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psychedelic-ink · 5 months

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ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓, 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒

ㅤㅤmodern!oberyn martell x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni, modern au

word count: 2k

summary: when you accidentally blurt out one of the fantasies that you kept locked up in your head, oberyn is more than eager to oblige to your request.

warnings: piv, anal sex, first time anal, rimming, fingering, lots of lube and praise

a/n: we did a secret santa for our server space sisters and my giftee was @iamasaddie! Happy holidays love! I hope you enjoy this little smutty fic, I definitely enjoyed writing it 🎄🎄🎄

can you guys believe i couldn't find one decent image of a peach being fingered???? a shame really

**stunning divider by the amazing @saradika <333

Everything about Oberyn drives you crazy.

The way he dresses, the way he smells, the melodic lilt of his voice—every part of him you adore and cherish. You’re undeniably lucky to have this man in your life and not only that but to have him as a partner is something you’re in awe of every single day. He satisfies you like no man ever could. He gives you every bit of himself. His tongue, his fingers. . . it’s almost as if the man was solely created to bring pleasure to you.

But, despite all of that, you’re still not as open as you wish to be. You can never be as blunt with him as he is with you. He needs to drag your desires out of you. Tease you until you snap and practically shout at him to make you come. Oberyn doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he’d said on multiple occasions how much he enjoyed it.

“Look at you so wet around my cock,” he purrs, the back of his tongue hitting the roof of his mouth roughly on the word cock. Oberyn’s right. You are wet. Soaked even. Every time he rocks you forward you feel the wet fabric of the bedding scraping your outer knee. You moan loudly into the pillows, fluttering around him as he fucks, fucks, and fucks himself deeper into you.

You’re not sure where you end and he begins. Sex with him is always like this. Mind numbingly beautiful. Satisfying. You feel the warmth of the Christmas lights framing your window kissing your sweaty skin. Your clit throbs. You don’t think you can hold on much longer.

But just as you’re nearing the edge, Oberyn’s thumb traces the tight rim of your other hole. He slowly pushes in, only a bit, the stretch adds enough pressure for another moan to come tumbling out your lips, your upper body fully falling. Oberyn hums, his hips slowing into a sensual grind. “Does my sweet girl want me to fuck this hole next?” This is something that he teases you about more often than not. He’s never acted on it though. “So fucking tight.”

He pushes his thumb till the first knuckle and it’s like electricity shooting down your spine. Your entire body jolts, the words leaving your throat before you even realize what you’re saying.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes yes yes—please fuck me there—”

Oberyn stops.

So does your heart.

Fuck fuck fuck. That was meant to be a secret.

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing!” you answer quickly and high-pitched. “I—I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Oberyn dips until his lean chest is firmly pressed against the curve of your spine. His lips touch your ear, his breath warm and inviting. The hand that was teasing your hole slips to the side to cup your ass. He kneads the muscle tenderly.

“Are you sure?” he hums. “Why would you hide this from me?”

“I. . . wasn’t. . .”

“Ah, so you admit it is something that you want.”

You let out an airy chuckle, “I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Just trick me into admitting things.”

“I just asked a question,” he says innocently. It’s a bit hard to focus on his words when he’s cock deep inside of you. “Now, tell me why this is the first time I’m hearing about this.”

Oberyn drags his lips down to the base of your neck and kisses you, your body melting into the sheets instantly. You’re glad he can’t see your face right now. You don’t think you can admit this while those observant eyes are looking down at you.

“I’ve never tried it before. And. . . I was nervous to ask about it,” you take a sharp inhale. “I did want to tell you. I just—You’re already so much better at this than I am, I didn’t want to look even more inexperienced.”

Before you know it Obeyn has you by the shoulders, twisting your body enough so that you’re facing him instead of keeping your head buried in the pillows. You chew on the inside of your cheek. He looks serious. Did you say something wrong?

“Better at what?” he asks even though he knows the answer.

“At sex.”

“Sex is not a competition, and for what it’s worth you are good at it. And I love being your first when it comes to intimacy. You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he starts moving again, the heavy drag of his cock between your legs making your eyes roll. “But, if you are still feeling anxious let me prove to you how much I love being your first—and last.”

Your lips curl into a small smile, “Last?”

His smile is sinister. Teeth showing as he dips to your neck, taking a slow, yet sharp, bite. A whimper rattles your throat. “Is it wrong for me to want to humor the idea that I’ll be fucking you somewhere no one has before and that no one else will ever touch you beside me?” Oberyn pulls out, your body immediately aching to be filled again. “Get on all fours.”

You oblige eagerly. Your arms are shaking as you prop yourself up, the inside of your thighs slick. Oberyn reaches for the nightstand and pulls out the bottle of lube. When he disappears behind you again you expect the cool feel of jel, but instead, you receive his mouth—and tongue.

“Oh fuck—”

“Be still,” he growls, gripping your hips. “Let me feast.”

He swirls his tongue around your asshole, hot saliva dripping right against it. You shudder as he pushes it through, teeth grazing the flesh gingerly. Oberyn parts your cheeks with both hands and pushes the wet muscle deeper. Pleasure rakes your body, your core throbbing with need. You’re close. Just a couple swipes of his tongue and you’re already there, ready to burst.

He mouths against you and when he deems you wet enough, he slips a finger inside. Your body tenses around him, the sensation foreign but not unwanted. Oberyn’s one hand cups your sex, fingers starting to draw patterns around your throbbing clit while he thrusts the fingers in and out. Moan after moan rips from your throat. The stimulation against your clit loosens you further. He slips another finger. Both knuckle deep as he fucks you with them.

“That’s it. You’re stunning like this. Beautiful.”

You fist the sheets, hips sloppily grinding back to meet the fast movement of his fingers. “O–Oberyn please. . .”

“Oh you think you’re ready?” he chuckles and for some reason, the sound urges a fresh gush of wetness to roll out of you. “Tell me how badly you want me to fuck this sweet ass and maybe. . .” he groans. “Maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

Your breath catches in your throat, “Please fuck me with your big cock Oberyn—I need it—Need you—”

He hums and something about the way he moves makes you think he’s not satisfied with your begging. And here you thought you’ve been doing a good job. He pulls away both hands and drags them up your back, cupping your shoulders. You’re in near tears when his cock spreads your folds and grazes against your clit. “You want me to fuck you here?”

Oberyn’s a cruel, cruel man.

“N—No,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Not. . . not there.”

“Where then?”

“My. . .” Damn it, your voice is trembling. “My ass.”

You say it silently, barely above a whisper. He hisses through clenched teeth, pulls back his hips, and snaps forward, fucking your thighs instead of where you really need him. “Louder,” he commands.

“Fuck me in the ass—” you practically shout. “Please please please fuck me in the ass—I want to feel you—Been wanting it for so long.”

You sigh happily at the feeling of a generous amount of lube being poured down from the bottle and directly onto your hole. Oberyn pours some into his palm, jerking himself until he’s fully coated in lube. The bulbous head of his cock teases your hole, your back arches for him, urging him to go on.

He fills you inch by glorious inch. The sounds he’s making behind you are downright sinful—your body reacts to his sweet moans, your name falling from his lips. You feel so full. Once again your upper body falls to the sheets, your poor arms too weak to support yourself any longer. Oberyn keeps your ass up in the air, still pushing his cock deeper.

“So big,” you slur, your body feeling aflame.

“Just a little more. You’re taking me so well, such a good girl.”

Your body jerks as he buries himself a bit deeper, has he always been this thick? “Say that again. Tell me how good I am, please.”

Oberyn blankets your shuddering body, holding himself still, he begins to whisper in your ear, “So good. You’re always my good girl, even when you do keep secrets from me. You’re the perfect glove for my cock. I am going to fuck you so good that your inside will be the shape of me.”

Just as you get wetter and wetter at his words, Oberyn fills you to the brim. You choke around nothing, every nerve thrumming with pleasure. Your body squeezes him tight and when you finally loosen a bit, Oberyn groans.

“Can I move?”

“Please.”

He squeezes your hips as he pulls out, the heavy press of his cock making you see stars. Then before you can gather yourself he’s pounding into you, stretching you to your limits. There’s a hum in your ears and vaguely you can hear him moaning your name. Your mouth floods with saliva, his teeth sinking into where your neck connects with your shoulder.

Desperately you reach back and take a hold of his wrist. Your touch only spurs him on, hips deliciously moving in and out. The sound of skin slapping against skin becomes louder and louder.

“Oh god,” you moan, your fingers tightening around his wrist. “I’m gonna come.”

“Can you come like this?” He asks genuinely. “With my cock in your ass?”

You don’t think you can actually. Your close. So very close that you can taste your orgasm on your tongue, but you just need a bit more, just a little touch—

“Do not—“ Your hand stills, you weren’t even aware that you’d begun to move your arm to stroke your clit. “Tell me. Tell me why you want and I’ll give you fucking everything.”

“I—I need you to touch me.”

Oberyn doesn’t make you say it twice. He’s stroking your clit with fast strokes, his hips in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. Hear licks you from the inside out and the pressure between your legs builds, builds and builds until you can’t take it anymore.

It happens all at once, your body shatters into a million pieces as you shudder around him, his cock splitting you open over and over. Between your moans you can hear him groaning your name, telling you how good you are, how perfect.

You feel the rush of wetness running down your thighs and Oberyn’s fingers that were so deftly circling your clit moves to your hip, squeezing the flesh.

“That’s my sweet girl, coming so pretty with my cock in her ass—I’m going to come, fill you until you’re dripping—“

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Your entire body clenches, hugging his cock tight. Oberyn comes with a shattered breath and shallow thrusts, he pushes forward, balls deep. Another orgasm washes over you, your body thrumming with pleasure.

“Fuck—“ he rasps, slowly easing himself out. A shiver crawls up your spine as come slips down between your cheeks and down your thighs. He kisses the skin between your shoulders. “You look so good like this. So full of come.”

“Wish I could see,” you hum.

“Next time I will bring a camera.” He collects himself on his fingers and slips them inside of you, a moan deserts your lips. “Or perhaps I should fuck you again.”

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again.

“Do not ever hide anything from me again. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x f!reader #oberyn martell x fem!reader #oberyn martell smut #modern oberyn martell #game of thrones fanfic #got fic #oberyn martell fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #space sisters secret santa 2023

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nariism · 6 months

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a place to call home — k. shinsuke

one bed + childhood rivals/friends to lovers

synopsis. "be kind, shinsuke." that's what yumie always told her grandson. and he would live by those words—even if it meant sleeping on the floor every weekend.

wc. ~2k

— for @mastering-procrastinating & an anon bff! 🫶 | event masterlist ✉️

The day after Kita Shinsuke turns six years old, the vacant house across the street suddenly springs to life with occupants.

His life spirals from being humble and quiet to chaotic in 24 hours. Suddenly, he's responsible for taking care of the bratty kid next door even though they're his age. His bedtime gets thrown out the window because he needs to chase them down to get them to brush their teeth, and his dinner always has some suspiciously missing elements that he never finds.

You become the centerpiece of his entire existence—a floating memory in every crevice of his mind.

Kita hears your laughter in the songs of his childhood; feels your hands roughly pushing him and dragging him around by the wrist; smells the minty toothpaste he forcefully shoved into your mouth after finally catching up to you.

It seems as though you and him were born to be polar opposites. Where he climbs you stumble. Where he sits quietly at the dinner table, you have a never-ending stream of anecdotes to tell Granny (even though half of them are greatly exaggerated—he was literally there to witness it). Where he behaves like a normal child, you can't even sit still during storytime in class.

However, your differences do little to remove you from his life. Where he goes, you go.

It's a consequence of growing up thirty meters from your front door and having you over when your parents suddenly uproot to go on week-long business trips.

And he wouldn't care so much, really, if it weren't for the fact that Granny had equal amounts of love to go around. That, and he would have to sleep on the floor whenever you came around.

For someone so disciplined and grounded, Kita Shinsuke was an envious child. He hated having you in his home, because it meant that his beloved Granny had to split her attention between the two of you. Because she would always tuck you in before him. Because you were louder, more needy, more everything. Because he often woke up with back pains at the ripe age of six years old.

When Kita turns eight, he finally bubbles over.

You're on the swings behind one of your friends, standing on the back of the seat and clinging to the chains. You're being careless, and he would be remiss if you were to hurt yourself.

"Get down from there," he scolds, standing in front of the swing set to stop you from continuing.

"Make me!" You exclaim back, childishly sticking out your tongue and rocking the swing back and forth, gesturing to your friend to keep going.

"Stop."

He comes up behind you and tugs at your shirt, making you wobble.

"Quit it, Shin!"

"You'll hurt yourself!"

He convinces himself that he only cares so much because Granny would have to spend more time with you to patch you up if you fell, and not because he would hate to see your snotty, crying face.

No, it doesn't make his heart squeeze. Not even a little.

Eventually, you end up face first in the wood chips anyway, with Kita hovering over you looking guilty as ever. He hadn't meant to pull you off so roughly, nor had he meant for you to land on the ground like that.

Oh. Why does it hurt him so much?

That night, you don't sleep in his room.

You end up tucked into Granny's bed instead, down the hall. He misses your presence—he even ends up on the floor though the bed is empty for him to take.

He blinks up at the space where you should be and feels bitterness swelling in his throat.

"Shin." His Granny calls softly when she eventually comes into his room. She doesn't sound the least bit angry, but he still aches with nothing but guilt.

"M'sorry." He knows the apology should be for you, but you couldn’t even look him in the eye over dinner.

His Granny only sighs, kneeling down beside his futon with a tired huff. A reminder of her age. He only feels worse.

"Be kind, Shinsuke."

"I'm tryin'," he argues weakly.

She's silent for a pause before she carefully tucks the silver hair from his eyes.

"You'd be lonely too if I were gone all the time, eh?"

"..."

Kita pulls the covers closer to his chin. Yes, he was aware there was a reason you were always here. There was a reason your house was devoid of life despite being filled with furniture. There was a reason you wanted Granny to love you so much, cementing in the gaps where your parents were always absent.

Did you ever want him to love you like that, too?

The next night, he sits you down on the edge of the tub with no complaints. And he's surprised that you accept the toothbrush into your mouth so easily, no resistance and no qualms like you usually have.

He sees the tired defeat in your eyes, feels the awkward tension in the bathroom, and guides your hand to the end of the brush so you can do it yourself.

"I'm sorry," he tells you without elaborating. You never need him to. (When you reminisce about this day, you sometimes laugh to yourself. You always did love how straightforward he was.)

His words are followed by a tense hug, his hands holding your head against his tummy. The brush stops moving in your mouth as you hug him back.

It dawns on him then: he's just as much of a kid as you are—feeling something as petty as jealousy when all you needed was a hug.

One day, he swears, he'll make it up to you. And he'll be nicer, too. It's the least he can do if he's all the company you have until your parents return.

Be kind, Shinsuke. That's what Yumie always told her grandson. And he would live by those words—even if it meant sleeping on the floor every weekend.

The day after Kita Shinsuke turns twenty-two years old, your apartment floods.

Of course he's the first one there, helping you move what you could salvage from the apartment into suitcases and onto the back of his truck. Of course he's the one to offer a place to stay, because if not him, then who else? And of course he's the one who holds you when you're stressing about what to do and where to go, hand firmly on your back as he lets you snot on his shirt like you've done since you were six.

For a brief moment, it feels as though he's just a little kid again with you making a mess of the home he grew up in.

Well, mess is a stretch—you've infinitely matured since starting food wars with him over dinner, but the point stands when he ends up helping you with an assignment. It had been pushed to the backburner with everything going on, whilst you were moving essentially everything you owned into his house as if you paid rent there.

He should have known that some things never change.

"I can't believe you kicked me out onto the floor."

Kita shuffles in the comfort of his duvet, resting atop his mattress. He stares at you with honey brown eyes swimming in conflict from the bed.

You curl tighter into a ball on the futon. And he knows this ploy—knows that you're trying to guilt trip him into swapping places with you. You've always been manipulative when it came to him, and god-forbid he be anything but an angel to you. (Because his Granny told him to, not for any other reason at all.)

"M'not the one who made a bet they couldn't win."

Words straight and cutting as ever, like a blade through your heart. You pout childishly, rolling over so that your back is turned to him.

It was your idea to challenge him when he said you were on your phone too much while working. It was your idea to be a brat and defiantly say that you could finish your assignment by midnight. It was your idea to bet this all on the most beloved yet war-inducing place in the entire house: Kita's bed.

It's hardly his fault that you got distracted with YouTube.

"I hate you, Shin."

"No y’don't."

"I do."

"No. You don't."

"Okay fine, I don't, but can we please swap now? It's freezin’ down here."

He can practically hear the pout still engraved into your face right now. And it takes every ounce of fight in him not to give into you with the snap of a finger. To argue back and list a million reasons why he should be allowed in his own bed.

Yet here he is, slipping out of the sheets almost instantly and crouching down beside the futon. He shakes your shoulder.

"Fine. Get goin' before I change my mind."

Any resolve left in his body melts away when you shoot upright with a bright smile, victorious as ever.

Sometimes you made it hard for him to imagine why he cared about you at all. You were too sly for your own good. How could he ever deny such a smile? It's not fair.

You scurry into his bed instantly, making yourself comfortable where you have hundreds of times before. "You should make sure I'm comfy. I am a guest in your house, y’know?"

Yes, Kita knows this all too well. You're trying to provoke him, to see how far you can push him until he breaks. Stubborn and obedient, he reaches down to slowly pull the blanket over your body.

There's a pause from you as he drapes you in warmth, blinking up at him dumbly as if you weren’t expecting him to do so without complaint.

"I'm..." You seem to choke on your own words, silently contemplating whether or not you should push further. "My face is still cold."

His hands hold your face instantly, warming your cheeks skin-to-skin. You stare at him with wide eyes, looking so surprised that he wonders if what he's doing is a mistake. But then your hands gently cover his, and you tug him closer until his knee is sinking down on the mattress beside you.

"M'super cold."

"It's twenty-two degrees in here," he informs you flatly.

You make a face, nose slightly scrunched in thought and brows pinched. It's such a troubled expression that he can't help but scoot a little closer.

He's being kind, that's all. He's just making sure you're okay as a friend. No, not even a friend—an obligatory companion. The lifelong thorn in his side. The reason why his back still aches some days.

Be kind, Shinsuke.

When did being kind turn into this? Into moving involuntarily, into having a second nature response to you? Into a stubborn body only movable by one soul, one voice, one pair of hands?

"Keep me warm, Shin."

He gives in to your whims without reason, without logic or hesitation. You are the sole person able to break down any semblance of routine that's been methodically coded into his muscles.

He doesn't get you, perhaps he never would. He would never completely understand your wishes, or how your cheeks were so cold yet burning hot at the same time, or why he was submitting to you so easily.

The only thing he knows is that you are still somehow the centerpiece of his life, dancing in the middle of it all like a black hole sucking in everything else; the whirlpool swirling in the center of calm waters; the supernova of his galaxy.

"...'Kay."

Maybe he doesn't need a reason to care about you. Maybe your very existence is reason enough. And he’s okay with that for once in his life. He had never been the type to go with the flow, but your hands are dragging up his neck and pulling his body onto the mattress.

That night, you both fall asleep in the bed.

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vivwritescrappythings · 4 months

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Just Love Me and Eat

Vampire!Eddie Munson x Reader

You watched Eddie die, so this must be some nightmare in your room.

tw: blood, biting, i think its gender neutral?

also just really loved Bones and All and the concept of cannibalism/vampirism as love so made this lil guy

Word Count: 2k

Part two

masterlist

—

Your room was dark, the curtains pulled shut and the lights off. It had been a month since Eddie died and you didn’t have the energy to pantomime life without him. You had no sense of what time it was, every day simply becoming another day where he was gone and you were left unmoored. If it wasn’t for the sound of birds chirping and kids playing outside, you wouldn’t have guessed time was passing at all.

You didn’t sleep, you hardly ate. Nancy and Robin brought you food like offerings, using their keys to enter your apartment and leaving simple meals outside your bedroom door with soft knocks on the wood. Their little tupperwares were probably the only things keeping you alive–you knew Eddie would be upset if you wasted food on his account.

The Hellfire shirt Wayne had given you was soft and well-worn, but it hardly smelled like Eddie anymore. The familiar scent of tobacco and leather and the incense that he used to try to cover the stink of weed was fading, soon you wouldn’t be able to detect it at all under the sharp tang of your sweat.

Curled up in your comforter, you kept thinking about how it should’ve been you instead. Eddie would have known how to keep living, he would’ve been able to move on. You? You were just surviving.

Sleep threatened the edges of your vision, you’d been staring at the fuzzy polaroid photo you had propped on your nightstand. It was of you and Eddie at some party, he was smiling broadly at the camera with you tugged neatly to his side. Both of you held solo cups, your head rested on his shoulder like it was meant to be there.

It was your last good memory of him, before Chrissy Cunningham died and everything you ever knew fell to pieces.

—

Your dreamless sleep was interrupted by something tapping at your window. At first you thought—prayed—you were hallucinating it. Maybe it was just a lack of sleep accumulating to finally make you hear things. But it insisted, the knocking at your second-floor window was incessant enough that it managed to pull you from your bed.

The quilt came with you as you carefully crossed the room to your window, trepidation making you bite your lip before you finally pulled back the curtain. It was a quick motion, ripping off the band-aid with the expectation of seeing a woodpecker or a squirrel or something normal on the other side.

What you didn’t expect to see was your dead boyfriend in the moonlight.

You nearly screamed, your eyes widening into dinner plates as you clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise. It must’ve been a dream, or a nightmare. In your effort to get away from the window you tripped over discarded shoes on the floor and fell back onto your butt. Panicked, delirious tears roll down your cheeks as you start to roughly pinch the skin on your exposed thigh.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” you mumbled to yourself as you hyperventilated through the tears. It couldn’t be Eddie, Eddie was dead. He was in The Upside Down. You were never getting him back.

It was too late when you realized your window was unlocked, not-Eddie placing a palm flat against the glass to push it up. It was slow, you were too stunned to get up and try to close it. You were just outright sobbing on the floor of your bedroom, angry welts across your leg from where you’d been pinching at it almost hard enough to draw blood.

This Eddie looked different… he looked off. His eyes weren’t brown anymore: they were too bright, almost looking like a cat’s eyes in a photograph. Your window was fully open now, not-Eddie pitching himself through with a grace you’d never seen before.

“Did you miss me, baby?” he asked, his voice sounding the same as it used to. Your heart twisted, breaking into a million pieces—you’d dreamt of Eddie before, but never like this. His clothes were ripped and dirty, his battle vest in shreds along with the shirt beneath it. You could see the gnarled, twisting scars on his arms and his neck and parts of his torso through the shirt—everything the demobats had done to him.

He took in the state of your bedroom, appraising it with the careful eye of someone who had been there many times before. You kept crying into your hand, not able to catch your breath. Your head was spinning, part of you wanting to wake up from the dream as the rest wanted to stay asleep—you wanted to soak up time with any shred of Eddie you could have.

Not-Eddie took a few careful steps toward you, his not-so-white Reeboks softly hitting the ground as he crouched in front of you. He had his Hellfire shirt on under his shredded battle vest and leather jacket, blood and dirt and foggy black stains clinging to the fabric. The one Wayne had given you was an extra, something found in the back of Eddie’s closet.

“You… you’re dead,” you finally croaked, your voice cracking and raspy from disuse. The breath you took rattled in your lungs, the scent of earth and blood and something vaguely like tobacco filling your nose. “I watched you… the bats…”

It was rushing all back to you, the way you screamed when all the bats fell around Eddie. You and Dustin ran to him, watching him die in your arms. Steve carried you out of the Upside Down kicking and screaming.

Not-Eddie tutted at you, his yellow eyes roving over your form. They paused at your neck, at the hem of the Hellfire shirt against your thighs. Something inside you kept telling you to get off the floor and run, but you remained rooted to the spot.

“You really think some silly little bats could keep me away from you?” Not-Eddie asked, his head tilting. “Nothing could keep me from you. Nothing.”

His hands were freezing when they wrapped under your knees to drag you closer. Fat tears rolled down your face, stinging at your eyes and hot against your cheeks.

“This can’t be happening.”

Not-Eddie chuckled, his smile revealing perfectly white teeth. His canines and outermost incisors in the top row of his teeth were elongated, looking like fangs more than anything else. Your mind stuttered, frantically trying to keep up.

His hands were still on the backs of your knees, his gaudy costume rings cold against your skin. His calloused fingers pressed at the popliteal veins at the backs of your legs. If anything he seemed to be preoccupied with rolling them under his fingertips, tracing along them.

“Guess they weren’t normal bats, baby,” he muttered, rolling from crouching on his feet to kneeling between your legs.

Your breath hitched as he bent over you, one dirt-crusted hand pressing against the floorboards near your head. His long curls fell down around you, curtaining your dark bedroom from your view as your breaths became shallow. He was so close to your Eddie that you almost found yourself convinced.

He leaned down, nosing at your neck. Hot breaths huffed at the curve between your neck and shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he growled in a low voice, a large hand pressing to your sternum to pin you to the floor. He was so strong, it was like he had placed a weight on your chest.

“I’m so sorry,” you whined, your voice pathetic and soft. You stared up at the ceiling, your hands loosely tugging at his leather jacket. “I shouldn’t have let Harrington drag me away, should’ve stayed.”

He shushed you, pressing his nose to your skin and inhaling deeply. “S’okay, baby. You’ll make it up to me,” he mumbled, his voice seeming only partially present in the conversation. Not-Eddie’s lips pressed to your throat.

“Your heart is beating so fast… smells so good,” he groaned, licking up the side of your throat for a moment. “I’m starving, baby. You gonna help me?”

His voice was dripping with soft affection, like someone talking to a skittish wild animal. “Eddie…” you whined, your instincts screaming that something was wrong.

“Shh shh,” he mumbled, placing open mouthed kisses over your pulse point. His voice was broken, a desperation in it that you understood and recognized. “It’s okay... I just gotta eat, I’m so hungry. Haven’t eaten anything… wanted to see you first.”

Your head was spinning, the realization that this is your Eddie snapping into place like a sudden, infallible truth. Your heart was still pounding against your ribs like a hummingbird trapped in a cage. For the first time you felt like prey as Eddie kept you cornered against the floor. But he was still gentle, not taking what he easily could have.

“I love you,” you whispered, tears clouding your eyes. He was different, more monster than man, but this was Eddie. Your Eddie.

“Love you so much,” he said, his teeth scraping against your delicate skin. The words sounded like a prayer, like they’d been ripped from his chest. He seemed stuck, his muscles clenching as he traced his tongue and teeth along the thick vein in your throat. “Missed you.”

You nodded, swallowing thickly. “Eat, Eddie. S’okay,” you mumbled despite your instincts screaming at you to get him off of you.

“I know you’re hungry, let me help.” You tilted your head, pressing your throat to his teeth. A lamb to the slaughter. He stiffened at the action, fighting to keep himself under control. “Don’t want you to be hungry. Not anymore.”

The sound he made was like he got punched in the stomach. Eddie groaned, his fingers pressing into the floorboard hard enough to make the wood split. Your brow pinched, concern running through you. He still hadn’t taken action, not yet.

Your fingers threaded into the soft curls at the nape of Eddie’s neck, pulling his head closer. “You won’t hurt me, Eds. Just love me and eat.”

He grunted, the ghost of a nod coming from him as his nose bumped your neck. The pain of Eddie’s teeth sinking into your neck made you whimper. His hand moved from your sternum to caress your cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth soothingly. The sting faded to warmth, Eddie’s lips pressed firmly against your throat as he suckled at you.

After a while you could hardly keep your hand in his hair, so dizzy and tired that the back of your knuckles smacked against the floor. You felt like you were melting into it, vision doubling as your eyes crossed. Your breaths were shallow and slow. It was hard to think, your mind not able to even tell what time it was or how long it had been.

But your exhaustion was enough, Eddie pulled away. He lapped at the remaining blood on your skin for a moment before sitting back completely. You looked up at him with dizzy eyes, vaguely categorizing the way blood was smeared across his full lips and down his chin.

“C’mon, baby,” he said, gathering your loose limbs from where you’d sprawled on the floor. He seemed more himself now, his actions considerate and his voice back to its normal cadence. He lifted you in a smooth motion, carrying you to bed with a tenderness you remembered from him. He was so much stronger now.

After situating you on the covers, he removed his jacket and toed off his shoes. His body settled behind yours, making the mattress dip as he pulled your spine to his chest. You were fighting with every blink, trying to keep your eyes open for as long as possible. If this was a dream you didn’t want Eddie to disappear.

“I’ll be here when you wake up, I swear,” he said into your hair, his large hands smoothing along your waist and your bicep. The reassurance was enough for you to drift off, the blood loss pulling you toward unconsciousness. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

#stranger things #eddie munson x reader #vampire!eddie #vampire!eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #kas!eddie #vampire #bones and all movie #gn!reader

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chvoswxtch · 11 months

Text

forgiveness

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader x frank castle

summary: matt decides frank needs an attitude adjustment and uses you as a demonstration.

warnings: swearing, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

a/n: this came directly from my other head, if ya know what I mean (all puns intended).

word count: 2k

[part one: jealousy][part three: revenge]

Matt could hear what Frank was doing to you from three blocks away. He had one of your thighs draped over his as you both sat on the couch, your hands bound behind your back with his favorite leather belt while his thick fingers strummed lazily through your folds like he was playing his favorite song.

Not even the blaring siren from the fire truck racing down the street to his right could combat the sound of your breathless and desperate whines of Frank’s name for mercy. Jealousy still singed along Matt’s nerves, but irritation and frustration polluted his bloodstream as Frank’s previous taunt echoed between his ears.

Hurry your ass up. Clock’s tickin’.

Frank appeared to have gotten too complacent over the past few months, taking advantage of Matt’s thinly veiled patience and sanctioned forgiveness. He had also gotten too comfortable, thinking because he laid with the Devil that meant he was safe from the hellfire.

Frank was due for a fucking attitude adjustment.

As Matt burst through the front door, both yours and Frank’s heads whipped around in that direction, surprised by his sudden and bold entry. The dark look on Matt’s face made you shudder, and Frank’s fingers paused momentarily, hovering over your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Well, ‘bout time you showed up, Red. Thought I said-”

In a flash, Matt had crossed the threshold in record time, and he was suddenly towering over Frank, his hand darting out to grab him by his throat. Matt’s fingers coiled tightly around Frank’s neck, squeezing hard enough that Frank’s eyes flew open in shock and he swiftly retracted his hand from between your thighs completely to grip onto Matt’s wrist. Matt tossed his glasses carelessly onto the coffee table behind him so that Frank could see the feral look in his hazel eyes that were a storm of lust and anger. He leaned in so that their noses were only a millimeter apart, the corner of his lip curled up into a menacing snarl as he bared his dazzling teeth.

“I don’t give a fuck what you said. You seem to have forgotten how to not be such an asshole, Castle. She stays home to take care of you, and you’re being a fucking tease. I call to check in, and you start playing with her pussy, knowing I can hear it over the phone. You seem to have come home with a fucking attitude, and we’re gonna fix that right now.”

Matt’s words caused an involuntary moan to slip past your lips, and if that hadn’t caught his attention, the fresh flow of arousal that seeped into the couch cushion beneath you certainly did. Matt let out a low growl in his chest that had your cunt fluttering and Frank’s hands clenching into tight fists.

Frank’s arrogant mistake was thinking that Matt only let the Devil out behind the guise of his horns on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. But it took one night of relentless teasing for him to learn that the Devil and the man were one in the same. After experiencing just how unmerciful and vengeful Matt could truly be, Frank hadn’t made that error again.

Until now.

Matt roughly let go of Frank’s throat, his burning blank stare still fixated directly on his face.

“Don’t move. Don’t touch yourself. Don’t speak.”

Frank’s lips instantly parted to protest, a deep furrow nestling between his thick brows, but another hardened glare from Matt coupled by his head tilting to the side in challenge had him grunting in response. Satisfied with Frank’s obedience, Matt turned his attention to you, his gaze softer as he knelt down in front of you, reaching behind you to free your hands from the confinements of Frank’s belt.

“Are you gonna behave for me, sweetheart?”

Matt’s breath was warm against your neck, and the feeling of his coarse facial hair brushing against your sensitive skin made you shiver.

“Yes, Matty.”

You could feel his devilish grin stretching across his lips as he pressed them against the juncture above your collarbone, delicately sinking his teeth into your skin as he inhaled your scent deeply and hummed lowly in his throat.

“That’s my girl. Let me take care of you, angel.”

Matt wasted no time burying his head between your thighs. He brought your legs up and over his broad shoulders, his hands gripping onto your hips to pull your cunt closer to his greedy lips, and he moved his tongue against your clit in a way that had you writhing uncontrollably. He didn’t bother holding your hips down and let you tangle your fingers in his hair to guide him wherever you wanted. In complete contrast to how he had treated Frank just mere minutes ago, Matt let you use him how you pleased, getting as much pleasure from it as he was giving you.

He could feel Frank’s eyes locked on his movements, hardly even blinking so that he didn’t miss a single second of Matt devouring your pussy like a man starved. He could almost taste the saliva building up in Frank’s mouth, knowing it was watering at the thought of your taste. The sound of Frank’s calloused fingertips brushing along the rough denim of his jeans towards the mountain that had formed in his lap caught Matt’s attention quickly. Matt quickly reached for Frank’s belt and snapped the leather harshly against the back of Frank’s hand to halt his movements, and a low growl laced with warning tear tore through his chest. The vibration of it directly against your clit nearly made you combust right then and there.

Before you could reach your peak, Matt removed his lips from your swollen clit, shushing you gently with his index finger against your lips as you immediately began to whine in protest. He rose up slowly from his knees and took a seat on the couch right next to Frank. He made a show of languidly unbuckling his belt, carefully tugging down his zipper, and lazily pulled out his aching cock while you and Frank watched with bated breath.

Matt held his open palm out in front of Frank’s face and tilted his head in his direction slightly.

“Spit.”

The low and commanding tone of his voice went straight to your core, and it must have had the same effect on Frank, because he didn’t hesitate to do exactly what Matt asked. Matt collected the arousal leaking from his slit and used that in combination with Frank’s saliva to lubricate his cock as he wrapped his hand around his base and gave himself a few gentle strokes.

His lips parted into a cocky grin hearing the way you and Frank both groaned in unison at the sight.

Matt patted his thick thigh as he motioned towards you with his chin.

“Come here, baby. Come sit.”

He didn’t wait for your frazzled brain to catch up with his command. He grabbed you by your hips and pulled you onto his lap, spreading your legs wide open with your thighs draped over his own so that your knees were on the outsides of his. Matt wrapped his arm tightly around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest.

“On your knees, Castle.”

“Red-”

“On. Your. Knees.”

The low growl that accompanied his words had your cunt clenching around nothing, and Frank let out a disgruntled noise before he stood up from the couch, only to lower himself onto his knees in front of you and Matt. You felt a pang of sympathy in your chest for Frank, seeing the look of absolute agony in his deep brown eyes. As you reached out towards him, Matt quickly gripped onto your wrist, his deep voice dripping into your ear laced with warning.

“No. This is his punishment.”

“C’mon, Red. Was only messin’ earlier. Wasn’t actually bein’ mean to her, or you.”

“I don’t remember giving you permission to speak, Castle. Give me your hands.”

Frank clenched his jaw tightly as he stared over your shoulder at Matt, his face a twisted up concoction of frustration and distress. Wordlessly, he offered his hands up and watched as Matt bound his wrists together tightly with his own belt that he had used to bind you.

Desperation was not something you could usually detect in Frank Castle’s voice, but it was pouring from his words, and you could see the despair glimmering in his big brown eyes. Matt seemed to ignore his defense, reaching between your thighs to grab his cock and slip it through your soaked folds, letting out a quiet hiss in your ear as your welcoming heat enveloped him. Your head fell back against his chest at the delectable intrusion, and Matt’s voice was hoarse by the time his cock was fully nestled inside you.

“You know the rules, Castle. Teasing sluts don’t get rewarded for their bad behavior. Only good boys get rewarded. Isn’t that right, sweetheart? You get treated nice when you’re a good girl, don’t you?”

Matt had you completely at his mercy, his hands firmly gripped onto your hips, lazily moving his hips upwards as he fucked you slowly and purposefully. He had his chin resting on your shoulder, his nose nuzzled against your neck, pressing warm, open-mouthed kiss to your sensitive skin. The way his cock was dragging against your walls had already caused your brain to short circuit, and you couldn’t hardly focus on his words.

“Yes, Matty…”

Matt could feel Frank’s eyes watching the way his thick cock split you open, disappearing inside you over and over and over. He could hear the thunder booming in his ribcage, feel the heat that layered over his skin, and the way his index and middle finger twitched on his right hand, as if he were pulling an invisible trigger. Matt could also feel the way his massive cock strained against the front of his jeans, and he was almost shocked it hadn’t busted through the zipper at this point. He let out a low groan as the taste of Frank’s arousal weeping from his aching tip nestled in the air.

Matt’s teeth grazed along your neck, lightly nipping at your heated skin while digging his blunt nails into the flesh of your hips, his voice lowering to a dangerous octave in your ear.

“Tell him how it feels, baby.”

“Feels so good, Matty..”

The low whimper coated with anguish Matt’s ears caught from Frank cracked his stubborn resolve. Matt enjoyed teasing Frank, but he never wanted to torture him. He just wanted to get his message across.

Matt could never stay mad at Frank.

“Think we should let him earn his forgiveness, hm? Think he deserves that, angel?”

“Yes…he’ll be good…be so good, Matty.”

Matt reached his hand out in front of him, and Frank immediately sought out his touch, nestling his face into Matt’s palm.

“What do you think, Frank?”

“Lemme make it up to ya, Red. To both of ya.”

Matt couldn’t help but grin devilishly hearing the lust melting from Frank’s pleading voice. His craving was palpable, and it made Matt feel a surge of power. No one knew how to bring the Punisher to his knees like him except for you.

He dragged the pad of his thumb along Frank’s plump bottom lip gently before roughly gripping onto the back of his neck to drag his face towards your cunt.

“Well go on, then. Earn your forgiveness.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @desert-fern @day-dreaming-goddess @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

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freelancearsonist · 4 months

Text

Sensation

Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Rated MA for 2k of pure porn with barely any plot, consensual blindfolding, dom/sub dynamics (Matt punishing reader), oral sex, piv sex, all the sex

1,975 Words

A/N: as always thank you to my love @shakespeareanwannabe for being my best beta reader (and for the prompt ofc) 🖤 i wrote this in one sitting at like 10PM so sorry if it sucks LMAO

“This is a punishment,” Matt reminds you, his breath heavy enough against your ear to send a shiver down your spine. He knows it, of course–if your eyes weren’t firmly covered with his tie, you’d be able to see the smirk that slowly spreads across his full lips.

In your defense, you’re not sure how exactly he expected you to behave tonight. He had you get all dolled up so he could take you to a fancy restaurant for dinner, and of course he was the most edible thing in the entire establishment. It’s his own fault for looking so damned fine, really. If he hadn’t worn that sleek, form-fitting suit with that blood-red tie (the exact one now being used as your punishment blindfold), you wouldn’t have had to misbehave. And really, kissing him deeply in front of the whole restaurant wasn’t that bad. Even if you did grab his ass a little a lot. How could you possibly be expected to keep your hands to yourself?

Not that you’re really complaining about this punishment. Your eyes may have been the thing to get you into trouble in the first place, but every sensation is heightened so much further without their use

For instance, the way his hands trace down your thighs. Normally it’s nothing more than a touch to you, a mark of the journey on his way to where you really want him. Tonight, it’s more than that. It makes your body jolt ever so slightly when his hands first make contact, and then you notice the intention of his feather-light pressure as they move. It’s meant to drive you crazy, and it works perfectly. Normally, it would take more effort to get you squirming. Yet this simple touch rips a completely involuntary whine from your throat. You hear him chuckle, and you know he’s eating this up. Part of you wants to rebel, to not give him the satisfaction of witnessing you enjoy your punishment. But the other–larger–part of you wants nothing more than for his touch to continue.

You don’t have to ask–he’s gracious in that aspect. This time his hands work their way up, gliding over the smooth expanse of your stomach to his target. He revels in the gasp you emit when his fingertips dance under the curves of your breasts, almost but not quite touching in a way that makes you want to growl and beg for more.

But begging isn’t what’s on his mind tonight. He’ll give you anything you want without making you ask–Matt’s goal is stimulation.

And that’s why he wastes no time cupping your breasts in his hands, running the roughly calloused pads of his thumbs over your taut nipples. It feels divine; the perfect mix of friction and pressure.

You’ve known from your first romp in the sheets together that your boyfriend is talented, especially when it comes to bedroom activities. He’s never failed to make you feel euphoria beyond your wildest dreams. But you’ve never appreciated his skilled hands as much as you do in this moment.

And then his mouth takes over for the hand that slides up to idly hold your neck–not applying pressure, just resting there as a subtle reminder of his power over you–and you swear you’re dying. You must be halfway out of your body and on the way to heaven because nothing should be able to feel this good. Especially not something as simple as his ever-so-soft and wet tongue gliding smoothly in a tight circle before laving directly over your nipple.

You jolt from the sensation and his hand is quick to shoot down to your hip, a steadying pressure to keep you in place as he continues the assault with his mouth.

It’s a lot, the combination of his hands and his mouth on your delicate skin. Especially with your senses tuned and stretched tight as piano wire. But it’s not too much, and he knows it. He knows he can keep pushing, and he wants to. He’s curious exactly what your breaking point will be.

Matt is rarely impatient, but he is now. The feeling of your trembling muscles, the scent of your neglected arousal, the sound of your panted breaths–it all drives him wild with desire. He’s aching and desperate for you in a way that he’s tried to train himself never to be. Patience is a virtue, after all; but there’s nothing virtuous about Matthew Murdock when he has you like this.

He trails his tongue down, down, down; only pausing for a moment to suck a deep velvet mark into the flesh of your stomach. It’s worth the reaction that comes from you–simultaneously trying to squirm away yet push closer to him. He loves you like this, so carnally unraveled. There’s not a thought in your head–a head that’s normally swirling with genius and creativity–which is such a luxurious rarity. He’s proud of himself, really, for his ability to unwind you so easily.

He takes a moment for himself, soaking in your scent and sounds as he settles himself between your spread thighs. There are few places he loves to be more than right here, with your legs wrapped around his head and his tongue buried in you.

There are few places you love for him to be more, too. Especially like this, with every nerve in your body on high alert. The anticipation is deadly–without your sight, you never know when his next touch is coming. It’s maddening, entrancing, arousing. You don’t even have the wherewithal to be embarrassed of how wet you are; not that he would ever expect you to be. Matt is never quite satisfied until he has you dripping enough to necessitate a sheet change once he’s done ruining you.

You’re halfway there already, and he can’t deny himself any longer. You owe him, really–he had to skip dessert after your little display at the restaurant so he could drag you home.

Maybe he has a thing for your possessive nature. He doesn’t really feel the need to put a label on it.

The first light flick of his tongue against your waiting core is hardly enough to feel. Perhaps under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t feel it at all. But like this, with every ounce of your being wound tight with anticipation, it feels like a hot bullet of pleasure slicing through your cunt. It makes you whine and squirm, necessitating his large hands to come to your hips so he can hold his dessert in place.

The second flick of his tongue isn’t really a flick but more of a drag. Hot and languid, savoring the sweetness of your want for him. It’s Matt who moans this time–deep in his throat, completely unconscious. He can’t help it, not when you taste this good.

He really does want to drag this out. He wants to take his time making a meal of you, savor every second of your taste on his tongue. But he’s desperate, and teasing is out the door when he gets like this. There’s no time for you to prepare before he’s delving in, drinking from you like you’re his fountain of youth.

It’s harsh, the sudden overload of sensation. It makes you writhe under his strong grip and gasp for breath as you try not to shatter into a billion pieces. It makes your thighs clamp around his head, holding him into place as a plea for him to not stop, to never stop. It makes your stomach churn, muscles aching from how tightly your internal coil is wound.

It makes you tumble over the edge with barely a second’s notice.

A fresh wave of wetness meets his greedy tongue as he basks in the sound of your moans and sobs, and suddenly he’s starting to wonder if this punishment isn’t for him. It must be, because the deep ache in his balls and the way his pants have tightened so unbearably can’t be anything but a punishment.

He’s eager to remedy this situation as his soft lips trace gentle kisses into the meat of your thighs, giving you a short reprieve from the onslaught of stimulation. Emphasis on short–all the while he’s unbuckling his belt and hastily shoving his pants and boxers down his thighs, too desperate to take the time to bare himself for you.

“Ready?” He asks, taking the time and attention to set a gentle kiss on your chin as he positions himself between your legs.

You nod, but it’s not enough.

“Words, baby.” That stern tone of his could make you do literally anything.

“Yes,” you say, and he’s balls deep before you’ve even finished the word.

It’s nothing short of overwhelming. The sheer size of him, which is already daunting on a regular day, is nearly unbearable. He’s stretching seemingly every inch of you, bullying your body into accommodating his girth. You feel his tip kiss your cervix, and it makes tears of pleasure prickle at the corners of your eyes.

In his favor, he does give you a moment to recover from the sudden shock of his intrusion. And then he rolls his hips–not even pulling out, but somehow managing to get even deeper. You feel him so completely it’s almost as if he’s in your god damned throat. And he relishes it; the salt of your tears, the hitch of your breath, the tremble of your chest.

He draws out almost completely, then bullies his way back in. Your cunt squeezes so tight around him that he actually swears–your good, sweet, church-going Matt curses the heavens for making you so tight and wet and willing. Because even as he sets his harsh pace, slamming into you with something akin to ferocity, you don’t complain. You take every inch of him with gratitude, nails scratching down his back because your blissed-out mind needs some form of purchase.

The blindfold really isn’t doing anything for you at this point; your eyes are squeezed so tightly shut that you hardly even register it’s there anymore. Your mind can’t focus on a single sensation, but it processes everything–the slick glide of his cock pounding into you, the slap of his thighs against yours, his mouth trailing panted kisses over your neck. There’s so much sensation that it overwhelms you, turns you numb as you clench even tighter around him.

He almost asks if it’s too much, although the thought of stopping now makes his gut ache. But there’s no need–as soon as his thumb sweeps lightly over your clit, you’re shattering. The pleasure of it makes you shake and cough, like your engine’s on its last leg and you’re about to break down on the side of the road. Your cunt weeps with the stimulation, soaking down your thighs and his until there’s no hope of redeeming these sheets.

Matt doesn’t let up until your contracting muscles go limp, just in time for him to spill deep inside of you with a final harsh thrust of his hips. It’s warm and hot and the perfect sensation to end on, even as he slowly eases his length out of you so he can flop down next to you.

There’s nothing but the sound of heavy panting for a moment or two, and then Matt’s fingers find your face so he can undo the tie wrapped over your eyes. Then his lips are on you again; this time pressing gentle kisses over your sore eyelids.

“You okay?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. You’re not quite sure how to express just how okay you are. You decide on, “The only punishing part of that will be if we never do that again.”

He laughs as he pulls you to cuddle against his chest, because he’s thinking the same exact thing.

THE END

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#cece writes #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil smut #daredevil fanfiction #mcu fanfiction

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peachdues · 9 months

Note

Hihi 🥺

Would you mind doing "What's the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?" with Akaza? Or if you're not comfy with that, maybe "Are we really still arguing while having sex?" with Sanemi?

Thank you ahead of time and congrats on 2k followers!

AKAZA ☾ NSFW

CAT GOT YOUR TONGUE?

PEACH'S 2k MILESTONE EVENT

CW: 18+ • MDNI • mild dacryphilia • slight blood/biting kink • explicit sexual content

“That’s it, pretty baby — fuck,” Akaza panted as you ground down against him once more, your thighs splayed over his as you bounced up and down his length.

Bounce might have been too generous of a word, given that Akaza’s considerable size and girth meant you felt like you were more so impaling yourself on him than anything.

Your thighs burned with the effort it took to drag yourself up and down the pink-haired demon’s cock, your pretty chest heaving with the effort as you struggled to find your breath.

Akaza, it seemed, was all to content to sit back, occasionally thrusting hard enough up into you that a choked gasp tore from your throat as you struggled to remain upright on his lap.

“A-Akaza… please,” you whimpered, arms struggling against the firm grip he had around your wrists from where they were pinned behind your back, a single one of your lover’s hands forming the ironclad manacle against which you now twisted and trembled, desperate for him to let you touch him.

The demon’s hand tightened around your wrists as he used them as leverage to help lift you up and down his cock. His grin was nearly carnivorous as he leaned forward, tugging a stiff nipple into his mouth, his sharp teeth grazing over your sensitive bud, teasingly.

“What’s wrong, gorgeous?” He cooed, his eyebrows furrowing in mock-concern. His tongue dragged up from your breast to your throat, where he let his teeth prick the delicate skin there until the smallest beads of blood gathered, the demon lapping them up with a quick, sensual lick of his tongue.

But you couldn’t answer him, not with the way his free hand wedged between your bodies, resting flat on your abdomen and pressing down. You gasped as Akaza began to rub against your front wall, your walls tightening around him and threatening to never let him go.

Though, you supposed, you wouldn’t be opposed to being the demon’s cocksleeve for eternity — not when the blunt tip of his cock kept pressing against that spot.

You strained against Akaza’s iron-tight grip against your wrists and let out a pitiful whine, your hips uselessly rolling into his with your impatience as tears began to sting your eyes.

“Aw, my poor, pretty girl,” Akaza’s tone was mocking. “I’ve asked you nicely — now tell me,” the last syllable cut off with a low snarl from the demon as his hips jerked up in a brutal, unforgiving thrust. “What’s the matter, baby?”

He repeated the movement, using his grip around your arms and his supernatural strength to begin bouncing you mercilessly against his lap, your breasts jiggling roughly with the force.

Big, fat tears began to gather in your eyes, and it only took one particularly harsh twist of Akaza’s hips up into yours to make them leak out of your eyes, screwed tightly shut as your mouth fell open once more, a pleasured grown tearing from your chest.

The demon lurched forward to lick one of the saltwater jewels as it trailed down your cheek. “Cat got your tongue?”

#demon slayer #akaza #kimetsu no yaiba #akaza x y/n #akaza x reader #kny smut #kny fic #demon slayer fic #demon slayer smut #upper moons #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny akaza

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justagalwhowrites · 2 months

Text

Lost & Found: Part of For You - A Collection of Requests Benefitting Palestine

When Grogu wanders off, Din finds him in the arms of an enchanting stranger.

Event Terms: Commissioners could choose to donate between $15 and $50 via Ko-Fi for one fic of 1-2k words to be written by April 1, 2024. Payment due after completion of the fic. Donation with a match by the author was paid to PCRF on April 2, 2024 in honor of Pedro Pascal's birthday ❤️ Commissioners had the option to choose to keep a fic private and all fics may not be shared here.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Curvy!Female!Reader

Warnings: Mild depictions of fantasized sex.No use of Y/N, Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 2.5k

A/N: This is just very soft and very fluffy and is Din being both awkward as hell and jumping at the chance to play the hero for someone who needs it. Love that for us! Written for the exceedingly wonderful and kind and talented @knopes-waffles! Thank you for participating in this event ❤️

For You Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“What do you mean you don’t know.”

Din was trying very, very hard to keep his temper.

“I mean, I don’t know, Mando,” Peli replied, hands defiantly planted on her hips. “What did you think I meant?”

“I thought I might have been mistaken,” he said. “Because I didn’t think you would let my son out of your sight long enough for him to wander off!”

“It doesn’t take that long….”

“He’s half a meter tall!” He snapped. “How fast could he be!”

“He’s quick!”

He paused and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the rising panic in his blood.

“You really have no idea where he might have gone,” Din said. “No one could have come in here and taken him.”

“No one’s been in here,” she said before she paused, frowning. “Well… there was one customer who was looking for someone to fix his speeder…”

“Do you know where he was going?” Din asked. He tried not to think about some stranger wandering off with Grogu in their arms, taking him away to trade to the Empire or who knows what.

“I think toward the marketplace,” she said. “He mentioned a farm outside of town, where the speeder was. He was going to tow it in…”

Din didn’t wait for her to continue. He set off, forcing himself to move slowly enough that he could scan the ground for any sign of Grogu. But there was no flash of green, no little clawed footprints in the sand - the area too heavily trafficked - not even a trail of things he shouldn’t be trying to get is small hands on left abandoned when something else that was bright or shiny caught his eye.

He kept running and searching, not apologizing for smacking into people or grabbing them roughly to see if what they held in their arms was, in fact, a bag and not his child. He was getting uncomfortably close to a panic - heart pounding, breaths short and shallow, head swimming - when he saw him, Grogu’s small, green body in unfamiliar arms, held close to a plush body.

“Grogu!” Din stalked over to you, all but ripping the child away from you as he looked him over. “Are you OK?”

“Hey!” You grabbed Grogu back and Din’s attention shifted from his son to you, his fists clenched. But instead of reaching to take back the kid or hit you, he froze. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but it wasn’t… you. You were beautiful, almost shockingly so. There was something just so soft about you. Everything on Tatooine was rough and harsh, a lifetime of sand and twin suns and arid heat wore down people and buildings and ships quickly. But not you. You were like a flower that had somehow fought its way up through the sand, lush and bright and full.

“Do you know this man, little guy?” You considered Grogu carefully, a small frown on your face as you propped the boy on your hip, one of your fingers tightly grasped in his little hand. “Or is he a stranger?”

“Patu!” Grogu said, throwing his tiny arms out for Din, straining and reaching for him.

You laughed a little and looked at Din properly then, a smile on your face.

“Sorry about that,” you said, handing Grogu over. “He just toddled over to my stand a few minutes ago, I wasn’t sure where he came from and I couldn’t understand anything he was saying. I didn’t want someone just taking him…”

Grogu reached for Din’s helmet, cooing and babbling, gesturing to you before looking back to Din, his dark eyes wide.

“Thank you,” Din said eventually. “He can be a handful…”

“I can tell,” you laughed. “He ate a few things off my stand and he was only here a few minutes!”

“Oh,” DIn said quickly, fumbling for the pouch with his credits. “Let me…”

“Oh, no,” you said quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that you needed to pay! Really, it’s fine. I’m just happy I was able to help him get back to where he belongs.”

You just stood there, the smile on your face slipping a bit as Din stared at you. Like an idiot. He knew he was staring like an idiot and he couldn’t seem to bring himself to stop.

“Is… is everything OK?” You were frowning a little now. “I promise, I didn’t hurt him or…”

“Mando!” Peli ran up alongside him, panting a little before doubling over, planting her hands on her knees. “Stars, just a second… Some of us aren’t used to running like that…”

“Here,” you said, reaching behind your stand for a canteen and offering it to Peli. Din noticed what you were selling for the first time, fresh fruit piled high in baskets on display. “This might help, the suns are brutal today.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” she said, gulping the water down and standing up straight again before handing the canteen back to you. “Thanks for that. Looks like you’re the one who found our little friend here!”

“Oh, I didn’t know he was yours, Peli!” You said. “When did you get a youngling?”

“He’s not mine, but I keep tellin’ Mando he should just leave the kid with me…”

“And look what happened when I did,” Din cut her off. “Five minutes and you let him wander off…”

“It’s not like he got into trouble!” She waved him off. “He just found the sweetest stand in Mos Eisley because he’s so smart, yes he is! Just the smartest little guy! Appreciate you looking out for him, can’t let this cutie run off with just anyone.”

“It was no trouble,” you replied. “He was a nice way to mix up my day!”

“Patu!” Grogu said, reaching for you. You laughed and Din sighed before passing the child off to you.

“Have any plans later?” Peli asked. “The kid likes you, you should come by. Have to get time in with the little one when you can, Mando never sticks around for very long.”

“Well that’s too bad,” you said, bouncing Grogu on your hip but looking at Din. “Always nice to get pleasant folk here in town. But sure, I’ll come by once I close up. Maybe bring him some snacks for the road, would you like that little one?” Grogu cooed and clapped his little hands. You nuzzled his cheek. “I’ll see you later, buddy. Going to give you back to your daddy now.”

You passed the child to Din and gave him another smile before saying your quick goodbyes to Peli. Din kept looking Grogu over, like he was expecting to find something wrong with him, as he and Peli made their way back to her hanger. He had to resist the urge to look back at you.

“You’re sure she’s OK to be around the kid?” He asked, finally satisfied that his son was, in fact, safe and whole in his arms.

“Her?” Peli looked at him like he was insane. “Of course she is, you think I’d let someone around the kid who wasn’t safe? Besides, meant it when I said it’s the sweetest stand in Mos Eisley. It’s not just because of the fruit, if I didn’t know she was from here I’d say she was some naive off-worlder with how sweet she is. Probably how she wound up in the situation she’s in.”

Din frowned.

“What situation.”

“She’s stuck working for the Hutts,” Peli said. “When her father died a few years back - sweet guy, just like her. He built the greenhouses she grows all that fruit in - she didn’t have the money to pay for protection. Next thing she knew, they trashed one of her greenhouses and the moisture vaporator. She still hasn’t been able to fix it all, just about every credit she makes goes to the Hutts so they don’t take anything else.” Peli sighed and shook her head. “Tried to warn her…”

Din ground his teeth, looking back over his shoulder toward your stand. How could anyone prey on someone like you? Someone so soft and sweet and beautiful and…

He shook himself mentally. He was not going to stand there and think about you, even though you’d sent a shockwave through him, sparking a kind of want he hadn’t felt in years. It would be so easy to picture it, gently pulling the linen from your body, running his hands - bare, not gloved - over every inch of your plush curves, sinking into the soft, welcoming warmth of you.

“Has anyone tried to help,” Din asked. “With the Hutts?”

“I mean, maybe not her specifically, but,” Peli shrugged. “Not like people pay up because they want to, Mando. People have pushed back. It never goes well. Short of taking down the whole operation? No help for it. But that’s life, eh?”

Din nodded once, holding Grogu a little closer.

You came by a few hours later, a small basket of fruit propped on your hip and a smile on your face even though your eyes looked distracted.

“Here you go,” you broadened your smile as you handed the basket to the Mandalorian. “I thought he might like some more. These were what he was eating most of earlier. What’s his name, anyway?”

“Thank you,” Din said. “And his name is Grogu…”

“Stupid name!” Peli called from another room.

“No it’s not!” You called back before looking at the child. “It’s a good, strong name. Perfect for you, hm?”

“Patu,” Grogu said, his tone serious. You smiled.

“Thought so,” you said.

You stayed for dinner - a barely passable soup that you were kind enough to pretend to enjoy - and played sabacc with Din and Peli. Grogu climbed into your lap and you splayed the cards out in front of him, his little hand reaching out to touch them.

“See, this is a good hand,” you said, leaning in to whisper into his large ear. He kid stretched forward and smacked his hand on one of the cards. “Good pick, that’s a high value card, a whole 10 points…”

“You’re making it easy to beat you,” Peli said, smirking across the table.

“Can’t lose when you’ve already won,” you replied. “And which one of us has the youngling in their lap? That would be me.”

“You’re just new,” Peli waved you off. “He’ll be back to me eventually.”

“We’ll see about that,” you kissed his little head. “I’ll just keep plying him with fruit, keep him on my good side.”

“Patu!”

“Exactly,” you said, and Din was so distracted picturing you aboard the Razor Crest with his son on your lap that he forgot it was his turn.

As the evening wound down and you got ready to leave, Din had almost convinced himself that he could let you go. It was the only logical choice, after all. You barely knew each other. Just because you were beautiful and gentle and looked like you might be the softest thing he’d ever touch didn’t mean that you belonged anywhere near him. The opposite, in fact. The life he led would be no good for you, it was useless even day dreaming about what couldn’t be.

You said your goodbyes to him, Peli and Grogu and Din had the unfamiliar ache of longing in his chest as he watched you go, staring at the doorway you’d left through for a few seconds too long.

“Aw kriff,” Peli groaned. “She left her shawl and I’m wasn’t planning to go to the market tomorrow…”

“Here,” Din said before he could think better of it, taking the linen wrap from Peli’s grasp. “I’ll catch her. Watch the kid for a minute. And actually watch him this time.”

“Yeah yeah,” she waved him off before turning her attention to Grogu. “Is your dad just a big shiny menace? Huh? Yeah, I bet he is…”

He thought he was going to have to track you to catch up with you but, instead, he found you standing in the middle of Peli’s hanger, staring up at the night sky. Stars sparkled over your head, the light reflecting in your eyes, and Din could see the streaks of ships leaving the atmosphere as they shot into the galaxy. You had that distracted look on your face, one worn by people with problems that took time - and muscle - to solve.

“You forgot this,” Din said, holding the shawl out and making you jump.

You laughed a little.

“Thanks,” you said. “I’m not sure where my mind has been lately.”

You looked back up at the stars, wrapping yourself in the shawl, and sighed in a sad, longing way.

“What are they like?” You asked, still looking up. “The stars. From up there, I mean.”

“Far away,” Din said.

You laughed again.

“Don’t I know it. Part of why I’ve never made it off-world…”

Din frowned.

“You’ve never left Tatooine?”

You glanced at him, a sad smile on your face before looking back to the stars.

“Never had the chance,” you said. “But I hope I will, some day. But… doubt I ever will.”

You looked at him for a moment, your eyes finding his below the vizor.

“Well, it was good to meet you,” you said. “Take care of that youngling of yours, he’s too sweet to let anything happen to him…”

You started to leave but he stopped you, his hand shooting out and catching you at your elbow, the contact with you like an electric jolt running through his body. You gasped at it, looking to where he was touching you before looking toward his face again.

“Mando…” Your voice was quiet, breathy.

“Do you really want to leave?” He asked before he could stop himself.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I want to see some of the galaxy, I want to do something I love, I want a life, a life I can’t have here.”

He could feel it then, a chance at the life he’d pictured, one that had you there with him and his son.

“Come with me,” he said.

“What?” You laughed a little. “Mando, we just met…”

“I can get you out of here,” he said, ignoring you. “Make sure the Hutts never bother you again.”

Your eyebrows knitted together.

“Did Peli…”

“Does it matter?” He asked. “I’m offering you a chance to see the stars.”

“With you?” You asked, your eyes finding his below the visor and he had the thought, again, of undressing you, of touching you, of feeling you in a way he’d never allowed himself to feel anyone else.

“Yes,” he said.

“And Grogu?”

“Yes. We can leave tonight, now, if you want it.”

You looked up at the stars again, the soft sparkle of their far away light shining on your skin.

You looked back at him.

“I want it,” you said quietly. “I want all of it.”

Din smiled below the helmet.

“Then let’s go.”

#fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x you

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netegf · 1 year

Text

violet chemistry (i)

pairing: aged up!ao'nung x f!metkayina reader

plot: you and ao'nung attempt to regain control in your lives by fake-dating. the irony is... this is fated.

word count: 2k

a/n: my take on a fake-dating, friends to lovers, best friend's brother au??? i want to make this a series, but i think it will be short and sweet <3 no particular warnings, but this takes place roughly 10 years after atwow (& neteyam is alive 🥰).

Nothing about the moment makes sense. It’s an agonizing kind of relief, which is somehow a feeling that exists. It comes in Ao'nung's hand brushing a strand of hair from your face which you would have preferred stayed. His knee tickling yours as you attempt to control your uneven breathing, years of water training out the window as he casts you a sideways glance in preparation of the charade that’s about to begin.

As Ao’nung dislodges a beaded anklet from a poorly-woven pouch that you’ve made for him, clan members pass each other impish smiles like they know something you don’t.

The trouble is, reality is quite opposite. You know something they don’t.

Everything they think they've seen over the last few weeks – Ao’nung’s only slightly tender gaze, the rap of his three-fingered hand on your family’s marui pod before the end of night, his surprisingly charming gifts which match the accessories in your hair – is a farce.

Ao’nung watches you fumble with the anklet three times before he breaks. You sit in the sand, taking note of the eyes that linger over the two you.

“I can’t watch this anymore.” He grumbles, taking your calf in his hand and placing it firmly in his lap. Ao’nung ties the flimsy jewelry around your ankle in a single neat knot with a stupidly smug look on his face that seems to say ‘see how easy that was?’ and it makes you want to shove him hard in the chest.

Like he can see those violent wheels in your head turning, he clicks his tongue. “Nuh-uh.” He chides. “They’re watching.”

Spending time with the Olo'eyktan’s son, it seemed there was always someone watching.

You nod, but Ao’nung doesn’t miss the way your eyes roll slightly. It made his chest clench in a way that felt uncomfortably new. By this age, he’d really hoped there were no new feelings left to encounter. Nothing quite like this, sinking through him like a slab of metal through water.

“They’re always watching.” You retort, blowing a loose strand of hair up from your face. “When else do I get to roll my eyes at you? All this pent up anger is gonna burn a hole through my stomach.”

Ao’nung laughs a hearty laugh that you know is meant for your ears, but he smiles for everyone to see. Gently leaning his muscular shoulder on your own, he shrugs, and you take it that he doesn’t really have an answer.

That seemed to be the case a lot lately.

When Ao’nung first proposed the idea to you, he was shocked at the ease to which you complied. He was expecting more resistance, the way there’d always been in your relationship – a splash of the water to the face when he bragged about finally training with tsurak, a cheap and sarcastic laugh at one of his not-so-funny jokes which warmed him and vexed him at the same time.

He knew why he had asked. His parents were slowly but surely introducing the topic of mating into conversation and it was stealing all the air from his lungs like a vindictive little vacuum.

Talking about mates made everything feel so real. So heavy. Like he’d lived his whole life to get to this point and suddenly it was here and he’d do anything to go back and live one of those light-hearted days again. With you, and everyone else, playing because you could afford to.

He asked you to get his parents off his back for a bit – just until he could find it within himself to live out his destiny. Still, he couldn’t understand why you had said yes.

“If I’m so hard to be around,” Ao’nung jokes, but not really. “Why’d you even agree to this in the first place?”

You pull your knees to your chest, let the cool pieces of sea glass strung onto his anklet mediate your body temperature. “Same reason as you, really.”

Ao’nung quirks an eyebrow, turning his head to meet your eyes, but he’s met with resistance. Your eyes are glued to the rounds of your knees, a small bite to your lip that stirs a barrelling feeling in his stomach. He waits for you to elaborate with his forehead pinched.

“My parents want me to find a mate.” You say simply. “At first, it was easy to convince them otherwise. I could say I was focusing on completing my rites.”

He passes a contemplative glance. “And now?”

“Now, they have suggestions.”

Suggestions. The word felt sticky in his mouth and birthed a new feeling.

Ao’nung knew your parents. They were dedicated members of the clan – your mother, a celebrated hunter for her sharp mind in battle and borderline overwhelming tenacity, and your father, renowned for his artful craftsmanship of weaponry. They loved you well, but were a tad controlling. He could tell it bothered you – how tight their reigns were.

“And you know me. I wouldn’t be any good… at that.”

You were right, he did know you. But it was the second part of that statement that was causing him full-body grief, though it’d be hard for him to pinpoint exactly why. Ao’nung feels his mouth open in objection, but you continue without waiting for him, like you always do.

“Anyways, I said yes because I need to do this. For myself.” You wrap your arms around your knees and gently press your chin atop them. “I don’t even know if I want a mate… but if I do, I-I need it to be my choice. And I need them to understand that.”

The heat Ao’nung feels is suddenly everywhere, but he nods all the same.

You shuffle under his hot gaze and let out a hefty breath that staggers as it falls. Every molecule in the air felt heavier and it had a lot to do with the fact that things were a lot different now than they were ten years ago. Ten years ago, when you’d joined Olo'eyktan’s children in teaching the Sully’s the ways of the Metkayina. When Kiri had joined your life-long friendship with Tsireya, and you’d pined for Ao’nung as inconsistently as high-tide, sometimes early in the day, sometimes late, but always so long as there was a moon.

The you of ten years ago wouldn’t have been able to fathom the situation you were in now, but the you of today knew that there were worse people to pretend to court than your best friend’s fickle, but well-meaning, brother. Some nights it felt like you were strong enough to do this. Other nights it singed at your fingertips, leaving ash on your sleeping mat.

According to Kiri, love doesn’t just fade like that. Maybe she was right and some completely sensitive part of you, trudging water from the past, was eager to have him in whatever capacity you could even if it was destined to disappoint. Maybe Tsireya was right and you wanted to hurt a little.

“I want to be more brave. Like you.” You finish, and Ao’nung feels a teasing shiver run down his spine. Like Eywa blowing air down his back.

“Brave?” He snorts. “My body just moves. I don’t know if I would call that brave.”

Ao’nung wasn’t sure how he felt hearing you undersell yourself. It was definitely bad, but it was also confusing. He’d never known anyone more daring than you. You butted his hard-headedness in a way that no one else seemed willing to. You’d been known to entertain Lo’ak’s recklessness more than a few times, flying ikran when you were born for water, and it annoyed him to no end. In most of his childhood memories, you were somewhere in the foreground, doing something that he’d wanted in on, but would never say so.

Some part of him thinks you always knew that – which is why most of those memories finish with you tugging him by the arm and pulling him into the fun – often motivated by his hard-to-earn, but more than worth it smile – he was young, painfully begrudging, but entirely grateful, and he hoped you knew that.

In any case, brave was a word he reserved for that starry-eyed girl that spent many sleepless nights outside her marui pod and on the beach, retelling him fantastical Earth stories that she'd heard Jake Sully once tell Tuk. He couldn’t forget those nights if he tried – and if he could, he wouldn’t.

He remembers you, blinking the sleep away, heels buried in the sand in a way much like you were sitting currently. Except back then, you would tell him about ‘once upon a time’ – something humans said before they told stories about princesses and goblins – things that didn’t exist, but he supposed that’s what made them so compelling.

The Metkayina had a similar phrase for their stories, but the words were different. In English, the best translation would have been: ‘there was, there wasn’t’. He’d seen in you that urge to escape when you left the Na’vi words behind any time you told him a story thereafter.

“I guess I just feel stuck.”

That was something Ao’nung could relate to. He follows your eye line, set on a group of barnacles deadlocked to a slab of rock. With an unwavering hand, he breaks one off and chucks it into the sand in front of you.

“Then we pull a little harder." He casts a gentle, but stern look. "Right?”

“Right.” You force a smile over the dull burn of tears. Then you bite back a laugh. “What are you? The barnacle whisperer?"

Ao’nung groans. “Don’t call me that. Please.”

A small laugh rumbles in his chest, and he takes the opportunity to look at you head-on. He lingers on your slightly damp eyes and nudges your side.

“You, uh, look like you’re getting broken up with.” He says in a nervous whisper, scratching the back of his neck. Eyes flickering between you and the onlookers still out on this part of the reef.

You bite your lip, shifting slightly closer to him. “Can’t have that, can we?”

You sneak a quick peak at the eyes glued on the two of you, fingers trembling faintly, but you know you’re nervous for a different reason. There was no going back after this. But you force a deep breath of air so cold that it felt herbal, with a new-found confidence – you didn’t want to go back. Slowly, your hands, once planted in the sand, drift up to snake around Ao’nung’s neck and his breath catches in his throat. He knows the clan is watching – knows you’re doing this because the clan is watching, but he feels his heart beat erratically as if his body can’t tell the difference.

You eye him inquisitively, in a way that he knows means you’re asking for permission, and he nods whilst internally urging his jaw to fall slack. His lips to do something other than wait for you.

Your lips touch his in a way that makes him gasp, and then again, and again, when you swallow his heavy breaths. He feels like a quick-filling cup that you won’t let spill. Against all his self-restraint, his hands tremble around your waist when you pull away from him.

“Is that what that feels like?” You murmur, feeling loose-limbed and heady. He thinks he'll faint if he acknowledges that it's your first.

“Y-yeah.”

But Ao’nung knows he’s lying. He’s never felt anything like this in his life – let alone in a kiss, and he’s suddenly concerned that you'll remember his tells. Tinge of purple on his ears, lightly flaring nostrils. If you notice, you don’t say so, and he’s grateful for it.

He clumsily pulls the heat of his body away, knowing something inside him has changed, and mumbles some kind of non-excuse about having to help his father out before eclipse. He says so whilst avoiding your eyes, though you wouldn’t have noticed anyways. Too busy ruminating in the aftershocks of his kiss – there was no going back – and mostly because those lips shot an arrow dead through the idea that there could be someone else for you.

Wordlessly, you nod and walk away like his retreat is contagious – trying hard not to, but still keeling at the hope that he could feel there was something there. A spark, a desire, a small flash of yearning you swear you saw in his eyes but disappeared too quick to know for sure.

Something that was, then wasn’t.

reblogs + tags are always appreciated 🪐🩷🫶🏼 i hope you enjoyed! as it stands, i'm working on more parts in the hopes of making this a mini-series, but def lmk if you want more hehe!

#ao'nung x reader #aonung x reader #atwow x reader #aonung #ao'nung #atwow #avatar 2 #idk felt a lil sad today so i wanna post this as a distraction

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triplesilverstar · 2 months

Text

A platonic Kiss

Rating: PG

Pairing: Vash X F!Reader

CW: Pining

Word count: .2K roughly

A/N: Maybe someday your heart will stop wanting something you can't have.

You freeze as Vash moves closer, and quickly presses his lips to your cheek before wrapping an arm around your shoulder. Blinking as he turns laughing. “Sorry to keep you waiting my dear sister, I got a little distracted!”

You’re still blinking as you notice the fuming woman watching your interaction and it clicks in your brain. Vash is using you as a scapegoat to get away from this woman by saying you’re siblings, hence the kiss.

“What happened dummy did you get lost again?” Dropping into the role of annoyed sister, you cross your arms as you look up at him.

“She looks nothing like you.” Hissed from the woman and you feel the briefest flinch from Vash that you hope no one but you noticed.

“Gee, thanks for the reminder our Dad couldn’t keep it in his pants.” Narrowing your eyes at the woman and quirking your nose. “Not my fault I look like my mother.” As the woman seems taken aback you keep going as you try to de-escalate whatever trouble Vash has gotten himself into. “What has my idiot of a big brother done this time?”

Later once the two of you are on the road again and Vash isn’t paying attention you press your fingers to your cheek, wishing the kiss had meant more than just a platonic excuse to get out of trouble.

#vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede #trigun stampede #trigun #twink writes #Bullets Bandits Ghosts & Typhoons #tristamp #vash x reader #vash x you

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spnexploration · 11 months

Text

Pack chapter 19

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Sam Winchester x Omega!Madison

Series summary: Omega!Reader is thrown into a world she's not expecting when her mate turns out to be a hunter, and she's not used to Alpha & Omega Pack dynamics.

Chapter summary: You need some air

Chapter warnings: angry Dean

Word count: 2k

Series masterlist | Supernatural writing masterlist

Part 18 <- -> Part 20

I walked along the path, enjoying the feel of being outside. The sun was out and it was a beautiful, if chilly, day. It was strange, living underground. There was no natural light, no way of telling the weather outside, no connection to the outside world unless you left it. I missed walking to work, hearing the rain as I fell asleep, and natural light.

So I’d decided to get off my butt and do something about it. Sam had been gone three days now and somehow, the bunker felt even smaller with only three of us in it, not four.

I was feeling so much better, my chest not aching when I was away from Dean. He was still being very ...enthusiastic about following the doctor’s instructions: holding me to his side, cuddling me, encouraging me to scent him. It was sweet.

But between being stuck underground and being coddled, it was a bit suffocating. Now that I wasn't feeling terrible every time I wasn't with Dean, I wanted some space, some normality.

And it was a beautiful day.

I’d forgotten my phone, which was probably good. Aren't you meant to be mindful when walking or something? Focus on the experience or some such. I was inadvertently doing that, and it turned out to be pretty good.

I was almost disappointed when the bunker came back into view. But, it had been a very nice walk, and I was a bit thirsty.

I took one last look around, trying to drink in the feel of being outside. Then I turned back to the heavy door and tried to heave it open. Locked. I knocked instead.

I heard rushed heavy footsteps on the metal steps inside and then the door was swinging in. “Hey, De- whoa! What?!” I exclaimed as the door opened to reveal Dean with a gun pointed at me.

He sniffed the air and then lowered the gun, reaching out to grab my hand and roughly pull me inside. He still hadn’t said anything.

“Dean, what the hell?!”

He growled. I shivered and shut up, noticing the edge of agitation on all of his features. He led me down the stairs, my hand stuck in his vice-like grip. At the bottom of the stairs he turned to face me, eyes raking all over me and then reaching forward to scent me.

Madi came running in just as Dean was finishing his apparent inspection. “Oh thank God, you found her!”

“Where were you?” Dean demanded, his voice lower and more threatening than I’d heard it before.

“I went for a walk, what is up with you?!”

“You left the bunker!”

“Yeah, and?”

He hit the metal railing behind me, making me jump as the loud noise echoed around the room. “What the hell were you doing?”

“I went for a walk! Jeez, what's with the third degree?!”

“You LEFT THE BUNKER!” he roared.

I flinched. Madi looked at me with wide, worried eyes. “Alpha-” she started.

“Stay out of it, Omega,” he bit at her. She hung her head in submission.

He turned back to me, clenching his fists. “You left the bunker, without permission-”

“Permission?! I didn't realise I was a freaking prisoner!”

His eyes narrowed, “If you want to be a member of this Pack then you will follow my rules.”

“I didn't realise I’d get kicked out of a Pack I'm not even in yet after going for one walk!” Treacherous tears sprang to my eyes and I angrily brushed them away. I pushed past Dean and ran towards his room.

“Dean,” I heard Madi say in a low, deliberately calm voice behind me, “You need to calm down first.”

I slammed the door behind me and locked it, then fell on the bed and dissolved into tears.

---

A little while later there was a gentle knocking at the door. I ignored it.

“Y/N?” I heard Dean call. His voice was much softer than the angry growl he'd had in the entryway. “I'm sorry, sweetheart. Can you please open the door?”

I ignored him, still upset and angry, lying on the bed. What a controlling asshole.

Probably only a minute before he just orders me to open it, anyway. Or picks the lock, Sam did that on the house with the vampires.

“Please, sweetheart?”

Can't believe he's contemplating kicking me out because I went for a walk. I wiped more tears away from my eyes.

“I'm not going to order you, I know I fucked up.”

Huh, that was a surprise. Still, no.

“I'm sorry, Y/N. That reaction was uncalled for. Can you please open the door so I can apologise?”

He was chipping away at the ice of my resolve, but I still wasn’t thawed yet.

“Please, Omega,” he said in a broken voice. “Please.”

I slowly slid off the bed and went to the door. I flicked the lock and then walked back to the bed, sitting against the headboard with my arms crossed.

He opened the door and slowly entered, his hands up in front of him. “Omega, I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean to imply that I was going to kick you out of the Pack. I would never kick you out. I was angry and I spoke without thinking.”

“And what exactly is it that I did that made you so angry?” I couldn't keep the tears out of my voice, but I tried.

He took a deep breath. “I couldn't find you. You didn't answer your phone, I searched the whole bunker top to bottom. At first I thought you just couldn't hear me, and then I was worried you'd fainted or something somewhere obscure and needed urgent help, and then I thought you might have been captured by one of our enemies. There are an awful lot of things that can happen to people in our line of work, especially to those who can't defend themselves but are useful as ...leverage.” He ran his hand down his face, he looked broken.

“...Oh.”

I felt a bit bad. I hadn't realised I was putting him through that.

“So when you came back I was so relieved, but I was still scared of losing you and angry that you'd just left without saying anything. I- I didn't mean to say you had to ask permission, that's not what I meant.”

“But I should have told you where I was going,” I said quietly.

He bit his lip.

I sighed, “You may as well just say whatever it is you're thinking. I can tell you’re trying to bite your tongue about something.”

“You don’t have to ask me for permission, that was the wrong word. But… I still don’t want you going out, alone.”

“Seriously?! It’s not like I’m proposing to walk through the crime capital of the world, at night, in a bikini, with a neon sign around my neck. I went for a walk!”

“I know, sweetheart, I know. I must sound so overprotective and ridiculous right now. But amateurs get killed. They just do. And Sammy and me, well, we have a lot of people who’d like to get one over us, or take revenge on us. And finding my unprotected mate would take the cake for many of them.”

“So, what, Madi doesn’t go anywhere alone? Ever?”

“No, she does. We’re safer here than if we were on a case. Often we won’t let her go out alone if there are monsters we’re hunting or we’re not sure yet what’s going on in a town. But yeah, she definitely goes places alone, both here and elsewhere.”

“But I can’t?” I said with a pout.

“I’m not trying to have different rules here or anything. First of all, she tells us where she’s going. It’s not about permission, it’s about communication. And secondly, she trains. She carries a phone and concealed weapons. She’s not an expert, but she’s not an amateur anymore.”

“And you and Sam just get to do whatever because you’re Alphas and men and nothing can touch you two, oh, except for bullets.”

He grimaced. “Ok, yeah, I deserve that. It’s not about us being Alphas or being male. But, you know, we’re big, we’re experienced, we can hold our own in a fight. There are female hunters who are just as good as us. But, little one, you’re not a hunter, you’re not a fighter. You can be, if you want to be. But until you are, you need to be careful.”

“I genuinely lived my life perfectly fine, walked everywhere perfectly fine, frequently alone, before I met you,” I said sullenly.

“I know. Being my mate, well, it puts a target on your back.” He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s, umm, it’s not too late to decide this isn’t for you…”

I shook my head. “That’s not what I want, Dean.”

He let go a ragged breath. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I really am. I shouldn’t have reacted that way this morning. But I also really, really need you to heed my warnings about the danger that our line of work puts you in. I need to keep you safe.”

“Fiiiine,” I huffed. “You know, I wasn’t trying to ignore you. I did what you said when we went on that case. But you never said anything about while we're here. I mean, yeah, you were weirdly 'don't walk home alone’ back home too, but I thought it was because it was night time.”

“I know. Well, I know that now. Madi helped me see some sense before I came down here. I know we came here in the beginning and then pretty instantly went on a hunt, and then I was injured, and then you were sick. So this is probably the first time you've actually been feeling fine and ready to go be a normal person, and I forgot there's still stuff you don’t know so I didn't tell you. I don't blame you, sweetheart.”

I nodded and sniffled a little, the after effects of all of my tears. He stepped closer and opened his arms, then stepped closer again. I nodded and he quickly crossed the rest of the way to the bed, gathering me in a hug and sitting me on his lap. I snuggled into him.

He stroked my cheek. “Sorry, ‘mega,” he whispered, kissing my forehead.

---

“Sam!!” Madi yelled, jumping into his arms. “You didn't tell me you were coming home!”

“And miss this homecoming?”

She squealed as he span her around, her legs around his waist.

“No vomiting on the table,” Dean said in a mock stern voice. I stood awkwardly in the back of the room, enjoying watching the joy of their reunion but feeling a bit of trepidation about how my body would react to Sam.

Sam laughed at Dean, “So I'll just keep getting her dizzy and aim her at your bed instead?”

He stopped spinning as she leant down and captured his lips in a passionate kiss.

“Alright, alright, get a room,” Dean huffed. “Actually, don’t, first you have to tell me how the hunt went.”

Sam set Madi down, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and cuddling her to him. “Bit of a bust, it wasn't what Claire thought. I stayed out there an extra day trying to convince her to drop this, but she's convinced there's something out there and we're all missing it. She’s, uh, not exactly keen on listening to me. I got a bit of grudging acceptance most of the time, but when I really pushed back she straight out challenged me. I'm not going to be able to reign her in if she really goes down a path.”

Dean swore under his breath. “Alright, thanks. You guys go be gross in your own room.”

Taglist:

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@lyarr24

@waynes-multiverse

@leigh70

@malindacath

@ellie-andthemachine

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@muhahaha303

@globetrotter28

@deans-spinster-witch

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@iamsapphine

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@the-family-business67

@babygirl-one-and-only

@leila22rogers

@supernatural--whore

#alpha!dean winchester #alpha!dean winchester x omega!reader #dean winchester x reader #a/b/o #protective!dean winchester #protective!sam winchester #alpha!sam winchester #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester x you #supernatural x reader #supernatural reader insert #spn a/b/o #dean winchester hurt/comfort #sam winchester hurt/comfort

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filthyfluffyfantasies · 7 months

Text

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . DL;DR - this fic is not meant for anyone under the age of 18 as it contains the following: a/b/o dynamics a little less subtly -read, poorly, hinted at by writer, use of pet names ( little one, pretty little thing, etc), hints at a breeding kink / knotting is mentioned, mate marks/biting, p in v sex - unprotected, fuck or die trope -also probably v. poorly written, dominant!Eddie, but make it soft and gentle. writer does not give permission for her works to be reposted, with or without permission. ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

prompt seventeen - a/b/o ( told in two parts )

character | fandom - alpha!werewolf!eddie munson | stranger things

reader | original character - female reader, omega & non -or vague, description.

words - roughly 2k.

tagging - < taglist here >

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . eddie's taken you back to his cabin to keep you safe. when you slip into the throes of heat fever, it just might turn into a fuck or die situation but sweeter/gentler...✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

❝ Sweetheart...❞ Eddie’s husky laugh rouses you from a feverish sleep. You whimper quietly, everything aches and you're so damn hot you feel like at any second you'll burst into flames. He's sitting at the edge of the bed, one arm over your body partially caging you in. ❝There ya go. Good girl. Open those pretty eyes f' me.❞ he coaxes as you start to wake up a little better.

The hearty scent of home cooked stew hangs heavy in the air and for just a second, your hunger competes with the burning desire you feel towards your newly found Alpha. I-I.. I need him closer, you think to yourself, surprised when the thought unspoken is answered by Eddie gingerly pulling back the scratchy olive colored blanket he placed over your body before leaving. As he arranges himself next to you, he chuckles quietly.

❝ Your mind..its uh..kinda loud, sweetheart.❞ he explains as he lets you settle in next to him.

❝ Oh. I,uh..I'm sorry.❞ you apologize and he chuckles again. ❝ Don't apologize, angel.❞ he smiles at you.

Long, thin fingers skim over your sides as he nuzzles his nose against your neck. Inhaling slow and deep. Your scent is enough to bowl him over, he's just barely holding on to restraint. Sharp fangs prick at his gums, begging to come out.

When he groans against your neck and pulls you into him even closer, you make the cutest little filthy sound for him.

❝Wanna mark you, little one.❞ he murmurs, soft as silk and rough as gravel against your soft, hot skin. His hips snap against you and as soon as you feel the way his cock pushes and pulses, straining against dark denim, you moan. Rock yourself right back against him and the way he's still growing, still getting hard. ❝ So do it.❞ you gasp out, breathy little sighs that hang in the air between you both. He chuckles. ❝ I could. I could do it, easy.❞ he's pushed you flat against the bed and settled himself over you, his torso keeping your legs spread. And the sight of the slick as it gushes down your thighs, that has him growling all over again as a thick tongue drags over plush and dark pink lips. ❝ If I do this,❞ he locks eyes with you, doe eyes take on a somber cast, ❝ You’re mine. All mine.❞

❝ I-I..❞ you're begging, you arch yourself up into him, grabbing his strong jaw to make him look down at you, ❝ I wanna be yours.❞ and he laughs, shakes his head. ❝ You barely know me, sweetheart. And I got nothin t' offer. I'm an alpha with no pack.❞

❝ I don't care. I belong to you.❞ you insist, rubbing yourself against him more urgently. You're so needy, so responsive. Dripping so bad already that there's a huge puddle pooling beneath you. You're showing him your neck, a sign you’re willing -and ready,more than ready, to submit yourself, give yourself to him.Doe eyes train on the soft skin revealed to him. Taunting him.

His fangs push through. ❝ This might sting a little, doll.❞ he mutters, smooth as silk against the shell of your ear as his tongue drags hot against your racing pulse, ❝ But I’m gonna take real good care of you, I swear to Ozzy..❞ and his fangs sink into your neck, piercing your skin. Marking his territory for the world to see. He growls, thrust completely into the throe of rut as he rocks himself against you and when he pulls away to admire his handiwork, you whine in need, missing the rush of the bond, craving the flood of intimacy, the connection you felt as he marked you his own.

❝ Sweetheart..❞ he pauses, begins to protest as soon as the reality of the situation settles over him, breathless and helpless; still rutting himself into you fully-clothed, ❝ We gotta slow down. Think about it, okay... This is kinda permanent. If you're not sure, it's not too late t' stop before..❞ he’s trying to remind you that to be saddled with him is permanent and it’s not a choice to be made in the throes of heat or rut. Not that I won’t happily take it, he thinks to himself, his nose buried deep in your neck, rough lips smoothing over the mate-bite that he gave you, But I just wanna make sure she knows she’s stuck with me. Forever. Because I won’t let her go. I’ll have t’ die first.

He’s seen the mate bond be broken before, it wasn’t pretty. His poor uncle nearly lost his goddamn mind when his mother chose his uncle’s brother -his so-called father, over him.

But you won’t be swayed. You reach up, soft and delicate hand gripping a strong jaw lined with stubble. ❝ It’s what I want, more than anything. Please?❞ you beg, your thumb rolling over his cheek and resting in the center of a full bottom lip as you arch yourself towards him even closer. Your breathy whisper is enchanting, especially considering you’re saying everything he’s always wanted to hear.

A rough hand finds it’s resting spot against your soft cheek as Eddie ponders what you’re saying. ❝ You barely know me. I barely know you. How’s this supposed t’ work, huh? Answer that one, sweetheart.❞

❝ It will. It has to. I’ve been searching for this…❞ you pause and take a deep breath, ❝ For you, I mean.. Since I was a little girl. I know enough, okay? I know what I want. I want you. I want our bond.❞ you insist.

Eddie swallows hard, this still doesn’t rid him of the massive lump in his throat. It doesn’t rid doe eyes of the way they tear up because what you’re saying is something he’s always longed to hear. It’s something his uncle -the wolf who raised him, always swore would finally happen to him one day.

And it’s finally happening.

And here you are, he thinks to himself, trying to fight it off. Are you really that damn stupid?

No. The answer is no. And you’ve managed to entangle your body with his, his larger frame engulfing yours in the bed that’s just barely big enough to hold him. He can feel your heart, it’s calm and reassuring thudthud thud thud as your breathing syncs up to his.

You find yourself pinned below the lanky body of your handsome mate and you’re staring up. His ponytail has started to fall, thick dark hair springs free from a simple brown hair elastic. Your tongue dances behind your lips. He’s not close enough for your liking so you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him down on top of you completely. This is met with a growl. Eddie can feel the knot beginning to form, his rut taking over completely. This clouds his thoughts.

But he knows what he wants.

And he knows that you want it too.

Be an actual Alpha, goddamn it. Take what you know belongs to you. - this particular thought comes in the form of his late father, all the teasing and torment because Eddie wasn’t like the other boys in his old pack. He was sweeter. Quieter. More observant and sensitive.

It’s enough to make him contradict himself, but only for a split second, because the scent of you amps up, all sweet and ripe. He pauses as it hits him and he needs a few seconds to process.. Your scent isn’t diluted. It’s pure and it’s strong.

This prompts the question he finally asks a second later, voice all velvet, gravel and sex against the shell of your ear as he snaps his hips into you in a frenzy and one of his hands lingers at the thin pair of panties you’ve soaked through beneath the Iron Maiden t-shirt he changed you into because it was something with his scent all over it and he didn’t want your fever getting any worse.

❝ Have you uh..❞ he pauses, - Christ, this is crazy, there’s no way this isn’t a dream, I’m losing my fucking mind, leaving full lips as he tries to focus enough to continue his question, ❝ Have y’ ever done anythin’?❞

You swallow hard. Laughing softly at what he’s just said. A shy and soft little smile as you shake your head no at him. ❝ I told you, Alpha. I’ve been waiting. My ma..❞ you go quiet for a second or two, ❝ She always told me that true mate bonds were real and I wanted that instead ‘f settling. Broken heart killed her, sadly..❞ you laugh quietly and shake your head, ❝ Guess I shoulda given up but honestly, I didn’t wanna. I never..❞ you’re squirming, nervous beneath his intent stare.

His face is moving closer to your own, close enough that his rough lips brush your soft ones. A large hand palms at your hip, squeezing as if he’s making a last ditch effort to center himself. ❝ Never what, pretty girl? C’mon❞ he coaxes, ❝ Tell me, sweetheart. Finish th’ sentence.❞

❝ I..❞ your breath catches because he’s rutting himself into you faster. Every single time his cock brushes against your body, it sends a painful throb straight through your core. Every single time this happens, you can feel the slick coating your thighs get even more slippery. It’s hard to think about anything beyond letting him knot you, re-open the mate bite in your neck and make the whole process permanent and proper. It’s difficult but you’re trying. ❝ Please, I–❞ you beg for him to slow down just a little and Eddie just barely manages pulling himself together. You take a deep breath and continue to speak, ❝ I never clicked with anybody else… Like this.. I didn’t want ‘em as much as I wanted you when I saw you.❞

❝ Fuck.❞ it leaves his mouth in a breathy groan and any restraint he had left is completely gone. He knows you’re being completely honest but he has to ask again. He needs to hear you say it one more time. ❝ You’re a.. You’ve never… oh fuck..❞ he chuckles quietly as your little nod confirms what he already suspected.

You’re untouched. You’re his and his alone.

❝ P-please?❞ you beg, arching yourself up into him as you raise a hand and it catches in thick dark curls to tug. Any restraint Eddie had left is gone in a split second. It’s gone and Eddie doesn’t want it back.

❝ Don’t let me hurt ya.❞ he mumbles, soft as silk as his mouth crashes against yours, a tongue parting your soft lips and taking dominance over your own. It’s dominance you give over willingly. You nod. Begging for it, pleading. Telling him how much you want to take his knot.

His hand slips down between the two of you, long and thin digits slipping into your soaked sex after he’s torn off your panties and let them hit the floor of his bedroom. First the one, and it’s careful. A little too careful until you start to rock yourself over it and he can feel how velvet soft you feel on the inside, how hot and wet you are and he needs more. Like a drug. A second finger joins the first, and you gasp because you feel a little more stretched now. A little more full. You whine, the sound needy as it punctures the heavy breathing and quiet noises in the room. Eddie melts down into you and this time, when his fangs prick at his gums to re-appear, there’s no split second’s panic. It happens. He adds a third finger, groaning aloud ❝ Y’ feel s’ fuckin good, sweetheart. So goddamn sweet.❞ as you’re stretched even more. You slip a hand between your bodies and give a tug to the waistband of his faded jeans, looking up at him with begging in your eyes as you dance your finger up his happy trail and bite your bottom lip.

He chuckles, it’s a hearty sound. Doe eyes fix on your hand and he gulps. His heart is racing, about to pound right out of his chest. ❝ Patience isn’t your thing, hm?❞ he teases gently. You nod in agreement. He pulls away, but it’s just so he can pull off his pants. As his thick cock springs free, long and veiny with an angry red tip and the knot fully formed, your eyes widen almost comically. ❝ Changin’ your mind on me, sweetheart?❞ he questions.

You shake your head as you swallow hard. You’re reaching for his body, whining in need and he can’t deny you anything so he slips back onto the bed, body parting your legs to spread them wide for him. Rough hands catch in the bottom of his Iron Maiden t-shirt and it’s tugged away from your soft little body, tossed out into the room over Eddie’s shoulder. He sinks down into your body, his nose brushing silk soft strands of hair away from your neck as the tip of his cock pushes against your throbbing cunt, teasing at entry. His fangs sink into the mate mark, digging into soft flesh even deeper this time as his hand slips down between your bodies and circles his cock, lining it up with your weeping cunt.

You tense up from head to toe as his cock stretches you out and inch after inch disappears inside you until you’d almost swear you feel the tip touch your cervix. Eddie happens to glance down just a second or two, catching sight of the way his cock pushes against your tummy from the inside. And he’s growling against your neck.

You wince as the knot buries inside you, locking the two of you together until he’s given you every last drop of his seed and he can’t keep going. Your nails dig against his skin, dragging up and down his back as your legs squeeze either side of his body. He’s still at first, just letting his thick length sit inside you so maybe you stretch to accommodate him just a little better and it doesn’t feel like he’s ripping you apart from the inside. But the pain melts away and you start to rock yourself against him, your tits pushing against his chest.

Your heart is beating exactly as fast as his own is right now. The more you thrust yourself against him, the wetter you get until he can feel his cock coated in your juices. His hand settles on your hip and he brings you to a gradual stop, lips against your forehead. ❝ I wanna take my time with you, pretty little thing. Let me.❞ he coaxes as he starts to fuck into you at a much slower pace. You’re obedient, but you whine about it. As the bite deepens, you’re overwhelmed by the rush, the way his emotions and thoughts and yours mix together and flood you, driving you straight into euphoria. You cling to him and he starts to fuck into you just a little faster, both hands on your hips to keep you still as he does it.

❝ I-I..❞ you gasp quietly, ❝ I wanna get on top, let me please? I.. I wanna ride you.❞ you beg. Eddie flips you so that he’s pinned below you and you’re topping him, his hands straight to your hips as he picks you up and slams you down onto his cock. When he bottoms out three times in a row, you’re whining, his name falling out of your mouth like a wanton prayer.

You’re so goddamn tight, your cunt squeezes his length way too damn good. He comes to a stop because if he doesn’t, he’s going to explode, he’s going to fill you full before he’s really done with you for the time being. His eyes flutter open and closed and you stare down at him in awe as he fucks up into you slow and steady. Your knuckles are white against the headboard you’ve reached out to grab just to keep yourself upright.

He’s staring up at you, a hand leaving his hip to cup your breasts, squeezing at them. When he pulls himself up into a sitting position and your legs wrap around his waist, this drives him in even deeper, cockhead striking against soft and spongy walls. He’s growling your name over and over, one hand squeezing your hip to guide you up and down on his cock and the other hand cupping one of your breasts as his lips latch on.

But he can’t hold off much longer. And when you start to beg him to let go -and to allow you to let go, he can’t possibly tell you no. He knows he’s fucked already, he’ll never be able to refuse you anything you want.

❝ Sweetheart, oh fuck..❞ he groans against your healing mate-bite quietly, ❝ Gonna fill y’ up.❞ as the high of a shared orgasm hits you both and it leaves you clinging to him, fucked dumb and whining as he fucks himself sloppily into you, through his orgasm.

The knot is gone and both of you could move a few minutes later, but neither of you makes an effort, you’re both too busy touching and kissing, talking to each other in quiet whispers as you cling to each other.

Two halves have become whole. And neither of you ever wants to be apart from the other ever again.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #🔞ɴғᴡ. ᴍɪɴᴏʀs ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ʀɪsᴋ.#( ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ʟɪsᴛ ✓ )#lazyghoulskinktober2023 #( ᴍɪɴɪ sᴇʀɪᴇs ; ᴘᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴏғ ᴛᴡᴏ )

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witchthewriter · 1 year

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𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

Paid story for @yourwinchesterbros. Word Count: 2k Warnings: swears, reader is currently kidnapped, violence, mentions of blood, guns, cigarettes etc

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

(I know this may be a small thing, but reader is always titled ‘Zo’ rather than ‘the girl.’ It’s a small detail that I included because the Sons have a lot of respect for Zo. She’s not some random girl, she’s their Zo.)

The air was crisp, and when the Scotsman spoke, it was as if fire was rising from the pit of his stomach, turning to smoke as he spoke.

“You sure about that lad?” Chibs said and almost like a call to war, the Sons whipped out their weapons and pointed them at the opposing men.

“Fuck,” one of the men grunted. You smiled, not being able to help it.

The crickets weren’t chirping any longer. Their breath held just like the men behind you.

These idiots had gotten in way over their heads. It’s what happens when a boy gets too big for his boots. Thinks he’s a gangster. Maybe the instigator grew up rich, maybe he idolised these types of men, or maybe this was retaliation. Whatever the reason, the Sons couldn’t give a fuck.

Plus, the one you attacked needed to be seen by a professional. And that definitely wasn’t in the agreement.

“Now, we want Zo, and you can have ye money,” Chibs continued on.

With the guns aimed at their heads, the four men didn’t seem as confident as they were mere seconds ago. Knowing that made you smile even more. You were once scared, but now … well now you were flooded with delight.

- ✦ -

Jax couldn’t keep his eyes from you. Even from afar, he was searching for any major wounds, and he nearly lurched forward when he saw the blood. The sight of you sprawled on the dirt ground, cuts and scratches covering your exposed body parts. Part of him crumbled inside. Must have been whatever was left of his heart.

“I said no injuries,” Jax’s eyes were ablaze.

“Oh – well, that happened before the call…and the majority of the blood isn’t hers.” The ‘leader’ said in an obvious fake-confident tone. He had rushed saying the last part. They knew just how fucked they were.

“What-“ Jax was going to press for more information, but he saw the ghost of a devilish smile on your face.

He smirked, already figuring it out. That’s my girl, he thought.

You caught his eye and winked.

Like fuck you couldn’t handle this life. He didn’t know you, or your backstory. Nor the horror you had endured. This? This was nothing. That other night? You realised that it hadn’t had affected you as badly as you thought. You could function, hell, right now you felt on top of the world.

But that was …

Fuck.

It was because of Jax.

He instilled so much confidence in you. Like you came alight whenever he was near. Not like twin flames, but like you were the air that flamed his fire. But you could also quell it. He could warm you, but … also burn you. He had burned you. And this was why you were in this mess.

Maybe he hadn’t realised just how much his words meant to you? He definitely didn’t know how long you had yearned for him. So his dismissal felt like the end of the world.

It was like he could read your face, the thoughts so clearly askew on your dirt-covered features.

He really meant something to you.

Jax felt a sharp pang in his chest, and he felt like… crying.

You deserved so much better. And he didn’t feel good enough. That he couldn’t provide anything that would satisfy you. Not completely.

- ✦ -

“Okay, okay,” your almost-lover lowered his weapon, motioning for his guys to do the same. They did so, albeit slowly.

“Up,” he whispered, that cologne had excited you only hours before, and now it disgusted every part of your body.

Grabbing you underneath the armpit, he roughly got you to your feet. You stumbled and he gripped you harder. That’s when you swung the rock sharply at his face.

“Fuck YOU!” You screamed. The anger boiling over. Like a pot on a stove unattended, the lid rattled and water sizzled.

“AH! FUCK!” He shrieked, dropping his gun entirely, and covering his dripping face.

Then shots rang out, loud and echoing.

But the man was still screaming, and you didn’t stop your attack. Bullets be damned, you were going to get your revenge no matter what. He wasn’t going to walk away from this unscathed.

You hadn’t waited for hours for nothing. You weren’t a damsel in distress. You were a viper lying in wait.

Your arm was brought up then down, up then down, over and over. Smashing the man’s face in.

“FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!” You screamed it over and over. Until his face was … no more.

“Zo, zo, Zoe!” Familiar hands were on you now. A familiar smell, warmth, voice.

It halted you. Someone had turned down the heat on the stove, until it was completely off. The water had stopped boiling, all that was left was a lidded pot with warm water.

You sagged in his arms.

“It’s okay,” Jax said, taking the bloodied rock from your hands. At some point you had started crying, the tears trailing clean lines down your dirtied face.

You let him pick you up and walk you to the other Sons. Turning your head, you realised that the sound of bullets were your men killing your captures.

And that meant … you were safe.

- ✦ -

The ride back was a blur.

Tig had wrapped a blanket around your shoulders, because as soon as you got in the car, you started shaking. Shock, the cold – whatever it was, they were worried.

“I-I’m fine,” you mumbled, but clutched at the scratchy blanket and hugged it closer around your body.

“Any longer out there and the cold would’ve killed her,” Juice said to Happy, whose nose flared in response.

The ride was silent, no one asked you any questions. You had changed the course of action with your decision to bludgeon someone to death.

No one batted an eye at it. The man deserved it. And a few prospects would be out there in a few hours to clean up the mess. She’s gonna be fine, Jax thought. His eyes were full of concern.

When they got back to the clubhouse, they all jumped out and helped you inside.

Like a watch dog, Happy didn’t leave your side. Chibs had started you a hot shower, a mug of tea and some buttered toast. (The only food the clubhouse has - Chucky hadn’t been grocery shopping yet).

Who knew bikers could be such mother hens?

- ✦ -

Chibs had run the shower in Jax’s room.

You halted in the doorway, and the blonde-haired beauty motioned for you to come in. You didn’t notice the mess, your head too fuzzy to think clearly. It wasn’t as messy as Jax’s bedroom at home. Chucky made sure to keep the rooms at the clubhouse at least somewhat presentable.

You didn’t see the near empty bottles that were scattered on the bathroom bench. Cologne, aftershave, simple things. He didn’t stay here often. The boys had a home, and that’s where Jax stayed.

The bathroom was steamy by the time you entered, and you sighed in relief at the warmth. The ensuite wasn’t small, but it wasn’t big either. A toilet, sink and shower with a window that so high up and small that no one could enter or exit nor see in.

Jax held your face in his hands but your eyes were glazed over and he knew you couldn’t do this yourself.

“I’m gonna help you okay? You tell me if you don’t want me to-“

You murmured a yes and that’s all he needed.

Undressing you, he tried not to look at your … private bits… and helped you into the shower. It was the perfect temperature; Chibs had made sure of it.

Letting the water soak your hair, he got the wash cloth and cleaned all the dirt and grime from your face, hands, and body. Jax was being so gentle, so soft.

His rings glinted on the bathroom countertop.

Using his own shampoo, he massaged it into your hair and made sure it didn’t get in your eyes. He made sure to wipe your hands. Dirt and blood covered them. By the time he was done, they looked normal.

You were silent as he cleaned, not caring how he saw you.

There was a part of you that was shocked at what you did. You had beaten a man. Was it you that killed him or a bullet? Maybe he was shot so you would never know. Once again the Sons looked out for you.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Jax’s voice was barely above a whisper. His hands worked as he spoke, rinsing you once again. You were washed a few times. You must have been covered in grime…or maybe he liked this. You liked this. You couldn’t deny it. The words weren’t coming out, but you knew what was going on.

Jax kept speaking. Pulling you out of whatever hole your mind was creating.

“You don’t deserve this Zo. This is what I meant. Why I left,” he turned off the faucet and wrapped the fresh towel around you. Surprisingly, it was clean.

“I handled it,” you mumbled, standing on the mat. Water dripped down your face, down your back, your neck.

Jax was shocked to hear you speak, as he returned with the mug and toast. He led you into the bedroom. Where clothes were laid out for you. A big black SOA shirt, boxers, and a jumper.

Jax placed the food and drink on the dresser and turned as you changed. Giving you some privacy.

“You did.” His words hit hard. So hard. They were validating.

“I did.”

When you were dressed, you sat on the bed and exhaustion hit you.

Jax moved the food closer to you, and you took a bite, a sip and that’s all you wanted. You moved up the bed and Jax helped so you could wriggle underneath.

You remembered your boys then, just as you got cosy.

“My dogs-“

“I’ll get one of the guys to check on ‘em. You just rest.”

You nodded your head in thanks.

He still had his big boots on, no white sneakers in sight. You thought maybe he would get a shower too, but he just laid on his back beside you. Unspeaking.

“Jax-“

“Just rest.”

- ✦ -

The morning light filtered through the curtains. But you didn’t stir. You slept, and no one was to wake you – Jax’s orders.

Even as the hours ticked by, he let you rest.

It wasn’t until 2pm that you woke. You started awake, unsure of where you were. But calmed instantly once you realised it was just the clubhouse. In Jax’s room… in Jax’s bed.

Your cheeks flushed when you realised that he had seen you naked. Flushed even more once you realised he had been so gentle.

Finding that your clothes were nowhere to be found (Chucky had put them in the wash), you tried to find … suitable … clothing. And trudged into the common room.

Everyone was there.

Even Gemma, Wendy and the boys. You blushed so much you could feel it in your legs.

“Afternoon,” someone called and you just nodded. You felt so lost, until you saw that familiar head of blonde hair. The anxiety eased.

“Hey, how you feelin’?” Jax had changed since last night. But he’d never left the clubhouse. Not wanting to leave you.

“Ugh, I feel…rested,” you replied, eyeing Wendy as she eyed you.

“That’s good,” his hand gently held your cheek and you sucked in a breath.

You looked up into his face and he stared straight back. Then his other hand went to your other cheek and swore the world stopped.

It was only you and Jax. You could feel it. Just the two of you.

And then his lips pressed against yours. Soft and gentle, exactly as he was last night.

There was a round of cheers, whistles and cat calls. But you couldn’t hear them, because no one but you and the Prince of Charming existed.

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johnnys-breastmilk · 2 years

Text

aftermath | steve rogers x spidey!male!reader

a/n — this is crackfic, take nothing in this fic seriously as per usual with my smut- (also, yeah, the reader is Spider-Man. thank @denim-devil for this..)

summary — Reader shows up long after Steve's birthday party ended and is determined to make it up to him.

warnings — SMUT! 18+ Rimming (reader receiving)

words — 2k

~~~

The soft hum of a vent in the ceiling rustled the flaxen hair of the super-soldier sitting beneath it. Slumped in one of the black dining chairs, the ventilation susurrated his perceptive ear as he thumbed over one of his newest gifts. No light perforated the windows off to his side apart from the occasional firework from miles away, the moon sitting high and shining a pale glow that rivaled the square tiles of fluorescent lighting embued overhead. They created a streaking glare over the tightly melded cellophane covering Steve's new watch that was easy to pull away, leaving him with a cheap recreation of himself in silicone.

It was meant to be a joke told on Tony's behalf, giving it to him as the final gift after the party had started heading out that he had teased for weeks leading up to today. Steve was a bit confused when he saw the red, white, and blue-striped wristband, followed by a cartoony caricature of the man out of time, represented by the fact that his mouth was open wide with a small LED panel matching the likes of a calculator keeping track of the time. While Steve did not get the joke at first, he instantly understood the technology. He was grateful to receive a coherent device rather than some complex machinery with knobs and buttons that would perplex him for weeks until he would eventually cave in and ask you for help with it after accepting his own defeat. Sure, it ruined Tony's joke, but it felt from his time like the whole day had.

Thanks to the other male, Steve had gotten to spend the day in an olden times party themed around the decade that he went into the ice. The kitchen and dining area had been left untouched, but everyone on the team tried dressing up in an appropriate outfit for the decade and even attempted to bake a cake with an authentic recipe from then—a rich and moist raspberry cake with a bulky layer of thick cream cheese frosting coating the sponge. They were lucky that the requirements for a cake have stayed roughly the same for over a century. The bash got wild as Tony drunkenly invited as many people as he knew, leaving the kitchen a mess. In the end, the party went off without a hitch, and the only thing that could have made his day better was you.

Down the hall, distanced from the scattered confetti and half-hung streamers, came the repeated strike of rubber against shiny linoleum flooring. Steve heard the rushed footsteps grow closer until they came to a halt in the same room as him, and his bowed head scanned the floor until reaching your feet, following up the set of spandex-clad feet to the rest of your body, favorably outlined by your suit.

"Did I miss it?" Your voice came out with a huff as you glanced around the room, seeing the various party decorations and litter coating the floor, complete with knocked-down high-rise chairs and a few booze-stained spots on the furniture. However bad this got, you knew you had missed all of it, "Shit. I'm sorry, Steve."

He sat up, placed the gag gift on the dining table, got up, and reached down to a cabinet under the sink. He spoke as he fetched them, "It's alright. Since you're here now, we could clean this mess up together before everyone gets back." Steve returned with two trash bags, and you instinctually shot a string of silk out to one of them before reeling it across the room.

"Where did they go off to?" You asked, reaching down to pick up the disposable cups that contrasted the party's original theme of an older time with a touch of something modern.

"A club that Tony has VIP access to," Steve answered, doing the same on the opposite side of the kitchen, "I know you probably don't want to be doing this after your long day."

You continued to pick up the scattered litter, “Well, we met cleaning up the scum of New York, so cleaning up trash is just like that. But one sounds so much lamer.”

A few moments went by before you realized that you could easily pull things from the ground into the bag with a quick thwip as you were still wearing your suit. You thought about walking straight to bed and letting Steve pick up the trash on the floor, but you had already missed his special day, and he didn't deserve to be stuck cleaning up everyone else's mess.

“I can change out of my suit after this, and we can head out for dinner or something else? I’m sure something’s still open, and they can sing those stupid songs about it being your birthday. Are you gonna tell them you’re one-hundred and four or thirty-six?” You offered, “I want to make it up to you, Steve.”

Steve tied the knot on the ends of his trash bag, tossing it against the wall and retrieving a second bag, “Knowing that you were saving everyone else is how you make it up to me. Besides, the only saving I needed was from Tony’s party by the end of it.”

You let out a low and knowing chuckle, “Let me guess it turned into another birthday rager, Rogers?”

“Yeah, I convinced him to clear it out before it got too crazy. Glad he took everyone else with him.”

“So, you were waiting for me?” Steve stayed silent, and the silence ushered you closer to him. You moved into picking up stuff in the area he was working on—the junk covering the wide kitchen island and the surrounding countertops. The dark counters bordering the island were the remnants of the ingredients used to make Steve's timely cake, one of which was a hefty piping bag still half-filled with icing. You took it with one hand. Surprisingly, it can't be much bigger than Steve himself when he hasn't seen you all week.

Regardless, the guilt gnawed at you as Steve stayed silent, his eyes burning you from behind as he watched you, “I’m sorry, Steve.”

“Why do you keep saying that? You were saving the world,” He opposed.

You turn, still holding the bag of icing, “Because I am, and if I can’t separate hero stuff from you and me, then where does that leave us?”

“Hand me that icing?”

“What?“

“And get on the island, all fours.”

You follow through with what he says, passing him the piping bag and hopping up onto the surface of the kitchen island with your hands and knees propping you up, and the next thing you know, a large hand pulls the lower half of your suit down, exposing your backside to the chilled air inside the compound.

“Steve, what are you—,“ He cut you off before you could protest his actions.

“I think you’re right about what you said. We met on the battlefield, so we can’t be us without embracing the hero stuff and its downsides. Now, I don’t usually proposition myself as a—,“ Steve pauses for a moment before choking out the words, “—bussy lover, am I using that right?”

“Yeah, you are, old man.”

“Then this ass belongs on the field as much does to be loved,” Steve confessed, gripping the bag firmly in one hand, careful not to let any spill out from the top and angle it to your ass. His hand tensed, squeezing his digits into the pudgy cream encased in plastic film. The pressure forced the solid-colored cream to puff out at the pointed tip.

Steve doled out the thick icing along the line of your crack, funneling a hefty stripe of it from your puckered hole to your lower back. With one broad stroke of his tongue, Steve lapped it all up in one go without interruption. It added a world of sweetness to what was otherwise flavorless eye candy for him to admire, and brief notes of tangy wonders reminded him of the perfect peach in front of him.

As for you, your arms went limp after the initial shock of a feeling sending more shivers through you than the air against your exposed skin after a long day in the summer sun. Steve wasted no time cleaning up his purposeful mess with an impressive singular stroke that was teasing and warm. That was just from one taste, and yet you both wanted more. With a single hand, a slow arch came to form as Steve slid his hand down the scarped ramp that was the small of your back, using his newfound hold to bring you closer to him. Your ass was on full display as your knees were hidden, tucked into your lower middle, while your hole revealed itself from your assumed position.

A soft press to the flimsy plastic on Steve's behalf sent another, much smaller, dollop of frosting to fall over your waiting pucker. The feeling of a soft and wet press to your opening elicited a cry from the other end, but Steve only sat there for a moment. You thought he would lave over your crack with a broad stroke of his tongue like he had done before to savor the taste of what was offered to him, but he deferred himself from the idea. Steve kept the tip of his tongue prodding at a dab of icing layering your hole, his nose ghosting along the trail leading to your tailbone until he pressed further.

Steve used his pointed tongue to dive into your warmth, building pressure inside from his wide tongue as another strain came from the crotch of your suit. You caved to the urge to work against the strongest—and most pleasing muscle—Steve had received throughout his ancient history, pressing back until you felt his lips against your rim. His tongue reached deeper, exploring new places and taking the creamy frosting with it.

It didn't take long for Steve to start moving, bobbing his head and reeling his tongue back and forth. And it took even less for his hand to abandon the remaining icing and glide his hand amid the space between your heat-radiating erection and the chilled counter surface below, creating friction with his hand that stimulated your lycra-clad cock. The two of them working in tandem poured noises out of you that didn't reflect the tune of a happy birthday but were a new song, complete with high cries and low begs for Steve to drive you to climax.

Soon, Steve's lips started to do with your hole what his broad muscle of receptors couldn't. He kissed at your sensitive nerve-endings, catching whiffs of the sweet cream while his tongue was as deep as he could push it, stretching those same nerves out with the reach of it. That was it. That was your breaking point. It was in those final moments that you had fireworks bursting in your mind as your suit became a mess of its own, white spurts pooling with each movement of Steve's mandible.

His absence was noticeable as he pulled away from your rear, giving a few laps to the bits of frosting on your cheeks to add additional instigation to your slowly fizzling high. Almost as if it were the scattered remains of powder drifting down from a deflagrated uproar.

You turned, flipping on your back to the dark granite as you laid flat against it, "I forgot to say happy birthday to you."

Steve let out a low chuckle as a sign that everything was okay again, "It really was a happy birthday to me."

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midnightfangz · 1 year

Text

Flee the fire that devours

‧₊˚✩彡 a gift fic for my dearest friend @probablylilly. Happy birthday bro!! You mean the world to me fr <3

(link to the ao3 version just in case)

The world, as they knew it, would be ending soon. Not too long after that, the Cycle would begin anew. The Cleansing, nearly at its peak, towered over the imaginary horizon. Ellowen, known as the Prophet by many, knew what had to be done. They were stuck in a cycle, destined to fail from the start. Except they weren’t. Not this time. This time, they chose to resist.

Or: a retelling of the scene following the aftermath of the Black Guardian's defeat.

Pairing: Jespar Dal'Varek x Ellowen the Prophet

Word count: Roughly 2k

Warnings: Major spoilers for the ending of Enderal: Forgotten Stories, angst and tragedy, implied/referenced character death

A/N: Ellowen uses she/they pronouns. I tried to use them equally without sacrificing the comprehensibility of the story, but as the writing fog set in, things just...happened. A friend pointed out that I, and I quote: "when it's real life/action related things, you use she/her pronouns, but when it's about their inside world, you tend to switch to they/them pronouns". As a fellow she/they, I refuse to comment on this.

Title is from Pale White Horse by The Oh Hellos. Beta-read by the amazing i'm your man on discord. thank you so much dude you rule <3

It all begins with the dreams.

—Maybe you weren’t looking hard enough, hm?

It was the masked men!

First, you set this horrible fire to your sister’s crib… she screamed and screamed and Mommy heard it.

The dead don’t forget! Do you hear me? The dead don’t forget!—

Of what, you ask?

Many things. They can be haunting to some, beautiful to others.

But that is not important.

—Now would you look at that…our mysterious survivor has awoken.

And it came with these visions?

Quite the sight, isn’t it?

Oh, yeah, I do, and this goal is called ‘surviving’.

How unexpectedly death calls us to him…it is bitter, is it not? Unfair.

Three words: I…don’t…care—

Heed my words.

The connections you forged, your little adventures, ambitions, heroics— in the grand scheme of things, none of it really matters.

…

Now, now.

There is no need to get upset like that.

—Deep down you wanted them dead, didn’t you?

I thought about joining them when all of this is over…and let’s just say, I wouldn’t mind some company.

This is the last stand. They are afraid of us, I can feel it!

Let’s just…see where it takes us.

You just couldn’t handle it anymore.

Will you give yourself to Coarek as he said he would?

You saw an opportunity, and you took it.

You could have made the right choice, but you refused—

It will happen again. And again. And again. And again.

Devour. Strengthen. Cleanse.

They will reap, over and over and over.

It is pointless to resist.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The outcome has been decided from the very beginning.

People screaming and running away, foolishly trying to save themselves from their inevitable demise. Bodies littering the streets, charred beyond recognition, faces forever stuck in an expression of despair—

Everything hurt.

As they limped through the corridor, Jespar supporting most of their weight, Ellowen told him everything she learned from the Black Guardian.

Everything besides the two options to forestall the Cleansing, as well as her choice.

If the new information surprised him, he did not show it, but she did not miss the way he kept glancing at her with a worried frown. Her ribs kept hurting, a hollow pain that spiked with every step they took. It did not matter. They had to put some distance between her and the still smouldering body of a pretender God.

—You were meant to dissolve, like the rest of mankind.

Yet here you stand, and I tell you the truth.

This was never meant to happen—

They were stuck in a cycle, destined to fail from the start.

Except they weren’t. Not this time.

To Ellowen, the solution was obvious. Better her than thousands of innocent people. Still, it did nothing to calm her wildly beating heart. What would they tell Jespar? They searched for the right words, thinking of a way to soften the blow, but came up empty. How does one even tell their partner they want to sacrifice themselves for the greater good of mankind?

A dry chuckle, bordering on a sob, forced its way out of their throat. They immediately grasped their throbbing side, vision swimming.

“Whoah, hey! No passing out just yet,” Jespar said and shifted his arms around her body. Ellowen sagged against him. “One foot after another– that’s it, you’re doing well, just stay awake.”

His voice washed over her, mixing in with faint sounds of rushing water. The combination helped to soothe her frayed nerves, somehow. The next few minutes passed in a blur, as they focused more on breathing through the pain, rather than the surroundings. They couldn’t remember closing their eyes, but somehow they found themself in one of the open chambers of the Undercity, slumped against a cold stone wall.

“The Black Guardian…” Ellowen said, voice hoarse. Jespar dug through her satchels, hurriedly taking out healing potions and food. He set everything beside him and cupped her face with his left hand.

“Shh, shh, just stay still for a moment, alright? Can’t have you dying on me, now can we?”

Slowly, the pain subsided as the potions did their work. Her vision cleared, breathing coming out less forced, but her chest still ached– ached with the knowledge of what was about to come.

They both stayed silent for a while, pretending as if they hadn’t nearly died just now– Ellowen watched the river pass by and tried to collect their thoughts, while Jespar busied himself with storing away the now empty potion flacons.

Jespar was the first one to break the silence before it got too unbearable. “You wanted to say something. About the Black Guardian.”

Ellowen swallowed. They worked their jaw, still collecting their thoughts. “Yes, he…before he attacked me, he told me of a way to circumvent the Cleansing,” they began softly and forced themselves to look him in the eyes.

“More than one, actually. One, we flee to the Star City and escape death, while the rest of Vyn is wiped out. We do not age– we become immortal, Gods, in our own right.” They wrinkled their nose and scoffed. “This allows us to oversee the creation of a new world, give birth to a new humanity. They will not know pride, they will not know deceit, effectively starving the High Ones and stripping them of their power.”

“A utopia,” he spat out the word. “A senseless fairy tale. And the other one?”

Ellowen looked down, carefully choosing their words.

“Two, we destroy the Beacon and halt the Cleansing. It will drive the High Ones away for a while, giving us the time we need. I know which one I want.”

“Alright,” he said, reaching out to grab their hand and intertwining their fingers. He stared at them for a while, seemingly mulling over something. When he spoke again, his voice was even, but she could feel something else hiding underneath the surface.

“Your decision… is it final?”

“Yes.”

“I still don’t understand this…fleshless thing. I mean, you’re here, right before me, and I can see you. Touch you, hold your hand. Could you really be an…an illusion?”

Ellowen looked at their connected hands. They opened their mouth to respond and—

Jespar hunched over and gasped in pain. Ellowen barely had the time to catch him by the shoulders.

They brushed a couple of strands of hair out of his face, noting the way he seemed to glow from within. Their heart skipped a beat. “Are you alright? What is it?”

“It’s– the Cleansing. Agh, my skull…burns, it burns– like it’s on fire,” he gritted out, holding his head. “You…seem to…Don’t you feel anything?”

“Faintly, it feels…dull, somehow.”

He took a deep breath. “Your…situation– it, it protects you. By the Wise Hermit– it burns, if this is how it feels down here…fate have mercy on those who are on the surface.”

They slowly got to their feet. “I have to go. Before it’s too–”

“No!” his hand shot forward and gripped her leg. “No, The Black Guardian is right, sacrificing yourself would be pointless. Even– even if I somehow manage to escape the explosion from the Beacon.”

Ellowen watched him struggle to get up, torn between helping him and leaving when they still had the chance.

“No, no, no– you can’t.”

“I have to. I have to stop the Cleansing.” Ellowen took a deep breath. “I can’t let all of those people die, I can’t let all of this be for nothing.”

“Then I’m going with you,” he said and stepped forward, raising his chin defiantly. His tone brooked no argument.

“Jespar, I’m not going to let you do that.” They took a step back. “There's…there’s no need for you to die as well.”

“And I’m supposed to let you?” He laughed bitterly. He threw a hand up. ”We have an out, we can both live if we escape to– to the Star City, as bizarre as that sounds.”

Silence settled between them, so heavy it was almost suffocating.

Ellowen watched as his body lit up and he spasmed again. They couldn’t turn back. Not now.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” they said, voice soft. On the verge of breaking.

I’m sorry, Jespar.

“You and your fucking idealism, what about all of the things you still want to do? What about Lethonia?”

They balled up their fists, ignoring the sting of pain as her nails bit into the flesh. Looking anywhere but his face. I’m sorry. I have to. “After the High Ones are defeated, you can still travel the–”

“—It doesn’t mean anything without you!”

Once again, silence descended over them, but this time it was tinged with something else. She searched for something, anything, to say– anything that was not a hollow apology or a fake smile.

Jespar gasped softly, realising something. A mask slipped over his face, eyes distant and cold.

—Burning, blazing– their screams echoed through the modest wooden house. Ellowen, young and full of righteous anger, eating away at their insides like acid, just watched. Watched as the flames licked their way up the building, hungrily devouring everything in their way. They deserved it, after all the things they have done to her—

“But this isn’t about saving everyone…is it? You think if you sacrifice yourself, it will finally make up for what you’ve done to them. To your family.”

“Jespar, don’t–”

“Is it not?”

—You wanted them dead, didn’t you? You wanted them dead, didn’t you? You wanted, wished, prayed, desired—

Jespar reached his hand out— to grab them? They did not know anymore. Everything spun. They were sure their breath was coming out of their chest in shallow, erratic bursts. It was too much, too much, crushing guilt and endless sorrow, when will it ever end? —and retracted it, swallowing. He stepped closer. Ellowen automatically took a step back, all of their senses on high alert. Blood pounded in their ears.

They had to do something. Stop this. Fix this.

I’m sorry, Jespar. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—

“Ell, you have to stop letting this dictate all of your actions, you–”

Her hand moved unnaturally fast, unerringly finding his temple. A brief flash and he stopped dead in his tracks.

Ellowen forced out a weak sigh, which quickly turned into a sob.

Jespar’s gaze became unfocused. Distant.

“Please forgive me,” they whispered, ”for doing this, but this is the only way I can make sure you can get to safety.”

Ellowen swallowed. “And maybe you’re right…maybe I am doing this for selfish reasons, but…it’s the choice that has the potential to save everyone.” They gave him a tired smile. “Ultimately, it doesn’t matter, does it?”

They took a step forward, brushing his fringe to the side with a shaky hand. They touched their foreheads together. A tear slipped down their cheek. “I wish we had more time together.”

Jespar’s face remained blank, eyes glassy.

“Find a Myrad and get to Qyra. The spell should wear off within an hour.”

They kissed his forehead and closed their eyes.

“I know you can beat the High Ones. Kick—” their voice broke, as did her resolve. Tears streamed down her face, unbidden. “Kick their asses extra hard for me, alright?”

“I’m sorry. I love you, you know that? All this is– was worth it. All of it. Travel safely.”

Ellowen turned around, clearing her mind. They hastily wiped their eyes and took one last look back. Out of their sight, a solitary tear slid down Jespar’s cheek.

They made sure their weapons were in their respective places. The Cleansing, nearly at its peak, towered over the imaginary horizon. They had a job to do.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The last Black Stone shattered and soon after that, their vision went dark. The Prophet, known by many as simply Ellowen, ceased to exist.

The world was safe– for now.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The entire world mourned, but it did not know why. Something tremendous had happened– something important, that much was certain –and only a selected handful knew the truth of it.

Yet, only a limited amount of time remained until the Cycle began anew.

It all begins with the dreams.

Breathe.

A/N: Special thanks to @min1nova for emotional support, @zaahvi for nudging me in the right direction and phoenix dan cong tea for getting me through this. You're the best!

#ao3 #fanfiction #my fanfiction #midnightfangz-writing #enderal forgotten stories #enderal #jespar dal'varek #prophet #jespar x prophet #ellowen #vynblr

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