy. “i’m gonna cum kitten… you better swallow of all of it like a good fucking girl.” you nod, feeling him pulsate even more in your mouth, humming around the base of his length as you send him to a higher state of pleasure. the back of your throat gets hit with shots of hot cum, milking every last bit of him until you know for sure he’s done. “you really have no idea what you do to me y/n, do you?” he pants while trying to catch his breath, looking down at the beautiful mess he’s created. “i swallowed it all daddy, look.” you open your mouth wide, sticking your tongue to show him it was all empty. “good kitten, you’ll be greatly rewarded for this.” taehyung couldn’t wait to finally have his cock inside of you, it’s been long overdue..

“bend over for me on my desk, now.” taehyung orders you again, getting up from your knees towards the desk with your face down and ass up in the air. “fucking love this ass so much.. you’re fucking perfect doll.” he grunts, tightly gripping onto your hips and squeezing your ass, he couldn’t stop biting his lip at how sexy your body was. your body jerks involuntarily when you feel a harsh slap to your right butt cheek, hard enough to leave a handprint on your delicate flesh. you’d usually cry out but you’ve gotten so used to it, you’re so unbearably wet that you can’t wait for him to ruin you with his cock. “ahhh! daddy…” you whimper once he slides his length inside, not even bothering with going slow he slams his hips right into you. keeping both hands steady on the desk you do your best not to scream, you were still in a public classroom and other people could hear if you were being too loud. “fuckkk…” taehyung’s mind blank as he buried himself fully into your cunt, ramming his cock into you with brash movements. his pace was rough and fast, slapping your ass some more as his strokes get deeper. a moaned so loud at one point you thought someone definitely heard that, taehyung was pissed. if word ever got out that he was fucking a student he’d lose his job in a heartbeat, he forcefully covers your mouth with his hand, muffling all your moans as he fucks you harder.

“you want me to get caught because your dumbass wanted to scream out like a whore? be fucking quiet or i’ll punish you even harder than i’m already doing.” his degrading words made you feel so inferior, so small compared to him, but he was right, you needed to shut the fuck up or else your little secret will get out. your whole body felt like it was on fire, burning up from the inside as he slides half his length out and pushes it back in. he repeats this actions a few more times then fully buries it inside you again, making you subconsciously clench around him. “mmpphh, think m’gonna cum again sweetheart,” taehyung’s hands slip from your mouth to play with your clit, “where do you want me to cum baby?” he already knows your answer, he just loves to hear you say it. “inside sir… wan’ you inside..” you shamelessly beg, throwing your ass back against him to match his movements. “your belly’s gonna be so full of my cum, gonna drain every last drop of it into this pretty little cunt… you belong to me and me only.” all you did was nod your head ferociously at his dirty talk, hoping for the love of god that he’ll give you exactly what need. his movement staggered when you fluttered around him, feeling a knot untie in his stomach that made him unleash everything. he was so far gone, nothing mattered to him besides releasing his load into you, once he hit a certain spot it was over him. his motion stills as he finally reaches his climax, mouth permanently agape while pumping all of his hot cum into you. you came quickly after, panting and breathing heavily from how good he just fucked you. taehyung was happy with the results as he saw the cream seeping out of your hole when he slid himself out, you were so undeniably sexy and it made him even more obsessed with you. “baby you’re going to be the death of me one day, i’m sure of it.” he whispers sweetly, body collapsing on top of yours from pure exhaustion.

#kinktober 2023 #taehyung smut #taehyung bts #bts smut #kim taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #taehyung x female reader #bts x reader #taehyung fics #taehyung x you #taehyung imagines #bts imagines #bts fic

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particular-one · 8 months

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i had the best day with you today.

synopsis. how they would plan + surprise you on your birthday. characters. jing yuan, blade, dan heng, gepard x gn!reader author’s note. this is definitely self-indulgent (my bday today WOOHOOOO) BUT THAT ASIDE i really enjoy partaking in activities for ppl on their bday…. so this idea stemmed from all of that! sorry if it’s shorter than my other stuff, writer’s block is still kicking me to the curb<\3 if you guys like it, lmk if you want a second part!

jing yuan would act coyly about it, but you could pretty much tell that he definitely has a surprise up his sleeve; it’s something about his face, really. still, jing yuan never fails to deliver during your birthday— though he initially celebrated your birthday in a more grandiose manner at the start of your relationship, over the years it started to become more of a private affair shared between the both of you. he’d purposely ask fu xuan to take over his duties for the day so that he can spend more time with you. he enjoys seeing the look of shock on your face when he never fails to get you an item that you have been eyeing for the longest time yet never told him about it … jing yuan does have his ways.

blade never really understood the appeal of making a big fuss during birthdays — for an immortal like him who is simply waiting for the day he’ll finally rest, the thought of celebrating his birth is pretty ironic to him. however, he knows how much birthdays mean to you, so he (begrudgingly) enlists the help of the stellaron hunters for advice. both silver wolf and kafka have polar opposites of ideas, so ultimately, blade doesn’t follow either of their inputs; in the end, he asks you himself on what you want for your birthday, and plans a small surprise accordingly. oh! and also, he’d be big on acts of service during your birthday.

dan heng’s a little worried about messing up on your birthday, so the astral express is heavily involved in putting up a celebration for you. he also took way too long in picking out a gift for you. birthdays with the astral express is always explosive and fun, and dan heng initially thinks this is what you might want — though as the day comes to a close, the two of you end up retreating back into the archives in private. dan heng wonders why you prefer to spend your time with him, to which you just tell him that you won’t have it any other way. initially embarrassed by it, he then gifts you a small journal where he penned down all of things he likes about you. you then ask him to read it to you as you dwindle down, his soft and gentle voice slowly lulling you to sleep.

gepard definitely pulls out all the stops — he wants your birthday to be close to perfect as possible. he asks serval’s help a lot, who only chuckles at his frenzy and tells him that whatever he does for your birthday, you’d definitely love. gepard does not find this advice amusing at all, and may end up overplanning that a lot of things end up not going his way. so when you suggested on do something spontaneous instead whether it be catch a fleeting street performance or even taking part in the underworld’s fighting ring (though gepard is very much concerned about that), it becomes the perfect birthday celebration for you. gepard also gifts you red roses he’s grown himself (courtesy to pela for keeping them alive).

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kieran-granola · 5 months

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Sweet Sorries

(This is a little JayTim Chanukah gift for @silver-snow-77! Thank you for being a lot of fun 💕)

“We missed you at the Manor.”

Jason doesn't flinch but he tenses, his shoulders drawing up as he sets his helmet down on the table. Slowly, he turns around to find Tim sitting at his kitchen table all bundled up in a cozy sweater and scarf. The plate of sufganiyot that Jason cooked and abandoned earlier that day is waiting in front of him, the shape of it somehow accusing in the semi-darkness.

“Who’s we exactly?” Jason asks as he unholsters his guns.

In the kitchen, Tim shrugs. “Alfred. Bruce. Damian. Me. Take your pick.”

Following his well-practiced routine, Jason unloads his weapons and puts them away in his safe. He'll need to clean them later — to make sure everything will be in working order tomorrow when he heads out into the streets again — but he's got more pressing concerns for now.

“You see me practically everyday, birdie.”

“We don't celebrate Hanukkah everyday, though.”

Jason shrugs off his leather jacket and sprawls on his couch to work on removing his boots. “Technically, for a week, we do.”

Tim's tongue clicks. “Jason.”

“Timothy,” Jason deadpans.

They stare at each other in silence for a minute, then Tim sighs. His shoulders droop, hurt clear on his face. When he speaks, his voice is thin. “Why didn't you show up? I wanted to spend the night with you. I thought—I was hoping that you wanted to celebrate with me too.”

Shame and guilt bloom in Jason's stomach. Fuck. He's an asshole. He was so caught up in his insecurities, so worried about Bruce's judgment and Alfred's disapproval, that he didn't stop to consider whether Tim would be hurt by his absence. Stomach turning into a mess of knots, he kicks his boots off and stands up.

“I'm sorry. I was planning to go. I mean—” he gestures to the plate of pastries, “—I even baked. But then I just… I don't know. I couldn't do it.”

Tim bites his lip. “You got scared.”

“I guess.”

“You could have told me. I would have spent the evening with you, we could have—”

“No!” Jason blurts out. “No. It's—You shouldn't have to skip family celebrations just because you decided to fuck the local pariah.”

Tim goes stock-still, his expression smoothing out into an impenetrable mask. “Is that what we're doing? Fucking?”

Dozens of memories flit through Jason’s mind — Tim's smile over shared fries, his strong fingers digging bruises into Jason's hips, heated debates in front of the TV, and days spent curled up together in bed — and his heart stutters. Dammit. He didn’t mean to imply that what they have isn’t serious.

“No, it's not,” he says slowly. “You know it's not. You're as much of a detective as I am. You’ve got to know how I feel about you.”

“By that logic, you have to know how I feel about you too. But you still left me hanging at the Manor tonight.”

Jason looks away. Maybe he does know. Maybe he remembers the way Tim took care of him when he was sick despite his own weakened immune system. Maybe he can picture the smile that blooms on his face whenever he wakes up next to Jason. Maybe he knows the shape of Tim's feelings intimately. Maybe he's let him write them across his bones with every kiss and touch.

Maybe it's not enough to compensate for his fear of Bruce anyway.

“I'm sorry,” he repeats. “I should have warned you. I was too caught up in my issues with B to think about you and that was unfair of me. I'll do better next time.”

Tim gives him a long, inscrutable look. Then he sighs. “Alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve got my own hang-ups when it comes to Bruce, so… Apology accepted. On one condition.”

“Anything you want. Just say the word.”

“I want a sufganiyah,” Tim replies lightly. “And a kiss.”

Gratitude fills Jason’s chest with sunshine. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t Tim’s playful answer. To be forgiven so easily and reminded that Tim cares for him all in one fell swoop… It’s a gift he never thought he’d be given.

Eyes stinging, he moves closer and pushes the plate towards Tim. “Take as many as you want. Hell, eat them all. I can always make more.”

Tim grabs a beignet. He takes a bite, and powdered sugar sticks to his mouth, bright and enticing.

Jason leans in reflexively at the sight. Every inch of him longs for a taste of Tim’s sweetness. As clumsy with his words as he can be, he knows exactly how to touch Tim by now. How to handle him with the care and reverence he doesn’t know how to express when he’s not borrowing a poet’s words.

(Art commissioned from the lovely @coffeexrage)

Tim notices him staring. He lifts his chin and gives Jason an expectant look, his blue eyes impossibly bright. “Well? That’s only half of what I asked for. Where’s my kiss?”

Laughing quietly, Jason crosses the distance between them and kisses the tip of Tim’s freckled nose. “There.”

Tim scrunches up his nose. “I meant a proper kiss.”

“Finish eating, you gremlin. I’ll kiss you as many times as you want after.”

“You sure about that?” Tim grins slyly. “Because I might need a kiss every day until I die.”

Jason rolls his eyes even as his heart misses a beat. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Oh, I can drive it harder.” Tim gives him an exaggerated wink.

Flushing, Jason takes a sufganiyah and pushes it against Tim’s lips to shut him up. “Eat or you won’t get any kisses at all.”

“Yessir.” Half-laughing, Tim takes a bite and the two of them share a smile.

Jason doesn’t know what tomorrow will be like — whether Tim will insist on going to the Manor to light the candles again, and whether he’ll have the strength to accompany him if he does. What he does know, though, is that Tim’s gentle warmth is enough to make him want to keep making an effort. He might never be able to mend things with Bruce, he still damn well intends to nurture his relationship with Tim.

One kiss at a time.

#jason todd #tim drake #jaytim #happy chanukah #kieran writes

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bettyfrommars · 9 months

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Ok idk if this will spark inspiration but fluff, playing fetch with wereworlf!eddie? 🐺 😭 OR something smutty with werewolf Eddie 😏 and he’s chasing you down

This is not at all what you were thinking, I know 🙃 but this is what came to mind, and I couldn't stop.

wolfman!Eddie x Reader

18+ONLY, it's 1959, mention of cultural bias and norms for the time, sexual tension, mature themes, no mention of she/her or y/n for reader, blood, hints to being cut with glass, reader puts up a tiny bit of chase, mention of the Frankenstein family, hints to future smut, but none in this (I might do more with this Wolfman as it gets closer to fall). wc: 2.2k

A/N: this was a quick write I had fun with last night. Please forgive any typos. Love you, thank you for the creative requests and for reading!

Working the reception desk at a fancy hotel in the city had you fielding all sorts of strange requests over the years, but when Mr. Munson checked in, it was different.

First of all, you were attracted to him which made you turn into an awkward mess. You spilled your coffee on the ledger—had to clean that up—and then you asked him to spell his name twice, even though there were only a couple letters. He was patient though, and charming in a mysterious way. It’s 1959 and his suit is tailored, dark hair pulled back in a knot at the base of his neck under a gray fedora, and he wears a silver skull ring on his pinky. It was rare to see a man with long hair in your time, in your circles, and so you stared at him a little longer than you should have.

“Is this all I need?” He lifted the key by the metal fob and his eyebrow up to break you from your trance.

Flustered, you tried to remember which planet you were on. “Yes, sorry, you have full amenities in your suite, living room, king bed, a 16-inch TV. Complimentary breakfast starts at 6 AM in the dining room—”

“I have a favor to ask,” he stopped you, trying to be as polite as possible.

He leaned in close, over the desk, and you check to the side to see that your co-worker, Janet, is busy with another guest.

“Can you,” he glanced down at your mouth and then back to your eyes again. “Would it be too much trouble for you to lock me in my room tonight? From the outside?”

Your first thought is, “I would do anything for you, Mr. Munson,” but then you wonder why he is asking you this, and the implication of what being locked in his room means.

Your mouth stuttered like a fish for a few moments, and then he continued. “The moon is full tonight, you see, and I—-” he looked around again, straightening his shoulders, licking his full lips. “If you could come around at 7:00 and lock me in, and then unlock it around the same time in the morning, I’d be much obliged to you.”

“Of course,” you finally answer, taking his key as he passes it back to you. Your fingers grazed and you could feel the heat that radiated off of him. “I’ll take care of you, I mean, I’ll take care of it, I’ll make sure you’re locked in until the morning.”

He adjusted his fedora, fixing a crooked smile on you. “Have a good night,” he said, and then he winked, picking up his suitcase before turning to head down the hall to the elevators.

You watched the clock as you checked in other guests early that evening, and when it was time, you made your way up to the 12th floor to lock Mr. Munson in his room, just as he’d requested. There was a food tray in the hall next to his door, letting you know that he’d ordered room service. You hesitated for a second at the door, leaning in to press your ear to the cool wood, to see if you could hear any signs of distress. The only noise that came was the low laughter of a comedy show on the TV. You put the big key in the lock and turned it, and it made a loud metal on metal clanking noise. You rapped your knuckle a few times softly, “all secure for the night, Mr. Munson. Sleep well.”

Inside the room, Eddie was yanking his tie off, removing his cufflinks, and unbuttoning his shirt, staring out the window up at the gathering gloom when he heard the door lock. He held his breath while he waited for what you would say, his head turned to one side, heartbeat strong in his neck, and then he exhaled, ready to wait out the rest of the nightmare with staunch resolve.

An hour later, a huge fruit basket decked out with cheeses and an expensive bottle of wine showed up for Mr. Munson. A courier set it down in front of Janet at the opposite end of the counter while you were working on something else. You heard the courier say Mr. Munson’s name, and then you watched Janet pick up the basket with both hands and head off toward the elevators.

“Where are you going with that?” You called after her, smiling your forgiveness to the other guests nearby. You came out from around the desk and met her in the middle of the reception area.

Janet was young and she looked very nervous, eyes wide as if she were about to be scolded. ��This came-came for M-M-Mister Munson and I was just taking it up to his—”

“Mr. Munson asked not to be disturbed this evening,” you told her. “I’ll take it. You check-in the Parson family, please.”

Janet handed the heavy wicker basket full of crinkly cellophane over to you without argument, and you stood there for a few beats, trying to plan your move. Finally, alone in the service elevator, curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to read the card inside the small envelope:

Dearest Edward,

I’m so please you’ve made the journey, especially under

the circumstances. Excited to talk with you about what

I’ve been working on when we meet for lunch tomorrow.

Sincerely,

Lawrence Frankenstein

A shiver ran down your spine. Lawrence was the great great grandson of Victor Frankenstein, the one famous for reanimating dead tissue and reviving the first Monster. He was in town that week offering guest lectures at the university. You slipped the card back in the envelope and tucked it back where it had been between the wine bottle and the banana.

From experience, you knew that the courier was guilty of being late with the basket. It should’ve been in Mr. Munson’s room by the time he checked in. You decided you would knock and let him know about it, just in case it was something he had been expecting.

When the elevator dinged and you stepped into the hallway of his floor, you heard a crash, like a glass breaking, and your ears followed the sound, pointing you in the direction of Mr. Munson’s room. With tension in your face, you stumbled to hold the basket in one arm while you found your skeleton key.

In front of his door, you heard a strangled cry, as if someone were choking, and you strained to listen. There came the sigh of heavy, labored breathing, and then something that sounded like a shoe hit the door with force, making you jump back, almost fumbling the basket.

A bit of fear lodged in your throat, but you cleared it, and squared your shoulders. You rapped on the door a few times, “Mr. Munson? I’m sorry if it’s a bad time, but a basket came for you. I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it should’ve been here hours ago, and so I wanted to—-”

The other side of the door became eerily silent.

You continued. “I know you requested not to be disturbed, but I don’t want to leave this out in the hall where someone can take it, so here’s what I’m going to do—-” you waited for some type of acknowledgement, but nothing came, not even the sound of footsteps. “---I’m going to open the door just enough to slide it in, and then lock you up again, okay? We don’t even have to see each other.”

Nothing, not a peep.

You closed your eyes and counted to three in your head, and then clicked open the lock and turned the knob with a creak. You set the basket on the floor, about to push it in with your foot, when you glanced up to see the bathroom door was open. The vanity mirror was shattered, and blood dripped down from the broken shards into the sink, as if it had been broken with a body part.

Your heart raced, fearing for his safety, and before you could stop yourself, you were pushing the door open to step all the way in, knocking the basket over. “Mr. Munson, are you okay? Do you need me to call the—-”

On your way to the bathroom, you heard the door shut behind you.

You turned, about to say his name again, but then what you saw made you shriek and stumble back, hand flying up to cover your mouth, the key plopping to the carpet.

Mr. Munson stood in front of the closed door now, blocking your exit, but he was no longer the man you remembered. He wore his shirt unbuttoned and untucked, suspenders hanging down the sides of his trousers, and his dark hair fell long over his shoulders, messy and wild. His once chocolate brown eyes seemed to glow gold, pointed incisors jutted down into his bottom lip, and his body was covered in….

Hair? Fur? It covered his exposed skin almost entirely; down his hands that now had pointed claws for nails, and up his belly and chest to his neck, along his cheeks. You noticed that his feet were bare, and they were also furry with the tips of slightly curled, pointed claws.

His chest went up and down as he heaved, gold eyes narrowing on you. “You should’ve never come back here,” he growled, sweat glistening on his brow. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.” His eyes clenched shut, as if in a grimace of pain, and his head dropped back against the door.

Your brain lost all function for a moment and a few noises came out of your mouth, but no words. A few drops of blood dripped to the cream carpet at his feet from the knuckles of his right hand. You looked around at the broken vase shattered on the ground, and the way one of the sofa cushions had been ripped to shreds, and you gulped, realizing he would probably kill you. Especially now that you knew what he was.

In a split second, you remembered the adjoining door in his bedroom that led out to the emergency exit. It was locked to the guests, but you could open it with your key, and if you could manage to get over there before he—-

You took your chance, dropping down to grab the key, and then bolting for the other room. Eddie followed, matching your movements. You were hyperventilating, trying to aim the key in the hole for the emergency door when he snarled and bound across the bed on all fours like a feral beast, breaching the distance in no more than a second.

He dropped down next to you in a crouch, and then rose to full height, a low growl purring deep in his chest. He had both of your wrists pinned against the wall above your head before you knew what was happening. He bared his teeth, dripping with a string of saliva, his pupils pinned, searching your face.

“I can’t be trusted right now, like this,” he hissed, swallowing. “With you.”

There was no mistaking your arousal, but then there was also a fight going on inside, a voice saying you absolutely should not like this.

“I won’t tell anyone that I know about you,” you promised. “It will be our secret.”

Eddie shifted so that he was holding both of your wrists together with one hand while the other came down, one claw dragging gently across your cheek and neck. You noticed that his pupils began to open, pooling black within the gold irises.

“Do you want me to let you go?” He shifted his head back to look at you, running the tip of his tongue along one of his teeth, desire blooming in every pore, setting his hairs on end.

“No, not really,” you mewed, exhilarated but also afraid of your desire.

Eddie lowered his head, running his nose and his mouth against the side of your face and your neck, inhaling long sniffs, taking in your scent, making animalistic noises. Your eyelids fluttered at the way his tongue darted out to taste your skin a few times, at the feel of the fur on his cheek that brushed soft at your jaw.

He let your arms go and you brought your hands to his shoulders, slipping them inside his shirt to rest on the sides of his neck, pinching the hair between your fingers, finding his gaze again. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Munson?”

“You can call me Eddie,” he scratched his claws along your jaw, thumb crossing down your mouth to pull your lips apart. “And you can let me taste you.”

His eyes glowed like someone lit a fire behind them, and outside, somewhere nearby in the moonlit night, a wolf howled.

#wolfman!Eddie #Eddiemunson #Eddie Munson fic #monsters #monster!Eddie #Universal Monsters #requests #Eddie request #eddiemunson x reader #eddie munson oneshot #monsterfucker

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silverflqmes · 11 days

Text

໒⦂ 𝐖𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒.

synopsis. in which cloud tries one last time to get through to sephiroth by a promise he’d once made, but it’s easier said than done.

genre. angst

tw. mentions of death and self harm / suicide ( nobody does anything dw, it’s more so brought into conversation ), self degradation ( not the uh SOLDIER kind, just y’know- insecurities.. )

sephiroth x cloud strife.

the blond staggered backwards from the strength of his greatest foe, gritting his teeth in annoyance. for having the thinnest blade in the world, he sure made his broadsword look like a feeble joke.

the buster might as well have been a children’s toy with the way sephiroth met his every strike, thrice as strong as cloud’s. but that was just how things were — they had matched each other to near perfection, even if the latter had much to learn still.

although that connotation only seemed to amuse the taller, knowing that at last, he was presented with an opponent that gave him a challenge. “you’re keeping up with me this time, cloud. afraid of messing up and losing everything again to me?” he inquired lowly, almost mockingly, yet curiously. “careful now, unless you want attachment to be your downfall once more.”

the spiky haired male wanted to fire back a retort, feeling his anger creep on him slowly, gradually, but he swallowed it down.

sephiroth, cloud reminded himself, was not in his right mind. he was not the man he once idolized and felt.. something.. for. overcome by jenova and his weak mind after all events leading up to nibelheim, the former hero was met with hollowed out shell of who he once was.. which his so called mother decided to help herself to claiming.

while the mercenary had a lot to be mad for, much to loathe his enemy for and every right to end his life yet again.. a promise echoed in his head, one that he had made long ago on the outskirts of midgar to an old friend — his reason for being alive to even face sephiroth again.

to be his living legacy.. and, to save his past buddy — the one winged angel before he had fallen from grace.

cloud knew it wouldn’t be easy, it never was with sephiroth.. still, he had a vow to uphold, and despite failing to do so in their previous skirmishes.. he was determined this time to pave his way through — to the sephiroth he once knew.

“attachment won’t be my downfall, sephiroth.” he shook his head, straightening himself out to the best of his abilities. “you’re just too high up on that pedestal of yours now to realize it.”

the silver haired male curled his lips, chuckling. “is that so?” he quipped back softly, circling the blond. “enlighten me on how this battle of ours will lead to a different outcome, then, cloud.”

it was now the mercenary’s turn to smirk as he angled the point of his blade into the ground, sinking it into place before stepping up to his opponent. “cuz i won’t be fighting you this time.” he answered flatly, folding his arms.

piqued, the older quirked a gray brow before humming lightly. “a foolish approach. or could it be that my despair has gotten to you at last.” he remarked, lowering masamune to his side as he took long, but slow strides toward cloud. “whatever it might be, it will get you killed.”

the mako-azure eyed male was hardly fazed, having expected such a response, though it wouldn’t stop him. it might have before, but not this time. “if that’s how it is, i would have been killed years ago, and you know it.” he retaliated smartly, folding his arms over his chest. “you pretty much had every chance at killing me, whether in a fight or those times you decided it would be fun to fuck around and haunt me. so why now?” cloud pressed, stepping forward again, challengingly. “why will it get me killed now, and not back then?”

sephiroth was silent for a moment, the proximity now eliminated between him and his adversary.

normally, cloud would never indulge him in conversation for long — would not make an attempt at negotiating that didn’t last less than two minutes.

this was.. different. strange. unlike the blond he’d lock blades with many times before.

what had changed?

“perhaps.” he answered at length, if only to decrease the duration of his lack of response. “i saw no reason to kill you then. i still do not see a purpose in doing so now.” shinra’s former hero spoke, looking ahead. “however, your lack of guard, attachments.. and overconfidence, will destroy you.” he continued, flickering his gaze back down to the shorter. “whether or not that is by my hand, or some other occurrence.”

cloud furrowed his brows. this wasn’t the full story, it was almost as if sephiroth had been.. “bullshit. you’re hiding something.” he fired back immediately, but leveled. “minus what happened in nibelheim, you’ve never finished me off or left any life threatening injuries. you appear randomly to either give me some weird ass psychological torture to encourage me or warn me.” he ranted, meeting the other’s aloof stare. “i’m in the way of your ultimate goal, yet you let me live. what’s with that shit?” the self proclaimed ex-first class SOLDIER finished, searching his opponent for something — anything that could shed clarity on his confusion.

but sephiroth was, and always would be, an enigma.

not that it mattered to cloud. he was getting answers, and he wasn’t going to let the feline eyed male leave him in the dark once more; he had enough of that already.

“answer me.” the merc pressed, impatience growing when the other hadn’t responded.

sephiroth gave a small smirk and another low laugh of his. “demanding, aren’t we?” he jested lightly, shrugging his shoulders before shaking his head. “i expected no less, cloud.” he turned to face the moonless sky. “do you remember what i said to you before, after you’d blown up the first mako reactor?”

the blond’s memories were a fog — a thick mist cast over most events in his life, but that, that he remembered. all too clear, in fact. it might as well have been a real encounter.

“you went on about the planet’s suffering and how you would hate to be on it if i wasn’t here with you.” the spiky haired male paraphrased, eyeing him skeptically. “what’s that got to do with any of this?”

mako slitted eyes slid down to meet sapphire-teal, the smile on his lips growing. “everything, cloud.” he answered in that suave, hushed tone of his, facing the boy before him. “without you, i would not be. and without me,” sephiroth paused, leaning in closer. “you, cloud, would not be.”

the blond let out a mirthless laugh, glaring at the other. “so what, i gotta kill myself now to stop you? take us both down to put an end to your shit?” he pressed, ignoring the pitter patter to his fragile heart.

silver flowed in the wind, glimmering beneath the starry ebony. “is that what you believe to be the solution, cloud?”

enraptured in those intense eyes, the male in question found difficulty in averting his stare, let alone mustering a reply.

leave it to sephiroth to tear his thoughts to shambles, weaving in his own confusing ones to fuck with his.

“you’re basically saying you can’t live without me, so yeah.” he answered curtly, shifting his weight to his opposite half. “unless you finally wanna stop being cryptic and give a clear answer.”

the long haired male let out a hum, blinking slowly, as a bored cat would. “now what fun would there be in that, cloud? i rather enjoy your guessing.” he responded as a matter of factly, crossing his arms over the broad expanse of his chest.

cloud let a moment pass, mainly because he knew he would lose his shit if he spoke up right away. and that.. would not get through to his past idol. “so then if i just struck my heart and bled out, you wouldn’t give a single-?”

“i would not allow it.” sephiroth intercepted a little above the latter’s tone, feeling the crisp air caress his pale cheeks.

“but i.. will not end.” cloud once heard him say, at the edge of creation. “nor will i let you end.”

was this.. what he meant?

the blond gritted his teeth. “like i would listen to a thing you say.” he bit back, picking up his sword. “maybe i should, then, since you don’t want me to.”

with furrowed brows, the taller trudged forward, manifesting his odachi. “you will do no such.”

a normal person would have backed out by now, and once upon a time, if he was still the pathetic rank he was, cloud might have done so, too. “why not? petty that my death would end your reign before it even comes?” he mocked, matching the intensity of his nemesis’s gaze.

however, sephiroth’s had been short lived. “cloud, i mean it. you would be wise not to inflict harm upon yourself.”

“don’t pretend you care.” the merc countered, gripping his hilt tighter. “you just need me for the stupid bond.” he argued before shaking his head, heaving a breath. “why did i even bother trying to save you? i knew i would break yet another promise to zack, and for some odd reason, i still tried for him.” he lowered his great sword. “more importantly, or actually, stupidly, i tried for you.”

the former SOLDIER found himself at a loss for a change. the last he’d been rendered speechless was that day in nibelheim — the encounter with genesis that led him down this dark path hojo had paved personally for him- for jenova.

“you are as naive as zack was, to believe that i needed saving and that it needs to be done by you, cloud.” he scoffed, tearing his gaze away from him. “why should i require saving? i have never felt more myself.”

cloud pursed his lips together, growing considerably more annoyed. “if yourself is her, then that isn’t you. that’s not who you were.” he disagreed, fighting every urge in his body that just screamed to give up on this pacifistic method of his and resume to the usual fighting.

it was what the blond was good at, anyway, what he’d been made to do.. and yet, here he was, negotiating like a fool.

sephiroth appeared unbothered, minus the knit to his brows. “that is who i am, and who i was destined to become. the person you speak of was weak, trying so pathetically hard to fit into humanity despite himself. and what was the result? betrayal, and by his close ones no less. the one you see before you now, has embraced himself for who he is, and it has made him strong.”

the buster felt heavy in his hands for once, perhaps its way of telling him not to raise the blade that had been passed down to him. a poor attempt on behalf the first and second holder — whom cloud had made his promise to.

how troublesome.

“zack didn’t betray you.” cloud willed himself to say, lifting his burning gaze back up to his enemy’s. “you left him in the dark for trying to help you. fine if you wanna be pissed at me for stabbing you, but he actually tried to be there for you.. countless times, and you,” he paused for breath, knowing the difficulties of digging into his memories, but it was necessary. “you shut him out.” he finished quietly, lowering his eyes to the broadsword in his gloved hands. “i know i’m not him, i’ll never be half the man he was. but i’m.. i’m what’s left of him, the proof that he lived — and if he told me that you were worth saving..” the blond sucked in a breath, peering back up through his unruly bangs. “then, you are.”

the former famed hero was reticent for a moment, and the male across from him began to wonder if he had perhaps spoken too much. however, he reminded himself that his words had to be brought across.

whether or not that had upset sephiroth.

“if zack truly wanted to save me, he would have continued trying despite my words.” he broke the silence, narrowing his eyes slightly. “had he cared as you claim he had, would he not have continued pressing? zack did so for everything else- had done so for angeal, even when he told him to stop.. and yet, he gave up on me the moment i told him to.” sephiroth acknowledged bitterly, recalling the event as though it had been yesterday.

flipping through towers of books in the library beneath shinra manor, page after page of what was hidden from him — each more agonizing than the last. not a single soul to save him from his inevitable descent into madness.

cloud, not knowing what to say, fell quiet, weighing the words of his past role model. his reason for even joining shinra in the first place.

the blond would be lying if he said he hadn’t understood sephiroth and his reasoning, as he dealt with his own share of being left out in the dark.. but still, “and if he continued to come, then what? would you have listened? would zack have gotten through that thick ass skull of yours?”

his lips tightened. “perhaps he would have, because i would have known that i was worth pushing for.” he answered softly, clenching his fist. “but i.. was not. and he left his dying wish to someone bathed in guilt, who only seeks to do it to fulfill a promise and have his supposed sins forgiven.” sephiroth finished, more frigid than the frost cloud once walked through in modeoheim.

it pierced like daggers through his chest — the spot he’d once plunged masamune into back in nibelheim.

was the spiky haired male really just doing it to be forgiven..? to feel like he had done at least one thing right in the pathetic life he led? the one that continued to be saved time and time again, when really, it should have just been left to shrivel and return to the lifestream. if he was even worthy of it.

or was it, that cloud had truly wanted to save sephiroth? even in spite of his anguish — the resentment he harbored since that fateful incident.

overcome by his muddled feelings, the blond acted on impulse and dropped his weapon to pull down the other by the straps across his chest.

his heart was heavy, hands clammy because of how close his nemesis had stood — the stakes higher than ever before.. but cloud didn’t care. he couldn’t bother to care as he pressed his lips against the rosewood ones of his former inspiration — his reason.

a shock that didn’t quite reach his eyes struck through sephiroth, but it wasn’t long before he returned the kiss. strongly, passionately. never chaste — because that wasn’t them.

cloud could never forgive himself for being put out of commission as he was during the visit back then to the mako reactor. his promise to protect his childhood friend and to measure up to the firsts became his downfall — and that become fodder for his self hatred.

because maybe, just maybe, he could have at least made that effort to put aside his pain and visit sephiroth himself — or at any rate, push zack some more to visit.. but he could not. the former infantryman failed that time, failed many times after..

but not today.

cloud refused to let another opportunity go to waste.

deprived of his breath, because the mercenary only expected his adversary to steal it away entirely, wholly for himself, he at last broke away, panting.

his gloved fingers still encircled those crisscrossed suspenders, cheeks burning with color as his eyes opened to a half lidded state.

sephiroth appeared more composed than he had, but there was the slightest hint of fervor on him as well, the breathlessness resulting from the heated contact they exchanged.

somehow, his hands found their way to the shorter’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer to his body as he held him there without any intentions of letting him go.

part of him wanted to call cloud foolish, for subjecting himself to such an impulsive act, such a poor attempt at getting his feelings across.. but the silver haired general would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it- if he hadn’t wanted it. that sensation of those flushed appendages pressed so wantonly up against his own. it was unlike anything he’d felt before.

and from cloud, no less.

“i’m not doing this shit for validation. maybe i do wanna feel like i at least succeeded at one thing in my life — but this..” he relinquished his grasp a little, lifting his sharp mako tinted eyes. “me saving you.. this is something i didn’t get to do back then — instead i..” cloud swallowed the lump forming in his throat, willing his voice to remain steady. “i killed you. i promised that i would do what zack couldn’t do, and i instead, i just — continued to fight you because i was angry.. conflicted.. betrayed, too.” as it wasn’t only sephiroth that had his share of treachery. “and i just let that consume me.. that, and you kept insisiting for me to hold into that hatred, too.. saying to fill my heart with rage — rather than just,” a stuttered exhale. “letting me help you.”

they were nothing to each other back then, when they needed the other most. were in essence strangers, despite the mercenary knowing and idolizing him.

now, they were everything to one another, in every way possible. sephiroth could not be without cloud, and likewise cloud could be without sephiroth.

the long haired swordsman brought a leather clad hand to his lightly tanned cheek, lowering his hooded cat-like eyes. “you cannot help me, cloud. if you could not do so then.. what makes you believe that you could now?”

lifting a hand to hold the one that cradled his cheek so gently, cloud squeezed his, sapphire burning with determination. “because that was then, and this is now.” the merc repeated the words that were once spoken to him — a petty interception of his accusation on whether or not he had killed the self proclaimed son of jenova.

the taller allowed his lips to curl, a soft hum leaving them. “quoting me now? that was a different context, as you know.” he spoke up smoothly, circling his thumb on the other’s cheek. “still, ‘saving me’, as you phrased it.. will undoubtedly cost you. are you prepared to make that sacrifice?”

cloud allowed his fingers to slip between the cracks of sephiroth’s, scoffing lightly. “is this supposed to be different from any other time?” he questioned before rolling his eyes. “i think i’ll manage just fine, so you can stop trying to make me doubt my choices.” his childhood hero was a lot of things, but this side of him was entirely different from what the media displayed and the version of himself that had emerged from shinra mansion that day and onward.

this sephiroth.. was vulnerable, human, despite what he claimed. he was entitled to his share of insecurities and doubts outside of that unyielding face of confidence he wore.

he hid well, had discarded him completely for this arrogant, vengeance seeking sephiroth. but there were cracks, and cloud was willing to slip into them to find the man he once knew.

although they would be sharp edged, it was no different from any strike inflicted upon him in the past. so what was a few more?

the silver haired SOLDIER looked ready to protest, to rebuttal his words once more, however the arguments fell silent on his tongue, a laugh surfacing in their place. “it seems i underestimated you, cloud. perhaps you will save me after all,” he spoke up softly, leaning into his ear. “i cannot promise it will be easy, though.”

leaning his chin on his large pauldron, the blond let out a noise of amusement watching as silver spilled and curtained all around him. “like anything is ever easy between us.” cloud shook his head before closing his eyes. “it’s a good thing i’m used to it, sephiroth.”

a large hand slid to the small of his back, a chuckle sounding. “it’s a good thing you are, cloud.”

notes. my bad y’all i drafted this on the plane last week and i felt the need to finish it before i continued the rest of my requests ( my inbox is in the twenties guys.. ) anyways, to sefikura enjoyers and passerbys, hope you guys liked it, pls refrain from ship hate or i will slam that block button on your asses ok bye<3

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merakiui · 9 months

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If you can I need you to explain that list and your reasonings for their placements 😭

It’s honestly so silly, but I do have reasons for why everyone was placed where they were.

Trey -> you can’t tell me he wouldn’t want to try it at least once, just to see how many can be stacked. He even provides you with the donuts and they’re guaranteed to be delicious because they’re from the Clovers’ bakery!

Cater -> I like to think Cater’s willing to try anything fun, trendy, or interesting at least once just to gauge what he thinks, and the idea of stacking pretty donuts on his dick makes for such a good opportunity to snap photos (only for your and his eyes of course).

Ace -> he just wants to be able to fit more donuts so that he can brag about it to his friends. If anything, it’s Ace who comes to you asking if you’ll stack donuts on it lol.

Deuce -> he loves you so much, so he will gladly allow you to stack donuts on it. He thinks you’re so cute when you’re so focused on his dick, and it’s a little flustering to be under your intense attention. Deuce isn’t complaining, though. <3

Ruggie -> as long as he can still eat the donuts afterwards, he doesn’t mind. Donuts are his absolute favorite! And he sort of wants to know how many will fit………. orz

Jade -> he’s a freak, a curious one at that.

Floyd -> he’s a freak, a curious one at that x2.

Kalim -> it sounds fun and he’s genuinely curious. This is probably a question that has crossed Kalim’s mind before, and now he absolutely must know! He’s sure you won’t mind helping him. :)

Rook -> it’s Rook. But also he’s a freak, a curious one at that x3.

Lilia -> it’s Lilia. He is absolutely wanting you to stack pink frosted donuts on his dick! If this is how young people have their fun in bed, count him in. He wants to try it.

Silver -> he’s too nice, so if you ask him he has to think about it for a minute because he doesn’t quite get the meaning at first. But then you explain it and Silver’s nodding as if it’s the most sensible question ever. He doesn’t mind it because you seemed really curious about the answer and he doesn’t want to be stuck with all-consuming curiosity all day.

Neige -> he just wants you to be happy, and if that comes at the cost of stacking donuts on it he will pay it without hesitation!

Che’nya -> also another one who has considered this question before, so he’d like to find out the answer with you. If you see a floating box of donuts in your room and hear a far-off giggle, just know you’re about to find out. Che’nya has too much fun with this.

Leona -> he thinks it’s stupid, so he doesn’t let you stack donuts on it. :( in his mind, you could do so many other (and better) things with your time than asking silly questions. Although he does tease you, smirking and asking, “If you want to stack donuts on it, it’s only fair I should get to see how many toys you can fit in there.” You’re either so embarrassed or intrigued at that prospect that now you’re considering a new question.

Jack -> he doesn’t understand why you’d ever want to do something like that. Also, why ruin perfectly good donuts trying to stack them on his dick? It’s not that he’s bragging about being big; he’s genuinely concerned for the donuts. >_< why ruin them when you can eat them as a tasty treat?

Vil -> absolutely not. Maybe in your wildest dreams, but Vil will never allow you to stack donuts on it. First, they’re donuts and he’s not one for unhealthy foods and snacks. Second, won’t it make such a mess? Third, if you wanted to know how big he is just measure it using actually units of measurement and not donuts.

Sebek -> he’s secretly flustered that you’d ask such a question, and he yells at you to “quell your insufferable human curiosity!!!!!!!” You take that as a no. T-T

Rollo -> now why would you ask him this? He stares at you for a long minute, processing the words that just came out of your mouth. His answer is simple and devoid of reason: “I’d rather you not.” There’s no swaying Rollo once he’s made up his mind.

Riddle -> Riddle’s the type who dwells on stuff, so if you leave him with that question it’s a guarantee he’s going to be putting some thought into it after he’s initially said no. And wooooo what a question it is. On one hand, it’s embarrassing and foolish. On the other, it’s you asking and donuts! An opportunity (and excuse) to have sweets with you (and also learn how many will fit on his dick). You don’t really have to do much persuading. It’s actually Riddle who either talks himself into it or out of it.

Azul -> he’ll do anything (within certain parameters) if you sign a contract. But who would be silly enough to sign a contract like that? Oh, you’re already signing. Wow. Huh. Okay. Maybe it’s his lucky day, or your curiosity is that bad. Whatever the case is, he’s more than happy to help you out with this and in return… we’ll see. :)

Jamil -> he thinks it’s foolish to waste food like that, but then, without intending to, he lets the question haunt him for a few days. How do you even think of questions like this? Just what goes on in that head of yours? Maybe he shouldn’t know, but now he’s somewhat curious and he wants you to at least explain it to him. Your explanation is either so good or so bad that he’s compelled to try it, if only because you actually managed to make him laugh outright.

Epel -> at first he doesn’t get the appeal, but then he realizes if he can fit lots of donuts on it he’ll certainly be considered big and manly, right? He’s so excited that he talks himself into it because now he’s too curious.

Idia -> no way! That’s weird and gross. Why should he sacrifice his snacks just so you can use them for something like that? >:( oh, but then I guess Idia isn’t going to see you cosplay his favorite characters or get to dress you in skimpy hentai-esque outfits… :( oh well. In the end, he caves and lets you stack donuts.

Malleus -> you’ll just need to explain it a little more thoroughly so he can understand you’re coming from a place of curiosity. He’d feel cruel to not indulge his favorite Child of Man, so he might as well allow it. And you seem so excited and eager; how can resist? You’re too cute. Malleus offhandedly mentions that he “hopes a dozen will be enough” and it has your eyebrows raising so fast. Just how big is he??????

#twisted chit chat #n/sfw

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romeulusroy · 1 year

Text

Dependence (Roy!Sibling x Kendall Roy)

((SUCCESSION SPOILERS))

Character/s: Kendall

Word Count: 1,583

Warning: addiction/addiction mention

A/N: Baby girl!!!! I love him so much!!! I love how this turned out too :) it's v angsty, v sad, and hopefully in character! I'm having a lot of fun writing for Succession! 💞 Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Dependence Pt. 2 / Dependence Pt. 3 / Dependence Pt. 4 /Dependence Pt. 5

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include: Pt. 1

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include: Pt. 2

He smelled rich, sharp, daunting. The kind of scent your father would have worn, the kind men like him always did. Bared their teeth to seem more intimidating. It wasn’t like him at all. You sniffled against his suit, knowing your tears sat damp within the fabric, ruining the press he’d probably had. Ruining everything, like always. His arms wrapped around you so fiercely, so violently, holding you in place. Keeping you from running. Escaping. You were trapped on the boat sure, but there were stairwells, closets, you’d swim back if it meant leaving the scene of the crime. Your mind ran with exits, those bright red signs a welcomed attraction. Anything to get away, to be alone, to self-destruct on your own accord. You rubbed your palms against your pants, itching out of his grip, your sleeves balled into your palms. Whatever this attempt at love was, it was beginning to suffocate. He refused to let go. Anger rose in your throat like bile. A fury you’ve tried to outrun began to settle in the middle of your chest. You wanted to throw the same tantrums your father forbid. Kick, and scream, and break everything in sight. Burn the whole world down if it meant feeling an ounce of relief. Break your own bones if it meant putting out this fire. Numb it all like you’ve been doing your entire life. Maybe your brother knew this. Maybe he didn’t want the scene, the mess, to have to pick up the pieces. Maybe not. Maybe he was just sad, needing someone to hug. You would never be sure.

You stifled a sob, shaking despite yourself. You could see your brother and sister, talking, crying, saying what they needed to. Whatever you said, whatever you told him or begged from him, it was already gone. Forgotten. Your lips moved rhythmically, asking the same thing, but you couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything, but this high pitch whine.. He rubbed your back, awkwardly at first, hesitant, and then comfortably. Soothingly. His throat vibrating, speaking, again going unheard. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to be here anymore. Not wanting this moment to exist. The last time you’d seen your sister cry, your brother retreat into himself like that, decades ago. Before you knew any of what you knew now. Before you’d been at one another's throats long enough to forget why. The inky black of your world could only do enough. Their voices, muffled, coming back to you. Closer. The hurt dripping from their words like honey. Sticky. Sweet. The fear. You tried to pull away, get some space, air. Again he refused.

Did I tell him I loved him? Y, yes- of, of course you did. Did I tell him I loved him?

Your father didn’t love you. He couldn’t stand to look at you in your later years. It was your brothers, sister, coming to your rescue. Scheduling cars, calls, making space for you on their couches, spare rooms, while you picked yourself up from rock bottom. Detoxing in their bathrooms, their beds. All you knew was excess. Excess wealth, yes, but also booze, drugs, pills. Everything except love. Using since you were a child, too young to understand, old enough to know no matter what you did, it would never be what he wanted. Taking drinks of silver platters, mixing whatever you found in the bathroom cabinet, what you found in your brothers pockets, sick as a dog in the morning. He had to know. There were always eyes watching, ears listening, someone to leave clean clothes on your bed when you threw up on yours in the middle of the night or when blood ran from your nose down the front of your shirt. And yet, he never said a thing. He never thought you should see someone, talk it out, get help. The baby of the family. The most expendable. Con was already out by the time you came around, the rest following. An accident, they’d all joked as soon as you were old enough. There was some truth to it, though. A hard truth. Logan ignored Connor, he hit Roman, disregarded Shiv, he thought Ken was incompetent, but you? He loathed you for reasons you’d never get answers to. Too much like your mother, your sister thought. Too much like him, your brother said. Whatever it was, whatever reminder you were, it was enough for him. You weren’t trying to outrun him, his disappointment, his wrath, but rather your own.

You’d always been an angry kid. Overcome, blinded, by rage. You couldn’t put it into words. You didn’t have the vocabulary. You shattered glasses. Slammed doors. Banged your head against walls. Screamed into pillows until your voice was coarse. When bruises showed, when tabloids dragged your name before you were twelve, you’d receive the only fatherly advice you’d ever get in your life. Summoned to his study, barely taller than the door handle. He didn’t even look up from his papers. When he was done, only two words spoken, the housekeeper led you out. Quiet down. As if you weren’t barely keeping yourself together as it was. You’d kicked a hole through the wall after that, your shoes dusty with plaster. You threw everything in your room like a tornado until, eventually, he took those things away. A bed, a dresser, that was all you were allotted. They tried to help. To understand. To give you advice. What was there to say? How could you defend yourself? He was so much bigger than you, so much more powerful. When your fork ended up in the table, he sent you to your room for days at a time. The door wasn’t locked, but it didn’t need to be. Every so often you could see him, in the crack between the floor, standing there, not saying a word. It wasn’t long after that that you had your first drink. Romans, you think, left unattended. Brown, thick, smelling of gasoline and tasting of fire. It wasn’t a lot, but enough. Enough to settle the fury. Turn the heat down. Take the edge off. Everything clicked. This is what he must have meant. Quiet down. Do what you needed to do without the allegations scorning his name. Do it in secret.

They didn’t always know when you were drunk, high, both. You weren’t messy, you weren’t about to cause a scene or ruin your fathers reputation. The volume was turned down, that was all. It took them longer than any of them would like to admit to realize that you weren’t okay. That the occasional drink or sip was an everyday occurrence, that those long trips to the bathroom and bloody noses weren’t a coincidence. They had their own lives now, their own affairs. What their baby sibling did was not that the top of their priority list. You didn’t mind. It wasn’t their job to take care of you, it wasn’t your father or mothers, who moved away soon after your anger disappeared, sure you were finally okay. It was your job. Always had been. Now you saw her on holidays if you were lucky, once or twice a year. She thought you’d be better off with him. Leaving a baby in a wolfs den. No wonder you ended up the way you did: a complete disaster. You tried to get sober on you own. Stop cold turkey. That never lasted long. Not that he cared. The first time you overdosed, the second, third, he swept it under the rug. It was easier dealing with you now that you were sedated. A shell. You wouldn’t have gone to rehab if they hadn’t forced you, tricked you with an intervention. Again and again, they did this. For years. When you stayed with your mother, things were more bearable, but she didn’t want a child. She didn’t want to be a mother, so, when she grew tired, she’d ship you off to him again.

Today, you were clean just over a year. From everything. You didn’t do chips or meetings, that would mean admitting to the public that you had a problem, and that wasn’t something you were allowed to do. This was an internal clock. Every day you wanted to cave in and every day you found a reason not to. Today you didn’t have one. Not a single reason came to mind. Because the man you spent your entire life being afraid of was dead and your family was falling apart at the seams. Con didn’t even know. No one had told him yet. Tom stayed on the phone, but no one was speaking. No one had anything to say. Kendall never loosened his grip. He never let go. He wouldn’t not for a long time, not until he knew you’d be okay on your own. Too many times he’d failed you as an older brother. Every time he let Logan near you was a failure on his part. He was dead. He couldn’t hurt you anymore, but you could hurt yourself and sometimes that was more dangerous. Of course you’d told him you loved him. Of course you did. Even when you didn’t, even when you couldn’t, you did. He did, for the both of you. He wasn’t a perfect big brother, he wasn’t even a good one, but he could try now. He had to try now. For all the times he hadn’t been there. All those years.

#writing #kendall roy #kendall roy x reader #kendall roy imagine #succession #succession x reader #succession imagine #kendall roy x sibling reader #kendall roy x gender neutral reader

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masterwords · 5 months

Text

blue christmas

Summary: Spencer finds the perfect opportunity to show Luke that he'd like to kick their relationship up a notch.

Pairing: Luke Alvez/Spencer Reid

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: references to Spencer's time in prison, PTSD mention, reference to Spencer's mother's illness, loneliness and Christmas...that being said, this is a happy love filled romantic comfort story.

Read on AO3: blue christmas

Author's Notes: This is my discord Secret Santa gift for @merpancake! It took me out of my comfort zone and I hope I did them justice. You asked for Spencer being the one to make a gesture and boy did he ever! Thank you for challenging me, and thank you for being you. I know you've had a rough year and I hope that this brings at least a small smile to your face. Much love to you my friend! <3 Merry Happy Winter Holidays!

It was Penelope’s idea. He kept telling himself that as he stood surveying his apartment, the vintage garland strung up over his prized bookshelves and a small, somewhat bare tree lit up in the corner where his favorite chair should have been. Spencer didn’t like change, and the tree had caused some considerable change but it was the only place he could put it. A lit tree needed to be near a window, on display, and he had to admit that it did look very pretty from the street. Inviting. Warm. Festive. Things that didn’t usually describe his apartment this time of year.

“You don’t have to decorate,” Penelope had said with a smile. “It’s just...you have room, your place is bigger than mine. And we always do this stuff at Rossi’s.”

“Because he has a mansion,” Spencer pointed out with a smirk. She nodded.

“Sure, and that’s fun...but sometimes it’s nice to be a little more cozy.”

What she really meant, he realized, was that his apartment was quiet and sad and more of a place for him to close himself off than anything else. It had always been that way, perhaps, but it was definitely worse since he’d been in prison. She wasn’t wrong.

So, it was Penelope’s idea, and she planned the food and drinks and the Secret Santa exchange...all he had to do was open his door and let everyone in. The decorations came from a box he’d had stashed in his coat closet, way up high, gathering dust. Decorations from when he was a child, things he thought might be lauded as containing poison nowadays but brought back good memories. His mother would put them up even after his father left, she would deck their halls to make him feel something good for the season. And she managed it during the good times and the bad times, it was always something she insisted on. Even if she had never been a fan of the holiday herself, and even if it was the wrong time of year when she did it. More than once he’d woken to Christmas garlands and a full stocking in the middle of July, that was just how it was. And it was okay by him, he’d learned to accept that time didn’t move the same for his mother as it did for everyone else.

And now he was following in her footsteps, throwing decorations over his belongings for the benefit of other people. The garland was shedding all over his floor, scraps of silvery tinsel on hard wood.

Surprisingly, once the apartment was full of twinkling lights and silver garland, it made him smile too. Even the mess was festive.

“Oh, Boy Wonder, you did so good!” Penelope gushed when she walked in, her arms full of bags.

That was how it started, with her oohing and aahing over all of his vintage decorations, over how much space he had, over how many books he had. She’d only been here once or twice before and every time she managed to forget how lovely his place was. Not that she was surprised in the least. It suited him in every single way. “People will be here soon! Are you excited?”

“I uh…” he started, eyes darting over all of the once empty surfaces she’d covered with punch bowls and food trays almost instantly. His apartment looked like a party now. “Yes. Actually. I am.” He was a little surprised to admit that, a little surprised that it wasn’t a lie.

By the time his apartment was full of people, he was regretting it. Just a little. After spending nearly a year locked up, he didn’t do crowds well. They set his nerves on fire and he found himself looking over his shoulder anxiously whether it was warranted or not. In this case, it wasn’t, not even a little...these people were his family...but every movement out of his periphery made his heart jump. He was wishing the party was over and it had barely even begun.

“Secret Santa time!” Penelope exclaimed, waving her arms in the air to get everyone’s attention. “Everyone go find your gift on the table and open them.”

Spencer watched the crush of bodies headed for the little table and waited patiently until it cleared before going and grabbing his, the only one left. He held it close to his chest , unopened, while watching everyone else tear into theirs. Luke in particular.

He’d manipulated his way into being Luke’s Secret Santa, and while that wasn’t strictly against any rules Penelope had laid out he had felt at least a little guilty for ruining the sanctity of random. It was just...they’d been seeing each other casually for a few months, and he’d found himself more than a little bored by it. Not in a way that meant he wanted to stop, but in a way he hadn’t ever really felt before...he was ready to kick it up a notch. Luke looked into the box full of dog toys, little stuffed elves and reindeer and coffee cups and smiled that bright, intoxicating smile that said Spencer had done well. Very well. When their eyes met he mouthed thank you and Spencer could feel the butterflies in his stomach, a warmth that spread from his chest down into his pants. If they were alone right now that smile would be enough to make him drag Luke into the bedroom, it held that much power over him. Instead, Spencer inclined his head briefly, nodding for Luke to meet him in the kitchen.

There, he presented Luke with another gift, one not intended to be opened in front of a crowd. Just a small box he’d been holding in his pocket. An unmarked little white thing with a bright red bow wrapped around it, simple and elegant. “You proposing to me, Agent Reid?” Luke asked with a smirk and a wink. Spencer flushed. That didn’t help that growing warmth in his belly.

“Just open it before I regret it.”

“You never asked my ring size…”

“You know what? I’m taking it back.” Spencer reached out for the box and Luke playfully batted him away.

“Mine,” Luke huffed, delicately untying the bow and popping the lid open. Inside, nestled in a cloudy bed of cotton, was a gleaming silver key. Brand new, freshly cut. Luke grinned. “I’ve always wanted a key,” he said, always the jokester. Spencer reached into his pocket and procured his own keychain, holding up one that matched the key in the box. A little worse for the wear, a little worn down, but a perfect match.

“I’m not sure we’re ready to move in together,” Spencer started, the flush rising from his neck into his cheeks. His skin prickled beneath his wool sweater. “But I thought maybe you’d like to have a key to my place. It’s closer to work, so if you leave late and need a place to crash...or you know...you can just come in. Anytime.”

“Spencer Reid…” Luke said, stepping closer. “Are you sure?” He knew how Spencer felt about his privacy, and how he’d struggled against the PTSD prison left him with. Sharing his apartment in this way felt...well...huge. Unbelievably huge. Luke almost couldn’t believe it.

“I um, yeah. I’m sure. Come here…” he said, grabbing Luke by the hand and dragging him out into the hallway and toward his bedroom. Everyone was so occupied by their gifts and the music that they didn’t seem to notice the two of them had gone missing. “I got you a toothbrush to keep here...and…” he opened a drawer on his dresser, empty where it hadn’t been the day before. “And your own drawer. If you want it.”

“If I want it?” Luke asked, cocking his head to the side. “Spencer…” But he didn’t know the words to adequately sum up how he felt, so he just reached up and hooked Spencer by the back of the neck before pulling him in for a kiss. Spencer tasted like candy canes, his lips sticky from the candy he’d been nervously eating since the party started. Luke had been watching him with the candy cane in his mouth since he’d come in, it was driving him absolutely insane with want. “I love it.”

“You do?” Spencer asked cautiously. “Really?”

“I do. Merry Christmas Spencer,” Luke whispered into another peppermint sugar kiss, this time deeper, hungrier. He was craving candy canes now too.

“Merry Christmas Luke.”

#spencer reid #luke alvez #ralvez #discord secret santa! <3

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sendpseuds · 5 months

Text

WIP Wednesday - Silver Tongue Truths

Have a little sneak peek at chapter two, where I am having way too much fun getting into Sithy-Wan's head

[read chapter one]

Kenobi’s heart pounds in his chest, his breath thin and shallow in his lungs, skin heated with lust and anticipation, half hard and far too hopeful as he listens to the quick shaking breaths that continue to sound from the speaker on the wall.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

Any of this.

It’s risky and reckless but it’s impossible to care about the consequences when all he can think about is a mess of wild hair and miles of golden skin just on the other side of this ship. A young beautiful boy who thinks about a Sith when he touches himself. Plush pouty lips that look as if they were made to be kissed and bruised and bitten and used.

How is he supposed to resist what has always felt so inevitable?

From the moment he’d laid liberated eyes on the young man — his braid so recently shorn, his hair just beginning to twist into soft curls — Kenobi had known that Anakin Skywalker would be his undoing. He’d stood on the edge of that cliff and looked straight into eyes like blazing blue dwarfs, hot and furious and there was no denying the way his gaze burned.

Kenobi might as well have stepped right off that cliff.

He was doomed either way.

#silver tongue truths #wip wednesday #fanfic #sith!obi wan #jedi!anakin #shameless smut #i just love sith obi-wan so much #and apparently so do you #so glad we can obsess about a fictional version of a fictional man together

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ceruleanwind · 28 days

Text

Giftwrapped

4433 | Explicit | 3.7k | Read on AO3

He does like them, just a little, as much as it embarrasses him to admit it to himself. He studies his reflection in the mirror, his gaze tracing where the thin strappy waist wraps around his hip and connects the two tiny pieces of fabric. The panties do an extremely poor job of covering him—the tip of his cock seems to slip out into the cool air no matter how Max arranges himself—but he somewhat likes it, likes feeling so exposed, like he’s nothing but a meal. Or: Lewis gifts Max an article of clothing he's never dared to try on before. Max likes it more than he probably should.

Max doesn’t often receive gifts, if he’s honest. Even on special occasions growing up, like Christmas or his birthday, Max would be lucky to receive just one gift from his family, usually something practical and not at all fun.

He’s more than surprised, then, when he comes back to his driver’s room after a rather unexciting round of free practice to find a gift waiting for him on the table—a white box made of thin cardboard, tastefully wrapped in a thick purple ribbon. Max’s eyebrows furrow in confusion; he peers outside the door of his driver’s room, checking for anyone who might know who delivered the gift, but ultimately he decides to find out for himself.

The ribbon comes undone neatly when Max tugs at one of the ends of the bow. He sets the ribbon aside and reaches to lift the lid of the box, morbidly curious to see what’s inside.

Max’s breath promptly catches in his throat.

Inside the box, on a nest of white tissue paper, rests a gorgeous pair of silk panties; they’re a deep rich royal purple, all thin straps and silver detailing, trimmed with delicate scalloped lace at the edges. On top of them, near the edge of the box, lies a folded piece of paper—a note, presumably. Max picks up the note, hands nearly shaking with it.

Put these on, and then you know where to go tonight.

The worst part is, Max does know where to go. He and Lewis have been messing around for the greater part of the 2016 season; Max doesn’t exactly know when it happened—he knew he’d always been shy and awkward around Lewis—but suddenly Lewis had started flirting back, his touches lingering, and to make a long story short Max has ended up in his bed several times this season already. Sue him—he’s eighteen, naïve, and desperate to please; he can’t exactly resist when the driver he’s looked up to for years starts returning his advances.

He sets the note aside and glances around before lifting the panties out of the box, his face flushing as he realises what he’s about to do. The set really is nice, Max thinks. They’re obviously made out of real silk, beautiful and soft to the touch, and the lace doesn’t feel itchy at all. Max recalls Lewis saying that his favourite colour was purple, and his face flushes an even deeper red when he pieces together that he’ll be wearing Lewis’ colour, practically giftwrapped in it just for him. Max presses one hand to his cheek, feeling feverish. He’s really about to do this, isn’t he? Dress in women’s underwear just because Lewis told him to?

Max puts the panties down and lays a hand over the zipper of his race suit, contemplating it, before he tugs the zipper down with sudden impatience. He has half a mind to go over and lock the door of his room before sliding the rest of the race suit off of him, then moving on to his fireproofs. “Fuck,” he mutters when he’s standing just in his boxers, the white fireproofs pooling at his ankles. He knows he can back out if he doesn’t want to wear them, but . . . if Lewis asks, Max is a weak, weak man. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, Max sighs and tugs those down too.

Wincing at the cold air against his exposed skin, Max lifts up the panties again and holds them in his hands for a moment. He can just try them on, right? He doesn’t have to keep wearing them if he hates it. Lewis would understand. Slowly, Max steps into the panties and slides them up along his legs before settling them into position. The thin front piece barely covers his cock, the fabric straining with it, and the back piece slips between his cheeks as soon as he shifts to get a better look at himself.

A knock on the door makes Max jump out of his skin, hastily bringing a hand to his front to cover himself.

“Max! Hurry up, your ride’s about to leave,” one of the PR people shouts through the door.

“Okay,” Max says back, and his voice comes out a lot wobblier than he expected. He glances back in the mirror and his face flushes at the sight he’s faced with before he turns away, reaching for the folded casual clothes on the table to change into.

Lingerie like this, as it turns out, is rather uncomfortable.

Max hardly gets ten steps out the door of his driver’s room before he’s acutely aware of how poorly the panties cover his cock and how the thin fabric of the back piece rests between his cheeks. His face burns with just how naughty this feels—he’s a Formula One driver, for fuck’s sake, secretly wearing a skimpy women’s thong underneath perfectly presentable casual clothes. He doesn’t even want to think about what his dad would say if he found out, but the thought of Lewis sizing him up later tonight and telling him how nice he looks in those panties trumps all worry Max has in his head.

He shifts in discomfort the whole car ride back to his hotel, tapping at his phone to reply to his friends, when a particularly interesting message pops up at the top of his screen.

L: get my gift?

Max’s face immediately heats up. Oh, did he. He can’t wait for Lewis to see him in them.

M: Yeah M: Thank you

L: ofc. i’m in room 1016

He can’t help the way his stomach twists at the prospect of Lewis seeing him like this—dressed so normally on the outside but sporting something downright slutty underneath his jeans. It’s never been like him to do anything like this, really; Max has always been a bit of a goody-two-shoes—never partying, never going out late at night, never even dating or sleeping around, but when Lewis asks him to do that sort of thing Max is suddenly pliant and very much susceptible to suggestion.

Max’s breath nearly stops once he’s standing in front of Lewis’ hotel room door, his hand lifted to knock. He can’t go back after this—but would he want to, anyway? Max quite likes how he looks in Lewis’ favourite colour, dressed in nothing but tiny pieces of fabric that barely cover him as is. He hopes Lewis will like it too.

He reaches out and knocks.

The door opens a few seconds later, and Max hardly has time to react before Lewis pulls him inside by the front of his team polo. Max gasps, bites his lip, and hurriedly rushes out “Hey, how was free practice—” before Lewis gets him up against the wall, all up in his personal space.

“Shut the fuck up about free practice,” Lewis says before leaning in to bring their mouths together, all hot and slick and wet where their lips meet and where they’re both panting for it. His hands find Max’s lithe waist—his waist always fits so nicely in Lewis’ hands—and slip up underneath his team polo, wandering across smooth planes of skin.

Lewis pulls away, leaving Max dazed and gasping, before lifting up the bottom third of Max’s shirt, revealing what’s underneath. The tiny waist straps of the thong peek out over the waistband of Max’s jeans, pulled tight over his hips and teasing what lies a bit lower. “Oh,” Lewis hums, hooking his thumb underneath one of the straps and pulling back a little before letting it snap against Max’s skin, “that’s nice. They’re a perfect fit, aren’t they?”

Max hates to admit it, but just one touch from Lewis and he’s already riled up, his cock rapidly hardening in his tiny panties. He swallows thickly, nods his head the best he can, and croaks, “Yeah. They, uh, they’re really nice.”

Lewis laughs softly at that, pushing up at the hem of Max’s shirt and reaching to tug it over his head. “Then they were worth every cent,” he says before stepping back to take it all in. “Come on, show me the rest of them. I want to see what’s hiding under there.”

His cheeks flushing a potent pink, Max nods and fumbles with the fastening on his jeans. He’d expected this to be plenty embarrassing already, but with Lewis’ dark, hungry gaze on him, sizing him up like he’s his next meal, Max feels more flustered than ever. Max hesitantly unbuttons his jeans and works them slowly down his legs before letting them fall to the floor in a heap, revealing him wearing nothing but the tiny pair of panties. His cock hardens even further at the attention, the knowledge that Lewis is seeing him all like this, dressed like he’s nothing but a common little whore, and it makes him move his hands to his front in a weak attempt to cover himself. It would be better if Lewis would reach out and touch him, Max thinks, keeping his gaze firmly on the floor and nowhere near Lewis’ eyes, because he’s never felt so exposed, so humiliated, in his life.

“Purple looks good on you,” Lewis says softly, teeth catching on his bottom lip. “Turn around for me, will you?”

Max obeys, like he always does. He turns around, showing Lewis how the back piece covers nothing. It nearly makes him want to bend over just like that, beg for Lewis to fuck him already, but Max knows better than that—he’d get in real trouble if he didn’t let Lewis look.

Finally, Lewis is behind him, hands roaming once more over the gentle sloping curve of his waist, then down to his ass, tugging teasingly at the piece of fabric that disappears between his cheeks. “I think I have to make you wear these more often,” he says into Max’s ear, his lips brushing the shell of it. “Would you?”

“Yes, of course,” Max answers perhaps a little too quickly for his own good. His mind goes wild as he imagines all the scenarios Lewis might make him wear these panties in; would he have to wear a pair during a race? During an important sponsor event? During a drivers’ outing? His mouth feels dry as cotton and his head spins, but he tries putting more words together. “It felt so—so naughty, wearing these in public,” he admits, voice softer and coming out nearly as a squeak. “Made me feel really dirty.”

“Yeah?” One of Lewis’ hands strays from Max’s ass, slipping forward until it settles between his thighs, resting over his prominent hard-on, which is barely hidden by the thin silk fabric of the panties. “Oh, Max, you’re wetter than a girl,” he murmurs, running his finger along the length of Max’s cock through his panties. “Does dressing like a slut really turn you on this much?”

Max’s face flushes impossibly redder. He brings his hands up to cover his face, resisting the urge to rock his twitching cock into Lewis’ touch. “I—I’m not a—” he tries to say, but this time it does come out as a squeak as soon as Lewis takes his clothed cock into his hand. Max grabs at Lewis’ arm, tries to move his hips forward and chase more of that delicious friction, but to no avail; Lewis simply chuckles from behind him and lifts his hand away, using his hold on Max’s waist to turn him around.

“You’re not a slut? Really?” Lewis teases, leaning back to take a good look at the way Max’s hard cock strains against the rich purple fabric and stains it with a generous wet spot. “Okay. We could just do room service and watch a movie, then.”

Max whines, panic rising up in his chest. Lewis wouldn’t leave him like this, would he? He has to just be bluffing. “Wait,” he says weakly, “no, I—I need—” He looks at Lewis, pleading. Max has always been downright awful at voicing just what he wants; he finds it embarrassing to say it out loud, admit that Lewis is right about him being a slut. “Okay,” he huffs, frustrated and flushed, “I am, I am.”

Lewis smiles at that and decides to take pity on Max. “Oh, I get it now,” he says, infuriatingly smug as he guides Max over to the bed. Max, of course, follows, lets Lewis manhandle him into the mattress. “You want me to fuck you in those, don’t you?”

Max nods frantically, his eyes big and wide and blue. He thinks he might implode if Lewis doesn’t start touching him right now. “Yes, yes,” he begs, his breathing coming heavier in anticipation when he watches Lewis break away from him to get the lube and shove his clothes off. “Anything you want,” he adds for good measure, his cock twitching as soon as Lewis glances back at him with that addictive hungry look in his eye.

When Lewis returns to the bed, Max expects him to at least slide the panties down his thighs a little, if not take them all the way off, but in his haste Lewis merely moves the panties aside and spreads Max’s thighs apart. One slick finger moves between Max’s cheeks and nudges at the tight furl of his hole before his fingertip eases just inside of him. Max lets out a surprised breath, but relaxes the best he can regardless, whining as Lewis presses more and more of his finger into him.

“Ah—that’s—” Max shifts on the bed, splaying his thighs further apart and reaching for a pillow to shove under his lower back. Lewis brings a second finger up to nudge in alongside the first, opening Max up with ease.

“There, isn’t that good?” Lewis eases both fingers gently in and out of Max, then spreads them apart, stretching out his tight little hole. “You just needed something in you, didn’t you?”

Max whines, louder this time, bringing his hands up to cover his wonderfully flushed face. Lewis’ fingers always feel so good in him; they’re long and elegant and nimble and sometimes Lewis curls them in just the right way that makes his toes curl and his back arch. Lewis adds a third, curling them up into the tight heat of Max’s body, and Max doesn’t know how much longer he can go without losing his goddamn mind.

A surprised moan falls from Max’s lips when Lewis’ fingertips nudge into his prostate. He’s gasping for breath, needily shifting his hips in the direction of Lewis’ fingers, frantic for more, when Lewis chuckles softly and pulls his fingers out, leaving Max empty and clenching down on nothing. “Wait,” Max tries to beg, his eyes big and needy, “I wasn’t—I want—”

“You want,” Lewis teases, kneeling between Max’s spread thighs and squeezing lube out onto his cock. “You always want.” He moves the panties aside once more, exposing Max’s tight little hole and letting his cock spring free, hard and flushed and profusely leaking. Shifting closer, Lewis fits his slick cockhead against Max’s tight rim, exhaling softly as he takes in just how well they fit together, how hot and needy Max is for him. It drives Lewis wild.

Max, although thoroughly embarrassed, manages to squeak, “Please, please,” as he tries to rock his hips down to meet Lewis’ cock. “I’m sorry, I—” he moves to cover his face again, hardly able to look Lewis in the eyes out of embarrassment for being so needy.

Lewis pushes gently forward, letting the head of his cock slip just inside of him. He can’t help but gasp at the slick heat that envelops his cockhead, something downright addicting that lives constantly in his wet dreams. “Don’t be,” he insists, his breaths already coming heavy. “There, see? You always take it so well.”

Max whines, loud and desperate, as Lewis slowly sinks his cock into his tight little hole. He’s had Lewis in him before, of course, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever adjust to just how big Lewis is, all hot pressure that nearly splits him open. Max pants as he forces himself to relax, his desperate, untouched cock twitching as Lewis pushes further and further into him. The praise, of course, doesn’t mitigate his problem, either; in fact, it goes right to Max’s cock, the mere knowledge that he’s being good and taking it well making him crazy.

He barely has time to adjust to Lewis’ cock stretching him out before Lewis is pulling back and thrusting into him again, shocking a moan from his lips. He reaches up to grab at Lewis’ tattooed shoulders, blunt nails digging into his skin as he’s fucked, absolutely ruined, by the driver he’s looked up to for so long.

“That’s it,” Lewis encourages through his harsh breaths as he fucks up into the slick heat of Max’s hole, his hold on Max’s waist surely firm enough to bruise. He can’t stop thinking about how pretty they’ll look on Max’s skin tomorrow, purplish marks lining his waist, and he thinks he’ll have to teasingly press on them a little, just to watch Max gasp and hiss through his teeth at the pain. He leans down to mouth at Max’s neck, kissing hot and wet across that beautiful expanse of pale skin before sucking a generous mark into a spot right below Max’s jaw.

Max’s cock twitches when he feels Lewis suck a mark into his neck. That’s in a spot that’ll be hard to hide, for sure, but would he want to hide it anyway? He tilts his head back and moans as Lewis fucks into him again, his cockhead bumping deliciously right into his prostate and making his back arch. “More, like that,” Max begs easily, the embarrassment ebbing further with each second this goes on. He’s happy to be a slut if it’s for Lewis.

Lewis growls and fucks into him harder, adjusting the position of Max’s body to fuck into him at a better angle. His cock slides into Max impossibly deep, burying itself to the hilt, before pulling back and pushing up into his prostate yet again. He delights in the way a full-body shudder rips through Max as a result, goosebumps rising across the planes of pale skin. Max just feels so fucking good around his cock, all slick and hot and tight where he clenches down around him; Lewis doesn’t know how much longer he can last at this rate, with Max’s pretty sounds in his ear and the gorgeous sight laid out before him.

He brings one hand between their bodies, easily wraps it around Max’s flushed, leaking cock, and strokes it in time with his thrusts, his cockhead bumping into Max’s prostate each time. Max is a whining, moaning mess, his back arching impossibly high as he grabs at Lewis’ shoulders, then the sheets for something to hold onto. “Come on,” Lewis urges, his voice low and uncharacteristically gravelly. “You can come, come on.”

Max doesn’t need any further encouragement. He comes with a pathetic cry, his cockhead spurting hot and thick over his own stomach and Lewis’ fingers. It’s so intense that it nearly whites out his vision and leaves him gasping, his cock twitching with oversensitivity. The drag of Lewis’ cock against his hole immediately becomes too much; he whines with each push of Lewis’ cock into him, his legs instinctually kicking out in protest, but Lewis is unrelenting, using Max’s hole like a personal toy to chase his own orgasm.

“Fuck,” Lewis hisses, leaning down to press his lips against Max’s neck again, and that’s all the warning Max gets before Lewis comes in him, filling his tight little hole with it. Lewis fucks it into him with a few deep strokes, making Max twitch and let out a soft whine.

Finally, it all stops. They’re both left panting, trembling from overstimulation. Max looks downright ruined—his hair sticks to his forehead and his cheeks are impossibly flushed—but Lewis takes in the sight nonetheless, etching it into his memory.

“Oh my God,” Max sighs once he gathers the ability to form words, wincing as Lewis slowly pulls out of him. “That was, ah. Really, uh, really needed, I think.”

“You think so?” Lewis asks, more of a tease as he pulls the panties to the side to cover Max’s softening cock with the royal purple silk again.

“Yeah. I think—oh God, Lewis, those are gonna get so dirty,” Max whines, his face flushing with embarrassment for what has to be the umpteenth time tonight. He presses one hand to his burning cheek, something twisting low in his gut at how Lewis smiles at him.

Lewis touches at the front of Max’s panties, running over his soft cock and making him twitch. “I will buy you hundreds of pairs of these if I have to,” he says decisively, his smile turning naughty, “but you’re right. Guess I should clean us up.” The mattress idly dips as Lewis slides off the edge of the bed and makes his way to the bathroom.

Max sighs, content, then looks down at himself—the streaks of come across his stomach, the way the panties strain against his cock, his shaking thighs. He really is a wreck, but if this is what he gets for obeying Lewis’ requests, this sure as hell won’t be the last time he’ll do so.

#f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #4433 #3344 #f1blr #my fics #i wrote this like a man possessed

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sleepingdeath-light · 6 months

Text

a matter of trust ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (kinktober entry)

word count ; 635

content ; sexually explicit content, breath play, cock warming, use of collar to lightly choke shirou

fandom ; brand new animal

pairing ; shirou ogami x gender neutral reader

read also on ; ao3

note ; this isn’t really characterisation heavy due to its length, and because i haven’t written much for this fandom (or for shirou specifically), so apologies if that’s what you were looking for.

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

It had taken years for you to get to this point (Shirou wasn't someone who trusted easily or treated love lightly, after all), but being here with him made all of that worth it: the feeling of his cock, thick and long, stretching you to the brink as you tried to stay as still as possible on his lap was incomparable; the stern grip of his hands on your hips, forcing you to stay in place after one too many teasing rolls of your hips against his, was enough to send a pleasant heat sprawling out across your cheeks and throat; the longer strap of his well-worn collar was heavy in your hand and difficult to keep a good grip on for its size, the old leather scratchy and thick against your palm as you absentmindedly toyed with it — struck with the realisation of just how much he trusted you. That he trusted you enough to let you choke him, even after everything he’d been put through over his long millennia of life.

It wasn’t as if you could kill him of course, but the gesture still held a great bit of weight to it and that wasn’t lost on you.

So, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, you pulled the collar taut and fastened it one buckle tighter than before. Not enough to have any real chance of restricting his breathing like you’d agreed upon, but it was a start; something quick and safe to test the waters, and to give Shirou the chance to back out whilst showing him that you’d accept that in an instant.

But he didn’t.

So neither did you, giving him a few moment’s rest before reaching forward once again to tighten the collar by another notch. Gaze flitting cautiously between his pale throat (or, rather, the still lingering marks you’d left there a few weeks prior), the collar, and his face to watch for any signs of discomfort or hesitation. Signs that never came as you went on, slowly tightening it buckle by buckle, notch by notch, until you felt you could go on no longer.

And then you couldn’t help but lean back and take in the result: pale skin flushed a pretty shade of pink from the slivers of his exposed collarbone up to the tips of his ears, silver-white hair all messed out of place, pupils dilated as he stared straight at you with that same intensity you’d come to know and love, lips parted to let out a string of huffs and grunts and pants that were a sinful mix of heavenly and pornographic, bare hands grasping so tightly at your hips that you feared they’d leave substantial marks in their wake by the morning (though that was your fault for moving too much despite his instructions), cock throbbing and twitching so much inside of you that it took everything in you (and his hands on you) not to just ride him to climax. A perfect combination of erotic and vulnerable, beautiful and striking, animalistic and restrained.

For a few moments you pulled the collar tight — far tighter than before, enough to properly choke him for those brief seconds — and delighted in the way one of his hands flew up to grasp your wrist (not to stop you, not even holding you roughly, seemingly more out of instinct than anything else). Then you smiled reassuringly and let go, returning the collar to its usual tautness as you settled back down on his lap, content to just stay there in that moment with him for however long he’d allow. You’d had your fun (and so had he if what you could feel was anything to go by), but now it was time to rest.

You didn’t actually want to hurt him, after all.

#sleepingdeath #minors dni #ageless blogs dni #gender neutral reader #ageless blogs will be blocked #minors will be blocked #bna smut #bna x reader #brand new animal smut #brand new animal x reader #shirou ogami x reader #shirou ogami smut

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maladaptive-day-dreams · 2 years

Text

Sounds Like Flirting

Eddie x gn!reader, fluff, 1.1k words

From this prompt “it sounds like you're flirting with me” for Finnie’s (@stumachergf) birthday month writing challenge, pretty fluffy with a lil angst in the middle and a fun fluffy end

kinda feel like I could’ve done better with the flirty bits but i tried my best

“Hey Y/N!�� A familiar, and sometimes annoying voice, yelled across the cafeteria. You scoff and pay the lunch lady before making your way to your usual table with your best friends.

“What do you want, Munson?” You ask with a sigh as you reach the Hellfire table. You usually sit two tables away and Eddie usually only messes with you in class so the cafeteria was a different setting for his teasing.

“Oh nothing much,” he smirks, leaning on his elbows at the other end of the tables. “Just wanted to say hi.” He give you a little wave and you roll your eyes.

“That all? Don’t want to ask for my math homework? Invite me to join your little club? Profess your love for me? Just ‘hi?’” you tease, noticing a change in Eddie’s demeanor at your second to last question.

Usually he’s the one teasing you so turning it on him is a nice change. You’ve had a crush on Eddie for a while now and the constant banter and friendly touches he’d give you in class always made your heart beat just that much faster. You tried to make your flirting known in your reactions to him but either you weren’t as obvious as you hoped or he was just oblivious (or worst case scenario he noticed but wasn’t interested).

He’s quiet, thinking. “Ooh did I leave the great Eddie Munson, Dungeon Master, expert teaser and metal music connoisseur speechless? How’s it feel to have the tables turned on you hmm?” You laugh and start to walk away.

“Oh no Y/N I was just thinking about what I might spring on you in English later. But it’s a nice change of pace for you to start the teasing, a man likes to be pampered,” he says, making eye contact with you.

“Ah yes, a Dungeon Master must not get too much pampering, maybe you should get someone to fix that,” you flirt, turning to walk to your friends who you could tell were very impatiently waiting for you to get to the table so you could finish the conversation you had in homeroom.

“Y/N I do have to say, it sounds like you’re flirting with me,” he laughs.

“It’s about time you figured that out Munson,” you respond as you walk away, leaving Eddie actually speechless this time.

—————

You had felt Eddie’s eyes on you all through lunch and Science and are currently dreading having to sit beside him in English. Hopefully Eddie didn’t mind the banter and if he wasn’t interested maybe you could just play it off like a joke? Possibly?

When you got into the English room Eddie was already at his seat in the back right corner. He was looking pensively out the window beside him as you walked in and found your seat to his right. Keeping true to your promise to yourself, you waited for him to say something.

But he didn’t. The entire period.

Talk about being nervous: your knee was bouncing most of the class and you had to focus on not tapping your pencil on the desk for fear of death glares from your other classmates. The worst part is, you just wanted Eddie to tease you for it. To say something, anything, even if it was that he wasn’t interested. Literally anything.

The bell rings and you rush to pack up your stuff, pretty much running out of the room and towards your locker. You hastily shoved your books in your locker and took out the ones you needed for homework before trying to book it to the front doors so you could head towards the bus line, trying your hardest to avoid Eddie.

He has different plans though. As soon as you shut your locker and went to power walk to the front, you felt a warm hand on your wrist and the familiar cold of silver rings and hung your head back sending a little prayer up that he was just going to say bye and leave it alone.

Turning around you beat him to speaking, “Can you just reject me now so I can move on?”

He stares at you dumbfounded, mouth open halfway around whatever he was planning on saying. Closing his mouth he scans your face then does something unexpected.

He tugs you closer to him and your eyes go wide as he plants a kiss to your lips. When neither of you pull away the kiss deepens a bit, your eyes close and arms move up to his shoulders. One of his hands finds rest on your cheek and the other wraps around your waist. He pulls away and drops one more peck to your lips before speaking.

“I have been waiting to do that for months now,” he laughs. “I just couldn’t tell if you were flirting back at me or just playing along.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” you hang your head and rest your forehead on his chest. “I was trying so hard to make it obvious,” you laugh. You pick your head back up and meet his smiling face. “I honestly thought you hated me with the staring in the cafeteria and Science and the silent treatment in English. I was so nervous that I just fucked it all up and was going to try and play it off like a joke if you said you weren’t interested.”

“Oh no no no I wasn’t mad, I was trying not to ask you if you were kidding or not in the middle of class,” he laughs. “I mean to think the coolest person in school was flirting back at me for the last few months and I was too dumbstruck to see it? I thought I was dreaming. I was half expecting me to close my eyes and open them to me naked in the hallway like most high school nightmares.”

“I don’t know about me being cool,” you laugh and move to hold his hand. You walk together out of the now less crowded hallway and towards the bus line. “And here I was wishing it was all a bad dream and I didn’t just let the coolest guy in school know I’ve secretly been crushing on him for the last few months.”

“Oh now see I’m definitely not cool,” he responds, teasingly. “No if you want cool you need to find someone else to crush on.”

“No that’s ok,” you smile at him. “I’m pretty happy with the Dungeon Master.”

He smiles wide and kisses your forehead as you settle in to the bus line.

#lxveletterswc #eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie x gn!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #stranger things fandom #eddie stranger things #st4 #stranger things oneshot #stranger things one shot #stranger things fanfic

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moodymelanist · 2 years

Note

So I saw a tiktok...

And this girl was at a pool party and a guy tilted her head back, hand around her neck, and poured a shot down her throat. So like...Nessian?

god this is so freaking hot skksksksksks. we never found the tiktok but the premise is a girl has different guys pour shots down her throat and rates them out of 10 and of course Cassian does the best one. If you’ve never seen a tiktok of someone pouring a shot down another persons throat, here’s the pour I imagine Cassian would do for Nesta lolol

I hope this isn’t coming too late and that you still enjoy it (and that you remember the video lol).

Nesta slightly shied away as Gwyn cheered almost directly into her ear at the sight of someone doing a large cannonball into the pool. “Nice, Varian!”

They’d been invited to a pool party the weekend right before classes started, and although Nesta had been hesitant about attending, Tarquin had been so nice when he’d asked her to come that she would’ve felt bad to turn him down. He’d even told her to bring as many as her friends as she wanted, which was how Gwyn and Emerie had gotten roped into this mess.

She wasn’t full on regretting her choice to come, but she definitely wasn’t drunk enough yet to make it feel like a good decision.

“We should make a TikTok,” Gwyn suggested suddenly, grinning at the look of horror on Nesta’s face. “Come on, Nesta, it’ll be fun!”

“Famous last words,” Emerie chimed in with a sly grin of her own.

Nesta realized both of her friends were drunker than she was, and couldn’t help but sigh at them ganging up on her. “What did you have in mind?”

Fifteen minutes later, Gwyn had managed to spread the word they were making a video well enough to have a few people interested in being in it. The redhead hadn’t said what exactly they would be doing on camera, but Nesta trusted her.

Mostly.

“Okay,” Gwyn announced, clapping her hands together with glee. “Nesta, they’re going to pour shots in your mouth and you can rank them from one to ten.”

The bottle of vodka in her friend’s hand made much more sense now. Nesta couldn’t help but wish she’d managed to take a shot or two of her own before finding out what they would be doing. “Too late to back out now, huh?”

“Just go with it,” Emerie told her with a wink. “They don’t look so bad, and I’ll pour the first one if you want.”

Nesta took a moment to size up the people who’d volunteered to be in the video as Gwyn wrangled them into some kind of order. She recognized Gwyn’s cousin Eris, showing off his lean body in a pair of dark green swim trunks, as he chatted with Tarquin and his other cousin Cresseida. Their silver hair was almost blinding under the sun, but she’d risk the eye damage to keep looking at Cresseida’s curves in the blue bikini she had on.

As if on cue, Cresseida turned and looked over at where Nesta and Emerie were standing and winked at both of them before returning to her conversation. “God, she’s…”

“Yeah,” Nesta replied eloquently, fighting the urge to adjust her own navy swimsuit now that she knew Cresseida would be part of things. “She’s… God.”

Nesta didn’t recognize the two men at the back of the group, but they looked so similar she would’ve bet money they were brothers. The one with longer hair had his back to her, but he had on a pair of red swim trunks that seemed one wrong move away from splitting right down the seams. He was muscular all over, back muscles rippling as he reached up to retie half his hair into a messy bun, and Nesta had a brief but vivid fantasy of him using those hands on her instead.

His friend-probably-brother had his hair cut much shorter, but it revealed a handsome face with a jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds. He had on a pair of black swim trunks that were much looser than the other guy’s, but he was similarly muscled and all that golden brown skin on display was making Nesta ready to risk it all.

Get it together, she told herself firmly. They’re just good looking guys.

By the time Nesta had finished her crisis, Gwyn was coming over and wiggling her freckled hand out for Nesta’s phone. “Let’s do this!”

As promised, Emerie got the first pour. She kept things relatively tame, having Nesta squat slightly so she could pour the alcohol down her friend’s throat without any difficulties. They high fived once Nesta stood up at her full height, and Gwyn shot them a big smile and a thumbs up once they were done.

“Not bad,” Nesta commented.

Emerie tossed her hair over her shoulder and gave a rather theatrical bow before motioning for Eris to go next.

“I can’t believe you’re not burning where you stand,” Nesta teased once he was close enough.

Eris rolled his eyes. “I would say you have a back up option if law school doesn’t work out, but you’d actually have to come up with original material for that.”

Nesta and Eris had known each other for years, almost as long as Nesta had known Gwyn. They traded insults just as easily as they traded flirtations, but most of the time everything was good-natured. She wouldn’t deny he was attractive — and no man alive could deny how beautiful she was — but they’d always worked better as friends, dirty jokes aside.

“Open up, princess,” he told her with a smirk, holding up the bottle to pour her a shot. He almost poured too much since he was busy making eyes at Tarquin, but Nesta managed to grab the bottle out of his hand just in time.

“I think we can rule bartender out of your future,” she teased.

“Shut up,” Eris retorted, flicking her gently between the forehead. He grabbed the bottle back and turned to face Tarquin and Cresseida, raising the bottle in greeting. “You’re up, Sharkboy.”

“Oh, I’m just here to feel included,” Tarquin admitted with a self-deprecating grin. “Cresseida is the one who really wanted to do it.”

“I’m all yours,” Nesta replied, turning to face Cresseida and praying to every god who was listening that her cheeks weren’t too flushed. Eris handed over the bottle with a knowing grin, and Nesta wasn’t above reaching out to pinch him in the side where she knew he hated it.

“Just the way I like you.” Cresseida’s smile was just sharp enough that it made Nesta’s toes want to curl. “Cool if I touch you?”

“Very.”

Cresseida just laughed softly before taking the bottle of vodka and checking with Gwyn to make sure the cameras were rolling. Nesta didn’t have any warning before Cresseida was stepping behind her, wrapping one hand around Nesta’s throat, and tipping her head back to pour a shot out.

When Nesta looked back up, both Emerie and Gwyn were slightly slack-jawed at the show Cresseida had just given them.

“Hope that’s worth the top spot,” Cresseida said, smirking at the expression on Nesta’s face. “See you around, Archeron.”

“See you,” Nesta managed to return, openly ogling Cresseida as she walked away. Fuck, women like that made Nesta ready to risk it all for even a crumb of attention.

“Uh,” she began, before clearing her throat and trying again. “Okay. Who’s next?”

Nesta turned to see the two friends-maybe-brothers were at the front of line, and she cocked her head as she wondered which one of them would go first.

“I just came for moral support,” the shorter haired one said, shoving the longer haired one in Nesta’s direction. “Don’t count me in for any of this.”

“Thanks for the solidarity, Azriel,” the longer haired one replied.

Azriel just rolled his eyes and went to stand close to Gwyn. “I didn’t even know you could spell solidarity.”

Nesta stifled a laugh behind her hand as the longer haired one approached her, but it quickly died on her lips as he came close enough to talk to her.

“Hey,” he said, a knowing smirk curving one side of his lips up. He was even more attractive up close, especially with an eyebrow scar slicing through his right brow. He was so much taller than Nesta that she should’ve felt slightly trapped, but other, less logical parts of her were responding instead. “I’m Cassian.”

“Nesta,” she replied. His eyes were so pretty in the light, but she forced herself to act like a normal person instead. “Thanks for volunteering.”

“I don’t say no when women like you are involved,” Cassian responded cheekily.

“Who said you’ve ever met a woman like me?” Nesta shot back, thankful that she’d managed to retain at least some of her wit.

He tilted his head back and laughed, more of his curls falling loose from the motion. “Touché.”

“If you two are done flirting,” Emerie cut in, her tone bored but her eyes twinkling with amusement. “We have a video to finish.”

Nesta shot a glare in her friend’s direction, but Emerie just smiled serenely as she passed Cassian the vodka and picked up Nesta’s phone. “Ready when you two are.”

“Is it okay if I touch you?” Cassian asked, pulling Nesta’s attention back to him. Even buzzed, she could appreciate the sincere look on his face, and the fact that he’d asked the question at all was a good sign.

“Yeah,” Nesta answered. Feeling bold, she added, “Do your worst.”

“I’d have to, to follow that up.”

He grinned down at her before maneuvering them so they were facing one another, their side profiles on full display for the camera. Emerie counted down from three before she began recording, and the moment Cassian stepped into her personal space she knew this was going to be the highlight of the video.

Cassian tilted his head back and poured a generous amount of vodka in his mouth before reaching out and resting his hand on her throat. Nesta gasped at how good his hand felt there before her mind could catch up, but it proved to be the right thing to do when he leaned down and poured the shot directly into her mouth. She held eye contact with him as she swallowed, the alcohol burning a path right down her throat.

She held her breath as he moved the hand on her throat just enough so he could brush his thumb against her lips. His touch was light, but the look in his eyes was anything but.

“Missed a little,” he explained, his voice deeper than it was a few moments ago.

“O-kay,” Emerie said slowly, breaking the spell. Nesta blinked and turned toward her friend as Cassian released his hold on her, but the feeling of his hand on her throat lingered as she walked over to where Emerie was standing.

It didn’t take long for the two of them to add some text to the video for their rankings, and Emerie hit the share button after adding a caption and tagging herself and Gwyn. Nesta looked up to see Cassian was waiting at a respectful distance, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he studied them, but his expression cleared once he realized Nesta was watching him.

“You want me to tag you?” Nesta asked, taking her phone from Emerie’s hands and walking over to him.

“I want a lot of things, but we can start there,” Cassian replied. She rolled her eyes and passed him her phone anyway, watching as he typed in his username — @ lordofbloodshed — before passing it back.

“I teach kickboxing,” he explained. “You should take a class.”

“Oh?” she responded, somewhat curious. She’d thought about doing some kind of self-defense classes with Gwyn and Emerie, but maybe kicking the shit out of something would be more satisfying. Especially if her teacher looked like that.

“You seem like you need help working some things out,” Cassian added with a smirk. “I’d be happy to help.”

“I’m sure you would,” Nesta said dryly. She looked down at her phone and made sure to follow him, hoping she’d remember to try and stalk him across other apps later. “I’ll think about it.”

“All I can ask, sweetheart,” he said back.

Later, once she’d slept off the alcohol and showered the sweat and chlorine off, Nesta couldn’t even pretend to be shocked that the video had gone viral.

#acotar #acosf #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #Nessian prompts #moodymelanistwrites #gwyneth berdara #gwyn berdara #eris vanserra #Tarquin #cresseida #Azriel #azriel shadowsinger #emerie of illyria #⭐️

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pentechnics · 2 years

Note

I heard your requests are open?? I have an idea for one. Maybe Y/N is oblivious and doesn’t know who he is or something (like maybe doesnt know he’s a Mandalorian)? and isn’t scared of him? And he’s surprised and it’s really fluffy. And then they grow to like each other (with time skips??) 🥰

I adored this idea, thank you so much for this request! I'm sorry it took me so long to post it lol. This really got away from me, it was supposed to be a little like 2k thing and here it sits at almost 5k 😂😂 I hope you enjoy it, my dear!

I was gonna wait and post this next week and let Pretty have the spotlight for a little longer, but... I think we could use a pick-me-up today.

Din Djarin x gn!reader | G, appropriate for all ages (tho there is a lot of swearing pls bear that in mind lol)

Content: canon-typical violence, mentions and description of injury, treating said injury, lots of hilarity and fun times, giving Din silly nicknames, technically takes place alongside and after TBOBF except that the Razor Crest lives, I know it says din x reader but there isn't a heavy emphasis on romance, it is fluffy tho

~~~~

Fights in the cantina were a regular occurrence. Working here as long as you did had a way of desensitizing anyone; it was rare for a scene to rattle you anymore.

Sure, you’d been in a couple scruffs yourself, but those never lasted too long.

Until now.

You’d been blocking and striking the strange tin man for what felt like an eternity. He somehow saw through some of your sneakiest strategies and had just the right counter. It was annoying.

How the hell does anyone learn to be this good a fighter? You asked yourself.

Why were you fighting this large piece of silver Bantha dung in the first place? Well, it was all a bit of a blur. One moment, you were going about your shift as normal, and the next you were stepping in to break up a particularly brutal scene that pitted this guy against three others. They didn’t raise a hand to you. But he did.

When the two of you tumbled out of the cantina doors and into the sand beyond, you took the chance to pin down his hands, your feet stretching as far as they could to trap his legs underneath.

“What is your problem,” you shouted into his visor. “Coming into my place and making such a racket?”

“What’s your problem, getting in the way?” he retorted.

You cocked your head to the side.

“In the way? Of what, you destroying my furniture?”

He let out a grunt as his helmet thumped against the ground.

“Enough. He’ll get away if I don’t go now.”

“Look, man,” you let out a frustrated chuckle. “I don’t know what you’re getting at but you’re not going anywhere until you pay for your fucking mess.”

He sighed before slipping one of his legs free, using it to knee you in the sternum. The air flew from your lungs and you clutched the spot in pain, slowly falling off him and onto your side. You squeezed your eyes shut. The ache blossomed into your entire torso, your lungs quaking while you tried to regain your breath. It was as if you’d been punched by a piece of metal.

When you opened your eyes again, the walking scrapyard had vanished.

~~~~

Great, Din thought.

He’d chased the bounty down again, even after the absurd head start they’d gotten. But now there were even more henchmen for him to work through.

Not that it took long, it was just tiresome. Without the extra weaponry and distraction the cantina brought, he was able to make quick work of the crowd. A few final blows and a spurt of his flamethrower cleared the way within minutes. The target quivered under Din’s gaze, eyeing the sea of bodies surrounding him before throwing his hands up in surrender.

As Din led him back to the Crest, his mind drifted to you. You had jumped into the fray by surprise; he hadn’t noticed until he felt you pulling him off the man he was punching. And you actually succeeded in pinning him down. The struggle had gone on for some time, yet felt to be just a few seconds.

A few seconds of Din being constantly shocked by you.

He recalled you staring down at him from your position. Not an ounce of fear or hesitation in those eyes. Was that just a product of your profession, or had you undergone something even he couldn’t compete with?

It’s not as though Din was comparing himself to the likes of the Empire, but almost every pair of eyes he’d ever met were glazed with fear. With understanding. With surrender. People saw his helmet and knew it was over for them.

But not you.

The shrieks of the frightened bounty as he was carbonated fell onto deaf ears. Din’s mind was foggy and loud, as if he were still in that cantina hurling projectiles at his attackers, while he settled into the pilot’s chair.

His hand paused on its way to the controls. Your face dominated his mind’s eye once more: fiery eyes, heavy breaths, the weight of your hands on his wrists. He sighed and swiveled back out.

He had to know more.

~~~~

It took help from most of your staff and some of your kinder patrons to clean the place up. Whoever else had been in the fight was long gone by the time you regained the strength to stand. The day went on as per usual after that, though with the added bonus of trying to work around the pain that seared through your middle whenever you twisted or bent down.

After your shift was done you walked out towards the setting suns. Your little home was just beyond the main area of Mos Rena, and in it was a bacta patch calling your name. You rubbed your bruised sternum as you took in the dusty colors of the sky. Delightful gradients of blue, purple, and pink blending together to create a stark contrast to the bright white and orange of the twin suns.

You turned a corner and headed further into the wild sands, the ground beneath you falling away from a sturdy foundation and into looser terrain. The light of the day was quickly melting down under the horizon, a cooler wind sweeping through the air in its wake.

The smallest shuffle rang through the quiet. Something was off.

Every hair on your body stood at attention – eyes were on you.

You stopped in your tracks, gazing over the area in front of you while you listened for any sign of noise from behind. You held your breath and waited.

Nothing.

Whoever was watching you knew what they were doing if you couldn’t pinpoint where they were. You steeled yourself and took a few more hesitant steps forward. The sensation only grew stronger. You bit down a snarl and slowly reached for the dagger on your belt.

Fuck around and find out, buddy, you thought.

Just when you couldn’t take it anymore, a familiar filtered voice filled the silent air.

“You there, I’d like to talk to you.”

You turned around to find that same man from earlier. The one decorated from head to toe in that ridiculous set of silver. The one who gave you the massive bruise you had to live around all day. You looked down at his knee; it too was covered with a piece of bulky armor. The sight alone made your sternum throb.

“That fucker right there,” you pointed to it. “owes me an apology.”

He took a hesitant glance down before meeting your eyes once more.

“Uh- right.”

“And you still owe me for wrecking my cantina!” you raised your finger to his chest. “What even was all that about?”

“One of those men had a bounty on him. I was trying to collect him.”

Confusion filled your mind. Sure, you’d seen a few bounty hunters in your day, but never one that looked like this.

“... I didn’t realize you were a bounty hunter,” you said.

He seemed to freeze up, his head coming forward a bit while his hands gestured to his outfit.

“Uh, really?”

You glared at his matter-of-fact tone. Was he trying to make you feel stupid?

“Really what? The fuck does this mean?” you mimicked his movements.

He tilted his head to the side and took a few steps closer.

“Have… have you never seen a Mandalorian before?”

He sounded as though you were the one having delusions. You scoffed.

“Wait– you’re a Mandalorian?”

“Yes,” he sighed, “I am.”

You raised a brow and took in the image of him, different now when accompanied by this new information.

“I’ve heard of Mandalorians,” you started, “but I’ve never known much of anything about them, let alone what they look like.”

He tilted his head. The silence hung heavy in the dense air, the small breeze doing little to ease it.

“You… are a skilled fighter,” he breathed.

“You sound surprised.”

“I am. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to fight that hard.”

“Oh, are all of you supposed to be indestructible or something?” you asked, a teasing glint in your tone.

He let out a huff. Instead of responding, his visor peered at you. You stared right back at it, a hundred questions suddenly flooding your brain.

Why was he wearing all that on a planet this hot? Was he not melting under there? Was he human? Did all Mandalorians have to be walking sheets of metal? He spoke before you could get one out.

“I’m… sorry about your cantina. I’ll pay you back. And sorry about… that.”

He gestured to where your hand was still resting on your sternum. You ran it over the area.

“What’s all that shit made of, anyway?” you asked, “Doesn’t look like any metal I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s beskar,” he said, “Most Mandalorian armor is made with it.”

“I see,” you said with a nod. “Well, I guess it did its fucking job. Been wincing all day.”

You gave a dry chuckle. His helmet’s gaze drifted downward, his hands clenching in and out of fists.

“If that’ll be all,” you began to turn. “I need to get some bacta on this thing.”

“...Right. I am sorry, again.”

“Thank you. I won’t ban you from the cantina for now-” you pointed an accusatory finger at him- “because you still owe me.”

He let out another huff. This one sounded closer to a chuckle; you wondered if all that armor made it hard to breathe or if he was just trying to play some kind of cool-guy persona.

Regardless, the walk home was a bit less miserable than it would’ve been before.

~~~~

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite durasteel giant,” you called with a grin.

The Mandalorian had come in periodically to drop off payments over the last couple weeks. You’d come to an agreement: three installments, enough to pay off some of the damages. He hadn’t technically been responsible for the entire mess, but he did give you a good chunk from the reward that caused the fight to begin with.

At his insistence, you were letting him work off the rest.

The work in question? Helping you build the rest of the furniture you couldn’t afford to buy. You led him to your workstation in the back after taking his payment.

“Any exciting updates since I saw you last?”

“Not much,” he said, “Same old.”

“Oh, come on,” you prodded, “there’s gotta be something!”

He let out a little chuckle.

“My ship got damaged.”

“Again?” you sat down on a crate and patted the spot beside you. Once the Mandalorian was situated, you handed him a piece of wood to glue onto a chair’s base.

“Who was after you this time? Mercenaries? Wild exes? Ooh, or other bounty hunters?”

He scoffed.

“You’ve got quite the imagination.”

You smiled and began smoothing out a chair leg.

“... it fell.”

You paused.

“Fell?”

“Yeah. Into a lake. It’s at the hangar right now getting repaired.”

You stared at him. He kept his visor pointed in front of him, hands focused on his task. You tried to imagine it: a giant hunk of metal, flying another giant hunk of metal, and crash-landing into water.

You burst out laughing. The wood clattered to the floor as you bent forward, hand clutching your stomach.

“Oh, that’s rich,” you breathed just before another fit of laughter rolled through you.

You managed to suck in a breath and slowly sat back up, wincing at the pulse of pain running through your torso.

“Wait- what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you waved a hand his way, bending once more to retrieve the wood. “It’s been weeks, and that still hurts?”

“It’s not that bad anymore.”

“... that’s not normal. You might have internal damage-”

“I’m fine, okay, I’ll just stick another bacta patch on it.”

“Obviously that hasn’t been working.”

“Look,” you turned and faced him, pointing a finger at his chest. “If I say I’m fine, I’m fine. Don’t be going all hero on me, now.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, you stood and made your way to your bag for the bacta patch.

~~~~

He didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the time he was there. But for the rest of that day and into the next, it was the only thing on his mind.

Just how hard had he hit you? You shouldn’t have been wincing as much as you were at this point. Something else had to be going on.

Din made his way to the cantina. He’d already done his work for this week, but the cooler air and welcoming atmosphere was hard to resist. You were nowhere in sight for the time he spent sitting there, and no one on the staff knew where you were.

He sighed. Maybe you’d gone home for the day. Or maybe you were in the back working on chairs.

… But wouldn’t they know that?

Din stood from his booth and rushed to the back. The small workspace was empty, and your bag was nowhere to be found. Maybe you hadn’t come in at all that day.

He made his way out, pushing past patrons and almost knocking over several drinks in the process, and stomped towards the open dunes. Was barging in on you at home like this the wisest option? No. But the unpleasant pressure building in his gut and squeezing him like a vine cared less and less about that.

Your heat signature was faint, but still visible enough in the sand. He followed the trail until he reached a tiny building, seemingly built into the ground. Clever use of the sand, he thought.

He approached the door and gave it a sharp knock. He called your name.

“You okay in there?”

He stood in the silent sand and waited. His breathing had become more shallow, his armor feeling twice as heavy under the harsh sunlight. When the door finally moved, he let out a sigh.

“What the fuck, how did you find me?!”

~~~~

“Are you okay?”

“Answer me, how the fuck did you know where I live?”

You held the door open just enough to poke your head out, and to say the sight of Shiny Man shocked you was the understatement of a lifetime.

You breathed in as deeply as your torso would allow as you waited for an answer. He pointed to his helmet.

“I followed your tracks. I’m a hunter, it’s kinda what I do.”

You sighed. Duh.

You opened the door and waved him in. After shutting it you turned and lifted your arms.

“Welcome to my humble abode. What the fuck do you want?”

“I had to check on you,” he said, “Something just doesn’t seem right.”

“Are you some kind of medic?” you asked, hands on your hips. “I thought I told you I’m perfectly-”

“Does it hurt to breathe?”

You stared at him, brows scrunching.

“It does, doesn’t it?”

You scowled and turned away from him.

“I don’t get why you’re so frazzled over this, man.” You crossed your arms over your chest and took a seat in your little living nook. “It’s my problem. I can deal with it.”

He let out a rugged sigh and came to stand in front of you.

“Hate to break this to you, but it’s my problem, too. I’m the one that caused it.”

You kept your gaze pointed at his shoes. What the fuck were all those tiny silver cylinders? This guy had more gadgets than you could keep up with; it seemed like you found a new one every time you saw him.

“I don’t get why you’re so stubborn about people helping you, but you should really have that looked at.”

“Oh, what, is this an excuse for you to get a better look at me, Mr. Silver?” you let out a dry chuckle. “You could’ve just said something. Or bought me a drink.”

He sighed and kneeled down to catch your sight.

“Look. This,” he patted his armored knee. “Is pure beskar. One of the toughest materials there is. And evidently I hit you with a lot more force than I needed to. That’s a bad combination; if I caused any kind of internal injury and you don’t address it, you could die. Is that what you want?”

How the hell could a small strip of black plastic be so intimidating? You couldn’t see his eyes, yet their gaze burned into you. That’s just not fair, you thought. Cheater.

You sighed.

“Okay. What do you want me to do?”

“Lift up your shirt. Let me take a look.”

“... What?!”

~~~~

Okay, so the boldness of his request — while shocking — was warranted.

Your torso was still discolored, as if the swollen bruise was now a permanent fixture on your skin. He had you lay down on your bed before he pressed a button on the side of his helmet and peered at it.

“... Just how many magic powers does that dome of yours have?”

“A few.”

He gently pressed two fingers to your side. You hissed.

“Hurts?”

You nodded. He repeated the action all around the bruise, and you told him which areas hurt.

“Okay, now I need to press in the middle. This might hurt more.”

You nodded and braced yourself.

He was right – you grunted as the pain seared through you. You grabbed his free hand and squeezed, a tiny ‘fuck’ slipping through your gritted teeth.

He froze. When you opened your eyes, he was staring at your conjoined hands. You took a breath and let go.

“Sorry,” you said, “Just needed something to squeeze.”

“DId it hurt a lot?”

You nodded.

He slowly retreated both hands, staring at them. Just when you were going to make a remark about not having cooties, he wiggled them free.

Your eyes went wide. They were big, veiny, and very human. His gaze found yours once more as he offered you his now bare hand.

“This should be more comfortable. I need to do some more pressing to see how deep this goes.”

You couldn’t help staring at his hand. Gold, slightly flushed skin, littered in indents from his gloves. You reached for it slowly, drawing back just a bit before grabbing hold.

He was warm. And somehow soft, despite the rough calluses that decorated his knuckles. A dull rush fluttered through your system.

Why did this feel so intimate? It’s a fucking hand.

“So,” you cleared your throat. “Is it like, a big deal to take off that stuff?”

“Some parts more than others.”

He placed his other hand back over your wound and pressed. You squeezed your eyes shut. The hand holding yours was steadier this time, accepting the full force of your pain. He was right – it was more comfortable.

“Keep breathing,” he said. “This one’s pretty bad.”

“What should I do?”

“I’ve got some stronger meds in my ship. If you can hang tight for a little while, I can go get them.”

You nodded as he got up and re-gloved his hands.

“Thanks, Mando.”

He paused midstep, facing away from you. He was stiff, and for a moment you wondered if you’d somehow offended him. He turned and gave you a curt nod, his gaze lingering a moment longer before he turned and left.

~~~~

No snarky, armor-related nickname? That’s never happened in the time he’s known you. This had to be really bad.

The wound was deeper than the bruise, just as he suspected. He ran through the specific materials he’d need to nurse it, picturing where each one was in the Crest.

Din raced back to the hangar. He bypassed the surprised mechanics and jogged up the ramp to seize his medpack. He looked through his other supplies for anything else he might need and tossed it all into a satchel.

On the way back, he stopped off at the cantina. He kicked himself for not asking if you’d eaten anything all day – you had to be starving.

~~~~

“Oh, fuck yeah, how’d you know? This is my favorite broth!”

You happily ate spoonful after spoonful of the warm soup, your body relishing in the sensation. You were propped up on your bed while the Mandalorian sorted through his bag of supplies.

Once you were finished eating, you let him get to work. Various sprays and creams found their way onto your abdomen, and per his instructions you took a couple of his fancy painkillers.

“What is all this crap, anyway?” you asked.

“This is for the swelling, this is for the internal damage, and this is to help jumpstart the healing process.” He held up each item as he spoke, both hands freed from his gloves and gauntlets as he applied them on you.

When his fingers ghosted below your belly button, you laughed. “Watch it, that tickles!”

He tilted his head at you and pressed on.

The final step was to wrap the bruise in a bandage. You stood as he rotated around you, making sure to cover every bit of it. You huffed.

“I feel like royalty having someone put a fancy garment on me,” you said, waving your spread arms around.

“Almost done, Your Majesty,” he breathed, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

“You? Cracking jokes?” you asked, wide eyes staring at where he knelt in front of you.

He looked up at you and shrugged.

~~~~

It took some time, but you did eventually heal.

The Mandalorian made more frequent trips back to Tatooine during that time. He insisted it was for work, but you couldn’t help teasing him.

‘Aww, is the big, scary tin man worried about me?’ you’d said.

He had sighed and lightly poked your stomach, chuckling when you hissed and swatted his hand away.

About two months later, the wound was gone.

The Mandalorian had paid back his debts by then as well, though he still stopped by from time to time. Whenever you asked why, he just shrugged.

It had been almost three months since you last saw him. Longer than normal.

You clocked out of your shift for the evening and made your way outside, the suns only just beginning to set. You decided to take a short walk around town before heading home, taking in the twinkling lights that hung above each structure.

A mechanical roar burst through the quiet night; you looked up to see the Razor Crest come in for landing. Your heart began to race, a smile splitting your cheeks. That had to be him.

But he kept flying. Thrown off as you were, you shrugged and kept walking. Maybe he’s heading for Mos Eisley instead, you thought.

~~~~

You had the next day off. You were sitting in your living room when a knock sounded at your door. You sat up straight and reached for your dagger, creeping up to the door until a familiar voice called for you.

You scoffed and dropped your guard, swinging the door open.

“Hey, Shinyface-”

You took in the scene before you. Your friend wasn’t alone.

In the Mandalorian’s arms was a small, green creature. You looked back up to his visor, your jaw dropped. He glanced between you and the little guy.

“I need your help.”

When he came inside and explained what happened, you hung on his every word. It shocked you to hear about his adventures with this little guy, how much of a fuss the Empire was making over him.

The creature cooed from its perch in his arm. He let it down, and it waddled around on your floor.

“Is it hungry or anything? Not sure what it eats but I’ve got… stuff.”

He chuckled. The sound was deep, gravely. It felt like a gentle hug to your eardrum.

“He’s fine.”

The two of you watched him with a calm silence surrounding you. Even though you couldn’t see the Mandalorian’s face, something told you he was smiling under there as he gazed at the baby. “So then,” you started, “what can I help you with?”

He let out a sigh.

“That’s… well, it’s a big ask. I- I won’t mind if you say no.”

“Spit it out, tin man,” you said with a smile.

He glanced down at the baby again before returning his gaze to you.

“I want you to come with me. Help me with the kid.”

Your brow narrowed.

“Me? Help with the kid?”

“I know it’s a lot, but you’re a really skilled fighter. And you’re very capable. And I don’t know how often we’ll be coming back here, depending on if the Empire comes for him again or something else decides to come along. And I’ve got some… other things I need to figure out, too.”

He paused and wrung his gloved fingers together. An image of his bare hands flashed in your mind’s eye, the memory of their warmth making your hand tingle.

“I at least wanted to see you one more time, since I know you wanting to leave is probably a longshot. It won’t be easy, but-”

He sighed, and didn’t finish.

You looked at him, his helmet now tipped down to stare at the ground. The baby made his way to the Mandalorian’s feet and wrapped his little hands around one of his boots.

You smiled. What a sight, you thought.

Your mind wandered, sifting through your memories of the past few months. Meeting the Mandalorian set off a course of little changes in your life; at first they weren’t great, but then they became positive. You wouldn’t trade any of them for the galaxy.

The thought of not seeing him, potentially ever again, made your gut coil up.

Logically, it made no sense. It was risky, dangerous, there was no way of knowing what would become of any of you. And you truly had no idea what else this guy had going on. Who knows what kind of trouble he’d be bringing you into? Your life here was safe, comfortable, and different enough each day to keep you engaged.

You quirked your head and took another look at the Mandalorian. So much mystery still surrounded him; you’d learned bits and pieces about his culture over the time you spent together, the gist of which being that you’d probably never know what he looked like under that silver bucket. You were okay with learning slowly, and you respected what he did share, learning early on that he didn’t like to be pushed past that.

But one nagging detail stuck out in your mind, one thing you really wanted to know. You leaned forward and rested your elbows on your knees.

“Hey, man, what’s your name?”

His helmet snapped back to you, tilted just a bit to the side. You shrugged.

“I get it if you don’t want to share. But it only just occurred to me that I don’t know what else to call you other than various versions of big, shiny, silver man.”

His shoulders shrugged with mild laughter, his head shaking.

“Those have… kinda grown on me.”

You smiled. There was your answer. Not only was this entire idea foolish, but it became even more so if you didn’t even know your companion’s name. The one person you’ll have to trust with your life, no matter what.

Luckily for the two of you, you were a class-A fool.

“Give me an hour.”

You stood up and began walking towards your bedroom.

“... For what?”

“To pack my shit and get someone else to run the cantina, T-face! I won’t make you admit how much you’d miss me, but we all know that’s really why you want me along.”

The baby giggled. You could get used to that sound.

****

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#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #grogu #fluff #request #prompt #answered

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yeehawbvby · 1 year

Text

Go, Lass (Brynjolf x F!Reader)

Rating: Teen+ (explicit language, canon-typical violence)

Summary: The guards of Markarth have you cornered in the Silver-Blood Inn, eager to steal you away to Cidhna Mine. Luckily, you’re gifted a bittersweet goodbye with your favorite guildmate before you’re imprisoned for only the gods know how long.

Author’s Note: This was a fun little idea I had based off my current Skyrim run! It takes place after The Forsworn Conspiracy/before No One Escapes Cidhna Mine, and before you meet with Endon for Silver Lining. The reader-insert doesn’t have to be the Dragonborn, and your race isn’t specified either.

Sorry for any errors, I didn’t proofread before posting. Hope y’all enjoy! x

Check it out on ao3!

___

“C-come on, I didn’t really kill all those people! Surely you’re overlooking some details—“

“Oh no, we’ve all heard stories of your honeyed words. You’re not getting out of this one that easy.”

Shit, shit, shit, you thought to yourself.

Looking back and forth between Brynjolf and the Markarth guards, you panicked. Your heart raced as your shoulders slumped and your chest visibly began to heave.

You’d never been arrested for stealing, in all those years of doing it to survive, followed by making it into a profession with the Thieves Guild; but due to a failed attempt to help a determined Breton rid Markarth of the Forsworn, you’d really fucked up.

Lots of weird politics. Far more killing than you were used to. So many ways to be framed in so little time. In the end, your comrade didn’t even make it — the guards made sure of his demise as soon as they’d been tipped off. All poor Eltrys wanted was a safe future for his wife and child, but that was supposedly too much to ask for in such a corrupt city.

The reason Bryn tagged along on your trip back to Markarth for this job was to bring you comfort and backup. You were two peas in a pod (albeit, Brynjolf seemed to see you as a sister whilst you hid your romantic feelings in plain sight), and you knew he’d help you if you truly needed it, no questions asked.

You’d kept your fingers crossed, upon the law’s arrival, that the tall Nord’s presence would intimidate the guards into brushing it all off. Unfortunately, your downfall seemed certain.

In that moment, the guards, citizens and denizens onlooking all wanted you imprisoned for life. And your favorite partner in crime was there to witness it all, barely even knowing what had gotten you into such a mess. His face looked neutral as ever, but his body language said otherwise. You knew Bryn well enough to be able to tell how tense he was.

You had three options. Option number one: run. Never come back. Screw this silversmith job that the Guild desperately needs, someone else can take care of it!

…Although, whoever is sent in your lieu might just muck it up.

Option two: Fight. Main issue there is that it would be subjecting yourself and Brynjolf both to a death sentence.

Option three: Turn yourself in. The prospect was terrifying, but you’d gotten yourself out of countless sticky situations. Perhaps you could figure out the details of an escape plan later. Maybe you could even organize a full-fledged jailbreak.

Everyone surrounding you knew what choices you had, merely not realizing the extra details that went into your third prospect. The inn was quieter than a crypt as they waited with baited breath to see what you’d do.

“I…” You looked over your shoulder at Bryn, a deep exhale shaking your form as his beautiful emerald eyes met your own gaze. “I submit.” His eyes widened. The guards made a move to capture you, but you halted them, your face whipping their way.“Wait.”

“What in the Gods’ names makes you think we—“

“I’m a cold-blooded killer, aren’t I?” You lilted, eyes stabbing into the man who’d been doing the talking for all of his crew. “If you don’t allow me to bid my friend farewell before I spend the rest of my fucking life in the mines, I could take out everyone in this room. Starting with them.”

You tilted your head towards the small family that hid behind the counter. The parents gasped, and their son whimpered in fear, hugging himself closer to his mother. Playing into the façade, you drew a smirk across your features.

“…Very well. You have one minute.” The guard added, glaring at Brynjolf, “No funny business or you’ll both perish.”

“Yes sir,” you lazily saluted.

You turned around to face Brynjolf, who looked pale with discomfort.

“Look, I don’t know what you’ve done, but—“

Before Bryn could get another word in, you tip-toed to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tender hug.

As he returned the gesture, you turned your face until your lips brushed his ear, and ever so softly whispered, “I will get out of there.” Bryn shifted a little, and you continued, “I don’t know when, or how, and maybe I won’t even survive; but trust me when I say that I’ll see you again soon, one way or another. I’ll make damn sure of it.”

Your partner in crime wanted to laugh. He knew you. He knew what you were capable of. No matter how foolish you were to already be conspiring an escape, he believed you could do it. But he didn’t wish to draw suspicion from the guards, so he simply nodded, an amused exhale that could’ve been mistaken for despair shaking his armored chest as he tightened his grip around your form.

You pulled away, but before you could make your way towards your captors, you felt a tug on your arm. Turning to the source, Brynjolf pulled you close, replacing his grip on your bicep with a tender caress to your cheek from both hands.

Before you could process what was happening, he tilted your gaze upward and dipped down to your height, sealing the goodbye with a kiss. You melted into his touch, your palms finding refuge against his broad shoulders.

As Bryn’s auburn beard tickled your chin, you smiled, basking in the taste and feel of his mouth. The warmth of his breath. The calluses of his large hands barely scratching your cheeks. After a few short seconds that you wished could be hours, he separated.

A crooked grin graced Brynjolf’s lips as he whispered to you his parting words:

“Go, Lass. Make their ancestors weep.”

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